The Million Pound Marriage Deal. Michelle Douglas

he realised then what she’d made explicit but had left unsaid. She didn’t find him unattractive either. The knowledge made his blood roar.

       Hell.

      He ground his back molars together and counted to three, pulled in a breath. ‘You have my word that I won’t lose my head.’

      He would not let her down.

      ‘And you have my word.’

      They had to be cautious, circumspect. He couldn’t let himself feel too comfortable with her...and yet they both had to cultivate an appearance of tranquillity with each other for outside eyes. She was right. This could be trickier than he’d first envisaged. But not impossible.

      Her lips lifted and she rolled her eyes.

      ‘What?’

      Before he knew what she was about she’d leaned in, stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

      His heart crashed in his chest. His cheek burned where her lips had touched him.

      She eased back, adjusted her cardigan. ‘Right. Your turn.’

      She was trying to make kissing him as natural as possible, and he had to do the same. ‘Believe it or not,’ he said, ‘it’s my pleasure.’

      He pressed a kiss to her brow and tried not to notice how soft and warm and vibrant she felt beneath his lips.

      She huffed out a laugh. ‘Well, in that case I choose to believe it. Right, sit.’

      She gestured to the sofa and he took a seat. She came from behind. Her arms slid around his shoulders, making him start.

      ‘You do that downstairs and you’ll give the game away.’

      He nodded and gritted his teeth. ‘Do it again.’

      She eased back, walked away and then moved towards him again and bent down to slide just one arm about his shoulders. He rested his hand on her forearm and felt a tiny tremor run through her. He pulled in a measured breath and her scent flooded his senses. ‘You smell nice.’

       Nice? That’s the best you can manage?

      She smelled sensational—fruity and warm, like Christmas. Though Christmas was months away.

      ‘It’s my body lotion. Frosted cherry. My favourite.’

      They broke apart at exactly the same moment. This was exhausting, but he saw the wisdom of it. They needed to give the impression that they were physically comfortable with each other.

      When nothing could be further from the truth.

      ‘Your turn.’ He waved her to the armchair.

      She sat, leaned back, crossed her legs—for all the world as if she were completely at ease.

      Time for them to get this over and done with.

      Her eyes widened when he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and leant down towards her, effectively locking her in and leaving her nowhere to escape. ‘Lips?’

      She glanced at his lips and then back into his eyes and nodded. ‘Dry lips,’ she whispered. ‘And we keep it brief.’

      Every cell in his body burst to life. He recited, Peter’s sister, Peter’s sister, Peter’s sister, over and over in his mind. ‘I want to tell you something before we do this,’ he murmured, his gaze not dropping from hers.

      She swallowed. ‘Okay.’

      ‘You’re wrong. I like you just fine, Sophie Mitchell.’

      Her lips parted as if in shock. He couldn’t resist the pull any longer. His mouth lowered to hers, lips brushing lips—light, teasing and nowhere near enough. She stiffened, but then he felt her force herself to relax. And then she leaned forward a fraction and pressed her lips more firmly against his and kissed him back.

      Wind roared in his ears. It took all the strength he had to not deepen the kiss, to not engage lips, mouths, tongues and hands.

      Biting back a groan, he pulled back to stare into stunned blue eyes. They were a deeper shade of blue than he’d ever seen before.

      She pushed him away and launched herself from the chair like a horse from a starter’s gate. ‘We better keep that to a minimum.’

      She was darn right they were keeping that to a minimum!

      He’d kiss her cheek, her brow, the top of her head, her hand, but he had every intention of staying as far away from those lips as possible. They were lethal!

       CHAPTER THREE

      THE MOMENT SOPHIE and Will entered the drawing room, they were greeted with a squeal and a woman with the same dark auburn hair as Will—Carol Ann—launched herself at her brother with a display of such unadulterated joy all Sophie could do was smile.

      When had she lost that easy, unselfconscious joy? The answer came swiftly—when she was eleven years old. She glanced at Will and wondered when he’d lost his.

      His current delight at seeing Carol Ann, however, was plain to see. He turned his sister towards Sophie. ‘You remember Sophie, don’t you?’

      She’d prepared herself for any number of scenarios—from cluelessness as to who Sophie might be, suspicion, perhaps jealousy over Will...and even a studied politeness. What she got though was another whoop of joy and smothered by a hug.

      ‘Sophie’s my best friend.’

      She was?

      ‘We like the same movies.’

      ‘We certainly do.’ For one mischievous moment she was tempted to launch into a song from South Pacific or Grease, but she was aware of the other two people in the room...and she had a feeling they might not appreciate her musical prowess as much as Carol Ann and Will.

      Not that Will would necessarily appreciate it either, but he’d appreciate the effort of making Carol Ann happy.

      ‘She sends me the best presents.’ She stared at Sophie expectantly now. ‘Did you bring me a present?’

      Will’s head rocked back. ‘Carol Ann, you can’t—’

      ‘Of course I did.’ Sophie laughed at a thunderstruck Will. Digging into her pocket, she drew out a small velvet box. ‘Here you go.’

      Carol Ann opened the box and her eyes went wide. ‘It’s beautiful!’

      It was a bracelet of pink and purple crystals, and she’d known Carol Ann would love it.

      The other girl danced on the spot. ‘Purple for me! Pink for you!’ she shouted.

      ‘Not so loud,’ Will admonished, though he couldn’t hide his smile.

      ‘Put it on me,’ Carol Ann demanded.

      Will did and Carol Ann rushed to show it to Ms Grant and her grandfather.

      ‘What did she mean about the colours?’ Will asked, drawing her further into the room.

      ‘Purple is Carol Ann’s favourite colour and pink is mine.’

      ‘How do you know that?’

      ‘She told me.’

      Carol Ann swung back to them. ‘Because we talk lots and lots on the phone.’

      His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. She’d thought he knew. She’d thought Carol Ann would’ve told him. She’d never mentioned it to him herself because he’d never raised the topic. So rather than look at Will, Sophie grinned at Carol Ann. ‘Because we’re best friends.’

      The pressure of his fingers on her arm informed her he’d be following