The Million Pound Marriage Deal. Michelle Douglas

I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’

      His eyes throbbed into hers. ‘You’re talking about hearts and emotions now?’

      She nodded.

      He leaned down so they were eye to eye. ‘I can assure you that my heart is in absolutely no danger. You should know me better than that.’

      Yes, but she was Peter’s little sister. And she didn’t know how or why, but in his eyes that made her different from other women.

      He straightened. ‘Are you telling me your heart is in danger?’

      ‘Absolutely not.’ Not as long as she remained on her guard. And she had no intention whatsoever of letting her guard slip. ‘But what about Carol Ann and your grandfather?’ They could become invested in this fake marriage.

      He stilled. ‘You’ll always be Carol Ann’s friend, won’t you? You’re not going to dump her the moment we get our divorce.’

      ‘Of course not!’

      ‘Then I think she’ll be fine. Thank you for considering her well-being. I appreciate it.’

      But she noticed he made no mention of his grandfather’s well-being. She didn’t pursue it. ‘Fine. That leads us to the next topic.’

      * * *

      Will stared at her. He wanted away from the cloying heat of the room. Mind you, it had only become cloying in the last few minutes.

      ‘You’re supposed to ask me what topic?’ she prompted.

      ‘What topic?’ he growled.

      She sent him a falsely sweet smile that scraped through him like fingernails on a blackboard. ‘Kissing.’

      He rocked back on his heels. He couldn’t help it. He was simply grateful he managed to stop himself from striding from the room altogether.

      She glanced away, her lips pressed into a tight white line that still couldn’t hide the luscious curve of her bottom lip. A fact he desperately didn’t want to notice.

      ‘Did you really think we’d manage to get through this weekend without the odd peck?’

      He let the air out of his lungs, slowly. A peck? He could manage that. Her lips twisted as if she’d read that thought in his face and he knew what message he was sending her—that he found her unattractive. And he could tell she was doing her best to try and not let that bother her...hurt her.

      Damn it! He needed this weekend to go smoothly. He needed to convince his grandfather that he and Sophie were serious. He tried to bring Carol Ann’s face to mind, but it was Sophie’s wounded eyes that kept appearing there instead.

      Damn it! Letting her think that he didn’t find her attractive provided him with a measure of protection, but a real man wouldn’t let her continue operating under the misapprehension, wouldn’t let her take the blame for his own weakness. If it were any other woman...

      But it wasn’t any other woman. It was Sophie.

       Will you keep an eye on her? Be there for her if I can’t be?

      He’d promised Peter.

      He slammed his hands to his hips. ‘I don’t find you unattractive, Sophie.’

      She turned from surveying the fire. ‘You don’t need to pander to my vanity and make excuses or apologise, Will. These things can simply be a matter of taste or chemistry or—’

      He held up a hand, holding her gaze. ‘You’re lovely...beautiful.’ His gut clenched as he said the words.

      She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. ‘But?’

      Her chin didn’t drop, the light in her eyes didn’t fade, and she suddenly appeared indomitable. Where he’d fancied he’d seen fragility, now there was only strength. It made his mouth go dry though he couldn’t fully explain why. Except the realisation that what he thought of her physically maybe didn’t matter to her one jot. Which was how it should be, of course. But it left him feeling at a distinct disadvantage.

       Right, so that’s new, is it?

      He ignored the sarcastic voice as best he could, and thrust out his jaw. ‘But,’ he ground out, ‘you’re different from the women I date. With them I...’

      ‘Scratch an itch and then move on?’ she offered when he hesitated.

      It was crude but accurate, and everything inside him rebelled at it. ‘We have fun, enjoy each other’s company.’

      ‘Yes.’

      He shifted under the steadiness of her gaze, shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Are you saying it’s different for you and the guys you date?’

      ‘No.’

      If he’d been hoping to put her on the defensive he’d have been sadly disappointed.

      ‘The itch I’ve been scratching, though, is grief, and I finally figured out that the partying, the drinking, the dating an endless parade of guys—having fun and enjoying their company—hasn’t helped.’

      He pulled his hands from his pockets and then didn’t know what to do with them. He moistened his lips. ‘Has it made it worse?’ How could he help?

      She made an impatient movement. ‘Not worse. It’s just...pointless, and not how I want to spend the rest of my life.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘I wonder what itch you’re scratching? I think it’s a big one.’

      He realised then that she wasn’t judging him. Lots of women did, and found him wanting. Not that he blamed them. He wasn’t cut out for commitment and the long haul. But Sophie was simply trying to work him out. Some of the tension that had him wound up tight eased. When you had parents like his, when you watched them do their best to tear each other apart—and succeed—you promised to never let yourself fall into that same trap, to never get embroiled in the same predicament.

      But he didn’t want to talk about his parents. ‘Is it really so incomprehensible for a guy to simply want to keep his freedom, to not want to be tied down?’

      One of her shoulders lifted in a graceful shrug.

      ‘What I’m trying to say, Sophie, is that you’re not like the women I usually date and that...’ He bit back a curse. ‘I can’t treat you the way I would them.’

      She nodded. ‘Because I’m Peter’s little sister.’

       Exactly.

      ‘And I can’t treat you like the guys I’ve been dating.’

      ‘Because I’m Peter’s best friend.’

      Very slowly she shook her head. ‘Because I like you.’ Her eyes grew shadowed. ‘And because of who you were to Peter—yes, that too. It means I want you as a part of my life for...’

      Things inside him clenched up tight. ‘For?’

      ‘Forever. Permanently. I know I’m a trial to you. I know you probably don’t even like me all that much.’

       What the hell...?

      ‘But it means I don’t want to mess things up between us.’

      Where had she got that idea—that she thought he didn’t like her?

      ‘You’re one of the few links I have left to Peter and I can’t bear the thought of losing it.’

      Her grief went so deep and he intended to do whatever he could to help her over it. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

      ‘It will if we mess this up. If we lose our heads and forget ourselves...just once...then we’re not going to want to see each other again.’

      Her words were like a punch to the gut. Because they were true.