Faking It to Making It Read online

  Wheels in his head whirring back to life, Nate stood, planted his hands on the table with a thump, and said, “Enough, Saskia. Calm down. Sit.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, her eyes like twin flints.

  He should have known better than to tell her to calm down, what with having three sisters, but this woman messed with his synapses. And hell if seeing her all riled didn’t turn him on...

  He eased back in his chair with a studied air of submission. “Have a doughnut.”

  Saskia blinked. Then her eyes cut to the tray of doughnuts on the table beside the mini-espresso machine. She licked her lips. Once. Enough for Nate to feel it in his groin. Then she shook her head so hard the curls below the edge of her beanie slapped her in the face.

  Nate felt Gabe wince beside him.

  “Sit,” he said again, then after a breath softened it with, “Please? And we’ll talk. Alone.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  Gabe dragged his bulk from the chair and ambled out—but not before planting a kiss atop Saskia’s head. And for that Nate wanted to crack him over the head with the nearest chair.

  Saskia took a deep breath through flaring nostrils before she sat. Once she did, she seemed to deflate, head in hands, toes just touching the floor, as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

  Swearing beneath his breath, Nate unclenched his hands from his chair’s armrests and rounded the table, took the seat beside hers. “Start at the beginning. How is it that you were talking to my family at all?”

  She drew her hands down her face—eyes smudged, cheeks now devoid of colour, lips turned down at the corners. He actually wished the banshee was back.

  “The twins rang this morning and invited me out shopping to find a dress to wear to the wedding.”

  His sisters. His deal. His fault. He took her hands in his. Compared with his hot fingers they were soft and cool and small. “So you got a dress?”

  “I did,” she said, delight flaring in her eyes, colour swarming back to her cheeks, her mouth turning up gently at the corners. She’s something, he thought. Like there’s a light inside of her determined to shine no matter what. And he bet she hadn’t a clue.

  She looked up at him then, and breathed in deep, even a little shakily. “Why do they think we’re engaged, Nate?”

  “Pre-engaged,” he said, unhooking a stray curl from her eyelash. “I have a small idea. Jasmine rang this morning—asking about you, about how things were going.”

  He’d been standing in his bedroom doorway at the time, wondering whether or not to wake Saskia. She’d been curled up in his bed asleep, hands tucked under her chin, knees drawn to her chest, toes coiled around one another, her riot of hair splayed across his dark pillow, her soft lips parted, her face clear.

  He shifted imperceptibly on his chair and said, “I might have told her something along the lines of ‘they’re going in the right direction.’”

  Saskia breathed again—a little more shakily, a little deeper.

  He continued, “Then one of them—Faith, probably—called and asked when the ‘Save the Date’ cards were on their way. I said I had no clue what she was talking about. She explained, I said she was a good couple of steps ahead of herself and—”

  “She took a natural two steps back and landed on pre-engaged.”

  “So it seems. The others are persistent, but at least they are vaguely sensible. I’m not sure where I went wrong with her.”

  Saskia turned his hands over and gave them a little squeeze. She must have hit a nerve, because warmth shot through him with all the subtlety of a bolt of electricity.

  “Nate, I like your family, and I’m not sure how I feel about lying to them any more. Fudging a few dates is one thing, but engaged?” She leaned into the huge bag on her shoulder and pulled out a folded piece of paper. A cheque. Rumpled at the edges as if she’d worried at it some. “If you could wait a couple of months before banking it...”

  As realisation hit panic swelled inside him. He clapped his hand around hers. “No!”

  “Nate,” she said, her eyes beseeching.

  “Do you want more money?” Her head rose so slowly he knew he’d said the wrong thing. “I take that back.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that!”

  He ran a hand up the back of his hair. “Me either. I’m sorry. It’s just...this was meant to be simple.”

  “And it’s not, is it?” she asked, looking him right in the eye.

  Brave girl. Braver than he. He gave himself a mental shake and simply refused to go there.

  “Our initial contract was fulfilled the moment you stepped over my mother’s threshold.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it. All I really wanted them to believe was that I was seeing someone. You made that happen. Every moment from that point on was above and beyond.”

  “So the wedding...?”

  A moment hovered in front of him—a moment during which he could have thanked her for her efforts and sent her on her way.

  A savvy businessman, to say the least, he knew when to take such moments. Cut ties and move on. The world was a big place with a million new deals to be made. And yet in that moment, even while they were surrounded by glass walls, with people walking past, glancing in, no doubt wondering who the small brunette with her foot tucked up on a chair, looking unblinkingly into their boss’s face might be, the world felt about two metres square.

  He looked into Saskia’s big nearly brown eyes and heard himself say, “Tell me about the dress.”

  “Red,” she said, swallowing. “Floaty. Gonna knock your socks off.”

  “I’ll be sure to wear two pairs.”

  Her breath was released on a big sigh. He did much the same, only he was far better at hiding it.

  “Okay,” she said, frowning a moment, before adding, “But your family—”

  “It’s not a lie, Saskia. Not any more. The pre-engagement is Faith being Faith. But as for the rest...? You might not have noticed, but we’re sleeping together. And we’re exclusive. That’s about as close to a relationship as I’ve ever been.”

