His Pretend Fiancee. Victoria Pade

arch of her foot and around of each of her toes. About the tip of his nose dipping into the hollow of her throat, using her collarbone as a guide to her naked shoulder and the perfect spot for soft kisses…

      “Behave yourself,” she said, unsure whether the warning was more for him or for herself. “So what’s the ‘something else’ you had to talk to me about?” she asked to put this conversation more on the up-and-up.

      Michael’s smile turned into a grin that made her wonder if he somehow knew the path down which her mind had wandered. But he didn’t say anything about that. Instead he complied with her demand to know what the something else was. “I announced our engagement to my mother this morning,” he said.

      “Ah. How did that go over?”

      He took another drink of his wine and shrugged before he said, “She was suspicious at first, but then she warmed to the news. The problem is, she wants us to go to her house for dinner tomorrow night so she can meet you.”

      “Why is that a problem?” Josie asked.

      Michael smiled again, dimpling up for her in a way that was like putting a hairdryer to an ice cube when it came to her resolves. “I was afraid you might have plans or not want to meet her so soon,” he confessed.

      “No, I don’t have any plans. And since I’ll need to meet your mother sooner or later, it might as well be sooner.”

      “So I can let her know we’ll be there?” he said, sounding relieved.

      “Sure.”

      “Well, you made that easy. Thanks.”

      For a moment Michael studied her as if she were too good to be true, and the warmth of those vibrant green eyes was like basking in spring sunshine.

      It was also the way he’d looked at her at times over Labor Day weekend.

      Just before he’d kissed her.

      And once again a rash of memories flooded her mind and tormented her.

      Only this time even thinking about toenail clippings wasn’t enough to stop it and she knew she had better retreat to the solitude of her own room before the torture got any worse.

      “If that’s all you wanted to talk about, I should go upstairs and put some of those clothes into the closet so I can get to bed tonight,” she said suddenly.

      It seemed to surprise him somewhat because his eyebrows arched and pulled together at once, as if he wasn’t quite sure what had brought that on. But how could he know, after all, when Josie was likely the only one of them thinking about kissing.

      She stood and took her empty glass to the dishwasher before he guessed what was going through her head.

      “Yeah, I’d better give my mother a call before I forget about it,” he said to her back, sounding a bit baffled.

      “I’ll let you get to that, then,” she said, tapping her thigh twice as a signal to Pip to follow her from the corner where the big dog was lying.

      “I probably won’t see you again before I go to bed, so good night,” she said, when the mastiff was by her side.

      “If you need anything—”

      “I’ll find it,” she assured him, calling Pip to follow her and leaving Michael sitting at the kitchen table.

      But even as she climbed the stairs to the upper level again she was still thinking about kissing him.

      About him kissing her.

      And there was one very big problem with that.

      She wasn’t only thinking about it in the past tense.

      Chapter Three

      “Manhattan Multiples. Can you hold, please?”

      Josie couldn’t hear whether the caller had agreed or not but pressed the hold button on the telephone anyway. She had to. In the waiting room directly in front of her reception kiosk, her boss, Eloise Vale had the sound turned up on the television and she was shouting at the screen as if the mayor would stop his press conference to listen to her.

      “Stubborn jackass!” Eloise yelled. “Don’t you do it, Bill Harper! Don’t you say you’re cutting us off! I swear, if you do…”

      The founder of Manhattan Multiples paused as the mayor announced that in an effort to keep the economy afloat during the current recession he would very likely be ending funding for organizations such as Manhattan Multiples.

      “War!” Eloise declared. “This is war now, Harper! I can’t believe I nearly married you! I must have been out of my mind! If you think I’ll sit still for this, you have another thought coming! Because I won’t! I haven’t worked this hard, this long, just to let you wipe me out with your stupid bureaucracy!”

      By that time the entire staff and several of the clients were rallied behind Eloise and everyone clapped and cheered. Including Josie who not only liked her job and didn’t want to leave it just yet, but also believed that Manhattan Multiples provided a valuable service to women who were either pregnant with more than one baby or had just delivered more than one. As well as the families of those women.

      Eloise Vale turned off the television and the mayor’s press conference with a vengeance and spun around to face the group that had gathered behind her.

      “I don’t want any of you to worry. I’m going to do my best to make sure our doors stay open. No matter what it takes. I believe in Manhattan Multiples and I won’t let it go,” she said with conviction before she left the waiting room.

      But despite her war cry, Josie still knew her boss was concerned with the future of the place that was as much Eloise’s baby as the triplets she’d delivered thirteen years ago.

      Manhattan Multiples was a multifaceted center occupying three floors of a building on Madison Avenue. Eloise had started it as a support group for women having multiple babies, but since its inception in 1995 it had ballooned into a counseling center, numerous support groups, Lamaze training, day care, meditation and yoga classes. All provided invaluable aid and comfort for the additional difficulties and complications of carrying and having more than one baby at a time.

      But in the strained economy it was easy to see why funding for such a specialty organization would be the first to go.

      Josie suddenly remembered the call she’d put on hold and answered it once again. The woman on the other end needed to enroll in the next session of Lamaze and Josie directed the call to scheduling.

      When she hung up, Eloise’s assistant Allison Baker joined her in the kiosk and provided her with the opportunity to satisfy some curiosity that had risen during Eloise’s tirade at the television.

      “I didn’t know Eloise nearly married the mayor,” Josie whispered.