An Indecent Proposal

Chapter 1





Three months later



I needed a husband—and fast. Not literally, of course. Just for the weekend, or as long as my stepfather would be in town. A relationship was the excuse I had given for not visiting Waterfront Shore for the last three years. Three years of running away from the place of my dreams and nightmares, and a past better left buried forever. And now my lie was catching up with me, because there was no husband or fiancé in sight, not even a boyfriend or a date to play the part.

“Hire an actor,” said Jude, who was looking up from her computer screen. “In fact, he’s perfect.” She jumped up and headed over to me, her chiffon dress revealing long, tanned legs as she sat down on the sofa and tucked her legs beneath her. I stared open-mouthed at the half-naked model on the screen. He looked hot, no doubt about it, but he also looked—

“Desperate,” I mumbled to myself.

“I wouldn’t exactly call you ‘desperate.’ More like ‘inventive’ or—”

“Thanks,” I muttered, cutting her off. “But I was talking about the guy.”

For a moment we remained silent as I read the text beneath the picture of a man with a strong chin, dark brown hair, and eyes the color of an ocean shimmering in the sunlight, a shade of eye color I’d never seen before. I figured it was either Photoshopped, or they were contact lenses, which only managed to fortify my first impression of him.

Desperate. Plain desperate.

And his description in his own words didn’t help improve his image, either.

Chase is a very nice, humorous, and down-to-earth lover of female beauty. He knows how to cook and offers to carry things when shopping.

“He sounds dreamy,” Jude gushed.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her. “He sounds like a bellboy with playboy aspirations. Either that, or he’s a crook waiting for gullible women to fall for his creepy charm. I bet the profile’s fake.”

Oblivious to my sarcasm, or maybe she was just ignoring me, Jude picked up the phone and dialed the number in his contact details. I stared at her, not believing that she was going for it. I figured she’d come to her senses the moment she heard the guy’s voice, which I imagined was old and cheesy, and even creepier than the fake profile.

“Hey, is that Chase?” Jude held her breath as she listened, then gave me the thumbs-up.

I shook my head in exasperation and dashed for the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, then pressed my back against the cold wall as I forced myself to take slow sips. Maybe Jude had time to waste on yet another one of her usual absurd ideas, but one of us had to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground. Hiring an actor to play my husband wasn’t going to happen because it would only backfire.

Just tell the truth, Hanson. How hard can it be?

I swallowed.

It wasn’t an option. Not even a possibility. If the truth came out, it’d kill me, meaning I’d have to come up with a plan.

“Guess who’s got a date tonight,” Jude singsonged from the door.

I turned my head wearily to regard her. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a strange glint in her eyes, like she had just run a few miles, or had marathon sex. She grabbed the water bottle out of my hands and took a swig, then handed it back to me. “Come on, play along.”

I shot her a desolate look.

Please. Let this be a joke.

“Who?” I asked halfheartedly.

“You, Hanson. Chase is picking you up at seven,” she gushed, and I couldn’t keep my shoulders from dropping. “You two are going to have dinner, during which you can talk about the job, and, who knows, one thing might just lead to another.” She winked, leaving the rest unspoken.

Usually, I would have laughed at her dirty imagination, but right now all I could do was stare at her, open-mouthed. Cold and hot chills ran down my spine at the realization that with picking up she actually meant the guy was coming over.

“You gave the creep my home address?” My voice sounded thin, but there was a menacing undertone in it that didn’t escape even Jude.

“How else was he supposed to pick you up?” She shrugged defensively, but there was unease in her eyes. “Besides, I didn’t give him your real name.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, fighting the urge to shake some much-needed sense into her. “Let’s hope he can’t read the correct name on the mailbox or ask the concierge. Or remember my face and stalk me home from the grocery store.”

“He won’t. He sounds like a pretty nice guy.” She nodded, probably trying to convince herself as much as me.

Yeah, like sociopaths didn’t usually masquerade as nice guys.