by Sasha Gold
The ring makes her happy and it tells the world she’s off the market. Win, win. I don’t know who she was messing around with but I’ve marked her now. She’s mine, even though I won’t claim her.
“I’ll give it back to you, Trig.”
We’re pulling into the driveway. I stop the car, put it in park and turn to look at her. “What?”
I try to tamp down my anger. Why the hell would she tell me she’ll give me the ring back an hour after I slid it on to her finger?
“The judge, if he allows me to stay, will tell me how long we need to be married. When that’s over, I’ll give the ring back.”
“What in the hell am I going to do with it?”
Gwen pops open the door and gets out. Jane scrambles after her, saying something about talking to the caterer.
“I don’t know what you’ll do with it,” Maggie snaps.
“The ring is yours. Don’t offer to give it back unless you want to piss me off.”
Pressing her lips together, she gives me a funny look. I’m not sure if she’s upset or trying to keep from laughing. Then I see the gleam in her eyes.
“We’re having our first argument.” She grins at me. “A whole hour after getting married.”
I can’t tear my eyes from her mouth. Back at the chapel, I kissed those lips and I’d like to pull her onto my lap and kiss her again. I’d take my time, stroke her with my tongue and by the time I was done, her sassy smile would be long gone. In my dreams I’ve tasted those lips a thousand times.
“We went a whole sixty minutes without an argument. And you pretty much started it,” she says lightly. Shaking her head she goes on. “How are you going to explain that to the grand-kids, mister?”
I liked it better when she barely talked to me, or looked freaked out and afraid whenever I walked into the room. Being teased by Maggie is going to seriously challenge my self-control. Her playful tone makes my blood heat and my cock harden.
A few cars have pulled up behind me and another on the street. Wes and Jane, who planned on keeping this thing on the down low, have invited family friends and neighbors. I invited a few guys from the shop. People are arriving and are going to wonder what Maggie and I are doing sitting in the truck.
“We better greet our guests, Mrs. Kendal.”
Her eyes shine with amusement. “I guess we’d better, Mr. Kendal.”
We get out and I take her hand as we head into the house. She thinks she’s scored a point. Normally that would irritate me, but holding her hand in mine and having her near makes me happy. I’ll let her score as many points as she wants when her hands in mine, or at least half of them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maggie
Mel, the guy whose job I had for a few weeks, is on his third piece of cake. He’s worked for the Kendal Garage since Trig’s dad first opened. He’s also thin as a rail with collarbones most girls would kill for. He probably should have as much cake as he wants.
“Never thought Trig was the marrying type. Wes is, for sure, but Trig always struck me as a lady’s man.”
I try to look interested but I’m wishing he would just stop talking. I know this marriage thing is make-believe, but that doesn’t mean I want to know about Trig’s love life. I glance over at my husband of four hours. He’s talking to Michael, leaning down to hear, smiling so big his dimples pop.
My breath catches. Trig is incredibly handsome. I have to admit that, even if it’s only to myself. Dressed in a dark grey suit he looks like he just stepped off a magazine cover and it’s not hard to imagine women throwing themselves at his feet.
“He was always a catch and release sort of fisherman,” Mel says. “You git my meaning? He never wanted to go through the fuss and bother of bringing home a trophy and having it mounted.”
A trophy? A mounted trophy? Nice. I’m picturing a large-mouthed bass over the mantle. I’d like to bitch about this, tell Mel to go jump in a bass-filled lake, but I’m in a wedding dress. Seems a little untoward.
I smile at Mel. “Well, if nothing else I’m a lot of fuss and bother.” Leaning down to the remains of the wedding cake, I drag my finger along the edge of icing some fool left behind. I know it’s not lady-like but I can’t resist. When lick my fingertip I catch Trig staring. Probably because he heard what I said and agrees that I’m trouble.
Mel wanders away with his cake. I’m about to steal more icing when Gwen hurries into the room, a look of alarm on her face. Glancing around the room, she purses her lips and beckons Jane. The two speak together, heads bent and then they both look at me, their faces stricken.
They’ve handled the wedding details perfectly. I’m so grateful and I’m sure that anything that goes wrong at this point wouldn’t matter much. The caterers have already taken the chafing dishes. The party feels like it’s winding down.
I cross the room. “What’s the matter?”
Trig’s noticed their distress too and comes to my side. He slides his hand around my waist and even though I know it’s for show, I love it anyway. Sparks of pleasure light my skin. His hands are big and strong and undeniably sexy. I lean against him and relish the way his body feels. Incredibly hard, muscled and masculine. No wonder women want him.
“I just spoke with one of my partners in Houston. Gerald has worked on immigration cases before and he said this marriage thing will be scrutinized. Heavily.”
“So?” Trig drawls. “What are they going to prove, exactly?”
Gwen folds her arms across her chest. “They’ll prove that she didn’t live with you.”
I close my eyes and wish Gwen away. I’m having such a nice evening. I don’t need her to rain on my parade. This is a farce. How can people not know that? I won’t live with Trig because we’re not really married. I resist the urge to step on a nearby chair and announce that, loud and clear.
