In Too Deep (Man of the Month 10)

"Method acting?" he said, then immediately regretted it. But she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she took his hand, then lifted it to her lips. He shivered as she brushed a kiss over his knuckles, then leaned sideways so that her mouth was just millimeters from his ear.

"Pretend I'm saying something ridiculously naughty and X-rated," she said

. "My mom's watching, and my dad is beside her."

"Your dad?" he murmured, while he reached over and cupped his hand on her thigh over her skirt. She inched closer, and he slid his hand up just a bit higher, all the while thinking that it was a good thing the skirt was long, because since they were method acting, he would have happily pulled up the material of a shorter skirt just to feel her skin burn beneath his hand.

"They didn't get married until I was in law school, but he likes me to call him Dad when I'm home." She shrugged. "I didn't at first, but it made things uncomfortable between him and my mom, so I gave up the battle and tried to make it a habit. I figure it's a small price for peace."

"Wise."

"I guess." She'd been toying with his hand as they whispered, and now she released him. "They've moved on. We can quit the young lovers routine."

"Do we have to?" The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back. The comment had just come out--heartfelt, maybe, but not something he would have said to her if he'd been thinking.

But he hadn't been thinking, because this woman tended to steal all his thoughts away.

"I didn't--"

"We don't have to stop," she said softly, turning her face just enough so that he could see her eyes. "Method acting, remember."

"Right." He swallowed, and maybe it was his imagination, but he thought she leaned just a bit closer. Her lips parting for a kiss. And all he had to do was--

"Oh. My. God. Hannah! Look at you! I haven't seen you since last year!"

"Aunt Beatrice! So great to see you." She stood and gave the sixty-something woman a hug, then introduced her to Matthew, who'd been trying to decide if she was as disappointed as he was that their almost-kiss had been interrupted.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said, standing and trying to recall his manners.

"Beatrice is my mom's older sister."

"And I need to steal you away, dear. Amelia says you two are engaged and I want to hear everything. But I want all the dish," she added with a wink. "That means you're not invited, young man. But surely you can live without her for a few minutes."

"I don't know that I can," he said, playing the role.

But as she walked away with her aunt, he couldn't help but think that there might have been a bit of truth in those words after all.

*

Matthew was filling his plate with sliced brisket and potato salad when Hannah returned, her mere proximity sending awareness coursing through him. She pressed her palm against his back, then leaned close, her manner so casual it almost seemed as if they really were dating. But, hey, method acting, right?

Then again, maybe she was just good at deception. Usually, Matthew wasn't. But in this case it wasn't difficult to appear head-over-heels for his pretend fiancee, because Hannah Donovan had mesmerized him from the first moment he'd met her.

"Hey, stud," she said. "If you get the food, I'll grab some wine. I got us a table near the band. And after the bride and groom do the first dance, we can go out on the floor, too. Less talking to people about our engagement if we're lost in each other's arms, right?"

He swallowed, imagining the feel of her against him during a slow dance. "Sounds good. I'll meet you at the table in a--"

"Oh, hell. Red alert." The harsh, almost scared, tone of her voice cut through him, making him want to hold her close and soothe her. "It's my dad. Ernest."

His stomach curdled, his protective instincts now warring with a strong urge to just get the hell out of there.

But he couldn't. The man was the entire reason he and Hannah were at this wedding together. Why they were pretending to be engaged. Why she'd been looking at him all gooey-eyed for most of the evening, and he'd been diligently reminding himself that it was fake. All fake.

"Let's head over and talk to someone," Matthew suggested. "Your aunt. One of your friends."

"Too late. He's heading toward us. Dammit, I don't want to deal with him right now."

"You and me both." He hadn't had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Donovan yet, but he'd heard enough to already be wildly intimidated by the successful lawyer. Matthew knew his strengths, and he also knew that if Ernest Donovan wanted to discuss legal ideas, current events, or even great literature, Matthew was going to come across sounding like a goddamn idiot. Shit.