One Fiancee To Go, Please. Jackie Braun

she asked, but gauging from her expression, Jack could tell she had guessed and was struggling with whether she should be appalled or flattered.

      “Will you do me the honor of being my fiancée for the evening?” he asked in solemn good humor.

      Tilting her head to one side, she regarded him for a long moment. “You said this was nothing illegal.”

      He nodded.

      “And it’s just for the evening, right?”

      “Just for the evening.”

      “Well, I’m working late, so I won’t get off until seven,” she told him, and Jack let out a relieved sigh. She hadn’t exactly consented, but then she hadn’t told him to get lost either. He decided to go on the assumption that since she was telling him what time she got off work, she was agreeing to his wacky plan.

      “Hmm, seven.” He rubbed a hand over his chin and did some quick calculations in his head. “That will be tight, but it could work. Dinner’s at seven-thirty in the restaurant at the Saint Sebastian Hotel.”

      Jack heard the woman whistle through her teeth, but he was too excited to wonder at her reaction.

      “I have a rental car,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “I could come pick you up here and you could freshen up in my hotel suite if you’d like.”

      He hadn’t even finished speaking when she began shaking her head. “Look, I’d really like to help you out, but I don’t have a thing to wear to a fancy place like that. The Saint Sebastian is easily the nicest place in town.”

      “But if you had a dress to wear, you’d go, right?”

      “I suppose,” she shrugged. “But I really can’t afford to buy a new one right now, even if I had the time to go shopping. I’m sorry,” she sighed with genuine regret, and said again, “I really would like to help you out.”

      Jack remained silent for a moment, then gave in to impulse. “Leave the dress to me.”

      “Oh no.” She held up a hand and shook her head in protest. “I can’t allow you to buy me a dress.”

      “Why not?”

      “First of all, after what happened yesterday I’m the one who’s supposed to be doing you the favor, remember?”

      “So? You’d still be doing me a favor. If it helps, think of the dress as a prop that I’ll supply and that you get to keep afterward,” he suggested with a smile.

      “But I hardly even know you,” she sputtered. Then, “I don’t even know your name!”

      “That’s easy enough to remedy. It’s Jack. Jack Q. Maris. The Q is for Quinten.” He squinted at her in mock challenge. “I don’t tell many people that because I hate the name, but I tend to make exceptions for close friends and pseudo-fiancées.”

      When she just sat there and stared at him as if he had grown two heads, he prompted, “And you are?”

      “Oh! I’m Tess. Officially, Tessa Claire Donovan, but nobody calls me Tessa,” she added, narrowing her eyes in much the same way he had.

      Jack held out his hand and waited until she extended one of her own. He clasped the slender hand tightly and, for the third time since he had first seen her, he watched Tess blush.

      “It’s nice to finally meet you.” Still holding her hand, he added, “By the power vested in me by the state of desperation, I now pronounce you, Tessa Claire Donovan, my make-believe fiancée.”

      Tess stood outside Earl’s Place, shoulders hunched against the crisp November evening. She had managed to clock out fifteen minutes early and to change into the jeans and cotton blouse she’d worn to work that morning, and she was hoping Jack would be as good as his word and arrive on time. She still couldn’t believe she had agreed to go to dinner with him, much less pose as his fiancée for the evening. What did she know about the man, after all, except that he had the most gorgeous green eyes, a sexy smile, and a body that seemed chiseled from rock? For all she knew he could be some deranged madman loose from a psychiatric ward, or a serial rapist stalking his next victim.

      But then she remembered the way he’d said her name, wrapping his tongue around that one simple syllable as if he were savoring it. And she recalled the way a mere handshake had stolen her breath. To herself, she admitted that even if yesterday’s mishap had not compelled her to agree to help him, she would be waiting outside Earl’s Place anyway. The man intrigued her. And her unprecedented reaction to him intrigued the practical, unflappable Tess even more.

      “You need a ride, Tess?” one of the regulars asked on his way out of the restaurant.

      “Thanks, but no, my date should be here any minute,” she replied. She smiled after she said it. My fiancé, she corrected silently, then allowed herself the indulgence of a fantasy. She pictured a shiny white limousine pulling to the curb, a black-capped chauffeur stepping out to open the door for her. Inside, Jack sat on supple leather seats holding out a flute of champagne, his smile warm with promise. Tess gave herself a mental shake as Jack’s tan rental sedan pulled to the curb. What was wrong with her? This was no date. It was playacting, two people pretending to be intimately acquainted and doing it for a small, exclusive audience. She pushed aside the sharp twinge of disappointment she felt and concentrated on the evening ahead.

      A thought occurred to her as they headed down Fifth Street to the Saint Sebastian. “Jack, if we’re supposed to be engaged, shouldn’t I know more about you than just your name?”

      “Good point. Let’s see, I graduated from Northwestern University with a degree in accounting. That’s also where I got my master’s in business administration.” He gave her his full attention while they waited for a traffic light to change. “I was born in Chicago. My father moved back to the Windy City a couple of years ago. My mom’s in Aspen, and I have one older sister, Kirsten, who’s rather nomadic, but she’s living in California these days. I’ve been living in Boston and working for a company there.”

      The light turned green and the car pulled forward.

      “Should I be from Boston, too?” she asked.

      He thought a minute, then shook his head. “No, I think you should be from Chicago. You have a Midwest accent.”

      She shrugged, taking his word for it, although she had never considered herself to have an accent of any sort.

      “Okay, so how did we meet if you live in Boston?”

      “Hmm. How old are you?” he asked, glancing sideways.

      “Twenty-four.”

      He pursed his lips. “Well, that pretty much rules out college. How about, we met when I went home to visit family a few years ago, and we’ve maintained a long-distance relationship ever since, waiting for you to finish college and me to find my dream job before we settled down.”

      It sounded rather romantic to Tess, and much more exciting than her own boring life, but she replied in a bland voice, “I guess that’s plausible.” She couldn’t resist asking, “Just how old are you?”

      “I’m not robbing-the-cradle old,” he insisted with a throaty chuckle that had her smiling in return. She liked the sound of his laughter, and the easy camaraderie that had sprung up between them.

      “Just how old is ‘not robbing-the-cradle old’?” she asked.

      “I’m only thirty-two.”

      “Thirty-two, huh?” She gave him a quick once-over and said, “Looking at you, I’d have to say you’ve aged remarkably well.” The teasing tone of her voice sounded flirtatious even to her own ears. It wasn’t like her to flirt. In fact, she hadn’t realized she knew how. The man certainly had an odd effect on her. When he glanced curiously in her direction, Tess busied herself rummaging through her purse for some breath mints.

      They arrived at the hotel