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to four weeks like his other relationships. We’d be together for three months. That seems like a big difference to me, but what do I know? I’m not the one who has done this before.
    “So, in all that time, I wouldn’t meet your friends or family?”
    “No. Meeting those people who are closest to me is too complicated. It would be impossible for you to meet them without learning who I am, and I don’t want the task of lying to them about what we are to each other.”
    “So, they’d never know I existed. Of course, that makes sense.” I swallow hard. Am I really thinking of agreeing to this total madness? To becoming someone else’s secret? Haven’t I played that part enough already?
    “Are you accepting? Because it sounds like you are.” His intense blue eyes smolder, begging me to tell him I will be his for the next three months.
    “I’m not saying yes yet.”
    “But, you’re not saying no.”
    He wants this badly. “The only thing I’m agreeing to do is spend time with you. We’ll see how things go from there.”
    He beams. “I need something to call you besides Yank or American girl.”
    If I don’t know his real name, he doesn’t deserve to know mine. I try to think on my feet, but it’s hard to come up with an alias I’d like to be called for the next three months. I go with my middle name and my sperm donor’s last name. “Paige Beckett.”
    He reaches across the table and strokes my fingers with his, igniting a swarm of butterflies low in my gut. “It’s very nice to meet you, Paige Beckett.”

Chapter Six
Jack McLachlan
    I already see Paige Beckett isn’t going to make this easy for me. The others never made me wait for an answer. This is something new, but I like the thrill of not knowing. I don’t need to hear her say yes tonight because working to win her over is going to be so much more fun.
    “And you are Lachlan who?”
    Everyone knew me as Jack, but my mother called me Jack Henry my whole life, so I go with something that feels familiar. “Lachlan Henry.”
    I’ve never used a name so similar to my real one, but I know why this is a first. Being coy with myself is useless; I don’t want to hear her shout another man’s name when I make her come. I want to hear her say my name, or at least some semblance of it.
    I smile as I think about the things I will do to hear her call out my name. “And how old are you, Miss Beckett?”
    “Seventeen.”
    “What!” There is no way she’s seventeen. I inspect her face, studying it intently, but don’t know what it is I hope to find. Laugh lines maybe?
    She watches my face. “Is my age a problem for you?”
    “Hell, yeah, seventeen is a problem.” I throw my napkin on the table. All of this has been a waste. “Forget it all. This whole thing is off.”
    “I don’t act seventeen. I’m very mature for my age.”
    “No way. You’re not even old enough to be drinking that wine.” I lean in and whisper so no one will overhear. “I’m almost twice your age.”
    “I don’t mind. I have daddy issues.” She breaks into a huge grin and I hear a girlish giggle. That’s when I realize she’s fucking with me and has the ability to lie with a straight face. I’ll have to remember that for future reference.
    I’m not amused. “I see I have a comedienne on my hands.”
    She’s still smiling, seemingly pleased by my sharp reaction. “I’m not really, but you walked right into that one and I couldn’t resist. Relax, I’m twenty-two, at least until the groundhog comes out in search of his shadow. How old are you?”
    None of the women I’ve been with have been playful like she is. Since I always choose older women, she’s quite a bit younger than what I’m used to. At least fifteen years. Maybe twenty. Will she wonder if I’m too old for her the same way I’m wondering if she’s too young for me? “I’ll be thirty next month. Is that a problem for you?”
    “Nope. I hope to be thirty in about eight years.”
    All