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She didn’t want to wear the heartbreakingly beautiful ring.
She’d once dreamt of the moment when a man she loved and who loved her in return would put an engagement ring on her finger. Connor wasn’t that man, would never be that man and this definitely wasn’t that moment. She knew that. But she still didn’t want him to put that ring on her finger.
‘Why can’t you wear it?’ he asked, flattening her hand between his palms, turning it over. ‘You don’t want to be my mistress. Fine, I understand that. So we put the ring on. You become my fiancée for the next two weeks. Problem solved.’
She looked at him, saw the confidence, the arrogance and that devilish determination and wanted to kick him—not to mention herself. How could she explain her objections without coming across as a romantic fool? And why had she objected to being his mistress in the first place? When the alternative he’d found seemed a thousand times more disturbing. She felt as if she’d sashayed out of the frying pan and crashed headlong into the fire.
‘But I’m not your fiancée. It would be a lie. I don’t think it’s right. To lie, that is.’ Great, now she sounded like a self-righteous prig instead.
He chuckled. ‘Angel, don’t take this so seriously. It’s only for two weeks.’ He brushed her cheek. ‘We have some fun, my business deal is settled and no one’s pride is compromised. Fair enough?’
It sounded so reasonable when he said it like that. Was she blowing this out of proportion? Making a big deal about nothing? Hadn’t Mrs Valdermeyer also accused her of taking things too seriously? If she wanted to enjoy the next two weeks, make the most of them, didn’t she have to learn to relax first?
She sighed. ‘Fine, but you’ll have to do all the introductions. I’m not good at lying to people.’
He smiled. ‘It won’t be a lie, just one of the shortest engagements on record,’ he said and slipped the ring on her finger. But as the cool silver slid down she felt another band tighten around her heart.
Connor felt the slight tremble as he held her wrist to push the ring home. He steadfastly ignored the answering jump in his pulse. Sure he’d never put a ring on any woman’s finger before, and never intended to again. The strange surge of pride, of satisfaction as he did it, didn’t mean a thing. Not a blessed thing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘I’VE got to tell you, it’s been fabulous meeting you, Daisy,’ Jessie Latimer said, her bright face brimming with enthusiasm. ‘Monroe and I always knew the woman to capture Connor’s heart would have to be very special. After all, he’s quite a handful.’
‘Yes, he is.’ Daisy clutched the stem of her champagne glass and forced herself to smile back—not easy when her face ached and she felt as if she were about to throw up. Connor Brody wasn’t just a handful, he was quite possibly a dead man after putting her in this excruciating predicament. Especially as it had come totally out of the blue.
The last week had gone by in a whirlwind of sights, sounds and activities. Daisy had never been anywhere as full on as New York before or with anyone as full on as Connor. And, despite all her misgivings, they’d had a wonderful time. They’d managed to pack in the Metropolitan Opera, the Met, Coney Island and the Circle Line tour, and in between times had had the best sex of Daisy’s life. Because Connor was as full on a lover as he was a tour guide, but she’d soaked up every amazing sight and mind-blowing sexual experience and found she still wanted more. They’d both been determined to keep things light and non-committal. They didn’t talk about the future and they didn’t delve into each other’s real lives and, as a consequence, she’d had very little time to dwell on the whole ‘fake engagement’ thing.
She thought she’d been handling it really well.
In fact, in the last six days, she’d only had two major hurdles to overcome. The worst had been the first night, when she’d tried to take the ring off in the bathroom of their suite and Connor had asked her to leave it on. He’d given her some excuse about not wanting to buy another if she lost it, a cocky smile on his lips, but when they’d made love that night and she’d spotted the ring winking at her she’d felt that funny clutch in her heart again. And it had taken her over an hour to fall asleep, despite the jet lag.
She’d handled the second hurdle much better. Being introduced to a group of Connor’s business associates at an exclusive cocktail party the previous night had been a cinch in comparison. She’d decided that she’d settled into the charade now and it would be plain sailing from here on in. All she need do was think of herself as an actress playing a role.
But then they’d arrived at the opening of the brand-new Latimer Gallery twenty minutes ago, and Connor had introduced her to Monroe Latimer—a world-famous artist whose work Daisy had admired at the Tate Britain only a few months ago—and his wife, Jessie. And the subterfuge of pretending to be Connor’s fiancée had become a thousand times tougher.
It had been obvious as soon as they’d been introduced that the couple were close friends of Connor. As he’d given her no warning, Daisy had assumed that Connor would simply tell them the truth. But when Jessie had spotted the ring and got excited, Connor had lied without a qualm, even talking about their wedding plans, before Monroe had dragged him off to find a beer.
Consequently, Daisy had been stuck lying through her teeth to a woman she’d warmed to instantly. A fellow Brit, Jessie Latimer had been friendly and funny and welcoming from the get-go; she’d been gracious and not at all big-headed when Daisy had gushed about the gallery and her husband’s work and told Daisy some sweet and charming anecdotes about the couple’s three daughters and what it was like to be an Englishwoman in New York. But the instant they’d got onto the subject of Daisy’s impending nuptials, Daisy had felt as if she were being strangled by her conscience.
She wasn’t a dishonest person—and she was fast discovering that she was a rubbish actress too.
‘You’re so different from the other women he’s dated,’ Jessie said. Her eyes widened and she touched Daisy’s arm. ‘God, I’m sorry, that sounded really gauche. But I mean it in the best possible way. Monroe and I have known him for three years now—ever since we started this project.’ She glanced round the loft-style space in Tribeca which housed some of New York’s most prestigious modern art. ‘We hit it off with Connor right away, not just as an investment partner but as a friend,’ Jessie continued. ‘But Monroe and I could never get over some of the bimbos he dated.’ She gave an easy laugh. ‘I’m so glad he’s finally found a woman who can match him. It’s what he’s always needed in his life, I suspect. Although it’s taken him a hell of a long time to figure it out.’
Daisy felt her fake smile crack. Why had he lied to his friends like this? It was awful. The diamond ring felt like a lead weight on her finger as she lifted the champagne flute to her lips and took a fortifying sip. Her heart pounded so hard in her throat it threatened to cut off her air supply.
‘Is there something wrong, Daisy? You’re looking a little pale.’
Daisy’s stomach took a swooping drop. This was the moment of truth. She couldn’t continue lying to this woman. No wonder she looked pale—she was definitely going to be sick any moment.
‘I don’t know how to say this,’ she said, her fingers shaking on the glass and making the champagne slop to the rim.
‘What is it?’ Concern darkened Jessie’s eyes, making Daisy feel like even more of a fraud.
‘We’re not engaged. Connor and I.’
Jessie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re not?’
‘No.’ Daisy stared down at her hands, the glint of diamonds on her ring finger only adding to her shame. ‘We’re not getting married. We only met two weeks ago. He’s my neighbour. He paid for me to come here so I could pose as his fiancée.’
