One
“Where have you been? It’s two o’clock!”
Livvy Farrell pushed a damp strand of her black hair off her forehead and slipped out of her dripping raincoat, hanging it on the coatrack by the office door.
“You said you’d be back by one, and you were out in that downpour,” Shawna accused.
Livvy grinned, her bright blue eyes brimming with laughter. “Ah, the ever-vigilant secretary. Nothing gets by you. Tell me, do I really want to know why you’ve developed a sudden interest in my whereabouts?”
“Probably not,” Shawna said candidly. “This place has been like a zoo since you left. Your mother’s phoned four times—and she sounds more desperate each time—that client with the building supply company has called you several times and the boss,” Shawna nodded toward the oak door across from the reception room, “has been asking for you every five minutes.” She grimaced. “I swear the man thinks I’ve got you locked in a closet somewhere.”
“Conal wants me?” Livvy felt a liquid warmth ooze through her at the thought of Conal Sutherland looking for her. Or better yet, of him finding her. Her finely drawn features unconsciously softened. He’d sweep her up in his powerful arms and crush her to his broad chest. Her internal temperature went up a few tenths of a degree just imagining what it would feel like to be pressed up against him.
It would feel fantastic, Livvy decided, absolutely fantastic. His dark brown eyes would gleam with suppressed passion, and he would murmur that he’d suddenly realized that he’d been looking for her all his life. That he couldn’t wait to—
“Are you coming down with something?” Shawna demanded impatiently.
No, but I’d sure like to, Livvy thought ruefully. Conal, to be specific. I’d like to pull him down into my bed and make mad, passionate love to him.
Livvy made a determined effort to get her wayward imagination under control. She most emphatically didn’t want Shawna to get the idea that she harbored any thoughts other than professional ones for Conal. The situation in their small office would become unbearable if Shawna were to decide to try to play matchmaker. Even worse, Conal might think that she’d put Shawna up to it. The appalling thought effectively squashed her ardor.
“What did Conal want?” Livvy asked.
Shawna shrugged. “I don’t know. Neither of you ever tell me anything. Shall I let him know you’re back?”
Livvy determinedly resisted the temptation. “No, first I’d better find out what’s bothering my mother. Would you get her on the phone for me?”
Livvy went into her office, poured herself the last of the coffee in the pot and wearily sank into the brown leather chair behind her cluttered desk. She took a reviving sip of the concentrated caffeine and tried to wiggle the tension out of her shoulders caused by spending her lunch hour competing with other equally harried shoppers.
When the phone rang, she put the coffee cup down on one of the reasonably level piles of paper and answered it.
“Livvy, the most awful thing has happened!” Her mother didn’t even bother with a perfunctory hello. “The restaurant I hired to cater the food for your grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary party had a kitchen fire and is out of business for the foreseeable future!” Marie’s voice rose to a wail. “What am I going to do?”
“Calm down for starters,” Livvy automatically slipped into her soothing-the-nervous-client mode. “I will admit it’s aggravating, but—”
“‘Aggravating’!” Marie squawked.
“Very aggravating,” Livvy amended, “but it’s nothing that can’t be overcome.”
“Every other caterer in Scranton is already booked for the weekend. And your Aunt Rose wasn’t the least bit of help. She just kept saying that because I was the oldest, I ought to do it.”
“Mmm,” Livvy murmured, realizing that her mother didn’t want advice, she wanted sympathy. Something Livvy was more than willing to provide. After all, her mother really did have a right to gripe about the way her sisters had dumped the organizing of their parents’ anniversary reunion entirely on her shoulders. Although if it were left up to her scatterbrained aunt Rose, the whole family would sit down to peanut butter sandwiches. Her grandparents deserved better than that. They merited the very best their family could arrange, Livvy thought on a wave of love.
