When he pulled up in front of the Del Mar Hotel, a valet scurried to open his door while a bellman did the same for Allison, then pounced on the bags. That was one drawback to driving a Porsche: everyone assumed you’d be a big tipper.
He didn’t disappoint either man. Then he joined Allison by the revolving door and guided her inside with a hand at the small of her back.
Her bare back. Low-cut jeans and a crop top left her midriff bare. Funny, he couldn’t recall ever seeing Allison’s midsection before. Even when she rode her bike, she wore baggy shorts or sweats and oversize T-shirts.
He pulled his hand away, feeling sort of weird about touching Allison. She was like a sister to him. Of course, if they were going to fool anyone into believing they were engaged, he would have to stifle any brotherly feelings and summon up some fake sexual sparks. He would have to get used to touching her.
The check-in desk was swamped with conventioneers. Jeff resigned himself to standing in line for a while. “You can go sit down if you want,” he said to Allison. “I’ll handle check-in.”
“No, that’s all right,” she said coolly. “I’ve been sitting for three hours. Do you think they have a health club here?”
“It’s a big hotel. I’m sure they do.”
“Good. I missed my usual ride this morning, so I’d like to make it up on the stationary bike.”
“Do you ride every day?”
“Six days a week. I’m training for a century next month.”
“Century?”
“A hundred-mile ride.”
Damn. He was in pretty good shape, and there was no way he could ride a bike for a hundred miles. Not unless someone gave him a week to do it. Since when had Allison become a jock? He seemed to recall that in a high school gym class she’d once hidden in the bushes to avoid being chosen for a softball team.
“Speaking of riding, how’s the elbow?” he asked her. “And the road rash?”
“All better.” She showed him her elbow, which sported a fading bruise and just a thin scab. “I’m a fast healer. Oh, Jeff, I think that woman is trying to get your attention.”
Jeff tensed, thinking it might be Sherry. But then he realized Allison was nodding toward one of the hotel clerks, who had just opened up a new station. She was looking straight at Jeff and motioning him to come be the first in her line, even though there were half a dozen people ahead of him.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he waltzed up to the desk.
“Hi, Dr. Hardison,” the bouncy clerk said.
“How did you—”
“I checked you in last year, remember? You requested feather pillows and a standing wake-up call for 6:00 a.m.”
Jeff was flabbergasted. “How do you remember that? You must check in fifty people a day, if not more.”
“Yeah, but none of them are as good-looking as you,” she said with an unmistakable come-hither look.
Oh, yeah. He remembered her now—remembered that beehive of bright red hair and the china-doll face.
“I have you down for the two-room suite with…oh, with a Ms. Allison Crane.” She blushed.
“Dr. Crane,” Allison said, setting her credit card on the desk.
Jeff scooped up the card and handed it back to her. “I’ll get this…darling.”
Allison’s skin prickled with awareness as the darling sank in. How many times had she fantasized that word coming out of Jeff’s mouth, those blue eyes looking at her with adoration, just as they were now?
This game they were playing was a mistake. She’d known that going in, known that deception of any kind always got her in trouble. But she’d done it anyway, because she’d thought pretending to be engaged might be fun. She hadn’t counted on Jeff being such a good actor, producing these unwanted effects in her.
The clerk looked mortified over her faux pas. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Doctor. Doctor Crane. I wouldn’t have been…I didn’t know he was—”
“Engaged,” Jeff said smoothly. “Allison is my fiancée.”
The clerk found a smile. “How lovely. May I see your ring?”
Allison looked up at Jeff, slightly panicked. “Um, I don’t have—”
“We’re planning to shop for a ring while we’re in the city,” Jeff said. “We don’t really have a good jewelry store selection in our hometown. Cottonwood is pretty small.”
Allison hadn’t realized Jeff could be such a smooth liar.
“You’ll have to show me the rock when you get it,” the clerk said to Allison with a wink as she handed each of them an electronic key, having apparently overcome her embarrassment. “I love diamonds.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Allison murmured, then immediately felt guilty for being so catty. The clerk was just being friendly, and Allison could hardly blame her for flirting.
“You’re in Suite 1516. If you’ll point out your bags, I’ll have the bellman bring them up.”
Jeff gestured toward their matching suitcases, then casually slung an arm around Allison’s shoulders and guided her to the elevator. The clerk watched them walk away, her eyes downright misty, before turning her attention to the next person in line.
“Well, wasn’t that sweet,” Allison said, stepping out of Jeff’s light embrace the moment the elevator doors closed. She hoped he didn’t notice her accelerated breathing, or the fact that beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead. “Is that how it is for you all the time? Women throwing themselves at your feet?”
“No, of course not. Some women just like to flirt. She’s probably saying the exact same thing to the next person she checks in.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. She remembered you.”
Jeff shrugged. “Some women have a thing for doctors. Anyway, getting hit on is a problem women have more than men, I think.”
Not me, she wanted to add, because it was true. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to fend off an unwanted advance. Maybe it was Hughey Jobson, in sixth grade, who’d threatened to kiss her on the mouth if she didn’t hand over her Twinkies from lunch. But pointing that out would only gain Jeff’s sympathy, not his passion.
“Well, anyway,” she said, “I wish you would warn me next time before you present me as your fiancée. I wasn’t ready.”
“I thought we needed the practice.”
“I’m supposed to protect you from Sherry. I didn’t know I’d have to smile and simper for everybody.”
“No one said anything about smiling and simpering. Jeez, that’s not the kind of woman you think I’d marry, is it?”
“I can’t see you marrying anyone.”
He leaned against the elevator wall and folded his arms. “Why is that?”
“You’re too fickle.” She folded her own arms, mirroring his posture. “You buy a new car every six months. You throw out milk before the expiration date, and you won’t eat a banana if it has a single brown spot. You have no tolerance for imperfection. Every woman you date has some fault—this one has an annoying