Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) by Sarah M. Anderson Page B

will accomplish everything we want them to.”
    “Dinner? Or did you have something else in mind?”
    Did he sound hopeful? “Dinner is good for now. I’m keeping my eyes open for an appropriate activity this weekend.”
    He nodded, as if she’d announced that the sales projections for the quarter were on target. But then he stood and handed her computer back to her. As he did so, he leaned down and whispered, “I’m glad you liked the roses,” in her ear. And, damn it all, heat flushed her body.
    She tilted her head up to him. “They’re beautiful,” she murmured. There was no audience for this, no crowd to guess and gossip. Here, in the safety of this office, there was only him and her and dozens of honest roses.
    He was close enough to kiss—more than close enough. She could see the golden tint to his brown eyes that made them lighter, warmer. He had a faint scar on the edge of his nose and another one on his chin. Football injuries or brawls? He had the body of a brawler. She’d felt that for herself the other night.
    Ethan Logan was a big, strong man with big, strong muscles. And he’d sent her flowers.
    She could kiss him. Not for show but for herself. She was going to marry him, after all. Shouldn’t she get something out of it? Something beyond an art gallery and a restored sense of family pride?
    His fingers slid under her chin, lifting her face to his. His breath was warm on her cheeks. Many things were warm at this point.
    Not for the Beaumonts. Not for the gallery. Just for her. Ethan was just for
her
.
    They held that pose as Frances danced right up to the line of kissing Ethan because she wanted to. But she didn’t cross it. And after a moment, he relinquished his hold on her. But the warmth in his eyes didn’t dim. He didn’t act as if she’d rejected him.
    Instead, he said, “You’re welcome.”
    And that?
    That was sincere.
    Oh, hell.

Eight
    F irst thing Tuesday morning, Ethan had Delores order lilies and send them to Frances. Roses every day felt too clichéd and he’d always liked lilies, anyway.
    “Any message?” the old battle-ax asked. She sounded smug.
    Ethan considered. The message, he knew, was as much for Delores’s loose lips as it was for Frances. And no matter what Frances said, they needed pet names for each other. “Red—until tonight. E.”
    Delores snorted. “Will do, boss. By the way...”
    Ethan paused, his hand on the intercom switch.
Boss?
That was the most receptionist-like thing Delores had said to him yet. “Yes?”
    “The latest attendance reports are in. We’re operating at full capacity today.”
    A sense of victory flowed through him. After four days, the implied Beaumont Seal of Approval was already working its magic. “I’m glad to hear it.”
    He switched off the intercom and stared at it for a moment. But instead of thinking about his next restructuring move, his thoughts drifted back to Frances.
    She was going to kill him for the Red bit; he was reasonably confident about that. But there’d been that moment yesterday where he’d thought all her pretense had fallen away. She’d been well and truly stunned that he’d had flowers delivered for her. And in that moment, she’d seemed...vulnerable. All of her cynical world-weariness had fallen away, and she’d been a beautiful woman who’d appreciated a small gesture he’d made for her.
    Marriage notwithstanding, she wasn’t looking for anything long term. Neither was he. But that didn’t mean the short term couldn’t mean
something
, did it? He didn’t need the fire to burn for long. He just needed it to burn bright.
    He flipped the intercom back on. “Delores? Did you place that order yet?”
    He heard her murmur something that sounded like, “One moment,” before she said more clearly, “in process. Why?”
    “I want to change the message. Red—” Then he faltered. “Looking forward to tonight. Yours, E.” Which was not exactly a big change and he felt a little foolish for