“And the trouble I had finding a baker who was willing to copy the wedding cake Mom and Dad had. No one wants to tackle anything the least bit out of the ordinary these days,” Marie said, continuing her litany of woes. “The only thing I can think to do at this point is to have everyone pitch in and bring food. There are far too many people coming for one person to make everything.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Livvy responded, wondering what it would be like to have been married for that long. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she tried to imagine Conal as her husband of fifty years. She couldn’t because her mind was too busy envisioning him as a bridegroom. His dark brown hair would have a thin coating of silvery confetti from the wedding party, and his eyes would be aglow with passion. He would—Her imagination faltered under the strain of trying to picture Conal saying, “I do.” Not when he’d already been so vocal about the fact that he wouldn’t.
Livvy stifled a sigh. The only place Conal was likely to be a bridegroom was in her dreams.
“But I do have good news, too.”
Livvy’s finely honed sense of self-preservation kicked in at the nervous tremor in her mother’s voice.
“What’s that?” Livvy asked cautiously.
“I was talking to Teresa next door who said that her husband’s second cousin’s son is staying with them, and he doesn’t have anything planned for this weekend.”
“So?”
Marie gave a long suffering sigh as if she despaired of her daughter’s intelligence and said, “This weekend is your grandparents’ party.”
“I know that. I just spent my entire lunch hour and another hour besides finding the perfect gift for them.”
“It means that he can be your date for the weekend.” Marie refused to be sidetracked.
“No,” Livvy said flatly.
“He’s willing to do it,” Marie assured her. “Teresa asked him, and he said he didn’t have anything better to do.”
“He may be willing, but I’m not,” Livvy said, having had far too many visits home ruined by Marie’s unquenchable desire to see her youngest daughter married off.
“But, Livvy, if you don’t do it, I’ll have to listen to your grandma lecture me about what a disgrace it is that you’re almost thirty and still not married. And if your aunt May makes one more crack about how sad it is that with all the millions of men in New York City, not one of them is willing to marry you...” Marie’s voice trembled.
Livvy bit back an acid rejoinder about what her aunt May could do with her pseudo sympathy. She didn’t care what the family thought about her single state, but she knew her mother did. Marie cared very much.
“Mom, I really—”
“It’s just for the weekend,” Marie said hurriedly. “And Teresa says that he’s really a nice boy. He just fell in with bad company and—”
Boy? Bad company? Livvy shuddered. It seemed that the closer she got to thirty the less exacting Marie’s requirements in a prospective son-in-law were becoming, but it really sounded as if this one had been dredged up from the bottom of the barrel, literally.
“No,” Livvy said, breaking into Marie’s obviously rehearsed recitation. “Absolutely not.”
To Livvy’s horror, her mother burst into tears. “It’s just for the weekend,” Marie sobbed. “What’s one weekend, and it’ll at least prove to everyone that you can get a date. Please, dear, do it for me?”
“I can’t because...because I’ve already asked someone home for the party.” Livvy blurted out the first excuse that came to mind.
“What?” Marie’s tears miraculously disappeared. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“Because he hasn’t accepted yet,” Livvy improvised. “He said he’d let me know if he can clear his calendar.”
“He sounds very important,” Marie said approvingly. “I can’t believe that after years of my telling you to grab one of those executives in New York, you’ve actually done it. What does he do, dear?”
“He’s in advertising like me,” Livvy mumbled.
“But what if he can’t come?” Marie worried. “Maybe we ought to hold the one I found in reserve just in case.”
“No!”
“But—”
“I can’t date anyone else, Mom.” Livvy groped for a reason that sounded plausible. She could hardly tell her mother that she felt disloyal dating other men because she was fixated on a man who viewed marriage as a specialized form of indentured servitude. Somehow it seemed the final irony that after avoiding marriage for years while she got her career firmly launched, she had finally fallen in love with, and wanted to marry, a man who seemed to want no part of the institution. From various comments he’d made, it was clear Conal didn’t intend to let any woman occupy a meaningful role in his life.
Deciding that if she were going to take up lying, she might as well go for the big time, Livvy closed her eyes and announced, “He’s asked me to marry him, and I haven’t decided whether I want to or not.”
“Marry!”
