The Trouble with Valentine’s (2 page)

Not shoes, thought Hallie. Shoes did not arrive by courier in flat little parcels, even designer ones. But the courier’s credentials looked real, the address on the parcel was that of the shop, and the name on the paperwork was hers so she opened up with a sigh, signed for the parcel, and locked up behind him before turning back to the parcel.

It was a brown-paper package tied up with string. Hard to resist, what with it being a favourite
thing and all. Besides, it was Valentine’s Day. Good things happened on Valentine’s Day. Unexpected things. Hopefully it wasn’t a bomb.

Hallie snipped and ripped to reveal a slim travel guide to Hong Kong and Nicholas Cooper’s business card. The card said he was a gaming software developer. Good to know. She flipped it over and discovered a message on the back.

‘Marco’s on Kings’, it read in bold black scrawl, and beneath that, ‘7 pm tonight, Nick’.

Presumptuous, yes, he was certainly that. His kiss had been presumptuous too.

Not to mention annoyingly unforgettable.

So what if Marco’s was one of the best seafood restaurants this side of heaven? So what if raindrops on roses might conceivably be in Nick Cooper’s repertoire? No sensible woman would even consider his proposal. Pretending to be a complete stranger’s wife for a week was ridiculous, even by her standards.

And yet …

Hallie reached for the travel guide and smoothed it open, first one page, and then another.

Hong Kong; gateway to the Orient. Money and superstition. Heat and a million camera shops. A squillion neon signs.

‘An enchanting blend of East meets West,’ read
the travel guide. Half a world away from this shoe shop, whispered her brain. Ten thousand pounds.

So there were a few drawbacks.

Lies. Deception. Nick Cooper’s kisses. Hallie tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and closed the book with a snap.

Big drawbacks.

And yet …

Twenty minutes later, Hallie let herself in through the front door of her brother’s Chelsea flat and dumped her handbag on the sideboard. Why Tris had bought the little two-bedroom apartment when he never stayed more than a year in any one place was a mystery, but she certainly appreciated the use of it. No telling what Tris would make of Nicholas Cooper’s offer.

Probably best not to tell him.

Ten thousand pounds
, whispered her brain as she slipped off her shoes and padded down the hallway.

No.

Dinner at Marco’s, then. It’s only dinner
.

No it’s not. If you go to dinner you’ll ask him why he needs a wife for a week and then where will you be? Next thing you know, you’ll be agreeing to go to Hong Kong with him.

So?

Travel was her middle name.

Oh, boy. Hallie stumbled over the hallway runner and wondered just what it was about Nicholas Cooper that made her lose her mind.

He had a wicked smile. No doubt about it.

And his offer was definitely intriguing.

A rueful smile tugged at her lips. Best not to even think about his kisses.

Come ten to seven, Hallie had finished her argument and was in the bathroom, hurriedly applying makeup, when she heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of a man’s long, loping strides down the hall. Moments later Tris appeared in the doorway, little more than a vague shadow at the edge of her vision. ‘You’re back,’ she said, busy with the mascara. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’

‘Plans change,’ he said. ‘Going somewhere?’

‘Dinner at Marco’s on Kings Road.’

‘Classy.’ Was it just her imagination or was Tris a whole lot more preoccupied than usual? ‘Who with?’

Ah. That was more like it. ‘Nick.’

‘Nick?’

‘We met today. At the shop.’

‘He wears ladies’ shoes? Is this supposed to be reassuring?’

‘He came in with his mother. He
bought
her some shoes.’

‘Run,’ said Tris. ‘Run the other way.’

‘Nope. I’ve made up my mind. It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m embracing the unexpected. I’m having dinner with him.’ She finished with the mascara, reached for a smoky grey eyeliner.

‘So …’ said Tris. ‘Does
Nick
have a last name?’

‘Of course he does but if I tell it to you you’ll run a check on him at work and come home and tell me what kind of toothpaste he uses. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s not even a date, exactly. More of a business opportunity.’

‘What kind of business opportunity?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’ No need to bore him with details. ‘Something involving travel.’

Tris sighed, heavily. ‘And you believed him.’

