Convenient Cinderella Bride

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Because, dammit, Jonas Halstead’s check was still on her coffee table. And because she was now, more than ever, tempted to cash it.

Three (#ue8dff959-bbb1-5414-9fdf-7bd11d5d8930)

Jonas looked up when Sian walked into his office and slammed the door behind her. He lifted his eyebrows, leaned back in his chair and waited for her to offload. He knew, from experience, that it wouldn’t take long.

She went into all they had to do in their temporary office in Santa Barbara. The builders at Cliff House had found mold in the basement, the masons rebuilding the stone walkways were behind schedule and the anchor tenant destined for their new mall in Austin, Texas, now had cold feet. The investors for a ski resort in Whistler were uneasy—global downturn, less disposable income, global warming—and their head of human resources was moving to the East Coast.

Yet all Jonas could think about was the hot kiss he’d shared with Katrina—Kat—and the fact that she had yet to cash his check. Damned stubborn woman.

Walking away from her instead of taking her where they’d stood had required every bit of self-control he’d possessed. He’d never become so lost in a kiss, so carried away in a woman’s arms. He’d loved kissing her, touching her, and would have loved to have done more.

So much more.

That was all well and good but he didn’t like the fact that Kat Morrison, hostess at the best restaurant in Santa Barbara—flat broke and currently celibate—had the ability to make him forget his own name.

He didn’t like that at all.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about her, remembering how soft her skin had felt under his hands, the spice of her mouth, those breathy sounds she’d made in the back of her throat. And her smell, something clean and natural, seemed lodged in his nose. He was also—and this was worrying—curious and, worse, concerned about her. She had a good job, why was she broke? Why didn’t she have a boyfriend? She’d mentioned an LCA final and, as he remembered from his college days, that stood for Leadership and Corporate Accountability—part of the MBA program. He could handle her beauty and her sex appeal but if she was as bright as he suspected, he was in big trouble.

There was nothing more dangerous than a gorgeous, brainy woman.

Sian’s small hand slapped his desk and he snapped back to the present. Talking about brainy, sexy women, this one was looking vastly irritated. “Will you please concentrate?”

Jonas nodded and quickly issued a list of instructions to, hopefully, address all the issues she’d raised. “Did I get them all?” he asked.

Sian nodded. “That is so annoying, especially since I didn’t have your full attention.”

“I can multitask.”

Sian threw her pen down and linked her hands around her knee. “Want to tell me what’s going on with you? And don’t tell me nothing—you’ve been acting like a bear for the last two weeks.”

“Jack,” Jonas stated, making his grandfather’s name sound like a curse.

“Oh, dear.” Sian stood, walked over to the small fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out two ice waters. She handed one to Jonas, who cracked the lid for her before taking the unopened bottle for himself.

“So, what did the old buzzard do this time?”

“He told me I have three months—two and three-quarter months now—to marry or else he is disinheriting me.”

Sian smiled, thinking he was joking. When he held her gaze, her mouth opened in shock. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“I so wish I was,” Jonas replied. He’d spent the past week trying to convince himself that Jack wasn’t being serious, that he was jerking Jonas around, but then Preston had sent him an official letter stating his client’s position and assuring Jonas that his grandfather was deadly serious about him finding a wife.

Jonas had to marry or he’d lose everything he’d worked for, everything that made sense to him. He felt the burn of a rumbling ulcer and took another sip of water.

And even if he hadn’t received a letter from Preston, he would’ve sensed Jack’s displeasure from the cold telephone conversations they’d shared since that breakfast, Jack’s terse and snappy emails. When circumstances went his way, his grandfather was congenial and charming, occasionally affectionate. When he was thwarted, he grew arctic cold and withdrew. Trying to stay on Jack’s good side was like trying to herd cats, futile and exhausting.

After five minutes of thoughtful silence, Sian lifted a shoulder and the scales of the inked dragon covering her skin rippled. “Well, it seems like you don’t have a hell of a lot of choice,” Sian said. “Marry someone.”

“Okay, pencil it in my diary and I’ll meet you at the courthouse.”

Sian’s laughter danced on the sunlight. “Ha, ha, funny man. Garth has been asking me to marry him for a year and I keep telling him hell, no! So the chances of me marrying someone I don’t love, even you, are less than zero. Besides, if you married me, Jack would definitely disinherit you.”

Jack, narrow-minded as he was, couldn’t look past the tattoos to see the razor-sharp brain Sian possessed. “Crap, Si, what the hell am I going to do? I need a wife. Where will I find someone to marry before the deadline? Maybe if I grovel, Gigi would take me back.”

Sian shuddered. “You wouldn’t need to grovel, you’d just need to crook your finger in her direction and she’d come skipping back. No! I absolutely refuse to let you do that. You’ll be divorced within six months.”

And why would that be a problem? If he went through with this crazy scheme, he intended to be married to his temporary bride for the least amount of time possible.

Sian stood and walked around so that she sat on the corner of his desk, facing him. “C’mon, Joe, there’s got to be someone else you’ve met lately who would be a better bet than that whiny, vain actress.”

