Debra Regan - Marriage Confidential

Sam shrugged and she wanted to slap that smug expression off his face. “He drives a specific route we can tap into later for potential identification.”

“Can he do that and then take me home?” she pleaded. “I have a meeting first thing in the morning.” She wanted to get out of these heels and into her pajamas before she wrote up her report on the evening.

“On a Saturday?”

“Really?” She leaned back. “That’s rich, the perennial workaholic criticizing my schedule.”

“What happened to your famous, unflappable composure?” He patted her knee. “You pulled off a marriage charade along with mostly false assurances that an irreplaceable treasure from China is secure without batting an eye. Sitting back while my driver evades a tail shouldn’t be a big deal.”

She couldn’t tell what he expected of her. At this hour she didn’t care. “Take me home. I’ll be safe in my building.”

“Fake or not, tonight you’re safer with your husband,” he said, catching her as the driver’s next turn pitched her into him again.

She couldn’t control her runaway imagination. In a flash she could clearly see life as Sam’s wife. It would be bliss to come home after a long day and talk with him over a pepperoni pizza and a couple of beers. Never once in her fantasy had she seen a face other than his when she thought of a husband.

Preposterous. Impossible. Wishful thinking at its finest. The car bounced a little as the driver entered a parking garage with too much speed.

“Now we’re clear,” Sam said a moment before Jake confirmed the status. The limousine came to a halt and Sam pushed open the door, extending a hand to help her.

Resigned to the strange turn of events, she placed her hand in his. “Where are we?”

“My place.”

She glanced around at what appeared to be an average concrete parking garage without the typical foul odors. Only five parking spaces were occupied, all of them with luxury vehicles. She recognized a sporty Porsche crossover in smoke gray and the sexy lines of a deep blue Lamborghini. She couldn’t name the other three without taking a closer look. Wherever they were, the neighbors were apparently as wealthy as Sam.

Her feet ached from the high heels as he led her toward an elevator in the corner. “Sam, I really should go.” If she slept without removing the heavy makeup on her face, she’d wake up looking like something from a bad horror movie. That would be mortifying and a certain end to their friendship, just in case lying about the marriage hadn’t done that already. “I need—”

The elevator doors parted automatically at their approach and she glanced around for the motion sensor, forgetting her protest.

“Intrigued?” His lips twitched in a smirk. “What do you need, Madison?” he asked, pulling out his phone.

You. Thankfully, she bit back that absurd, knee-jerk response. “My apartment,” she managed. “I’m sure your place is...” The elevator opened to a penthouse and the sparkling nighttime view of San Francisco stole her breath. “Oh, Sam.” She couldn’t stop herself from walking in, admiring everything in sight.

“You like it?”

It wasn’t anything she imagined his home might be. Not the casual mess that always surrounded his work space at school. Of course it wouldn’t be like that. He was a man now, a lauded expert at the top of his industry. The position obviously paid well. The furniture had a lived-in feel, modern, clean lines without feeling too stark or glossy or new. Nothing in her fantasies had prepared her for this, for seeing him in this kind of space. She could happily snuggle into the corner of that big couch next to Sam and forget there was a world out there that needed them.

Exasperated with herself, she wondered if anything would smother the torch she’d carried for him all this time. He’d never given her the first signal that he thought of her in a romantic way. Unlike his business partner, Rush, there was never a whisper of Sam having any romantic ties. Maybe that was why her heart was so stubbornly locked on to him.

She forced her gaze away from the stunning view and faced him. “I need to go home.” Staying here would be unbearable. He’d already commented on her lack of composure. “I need my space and my things.”

“Let me guess?” He started typing into his phone. “Toothbrush and toothpaste. Do you still prefer that striped brand you used when we were kids?”

“Pardon me?” How did he know what brand of toothpaste she’d used in high school?

“My bathroom is surely lacking.” He held out the phone to her. “Put in whatever you need and it will be here within the hour.”

“No.” It was closing in on one in the morning. She jerked her hands behind her back and clutched the handle of her briefcase. “No, thank you. Take me home, please.”

His gaze narrowed and his brown eyes were calculating something as he studied her from head to toe. His thumbs flew over the surface of his phone and then he pocketed the device.

Before she could react to that, he’d slipped a hand around her elbow. “Take off your shoes.”

“Take me home.”

His jaw clenched, but his touch remained gentle. “I didn’t blow your secret out of the water tonight, did I?”

“No.” She tried to smile. “I appreciate that more than I can say.”

“Thank me by listening for a minute. Your feet need a break from the shoes.”

“You can’t know that.” How did he know that?

“Take them off,” he said. “And follow me.”

She gave in, stifling a whimper when the cool hardwood floors soothed the soles of her feet. He guided her toward the kitchen, pausing to pull out two bottles of water. He opened both and handed her one. Without a word, he continued on toward an office.

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