Marriage With Benefits by Kat Cantrell

with a potential client—all activities he could have done at the office.
    But he’d developed the habit of listening for her, to be sure she and her zero-to-sixty-in-four-point-two-seconds car made it home in one piece.
    Today, he waited in the kitchen and talked to Fergie, who so far only said “hello,” “goodbye” and imitated the microwave timer beep so perfectly he almost always turned to open it before realizing she’d duped him. He’d been trying to get her to say “Lucas,” but Fergie might be more stubborn than her owner.
    When Cia walked in the door, hair caught up in a sassy ponytail, he grinned but kept his hands by his sides instead of nestling her into his arms to explore that exposed neck.
    A woman named Dulciana had to have a sweet, gooey center, and he itched to taste it.
    “Hey,” she said in wary surprise. They hadn’t spoken since she’d laid down the law during his aborted celebratory poolside dinner. “What’s up?”
    “I have a favor to ask,” he said. It was better to get to the point since she’d already figured out he wanted something. Being married to Mrs. Psych Minor kept him honest. When the woman at the heart of the challenge was onto him, it made things so much more interesting.
    Guarded unease snapped her shoulders back. “Sure. What is it?”
    “WFP sold a building to Walrich Enterprises a few months ago, and they’re having a ribbon cutting tonight. I’d like to take you.”
    “Really?” Her forehead bunched in confusion. “Why?”
    He swallowed a laugh. “You’re my wife. That’s who you take to social stuff for work. Plus, people would speculate why I attended solo after just getting married.”
    “Tell them I had to work.” She cocked her head, swinging that ponytail in a wide pendulum, taunting him. So she wanted to play, did she?
    “I used that excuse at the last thing I went to. If everyone was curious before, they’re rabid now. You don’t have much of a social presence as it is, and you’re going to get labeled a recluse if you keep hiding out.”
    “You didn’t ask me to go to the last thing.” She smiled sweetly enough, but he suspected it was a warning for what would be an excellent comeback. “If I get a reclusive reputation, seems like we might revisit who’s to blame.”
    Yep. She got the first point in this match. But he was getting the next one. “The last thing was boring. I did you a favor by letting you skip it, so you owe me. Come to the ribbon cutting tonight.”
    “Wow. That was so slick, I didn’t see it coming.” She crossed her arms, tightening her T-shirt—sunny yellow today—over her chest. “I’d really prefer to skip it, if it’s all the same.”
    With a couple of drunken ballerina sidesteps, she tried to skirt him.
    “Cia.” He easily stepped in front of her, halting her progress and preventing her from slamming the door on the conversation.
    Her irises transformed into deep pools of blue. “You called me ‘Cia.’ Are you feeling okay?”
    His brow quirked involuntarily as he filed away how mesmerizing her eyes became when he called her Cia. It was worth a repeat. “This is important or I wouldn’t have asked. You proposed this marriage as a way to rebuild my reputation. That’s not going to happen by taking a picture of our marriage license and posting it on the internet. With my nice, stable wife at my side during this event tonight, people will start to forget about Lana.”
    With a sigh, she closed her lids for a beat. “Why did you have to go and make the one logical point I can’t argue with? Let’s pretend I say yes. Are you going to complain about my outfit all night?”
    Here came the really tricky part. “Not if you wear the dress I bought you.”
    Fire swept through her expression, and she snapped, “I specifically asked you not to buy me clothes.”
    “No, you ordered me not to, and I ignored you. Wear the dress. The guests are the cream of society.”
    “And you don’t want to be