Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After) (19 page)

He grinned, allowing her the privacy. Hell knew, his own thoughts weren't appropriate for sharing when he looked at her. "You want us to live together as platonic friends?" Just saying the words made him cranky, but at the same time, he didn't like the image she'd presented of how she subordinated her own needs when in a relationship. When put that way, what the hell else could he say? "All I want from you is the shoebox," he said roughly. He unzipped his bag and tossed a pile of boxers and socks into the shoebox. "And if we were really married, you should still only give me the shoebox. Keep your space, Emma. Always."

Her shoulders seemed to relax, and a real smile lit her face. "How can you say you're such a bad guy when you say things like that and mean it?"

He held up his hand to cut her off. "Don't fool yourself, Em. You lied to yourself about Preston. Don't make the same mistake with me." He really didn't need her trying to make him into the good guy when being in her presence was tempting him almost beyond what he could endure.

He pulled open a dresser drawer as she fell silent. Staring at him was a pile of lace underwear and bras that made his entire body ignite. No thongs. Nothing risqué. Just classy and elegant, and nothing like the cotton underwear packed in beside it, which is what she'd been wearing the night they'd made love.

He hooked his finger around one of the lace numbers and held it up. "You don't wear these anymore?"

Her cheeks burned bright red, but she lifted her chin. "It's none of your business what I wear."

"You're right." Suddenly annoyed, he tossed the underwear back in the drawer, not sure whether he was more irritated at the idea that she'd worn that underwear for another man, or the fact that she had shut down her sexuality to the point where she tried to hide the fact that she was a woman. He braced his forearm in the middle of the drawer and shoved all the contents to the side, making enough room for the few tee shirts he'd brought with him.

It took him about three minutes to make space for the rest of his clothes. He tossed a couple pairs of his shoes in the corner, unloaded his shaving kit into the cramped space in the bathroom, and shoved a six-pack of beer and several frozen pizzas into the fridge. A couple sports magazines on the coffee table, a baseball hat and his denim jacket on a hook by the door, and he was done.

Emma was sitting on the couch by the time he stood back, surveying his claim to her home. "You unpack like a man used to being on the move all the time," she observed.

He glanced at her. "What does that mean?"

"You didn't care where anything went. You just unloaded it wherever you could fit it. Your stuff is here, but you could walk out the door without it and be gone forever." She cocked her head. "Is your own house like that? Transitional?"

"It's a place to crash," he said, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

Now that he was done unpacking, the smallness of her house seemed to close in. He became so aware of the bedroom only a couple feet away, of the fact that the kitchen counter he was leaning on was only ten feet from her. They were too damned close to each other, and there was nowhere to retreat.

Shifting restlessly, he looked around for a distraction, noticing for the first time all the artwork on the walls. Many nature scenes, all of it framed. Beautiful watercolors that seemed to bring the beauty and purity of nature into the room. "You did those?"

She glanced at them. "Yes. I rotate them in and out depending on my mood. The rest are in my studio." She nodded at the door on the other side of the living room. "That's where Mattie will live. I'm thinking of having Jackson Reed build me a studio off the kitchen instead. I always dreamed of having one with huge windows and lots of natural light."

Something inside Harlan shifted at the expression on Emma's face. She was sharing a dream with him, he realized. Something that made her truly happy and gave her peace. He'd never seen that expression before, not on anyone. It was pure tranquility and beauty, and he had to look away from it, feeling like he was intruding in a place he didn't belong. Invading her underwear drawer had not been a problem, but her dreams were different. They were beyond where he should tread.

Shit. How was he going to fake being married to her tomorrow? How was he going to look Dottie McPhee in the eye and say he was going to be around to take care of this woman, and that little girl? He couldn't make those promises. He just couldn't.

"I'm leaving," he reminded her. "As soon as my hip is good enough to deal with my job, I'm gone." He knew it wouldn't be long. It still locked up occasionally, but it was healing fast.

Emma's expression changed, growing harder. "I know."

