Marriage by Mistake

by Kress, Alyssa

  Kelly's hair was loosely bound in a ponytail high on top of her head and she was dressed just as sloppily as everybody else, in a sweat jacket with the sleeves pushed up, but Dean felt the wind knocked out of him all the same. There was something about her, the way she stood, an angle of head — it simply cried out: sex.

  He hadn't expected that. For some reason, he hadn't thought the same reaction would assail him now that had hit him in his office on Monday. Dean drew in a deep, slow breath. He could handle this, get past it. He could still prove that he was not just like his father.

  Meanwhile Kelly took control of the crowd. "Now, now," she called, raising her hands. "Calm yourselves, girls."

  "But you said you were ready," complained a woman in a purple jogging suit.

  "So blow him out," a redhead in shorts recommended.

  Dean frowned, peering to see what they were talking about. A sheet cake was laid on the back of a car. Thanks to the angle of the car's trunk he could see the orange-frosted concoction was cut in the shape of a human figure. A single candle was stuck in just the right place to create an anatomically correct male figure.

  The women in the parking lot laughed. A few jumped up and down. "Blow!" came the cry. That's when understanding finally hit Dean. His face went red.

  Kelly, her attention on her comrades, was shaking her head, smirking, and clearly milking the situation for all it was worth.

  "Blow! Blow! Blow!"

  Kelly patted the air with her hands, then drew in a deep breath and blew the candle out.

  There were cheers and a few whistles.

  "Now slice him up!" someone shouted.

  "Bloodthirsty," Kelly scolded, but she had no trouble accepting a huge kitchen knife that was handed her way. Indeed, she lifted it high.

  Dean couldn't help flinching when her blade hit the cake man.

  "And this one's yours." One of the women picked up the piece with the candle still stuck in it.

  Kelly bit the tip of her finger. "Oh no, I couldn't."

  "You already did," somebody called out.

  There was ribald laughter and Dean felt a pull down in his loins as Kelly accepted the proffered cake. She eyed the half-melted candle. "It's true," she sighed. "The only part of the fellow worth remembering."

  Heat suffused Dean then; embarrassment, he told himself. He moved, needing to make his presence known, even as Kelly plucked the candle from the cake and tossed it, laughing, over her shoulder.

  Reflex. Dean lifted his right hand. Before he knew what was happening, his fingers closed mid-air around that damned candle. Worse, he was completely out from behind the Bronco. Everything suddenly went quiet.

  "What?" Kelly asked, looking at her friends. "What is it?"

  No one answered. Dean felt as conspicuous as the moon in a starless sky. Finally, Kelly turned. Her eyes were wide. Horrified, Dean thought. His own face remained flushed. He didn't know which was worse; that he'd just watched her complete a ritual to get rid of him, or that he still held that cursed candle in his hand.

  "Miss Williams?" He flushed even more at the mistake. "I mean, Mrs. Singleton." Stupidly, he held forth the candle. "If it wouldn't be too anti-climactic — I came to offer an apology."

  CHAPTER THREE

  The girls disappeared. They simply melted into the landscape of parked cars. No one stayed to back Kelly up, no one remained to lend support. And there was no one left to take that blasted candle but herself.

  Kelly stared in dismay at the pink wax held out in Dean's long, tanned fingers. "Uh, thanks," she said, and plucked it from his grip. She was sure her face had turned as red as Dean's. But that was nothing compared to the rapid-fire beating of her heart. He was here. Why was he here?

  Worse, why was she so excited to see him?

  "I have, you know," he said.

  With no idea what he was talking about, Kelly fumbled the candle into the front pocket of her sweat jacket. "What?" she asked.

  "Come to apologize," he repeated.

  At that Kelly had to look at him again. His gaze was dark, focused entirely on her.

  God, Kelly thought, whatever his sins, he was still the handsomest devil she'd ever seen. And he was also — still — so different. For half a second that bothered her, how different he was, not that she believed his story of hypnosis for one second. Frantically, she reached for some level of sanity. "You can't exactly apologize for walking out on me."

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. "No, I can't make up for that."

  Ha! Kelly thought.

