That was an attractive thought, he had to admit. He’d only been in Nolan’s old apartment for five months, and while he loved the freedom, the rent was kicking his ass. “Guest room, huh?” So he wouldn’t lose his own space, exactly. But he wouldn’t get the ultimate benefit of marriage—having a warm woman in his bed every night.

“Yes. If we get married before February fifteenth, the will states I get the funds to hire a full-time marketing director for the upcoming season, which would really be helpful, so that would be my preference. To get married before then, I mean.”

Rhett watched her face carefully. She seemed to have shifted into efficiency mode.

“I can have my lawyer draw up a contract outlining what I just described and that you’ll receive payment upon completion of the year. I will pay for the divorce. I will pay for the initial marriage license fees and all of that. So there is no risk, no hidden cost to you. We both enter and leave the marriage with what we came with, save the hundred grand fee.”

No hidden cost?

Just a year of his life.

Could he commit a whole year to a woman who didn’t really want to be involved with him, even for money? Or did she?

Those were the real questions on his mind.

“I’m not the tidiest person, I’ll admit, so if you’re a neat freak, that is something to consider,” she added.

That wasn’t a factor he cared about it. He had more important concerns.

“I wouldn’t want it to be a secret,” he told her. “I can’t live like that.”

“It has to be a secret,” she said. “No one can know about the money. My grandfather’s lawyer said I can’t marry an actor, a stripper, or a criminal, and he’ll be doing a background check. We can’t let anyone know we’re faking it, that it’s not a real marriage, or it’s null and void.”

“A background check? I don’t have anything to hide.” Rhett took the whiskey from the bartender with a murmured thanks, and threw the shot back. It burned going down, and he welcomed the distraction. “I meant, I can’t keep the marriage a secret. I wouldn’t be able to date and tell women I’m free and available when I’m not, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Oh.” Shawn lifted her own shot glass and bit her bottom lip. “I guess I just assumed we wouldn’t . . . see other people. But now that you say that, I realize that’s a lot to ask. I suppose if you’re discreet . . . I mean, it’s not a real marriage and you have . . . needs.”

Hell, no. Rhett shook his head. “That’s not how I roll, Shawn. Real or not, I’m not interested in any woman who would sleep with a man she thinks is married.”

“Celibacy is a lot to ask. Even for a hundred grand.”

Rhett gave a low laugh, sliding his hand over to rest on her thigh. She jerked slightly. “Who said anything about being celibate?”

“Me?” she asked, suddenly sounding unsure of the whole thing.

He shook his head slowly. “No. If we do this, sex will be a part of the equation.”

“But . . .” She took a sip of her whiskey. “I would feel like I was paying you to sleep with me.”

Now that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard in his entire life. Hell, he would pay her for sex, not the other way around. “You wouldn’t. It would be entirely voluntary on my part.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Was she serious? Or did she just want him to work for it? Spell it out. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. But we both know you want me to.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s really ballsy.”

“It’s true.” Rhett moved his hand higher, stroking through the denim of her jeans, feeling the heat at the juncture of her thighs, his thumb rubbing over the seam. “I give it two weeks, tops, before we’re fucking.”

“What makes you so confident?” she asked, her expression annoyed.

Yet she didn’t push his hand away. Nor did she deny it.

“Because you want me as much as I want you. I can practically smell how wet you are for me.”

Without hesitation, she tossed her shot of whiskey into his face.

It missed his eyes, fortunately, because that shit would have stung. It didn’t particularly surprise him, nor did it piss him off. He just slid his hand over his face, pulling the random drips of liquid off his nose and cheek. He licked his lips.

“You’re an asshole,” she told him.

But she still didn’t push his hand away. In fact, she had spread her legs a little, her hips moving forward so his light touch was more intimate, the pressure greater.

Oh, yeah. She was exactly the kind of woman he needed. She was going to fight it, yet she could more than handle his proclivities. She was going to enjoy them. And he was going to enjoy teaching her how much she could take pleasure from submission.

“I accept your offer,” he told her. “And I’m changing my estimate to one week.”

