Jonas Kim and Hendrix Harris met Warren at the courthouse on Friday. Predictably, his best friends since college didn’t miss the opportunity to give him a hard time about his impending marriage. Warren had fully expected it after the equally hard time he’d given both of them when they’d gotten married.
The difference here was that Warren wasn’t breaking the pact the three of them had made their senior year at Duke University. Jonas and Hendrix had. They’d broken the pact seven ways to Sunday and without shame, no less. After Marcus had committed suicide over his irreparably broken heart, the three surviving friends had shaken hands and vowed to never fall in love.
Warren would stick to that until the day he died. His friends might have found ways to excuse their faithlessness to themselves, but Warren was still working on forgiving them for putting their hearts at risk in their own marriages.
“Well, well, well.” Jonas crossed his arms and gave Warren a once-over that held a wealth of meaning as his two friends cleared the metal detector at the entrance to the Wake County Courthouse in downtown Raleigh. “I do believe this is what eating crow looks like. Don’t you agree, Hendrix?”
“I do.” His other friend shot Warren a grin that sharpened his already ridiculous cheekbones. “It also looks like I should have put money on whether Warren would eventually get that mouth full of feathers when I had a chance.”
“Ha, ha. It’s not like that,” Warren growled.
It wasn’t. His marriage did not compare to his friends’ situations; both of them had married women they already had relationships with. Jonas had married his friend Viv to avoid an arranged marriage with a stranger, and Hendrix had married Roz to end a scandal caused by risqué photographs of the two of them. They’d both sworn they weren’t going to cross any lines, but it had only been a matter of time before things started getting mushy.
Mushy was not even remotely in the realm of possibility for Warren.
“What’s it like, then?” Jonas asked. “Tell us how it’s even possible that you’re getting married after being so high and mighty about it when me and Hendrix came to you with our plans.”
“I’m marrying Tilda because I can’t trash Down Under Thunder without her. This is a Hail Mary designed to keep her in the country. No other reason. End of story.”
“Oh, so she’s a hag you would never look at twice on the street. I get it,” Jonas said with a smart-ass nod.
Hendrix shook his head. “That’s just sad, if so.”
“Shut up. She’s not a hag. Tilda is gorgeous.” The headache brewing between Warren’s eyes stabbed a little harder as his friends gave each other knowing glances laden with a side of I told you so. “This marriage is strictly business. I would never be anything less than professional with an employee.”
“Except you are,” Jonas countered. “You’re moving her into your house tomorrow. Trust me when I say that leads to all sorts of things you might swear on your mother’s life you would never contemplate, but it happens, man. First you’re having a drink together after work and next thing you know, you’re giving your in-name-only bride diamonds and orgasms in the foyer.”
“Or in the linen closet at your wedding reception,” Hendrix threw in helpfully with a gleam in his eye. He and his new wife had pulled just such a disappearing at the social event of the season.
“There are no linen closets here,” Warren pointed out unnecessarily, not that he had to explain himself to his friends. But he was going to anyway, because they needed to be clear that he was the lone holdout in their pact.
Marcus’s suicide was not something Warren had ever taken lightly, and neither was the vow he’d made to honor his roommate’s death. Love had stolen a young man’s life. Warren would never let that be his fate. “I’ve never done anything more than shake Tilda’s hand as a form of sealing our arrangement. She’s working on my project, not working her way into my bed. This is not about my sex life. Period.”
“We’ll see about that.” Hendrix jerked his chin over Warren’s shoulder. “Would that lovely lady be your intended bride? She looks like your type.”
Warren turned to see Tilda striding toward him, her sensible heels clacking on the marble floor of the courthouse, hair swept up in the no-nonsense bun he’d dreamed about again last night and a serene expression on her face that didn’t change when she caught his gaze.
Good. She’d been edgy in his office the other day and he’d half expected her to back out at some point. After all, he hadn’t really had to sell her on the idea of a marriage to keep her in the country. It had been remarkably easy to talk her into it, and for some reason, he’d become convinced that she’d change her mind after she had a chance to think about it. Marriage was a big thing to some women and maybe she’d dreamed of falling in love with a capital L.
But she was here. His shoulders relaxed a bit, releasing tension he’d been carrying since Wednesday. This was going to work. Down Under Thunder was toast. And if he had the opportunity to develop a few more harmless fantasies starring his wife, no one had to know.
Tilda halted in front of him smelling fresh and citrusy. Funny, he’d never noticed her scent before and his imagination galloped toward the conclusion that she’d wanted to do something special for the occasion.
“We have a conference call at one o’clock with Wheatner and Ross,” she said by way of greeting.
A timely reminder. That’s why she was worth every dime of her paycheck. But he couldn’t seem to stop looking at the thin strand of hair that fell from her forehead down across her temple.
It wasn’t more than a millimeter wide, but it followed the line of her face to hit just under her jaw, and he had the strongest urge to slide it along his fingertips as he tucked it behind her ear. What madness was this, that she’d missed that miniscule bit of hair when she’d gotten dressed this morning?
New perfume. Defiant hair. Was it possible she was affected by the gravity of what they were about to do? Because he was. He’d lain awake last night, unable to close his eyes as he thought about the realities of having Tilda under his roof, how he’d see her in the morning before they left for work, have a cup of coffee together, even. Maybe he’d give her a ride. It only made sense that they’d go to the office together since they were coming from the same place. They could talk about things and—
Jonas might have a point about the inherent lack of professionalism that would come with having an easily accessible woman in his house. Too late now. He’d have to bank on the fact that he and Tilda had already discussed the necessary lack of intimacy.
Warren cleared his throat. “Then we should get on with it.”
She nodded with a slight smile. “It helps when we’re on the same wavelength.”
They always were. They were cut from the same cloth, which was what made her so easy to work with. Conversely, it also made it easier to imagine slipping in deeper with her, loosening her up, finding ways to make her laugh more. They’d be good together, if he ever did find himself unable to resist crossing that line.
No.
There would be no line crossing. The project was too important to take those kinds of risks. His vows were too important. He gestured to Jonas and Hendrix as he doled out the introductions.
“Mr. Kim.” Tilda shook Jonas’s hand briskly. “I worked on the campaign for your hybrid printer during the global rollout two years ago.”
Jonas’s brows lifted as he nodded. “That was a great product launch for Kim Electronics. I didn’t realize you were on that team. It was very impressive.”
Crossing his arms, Warren tried not to smile too smugly, failed—and then decided there was no shame in letting it be known that he only hired the best. Which shouldn’t be a surprise to