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"Sure, we’re going tomorrow to pick out a ring for you, remember?"
"Oh, r-right…." I stammer.
He nods. "Also, you decided to give the scoop to one of your most trusted journalist friends. And I’ve arranged for us to have a meeting with her, over lunch."
"Uhhh…" I gape at him.
"In fact”—he pulls out his phone and taps on the screen— “I’ve messaged James Hamilton to book out his restaurant so we can speak to the reporter without anyone bothering us."
“James Hamilton?” I frown. “You’re talking about the leading Michelin-starred chef on the continent?”
He nods.
“And he’s going to book out his restaurant and swallow the losses for you?” I fix him with a disbelieving look.
His phone vibrates. He looks at the screen, then holds it out to me.
JH: Done. Anything for you, buddy.
O-k-a-y. “Why would he do that for you?”
“He owes me,” Rick says simply.
I narrow my gaze. I shouldn’t be interested in his past. I don’t care to know why James Hamilton would owe him. Anyway, I have bigger issues here to worry about. Namely, the fact he said we're going to pick out a ring and that I’m supposedly engaged to him. Also, did we plan all this and now I don’t remember it? Nah, that’s not possible. I’m too careful, too much of an organizer to have decided all of this and forgotten about it. No, the only explanation is that he’s come up with this on the fly.
The toaster pops, and I snap out of my reverie. Before I can open my mouth to ask another question, he bends and presses a kiss to my forehead. "We’ll talk about this later,” he says in a firm voice.
I’m so shocked by the tenderness in his kiss that all I can do is gape. It’s the only reason I don’t protest or pull away. Yep, that’s why I stay silent. It doesn’t explain why I lean into the warmth of his body.
"You guys going to keep kissing or are you going to eat?" Finn says from behind us.
I stiffen. Rick pulls back and searches my features, then nods as if satisfied by what he sees. "I made you an omelet."
* * *
"I can’t walk into a jewelry store and pick out a ring." I pace the floor in front of the bed in our room.
Gah, I called it our room. Itisour room, but calling it our room makes this arrangement all too formal. It was only yesterday I ran into my ex, and today I’m pretending to be engaged again. And now, the entire world is going to find out I am engaged. How did this happen? Everything is moving too fast, and that’s a first for me. I’m used to being in control. I’m used to planning my day down to the last minute, and now, it’s as if everything I’ve worked for is slipping through my fingers.
"I can’t go through with this."
He looks at me from where he’s sprawled on the bed. He takes up so much space, the massive mattress seems to shrink in size, so it might as well be a single.
"Can’t go through with what?"
"This… stupid fake engagement you’ve gotten both of us into."
"I thought you said it was a great way to solve both of our problems." He flings his arm behind his back. His biceps bulge. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, which has seen better days. It stretches across his shoulders, outlining his pecs, as well as his nipples. Since when do I find a man’s nipples erotic? The T-Shirt rides up, and a strip of tanned skin shows over his waistband. My mouth waters, and my thighs clench. Jesus, this walking sex god is my roomie.
As if that weren't enough, he’s a brave man who faced real enemies on the front line. He won the Victoria’s Cross, the highest military honor in this country, and he can make a mean omelet. Also, he cares enough about his grandmother to want me to pose as his fiancée. Jesus, could he be more perfect? Also, did I mention he kisses with his entire body? Like he's completely present—heart and mind and body and tongue and lips and mouth and sculpted chest and powerful thighs. The man almost made me orgasm with the meeting of our mouths. How would it feel to have that tongue on other parts of me? A blush sweeps my face.
He looks at me with interest. "Care to share what you were thinking?"
"I was thinking it was you who said it was the answer to our problems, not me."
"And it’s late. I need to be up at five a.m. for practice."
"That’s all you’re going to say?" I plant my palms on my hips. "This is my future at stake."