* * *

SHIT fire, Shawn was in trouble. She was breathing a little too raggedly from both agitation and arousal. It was entirely possible that she was in way over her head with Rhett. Because her impulsively tossing a drink in his face didn’t seem to anger him one bit. If anything, he seemed even more confident, more pleased with her. His movements were slow and methodical, and he was still resting a hand between her legs and she was letting him.

But he knew precisely how to push her buttons—all of them, good and bad.

“Is that a challenge? A bet?” God, she needed to work on her inability to back down from a dare. It was going to land her in a marital bed with Rhett Ford, her ankles over her head.

Though maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, now that she considered her vagina. Nope. Not such a bad thing.

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a slow smile. “Yes. I’ll marry you, and we’re going to have sex within the first seven days, because you want to.”

“I can resist you,” she bluffed. “One week is nothing.” Then because she couldn’t look him in the eye when she was so blatantly lying, she turned and flagged down the bartender. “Could we have more napkins? My whiskey seems to have spilled on my friend’s face.”

The bartender nodded. “I saw that. We’re not going to repeat that, are we? Or I might have to ask you to leave.”

She was going to get kicked out of Milt’s, a dive if ever there was one? The thought almost made her laugh. “No, there will not be a repeat. I was just making a point.”

“We’ll take another round,” Rhett told him. “We just decided to get married.”

The bartender looked more than a little skeptical as he handed a napkin to Rhett, who swiped it over his damp face. “Huh. Well, good luck with that. Methinks you’re going to need it.”

Rhett laughed. “Probably. But she’s worth it.”

He was almost convincing. Shawn was suddenly amused at the absurdity of the whole situation. If she had to do something so insane, she might as well enjoy what she could get out of it.

“I won’t have sex with him until we’re married,” Shawn said. “And then not for seven more days. Isn’t he devoted?” She shared a grin with Rhett, thinking that the truth was way more ridiculous than the story she was spinning.

And she was definitely going to have sex with him and reap the benefits of this odd arrangement. After seven days. There was no way she was losing this bet. But after that? All bets were off and all beds were on.

“Very devoted. To her physical and mental well-being.” Rhett leaned closer to her, violating her personal space in a way that was territorial. “Sometimes I know what she needs even before she does.”

He was talking about sex again, clearly, and her nipples knew it. Damn it, how did he manage to do that so easily? She moistened her lips and tried not to pant in anticipation. They needed to get married soon because the seven-day grace period was going to be hell on her. So the sooner they got to it, the sooner she could be feeling his touch everywhere.

Which was the most ass-backwards logic she’d ever used in her entire life, but there it was.

“If you don’t mind my saying, I think y’all are fucked up,” the bartender said. “Relationships don’t work when you’re playing games.” Then he promptly walked away, clearly wanting out of their conversation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rhett told her, nudging her knee with his. “I’ve always enjoyed Follow the Leader. That usually works for me. If I’m the leader.”

“You’re a very dirty boy, Rhett Ford. But didn’t your mother teach you that you can’t always get what you want? I think I’m the leader in this case.” They were playing games, definitely. But what difference did it make? It wasn’t going to be a real marriage, and they might as well enjoy the sexual tension strung out between them.

She was going to save the track and get some action.

After seven days.

If they were really doing this. Were they really doing this?

Her cheeks felt hot at the very idea.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats or demands,” he told her. “You are, in essence, the damsel in distress, and I’m rescuing you. You can’t be nagging me about my dragon-slaying techniques.”

That doused her libido quite effectively. “You’re no hero. You’re a hired mercenary, remember? I’m not in your debt, emotional or otherwise, when I’m paying you a hundred grand.”

His hand fell off her leg, and he sat back so quickly the air around her actually cooled. Despite her annoyance, she found herself regretting his retreat. Which meant it really was a good thing he had distanced himself. She couldn’t afford to want anything other than to save the track from being sold, and she needed to remember that.

“Let’s get one thing straight, or I’m not doing this,” he said, words slow and determined. “When we’re in public, I play the role of your legitimate husband, and yes, then I’m your mercenary. Your hired hand. But when we’re alone in your place, what happens between us has nothing to do with money and nothing to do with any of the legalities or any contract I signed. It’s strictly about what you and I both want. If you can’t keep the money out of the bedroom, then there’s no deal.”