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Maggie told her grandma about the four-week agreement with Nick. She tried to sound as professional as possible. She didn’t want Kitty to even suspect how incredibly attracted she was to Nick. It wouldn’t do to give the woman any room to hope that her little plan might work. And besides that, Maggie was convinced that any and all feelings for the man would subside over time like the heat of a chili pepper after an ice-cold lemonade.
“Yes, I know that scenario well,” Kitty said finally. “Converting the nonbeliever. It was one of my favorite challenges.” She slipped the red cotton sweater over her shoulders, then turned and gave her granddaughter a kiss on the cheek. “I think you’ll be a wonderful success, Maggie. But take it from me, try and make a little time for romance. All the success in the world can’t make up for the lack of it.”
If there was one thing Nick Kaplan hated it was shopping malls. Miles of stores, tons of people and a food court that sent up the unmistakable stench of fake international cuisine. He slowed his bike when he entered the parking structure, pulled his motorcycle into a space and cut the engine. He still couldn’t believe that he’d let Maggie talk him into this. He was the damn head of a construction company—not some teenager with a point to prove. But at least he had a place to leave his toothbrush.
And what a place. Situated high up on what the locals called the Riviera because of its similarity to the French Riviera, it overlooked everything—town, mountains and the ocean. Like most of the homes in Santa Flora it was Spanish in style, with two small balconies attached to the bedrooms. Lemon, orange and fig trees dotted the lush front lawn, while pots of flowers decorated the front stoop. Inside the small home, the mood was something he could definitely appreciate: comfort. Cozy couches, rustic oak tables and colorful rugs. Elegant and simple, just like her, he’d remembered thinking. No surprises there.
That was until he’d gone upstairs, into the bathroom.
Hanging over the shower rod like a scene from some racy foreign film were undergarments. And not white cotton briefs as he would have expected. Hell, no. These were male torture devices!
Nick had started to sweat while he’d mentally counted off each piece of lingerie: one red-satin teddy, one lacy black bra, one black-lace thong.
Conservative Maggie Conner wore a thong?
He hadn’t stuck around to contemplate that erotic little fact. He’d gotten the hell out of there, jumped on his bike and driven like a madman down the highway—making a pit stop at his new construction site before heading to the Santa Flora Mall where Maggie had told him to meet her at four o’clock.
“Four o’clock, and don’t be late. We have a lot to do,” she’d said as though she were instructing a child.
He’d agreed but hadn’t liked the sound of a mall on a Saturday and didn’t even want to imagine what her plans for him were.
But he’d given his word. And he never went back on his word.
If Nick understood Maggie’s personality at all, she was going to do everything in her power to prove to him that she could find him the perfect woman. Hell, she probably already had someone she thought was Miss Right all picked out and ready for him.
He cursed under his breath as he strode into the open-air mall with its endless sea of useless junk. Frowning, he shook his head. He wasn’t hanging around in here for more than an hour, deal or no deal, or he might run into someone he knew or—God forbid—his family.
But he’d agreed to this ridiculous challenge. And if Maggie wanted to introduce him to some woman who worked at the Hoagie Hut, he’d have to do it.
Beside him a couple of teenage boys whistled under their breath, and Nick looked up, following their gazes. His chest tightened as the reason for his presence in this shoppers’ Babylon walked toward him in a pink sundress. She’d gone home to change. He must’ve just missed her.
Maggie moved with grace, with just a soft sway of the hips—not too obvious. But, man, she was all female. Long, tanned legs, trim waist, full breasts, her dark hair piled high on top of her head. She still looked fairly conservative, but he knew now what she wore underneath her conservative clothes. And that made her simple, pale-pink dress sexy as hell.
Damned if she wasn’t looking just a little bit like Miss Right herself.
The thought dropped into his mind with a noisy crash. Kind of like a wrecking ball, he thought as he promptly shoved it aside. He and “Matchmaking Maggie” were roommates with a business arrangement. And he didn’t mix business and pleasure. Besides, she wasn’t even remotely close to his kind of woman. She probably dated accountants with beige Volvos, not a man who worked with his hands and drove a Harley. She was classic, elegant—a good girl with crazy ideas. Not to mention a major pain in the—
“Hi, there,” she called brightly. “Get settled in all right?”
“Fine,” he said, his body stirring from looking at her too long. “Why am I here?”
“Well, good afternoon to you, too.”
He arranged his face in what he hoped passed for a smile. “Afternoon. Now, why am I here in this gulch of discounted garbage?”
Her gaze roamed over him. “Before I send you out to find that special someone, we have to do something about—” she waved a hand at him “—this.”
“You have a problem with the way I dress?”
She seemed to consider this.
“You’re not going to turn me into one of the suits that you probably date,” he said.
“I don’t date suits.”
He raised a brow. “Oh, really? Then what kind of man turns your crank, Maggie?” What’s good for the goose, he thought. If she got to dig into his personal life, he was just as entitled.
“No one turns my crank,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I don’t date.”
“Come again?”
She hesitated, her gaze slipping to the floor. “Well, what I mean is that I haven’t dated in a while and I’m not planning to date anyone until my business is a success.”
A splash of ice water in the face couldn’t have shocked him more. “That could be months, maybe years.”
She nodded. “Maybe.”
Dating was her business. And she was too busy? He’d heard a lot of bull in his life, enough to know when he wasn’t hearing the whole truth. But he didn’t think she was going to tell him anything—not here anyway, not now. Hell, they were going to be living together. He’d find out soon enough the real reason why she didn’t want to date. His inexplicable curiosity about her seemed to demand it.
Without thinking, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his thumb. He heard her gasp softly, and he felt like an idiot. He showed her the tiny eyelash he’d rescued from her cheek and said, “Make a wish,” feeling like an even bigger idiot. But her skin was so soft he’d forgotten himself for a moment.
“Just one?” she asked with a shy smile.
At that moment he’d give her any little thing she wanted. But he wasn’t the kind of man who showed a woman her effect on him. “Don’t get greedy,” he grumbled.
She laughed, then blew her eyelash off his thumb.
Desire poured through him. Not good, he thought. He needed to keep his distance or he was going to pull her close and kiss that long, graceful neck of hers. “If that wish was for me to go clothes shopping without complaint, it’s not coming true.”
She tilted her chin up at him. “You’re being unnecessarily stubborn.”
“I’m not changing. This is who I am, Maggie. Take it or leave it.”
“This is not about who you are.