Livvy winced at the ecstatic sound in Marie’s voice. Her mother hadn’t sounded that happy since her sister Fern had given birth to her only grandchild. Her mother was going to be very let down when Livvy arrived for the party by herself and told her that she’d refused her imaginary suitor.
“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a million and one things that need to be done.”
“Of course, dear. I can hardly wait to meet your Prince Charming.”
“Prince Charming doesn’t exist. He’s just a man. Bye.” Livvy hurriedly hung up before Marie asked any more questions, such as the name of her mythical suitor.
Livvy took another sip of the tepid coffee, feeling like an ungrateful daughter. But a determined, ungrateful daughter. Not even to please her mother was she willing to spend the weekend trying to fend off the neighbor’s husband’s second cousin’s boy. Who had “just fallen in with bad company.” Livvy shuddered. Besides, with any luck at all Marie would be so busy with all the visiting relatives that she wouldn’t have time to focus too much on Livvy’s failure to produce a fiancé.
The sudden ringing of the phone startled her, and Livvy jumped, spilling coffee down the front of her cream silk blouse. She frowned at the dark, spreading patch in exasperation. That was all the afternoon needed to complete it. A stain on her brand-new blouse.
The phone rang again, and Livvy picked it up. She identified herself and then wished she hadn’t when she recognized the voice of Walt Larson, a client who had hired their advertising agency to design a campaign to promote his building supply company.
“You were wrong, Miss Farrell,” Larson announced gleefully.
Firmly walling her annoyance behind the practical demands of keeping the customer happy, Livvy forced a laugh. “It would hardly be the first time, Mr. Larson. But what exactly are you referring to?”
“I checked, and it isn’t against the law to have a bigbreasted woman in a tiny bikini in a television ad.”
“It’s against the law of good taste!” Livvy’s resolve slipped slightly. “Mr. Larson, you sell building supplies for the do-it-yourselfer. What do scantily clad women have to do with that?”
“Sex sells!” he insisted. “You’re supposed to be the advertising expert. You should know that.”
Livvy gritted her teeth, counted to ten and then said, “That is a gross oversimplification.”
“Now you listen to me, Miss Farrell....” Livvy turned at the sound of a sharp knock on her door. Before she could respond, it was pushed open. Larson’s hectoring voice faded to a minor annoyance in the background, as Conal’s large body filled her vision. Eagerly her eyes skimmed over his face. His dark eyes gleamed with suppressed excitement, sending a wave of anticipation through her.
Her eyes instinctively sought the intriguing line of his mouth, lingering over the firmness of his lips. She didn’t know what had excited him, but she sure knew what would work for her—if he were to gather her in his arms and press his lips to hers. A shiver raced over her skin, raising goosebumps.
“...pay the bills!” Larson’s indignant tone finally registered in Livvy’s bemused mind.
“Yes, Mr. Larson, but...” Her concentration suffered a major setback when Conal perched on the edge of her desk, and Larson launched back into his tirade. She could feel the warmth from his large body reaching out to her. Luring her closer to him.
In self-defense she dropped her eyes and found herself staring at his thigh. His muscles were pushing against the thin gray material of his suit pants, and Livvy felt her fingers tremble with the urge to touch him. To probe the strength of his muscles and find out if they were as hard as they looked. To—
“...big boobs,” Larson concluded.
“Boobs!” Livvy jerked up, outrage momentarily dousing her fascination with Conal’s body.
“Breasts,” Conal amended in a stage whisper.
Livvy ignored him, even if she couldn’t entirely ignore the tightening of her own breasts at the gleam of mischief in Conal’s eyes. Clients might be important, but there were limits to what she was willing to do to keep an account. Larson was skating seriously close to that limit.
Livvy’s eyes narrowed as an idea suddenly occurred to her.
“Mr. Larson, I will concede that you have a point that sex sells, but you’re being very unimaginative about it. Instead of a bikini-clad woman, why don’t we hire a model from one of the male strip clubs?”
“What?” Larson sounded confused.
“It’ll be great,” Livvy said blandly. “We can get a muscular type in a sequined jockstrap and—”
“You can’t do that!” Mr. Larson sputtered.
