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Maybe it didn’t matter. This was her stage. Her improv class—just the thought gave her an adrenaline jolt like she was physically stepping out on a ledge. No one knew her here. She could do what she wanted. See where it led.

Nico swung around on the barstool so she directly faced Bodhi. She picked up the glass. Crossed her legs and let the sweater dip a little down one shoulder. She felt daring. Sexy. Out of her league, but who cared?

So what did she want to do—shoot whiskey for shock value or take what would be one more cautious sip in her life?

To hell with it. She needed no one’s permission.

She could be two women in one—the woman who wore boots and shot whiskey and the highly educated woman who could commandeer depositions and negotiate multimillion-dollar compromises where she won.

She tossed back the whiskey at the exact same moment she watched a decision hit his eyes and expression and he spoke.

“I’m needing a bride for the next week or two, and I think you’d be ideal.”

Chapter Three

Between the burnof the whiskey and his crazy words, Nico didn’t know what to do with her body.

She was on fire. Every nerve alive. Even her brain burned. And she had to swallow. But she was afraid. And she was in public and didn’t want to stand out.

When in doubt, freeze. Do nothing. Let your brain catch up. Someone else will make the tactical error.

No. That was the old her. Samara Nicoletta. The one no one had ever called Sam or Sammy.

But what was she supposed to do in this situation with her eyes burning, feeling like she was choking, and outrageous words ringing in her head?

“Water,” she heard Bodhi call out, even as he pulled her into his arms and stroked his hand in a circle on her back and murmured something. Her body tensed automatically the minute he touched her, which she regretted because he let go and stepped back. Immediately, she missed his warmth and the unexpected feeling of security along with his pine and tea tree fragrance that had whispered in her nostrils but was now gone.

“Here.” Bodhi held a glass of water to her lips. “That’s some burn.”

She swallowed, let the whiskey burn its way down her throat, her eyes watering in shock and sympathy. Then she sipped at the water but made no move to take the glass. Instead her fingers skimmed his hand holding the water.

“I thought whiskey was smooth,” she accused.

“It’s an acquired taste. The top shelf is very smooth with a little practice.” He smiled at her, and somehow she didn’t feel silly.

He had a beautiful mouth. A beautiful everything. And his eyes. That blue with the darker ring. Spooky but mesmerizing. She didn’t want to look away. But what woman would?

“I’d be honored to step up as your teacher,” he said cheekily.

“Are you, too, an acquired taste?”

“If I am acquired.”

“But only for a week?” she questioned as her brain began to click back online.

“It’s a family situation,” he said. “I’ll tell you more if you’re interested.”

Who wouldn’t be interested? She’d wanted to escape. Process. Change her life. Role-playing with a beautiful cowboy was mind-blowingly all those things and more.

She thought back to the first two rules of improv. And the cardinal sin. But Nico, despite her best intention, had centuries of DNA and decades of life experience to battle before uttering the required chirpy “Yes, and…”

“And what happens after a week or two? Pumpkin time?”

“Something like.”

Nico poured another finger of whiskey in her glass.

“Show me how to acquire.”