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were not attracted to her harder, more cynical persona. She hadn’t had a date, or a single lover, since Brandon.

      ‘How about me?’ came her curt offer.

      That got his attention. He sat up straight, his arms falling off the back of the sofa.

      ‘You?’

      The shock in his voice piqued her considerably.

      ‘Yes, me,’ she snapped. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

      What was wrong with her was that he fancied her.

      Keeping his hands off the provocative Ms Fairlane might prove difficult, especially on those nights they were thrown together on the yacht. On the other hand, it was clear she wasn’t about to help him find a wife from amongst her precious ‘girls’.

      Suddenly, he understood why. She wanted the job—nope, she wanted the money—for herself.

      ‘I suppose you were looking for someone younger,’ she said with a flash of those cut-glass blue eyes of hers.

      ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

      ‘The same age as you. Thirty-four.’

      His eyebrows lifted. He would have tagged her as a couple of years older. But that was probably due to the dreary clothes she was wearing.

      ‘I can look younger,’ she said with a proud toss of her head. ‘And prettier. If that’s what you want.’

      ‘What I want, Ms Fairlane, is a wife who can convince Chuck Helsinger that she’s genuinely in love with me. Can you do that?’

      Her chin lifted. ‘For two million dollars? I’ll convince him I adore every single hair on your head.’

      Mike smiled as he ran his hand over his very thick crew cut. This, he’d like to see.

      His smile faded, however, when he realised he might find it even harder to keep his hands off when Ms Fairlane started playing the besotted bride. He would have to keep reminding himself that she was just doing it for the money.

      Damn, but that thought really annoyed him. He hated gold-diggers with a passion.

      ‘I presume you won’t entertain any romantic fantasies that I might fall in love with you and want to stay married to you?’ he threw at her.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’d be the last man on earth I’d fantasise over.’

      ‘I’m not your type?’

      ‘Only a fool would fantasise over a man who obviously doesn’t believe in love and marriage. I am not a fool, Mr Stone,’ she finished up firmly.

      ‘In that case, it’s a deal, Ms Fairlane.’

      Even as he said the words Mike suspected he was going to regret marrying this tough-talking but rather temperamental redhead. But what alternative did he have? Instant wives didn’t grow on trees. December would be here before he could blink.

      For the first time since they’d met, she suddenly looked uncertain, her hand coming up to her throat in a decidedly vulnerable gesture.

      She had a long throat, he noticed. Long and pale, as if she hadn’t been out in the sun for ages.

      An image popped into Mike’s mind of her lying naked on a bed, her whole body pale and soft, her gleaming red hair spread out on the pillow. Her wide eyes would be locked with his, just as they were now, but more so, their expression expectant, yet at the same time excited.

      ‘So…what do we do now?’ she said, breaking into his fantasy.

      Why don’t I take you to bed? he wanted to say.

      Because that was what he wanted to do. Right now.

      It had been too long, Mike realised ruefully, since he’d been to bed with a woman. Richard was right. Celibacy did not sit well with him, not when he was in the company of a woman he fancied.

      But there was nothing he could do about it now, certainly not with Ms Fairlane. She’d blow a gasket if he started coming on to her. Nope. He was trapped into a no-sex existence for another couple of months at least. He couldn’t even sneak a bit on the side. Cunning old Chuck might find out about it and any partnership would fly out the window.

      Just think of the money, he told himself. The same as the mercenary Ms Fairlane is doing. And stop thinking about her being naked, and willing. The odds of her ever being naked and willing with you, Mikey, are about as high as your staying married to her.

      Which reminded him. He had a marriage to arrange, and there was no time to lose.

      ‘It’s Thursday night,’ he returned, glancing at his watch. ‘The stores don’t close till nine. First, we’ll go get a quick bite to eat. After that, I’m taking you engagement-ring shopping.’

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘WHAT?’ Shock propelled Natalie to her feet. ‘Did you say engagement-ring shopping?’

      ‘Absolutely,’ Mike replied, rising to his feet also.

      ‘But surely that’s not necessary!’ She couldn’t bear the thought of going into a jewellery shop with him and pretending to be lovers.

      ‘Of course it is,’ he returned. ‘When I present you to Mr Chuck Helsinger as my wife you’re going to have everything my wife should have. That includes a rock on your ring finger and a wardrobe which will knock that dirty old devil’s eyes out.’

      ‘But…’

      ‘No buts, please, Natalie. Sorry, but I do have to call you Natalie, since sweetheart and honey and, I presume, darling is out. Unless, of course, you want me to call you Nat.’

      She winced at the shortened form of her name, which she’d been called in high school and which she still hated.

      ‘Natalie will be fine,’ she bit out.

      ‘Okay. And don’t you forget to call me Mike. It wouldn’t do for you to address me as Mr Stone.’

      ‘I guess not. Now, about this wardrobe business…’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘I don’t always dress like this, you know. These are just my work clothes.’

      ‘That’s a relief.’

      Natalie bristled. ‘There’s no need to insult me.’

      ‘I wasn’t insulting you. I was being truthful again. That pant suit you’re wearing is simply dreadful. The colour does nothing for you and the cut is far too masculine.’

      ‘I thought you were a computer genius,’ she snapped. ‘Not the fashion police.’

      ‘I’m a man. And I know what looks good on a woman. The fact that you would even consider buying that outfit in the first place speaks for itself. I’m taking you clothes shopping before December, whether you like it or not.’

      ‘Whatever,’ she said, privately conceding that her wardrobe possibly didn’t have the clothes necessary for a weekend cruise with the jet set. ‘You’re paying for it.’

      ‘Good. That’s one thing I like about you, Natalie. You know what side your bread is buttered on.’

      Natalie tried not to take offence. But it was a bit much, having him criticise her clothes, then tell her that the only thing he liked about her was her mercenary side.

      She was tempted to throw at him that the only reason she’d made this appalling deal with him was because of her parents’ dire financial position.

      Which reminded her.

      ‘I have to make a quick phone call before I leave,’ she told him.

      ‘Fine. I’ll wait for you out in my car. It’s parked just down the street. It’s a four-wheel drive. Black,

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