“Why not?” Livvy felt the trembling of Conal’s body, and she looked up to see him choking on the laughter he was trying to contain. Conal would be a natural in the role, she thought dreamily. They could put him in a redsequined bit of nothing and drape him over a power saw. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She would buy. And so would half the women in New York City.
“I don’t think you appreciate my business,” Larson blustered. “I’ve half a mind to take it elsewhere.”
Half a mind about summed it up, Livvy thought acidly. “We would be very sorry to loose your business,” she lied, “but of course you must do what you think best.”
She gently hung up the phone in contrast to the way Larson slammed the receiver down.
“What was that all about?” Conal asked.
“Inappropriate sex,” Livvy muttered, not wanting to talk about Larson’s fixation with large-breasted women.
“Sex inappropriate? Is that possible in this culture?” Conal grinned at her, his white teeth gleaming darkly against his tanned face, and the laugh lines around his eyes deepening. When he smiled, he smiled with his whole face, Liwy realized. Would he make love with the same intensity? Would he—Stop it. Livvy hastily yanked her imagination up short. She absolutely had to get some kind of grip on her daydreams, because they were beginning to take over her mind every time she even thought about Conal. Somehow she had to find a way to dilute her fascination with him because time wasn’t doing it, as she’d hoped it would when she’d first met him eighteen months ago. Time only seemed to be deepening her attraction to him.
She took a deep, steadying breath and said, “Forget our probably ex-client and tell me what happened.”
Conal shifted uneasily. He momentarily couldn’t remember why he’d come into her office in the first place. He’d taken one look at the aggravation on her face, and had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and wipe away every last vestige of strain. He wanted to kiss her until he managed to replace her annoyance with the mindless bliss of sexual desire. He stared down into the brilliant blue of her eyes, desperately wanting to see them grow cloudy with passion. Passion for him.
He clenched his teeth against the burgeoning need that shot through him like a pain. Fat chance he had of that, he thought grimly. He couldn’t even convince her to go out with him, let alone go to bed with him. Patience. He repeated what had become his mantra during the long months Livvy had worked for him. Sooner or later he was bound to find a chink in her armor. If he was ever to convince Livvy to see him as her lover, he absolutely couldn’t do anything to scare her off. As long as he remained on friendly terms with her, he would be in a position to take advantage of it. In the meantime he would tell her the good news.
“I got a phone call from Grandma Betty’s Soup Company.”
Livvy sat up in sudden interest. As far as she knew, it was the first time they’d been approached by a subsidiary of one of the large multinational chains.
“And?” Liwy prodded him.
“And they want us to submit a proposal for a new line of soup mixes they’re developing.” He offered the words like a gift.
“That’s fantastic!” Liwy enthused.
“It sure is. To paraphrase someone or other, this could be the start of something big.”
But not too big. Livvy instinctively rejected the thought of Conal expanding his small agency. She loved working closely with him and wouldn’t want to lose that intimacy.
“There’s just one thing,” Conal added slowly as he reached the part that he knew was going to be tricky.
“As long as it doesn’t involve bikinis, I can deal with it.”
“It’s the time element. From the deadline they set for our first presentation, I think they originally tried another ad agency and it didn’t work out.”
“How tight is the timing?”
“They want a presentation in six weeks.”
“Six weeks! It’s impossible. Have you forgotten my vacation starts Friday?”
“Take it later,” Conal suggested.
“This is later. I was supposed to go in August and had to postpone it when we had that rush job for the record chain. Besides, I’ve already made reservations in Extaca.” Livvy stiffened her resolve not to give in. She had deliberately planned her vacation in Mexico, hoping that being so far away from Conal would allow her to get her obsession under control. But even so, Conal was right. This really was a great opportunity. An opportunity she would normally have grabbed with both hands.
“You’re tense.” Conal watched the line between her eyebrows deepen in indecision. “That fool Larson has upset you. You have to learn to ignore people like him.”
“That comes under the heading of easier said than done.” Livvy made no attempt to correct his misapprehension. “I...”
