Her Fantasy Husband (Things to do Before You Die… #2)

And oh my God, his penis had been hard and huge and pressed up against her. Her first ever real-life penis. With her grandmother standing right behind them.

That was totally wrong.

He was so big. Not only tall, though he was well over six feet, but broad at the shoulders, his black T-shirt stretched tight over the swell of muscles. His dark blond hair was cut short, and his eyes were the bluest she had ever seen. He looked rough and tough and sort of oozed an air of power and menace.

A shiver ran through her. Yes, she was being a little melodramatic, but just…wow.

He returned her scrutiny, his face serious. “Why don’t we get out of here? Go get that drink you need? And then we can talk.”

What could they possibly have to talk about? Had he come for more money? After all, what did she really know about him? Except her Uncle Jamie—who wasn’t really her uncle but her godfather and her father’s best friend—had vouched for him. He’d been Josh’s commanding officer when he’d been in the Special Air Services. He’d sworn Josh was an honorable man.

“Well?” he prompted.

He was a bit bossy. She hated bossy. It was just as well he wasn’t her husband for real, or she’d have to sort that out, and she was guessing Joshua Slater was a little set in his ways. She gave a quick nod. “Okay. Let me get my bag.”

“And shoes would be good.”

She followed his gaze and encountered her bare toes. How to make a good first impression…not. But why should she worry? He’d say what he had to say—and she couldn’t begin to guess what that was—and then he’d no doubt disappear out of her life again. He made a fabulous fantasy husband, but she was certain he’d be far less accommodating in real life. There was something intractable about the way he held his mouth in a stern line, and he didn’t look as though he laughed much. And she liked to laugh. A lot.

She had to crawl under her desk to find her sandals. When she came up, he was waiting by the door, one shoulder leaning against the wall. His arms were folded across his chest, his foot tapping on the floor.

She slipped her sandals onto her feet—the four-inch heels doing almost nothing to decrease the height discrepancy between them—then stepped past him and opened the door. Sadie was seated at her desk. She glanced up and grinned as Lexi ushered him out and then followed him to the outer door. At the last moment, she came back, leaned close to Sadie, eyeing her assistant suspiciously. “How did you know who he was?”

Sadie shrugged nonchalantly. “I was cleaning out your desk one day and found the photos.”

Ha. An unlikely story. Snooping, more like. “If you didn’t have a cat, you’d be fired.”

She stalked to the doorway where Josh stood holding the door open, foot once again tapping.

Jeez, what’s the rush? This guy needed to seriously de-stress.

She led the way out and along the street, casting him surreptitious glances as she walked. He’d aged some since the wedding, the fine lines around his eyes a little deeper, and she had a sudden urge to soothe them away. She knew he was twenty-eight, but he looked older.

Maybe she could ask him for some current photos while he was here, to keep her going with the anniversary pictures for the next few years. She also noticed something else, and she touched his arm lightly.

He peered down, a deep furrow between his brows—he obviously frowned way too much. “What?”

God, he sounded grumpy. “You’re limping. Are you okay? Did I hurt you when I jumped you back there? Sorry about that, but I couldn’t risk you giving anything away in front of my grandmother.”

“No problem. And I’m fine.” Then he gave a small shrug. “I broke my leg about six weeks ago. It’s healing well, only aches a little if I put too much stress on it.”

“Like me leaping at you?”

“You weigh nothing. I was just…surprised.”

“I’ll bet,” she muttered and came to a halt, waving a hand at the pub. “My local.” She pushed open the door and entered the dim interior, Josh close behind her.

The bartender grinned when he saw her. “Hi, Lexi. The usual?”

“Hi, Steve.” Her usual at this time of year was a large glass of icy cold white wine, but today called for something stronger. “And no thanks. Can I have a scotch? A double—no ice.”

“Trouble?” he asked, his gaze shifting to Josh beside her.

“My grandmother is visiting.” She’d once had a long moan to Steve about her family when her annual trip to New York was due.

“I’ll have the same,” Josh said. “Do you come here a lot?” he asked as they took the drinks to one of the small booths that lined the back wall. He sounded a little judgmental. The jerk. Yes, she came here a lot, and it was none of his business. “And is that guy a friend or more?”