Katrina’s face immediately popped into his head.

“You’re thinking of someone.” Sian pushed a finger into his chest. “Tell me! Who?”

Jonas shook his head, sending a glance at his monitor. “Nobody. C’mon, Si, back to work.”

Sian crossed her arms and glared at him. “No. Tell me who you are thinking of.”

He felt like he was ten years old and had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It wouldn’t work. We’re too different.”

“Jonas! Who?”

“Kat. Katrina Morrison,” Jonas finally admitted, meeting her eyes and daring her to laugh at him. Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she did. If he wasn’t feeling so damn morose and confused and terrified, he’d be laughing, too.

But Sian just cocked her head and slowly nodded. “Yeah, I could see you marrying her. She’s really nice and, despite only meeting her once, I really like her. You’d also, might I point this out, make spectacular babies.”

Jonas felt like she was gripping his windpipe and squeezing. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight, I am not looking for a wife.”

Sian lifted a thin, cocky eyebrow. “I’m sorry, did I misunderstand you? Didn’t you just say... ‘I need a wife’?”

“A temporary wife. A pretend wife. Not a wife wife,” Jonas snapped.

“Wife wife?”

This conversation was getting ridiculous. Jonas gripped the bridge of his nose, trying to control his temper. Sian was treading on dangerous ground, teasing him about this. “I plan on keeping her around long enough to satisfy my grandfather. As soon as I get the company shares transferred to me, she’s out of my life.”

A small frown appeared between Sian’s eyebrows. “Isn’t that a bit calculating?”

“Hey, I didn’t make the rules. I’m just playing the game!” Jonas retorted. “I want a woman I can stand being around for less than a year, someone who doesn’t think this is forever. But I don’t want a gold digger.”

“Talking of...did you see the three-page spread in People? Sara is divorcing husband number five—”

“Remind me, husband number five is the Hollywood director?” The tabloid press was how he kept tabs on his mother, and Jonas liked it that way. Actually, he’d prefer it if Sian didn’t even tell him what she read, but she liked to torture him.

“Yep. Apparently she’s having an affair with Mervin Kline.”

Sara, so faithful.

“Kline is said to be the tenth richest man in the country...”

“Ah.” Now Sara’s actions made sense. Her main ambition, Jonas was sure, was to be the wife of the richest man in the world. His father, Sara’s first husband, had just been a practice run. She hadn’t even stuck around long enough for him to be a practice child. She’d just bailed, saying that motherhood wasn’t her thing. Seducing and then marrying rich men—that’s where her talents lay.

It shouldn’t hurt that the last time he’d spoken to her was when he’d turned thirty, five years ago. He’d called her on his birthday, not the other way around. Jonas was pretty sure she’d wiped the memory of giving birth from her mind. After all, you couldn’t say you were in your early forties when you had a son in his midthirties.

“We need to get back to work, Sian, so get off my desk.”

“Oh, touchy.” Sian saw something in his face and she winced. She held up her hand, her expression requesting his patience. “Why don’t you ask Kat out to dinner, see if you like her enough to temporarily marry her?”

He couldn’t get Kat to cash his check. She’d yelled at him after they’d kissed. She was a basket of complicated. She had issues, and Jonas tried, whenever possible, to avoid issues. He needed this search for a wife to be complication-free, easy, businesslike. An emotion-free zone.

Kat was independent, mouthy, annoying—sheer hard work. She was trouble. He should be running from her as fast as he could. She was the last person he should marry.

But he thought that, probably, he was going to anyway.

Sian, reading his mind, patted his arm. “Good luck, boss.”

He was going to need it. Jonas rose and bent to drop a kiss on her cheek, grateful that he had her in his life, standing in his corner. He rested his forehead on hers. “Are you sure you won’t marry me?”

Sian patted his cheek. “Darling, not even for you.”

* * *

Kat was glad for the madness of Friday lunch service. It kept her from worrying about Cath, from thinking about her money problems and the fact that she was going to have to leave her beloved apartment.

But mostly, being busy kept her from thinking about Jonas Halstead and how she’d felt in his arms. Kat stared down at her reservations book and tried to concentrate on who she would seat where. She had reservations for both the current and ex-wife of a famous producer, former best friends, and, in the interest of peace, she needed to keep them on opposite sides of the restaurant and out of each other’s sight...

Kat’s thoughts wandered back to Jonas.

He knew exactly how to kiss her, how much pressure to apply to her nipple with his thumb. His kisses had been pure magic... He was all heat and power. Six foot two of pure masculinity. Broad-shouldered, muscled, powerful, he just had to look at her with heat in those smoky green eyes and she felt the urge to strip and climb all over him.

What the hell was wrong with her? Okay, sure, she’d been celibate for a while, but she wasn’t the type to go all dizzy over a man. With the few lovers she’d had and even with Wes, getting naked had required a mental shift, a deliberate decision. With Halstead, her much-neglected libido had been calling the shots. Her body wanted to be against his, skin to skin.

