Avril Tremayne - Kiss Don’t Tell

Squaring her shoulders, she closed the door and followed him into the living room. He was standing in the middle of the room, looking around without any indication he liked what he saw—which was basically her mother’s cast-off furniture.

Lane saw him glance at the canapés she’d arranged on a white oval platter, centred on the glass top of the coffee table. She fought a blush. It was obvious, now she’d seen him, that Adam Quinn wasn’t a canapé eater; he was the type to consume a whole wild boar thrown on a campfire. And suddenly she felt like she was pretending to be a grown-up. Blue suit. Canapés. What would he expect next? Scrabble board, lap rug, and cup of hot cocoa?

He turned and faced her. His lips were smiling but his eyes were not. ‘Now where were we? Ah, yes, I must be—’ The smile vanished. ‘Adam Quinn. Reporting for duty.’

Duty? Reporting for duty ? Another deep breath. ‘I was hoping we could approach this situation with a degree of sensitivity.’

Adam looked down at the coffee table. ‘It will take more than smoked salmon on rye to achieve that.’

Lane felt her stomach dip. ‘Sarah said you were willing.’

‘I know what she said.’

His voice was almost a growl. Like he was angry. That couldn’t be right, could it, when he’d already agreed? She ran her eyes over him again trying to work out what was wrong, and her heartbeat, which hadn’t yet recovered from his entrance, kicked up an extra notch. He wasn’t only tall, he was incredibly big, too. He filled her living room the way an army tank might. The fact that he was watching her just as intently as she was watching him made a funny, jittery feeling that wasn’t exactly nerves erupt in her stomach.

What was he seeing? Was she the thing that was wrong? Could he tell just by looking at her what a massive job he had ahead of him? Was he regretting telling Sarah he’d do it? Was he going to ask to be let off the hook? Should she just give in and release him without being asked? Hadn’t she just been thinking more planning time would be good?

Maybe she should look further afield and see who else was out there. Or maybe she could ditch her plan altogether and buy a book or a download a how-to documentary or try an online chat room. There had to be chat rooms for this kind of thing, didn’t there?

Adam moved his hand—impatient. It was only a small movement but enough to have her catch a waft of his soapy scent, and her nostrils flared as though by reflex. And her mind was made up at that instant.

She was not going to resort to the internet or a book or a documentary, and she was not going to find someone else. She had her bird in the hand and from the look of him, he was worth way more than two in any bush. He’d already agreed and she was holding him to it. He would just have to suck it up and make do, regardless of what he thought of her. She didn’t care what he thought of her; she wasn’t paying for his thoughts. So he was going nowhere, and she would make that very clear to him!

She set her jaw. ‘Adam, have you or have you not agreed to help me?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Good,’ she cut him off. ‘Regarding the smoked salmon, I was aware of the inconvenient hour I chose for this meeting, so I thought you might like some refreshments. But of course, you’re late, and I imagine you’ve eaten dinner, so I’m happy to get down to business immediately.’

Adam crossed his arms over his chest in what Lane assumed was a ‘quintessential alpha male’ pose. ‘By all means, Lane, let’s get down to business,’ he said. ‘Oh, sorry, should I call you Lane? Perhaps you’d prefer Miss Davis? Ms Davis? It’s not Dr Davis, is it? Because Sarah tells me you were some ace university student, so I guess a PhD isn’t out of the question.’

Lane did not allow even the flicker of one eyelid as she picked up her briefcase and retrieved the all-important paperwork off the coffee table. ‘It’s Ms, but Lane is fine.’

‘All right. Lane it is.’ He drew out the sound of her name until it was thick and honeyed and beautiful.

Lane caught her breath before it could hitch in her throat. Checklist. Checklist. Concentrate on the checklist . But her eyes didn’t seem to want to focus on that perfect document in her hand. ‘Then let’s move on,’ she said. ‘We can get away from the smoked salmon by sitting at the dining table. This way, please.’

She could feel him following, though he lagged several steps behind. The knowledge of him was as pervasive and intimate as a layer of musk oil on her skin.

She was about to contract Adam Quinn for three months of sex.

God help her.

CHAPTER TWO

His sister was dead meat. Chopped, minced, fricasseed, barbecued.

Adam nurtured the thought as he followed the uptight Ms Davis to her precious dining room table.

Why had he let Sarah talk him into this?

Adam sighed inwardly. Why? Because he was a sucker when it came to his sister and since she damn well knew it, she took shameless advantage of him. And because it had been sold to him as a fifteen-minute job. Walk in and unsettle her fast. Be unpleasantly intimidating. Not cruel, not disparaging, not nasty to innocent, awkward Lane—just intimidating enough to scare her out of her insane scheme. Enough that she’d be ripping up her contract and showing him the door.

Innocent? Awkward?

Did Sarah even know this woman who was supposed to be one of her best friends?

Sex lessons! Who in their right mind would contract a total stranger to teach them about sex? To actually show them how to do it, all gory details included? For all Lane knew, he could be some depraved murderer. A pervert. A weirdo.

Which of course explained Sarah’s plea to him, because God alone only knew what Lane would have ended up with if she’d done what she’d intended and got some stranger off a dating app. Any other man would have had her stripped and under him by now, skip the formalities.

Because hell, she may not radiate raw sex appeal, but the untouchable, unruffled calmness she exuded was somehow more seductive. An almost irresistible challenge, like a citadel daring you to breach its walls. And she was pretty enough, in a clear-cut, haughty way that would make any man want to mess her up a little. Yep, any other man in his place right now would—

No, he wasn’t going to think about it. For his own sanity, he was going to put it out of his mind.

He watched, narrow-eyed, as Lane placed her briefcase on the floor and the papers in her hand on the dining table. Surprise, surprise—the table was glass. Hall table, coffee table, and now the dining table—all glass.

He hated glass furniture. Was her bed made of glass too? It wouldn’t surprise him. Lane looked inscrutably cool enough to have a glass bed. Cool as a refrigerated cucumber. No, cooler. Three months, God help him! If he agreed to do this, they’d be able to cut up his body for ice cubes at the end of it.

Not that he was going to agree. Nope. No way.

She gestured with one hand to the opposite side of the table. She had to be annoyed with him after his graceless entry, but not by one dip of her auburn eyelashes did she show it. Everything was tightly controlled, even the precision of her next hand movement, which said: ‘Sit — and do it now.’

Adam sat.

Dammit , he thought immediately, he was obeying her, like a dutiful puppy. It was a foreign feeling, to be obeying someone—and he didn’t like it one bit.

Keeping Sarah’s firm instructions in mind, he tried out a glower. People had been known to run full pelt from one of his scowls—the eyebrow, courtesy of stepmother #1’s belt buckle, added a certain fierceness—so he figured it should at least give Lane a few second thoughts about what she was getting herself into.