“Moving in with me makes perfect sense….”
Cooper continued, “Living together would be the easiest and fastest way to convince people we’re a couple—and you did assure me that’s what you want your boss to think.”
“I want to convince him you’re serious about me,” Hannah replied. “I don’t want him to get the idea that I’ve gone totally insane.”
“There’s nothing insane about it. Anyway, Hannah, I invited you to live with me, not sleep with me.”
She was wary. “You’re not trying to blackmail me into bed?”
Leigh Michaels has always loved happy endings. Even when she was a child, if a book’s conclusion didn’t please her, she’d make up one of her own. And though she always wanted to write fiction, she very sensibly planned to earn her living as a newspaper reporter. That career didn’t work out, however, and she found she ended up writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon instead—in the kind of happy ending only a romance novelist could dream up!
Leigh likes to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa, 52501-0935, U.S.A.
Books by Leigh Michaels
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3600—HUSBAND ON DEMAND
3604—BRIDE ON LOAN
3608—WIFE ON APPROVAL
3628—THE CORPORATE WIFE
3637—THE BRIDAL SWAP
A Convenient Affair
Leigh Michaels
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
UNTIL that morning, Hannah had started to think it didn’t matter what hour of the day or night she walked Mrs. Patterson’s dog. If she abruptly decided to take Brutus out at two o’clock in the morning, she’d no doubt still run headlong into Cooper Winston somewhere along the way.
When she stopped to think about it, however, Hannah concluded that the wee hours of the morning were actually one of the more likely times to encounter the occupant of the penthouse condominium. In the hours after midnight, he was apt to be just coming home to Barron’s Court from a date… “And other associated activities,” Hannah added under her breath.
Of course, she had also run into him at the crack of dawn, at high noon, and at nine-fifteen in the evening. The time seemed to be immaterial, the encounter inevitable.
Today, however, the chain appeared to have been broken. She and Brutus had gone all the way from Barron’s Court up Grand Avenue to the governor’s mansion and back, encountering their share of commuters and joggers and even a few bundled-up babies taking their mothers out for an airing in the autumn sunshine. But for once Hannah hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of a dark-haired, gray-eyed, broad-shouldered, supercilious six-foot hunk of testosterone named Cooper Winston.
By the time they once more reached the lobby of the condo complex, Brutus was breathing hard and Hannah could feel a glow throughout her whole body from the exercise and the crisp October breeze. She punched the button to summon the elevator and bent to release the pug’s leash from his collar. “If you wouldn’t pull so hard,” she reminded him, “you wouldn’t be so out of breath at the end of your walk.”
She hadn’t heard the Art Deco doors open, but even before the man inside the elevator stepped into the lobby, she knew he was there. So much for thinking my luck has changed, she thought, and slowly straightened up, turning to face Cooper Winston.
She wasn’t sure precisely why the hair at the back of her neck always stood straight up the moment he appeared on the scene. Probably sheer dislike, Hannah thought, coupled with a touch of apprehension—for there was no doubt that lately she was the one who had been coming out the worse for wear in their encounters. Whatever the reason, it was certainly a negative one; it wasn’t as if there was anything she found magnetically attractive about the man.
Not that he was exactly hard on the eyes, she admitted. The first time she’d encountered him—over a negotiating table at Stephens & Webster, where she was an associate attorney—Hannah had thought Cooper Winston was extremely good-looking. She was partial to tall men with black hair and curly eyelashes and chiseled features. But of course that had been before she’d encountered the tight-set jaw, the perpetual crease between his brows, and the icy silver of his gaze.
All of which were in evidence right now.
She considered asking him—sweetly, of course—if he’d drunk his vinegar for breakfast as usual. But since there was nothing to be gained by gratuitous insults, she looked through him instead and said with cool politeness, “Good morning, Mr. Winston.”
He didn’t answer. She felt his gaze slide over her, and she was suddenly and painfully aware of her tousled hair, her wind-reddened cheeks, her far-from-new sweatsuit, and the faint aroma of dog that she’d acquired when she’d scooped up Brutus and carried him across Grand Avenue to beat a stream of traffic.
If the man dared to make a comment…
She looked straight at him, her chin held high.
Cooper didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to, Hannah thought bitterly. One dark eyebrow, lifting just a fraction of an inch, said it all.
At her feet, Brutus growled.
Cooper looked down. “You no doubt have some logical reason why this animal isn’t on a leash, Ms. Lowe.”
“Brutus has never bitten you,” she pointed out.
“He’s threatened often enough.”
“Only because you make it so plain that you don’t like him.”
“What’s to like? He’s ugly, overweight, and ill-tempered.”
“Being ugly isn’t his fault,” Hannah said crisply. “All pugs are. And if you were locked up all day, every day, in Mrs. Patterson’s teeny little apartment, you’d probably be—” She bit her tongue, but it was already too late.
Cooper’s voice was silky. “Overweight, too? And even more ill-tempered than I already am?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What a nice compliment you’ve paid Mrs. Patterson. She’s quite a powerful woman, if merely being in her company could have such a destructive effect.”
“Wait