"I need to be honest with Dottie about that. I can't promise to be around and raise that kid. I can't lie about that. My job takes me away."

She pressed her lips together. "I know." There was relief in her eyes. "That's the way it needs to be."

"Yeah."

Awkward silence fell. What did he say to her? He shifted restlessly, wanting to get away from the enclosed space, from implied promises, from the traps of domesticity—

"Emma!"

They both jumped as the front door swung open and Clare walked in, wearing jeans and a brightly colored blouse. The moment she saw Harlan, she stopped in her tracks, staring at him open-mouthed.

He shrugged. "Not dead."

"Oh, my God!" To his shock, Clare rushed at him, and threw her arms around him in a huge hug. "You're alive! We thought you were dead."

Harlan hugged her awkwardly, not sure how to handle her outburst. He didn't know her well enough to get that kind of greeting. "Yeah, well, I'm not."

She pulled back. "Does Astrid know?"

He grimaced. "No. I haven't been to see her." He actually had intended to slip in and out of town without anyone knowing. A quick divorce with Emma and then gone, which was clearly not happening.

"Oh, wow. She is going to kick your butt when you show up at the barbeque tonight," Clare announced cheerfully, clearly delighted by the idea.

Harlan blinked. "Barbeque?"

Emma sucked in her breath. "I forgot about that." She glanced at Harlan. "I think we'll skip it—"

"Skip it?" Clare set her hands on her hips. "You want to skip the opening night of the Shakespeare Festival? That's an outright crime, my friends."

Emma cleared her throat. "See, here's the thing, Clare. It turns out that the home study is tomorrow, and the social worker is expecting Harlan to be here. We have to figure out how to act like we're madly in love and solidly married by tomorrow at noon."

Harlan raised his brows, realizing that Emma must have confided the truth in Clare. He liked that she'd had someone to talk to while he was gone. "I need to find out all her secrets," he added, "you know, the kinds of things only a husband would know."

Clare rolled her eyes, giving them both an exasperated sigh. "And you think you're going to figure that out sitting here like two geeky teenagers on their first date? The tension between you two is ridiculous, and no social worker is going to buy it."

Harlan swore under his breath. He had no damned idea how to be married, or even in a real relationship. He'd been very careful not to get attached, and he'd been completely successful. Until now.

"What better way to get more relaxed with each other than to go out and socialize like normal people? Try winning Emma a stuffed animal at one of the booths. Share a hot pretzel. Drink beer. Watch fireworks. Deal with gossipy people from the town." Clare eyed them both. "Isn't the social worker going to need references from friends and family? How are you going to get people to swear that you two are a great couple if you don't go out there and mingle?"

Mingle.
Mingle?
"I don't mingle—" Then he saw the expression on Emma's face. Pure, unmitigated yearning to go to the barbeque. She was like a little girl, so excited for a night out with her friends. And Clare was right. They did need the town to buy into it. For Emma, and for a little girl who needed a chance. Knowing he was probably going to regret it, he shrugged. "All right. We'll go."

Clare grinned, but when Emma's face lit up, he knew he'd socialize all damn night to see that look on her face again. And that, he figured, was kind of a major problem. Getting addicted to Emma's smiles could lead only to trouble.

But after seeing her grin, it was trouble he was willing to risk. At least, for tonight.

Emma bit her lip nervously as Harlan pulled his truck in between two pine trees beside the town fields that had been converted into the fairgrounds for the next ten days. A small Ferris wheel topped the skyline, plus an assortment of other rides. At the far end of the field were the carnival booths with silly games and cheap food, but at the near end of the field were the booths manned by the locals: crafts, food, beer, and everything else created and designed by people who cared. Those booths were draped in velvet cloths with real geraniums, and the vendors knew the names of half the people attending. Beside the entrance was the same antique carousel that had been set up by the farmer from Surrey who had been bringing it for fifty years, since the time when it was the only ride at the entire fair.

She'd had her first kiss on that carousel, and many afterwards. Seeing it made her a little bit nostalgic for the days when all that mattered was whether her socks matched her belt and the right guy thought she was cute.

