the wedding itself?”
Eek. Roark would see her in that hideous pink monstrosity of a bridesmaid’s dress. It might almost be worth it, though, to watch how Roark would weather the combined scrutiny of her entire extended family. By offering to play the role of her devoted boyfriend, he had no idea what he would be getting himself into.
“We’ll see.”
HE WAS FIVE MINUTES late.
Priscilla sat at a bistro table at the Nodding Dog, a cute little coffee shop in Oak Cliff’s trendy Bishop Arts district, waiting for Roark.
If things worked out as she hoped, Roark would attend one function with her and her parents would be relieved, if only temporarily, that she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life alone. Snobby Aunt Clara would be suitably impressed. And Priscilla wouldn’t have to produce a flesh-and-blood boyfriend again for months.
She checked her watch again and took a sip of her latte. Then she saw him.
He looked as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ, in perfectly creased khaki pants and a pale yellow shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow in a sort of casually rumpled but still stylish way. For a few seconds she drank in the sight of him. Then he looked her way and she schooled her face.
She would just die if he knew he could melt her on the spot simply by looking at her. Actual skin-to-skin contact might cause her to spontaneously combust.
He walked up to the counter and ordered, and the pretty barista batted her eyelashes and blushed as she poured his coffee. He paid, chatting and smiling easily. Did he even know the effect he had on women?
He joined Priscilla at her small table, and she wished she’d chosen a larger one. He was so close she could see the tiny shaving nick on his jaw and smell his aftershave. It made her think of being on a mountaintop.
With her clothes off.
“I see you found the place.” Why did she sound so inane? She’d had no problem talking to him that first night, when he’d helped her with her flat tires. She’d opened up to him, confessing how alone she felt sometimes, isolated from the other trainees. Tony and Ethan had befriended her, but back then she’d still felt a bit of an outsider even with them, since the two men already had been best friends for fifteen years.
Roark had been a sympathetic ear. He’d offered her encouragement that she’d needed to hear. A strong shoulder to lay her head on.
She’d been in a vulnerable state at that point in her life, she reminded herself—she’d still been smarting from Cory’s cold rejection. But she was stronger now.
Roark took an appreciative sip from his mug. “I’ve been here before. Best coffee in Oak Cliff.” He drank plain black coffee. No mochaccino whip for Roark.
She tucked that fact into a corner of her mind. Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, she remembered the little intimacies she had shared with Cory. He knew she loved the scent of freshly washed sheets; she knew he couldn’t stand green bell peppers. Would she ever be that close to a man again? Did she want to be?
She had a hard time imagining it. Sex was one thing. But the secret looks, the private jokes, the cozy breakfasts…How had she shared all those things with Cory, and yet missed some of the most fundamental aspects of his personality?
Like the fact that not being able to have his own biological children with his wife was a deal breaker?
She swallowed the last few sips of her latte.
“Let’s take a walk,” Roark suggested, gulping down the remainder of his coffee. “The weather is gorgeous.”
She didn’t want to walk in the gorgeous weather with Roark. She wanted to conclude their business and get away from him, because already she was feeling that familiar lethargy steal over her, that urge to open up, to trust him.
“So,” he said as they exited the coffee shop, “I’m guessing you really, really need a fake boyfriend to get your mother off your back.” He raised a single eyebrow at her. “Unless you’ve decided I’m not such a bad guy after all and maybe you want to get to know me better.”
She quickened her step, striding down the sidewalk on Seventh Street. She did want to know him better. On the surface there was nothing wrong with him. He was smart and dedicated to his work and he’d helped her out of a jam when she’d had those two flat tires. But Cory had looked pretty good on the surface—and deeper, too.
How could she tell if Roark was all that he appeared to be?
“I need a fake boyfriend,” she said.
He matched her stride, managing to do so without seeming to hurry. “What do you want me to do?”
“It’s just one date. To my cousin’s bridesmaids’ dinner. It’s at the Mansion.” As if the bribe of a fancy dinner would hold sway with him. “It’s next Friday. I realize it’s short notice, but…”
He swore softly. “I can’t make it then. I’m speaking at a conference out of town. Sorry, Priscilla.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “You could come to the wedding, but that’s probably more of an ordeal than you bargained for.” She paused to look in the window of an antiques shop.
They had slowed, Priscilla noticed. Now they were just strolling along like any couple. An older woman passed them and smiled insipidly, and Priscilla wondered what she was thinking. Young couple in love?
“Are you close to your cousin?” Roark asked.
“We used to be like sisters.”
“Used to be?”
“She kind of dumped me in high school, when I had some sticky problems she didn’t want to deal with.”
“How rude. What kind of problems?”
“Oh, you know, teenage rebellion.” Which involved a stint of hanging out with a bad crowd just for the shock value. She couldn’t really blame Marisa for keeping her distance.
Roark clearly wasn’t satisfied with her dismissive answer, but he didn’t push.
How did Roark do this, anyway? Ten minutes in his presence, and she was blurting out embarrassing personal things.
“So when is the wedding?” he asked. “I don’t mind weddings.”
“November second.” She half hoped he’d be busy then, too. But he checked his BlackBerry and confirmed he was free.
“I have to be at the church two hours early, so you can meet me there.”
“Nonsense. What kind of a lousy boyfriend would I be if I didn’t pick you up? We want your mother to think I’m a gentleman, right?”
“All right, but you’re going to be bored.”
“I doubt that.”
The blatant interest in his gaze alarmed her. “Roark, this is pretend, right? I mean, you’re not doing this because you want to continue…go back to…I mean—” She stared hard through the window of an art gallery at an ugly ceramic bowl.
“Yes, I want to do those things. Continue where we left off, go back to when we were involved.”
“But that’s not why I asked you to help.”
“I know that. I’m planning to change your mind.”
“No. You can’t do that.”
“I can’t?” He gave her a challenging look, his hand still on her arm.
She pulled away. “No, you can’t. Roark, you have to promise me you won’t try to, you know…”
“Win you over?” His sexy mouth cocked into a half smile.
“Seduce me.”
Roark