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She crossed the room, opened the door to the large walk-in closet, and rooted around under the shoe rack for the rectangular box she kept hidden. She brought it back to the bed and crossed her legs on the mattress, patting the spot beside her before opening the lid. Pictures, articles, and pamphlets practically erupted from the small space she confined them to.
Dean closely examined several sheets of paper before he looked up with a questioning gaze. “What the heck is all this?”
The irritation that flared inside her at every pointless dinner party thrown under the guise of raising money caught fire again. “I am so sick of my parents and all their friends pretending like they are so wonderful because they hold auctions and galas and stupid garden parties.” She snorted a frustrated huff out of her nose. “They spend more on the event than they actually send to the people who need it.”
He squinted at her and scratched the back of his neck. “That sounds about right from what you’ve told me about your folks, but…that still doesn’t explain this.” He waved a hand across the mess spread out before him.
“Because I’m going to go there. And there. And there. And maybe there too.” She pointed at half a dozen pictures and passion blossomed in her gut. “I’m not going to send money and brag about it to my stuffy, snooty friends, I’m going to go there and help them and dig wells for water and give the kids vaccines and…I don’t know what else, but I am going to do it.”
Silence fell between them long enough that Jillian’s stomach churned, expecting her best friend in the whole world to laugh at the private dream she held. She squeezed her eyes closed tight and then dared to look at him again.
A much more genuine smile lit up his face. “If anyone can do it, Jillybean, it’s you.”
Chapter Seven
Dean
Present Day
Frazzled auburn hair and a blatantly pained expression should not have ignited the silent smoldering embers of desire in Dean’s gut just from thinking of Jillian, but when it was combined with a practically see through shirt and nonexistent sleep shorts, it did. It definitely did.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and propped her elbow on the side of the refrigerator. “When the hell did you start playing a one man band in your kitchen at too damn early o’clock? The Dean I knew loved to sleep in.”
The deep sense of rightness that cemented itself at the sight of Jillian in his bed last night after she passed out from one too many drinks warred with frustration inside him. “Eight a.m. isn’t all that early considering the fact that it’s a workday, and that wasn’t a marching band, it’s called making breakfast.” He nodded toward the small round table a few feet away. “Go sit down.”
She grumbled and groaned, but shuffled over to the wooden chair and slumped into it. “I don’t think I could possibly eat anything.”
Dean plated the omelet and grabbed the glass sitting beside the stove. He set the dish in front of her as gently as possible to avoid a loud clatter that would undoubtedly cause her already throbbing head to riot more. “You need to at least try. This is my famous hangover special, after all. It’s solved more morning after regrets than I can count…and not just mine.”
She sipped on the Bloody Mary and peeped up at him with one bloodshot eye as he took the seat next to her. “I thought your regrets usually came in D cups with bleached blonde hair.”
The regretfully accurate barb pricked his conscious. As always he pushed aside the real emotions and relied on a dramatic chest clutch. “Why, Jillybean, you wound me.”
She twisted her lips to the side for a moment before shoving a small forkful of the veggie laden omelet in her mouth. “No woman has ever hurt the untouchable Dean Carlisle.”
He swallowed back the involuntary laugh that bubbled up in his throat. The woman was damn near killing him right now with this whole fake engagement bullshit and she had the nerve to say that? With more sincerity than brain cells, he shook his head. “You aren’t just any woman. You’re my best friend.” He pulled himself together enough to toss her a cockier-than-he-felt grin. “And my soon-to-be wife.”
“Temporarily. Only eighteen months.” She waved her fork in his direction before spearing more food. “Give or take.”
A fleeting glimmer of hope fluttered behind his breastbone like a delicate butterfly. “Give or take?”
Jillian looked from her plate to the wall to the sliding glass door on the opposite side of the townhouse that led to the small back deck. Everywhere but directly at him. Normally a bad sign, but one that couldn’t help but feed the lovesick beast inside him that he practically loathed at times.
He curled a finger under her chin and pulled gently to bring her to face him. “Don’t you think your fiancé deserves a little more explanation there, Jillybean?”
Her green eyes disappeared behind her lids for several seconds before she brought her gaze to meet his. “We have to stay married for eighteen months for me to access the trust fund, but then there is a process of actually getting the money as well as the divorce proceedings so…” Her voice trailed off on a sigh. “There’s a chance this fake marriage could last a couple of years.”
A completely inappropriate smile begged to break free across his face and Dean coughed a few times to try and hide his glee. “Two years?” Hell, in that length of time making Jillian fall for him was damn near a given.
“Listen.” She laid a hand on his forearm and turned to face him. “I don’t expect you to give up…anything for me. Asking you to stop dating, stop having fun, stop…well, being Dean Carlisle for me isn’t fair. You’re still free to do whatever you want. This is a name only thing.”
Bullshitandhell noraced through his mind, but he kept the words as far from his tongue as possible. He was thankfully saved from saying more by a loud alert from the phone in his pocket that had Jillian moaning and clutching her skull so tightly her knuckles whitened under the pressure.
As quickly as possible he slid the device out, swiped across the screen a few times, and clicked the button on the side to silence it. “Sorry, that was Mat letting me know he was out front.”
Jillian squeezed her eyelids into slits open enough to barely show a small strip of her irises. “Mat? As in your cousin Mat? What the hell is he doing here and why the hell is he picking you up?” She groaned again and completely closed her eyes. “And since when did you make an air horn your text tone?”
Dean chuckled and rubbed her back. “He works at the ranch with me. I’m having him pick me up so you can rest. Bring the truck out when the parade in your head ends.” When she finally looked at him again, he gave her a wink and grin. “Then we can bring my bike home. You’ll love it.”