  "But I am sorry I didn't believe you when you came to my office the other day." His gaze sharpened on her. "I shouldn't have called you a phony. I shouldn't have assumed you were anything but exactly what you claimed to be." He paused. A different muscle twitched in his jaw. "My wife."

  "Uh huh." Kelly shook her head, trying to digest it all. He was here. He'd flown all the way across the country to tell her...this? "So you're still saying you don't remember me," she declared, just to make it clear to both of them.

  His lips thinned. "I'm not 'saying it.' It's true."

  Their eyes met, and locked. Never had Kelly met a crumb who could look so sincere. Sincere? He looked positively annoyed.

  "Uh huh," she said, confused. Why was he annoyed?

  His next remark answered that. "Believe me or not, Miss Williams, but we are legally wed. That gives us matters to discuss." He looked at her, implacable.

  Kelly stared back at him, uncomprehending. Then it hit her. The divorce. "Oh," she said. He was sincere, all right. Sincere in his desire to get rid of her. She squelched a ridiculous little pang beneath her breastbone. This fellow wasn't the man she'd once believed him to be, not the sweet and tender love of her life. It was okay, it was good, to put an end to this.

  "Matters," she said. "Fine. Wonderful."

  His gaze averted. "I have a place we can be private."

  ###

  Kelly had to admit herself impressed. He was all prepared. In the hotel, he'd reserved a conference room for their little meeting, with scattered sofas, end tables, and lamps. Formal, impersonal, and the message clear: neutral territory.

  She strode in ahead of him, reassured. Neither emotions nor passion would get involved here. This was, indeed, simply business. And simply business was all Kelly wanted it to be. Handsome as he was, the man still wasn't admitting he even knew her. A crumb to the end.

  "Please," he said, indicating a pink-striped sofa. "Have a seat."

  Kelly glanced at him. His expression was cool, calm, even pleasant. A crumb with impeccable manners. With her fists clenched in her jacket pockets, she sat.

  Dean moved with easy grace to a red floral chair to one side. He picked up a briefcase and set it on the coffee table between them.

  So, Kelly thought, he already had the papers drawn up. Quite...foresightful. And quite unlike the man she'd known. That, apparently, had been one big, fat masquerade.

  But whatever. All she had to do was sign. She did not lean back against the sofa cushions. Why, she'd be out of here, done with the whole humiliating episode in minutes.

  Dean set one hand atop the leather briefcase. "I understand you don't believe me about the hypnosis, or about forgetting everything that happened during the ensuing two days. But I wonder if you wouldn't mind...humoring me for a few minutes."

  "Um. What?"

  He opened the clasps of the briefcase with a simultaneous click. "I'd like to know what I did for two days. You could help with the answers to a few simple questions."

  Kelly chewed the inside of her cheek. She was supposed to humor him? To what end? "Well, I don't — What's that?" He'd drawn some sheets of double-folded paper from his case.

  "This is my credit card report, starting with the plane tickets I bought Friday evening." He shook it open. "The first item I don't understand is a place called 'Nat's.'" He looked over at her.

  Kelly looked back. Did he really think she wanted to play this game? And why? She wasn't going to fight a divo
rce.

  His brows rose. "Bar?"

  Kelly's breath rushed out. She didn't go out to bars with men she met after the show!

  He tilted his head. "You're just humoring me, remember? Not admitting my story's true or anything."

  "It's a diner," Kelly blurted, as if he didn't know that perfectly well himself. They'd sat over the same pair of free refill coffees for three hours. He'd smiled at her as they'd talked and talked, a smile all slow and tender. She'd begun to melt, thinking he really cared. Yeah, right. Just showed how much she knew.

  Dean's eyes went back down to his sheet. "A diner. That sounds pedestrian enough. But what about this sailboat? I rented a sailboat in Las Vegas?"

  "No, that was Lake Mead." Kelly snapped her mouth shut. What was she doing? He had to know they'd spent the day on the lake, just lazing and looking up at the blue, blue sky. He had to remember they'd shared their first kiss in the shadow of a narrow river canyon. The boat had rocked beneath them. And so, she'd thought, had her world.

  "Pardon me. Lake Mead. That should have shown up on the printout." He frowned down at the paper. "We got there awfully early."