  He actually held his damn breath as he waited for her response. Those big eyes were searching for the loophole. Poor kid. She’d been screwed over so many times by men who’d just wanted something from her she couldn’t see when someone was being honest. And he was. He wanted her as his wedding date, and he wanted her in his bed until that day. Exclusively.

  When her answer came it was, “Wow! A more romantic proposal I never did hear.”

  At which he laughed. Laughed till his sides hurt.

  Then came a smile so sweet and unexpected it near broke his heart. Thankfully the thing was unassailable, tough as old leather, or he might have begun to worry.

  “Why do I get the feeling I should have fought harder to cut you off?”

  “Low blood sugar,” he said, sliding the platter of doughnuts her way.

  Rolling her eyes, she lifted her backside off the chair and took one, biting into it with relish. “You’re trouble, Nate Mackenzie. I should have known it the minute I saw you walk into Mamma Rita’s. Heck, maybe I did see it and just didn’t care.”

  “You’re no walk in the park either, Saskia Bloom.”

  At that, she grinned. “Maybe we should shock them all and just get married. You can keep the losers from my door and I’ll keep infuriating matchmakers from yours.”

  She was joking—he knew she was joking—and yet for a brief shining moment the simplicity of it made a perverse kind of sense: her contentment, her warm body, the way she made him laugh.

  Until memories of skimpy underwear hanging over the shower rail began to flick through his mind. And Pride and Prejudice marathons, and drips of red nail polish on the bathroom sink, and never being able to find
a piece of chocolate in the house as once it crossed the threshold it became fair game. And the tears. So very much rich, thick, swinging emotion to navigate every single day.

  If you want a woman you get married. To Gabe it was that simple. While Nate’s skin began to itch as if he’d come out in hives.

  He stood, took her hands, and drew her to her feet. “Get out of here, Ms Bloom, before I take you up on that.”

  She hitched her bag over her shoulder and gave him a wonky smile. “No wonder you’re so good at what you do; for a second there I nearly believed you.”

  Together they walked to the glass door. She tried to tuck her hair behind her ears but it sprang back, a mass of wild curls. The lift of her arm raised her sweater, exposing a sliver of skin, the dip of her waist. And as her hand reached for the handle he touched her there. His hand at her hip his thumb found skin, and her light body melted into him as if it had been waiting to do just that.

  He let her go, and without a backwards glance she opened the door and walked away.

  * * *

  “I just had a terrible thought.”

  Saskia grinned as Nate’s voice rumbled down the phone line. Phone tucked under her chin, she grabbed a corner of vinyl from the kitchen floor and tugged. “Do tell?”

  “It’s just over a week away and I still haven’t got a wedding present. Mae didn’t do the normal thing and send invites weeks before the wedding with a registry card attached—”

  “You know a lot about weddings, my friend.”

  “I’m beloved. I get a lot of invites.”

  Saskia gave up, shucked her gloves and plonked herself on a red vinyl chair in the corner of the kitchen. “Any reason you’ve included me in your terrible thought?”

  “You’re a woman.”

  “Why, thank you for noticing.”

  “Sweetheart, I think we can safely say I would not have kissed you by the cab that first night if I hadn’t noticed that pretty quick-smart.”

  “And I thought that was just for credibility.”

  A pause, then, “You probably believe in fairies too.”

  Saskia laughed, then sighed, then curled up on the chair and gave herself over to the bliss.

  After the pre-engagement blow-out they’d hit a kind of flirty, easy peace. That night she’d gone to Nate’s to watch a movie and eat takeaway. After a half-hour they’d both decided they ought to be doing something else, and had spent the better part of the night doing just that.

  He’d turned up at hers with Chinese and red wine the next night and they’d managed to eat about half before other more pressing matters had taken over.

  When he’d refused to take her money back she couldn’t remember feeling more relief in her whole life. And it hadn’t been about the debt. Not even a jot. It had meant she had another week and a bit with Nate in her bed. In her life. In her heart. She’d always thought herself a smart woman. Clearly she’d been mistaken.

  “So, what does my womanhood have to do with your shopping dilemma?”

  “Would you care to do the honours?”

  “Not on your life.” It occurred to her a split second later that in the past she would have said yes. Without hesitation. Saying no felt...good. Evolved. A blessed relief that she’d said it and her world hadn’t ended.

  “But—”

  “You have three sisters, Nate. And a mother. Any one of whom would jump at the chance to help.”

  That shut him up. It was kind of nice to know she could still render the man speechless.

  “Mae’s your friend now as much as she is mine.”

  Saskia’s mouth twisted at that. She’d been to Mae’s hen night the night before and had the time of her life. A pub crawl through the Irish pubs of Melbourne had turned into something else entirely when Mae had taken it upon herself to stop every man they met and ask him about their internet dating experiences. It had given Saskia—who always had a yellow legal pad on hand—enough in-depth research from the male point of view to create three infographics.

