Page 20 of Under His Touch

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t think—”

I hold my hand up to stop him when the toast pops. “I’m in charge here. That’s the only way this is going to work. If you want me to find you a ‘suitable’ wife...” I pause to do air quotes around that one word “...then you have to put yourself in my hands.”

His muscles tighten, and I’m almost one hundred percent sure his cock just twitched at my poor choice of words. He mumbles something under his breath, pulls two plates from his cupboard and slides me two slices. I twist the lid off the jam as he grabs a spoon from his drawer and comes around the island to sit next to me.

“Here’s the thing, though. You’re kind of well-known, so I was thinking maybe we should use your middle name and we can take a sideways picture or something distant. Give them enough to work with but maybe not identifiable as you.”

He hands me the spoon, and my fingers brush his as I accept it. The heat from his flesh trickles through my traitorous body and I work to ignore the frisson of need as I dip the spoon into the jar and come out with a big scoop of strawberry jam. I coat my toast and hand the spoon back, this time taking care not to touch him.

“Are you afraid my real identity will scare them off?”

“I’d just rather a woman walk in without any preconceived notions.”

“Makes sense, but I’m not going to hide the fact that I’m looking for a wife in name only.”

I open my mouth to ask if he’d at least try, but quickly stop myself. The man is stubborn, and bossy, and when he has his mind hell-bent on something, there is no way I’m going to change it. I’d just be fighting a losing battle.

“Do you have any out-of-town trips that I should know about?” I ask instead.

“Not unless something unexpected comes up.”

“I’m going to need a copy of your work agenda and meeting times if I’m going to be scheduling dates for you.”

“I’ll have my assistant get that to you.” He angles his head. “Anything else, boss?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Not that I can think of right now.”

“Will you need a key to my place?”

“And risk the chance of walking in on you in the middle of...” I let my words fall off as I envision Alec in his bed with another woman, doing all the things to her that he’s recently done to me. Get it together, Megan. “Actually it might be a good idea,” I say. It’s best if he doesn’t think I care if he’s here with another woman, considering that’s the whole reason for me being here in the first place. And really, I don’t care. Not one little bit. “If you bring a woman back here, I’d like to have your kitchen stocked a bit better, and a few homey tou

ches would be nice. I can arrange that. I want things perfect. We need this to work for both our sakes.”

“I’ll get you a key,” he says, like he’s not happy about the whole thing.

I bite into my toast, chew and wash it down with a mouthful of delicious coffee. Alec does the same and then turns to me. With a piece of toast halfway to his mouth he asks, “You’re really going to pretend to be me online?”

“Yes, except more charming.”

He goes perfectly still for a second before he lets loose a laugh. “You don’t think I’m charming, Megs,” he asks, and nudges my chin with his fist.

“I don’t really know you anymore, Alec,” I say, and it instantly changes the mood. He pulls his hand back, more aloof than usual as he finishes his toast. He stands to put his plate in the dishwasher when the doorbell rings.

“Expecting company?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, and I check the time as he disappears around the corner. Who could he be expecting on a Saturday morning at ten? I glance at my clothes and jump from the stool, panicked. I’m hardly dressed to greet his guests, and what if it’s a woman—one of his many. But then I remember he doesn’t bring women into his home, and I’m only here because he’s trying it on for size. Maybe that’s why my seduction worked. Maybe he was trying a woman out in his bed for size, too.

Okay, Megan, stop overthinking everything.

I’m about to hurry down the hall when the door closes, and Alec calls me into the living room. I peek in to make sure he’s alone. “What’s going on?” I ask, when I see a dozen boxes sitting on his coffee table. He had a delivery, this time of day?

I slowly walk into the room, and can’t believe it when I see the boxes are from Bianca’s Boutique, Manhattan’s very expensive, very elite lingerie shop.

“These are for you,” he says. “Size six, right?”

“I...uh...yes, how do you know that?” He arches a brow at my foolish question. Of course he knows that. His hands were all over my body, and since he’s reached out and touched more women than Hallmark, he’s probably an expert at guessing sizes. “What have you done?”

---