Page 9 of Suddenly Married

Marrying him maybe not. Keeping her hands off him was a different story. A shiver of fear skated down her spine. When she’d asked for enough money to pay the loan shark and start her savings towards her coveted temp agency, they all agreed without blinking. But when she’d asked for Luc not to intimately touch her when they were alone, she’d seen the fiery challenge in his eyes. He’d agreed, with a clause of his own—unless she changed her mind and asked him to.

Kira glanced at the clock above the fridge. Richard should come at any moment pick her up to take her shopping for suitable clothes for Mrs. Luc Beauford. The circus had barely started, and she was already exhausted.

The doorbell rang, and Kira dashed to the door. Couldn’t be Richard yet, right? He’d probably text before arriving so he wouldn’t need to come out of the company car.

When she opened the door, the air was sucked from the room—and her lungs.

Luc Beauford.

At. Her. Doorstep.

Knots formed in her stomach. She drew in a breath, desperately trying to reason with her body parts. Why did every erogenous part of her seemed to hate her? “Luc? Where’s Richard?” she asked, making a quick inventory of how hot he looked. Rather than the suit from earlier, he wore denim jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt that stretched around his broad shoulders and hinted at the muscles beneath. And exposed his tan… like he’d just come from a Caribbean vacation. Her heart skipped a beat.

“You mean you would have preferred a middle-aged short man instead of me? Quelle damage. I thought we were over all the pretense,” he said, walking by her and entering her apartment without her invitation.

Pretending wasn’t a strategy—it was survival. “I never said you could come in.”

“I’m hurt,” he said, touching his heart. Mocking her. “I texted Richard and told him I could take you shopping. This way, the paparazzi can see us together.”

“Oh.”

Made sense. They’d be married in a few days, but the more pictures taken of them, the better. Still. His large frame dwarfed her living area, and she wished she had known he was the one taking her—she’d have worn something less casual than jeans and a black shirt.

“Who’s that?” Billie shouted from the kitchen, and before she responded, her cousins gathered around, eyes on the magnificent male in the middle of their living room. “Daaamn.”

“Billie Jane.” Poppy nudged her elbow. “Where are your manners? Nice to meet you. I’m Poppy and this is Billie,” she said, stretching her hand. “Kira’s cousins.”

“And roommates,” Billie added.

Luc shook Poppy’s hand, then Billie’s who looked at him like he was a human lottery ticket. Never had she seen her cousin smile so broadly like this—not even during half-price happy hour in one of those fancy bars in Manhattan. “That’s great you’re all so close.”

“Do you have someone you’re close to?” Billie asked. “Like a brother or a cousin?”

Luc lifted an eyebrow. “Not my age.”

“Well, shit,” Billie said.

“Don’t mind her,” Poppy said. “Billie loves to play around. She has a dirty mind.”

He circled back to Kira. “So do I,” he said casually, but his eyes sent her a hot, promising message. “Are you ready to go?”

Sighing, she rubbed her arm, willing away the goose bumps forming from his innuendo. “Yes.”

She headed to the area where they left their shoes, and instead of the sensible wedges she’d wear had Richard picked her up, she chose Poppy’s red stilettos. Her cousin wouldn’t mind, as they shared clothes sometimes, and even though she’d put her sense of balance to the test, at least she’d look a bit taller.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded. This would be the worst shopping spree of her life.

* * *

This would be the most entertaining shopping spree of his life.

Luc peered up at the woman across from him in the limo. She’d been glancing out the window as they headed into Madison Avenue. He’d been right when he told Richard he should take her shopping. The strategy of going along with the plan had worked to his advantage, but now, he was in charge. “You have nice cousins.”

“Thanks. I know they can be a lot,” she said, drumming her fingers on her knees. “Do you have family?”

Why would she ask him about his family when she’d clearly been hired to spy on him and would already know this information? Frustration clawed his throat, but he brushed it aside. Play along. “My brother died in the fire. I only have my mother,” he said quickly, without wanting to add a lot of details. She may have lost her memory, but he knew if she could choose, she wouldn’t want for anyone to see her that way. Especially, not Charles.

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