The Trophy Wife. Sandra Steffen

flavor of her lip gloss. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, and stood statue-still, desire uncurling deep inside him.

      Whoa. He appreciated Amber’s offer to help, and he would tell her so. After that, he was going to have to lay out a few ground rules. He needed this position, and the credibility it would bring. Okay, maybe he even needed a new suit. If she thought he would bleach his hair and wear blue contacts, she was mistaken. If he got that position, it would be because of who he was, the man inside, not the trappings.

      They were going to pretend to be engaged. He didn’t like the idea of lying, even if it was under the guise of pretending. But he didn’t see any other way.

      He and Amber were already becoming friends. That part was real. He would hold it there. There would be no real passion between them.

      He would tell her as soon as he saw her tomorrow. He started for his nondescript, dependable car and got in. Now, he thought, trying to find a comfortable position in jeans that were suddenly a good size too small, if only somebody would break it to his body.