“What?” she finally asked, pure challenge in her eyes.
“Answer this question honestly, and we’ll talk about your contract.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows shot up.
“Really. I won’t act on your answer. I won’t pressure you. No matter what you say is fine, and we’ll still discuss the deal you brought. Okay?”
She ran her tongue over her lower lip, and I barely contained my groan.
“Ask your question,” she said.
“Have you ever, even for just the slightest second, no matter how inappropriate it is because you work for my best friend’s team—”
“Enough caveats. Ask it.”
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to kiss me?” The words came out low and rough.
Her eyes dropped to my lips, and hers parted.
“I promise not to move a muscle. I’m not trying to get into your pants.” That wasn’t a full lie. I wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. “Answer. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to kiss me?” I repeated.
She warred with herself, the inner conflict evident in the flicker of her eyes and the way she worried that lower lip with her teeth. Finally, she met my gaze and held it. “Yes.”
My entire posture softened in relief. She’d been honest. Holy. Shit.
“Now the contract.” Her chin rose in the air, and so help me God, I lost a chunk of my heart to her right then.
“I’ll sign it on one condition.” This was fucking insane, but it was my only shot.
“Name it.” She nodded.
“Marry me for six months.”
Her jaw dropped.
“I’m not kidding, Langley. If you agree to marry me for six months, I’ll sign your damned contract. I’ll move to South Carolina, and I’ll be the lynchpin for your team. I’ll save your ass when it comes to your job. And no, this isn’t about getting a piece of ass.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
“Sex isn’t part of this deal. I’m not trading your body for a contract. I’m not that kind of man.”
“But you’re the kind of man who would hang my entire career on whether I’ll agree to marry you? Do you have any idea how ludicrous that sounds? That is?” She pushed at my chest, and I backed up, giving her space.
“I do, but it’s the only thing I want. Six months of being your husband.” Six glorious fucking months.
“You’ve lost your damned mind.” She hoisted herself onto the edge of the pool. “I have to marry you and I don’t even get to have sex with you?” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean that. Forget I said it.”
I grinned. Couldn’t help it. “Sex is up to you. I just wasn’t including it in the offer.” Because she didn’t need sex. Not yet, at least. That woman needed someone to put her first. To show her that it was possible to have a career she loved and a man she loved just as much. That she wouldn’t have to choose as long as she started by choosing the right man.
“Why the hell would you want to marry me for six months?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her very wet black T-shirt.
“Because it’s the only way you’ll let me date you,” I answered honestly. “And I really want the chance to date you.”
Her mouth opened and shut a few times, but finally she shook her head and walked away from me, muttering that I’d lost my fool mind.
I watched her walk away with a smile on my face. Both our cards were on the table, and the choice was hers to make—or not to.
Man, I hoped she said yes.
2
Langley
Marry him.
Marry him!
The nerve of that giant hockey-stick-wielding brute!
Even if the way he’d worded it was…endearing.
“I really want the chance to date you.”
A warm chill raced over my skin—the memory of how his eyes had softened, the way he’d shifted from hardened Viking to something more as he’d posed the question.
I paced the length of my room in Lukas’ grand estate. I’d selected the same one he’d assigned me on our last visit here. The same place where my ex-fiancé had called and forced me to choose between him and my work. The same phone call that had ended our too-long engagement. I glanced down at my left hand, still adjusting to the empty ring finger.
“Marry me.”
All I wanted was a man who supported and understood my career—I’d thought my ex was that man. After all, he’d worked constantly too. Always on call for patients or galas or medical conferences. Never—not once—had I asked him to choose me over…anything. Not work or golf or boys’ trips. Maybe that had been part of the problem—not asking anything for myself.
Nothing except my work—which shouldn’t be something I needed a man’s permission to do. Having a career and succeeding at it was my God-given right and I would never, ever let a man force me to choose again. Work was something entirely within my control. I could excel or fail based on my own efforts. Men? They did whatever they wanted to my heart and left me to deal with the repercussions.