Her thoughts scattered like dry leaves in a gale-force wind when Conal stepped behind her and placed his large hands on her shoulders. She could feel the weight of them pressing against her.
“Relax.” Conal’s deep voice was a soothing murmur that lapped seductively against her tense muscles. “Just blank out your mind and allow yourself to drift.” His fingers closed around the slim bones of her shoulders, and he rubbed his thumbs over her silk-clad skin.
Livvy instinctively took a deep breath, sucking in the provocative fragrance of his cologne. He smelled delicious. Like—She shivered as he suddenly slipped his fingers beneath her collar and massaged the base of her neck. A heavy weight seemed to be pulling her eyelids down. His touch felt so good. So right.
Feeling greatly daring, she leaned her head back against his chest. It felt hard. Intriguingly hard.
“There.” Conal’s voice sounded deeper than usual as he stepped back, and she wondered if it was a result of him touching her. Could he have found it exciting? It was a heady thought, even if she had her doubts about it.
Liwy watched as Conal began to pace. Not an easy thing to do in her small office. His face was set in hard lines, and there was a determined jut to his square jaw. A wave of tenderness at his purposeful expression shook her.
“Why don’t you do the proposal yourself?” she suggested. “You don’t really need me.” She ignored the quick flash of pain her words caused.
Conal shoved his long fingers through his short brown hair in frustration. “I can’t do it. They were very specific about wanting a light touch for the campaign. Along the lines of that whimsical thing you did for Ebbings Bakery. I simply don’t have your humorous flair.”
Despite her misgivings, Liwy was unable to resist the glow of pleasure his compliment gave her. They really did make a great team. They each had a skill the other lacked. Which was all the more reason not to ruin the ideal working relationship with a short-term personal one, she reminded herself. Because while an affair with Conal would be fantastic, it wouldn’t last. Relationships held together strictly by sex never did. And while she might love Conal with all her heart, he certainly didn’t love her. Eventually the pleasure of making love to her would become commonplace for Conal and he would end their affair, leaving a lot of memories and possible resentments between them that would be bound to interfere with a working relationship. She would have no choice but to leave. And then she would have nothing. Not Conal and not her job. Nothing but memories, and she was far too young to be living on memories.
“But I’ve already made reservations,” Livvy repeated doggedly, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt. The prospect of two weeks in Mexico paled next to the thought of spending the time working closely with Conal on the proposal.
“Cancel them. Think of the agency. Think of the future.”
I am, Livvy thought grimly. The future of my peace of mind. And the very faint hope that if she weren’t around for two weeks Conal might suddenly realize how much he missed her. Might begin to question his aversion to marriage.
“Think of the fact that I’ll owe you a favor,” he added.
A favor? Livvy stared into his gleaming eyes and felt her insides twist in sudden desire. She could think of several favors that she would like from him, starting with a long kiss and ending with her naked body wrapped in his arms. He would be—
Liwy blinked as she was suddenly struck with a blinding flash of inspiration. She sat up straighter as the idea began to gel in her mind.
She had told her mother that she was bringing home a date for the weekend. A man who had asked her to marry him. What if she were to ask Conal to pretend to be that man in exchange for her canceling her vacation and doing his soup proposal? Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Not only would it temporarily relieve the pressure of her mother’s constant nagging about finding a husband, but also, with Conal pretending to be her almost fiancé, the opportunity might well come up to kiss him. Or even make love to him. Her stomach twisted longingly at the thought. This could be her chance to explore her feelings for Conal without having to worry about repercussions, because Conal would think her every response was nothing more than an act. He wouldn’t realize how much it meant to her. Maybe if she were able to make love to him, she would realize that it wasn’t such a big deal. Maybe her fascination with him was nothing more than a variation of the “forbidden fruit” idea. Or maybe, if fortune were really smiling on her, Conal would like being engaged to her so much he would want to make it permanent.
Livvy swallowed a sigh, knowing the chances of that happening were almost nil. During that time she’d been working closely with him, his attitude toward marriage hadn’t softened one iota. Nor had she been able to find out why he was against it. It wasn’t as if he led a wild, swinging lifestyle that marriage could interfere with.