Gwen tugs my arm, pulling me into the kitchen. “When you meet with the judge, he’ll ask you questions about your life together.”
Trig laughs incredulously. “What kind of questions, Gwen?”
“Very personal ones.” Her cheeks redden.
Jane claps her hand over her mouth.
“Maggie needs to live with you. At least until she stands before the judge.”
Trig’s smile fades. I’m sure he’s wondering why he ever agreed to this. Today, in the chapel, he didn’t say his “I do” when the judge asked. I had to squeeze his hands to get him to lose his dazed look. Poor guy. He probably wanted to run out of the chapel as fast as he could.
“We agreed she was going to live here.” Trig’s voice is low.
Jane draws a deep breath. “There’s a solution to every problem. I’m sure this will be just fine. Maggie can stay with you till her court date. That’s what we’ll do.”
I close my eyes and rub my forehead, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me.
“It’s just for a short while, Trig.” Jane sets her hand on his forearm. “Maggie’s no trouble. You’ll probably get attached to her and won’t want to give her back.”
“Great. Thanks Jane. Way to make me sound like a dog from the shelter. Don’t forget to tell him I’m almost house-trained.”
“Maggie’s no trouble. It’s just that…” His voice fades.
“What?” I snap at him. “Having your wife in the house might make dating awkward?”
His eyes darken. “I’m not dating anyone.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. Spare me.”
“Speak for yourself, Maggie,” he growls. “You’re the one walking around with a hickey on your neck.”
Both Gwen and Jane turn to stare at me, eyes wide. Their gazes drift down to my neck.
I wave a hand dismissively. “It’s not there anymore, okay?”
“What’s not there anymore?” Wes asks, coming into the kitchen.
“Nothing,” Trig and I shout in unison.
I draw a deep breath and go on in a calmer voice. “Gwen says I need to live with Trig at least until the court da
te.”
My tone is neutral, I think, but inside I’m freaking out. Live… with Trig. Holy shit.
Wes stops in his tracks, stunned and then turns to Trig. “Do you have something to do with this?”
Trig shakes his head. He looks furious but doesn’t say anything to Wes.
Gwen crosses her arms. “The judge will probably interview them to find out if they actually know anything about each other. If he does this separately, and they contradict each other, it might cast doubt on the marriage.”
Wes looks horrified. Like my going to Trig’s house would be the worst thing ever. I’m sure Trig agrees.
“It will be fine,” I tell them. “I’ll be a good houseguest, Trig. I promise. Just spread a little newspaper for me in the corner.”
He doesn’t look amused or relieved. At all.
Jane sets her hands on her hips. “Come on! This isn’t the end of the world. Maggie and Trig are going to be just fine. I think it’s a great idea. Maggie will have a quiet house to study in. Trig will have someone there to help him if he gets one of his headaches.”
I draw a sharp breath. His headaches. There’s a part of Trig that I know all about. I haven’t been to his home since that night. I’d spent the whole night in his arms. Every time I tried to slip away, he’d growl and pull me back. After a dozen attempts, I finally escaped. Not that I wanted to. Mostly I wanted to avoid hearing him murmur more words intended for another.
Jane smiles at Trig and me. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Trig
After the last guests leave, I take Maggie home. Our home. Wes kept trying to corner me and give me some sort of lecture. I avoided him. I don’t need him to tell me what I already know. Don’t touch. I get it. No one understands the importance of that more than me.
My house belonged to my grandparents. They left it to both me and Wes, but my brother didn’t want to live in the country. I bought out his half and I’ve lived here ever since my parents died. Maggie’s the first woman I’ve brought here.
When we get out of the truck, I take her suitcase out of the back. It’s dark, but the moon, full and gleaming just above the horizon, lights the ranch. She still wears the wedding dress and the silvery light makes the dress glow.
Even though it’s spring, it’s cold. The dogs have found a warm place to sleep and don’t bother coming to greet us.
When we get to the top of the stairs, she waits for me to open the door.
I set the suitcase aside. “I need to carry you across.”
“Across what?” She takes a step back.
“The threshold.”
Her jaw drops and she snaps it shut. “I don’t think so.”
I close the distance between us. She tries to scramble away, but isn’t fast enough and I grab ahold of her hand. I’m breaking my no-touch rule and we haven’t even been home five minutes. But it’s just this one time.
“It’s bad luck if you walk in on your own two feet.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
Maggie used to swear all the time but doesn’t much anymore. It’s a bit of a surprise to hear my young bride cuss. I’m caught off guard and in that moment, she twists out of my grip.
She snickers and darts away, her skirts rustling and disappears around the corner of the wrap-around porch. Her footsteps fade. Does she think she can hide from me? I follow, the floorboards creaking under my feet, but she evades me, making the full circle back to the front door. I hear her heading that direction.
Her game makes me smile, especially because I can hear her laughing, but when I know she’s getting close to the front door, I shout a warning. “Don’t you dare, Maggie.”
When I round the corner, she’s standing in front of the door. Pouting.
“I should tell Wes how bossy you are.”
