The One-Night Wife

She laughed, the same way she had in the dress shop. The sound was so sweet that it made him smile, too.

"Let me guess. She wanted an elephant."

"If only." Sean let out a sigh. "An elephant would have been a snap, compared to what she asked me for."

"A snap? Just a snap?"

Oh, yes. There was definitely a smile in her voice. He liked it.

"No question about it."

"I give up. What does she want for her birthday?"

Sean took a deep breath. "She wants me to get married."

"She wants you to..." She shifted toward him. "To get married?"

"I told you, an elephant would have been a snap."

Savannah stared at him. No. It couldn't be. But every­thing was starting to make sense. Telling her he was going to call her his fiancee in the clothing shop. All those ex­pensive clothes. All the talk about her playing a role.

"Wait just a minute, O'Connell. Are you saying you want me to pretend that I'm—that you and I are—"

"Engaged. You got it."

She couldn't seem to take her eyes from the crazy man sitting next to her. He wanted to pass her off as his fiancee?

"Engaged?" she repeated, in a voice that seemed to climb the scale from alto to lyric soprano.

"Uh-huh. A perfect young couple, head over heels in love."

His tone mocked the words. Why did that make her feel sad?

"Come on, McRae, don't look at me as if I asked you to stand on your head while playing the piano. This isn't rocket science. People get engaged all the time. All you have to do is—"

"No."

"You've already proved what a great actress you are. The way you came on to me that night...'' His voice roughened. "All an act, right?"

"Right," she said without hesitating.

"So, what's the problem? You don't have to sleep with me, if that's what's worrying you. All I require is—"

"I said, no." Savannah sat straight in her seat and stared out the windshield. Sean had just turned onto the road that led to his hotel; the entrance was not far ahead. ' 'As in, En Oh. There's not a way in the world I'm going to do this."

"I don't want to upset you, sugar," he said in a voice that made a lie of the promise, "but you don't have a say in the matter."

She looked at him. His profile, seen in the lights of the hotel as they approached it, was stony. And, of course, he was right. She didn't have a say, not unless she could come up with half a million dollars to repay Alain...and another half million to secure Missy's future.

How could he expect such a thing of her? To pretend to be his fiancee? Pretend she loved him, wanted him, wanted to be in his arms as she had been just a little while ago?

Pain pierced her like a forsaken dream. She swung away from him as they pulled up in front of the hotel. The parking attendant and the doorman were both hurrying toward them, just as they had last time. Everything was the same, except what Sean wanted.

"People don't do things like this," she said in a low voice.

' 'Thanks for that bit of insight, McRae. I don't know what I'd have done without—"

The car doors swung open simultaneously. "Good eve­ning," the attendant said. The doorman smiled at Savannah. "Ma'am," he said pleasantly, "it's nice to see you again."

Nice? She was back at the scene of the crime. What could possibly be nice about that?

She stormed past the man but she didn't get very far. Sean grabbed her arm and led her toward the steps.

"Let go," she hissed.

"So you can run? No way, sugar. You already did that once. It's old."

"I didn't run. You threw me out. Damn it, will you let go?"

"Well, I'm not throwing you out this time," he said, hustling her inside the lobby.

"Listen, you—you egocentric fraud—"

The desk clerk looked around in surprise. So did a couple who'd been talking with him. All six eyebrows reached for their hairlines.

Why not? Sean thought grimly. They probably made an interesting sight, he damned near towing Savannah toward the elevator, she trying her best to dig in her heels and halt his progress.

"Madame? Sir? May I be of service?"

It was the desk clerk, scurrying toward them, trying to smile while looking terrified.

"No," Sean snarled.

"Yes," Savannah snapped. "Find a shrink and have this man committed."

"She has an unusual sense of humor," Sean said as he banged on the elevator call button. When the ornate glass and silver doors opened, he pulled Savannah inside the car.

"Ma'am?" the desk clerk said uneasily, and Savannah rolled her eyes.

"Oh, for God's sake," she said, "just go away!"

The doors slid shut. Sean slid his key card into the pent­house slot and the car rose. Savannah wrenched free and glared at him. "You're good at this. Kidnapping women and shoving them around."

The doors opened again. Sean caught her by the elbow, hurried her through the entry hall and into the sitting room.

"Let me be sure I've got this right," he said. "You were willing to sleep with me but when I tell you there's no sex involved, that all you have to do is pretend to be my fiancee, you go crazy."

Crazy was exactly how it sounded, but s

he wasn't about to admit that.

"You want me to lie."

"Oh, I see." His lips curved in a smirk. "The McRae Morality Code frowns on lies."

"Obviously, yours doesn't."

That seemed to hit the target. Sean's shoulders fell.

"You think I'm thrilled about it, you're wrong. I just don't have a choice." He went to the minibar and opened it. "Besides, what do you care? She's my mother, not yours."

"It's not right."

"You never lied to your mother?"

"I never had to. She didn't know what I did or didn't do, and..." Savannah frowned. Why tell him that? She never talked about her life, her family. It was nobody's business, certainly not O'Connell's. "Besides, you couldn't pull it off."

Sean tossed two cans of Diet Coke, a bag of chips and a couple of candy bars on a low table.

"Eat something," he commanded. "I'm not hungry."

"Of course you're hungry. So am I, and ordering up dried-out chicken sandwiches and coffee from the bottom of the pot doesn't appeal to me."

He opened the bag of chips and held it out. The wonderful aroma of salt and fat rose to her nostrils. To her horror, her stomach did a low, long rumble.

"Not hungry, huh?" He pushed the bag at her. "Eat."

Reluctantly, she reached in and took a handful of chips. They tasted as good as they smelled, and she took another handful.

"Why can't you just tell her you shouldn't have promised such a thing in the first place?"

He sighed, sat down on the sofa and laced his hands be­hind his head. The movement brought his biceps into sharp delineation. It did the same for the long muscles in his thighs and when he stretched out his legs, his black T-shirt rode up an inch, revealing a hard, flat belly.

"Because I've disappointed her too many times already."

Savannah blinked. "What?"

"You asked me why I didn't just tell her that—"

"I got that." She hesitated. "But you'd disappoint her with this anyway. Eventually, you'd have to tell her the truth."

That got him to his feet. He ran his hands through his hair until it stood up in little spikes and paced from the living room to the bedroom. Savannah followed,

"Engagements fall apart all the time. She'll accept that."

"I thought you said you'd promised her you'd get mar­ried."