She immediately turned on him, back to the picture window that looked over the arena. “Are you out of your mind?”

He ignored the question. “Do your brothers know you’re here?”

“Of course they know I’m here. Why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong?”

He advanced on her. “Because you’re pregnant.”

“I know I’m pregnant. That doesn’t mean my life stops.”

“This part of your life stops.”

She paused. Her eyes darkened. Then she waggled her finger at him, stepping three paces backward as she shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no. I am not going to sit home in Montana twiddling my thumbs for the next seven months.”

He stepped forward once again. “Well you’re sure as hell not sitting on the back of a horse jumping six-foot oxers.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I know you can be reckless. I’ve heard you’re irresponsible. But honest-to-God, Stephanie-”

“What?” she shouted.

“You are not going to compete in show jumping while you’re pregnant with my baby.”

She stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “What makes you think I’m competing?”

He gestured out the picture window. “You’re here.”

“I’m coaching Wesley.”

Nice try. “With Rosie-Jo?”

“Wesley’s riding her.”

“No, he’s not.” The woman was caught. She might as well own up to it.

“Yes, he is.”

“Rosie-Jo is your horse.”

“She’s also a once-in-a-lifetime jumper. She’s not taking a year off just because I’m forced to.”

Alec stopped. A chill of unease spread through him. “You’re not jumping?”

“Of course I’m not jumping, you idiot. It’s dangerous.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “To stop me from jumping?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand, Alec.” She gave her head a little shake. “Where did you get the idea…?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I saw you on television this afternoon. You were here. You had Rosie-Jo. The reporters-”

“And you jumped to a conclusion.”

“Apparently.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Where were you?”

“Chicago.”

“And you flew all the way to Cedarvale?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Phone me?”

“I tried.”

“Trust me?”

Alec didn’t have an answer for that. How could he trust her? He barely knew her.

“It’s my baby, too, Alec.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to hurt our baby.”

Alec drew a breath. He supposed he knew that now. But he had no way of knowing that back in Chicago when the evidence had stacked up against her.

The hotel room telephone jangled.

Stephanie kept him in her sights with a censorious expression as she crossed to answer it.

“Hello?”

She paused. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Okay…I know…Thank you.”

She hung up the phone then turned to Alec.

“What is it?”

“Word’s getting around. You’ve just been included on a VIP reception invitation for tomorrow night.”

She waited, and Alec wasn’t sure what to say.

“What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

He knew what he should say, knew he should get his butt back on that plane and leave her the heck alone. But now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He found his emotions making deals with his conscience.

He promised himself it would only be for a day or two. He’d get them a suite, so they both had privacy. He wouldn’t let her get close, wouldn’t let her depend on him. He wouldn’t do anything to mislead her.

But when he spoke, his voice came out soft and deliberate. “I guess I’ll stick around and be your husband.”


“This way,” Stephanie said to Alec, pointing to an aisle that stretched between two racks of clothes in the exhibition hall in the basement of the hotel. For the first time in weeks, she felt lighter, almost happy. She’d always enjoyed the social events around major jumping competitions, and she woke up this morning vowing to enjoy them this weekend.

It would be odd hanging out with Alec, odder still that people would know they were married. But at least she’d have a dancing partner.

She supposed there was always a silver lining.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Alec stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the exhibition hall entrance, staring in obvious disbelief at the racks of costumes, hats, shoes and accessories.

“Our party’s a 1920s theme,” she offered, halting beside him.

He gazed deliberately around the barnlike costume rental setup. “They bring all this in for horse jumping?”

“Tonight isn’t the only theme event. And with this many wealthy people in one place, it’s a prime opportunity for fund-raising.”

People were starting to pile up behind them, so she snagged his arm and tugged him forward.

“You mean I have to dress up in a costume and give away my money?” he asked.

“You really don’t get out much, do you?” she couldn’t help teasing him.

“Not like this,” he told her, gazing around the jumble of merchandise taking up about a quarter of the cavernous room. “I’m more a dinner at Palazzo Antinori or a cruise on the Seine kind of guy.”