Nowadays, if a guy thought she was cute, she was more likely to run away screaming than fix her lipstick and flutter her eyelashes at him. Glancing over at Harlan, she added a third option to her cute guy response: marry him. Oy.

The beautiful weather had resulted in the place being packed both with lots of summer folk and a healthy share of locals as well. Everywhere she looked, she saw people who had known her for her entire life. People who had watched her go on her first date, cry when her parents left town, and drive off with a summer guy to get married and start her new life. People who knew her well. Too well. She would never be able to fool them.

She sighed and leaned back against the seat, suddenly not feeling quite so eager to leap out and join the crowds that had called to her since childhood. "How on earth am I going to convince them that we're madly in love and the perfect parents for Mattie? They know me better than that."

Harlan eased the truck to a stop and shifted into park. "You mean, they know you'd be a rotten mother?"

She glanced at him with a small smile. "No, I mean they will be able to tell that we barely know each other. They've seen us in town for the last few years. Everyone knows we've hardly spoken to each other until this marriage thing. How are they going to believe we suddenly fell in love?"

Harlan leaned toward her. "Sweetheart, even total strangers can fall madly in love with each other within moments." He traced his finger over her jaw. "You don't need to know the name of someone's fifth grade homeroom teacher to know whether your souls connect."

Her heart started to pound at the intimacy. "Don't say romantic things like that, or I
will
fall in love with you."

He laughed. "Never. I'm the most unlovable guy there is." He dropped his hand. "But, I do think that we can pull this off. If we don't, Mattie goes to South Carolina, right?"

Emma nodded. "Yes—"

"Then you, my dear, must instantly fall head over heels in love with a man that you have worshipped from afar for years, and who instantly fell into your lap like a lost dog who finally found his home."

She giggled at his goofy expression. "You're the dog?"

"I'm the dog," he agreed. "But a really cute one. Floppy ears and stuff. Instant love. No one will blame you for falling victim to my charms." He winked at her, giving her a look so ridiculously innocent she laughed out loud.

She grinned, relaxing. Any man who could put on that goofy of a look was simply not to be feared. "My heart is melting," she teased. "I have this weird urge to feed you dog bones."

"Awesome. I love dog bones." He looked past her, and a thoughtful expression creased his brow. "We've been spotted."

Emma twisted around and saw a group of locals she'd known for years pointing at his truck. Her stomach tightened. "Oh—"

"Let's make this convincing, sweetheart." Harlan touched her arm and turned her back toward him. "I'm madly in love with you, babe. Come to papa."

She started to laugh. "Come to papa? You're kidding."

"Never." He locked his hand around the back of her neck. "Time for a show."

She had a split second to realize he was going to kiss her, and then his mouth closed down on hers.

It wasn't a sweet, gentle kiss. It wasn't the dark, desperate need of a forbidden night like they'd had before. It was the raw, untamed passion of a man who was thinking about
nothing
except how long it was going to be until he could get his woman's clothes off.

She knew the kiss was for show, but that didn't lessen its impact on her. Heat exploded within her, wildfire that seemed to burn all the way through her body. His kiss was deep, a sensual seduction designed to shred all her defenses and turn her into helpless mush in his arms. His hand was on her jaw, holding her where he wanted her, staking his claim to her on all levels.

It was dangerous, decadent, intensely sexual, and she loved every second of it. Since it was for show, since they were about to get out of the truck and mingle, and since there was no future in the kiss, it was a safe kiss, one that she could simply lose herself in and bask in every glorious sensation cascading through her body.

Harlan made a low growl in the back of his throat, and then he pulled her closer. The kiss grew deeper, more intense, and she couldn't keep herself back from him. Her arms went around his neck, holding him close. Suddenly, her breasts were against his chest, her nipples tingling where they felt the heat of his body igniting them. His hand moved to her lower back, and when she felt the brush of his palm against her bare skin, electricity seemed to leap between them—