There was so much she didn’t know, when it came to Conal. A sense of discouragement weighed her down. If she had any common sense, she would quit. She would find another job and another man to love. Someone who wasn’t averse to commitment. Perhaps if she weren’t seeing Conal every day, other men would begin to look more interesting.
She placated her common sense, telling it later. She had time. She wasn’t even thirty yet. She could afford to indulge her dreams of Conal awhile yet, before she had to start worrying about her biological clock running down.
“A huge favor,” Conal upped the ante.
Livvy stared at him, torn between hope and fear of rejection. What did she have to lose by asking him? She tried to consider the situation logically. Since he didn’t know she had an emotional reason for wanting him to agree, she was no worse off than before if he said no.
But if he were to agree... She shivered beneath the sudden onslaught of sensation that blossomed in her chest. If he agreed, anything might happen.
“There is something you could do for me,” Liwy said slowly, trying to figure out the best way to say it. “This weekend is my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, and my mother is organizing a family reunion for the event. All the relatives will be there.”
“I always wanted to belong to a big family when I was a kid.”
Livvy grimaced at his wistful tone. “Believe me, the reality leaves a lot to be desired...which brings me to my problem. While I dearly love my family, I don’t agree with the older members on a lot of issues, and one of them is about a woman’s place in the general scheme of things. They think that a woman’s first priority in life should be catching a husband, and her last should be keeping him happy. Careers are something men have.”
“Thereby assuring herself of a meal ticket for life,” he said.
“You obviously haven’t seen the divorce statistics lately.” This time Livvy tried challenging one of his derogatory comments about marriage instead of simply ignoring them the way she normally did. A feeling of satisfaction filled her as Conal blinked in surprise at her tart words. Obviously her response had caught him off guard. Now to try to keep him off guard.
“The problem is that my mother is determined to marry me off before I turn thirty next month,” she continued slowly.
Conal grinned at her. “I can see her point. It’s all downhill for a woman after thirty, while a man is just coming into his prime.”
“I suggest you keep your cracks to yourself or you’ll never live to see your prime!
“To get back to my problem, the situation has gotten so bad that my mother just called to tell me that she had arranged a blind date for me for the weekend.”
Conal tensed, trying to suppress the spurt of anger that suffused him at the thought of Livvy going out with another man.
“I told my mother no, and when she started to cry, I got flustered. I said I couldn’t date him because I was thinking of marrying someone else, and I was bringing him home for the weekend.”
Conal felt a jagged shard of some dark emotion lacerate his composure. He hadn’t known that she was dating anyone, let alone considering marriage. Although he’d known from the first moment he’d seen her that sooner or later she probably would marry. Liwy was everything a man wanted in a woman, if a wife was what he wanted. Which he didn’t, he reminded himself. Marriage and kids were not for him. He’d settled that question long ago. Or rather it had been settled for him, he thought grimly.
“Do I know him?” Conal was relieved to hear the even tone of his voice. He didn’t dare let her know that he cared one way or the other. To do so would be to run the risk of losing what little he did have of her. If she were to start to feel uncomfortable around him, she would leave, and he wouldn’t be able to see her every morning. He wouldn’t ever hear that funny little gurgle of laughter she gave when something really amused her. He wouldn’t have her around to listen to his ideas and offer insightful suggestions.
Livvy sighed. “There isn’t anyone. I just said that to stop Mom from crying.”
Conal felt himself sag as an overwhelming feeling of relief washed through him, loosening his rigid muscles. He felt as if a benevolent fate had just lifted the weight of the world off his shoulders.
“So if you would agree to come with me this weekend and pretend to be the man—” Livvy paused and then blurted out “—who has asked me to marry him, I’ll postpone my vacation and do the soup presentation for you.”
