Sleeping Arrangements (Silhouette Desire) by Amy Jo Cousins

Tell me a story.”
    She marched to the hall closet and grabbed his overcoat.
    “No stories,” she said and tossed the coat onto the couch next to him. “Get out.”
    He crossed a leg over one knee and draped his arm across the back of the sofa. And waited.
    Two could play at that game, she thought. She turned her back on him and walked over to the window onto the street. Leaning against the cold glass, she stared out at the quiet houses across the road and cleared her mind of all thoughts of Spencer Reed and his ridiculous proposal.
    Not that he’d even proposed to her.
    Stop it, she berated herself. Look at the houses. The Jansens look as though they’re putting on an addition, isn’t that nice?
    Thirty seconds later, she admitted that she wasn’t going to win this battle. Her only triumph was that she managed to keep her back to him when she spoke.
    “Can’t you get disbarred for this? It must be some kind of conflict of interest.”
    “Probably.” His voice was rich with amusement. She felt it curling around her like the touch of his fingers in her hair. “I’m willing to try and figure a way around it.”
    “Why?”
    “Maybe I thought you looked right in your great-aunt’s house. Like you belonged there.”
    She snorted in disbelief. “You look like you belong there way more than I do.” Her own words sparked a tiny candle flame of suspicion in her. She wanted a reason to suspect his motives. Needed it. The suspicion grew.
    Fancy clothes. Fancy car. Run-down office. Living at a client’s house. Was she missing the obvious here?
    “Is this a con?” She whirled around and stared at him. He hadn’t moved from his seat. “What, you dress rich to cover up the fact that you’re broke and then try to scam your way into marrying me to get your hands on my great-aunt’s house?”
    Complete silence.
    She watched him as he stood up and shrugged into his coat. He pulled leather gloves from his pockets and tugged them onto his hands. Then he walked past her to the front door.
    “Oh, so now you’re leaving?”
    “No. We’re leaving. Get your coat.”
    “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she sputtered at the back of his head.
    “Susannah, I’ll bring Addy back in half an hour,” he called out before turning to stare at her. His lips pressed together in a tight line as he looked at her as if she were something he’d accidentally stepped in and then scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
    “Okay, Spencer. Lovely meeting you this evening,” came her mother’s voice in return. The casual acceptance stung.
    “Get your coat.”
    She obeyed. The sinking suspicion that she’d let her fear of the situation talk her mouth into writing a check of accusation she didn’t want to cash was crystallizing in her stomach.
    The air outside was bitterly cold, and ice sheeted the sidewalk where salt hadn’t been spread. He didn’t take her arm to steady her, or even look at her as she followed him to his car. Ten steps away, the BMW beeped, clicked, blinked on lights and purred to life with a low rumble.
    “Nice car,” she muttered as he opened the passenger-side door for her.
    “Shut up.” He slammed the door shut as soon as she swung her legs in.
    How do I get myself into these situations? she wondered. What happened to “remain calm”?
    The vents were already blowing warm air across her cheeks, but she felt ice radiating off Spencer as he slid into the driver’s seat. She ventured to speak.
    “Listen, maybe I jumped the gun—”
    “Not a word, Addy.”
    They pulled away from the curb in one smooth acceleration. He drove quickly but carefully through the quiet streets. She clasped her hands in her lap, feeling like a schoolgirl waiting outside the principal’s office door, and stared out the windshield.
    Ten minutes later, they were in Lincoln Park, the northside’s high-rent district, on one of the main streets where commercial and retail spaces mixed with the occasional residential building. He