Page 54 of Charming Deception

That shaky note in her voice…

Is she turned on? Or about to bolt?

“You mean, will we have sex? No. Your brother made it clear you’re recovering from a bad breakup. You’re off-limits.” Conveniently. “This isn’t about sex.” Unfortunately.

Megan stares at me, maybe weighing the likelihood that any man would actually mean that while asking her to be his fiancée.

“You are very loyal to my brother.”

“Yes. I am.”

“You want me to get engaged to you and date you, publicly, and live with you,” she repeats back to me. “But not have sex with you.”

“Correct.”

“For how long?”

“The engagement would be for a year. Then we’d go our separate ways.”

She stares at me for a long, tense moment.

“So it would just be an engagement? No wedding?”

“No wedding. I’m not looking for a wife. I wouldn’t even be getting engaged if my family wasn’t pressing the issue. I won’t be marrying anyone, for any reason.” I’m being as honest as I can be. I thought that would make her feel better, but as soon as it’s out of my mouth, I hear how it sounds. And it sounds damn cold.

Am I just convincing her to say no?

“I see…” She definitely looks part flustered, part I’m talking to a crazy man.

I don’t want her to feel insulted. Used. A woman like her, she deserves to be appreciated by her man. Adored. Lavished with attention and affection. Praise and devotion.

If it wasn’t for Cole, I’d lavish her with all the sexual affection she deserves—maybe put her on her knees and teach her some manners, too; show her what it’s like to be with a real man, maybe help her get over her shithead ex and whatever other little boys are in her past. As soon as possible. Which is in exactly forty-six days. But telling her so would just invite questions I can’t answer.

I’ll be honest with her about everything I can, but that means everything but the game.

“I’ll treat you with respect,” I tell her. “The way your brother would want me to treat you.”

She stares at me, her cheeks flushed, but doesn’t respond to that.

Our appetizers come, three different locally sourced dishes, and the distraction seems to ease the tension a bit. We taste the food, avoiding the elephant that’s just sat its ass right down between us.

I ask her what she thinks of the food. The presentation, the aromas, the textures, and, of course, the flavors.

When the empty dishes are cleared away, and we sit back with refilled wineglasses to await the entrées, I say, “You’re taking this all very calmly.”

She’d seemed uncomfortable with the conversation, sure. But she hasn’t said no to my proposal.

She hasn’t said yes yet either.

“I’m getting the feeling this is normal to you,” she says carefully. “So I’m trying not to freak out.”

“Normal.” I consider that. “What about it seems normal?”

“Just calmly asking a woman you barely know to get engaged to you as if you’re offering her a job.”

“It’s not a job.”

“You showed as much emotion when you hired me to be your gardener.”

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