Page 39 of The Fake Husband Deal

He laughed and gave me a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

Mr. Spencer’s eyebrows were doing a circus number. I stayed put for a moment, trying to figure out what to do with him.

He’d actually proposed to me. Was he insane?

I settled my bill and walked up to the table.

“Come on. We’re going to your place to talk.”

He shot up to his feet. “My place has a bed.”

“Noah Spencer, you just proposed in a public place. I’m sure someone took a photo, although I hope it’s for personal curiosity rather than anything else. The last thing on my mind right now is getting you naked.”

I made my way out of the bar with him on my heels.

“You don’t even know where to go. Come on.” He pulled me in the right direction after I went the wrong way.

I lied. The only thing on my mind was getting him naked. In all my adult years, no one had gotten as deep under my skin as Noah.

Going to his place was dangerous. Being alone with him was dangerous, but there was no other way.

As much as this would be an exercise in self-control, I couldn’t have this conversation in public.

His apartment was open-plan, the front door leading straight to the kitchen and living area. The large windows with views of the surrounding buildings provided enough light. Before he turned the lights on, it took me back to that night at the hotel when nothing but the light from the streetlamps below had illuminated his beautiful body.

The layout of the apartment and the kitchen were the only modern things about it. Everywhere else, there were rugs, photos, paintings, an old couch. Noah’s apartment was a home.

“Okay, hear me out,” he said, going to the fridge and taking out two bottles of beer.

“Water for me, please. I’m driving home.”

He didn’t argue, though I could see he wanted to.

“So…”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?” I sat on the couch, surprised at how comfortable it was.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“Hmm, let me think. We have a working relationship, and the last time we saw each other, we agreed to get some distance. Correct me if I’m wrong, but getting married isn’t exactly putting distance between us.”

“It is if it’s fake.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He stood and paced between his coffee table and the large TV.

“Here’s the deal. You can help me with something really important to me, and I can help you with something really important to you.”

“Such as?”

“You need a husband to keep your company. I need your connections and influence.”

“You’re forgetting one thing. I need to marry for love.”

He gave me a pointed look. “Was that love I saw in your eyes when you were talking to Bernard?”

“Bernard and I have history.”