That got his attention. He sat up straight, his arms falling off the back of the sofa.

‘You?’

The shock in his voice piqued her considerably.

‘Yes, me,’ she snapped. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

What was wrong with her was that he fancied her.

Keeping his hands off the provocative Ms Fairlane might prove difficult, especially on those nights they were thrown together on the yacht. On the other hand, it was clear she wasn’t about to help him find a wife from amongst her precious ‘girls’.

Suddenly, he understood why. She wanted the job—nope, she wanted the money—for herself.

‘I suppose you were looking for someone younger,’ she said with a flash of those cut-glass blue eyes of hers.

‘How old are you?’ he asked.

‘The same age as you. Thirty-four.’

His eyebrows lifted. He would have tagged her as a couple of years older. But that was probably due to the dreary clothes she was wearing.

‘I can look younger,’ she said with a proud toss of her head. ‘And prettier. If that’s what you want.’

‘What I want, Ms Fairlane, is a wife who can convince Chuck Helsinger that she’s genuinely in love with me. Can you do that?’

Her chin lifted. ‘For two million dollars? I’ll convince him I adore every single hair on your head.’

Mike smiled as he ran his hand over his very thick crew cut. This, he’d like to see.

His smile faded, however, when he realised he might find it even harder to keep his hands off when Ms Fairlane started playing the besotted bride. He would have to keep reminding himself that she was just doing it for the money.

Damn, but that thought really annoyed him. He hated gold-diggers with a passion.

‘I presume you won’t entertain any romantic fantasies that I might fall in love with you and want to stay married to you?’ he threw at her.

‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’d be the last man on earth I’d fantasise over.’

‘I’m not your type?’

‘Only a fool would fantasise over a man who obviously doesn’t believe in love and marriage. I am not a fool, Mr Stone,’ she finished up firmly.

‘In that case, it’s a deal, Ms Fairlane.’

Even as he said the words Mike suspected he was going to regret marrying this tough-talking but rather temperamental redhead. But what alternative did he have? Instant wives didn’t grow on trees. December would be here before he could blink.

For the first time since they’d met, she suddenly looked uncertain, her hand coming up to her throat in a decidedly vulnerable gesture.

She had a long throat, he noticed. Long and pale, as if she hadn’t been out in the sun for ages.