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Harper’s body stiffened, and she pulled out of his embrace. “This isn’t a nanny match, Madelyn.”
“Jesus, here we go,” he muttered.
“I’m not his nanny. This is an arrangement. I need the winnings to help my grandmother, and Landon needs help with his niece and time to work on his music.”
“An arrangement,” Madelyn repeated. “And one that includes childcare assistance.”
“Yes, that’s what I said,” Harper answered.
“So, you have nothing against being a nanny. You just don’t want to be Landon’s nanny.”
“That’s right,” his bullheaded wife answered with a triumphant air. “And I already have a job teaching music online. There’s no room in my life to work as a nanny.”
“Ah, then I’m correct,” Madelyn replied with a sly grin. “This is simply a semantics issue. You’re able to complete nannying tasks, but you don’t want to be labeled as the nanny? It’s the word, not the meaning.”
Harper frowned. “Are you trying to use your nanny-match ninja mind-control on me?”
Madelyn chuckled. “I’m simply noticing the obvious. You’ll conceal your nanny duties under the guise of being the child’s aunt.”
“But I am her aunt—on paper,” Harper fired back.
“Indeed, you are,” Madelyn answered as her grin widened. “For the next sixty days.”
“But not as a nanny-match.” Harper turned to him. “It’s adare-match. I’m your sixty-day dare-match wife.” The chain slipped out from the neck of the T-shirt and dangled between her breasts. The diamond glinted in the light. She looked down and touched the rings. “We should probably wear these, you know, for appearance’s sake.” She unclasped the chain and slid the rings into her palm. She started to put the wedding ring on, but he stopped her.
“Let me.”
She watched him closely, then handed him the rings. “Give me your ring.”
He removed the chain and handed her the matching platinum band.
“Put out your hand,” she said, and just like the last time, well, minus the hoard of drunk ballerinas and bellowing gladiators, she gazed up at him. “Will you be my dare-match husband for the next sixty days?”
“I will. I mean, I do.”
She slid the ring on his finger. He wasn’t one for jewelry, but this ring was different.
“Your turn,” she said.
He gazed at the rings, then swallowed hard. “Will you be my wife?”
She stared up at him with a creased brow.
“I mean, will you be my sixty-day dare-match wife?”
“I will,” she answered, and in the middle of a bakery, he slipped the wedding ring and then the diamond ring onto her finger.
Harper glanced around the room and grinned. “We seem to do this in the strangest of circumstances.”
He leaned in, wanting to kiss her and seal the temporary vow again. He’d probably lost his mind somewhere between the insanity of marrying Harper in Vegas and agreeing to do this contest. But he didn’t care—not one bit. He didn’t give a damn that a trio of bakers, some random lawyer, his manager, and the nanny matchmaker were standing a few feet away from them. With the scent of chocolate in the air, one fact bubbled to the surface in his scrambled brain.
Harper would be his for the next sixty days.
He was ready to give in and start pretending to be husband and wife, when Mitzi’s phone chimed.
“Sorry,” the woman said, then pulled her cell from her bag. She glanced at the screen and frowned. “It’s Bess.”
“Who’s Bess?” Harper asked.
