Kelly Hunter - Wife For A Week

And yet…

Hallie reached for the travel guide and smoothed it open, first one page, and then another.

Hong Kong: gateway to the orient. Money and superstition. Heat and a million camera shops. A squil-lion neon signs.

‘An enchanting blend of East meets West,’ read the travel guide. Half a world away from this shoe shop, whispered her brain. Ten thousand pounds.

So there were a few drawbacks.

Lies. Deception. Nick Cooper’s kisses. Hallie tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and closed the book with a snap.

Big drawbacks.

And yet…

Twenty minutes later, Hallie let herself in through the front door of her brother’s Chelsea flat and dumped her handbag on the sideboard. Why Tris had bought the little two-bedroom apartment when he never stayed more than a year in any one place was a mystery, but she certainly appreciated the use of it. She’d never save enough money to finish her diploma if she had to pay rent. Not on her current wage, at any rate.

Ten thousand pounds, whispered her brain as she slipped off her shoes and padded down the hallway.

No.

Dinner at Marco’s, then. It’s only dinner.

No, it’s not. If you go to dinner you’ll ask him why he needs a wife for a week and then where will you be? Next thing you know, you’ll be agreeing to go to Hong Kong with him.

So?

Oh, boy. Hallie stumbled over the hallway runner and wondered just what it was about Nicholas Cooper that made her lose her mind.

He had a wicked smile. No doubt about it.

And his offer was definitely intriguing.

A rueful smile tugged at her lips. Best not to even think about his kisses.

Come ten to seven, Hallie had finished her argument and was in the bathroom, hurriedly applying make-up, when she heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of a man’s long, loping strides down the hall. Moments later Tris appeared in the doorway, little more than a vague shadow at the edge of her vision. ‘You’re back,’ she said, busy with the mascara. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’

‘Plans change,’ he said. ‘Going somewhere?’

‘Dinner at Marco’s on Kings Road.’

‘Classy.’ Was it just her imagination or was Tris a whole lot more preoccupied than usual. ‘Who with?’

Ah. That was more like it. ‘Nick.’

‘Nick?’

‘We met today. At the shop.’

‘He wears ladies’ shoes? Is this supposed to be reassuring?’

‘He came in with his mother. He bought her some shoes.’

‘Run,’ said Tris. ‘Run the other way.’

‘Nope. I’ve made up my mind. I’m having dinner with him.’ She finished with the mascara, reached for a smoky grey eyeliner.

‘So…’ said Tris. ‘Does Nick have a last name?’

‘Of course he does, but if I tell it to you you’ll run a check on him at work and come home and tell me what kind of toothpaste he uses. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s not even a date, exactly. More of a business opportunity.’

‘What kind of business opportunity?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’ No need to bore him with details. ‘Something involving travel.’

Tris sighed, heavily. ‘And you believed him.’

Time to change the subject. ‘There’s leftover lasagne in the fridge,’ she said as she dropped her lipstick into her evening bag and turned to leave the bathroom, halting abruptly as she took her first good look at her brother. ‘Whoa.’ His dark, shaggy hair was filthy, his left hand was carelessly bandaged and his clothes looked as if they’d been dragged through a sewer with him still wearing them, but it was his eyes that bothered her most. Because they were full of frustration and pain. ‘You look terrible.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Liar.’ She hated to see him hurting. ‘Want me to stick around?’

‘What? You’re going to cancel a free feed at Marco’s to stay here and fight me for the last of the lasagne?’ Tris summoned a faint smile. ‘Touching, yet stupid.’

‘The job went bad, didn’t it?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it, Hal.’

Hallie sighed. He never did. Tris didn’t talk about his work for Interpol, ever.

‘Go,’ he said, waving her away. ‘I’m gonna take a shower and get cleaned up. There’s nothing you can do. Eat. Be merry.’

And from within the confines of the bathroom as he shut the door behind him, ‘Don’t talk toothpaste.’

Nick Cooper always gave a woman fifteen minutes’ grace. Any longer than that and he was inclined to leave or start without them. Fact was, women enjoyed keeping men waiting. They did it deliberately to heighten anticipation and make a man wonder. To make a man want. All part of the game, but then games were Nick’s specialty. For every attack, there was a counter-attack, no matter how good your opponent. And Hallie Bennett’s fifteen minutes were almost up.

Not that Nick was even sure she was dining with him—as she hadn’t called—but he’d headed for Marco’s regardless. A man had to eat. And call it a hunch but he thought she’d show. He browsed the blackboard specials, scanned the printed menu, looked around for a waiter and saw instead the delectable Hallie Bennett heading his way. Her colouring was pure Renaissance, Titian hair, creamy complexion and golden brown eyes. But her hair was cropped to chin length and her face was pure arthouse Animae; all big eyes, clean lines and memorable mouth.

His body stirred and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to conceal the fierce rush of anticipation that accompanied her arrival as he stood to greet her. Kissing that smart mouth of hers into submission had been an absolute pleasure. Getting to know the rest of her was tempting, very tempting, but the truth was he couldn’t afford the distraction. He didn’t need a bed-mate this coming week; he needed a partner. Someone with an opportunistic streak, a quick wit, and a deft touch with the ridiculous.

So far, Ms Bennett had impressed him on all counts.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said when she reached him. ‘I wasn’t sure I was coming until the last minute.’

‘What made you change your mind?’ he asked as he saw her seated and tried to ignore the quickening of his breath and of his blood.

‘Hong Kong and ten thousand pounds,’ she said, her accompanying smile drawing his attention to the generous curve of her lips, currently painted a deep, luscious rose. Her lip colour matched her dress, a sleek, cling-wrap of a dress that emphasized the perfection of the body beneath. ‘I like your dress,’ he said with utmost sincerity.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes lightening with a humour that was hard to resist. ‘I like it too. Have you ordered?’

‘After you.’

She chose the clam chowder. He chose the reef fish and, at her nod, a bottle of white wine to wash it down.

‘I’m curious,’ she said once that was all settled. ‘You’re rich, you’re handsome, you’re healthy—you are healthy, aren’t you?’

‘Perfectly,’ he said, enjoying her candour.

‘So why do you need a pretend wife for a week?’

‘I’m negotiating distribution rights to a computer game my company has developed. Unfortunately, the distributor’s teenage daughter took a liking to me and I found it extremely difficult to, er, dissuade her.’

‘You mean you couldn’t fend off one fledgling female? You? You’re kidding me, right?’

‘Wrong.’ Nick sighed. He could handle predatory women, honest he could. But a semi-naked eighteen-year-old Jasmine Tey had cornered him in his bedroom late one night, and the sheer unexpectedness of it coupled with more than one glass of his host’s most excellent rice wine had rendered him momentarily incapable of sensible thought. ‘She was very young,’ he muttered defensively. ‘Very sweet. I was trying to let her down gently.’