  It had been a blast, but it had also meant she’d not seen Nate at all.

  “Okay. Then care to come shopping with me?”

  Saskia looked down at her overalls, her sticky hair, her paint-splattered hands. “Sounds like a treat. But no. Can’t. I’m tearing up my kitchen floor.”

  Another pause. “On your own?”

  “Unlike you, I don’t see the need to hire people when I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

  “Would you even know how to ask for help?”

  “Sure,” she said with a shrug. “If I didn’t think I could do it better myself.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, Saskia Bloom.”

  “Nice try. Get the gift yourself.” She hung up, the sound of his laughter still humming through her.

  A week, she thought, staring at the sun shining through the small collection of red glass bottles lined up on her kitchen window. A week more of Nate and then...nothing. That was pretty much what she felt like when she let herself hear the clock ticking in the back of her head. As if the place he had in her life would leave a hole too big to fill.

  Because what would happen post-wedding? Not just with Nate but his friends? She liked Mae. Genuinely adored Gabe’s fiancée, Paige. Would she see them again? Should she?

  She knew Nate wouldn’t try to stop her. But could she, knowing they ran in the same circles as Nate? Something gave her the feeling that going cold turkey would be for the best. A little something that tightened around her heart every time she thought about it.

  As if he felt her impending gloom Ernest came padding in and she threw him the crust of her ham sandwich which she’d saved. He sniffed the air, smelled that it wasn’t an Oreo and padded away, his claws slipping on the part of the floor which was now down to raw wood.

  The blessed kitchen floor, she thought, dragging herself from the chair. Another reason she loved doing the work herself. Keeping busy had always meant not having time to think about all the things missing from her life.

  No mum, a barely there dad, soon no Nate...

  She donned her gloves, grabbed a hunk of vinyl and ripped for all she was worth.

  * * *

  Nate knocked on Saskia’s front door.

  He couldn’t stand still, rolling his shoulders and shifting from foot to foot. It was ridiculous; he couldn’t remember being this unsure about dropping in unannounced on a woman since he was seventeen-years-old and all fired up to ask Lily von Krum’s police commander father if he could take Lily to the Scotch College formal.

  Women liked him. Always had. He couldn’t remember a time when women hadn’t stopped in the street to gush over his baby blues.

  But Saskia was different in myriad tiny little ways he found himself struggling to pin down even while they hummed around him like a field of fireflies. She wasn’t easy, but neither did she go out of her way to be hard. She was just...who she was. And the equanimity at the heart of her still gave him a kick.

  A kick in the pants to yank himself out of his own rut and be more a part of the real world—which was why he was standing at her door.

  He’d moved to knock again when a scrambling from inside stopped him. The door bumped, then swung open to reveal a mass of kinky curls atop Saskia’s dark head, her knuckles white as she gripped her dog by the collar, his wiry body shaking with glee.

  “Hey, buddy,” Nate said, stepping in to help.

  “Nate?” she said, looking up in surprise at the sound of his voice. Then, “Your suit!”

  Which was when Nate realised he probably ought to have made a detour to change.

  “Dime a dozen,” he lied, not about to tell her it was his lucky suit. Not date-lucky—he rarely had a problem there. More like deal-of-the-century-lucky. Too late now. He gave the dog a ru
b. Crinkly doggie hair came off in droves.

  “Ernest! Be gone!” she said, and like that the dog was off.

  Nate stood, as did she. In overalls three sizes too large. Her feet were bare, bar the chipped paint on her nails, and her hair had been dragged off her face by a headband with a feather poking out of the top.

  Her eyes slid down his torso with a thoroughness that sent a surge through his bloodstream. But when she blew a curl from her forehead with a quick stream of air from the side of her mouth it hit him hard, right in the solar plexus. She looked...like she always looked. Soft, vibrant, her wardrobe choice more than a little off centre. And yet there was no denying his certainty that she was one of the most gorgeous women he’d ever known.

  He reached out and flicked the feather. She crossed her eyes at it before sliding it from her hair, her cheeks pinkening.

  “Ernest found it outside,” she said, playing with the fronds. “He gave it to me as a gift.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I really can’t shop, Nate. Not right now. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “I’m not here to ask you to shop,” he said, moving past her since she hadn’t asked him in. “I’m here to help.”

  Her hand still on the door handle, she blinked at him as if she didn’t even know what the word meant.

  “Help,” he repeated, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto a pale green cabinet in the entrance hall, noting it was new. As was the heavy round mirror above it. He rolled up his sleeves. “As in pull vinyl. Or lay tiles. Or re-roof the joint. Whatever you need.” When she continued staring at him as if he was talking Swahili, he said, “Have you never had a man offer his services before?”

  At that she shook her head. And he believed her. In that moment he wished she had a little black book—just so he could track down every man who’d ever hurt her, used her, abused her, taken all she had to offer without taking the time to let her know she was appreciated, that she was something special. What he wanted to do to them was possibly excessive, but then if a man didn’t aim high, then what was the point of aiming at all.

  “I don’t need help,” she said.