She’d had no idea that Finn had been planning this while they were riding back from Providence. Or how. They had kept their phones off, as agreed, and spent the hour of travel talking about everything and nothing—from growing up in the city to the challenges of architectural design in a world going green.
She’d learned that Finn hated spinach but loved the Red Sox, that he had his one and only B in seventh grade Science and that his first job had been delivering newspapers. She’d told him that her favorite food was cake, and that she’d been the last on her block to learn to ride a bike. She told him about the time she’d gotten lost in the train station and the day she got her braces.
It was the most she’d shared with anyone in a long, long time, and it had felt nice. Then the car pulled up in front of Finn’s building and Finn had turned to her and said, “All those details should really help when we meet with the adoption people,” and Ellie had been reminded that her marriage was nothing more than a sham.
If that was so, why had Finn gone to all this trouble to set up such a romantic tableau?
“How … when …” She let out a breath. “This is incredible, Finn.”
He grinned. “Thank you.”
“How did you do it?”
“Remember that rest stop we went to on the way back from Rhode Island?”
She nodded.
“I made a few phone calls while you were … indisposed.”
“A few fast phone calls. And clearly productive.”
“I’m a man who likes to get things done.” He reached for her hand, and she let that happen, wondering when touching Finn had become so easy or if she was just telling herself it was to preserve the mood, and then they walked forward onto the private terrace of his building, temporarily transformed into an outdoor dining room.
Just as Finn pulled out her chair, music began, a soft jazz floating from an unseen sound system. A waiter emerged from a door at the side, bearing a tray with water glasses and a carafe filled with two bottles—one a chilled white wine, the other a sparkling grape juice. He placed the water glasses on the table with merely a nod toward Ellie, then uncorked the wine and juice, pouring Ellie’s nonalcoholic version first, then Finn’s wine, before disappearing back through the door again. Finn had remembered she didn’t drink, and had clearly put a lot of time and thought into the entire evening. Why?
He raised his glass and tilted it toward her. “To … partnership.”
“Partnership,” she echoed, and ignored the flutter of disappointment in her gut. In the end, they would go their separate ways, and for that, Ellie was glad. She didn’t need the complication of dating Finn, of a relationship. Just enough information and time with him to effectively pretend …
Pretend they were in love. “And to business,” she added, for herself as much as him. “Only.”
THE glint of gold caught Finn’s eye before he was fully awake. It took a second before he remembered why he had a ring on his left hand. And why he was waking up in a room he didn’t recognize.
Last night. Marrying Ellie Winston. The rooftop dinner. The rings he’d given them—purchased earlier that evening by his assistant and delivered to the terrace before they arrived—so the two of them had the outward evidence of a marriage.
Then, after a dinner that alternated between tense and friendly, bringing her to her townhouse, and by mutual agreement, he’d spent the night. In the guest room.
Of his wife’s home.
From outside the room, he heard the sound of music. Something upbeat … a current pop hit. He got out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants from the bag he’d brought with him and padded out to the kitchen. Everything about Ellie’s townhome was like her—clean, neat, bright. Lots of whites and yellows with accents of blue. It was the complete opposite of his heavy oak, dark carpet apartment. Softer, more feminine. Nice.
Ellie was standing at the kitchen sink, her hips swaying in time to the music as she filled a carafe with water. She was already dressed for work in a pale blue skirt and a short-sleeved white sweater. Her hair was curled, the tendrils curving over her shoulders and down her back in tantalizing spirals. Her feet were bare, and for some reason, that made him feel like he was intruding. It was such an unguarded, at-home kind of thing.
And oh, so intimate.
In the light of day, the reality of moving in with Ellie presented a bit of a dilemma. Like how he was going to resist her when she was right there every day, in bare feet, humming along to the radio. How was he going to pretend he hadn’t felt anything with that kiss in the courthouse?
Because he did. He’d thought about it all last night, tossing and turning, a thousand percent aware she was also in bed, and mere feet down the hall. He’d made a concerted effort to keep their celebratory dinner more like a board meeting than a date, but still, a part of him had kept replaying that kiss. And had been craving another.
Hadn’t he learned his lesson already? Getting distracted by a relationship left him vulnerable. Made him make mistakes, like nearly marrying someone who wanted only to destroy him. He saw where that kind of foolishness got a person—and it wasn’t a path he wanted to travel.
So he forced his gaze away from her bare feet and her tantalizing curves, and cleared his throat. “Good morning.”
She spun around, and nearly dropped the carafe. “Finn. Oh, hi. I almost forgot …” A flush filled her face. “Good morning. Do you want some coffee?”
“Yes. Please.”
She busied herself with setting up the pot, then turning it on. When she was done, she pivoted back to him. “I’m sorry I don’t have much for breakfast. I’m usually running out the door with a muffin in my hand.”
“A muffin’s fine. Really. This whole … thing was unexpected.” His gaze kept straying back to the ring on her hand. He was now the husband of Ellie Winston. No … Ellie McKenna.
Just a few days ago he’d been thinking how he wanted a relationship without any drama. One based solely on common interests, none of that silly romantic stuff that clouded his brain and muddled his thinking. Now, he had that—
And for some reason, it disappointed him like hell.
What was he thinking? He didn’t need the crazy romantic notion of love. He needed something steady, dependable, as predictable as the columns in his general ledger. The problem was, there was a part of Ellie that Finn suspected, no, knew, was far from predictable. And that was dangerous.
The song shifted from pop to a ballad. The love song filled the room, stringing tension between them.
“I have, uh, blueberry and banana nut.” She waved toward the breadbox. “Muffins, I mean.”
He took a step farther into the kitchen. The walls were a butter-yellow, the cabinets a soft white. No clutter that he could see, merely a few things that added personality—a hand-painted ceramic bowl teeming with fruit, a deep green vase filled with fresh daisies, and a jade sculpture of a dragon, probably picked up in China. It seemed to suit her, this eclectic, homey mix.
Beside him, the coffeepot percolated with a steady drip-drip. The sun streamed in through the windows, showering those curls, those tantalizing curls, with gold. He wanted to reach up, capture one of those curls in his palm. “I’d love one.”
“Which?”
It took him a second to realize she meant which flavor, not which he wanted—her or the muffins. “Blueberry, please.”
“Sure.” She pivoted away, fast. The breadbox door raised with a rattle.