“I should tell the judge what a brat you are.”
Her eyes grow round. “You wouldn’t!”
Scooping her up, I kick the door open and step inside. “You want to risk it?”
“That’s blackmail. Put me down. We’re inside now.”
Carrying her gives me a primitive sense of satisfaction, even though she’s kicking and trying to get me to put her down. Her skirts are so full, they block my peripheral view. That’s okay. I can see straight ahead as I walk down the hallway.
“I’m taking you to your room. You get the guest room.”
Setting her down, I’m struck by her scent. It hits me hard and I groan with hot frustration.
She smacks my shoulder. “I’m not that heavy. Oh! This room is so pretty!”
I watch her take in the details of my grandmother’s guest room. Maggie’s been to my home a few times but never seen the bedrooms. Everything in this room is antique. The wardrobe. The night table. A rocking chair by the window. Shelves line the wall and are filled with books from when I was a kid. Westerns and Mysteries. There’s also a mahogany desk in the corner. I like the idea of Maggie studying there.
“I feel like I’ve stepped back in time,” she says softly.
“My room’s up the hallway. Last door. I thought putting you here would give you some privacy.”
She turns to face me. “That would give you privacy, too.”
The way she says the words makes it sound like privacy is a bad thing.
Speaking softly, she goes on. “You’re not planning…”
For the life of me I can’t understand what she’s getting at or why the notion of privacy would upset her.
“What am I not planning?” I ask in exasperation.
She gives me a prim look. “To have company here? A girl-friend?”
Molten fury clouds my vision. I’m obsessed with this girl, trying like hell to make her life better and keeping away from her at the same time and all she’s worried about is me hooking up?
“You and I are a couple. I wouldn’t ever disrespect you like that. Besides, you’re the one who had a hickey on your neck.”
Her hand jerks to her neck. “You gave it to me.”
It feels like all the air leaves the room. Silence stretches between us. Maggie’s told me a few crazy things since I’ve met her but I’ve always seen through her stories. She’s not bullshitting me with that comment. She’s completely sincere.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It was a few months ago. You had a headache. Jane asked me to bring you dinner.”
My heart thunders inside my chest. It was the last time I’d gotten taken down by one of those terrible headaches. I’d dreamt of Maggie. Holding her. I had plenty of dreams like that, but that night everything seemed so real. I blamed the medicine.
“Nothing happened. Well, aside from you marking me. I spent the night and left just before the sun came up.”
Well… damn. I wonder if Wes knew about that, and had been pissed at me for a long time. Especially when I’d promised I wouldn’t mess around with her.
“Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “No. Can we drop it?”
“Sure. Fine.”
“I’m tired.”
She looks anything but tired but I don’t want to spend any more time in her room than necessary. And I need a shot of something very strong.
“I’ll let you rest. Anything you need?”
“Can you undo the back of my dress? I can’t reach the buttons.”
I laugh and drag my fingers through my hair. A few days ago, marriage seemed like such a great idea, a noble gesture to help Maggie. I’d lay down my life for her. I’m certain I can get through this fake marriage and even having here in my home, but it’s going to be pure hell.
I cross the room. She turns her back to me. The buttons, about twenty in all, start at the base of her neck and trail down to the small of her back. My hands shake a little. The first few go easily enough, despite my raging lust. I imagine clasping each side of the fabric in my hands and tearing the dress from her.
Neither of us speak until I u
ndo the final button. The back of the dress drapes open, revealing a lacy slip underneath.
“What else?” My voice is rough. Savage need burns my veins.
“That’s all. Thank you.”
I run my finger along the bare skin of her shoulder and hear her breath catch. “Maggie,” I whisper. “Don’t ever come in my room again.”
Without waiting for a reply, I turn and leave. I close the door behind me, go to the den and pour myself about three fingers of Beam. The moonlight casts everything in a ghostly light. I go outside, lean against the railing and try like hell to figure out how I’m going to maintain my sanity while I live in the same house as Maggie.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maggie
After I finish my last final exam, I head over to the administration building. The Dean of Students is hosting a luncheon for the high-risk students here on scholarship. I’m probably on their shit-list after the letter I wrote, telling them they needed to come up with a new name for their program.
I hurry into the wood-paneled meeting room, grabbing an iced tea before I sit down between two of the other girls from my program. Denise, who’s a single mom of three and Josie, a single mom with twin toddlers.
Some old fart stands at the lectern droning on about goals and values. The school doesn’t call us high-risk anymore. After my letter, they changed the name. Now they call us high-talent. Whatever. I’m just glad to be here. The old fart reverts to the subject of goals.
“My goal is to eat lunch before I pass out from low blood sugar,” Denise says. “Or boredom.”
When he’s done, they serve lunch to the group, starting with soup and moving on to a frou-frou main course of grilled chicken breast and steamed vegetables.
My stomach is in knots and has been all day. I’m waiting to hear what the school will give me for fall courses. Finally, they hand out envelopes with grants. Denise and Josie both get full scholarships and I come in a hair under ninety percent, since I don’t have dependents. I’m grateful.