Time to change the subject. ‘There’s leftover lasagne in the fridge,’ she said as she dropped her lipstick into her evening bag and turned to leave the bathroom, halting abruptly as she took her first good look at her brother. ‘Whoa.’ His dark, shaggy hair was filthy, his left hand was carelessly bandaged and his clothes looked like they’d been dragged through a sewer with him still wearing
them but it was his eyes that bothered her most. Because they were full of frustration and pain. ‘You look terrible.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Liar.’ He was holding himself so stiffly. Ribs, maybe. He sagged against the doorframe, his shoulder hunched and Hallie revised her opinion. ‘Shoulder?’

Tris nodded. Every so often he dislocated his left shoulder. The first time he’d done it he’d been six and their father had rushed him to the hospital. These days Tris opted to do without the six hour wait in A&E and sort it out himself.

‘Have you ever considered a different line of work?’ asked Hallie, mainly because it needed to be said and who better than a sister to say it? ‘Because seriously, this undercover gig isn’t doing you any favours.’

‘You’d rather I sold shoes?’

‘Well, yeah,’ she drawled, and then forgot all about the insult to her current occupation when Tris leaned his head against the doorframe and closed his eyes. ‘You want me to put your shoulder back in?’

Tris nodded, opened his eyes, pushed off the doorframe and went and sat on the edge of the bath. Hallie got up into his space, put the heel of
her hand to his shoulder and lined up her weight behind it, ready for the hard, sharp push she was about to deliver. Better she put the shoulder back in than Tris trying to fix it himself using the doorframe. That never ended well. ‘On three, okay?’

Tris leaned into her, as relaxed as he was going to get. ‘Just do it.’

‘Patience, grasshopper. Ready?’ Time to count off. ‘One.’

Hallie shoved hard and in it went. Tris groaned and almost landed in the tub.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered hoarsely.

‘Not my pleasure.’ Hallie found painkillers in the bathroom cabinet, tipped three of them into her brother’s palm and watched him swallow them dry.

‘You done in here?’ he asked. ‘I could use a shower.’

‘No kidding.’ She hated to see him hurting. She was also reconsidering her dinner plans. ‘You want me to stick around?’

‘What? You’re going to cancel a free feed at Marco’s to stay here and fight me for the last of the lasagne?’ Tris summoned a faint smile. ‘Touching, yet stupid.’

‘The job went bad, didn’t it?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it, Hal.’

Hallie sighed. He never did. Tris didn’t talk about his work. Ever.

‘Go,’ he said, waving her away with his bandaged hand. ‘I’m gonna take a shower and get cleaned up. There’s nothing you can do. Eat. Be merry.’

And from within the confines of the bathroom as he shut the door behind him, ‘Don’t talk toothpaste.’

Nick Cooper always gave a woman fifteen minutes’ grace. Any longer than that and he was inclined to leave or start without them. Fact was, women enjoyed keeping men waiting. They did it deliberately to heighten anticipation and make a man wonder. To make a man want. All part of the game, but then games were Nick’s specialty. For every attack, there was a counterattack, no matter how good your opponent. And Hallie Bennett’s fifteen minutes were almost up.

Not that Nick was even sure she was dining with him – as she hadn’t called – but he’d headed for Marco’s regardless. A man had to eat. And call it a hunch but he thought she’d show. He browsed the blackboard specials, scanned the printed menu, looked around for a waiter and saw, instead, the delectable Hallie Bennett heading his way.
Botticelli’s Renaissance, her colouring; she of the Titian hair, creamy complexion and golden-brown eyes. But her hair was cropped to chin length and her face was pure arthouse Animae; all big eyes, clean lines and memorable mouth.

His body stirred and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to conceal the fierce rush of anticipation that accompanied her arrival as he stood to greet her. Kissing that smart mouth of hers into submission had been an absolute pleasure. Getting to know the rest of her was tempting, very tempting, but the truth was he couldn’t afford the distraction. He didn’t need a bedmate this coming week; he needed a partner. Someone with an opportunistic streak, a quick wit, and a deft touch with the ridiculous.

So far, Ms Bennett had impressed him on all counts.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said when she reached him. ‘I wasn’t sure I was coming until the last minute.’

‘What made you change your mind?’ he asked as he saw her seated and tried to ignore the quickening of his breath and of his blood.

‘Hong Kong and ten thousand pounds,’ she said, her accompanying smile drawing his attention to the generous curve of her lips, currently painted a deep, luscious rose. Her lip colour matched her
dress, a sleek, cling wrap of a dress that emphasized the perfection of the body beneath.

