Husband By The Hour

“Only a little. So what kind of guy would you ask for, Hannah? Who’s your ideal man?”

The numbness spread up her face, although strangely enough, she could actually feel her eyelashes.

Him. He was perfect, at least physically. But she wasn’t about to say that. She would have to be a whole lot drunker than this to confess that little secret to Nick.

“Someone who follows the rules,” she said.

He winced as if she’d slapped him. “That one hurt. Are you implying I’m not a rule follower?”

“You’re a common criminal.”

“I might be a criminal, but I’ve never been common.” He leaned back in the booth. “How long do you need the guy for?”

“Three or four days. Just to drive north, meet my family, then come back.”

“Sounds simple enough. What does it pay?”

“Why do you ask?”

He held out both hands, palms up. “You could never phone an escort service to hire someone and we both know it Call the interest a friendly gesture on my part”

“But we’re not friends,” she muttered, then cleared her throat Nick? A temporary husband? She shuddered. It would never work.

“How much?” he asked. When she stared at him blankly, he asked, “How much are you willing to pay?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t thought about money.” What was the going hourly rate for fake husbands these days? “It doesn’t matter. You’re not right for this. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

She started to slide out of the booth, but it was harder to move than she thought it would be. Then he placed his hand over hers and that darn heat started up again, and she didn’t want to move.

“I’m happy to help,” he said. “I need to get out of town for a few days anyway.”

“Oh, I’ll just bet you do. What is it this time? A real-estate deal gone wrong? Or maybe the husband of one of your women decided to take matters into his own hands.”

Nick stared at her for a long time. Something flickered in his gaze, something dark and secretive. Then he blinked and it was gone. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said lightly. “Face it, Hannah. Where else are you going to find a man willing to pretend to be your husband on such short notice?”

He was right She certainly didn’t have the skills to seduce a man into doing it, nor was there a man around. Except for Nick. Not that she was interested in seducing Nick.

She hunched over, half expecting lightning to strike. When it didn’t she straightened. She could do worse. At least he was gorgeous. And he thought on his feet. If anyone started asking questions, Nick would be able to ward them off. It was only for a couple of days and it wasn’t as if she was overflowing with other options.

“I’ll pay two hundred dollars and the travel expenses,” she said, then nearly bit her tongue in her haste to call the words back. But it was too late.

He raised his eyebrows. “I was thinking more of a trade. One weekend of husbanding for one night of—”

She raised her hand. “Don’t say it.”

“Passionate lovemaking,” he finished.

She winced. “Four hundred, in cash. No touching.”

“Let’s spend the weekend negotiating. When do you want to leave?”

Was there really a choice? Despite all her talk, she would never have been able to call an escort service. Wasn’t bringing Nick along better than breaking an old woman’s heart? “In the morning. I want to be there on Saturday.”

“Where is there?”

“Northern California.”

He held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

She wished she had another shot to give her courage. She wished she’d never mentioned it in the first place. She wished she’d never gotten in his car.

But wishing didn’t change anything and he was her best bet. That’s probably why she was here, having a drink with him. The power of the subconscious mind at work.

She slipped her hand in his and they shook. The contact was electric. She expected to see smoke and fire, but there was only Nick smiling at her. Enjoying her predicament and having power over her at last.

And he did have power. Comparing his power to the power of the subconscious mind was like comparing an eighteen-wheeler to a toy truck. She had a bad feeling she had just stepped in front of headlights and was about to be mowed down.

Chapter Two (#ulink_1403ccb5-1aff-5e5e-a226-a4b2ba1aa22c)

Hannah stared at the front door. She didn’t want to open it. Not only because her head hurt and the thought of sunlight was enough to bring tears to her eyes, but also because she didn’t want to face the man on the other side.

Insanity. There was no other explanation. Maybe it ran in her family. She’d been adopted, so there was no way to tell. Or maybe her blood sugar had dipped below the normal range and she’d had a brief blackout episode. Whatever the explanation, she didn’t have the guts to face him and accept what they’d agreed to do.

He knocked again. “Hannah? Are you awake?”

“Yes,” she whispered even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. She cleared her throat and spoke more loudly. “I’m right here. Hold on.”

She turned the key in the dead-bolt lock and pulled open the door. Nick stood on the front step of her town house. The sunlight made her blink, as did Nick. It wasn’t fair. Even in her weakened condition—with her head pounding and her stomach rolling—he looked good. Better than good. He looked tempting.

She was used to being impressed by his sheer male beauty. He was a California cliché with his blond hair, blue eyes and loose, easy stride. The well-made suits he wore only enhanced his assets. If he had any physical flaws, she’d never noticed. She’d gotten used to ignoring his good looks, his tailored clothing, his bright smile. They were meaningless trappings that merely concealed the flaws in his character. She was immune.

Well, unless she had a hangover. She stood in the doorway and reminded herself to breathe. In and out, in and out until the involuntary function kicked back in on its own. He wasn’t wearing a suit, or handmade shoes, or even a tie. Instead, he’d dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His boots looked worn. But the smile was just as devastating as it always had been. Thank the Lord she could blame her weak knees on her hangover.

“You look awful,” he said cheerfully and pushed past her into the town house. “Hangover?”

“No,” she murmured between clenched teeth. The volume of his voice made her head ache. “I feel fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He moved in front of her, shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I can tell. Are you packed?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t only the effects of the alcohol that were slowing her down. It was also lack of sleep. At four in the morning, her eyes had popped open. Despite how awful she felt, or perhaps because of it, she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. She’d stared at the ceiling alternately praying that her memories about their evening together had been a dream, then hoping they were real.

“Did you take anything?” he asked. “Aspirin?”

She nodded, then wished she hadn’t actually moved her head.

His smile was sympathetic. “You’re such a straitlaced person, I doubt I could talk you into trying the hair of the dog, right?”