Free Save the Date by Jenny B Jones

intimidated a few opponents, but she wasn’t about to back down.
    “Fine,” he said after a moment. “I . . . I want to make a difference.”
    Lucy snort-laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one.” As if people like him cared about anyone but themselves. “That almost sounded believable. For a second there I—” Cold eyes stared back at her. And was he . . . blushing? Alex Sinclair? “Oh. You’re serious.”
    “Of course I’m serious.”
    She didn’t know where to go from here. So she just stared. And shrugged. “But still . . . your tactics—”
    “No matter what the news says right now, there’s a very good chance my brother is dead,” he said evenly. “Will was the good one. Worked for everything he had and left an amazing legacy.” Alex stared at his hands as he spoke. “We couldn’t have been more different. He spent his life helping others—making a difference. He saved the world—I played sports. He was planning on coming back home in a few months after he got that last school built.”
    Lucy knew Will had stayed out of the family business, so she hadn’t seen him in person in years, but he had been kindhearted. Gentle. Soft-spoken. The antithesis of his tornado of a brother, right down to their opposing looks. She had watched him go from a local reporter to a favorite CNN correspondent and humanitarian.
    She licked her lips and carefully stepped back into the conversation. “So you want to make a difference for your brother?” Alex said nothing. “You want to fill the hole you think he left.”
    “Something like that.”
    “But you’re not Will.”
    His eyes went hard. “You think I don’t know that?”
    “Why me? Of all the women you know, you pick me? The scuttle over that last People magazine article will wear off soon, and all those bimbos will stop giving you the cold shoulder. What you need is a good trophy fiancée.” She couldn’t believe the track of this conversation. She was helping the man find a fake bride. “Someone perky. Who poses well. Someone with a sweet disposition.”
    Alex straightened as a waitress paused at their table to gather the empty plates. “The numbers are there,” he said when they were alone again. “People respond to you. They like you.”
    “Um, pretty sure it’s you they like. You’re the famous face.” She lightly coughed. “And underwear.”
    “You bring the qualities I lack.”
    “Like a fully functioning brain?”
    “Like a big heart, down-home charm, family values. You’ve dedicated your life to helping at-risk young women. You’re not wealthy—people relate to that.”
    “You mean I’m poor.”
    “You value life over things. You’re a self-made success.”
    “So are you.”
    “As long as there’s a silver spoon in your background, no success is ever truly your own.”
    “Lucky for me and my poverty,” she drolled.
    “Think of it as a job. One that pays very, very well.”
    With the way he was looking at her, she could see why half the Warrior cheerleaders had fallen at his feet and declared their blind allegiance. That face could convince any woman to toss aside her morals for ten minutes of sin. And that voice. A man could take over the world with that deep, Southern drawl.
    “You know I can’t do this. I have . . . someone in my life.”
    “That stuffed shirt from the gala?”
    She eyed her butter knife and had a vision of sticking it somewhere besides the margarine. “Matt is more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
    Alex leaned his head back and laughed, a deep, throaty sound that would’ve made her smile under different circumstances. “Clearly you don’t know what a man is. But luckily for you, I’m willing to teach—”
    “No deal, Sinclair.”
    Alex’s expression shifted like a storm cloud. “Lucy . . . have you ever done one reckless thing in your life?” He leaned so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. He smelled like shampoo and spice. “If my brother’s dead, he went out giving it all