‘I like your dress,’ he said with utmost sincerity.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes lightening with a humour that was hard to resist. ‘I like it too. Have you ordered?’

‘After you.’

She chose the clam chowder. He chose the reef fish and, at her nod, a bottle of white to wash it down.

‘I’m curious,’ she said once that was all settled. ‘You’re rich, you’re handsome, you’re healthy – you are healthy, aren’t you?’

‘Perfectly,’ he said, enjoying her candour.

‘So why do you need a pretend wife for a week?’

‘I’m negotiating distribution rights to a computer game my company has developed. Unfortunately, the distributor’s teenage daughter took a liking to me and I found it extremely difficult to, er, dissuade her.’

‘You mean you couldn’t fend off one fledgling female? You? You’re kidding me, right?’

‘Wrong.’ Nick sighed. He could handle predatory women, honest he could. But a semi-naked eighteen-year-old Jasmine Tey had cornered him in his bedroom late one night and the sheer unexpectedness of it coupled with more than one
glass of his host’s most excellent rice wine had rendered him momentarily incapable of sensible thought. ‘She was very young,’ he muttered defensively. ‘Very sweet. I was trying to let her down gently.’

‘You invented a wife,’ guessed Hallie. ‘And now you have to produce her.’

‘Exactly. Will you do it?’

‘Why not ask a woman you already know to help you out? She’d probably do it for free.’

‘Because then I’d have to dissuade
her
. Whereas you and I will have a business arrangement, a contractual obligation if you like, and once you’ve fulfilled that obligation, you leave.’

‘Ah.’

It was a very expressive ah.

‘Will you and your
wife
be staying with your associate and his family?’

Nick nodded. ‘They have a guest suite. And it’s only John Tey and his daughter. He’s a widower.’

‘Dining with them? Socializing? Getting to know them?’

‘All of that,’ he said.

Hallie Bennett leaned back in her chair and regarded him steadily. ‘That’s a lot of lies, Nick. Why don’t you just tell your distributor the truth? Maybe he’ll understand.’

‘Maybe.’ Nick didn’t have a good enough measure of the man to know. When it came to business, John Tey was cutthroat sharp. When it came to his daughter, the man was putty. ‘As far as I can see, John Tey gives his daughter everything she wants.’

‘I was raised by my father and four older brothers,’ countered Hallie. ‘Trust me, giving her what she wants won’t apply to men.’

She had a point.

‘Unless of course, your distributor decides that marrying his daughter off to you makes good business sense.’

‘Exactly. I can’t risk it.’ He didn’t want to marry Jasmine. He didn’t want to marry anyone just yet. And then the bulk of her earlier remarks about her family registered. ‘
Four
older brothers, you said.’

‘Not you too.’ Her voice was rich with feminine disdain. ‘Would it help if I told you they were all pacifists?’

‘Is it true?’ he asked hopefully.

‘No. But we were talking about you.’

‘You’re right. I need a wife for a week. It’ll be over so fast your brothers will never know. Will you do it?’ Nick waited as the waiter set their meals in front of them. Waited while she thanked
the man, reached for her napkin and set it across her lap, her features relaxed, her expression noncommittal. She was more than he remembered from the shop. More vibrant. More thoughtful. Four brothers.

‘I’d need to know more about you than I do now,’ she said finally.

‘I’ll send you a fact file.’

‘I’m not a fact file person.’

Why was he not surprised?

‘No,’ she continued. ‘I’m more of a hands-on person. You’re going to have to show me where you live, where you work and what it is you do all day. That kind of thing.’

Nick groaned.

‘You can send me the fact file as well,’ she said with a placating smile. ‘I don’t suppose it can hurt. And we’re going to need some rules.’

‘What sort of rules?’ He wasn’t very good with rules. Probably not worth mentioning.

‘I want physical contact limited to public places,’ she said firmly.

‘No problem.’ His lips twitched.

‘And only when we have an audience.’

‘You’re absolutely right.’ At this rate she’d get through every sexual fantasy on his list before dessert. ‘What else?’

‘I’ll follow your lead but only within reason. I won’t be a simpering “yes” wife.’

‘But you will simper a little?’