Why him? Why now?

And why couldn’t she get him out of her head?

Kat glanced at her watch, saw that she had another ten minutes before the restaurant was due to open and mentally allocated clients to tables, trying to keep her mind on her much-needed job. It wasn’t as if she would see him again anytime soon!

Unless he came back here.

Crap! Kat bit her lip and quickly flipped through the reservations book. She hadn’t booked a table for Jonas, but she was one of four hosts and he could’ve spoken to any of the others. Kat ran through the reservations for the next month and didn’t see his name, but she knew there were many women who’d booked a table for themselves and a “guest.” It wasn’t an impossibility that Halstead could be a dinner companion. A model, an actress, the lead singer of an indie pop group—these women were his type. Actually, Kat suspected that any woman breathing was his type. Halstead made no bones about his disinterest in settling down.

On that score, Kat couldn’t fault him. Marriage and commitment were games for fools and she’d never play again. Wes had ruined vows for her and ruined them well. She’d gone into their marriage in a starry-eyed haze, flying on a magic carpet of attention and compliments. The sex hadn’t been great, but having someone so solidly in her corner, so deeply supportive, had more than made up for the infrequent, fumbling, lets-do-it-with-the-lights-off sex.

Their sex life would get better after they were married, she’d told herself. She’d been wrong. Nothing improved. In fact, everything had started sliding downhill a scant week after they’d returned from their two-week honeymoon. They might be married, Wes had informed her, but he had no intention of carrying her, financially or emotionally, anymore. He expected her to pull her weight.

Since she was now living with him, he’d said, all expenses were to be split equally. The fact that she was a full-time student and he had a corporate position held no bearing on the situation. She believed in women’s rights, didn’t she? Well, it was time to stand by her principles.

Not recognizing the man she’d married, and determined to keep up the pretense of being happy, Kat had taken two part-time jobs to cover her financial obligations, thinking that one day soon things would improve. They were getting used to each other, she’d thought. Everyone said the first year of marriage was the hardest.

Then her father had died. Six months later she was divorced and one month after that Cath was diagnosed. Kat’s world fell to pieces.

Her dysfunctional marriage—and her father ignoring her in his will—created a pit inside where cynicism flourished. Kat was unable to trust a person’s words, knowing actions were what counted. No, it was better to be independent, to sort out her own problems, to do it herself. That way no one could disappoint her and no one could hurt her.

But, damn, Jonas reminded her that she could really do with some hot, messy sex. A man’s hard body on hers, strong fingers pressing into her flesh, masculine lips kissing her lips and throat and heading lower to suck her nipples, to make tracks over her stomach, to—

“Hey, Kat, are you going to open? It’s time.”

Kat jerked her head up and snapped out of her daydream, embarrassed that she was fantasizing about Jonas Halstead at work. God, this had to stop, she thought, walking over to the front door to slide it open. Jonas was out of her league. He was a billionaire and she was a restaurant hostess, someone who was only noticed when things went wrong.

Besides, he’d forgotten about her already. He’d handed her a check, appeased his conscience and moved on to his next blonde. It was time she moved on, too...

Kat put her shoulder to the heavy wood-and-glass door and frowned when it easily slid on its track. She felt the heat of a masculine body behind her, inhaled the scent of lime and sandalwood from an expensive cologne and looked up to see a strong hand on the frame above her head, cuffs rolled back and a Rolex watch she immediately recognized.

“Hello, Kat.”

Kat leaned her forehead against the wooden frame of the door and counted to ten and then to twenty. Jonas was back. He didn’t have a reservation, so the only reason he could be there was to see her.

What could he want? Kat stood straight, turned around and looked at the man who’d invaded her dreams over the last ten days or so.

“What do you want, Mr. Halstead?”

The corners of this mouth tipped up at her formal tone. “God, I love that prissy voice of yours.”

Kat didn’t know how to respond so she just folded her arms and tapped her foot.

“Are you working tonight? Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I’m not working,” Kat replied, walking back to her hostess’s desk. Scooting behind it, she reached into the narrow cupboard and yanked out her bag. Opening the zip, she removed an envelope.

“Okay, so I’ll collect you at seven thirty,” Jonas said, supremely confident.

“I might be free, but I’m not going to dinner with you,” Kat told him, wishing she was brave enough, bold enough, to tell him she didn’t want food but she wouldn’t say no to a night of no-strings, blow-her-socks-off sex. But she’d never been a girl who could so frankly state what she wanted.

Besides, as hot as that fantasy was, she wasn’t really the one-night-stand type.

“Why not?” Jonas demanded, frowning.

Kat looked at him, amused by the confusion on his face. Obviously he didn’t hear the word no very often, and why would he? He was good-looking, rich, successful and smart. When he asked a woman out, the default response was probably “Yes, yes, God, yes.”

But for Kat, there were so many reasons to say no. I don’t have time to date. You’re so out of my league. We have nothing in common. But, mostly, I hate that I’m so crazy attracted to you that there’s a good chance I’ll jump you as soon as we’re alone.