Conal’s eyes widened as what she was saying finally registered. Liwy wanted him to spend the weekend pretending to be her fiancé? A feeling of exultation filled him. He would be able to kiss her and touch her to his heart’s content, and if she objected, he could say that he was merely trying to add authenticity to his act. Since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been trying to figure out a way to get her into bed, and now this gift from heaven had fallen into his lap. It seemed too good to be true, and that worried him. Things that seemed too good to be true usually were. He pushed his sense of pleasure aside and tried to find the fly in the ointment.
“How am I supposed to behave?” he asked cautiously.
“Just be yourself,” Livvy said, beginning to relax slightly at his matter-of-fact response. “You see, my mom is always telling me that I should grab one of the rising young executive types that frequent the street corners of New York City.”
“Those are not the types who frequent street corners in New York City!”
Livvy shrugged. “I know it, and you know it, but Mom is convinced it’s true. Anyway, I think if she were to actually meet a high-powered executive type she wouldn’t be so keen to see me married to one.”
Conal chuckled. “I think I’ve just been insulted.”
“Not really. It’s just that Mom’s idea of a perfect husband is a man like my father was. He worked his shift at the mine and spent his evenings and weekends at home with his family. In fact, according to Mom, the only disobliging thing he ever did was to get himself killed while she was pregnant with me,” Livvy said wryly.
“I see,” Conal said slowly, wondering if that was also Livvy’s idea of a perfect man. Was that why she had refused all his invitations? Because she wanted a stolid, unimaginative man who never took any risks. It was a depressing thought, but he refused to dwell on it. Right now he needed to concentrate on his unexpected opportunity to show her how great they could be together. To prove to her that the factors that made them mesh so well in the office would work equally well in bed.
“It’s a deal.” Conal fought to keep his sense of triumph out of his voice. “I’ll masquerade as your fiancé and you’ll do the presentation.”
“I didn’t tell Mom that we were engaged, just that I was considering it,” Livvy hurriedly corrected him.
“Engaged is better. It gives us more leeway. Tell me what kind of engaged couple we’re supposed to be,” he said before she could question what sort of leeway he meant. “Is this a Bertie Wooster type of engagement, where I call you ‘old girl’ and pat you on the shoulder?”
“You like Jeeves and Wooster, too?” Livvy asked, momentarily diverted.
“I bought the entire set of videos when I was in England last spring. If you do a good job on the presentation, I’ll let you watch them. But to get back to our discussion. If it isn’t a Bertie Wooster type of engagement, is it like one of those old Doris Day, Rock Hudson movies from the sixties? The kind where he kisses her like this.”
To Livvy’s dumbfounded amazement, Conal leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The scent of his cologne was stronger that close to him, and it caused the bottom to drop out of her stomach.
To her disappointment he straightened up almost immediately and stared down into her eyes.
“Somehow that doesn’t seem quite right,” he said slowly.
Livvy ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip and stared into his eyes. There was a light glittering in their depths that she wished was passion but feared was simply devilment.
“I can’t quite see you as Doris Day. You’re more the foreign-film type of heroine.”
“I am?” she asked weakly, still off balance from his unexpected kiss.
“Uh-huh. Full of unfathomable secrets and hidden purposes.”
He cupped the back of her head with his large hand and pressed his lips against her mouth. His tongue darted out to lick over her bottom lip and Livvy shivered, instinctively opening her mouth. He immediately took advantage and began to explore with his tongue inside. Livvy trembled at its rough texture, and her hands came up to clutch his arms. She felt as if she needed an anchor in a world that had suddenly lost all its familiar moorings.
Her fingers slipped over the crisp cotton of his shirt, digging into the muscles below. Kissing him was turning out to be every bit as fantastic as she’d imagined it would be.
Livvy bit back her instinctive protest as he raised his head and stared down into her flushed face. Kissing him was also filled with potential pitfalls, she reminded herself. She absolutely had to keep her wits about her when she was around him. No matter how hard it was.
“I was right. You are definitely the foreign-film type,” Conal murmured, and his warm breath wafted across her cheeks making the skin tighten.
Livvy stared up at him, wondering what she had let herself in for. Nothing she couldn’t handle, she told herself, trying hard to believe it.
