Unexpectedly His(11)

Then again, a little fact-finding mission might be fun, her inner siren whispered. Her stomach flipped.

She drew in a long breath and fought to stay calm. No need to get flustered and back out. This engagement was all business. He needed a short-term fiancée and she needed a date, preferably one that was guaranteed and as ridiculously sexy as Nick Wright. As long as she didn’t tumble head over heels for the man, which she would not, the deal was a win for both of them. Easy peasy, right?

Nick shot her one of his killer smiles, and the butterflies in her stomach responded with a take-no-prisoners party.

Right.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.





Chapter Four


I used to get the feeling, and sometimes I still get it, that I was fooling somebody—I don’t know who—maybe myself.

—Marilyn Monroe

An hour later, after attempting to soothe her frayed nerves with a class of restorative yoga, Marianne stood on the corner of 23rd and Lex, sipped her anti-anxiety tea, and gaped at the text on her phone. Am I a genius, or what?

A genius? She stared at the words. Took a breath. And kept walking west toward her townhouse on the edge of Gramercy Park. A list of appropriate responses raced through her brain. What were you thinking mixing me up with your brother? Ambushing me outside the gym? Or the ever-pertinent, I was wearing my Zumba gear, for crying out loud.

But instead of typing any of them, she stared at the screen. Her six week engagement was an unholy bargain. But six weeks was just one month, plus fourteen days, and what percentage of her soul could she lose in one month—and fourteen days? She scrolled to the next text. Don’t overthink his proposal, just say yes.

Okay, fine, she’d said yes—but now she was definitely overthinking it. She quickened her pace. Had she really agreed to play house with the scorching hot financial attorney who’d been starring in her dreams for the past seven months, or was that just some crazy, Zumba-driven hallucination?

Not that they’d ever get married. Engaged, yes. A fake engagement, she reminded herself, twisting her key into the lock of the wraparound gate. Opening the entrance to the private park, she slipped through the wrought iron and scrolled to the next text. Think of it as a six week test of your new sexy skills.#p#分页标题#e#

Her new sexy skills. The words rolled around her thoughts. Sure, she’d popped out of a cake, but she’d also suffered a meltdown afterward and run off like some frazzled version of Cinderella— Did she really have any skills? Let’s face it, this engagement deal was definitely a risk. If Nick found out she’d been the woman in the cake and felt disappointed, or worse, chuckled at New Girl trying sexy on for size, she’d never survive. Being jilted for a high-priced dominatrix was humiliating enough. Yes, that’s correct. An actual dominatrix. Honestly, it wasn’t the other woman’s profession or her penchant for whips and chains, the betrayal and heartache would’ve been there no matter who he’d left her for. It was more the realization that the bondage mistress was her polar opposite. Like her ex-fiancé had never really known her.

Like she wasn’t enough.

A stinging pain shot through her at the memory of how he’d declared her less-than-seductive in bed. Timid. Ice queen. Marianne had spent months wondering if he was right.

But not anymore.

She wanted to shed her buttoned-up image, embrace her sultry side, and experience the joys of being a woman.

Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically.

And Nick Wright was the perfect man to show her the ropes…not just the ropes, but maybe even one or two kinks in those ropes. So to speak.

Maybe she wasn’t skilled in the sexual arts, but Nick was sexy personified. Even thinking about the easy, masculine way he’d cruised into Smart Cupid last week, dressed to the nines in his navy pinstripe suit, made her heart skip like a game of hopscotch. She’d been playing it safe, and cool, and by somebody else’s rules for far too long. And for no good reason. The time had come to embrace her true self.

Her sexier self.

And if her ex showed up at the party with the dominatrix—she’d be prepared. Hopefully. Possibly. If she could work up the courage to commit to six weeks of close proximity—no—six weeks of an engagement to Nick Wright.

She took a long sip of her passionflower tea, needing more of nature’s answer to Xanax to deal with her swirling thoughts, not to mention the string of texts from Jane, texts she’d been ignoring in favor of her new mantra, Keep Calm and Marry On. Even if she didn’t feel calm, even if there would be no marriage. She read the rest of the messages in succession.