Her So-Called Fiancé. Abby Gaines

which was even more bizarre.

      “Sabrina.” Jake’s deep, commanding voice swung the crowd in his direction.

      Just like that. A potential governor of Georgia obviously held sway over a dumped beauty queen. Now she understood why he was here—he’d seen the opportunity for some free publicity for his election campaign and was cashing in on her thighs.

      She took advantage of the distraction to glare at him. Then he arrived at her side, and his presence sucked up all available oxygen, leaving her in a vacuum of awareness. Darn it, she hated that he could still do that to her.

      He tugged her heavy carry-on bag off her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

      Sabrina blinked at his concern. Before she could reply, he turned to the reporters, who by now were firing questions, and held up a hand.

      “If you folks bought into the garbage dished out about Sabrina at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant,” Jake said, “then shame on you.”

      Huh? Sabrina’s mouth dropped open. Shouldn’t he be speechifying about the Georgia school system or some other political hot potato?

      “Some of you—” he pointed to the reporter from the Journal-Constitution and an interviewer from Good Morning Atlanta “—went on record six months ago as saying Sabrina Merritt is the most beautiful Miss Georgia ever. Now you’re letting a bunch of Yankees tell you otherwise?”

      A murmur rose among the shuffling reporters.

      The Yankee quip was well judged—Sabrina wished she’d thought of it herself. Because this wasn’t Jake’s fight. Ironic that the very time she was determined to stand her ground, the man least likely to defend her had an attack of chivalry. “Jake, you don’t have to—”

      “Take it from me,” Jake told the crowd, now swelled by curious travelers and airport personnel, “Sabrina Merritt is a beautiful person inside and out.”

      Sabrina’s famous thighs almost gave way; she steadied herself by clutching at the nearest immovable object. Jake. Through the soft, worn cotton of his casual shirt, she felt the strength of muscle in his forearm.

      Jake’s gaze flickered, but he kept his focus on the spectators, where a smattering of clapping had broken out. “And,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument, “she has amazing legs.”

      He would know. An unwelcome tide of memory swamped Sabrina. But Jake didn’t appear to be in the thrall of their shared history. He bestowed his most charming smile on the photographers. “That’s all, folks.” To Sabrina, he said in a low voice, “Let’s get out of here.”

      “But Tyler—”

      “He’s not here, I’m your chauffeur.”

      “I need to—” A glance at the reporters told her no one wanted to hear her stand up for herself. All the interest was in Jake, who was already shepherding her through the crowd. “I haven’t picked up my suitcase,” she protested.

      “I’ll have one of my staff get it.”

      His black Alfa Romeo was parked right outside the terminal, where only taxis and rental-car shuttles were allowed. Jake paid off the guy minding the Alfa, then held the door open for Sabrina. He jerked his head at her to get in.

      “A prospective governor shouldn’t park illegally,” she said.

      “You think that’s what’ll lose me the primary?” he asked with an irony she didn’t understand.

      She slid into the car, and a minute later Jake was maneuvering through the stop-start terminal traffic with his usual controlled flair. Sabrina didn’t realize she was holding her breath until they passed the Welcome to Atlanta sign on the airport periphery and she let it out.

      Jake glanced over at her. “Your skirt’s too long.”

      “Are you kidding? Those guys wanted to make mincemeat out of my thighs.” Ugh, the words conjured an unpleasant image; Sabrina squirmed in her seat. “You can’t blame me for covering up.”

      “Avoidance doesn’t work. Confronting challenges head-on is the only way to win the respect of the media.”

      It wasn’t the media’s respect she needed at this stage, though it might help with her new job. “I was about to confront those reporters when you butted in.”

      He raised his eyebrows. “A simple thank-you will suffice.”

      “I can fight my own battles,” she said, striving for a dignity that would put Jake in his place. His place being out of her life.

      He snorted. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re no longer Daddy’s helpless little princess…”

      Her fingers curled in her lap. “Did you see my father at the airport?” she demanded. “You know, given half a chance, he would have been there, browbeating those guys. I can get past this on my own.”

      “Why break the habit of a lifetime now?” Visibly, Jake bit down on further criticism. Which wasn’t like him. He was the one person who didn’t pull his punches with her.

      “Why were you at the airport instead of Tyler?” she asked.

      “You’ll see.”

      Typical Jake, keeping information to himself, treating her as if she was an infant. And not a very smart one at that. Sabrina feigned a gasp of horror. “You’ve gone over to the dark side!”

      At his impatient look, she elaborated. “You came to save me from those reporters—you’ve joined the Coddle Sabrina Merritt League.”

      He rolled his eyes. “Never going to happen, sweetheart.”

      The sweetheart hovered between them. Sabrina tried to think of a smart comment. Then the hard line of Jake’s mouth curved in something that might have been a grimace, but just might have been…

      “What’s with the weird smile?” she asked. “That’s the second one today.”

      Immediately, his lips resumed their granite set. “Tyler said I had to be nice,” he admitted.

      Tyler was Jake’s cousin. He’d managed to stay close friends with both of them, despite the rift between Jake and Sabrina. She pffed. “I don’t need Tyler championing my cause, and I don’t need you grinning at me.”

      “My smile is my best feature,” Jake said. “Seventy percent of voters think so.” Again, that ironic tone.

      “A hundred percent of this voter doesn’t agree.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “I count on you being nasty.”

      They lapsed into a moment’s silence as he passed a moving truck. “I’m not nasty.”

      “Mean, then,” she amended. “I rely on you not to handle me with kid gloves. So don’t go screwing up my world any more than it already is.” She folded her arms and looked out her window at the light industrial area they were passing through.

      “So you don’t need your dad, you don’t need Tyler. Do they know you’re flying solo?” He sounded curious rather than sarcastic.

      “They’ll figure it out when they see the changes I’m making.” She twisted to face Jake. “Being Miss Georgia has been an empowering experience.”

      Another snort—she should have known better than to trust his interest.

      “That’s what you said on TV,” he said, “in Las Vegas.”

      She pounced. “So you were watching.”

      The color that rose above the collar of his striped shirt was some compensation.

      “I figured it was a line to impress the judges,” he said.

      Sabrina contemplated how, if that had been her strategy, it had been a dismal failure. “Your defense