“A closet romantic,” she reflexively observed, then cringed at the unfortunate choice of words.

His expression turned serious. “No, Stephanie. I’m not a romantic of any kind.”

She sensed some kind of a warning in his words.

“Over there.” She cheerfully pointed, changing the subject as they made their way past a suit of medieval armor and a shelf of colored wigs and sparkling Mardi Gras masks.

Alec leaned in close, his tone still dire. “I don’t want you to…” He obviously struggled for words.

She refused to prompt him. She really didn’t want to pursue this line of conversation.

“To get caught up-”

“In the 1920s?” she wedged in.

“In our marriage,” he corrected.

She let sarcasm color her tone. “You afraid I’ll mistake a dance for a declaration of undying passion and devotion?”

He backed off a little. “You seem…”

“What?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “Happy. Animated.”

“And you attribute that to you? Wow. That’s some ego you’ve got going there Alec.”

“It’s not my ego.”

“Right.”

He clenched his jaw. “Forget I said anything.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“You’re faking, Alec. I get that. I’m faking it, too.” She might have let her emotional guard down for a moment, but she wouldn’t make the mistake of enjoying herself again.

He searched her expression. “Fine.”

“Fine.” She nodded in return. Just flipping fine. Bad enough she had to fake a marriage. Now she wasn’t allowed to smile while she did it.

She put her attention on the costume racks again, now simply wanting to get this over with. “You might as well pick something?”

He glanced around. “I’m not a fan of costumes.”

“Yeah? Too bad.”

He shot her a look of annoyance.

What? She was supposed to get happy again? “Be a man about it,” she challenged. “Put on some pinstripes and spats. Be grateful it’s not superhero night.”

His look of horror almost made her smile.

“You’d look good in red tights.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Check those out.” She gestured to a rack of suit jackets.

For herself, she moved further down the aisle, finding a selection of flapper dresses.

She started through them one by one. After a few minutes, she came across a sexy, silky black sheath, dripping with shimmering silver ribbons that flowed from the low-cut neckline, past the short hem of the underdress to knee-length.

With a spurt of mischievousness, she held it against her body. “What do you think?”

His gaze traveled the length of the garment, eyes glittering with what looked suspiciously like humor. “You show up in that, doll-face, and I’d better be packin’ heat.”

This time, she did crack a smile.

She pulled the dress away from her body, turning it and making a show of taking a critical look. “Too much?”

“Not nearly enough.”

She could have sworn there was a sensual edge to his tone. But his cell phone chimed, cutting it off.

She hung the dress back on the rack, battling a wave of prickly heat that slowly throbbed its way through her system. Faking, she reminded herself ruthlessly. Faking, faking, faking.

“Alec Creighton,” he said into the phone.

His glance darted to her for a split second, then he turned away, lowering his voice.

She told herself to focus on the costumes and give him his privacy. He had his own life, and she had hers. As he’d so clearly just pointed out, this intersection between them was completely temporary.

Still, she couldn’t help catching snatches of the conversation. She heard him say tomorrow, then airport, then Cedarvale.

It sounded like he was leaving, and a wave of disappointment surprised and worried her. It was good that he was leaving.

But then she heard him say her brothers’ names. She blinked at his back, listening unabashedly to the final snatches of the conversation.

As he signed off, she quickly grabbed another dress, pretending to be absorbed by it.

“This one?” she asked.

It was a soft, champagne silk, with a low V-neck, spaghetti straps and covered in sparkling, criss-cross beading. The silk came to midthigh, while a wide, sheer, metallic lace hemline, slashed to points, rustled around her knees.

“They don’t have anything with sleeves?” he frowned.

“It’s the roaring twenties,” she told him, trying not to wonder about his phone call. “I’m supposed to look like your moll. What do you think? A wide choker and a long string of pearls?”

“I think you’ll be the death of me.”

“What about the red one?” she lifted another from the rack. “It comes with satin gloves and a feather boa.