LITMIR.BIZ

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try to convince everyone that I’m okay.’

      ‘Are you?’

      Callie took his right hand and held it between hers. She looked up at him from beneath those ridiculously long lashes, her expression earnest and concerned. She wasn’t just asking for form’s sake, he suddenly realised, she genuinely seemed to care. And her empathy—not pity or sympathy—melted one of the many icicles attached to his heart.

      Finn thought about her question for a minute and left his hand where it was, his fingers entangled with hers. ‘Mostly. I will be a feeling a lot more relieved when you say yay or nay.’

      ‘Yay,’ Callie said as she dropped his hand.

      Finn looked down at her, not sure that he’d heard her correctly. ‘What?’

      ‘Yes, I will be your fake wife.’ Callie said, her eyes dancing. ‘Thanks for asking me.’

      Finn felt relief course through him and was surprised at the wave of—hell—happiness that followed. He was going to be able to complete this amazing assignment, get out of this house and step out of his life, thanks to this phenomenal woman.

      ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Thanks, Callie.’

      ‘I should be thanking you; it’s an amazing opportunity to see some places that I haven’t seen before.’

      ‘And to get out of Dodge as well.’ Finn folded his arms and raised a brow. ‘Want to tell me why?’

      Callie didn’t miss a beat. ‘Want to tell me what really happened to stop the wedding?’

      ‘Touché.’

      He wasn’t going to open up and neither was she. Better that way, Finn decided, even though he was damn curious.

      ‘So, do you want to come inside?’

      Finn thought that she was about to say no but then she straightened her spine and pushed her shoulders back, lifting those small breasts. ‘Yeah, okay. There’s a couple of things we need to chat about.’

      ‘That sounds ominous.’ Finn gestured her inside and noticed that she had no problem negotiating the boxes. ‘Liz’s stuff. I’m packing it up and shipping it home to her parents.’

      ‘Ah.’

      Callie moved away from the boxes and looked at the now stark living room. All the things that had made it a home were gone—the scatter cushions, the art, the ornaments, the photo frames.

      ‘The furniture—hers or yours?’

      Finn shrugged. ‘The couches and the furniture are mine. I’m pretty much handing over the rest of the house. She bought most of it and there’s nothing much I want to keep.’

      ‘Nothing?’

      Finn shook his head. ‘I’m not sentimental when it comes to stuff.’

      He’d used to be but wasn’t any more. Only with a gun to his head would he admit that he’d kept all the sonar scan pictures of his baby—the baby that hadn’t made it past four and a half months. Finn swallowed and steeled himself against the wave of pain. Okay, maybe he was a little sentimental about some things.

      He pulled in a deep, restorative breath and along with it Callie’s sweet perfume. She smelled so sweet and fresh, and he realised that he had to smell as if he’d been working his tail off all day—which he had—so he backed away from her.

      ‘There’s some wine or beer in the fridge—glasses in the cupboard next to the fridge. Help yourself. I’m just going to take a quick shower, if that’s okay.’

      ‘Sure, take your time.’ Callie grinned at him. ‘It’ll give me time to snoop.’

      ‘Snoop away—you won’t find anything interesting,’ Finn told her, before belting up the stairs to the en-suite bathroom off the guest bedroom.

      As per normal, he glanced at the closed door of the room on the left and sighed. He really should try to move back into the master bedroom again. But he still hadn’t replaced the mattress on their—his—bed, so what was the point? Maybe after he came back from his ‘honeymoon’ he’d try again.

      Maybe. Or maybe he’d just get a whole new bed.

      She liked Finn’s house, Callie decided, liked the openness and the space. And the view was one of the best she’d seen. But the lack of anything personal surprised her; Finn was a world traveller—surely he would have picked up a memento here and there? Art? Pottery? Photographs?

      Nothing in the house suggested that he’d lived here on an ongoing and permanent basis with his fiancée. Which was weird—weren’t houses supposed to be shared? Granted, she wasn’t an expert on co-habiting, but shouldn’t the house be a place of compromise? Shouldn’t there be a photograph of his family … his brothers? A trophy? A flat screen TV? Books …? Something that suggested that this was his house as much as hers?

      For Finn’s sake she hoped that his ex hadn’t been an ‘everything that’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine too’ type of woman. Maybe his priorities were a big screen TV and an internet connection—she’d dated more than a few men like that. Or maybe he simply wasn’t a sentimental, collect-mementos-along-the-way type of guy.

      Callie turned when she heard his footsteps behind her and saw that Finn had showered and dressed in a pair of black athletic shorts and a plain red T-shirt.

      He ran his hands over his wet curls and sent her a small smile. ‘Did you get some wine?’

      ‘I didn’t get that far.’ Callie followed him into the kitchen and stood on the other side of a granite counter as he opened a cupboard door to pull out a glass. ‘You look very fit—do you go to the gym?

      Finn pulled a face. ‘No. Martial arts.’ He opened the fridge and she saw that it held nothing but a bottle of unopened wine, a mouldy block of cheese and some eggs. Someone hadn’t been cooking or had been living on take-out.

      Not healthy.

      ‘What type of martial arts?’ she asked, resisting the urge to mention his lack of food. Even if she was going to be his ‘wife’, she wasn’t in a position to nag him about eating properly and taking care of himself. But, damn, she wanted to.

      ‘Pretty much everything, actually. But I concentrate on Taekwondo and jiu-jitsu, occasionally taking a side trip into Krav Maga—’

      ‘Notoriously difficult—out of the Israeli army.’ She saw the surprise flicker in his eyes at her even knowing about Krav Maga—but, hey, she read. A lot. ‘Are you ranked?’

      ‘You are the nosiest woman I’ve ever met,’ Finn complained—not for the first and, she knew, not for the last time.

      ‘And—I’ll say it again—you’re one of the few men who don’t like talking about themselves.’

      ‘So why do you keep asking?’

      ‘‘Cos you’re fascinating,’ Callie replied, shoving her tongue into her cheek.

      ‘Flirt.’

      Callie dropped into a quick curtsy. ‘Thank you, sir. So, what’s your rank?’

      Same question, phrased another way. His quick smile and the elaborate roll of his eyes told her that he was enjoying their banter. It would do him good to laugh, to smile.

      ‘I’m ranked highly.’

      She sighed dramatically at his answer. ‘Trying to get information out of you is like trying to get blood out of a stone.’ Callie took her glass of wine and sipped. ‘Why don’t you buy mementos of the places you’ve been?’

      He blinked at the change of subject as he twisted the top off a bottle of beer. ‘What? Like tourist tat?’

      Callie sent him a patient look. ‘Come on, Finn. Like

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