  "We drove through the night."

  He shot her a penetrating look. "I...see."

  Kelly felt her eyes widen. "We drove," she said firmly. "Besides, we weren't married yet." But she supposed he'd 'forgotten' that, too. Forgotten her stammered explanation of her no-sex-without-marriage policy, forgotten his serene acceptance of her restriction, followed by his own, incredible proposal.

  Apparently so, for his gaze went back down to his paper printout and his voice went dry. "Oh, yes. Our wedding, held at the Little Chapel of the Dawn. My investigator confirms: all perfectly legal. I even bought you a ring and — " His implacable face suddenly reddened. "Party favors."

  Kelly found herself blushing, too. On the way out of the chapel, laughing, he'd bought a pair of handcuffs. "It was no big deal," she now claimed. They'd been fur-lined and hadn't even had real locks — nor had they ended up getting used.

  His face resumed its normal color as he set his printout to the side. "You're right. Not much of a big deal, compared to what is conspicuously missing. Miss Williams — " Slowly, he clasped his hands and set them around one knee. His dark lashes lowered. "Miss Williams, nowhere on this credit report is there a record that I bought protection. Condoms. Anything of that nature."

  Kelly stared at him.

  "I assume we had sexual relations and so I need to ask." He lifted his lashes enough to give her an amazingly direct look. "I have to ask: were such relations unprotected?"

  Kelly continued to stare. His eyes were steady, his mouth flat. "We didn't use protection," she heard herself admit.

  His stare went into laser-mode. "Then you could be — "

  "No."

  "But — "

  "I'm not pregnant." Her gaze averted and she found herself blushing all over again. "I already know."

  "Oh," he said a moment later, and released a deep breath.

  "God." Kelly jumped from the sofa, stalked to the nearest wall, and crossed her arms tightly. She glared at a painting of a beach. "What a thing to have to tell a rank stranger."

  They both stopped. A heavy silence descended on the room. As she stared at the beach, Kelly felt a prickling all over her skin. Slowly, she turned.

  He was watching her, very alert. Waiting.

  Kelly's heart started pounding. Was it possible — ? Could he actually — ? That is, she'd considered the scenario for half an instant here and there, but could it actually be true? Was he a rank stranger, someone who didn't remember meeting her...or anything?

  Kelly swallowed. She didn't want to believe it. It was too outrageous. It smelled like getting bamboozled again. She cleared her throat, intending to tell him she wasn't fooled when, even as she looked at him, he transformed.

  Not physically. No, physically he was the Dean she remembered; dark hair, wavy, left a little too long, blue eyes like a midnight sea, body like a panther. But behind the eyes —

  Behind the eyes was someone she'd never met before, herself.

  Kelly had to think in order to breathe. Her knees felt shaky. "Oh," she said. "Oh."

  The new man, the stranger, got to his feet. "There is one other document. Would you, please?" He indicated the sofa with his hand.

  Kelly shifted her gaze to the sofa but didn't dare move. She tried to go back to skeptical mode, but it wouldn't work. He wouldn't be the other man again, the one she knew. He was...somebody else. Somebody who'd been hypnotized, who didn't even remember meeting her, let alone remember falling in love.

  Apparently giving up on the idea she would sit, he plucked up something from his briefcase. It was a tiny piece of paper, only about an inch square and soiled, as by kitchen oil. He held it out to her.

  The insistence in his gaze finally made Kelly move. She took a step, close enough to see he was holding a receipt. "Duncan's Donuts," she read aloud. The prickling sensation returned, sweeping over her tenfold.

  "Does that mean anything to you?"

  Kelly could feel a bubble of hysteria inside. "You got the donuts."

  "I was holding a bag of them when I 'woke up.' For you, I presume. I never eat such things, myself."

  The bubble of hysteria inside Kelly expanded. She started to laugh. "But you were the one who noticed the store, who wanted them — " She stopped. Biting her lip, she looked at him, looked at the man behind the eyes. "No," she corrected. "That wasn't you." Kelly felt a chill replace her hysteria. "Was it?"

  He turned. Delicately, he returned the little piece of paper to his briefcase. "Miss Williams, I can only repeat my heartfelt apology that you got mixed up in this...little accident of mine. The hypnosis — well, I never actually expected to go under, and then my cousin Troy had to get in on the act with his amusing 'suggestions.'"

  "Suggestions." Kelly's chill grew. She'd seen men, dignified, elderly men, bark like dogs under the suggestion of a stage hypnotist. She could make the logical deduction. "In real life you wouldn't have done any of it, what we did together. You wouldn't have given me the time of day to begin with."

  He didn't say a word. He just looked at her, looked at her with cool, unfamiliar eyes.

  Kelly whirled. A part of her wanted to laugh. Here it was, the magical explanation she'd been hoping for. Dean hadn't abandoned her, after all. He'd even bought the donuts.

  Yes, he'd bought them, and then vanished into thin air. Her easy-going, sweet and charming Dean Singleton didn't even exist!

  "Miss Williams."

  Kelly clenched her fingers on her upper arms. Inside she was reeling. This wasn't the man she'd met Friday night. Of course, she'd already seen as much in Boston. Her Dean was blue jeans and tee shirts. This man was English wool and silk. Her Dean smiled. This man looked like he hadn't cracked a grin in the past ten years.

  She'd seen it, she just hadn't wanted to believe it.

  "Miss Williams," he asked. "Are you all right?"

  The question was both ludicrous, and valid. She gave a soft laugh. "Sure, sure. I'm all right." She was just peachy. It was no big deal to discover the man she'd fallen in love with didn't even exist in real life.

  Instead he was an illusion, a dream, 'suggested' into being by this no-good cousin Troy.

  Her fingertips dug into her sweat jacket sleeves. She was used to falling in love with an illusion, the pretty picture of the guy she'd paint in her mind, but this was ridiculous.

  She sensed the other man, the real one, take a step in her direction. Grimacing, Kelly turned. Their eyes met. A funny quiver went through Kelly's stomach. He still had those amazing blue eyes, the elegantly chiseled features, the whole aura of vital, healthy male.

  But on a stranger. The man she'd known — even the man she'd loathed — was nowhere.

  She tried a smile. "I guess it's my turn to owe you an apology."

  His brows knit.

  "I didn't believe you when you said you'd been hypnotized."

&nbs
p; He grunted. "Under the circumstances, understandable."

  Kelly sighed. "Yeah, well, it did sound pretty incredible. Add to that, the tendency of the male to slink off once he's got what he wanted. That's why I — " She stopped and waved a hand.

  His gaze was steady. "That's why you made sure I married you first."

  Kelly looked away. She nodded. Neither of them said anything then. There was a peculiar tension in the air. They were strangers — but not quite. They'd been physically intimate. He understood that by logical deduction, but Kelly actually remembered. Lord help her, but she remembered far too well.

  While Kelly felt the air in the room stretch tight, he cleared his throat. "Well I guess we should finish our business, if that's all right with you?"

  "Business?" Kelly's voice came out too high. "Oh yes, right, of course." She nodded vigorously. "The divorce. You've more than convinced me. I'll sign on whatever dotted line you say." She wanted to get out of there. The situation was even more humiliating than she'd imagined. That whole, dramatic scene in Boston — God.

  His chin jerked. "Yes, well, thank you very — But that isn't the business I mean."

  Kelly blinked. "No?"

  For the first time, his steady gaze slipped. "I mean," he said, staring over her left shoulder, "we need to talk about your move to Boston. Closing your apartment. Quitting your job."

  "Wha — ? Excuse me, what?"

  His gaze drew back to her. "We are married, Miss Williams. Usually that involves living together."

  Kelly stared at him. "What?" she asked again.

  Dean raised a pair of haughty eyebrows. "I've come to take you home with me."

  Kelly stood rooted to her spot.

  He had no such mobility problem, turning and strolling toward the coffee table. "I'm afraid you will have to move to Boston." His voice was impossibly matter-of-fact. "There is no practical way I could relocate to Las Vegas."

  Still staring in his direction, Kelly blinked. "You mean — you think we're married?"

  He sat on the floral chair and looked up at her. "Aren't we?"

  "No." She waved a finger between the two of them. "Didn't you just get through explaining that to me?"