“It’s not going to bite you,” I said.
“I know.” She didn’t sound like she believed what she was saying. “It’s just…”
Several seconds passed in silence. The light turned green, and I pulled out into the intersection. “It’s just what?” I finally asked, unable to bear the echoing emptiness between us. We didn’t know each other at all yet, and the less we spoke, the greater the chasm between us grew.
She still didn’t answer me. She stared out the window on her side of the car, rotating the jewelry box between her fingers. It was only when we pulled into the parking lot at the restaurant that she turned to me and said, “It’s nothing.” Her eyes had taken on a vacant expression, lifeless amber orbs in a too-perfect face. She opened the box, took out the ring, and placed it on her finger without any reaction whatsoever to the ring itself. It was a big fucking ring, and one that deserved some sort of reaction. She seemed oblivious to it, though, lost in whatever thoughts were running through her head.
It damn well wasn’t nothing, but hell if I knew what it was. I shut off the ignition and took the box from her, reaching across her body to place it in the glove box. “This has to be the worst proposal known to man,” I said, trying to laugh it off and hoping she would do the same. We were going to have to loosen up.
“We’ll have to come up with something better to tell people,” she said. The hint of a smile crept to her lips. “Maybe we can talk about that over dinner. Come up with something outrageous. They’re bound to ask, and we need to get our stories straight.”
It seemed as good as anywhere to start.
I unfolded myself out of the car and made my way around to help her out. As we crossed the parking lot, I took great care in being sure I walked with my hand on the small of her back, drawing her close enough to me that the scent of her perfume wafted up and tickled my nostrils, making me want to tug her even closer. Sure enough, just as everyone had made clear would happen, eyes followed our every move.
The hostess greeted us at the door and took us straight to a semi-secluded area near the back of the restaurant—far enough away from other diners that we wouldn’t be overheard but close enough that they would definitely be able to see everything that went on between us. No doubt Mr. Roth’s secretary had requested this spot specifically. The table was raised up on a dais of sorts and had been set for two, with elegant china, delicate champagne glasses, fresh flowers, and candles. Mirrors lined the wall behind the bench, reflecting candlelight. A bottle of expensive bubbly was waiting for us in a bucket of ice. I helped Tallulah into her seat and slid in beside her, taking care to move closer than was necessary.
She flinched slightly when my thigh brushed hers.
“Too close?” I whispered in her ear. My lips hovered close enough that her body heat reached them.
Her eyes flickered up to meet mine, her cheeks slightly flushed. She shook her head.
“Congratulations to you both on your engagement,” the hostess said. She didn’t hand us any menus, though, which threw me for a loop. “The chef will be out momentarily to discuss your selections for this evening. Should I open that now, or would you like to wait?” she asked, pointing to the champagne.
Personal attention from the chef was not something I’d experienced very often in my life, at least not counting the chef hired by the teams I’d played for who cooked for us on the road and made sure the younger guys were eating solid meals when we were at home instead of constantly ordering pizza and eating fast food burgers. I made a lot of money, and people tended to suck up to me because of that, but this was an entirely different level of sucking up. Maybe Tallulah really was as big of a deal around here as they wanted me to believe.
“We’ll wait,” I said. It was only after the hostess nodded and backed away that I realized I should have asked if Tallulah was on board with that. “Do you mind?”
She shook her head. “Whatever you think is best.”
She acquiesced too easily. I’d only known her for hours, but I was already starting to pick up on that, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. She did what she was told to do, and she did it without much complaint. Her mother and Lance had probably been the root cause of the lack of decisiveness on her part, but I doubted her father was faultless where that behavior was concerned. Even with him, she jumped to do his bidding. Was she going to be like that with me, too? I hoped not, but at least it would only be for a year.
She fidgeted with her ring, which drew my eye to her hand. The ring fit her perfectly, but it was huge. They’d insisted that it had to be big, though. They wanted it seen. I glanced up to scan the dining room. Dozens of eyes were on us, taking in the whole scene. Heads were bent over tables, and they whispered heatedly back and forth, their gazes wandering back over to us time and again.
I reached across the table and put my hand over hers in a protective—slightly possessive—gesture. I made sure the ring was visible, though. Her eyes shot up to meet mine in question.
“We’re putting on a show, remember, Tallulah?” I nudged my head toward the sea of people watching our every move.
Her head whipped around. “Please don’t call me that.”
“All right, I won’t call you by your name, sweetheart. What should I call you instead?”
“I’m not your sweetheart any more than you’re Daddy’s son,” she said pointedly.
I swallowed a laugh, mainly because she was giving me a flash of the sassy young woman who’d put me in my place earlier today when we’d first met. There was no stopping my grin, though. “Duly noted.” The urge to give her a salute was overwhelming, but I kept myself from doing that by tightening my grip on her hand. “Any other suggestions?” I asked wryly.
She narrowed her eyes on me, the cutest pout turning the corners of her lips down. “You can call me Tallie, like Daddy does. That’s what most people call me. The only ones who ever call me Tallulah are Mama, Lance, and other people like them.”
Other people like them. Then she did recognize the stranglehold they had over her, at least to some extent. “Tallie it is, then,” I said. “Anyway, back to this show we’re putting on for people. So whatever we talk about, we need to be looking at each other with doe eyes and touching like we can’t keep our hands off each other, not even for long enough to get through a simple meal.”
She batted those gorgeous amber eyes at me, and in a snap, she pasted a seductive smile on her face. She relaxed her hand beneath mine, her expression heating up enough that it should fool everyone around us even if it didn’t come close to convincing me.
Her response reassured me, but at the same time, it caused my gut to sink. Was this a sign that I was right, that she would do whatever I told her to without question? I didn’t want to be married to some chick who was going to rush to do my bidding. I liked the version of Tallie who gave me flashes of fire, who put me in my place with the kind of authority that made it seem like she believed she could keep me there. Thank God this farce of a marriage was only going to last a year, because I didn’t think I could take even a day longer than that, at least not unless the sassy Tallie was the one I’d be living with. I liked being with women who were confident within themselves and went after what they wanted, not the sort who snapped to attention the second you said boo.
The chef came up before I could put my foot in my mouth and say anything to that effect. He went over a few options he could make especially for us, things that weren’t on the regular menu but he wanted to make available to his valued guests on a momentous occasion such as an engagement. The way he simpered over us made me want to snarl, but I held that urge in check. I was supposed to be a man so deeply in love with this woman that nothing would distract me from fawning over her in every way, not even chefs who wanted to cater to our every whim simply because of who we were. That kind of treatment didn’t go over well with me.
When he finished outlining our options, I waited for Tallie to order.
She blinked at me a couple of times. “I’ll
have whatever you’re having.”
“Whatever I’m having,” I grumbled. I thought this was supposed to be one of her favorite restaurants, which should mean that she had an idea of what she wanted to eat.
She just blinked again and smiled.
This year was going to be hell.
THROUGHOUT DINNER, HUNTER kept casually—yet, in reality, not at all casually—touching my hand and trailing fingers along my arm, all the while sending heated glances in my direction. And calling them heated wasn’t an exaggeration in the slightest. They were the sorts of looks that made my girly parts zing and caused my body temperature to rise about thirty degrees or so, meaning I was just this side of spontaneous combustion caused by sexy green fire. I tried to rein my body in, but it was no use. My response was happening even with the knowledge that those looks were only for show and the touches weren’t meant to be anything more than an exhibition for anyone who cared to see. He had a job to do, and the man meant business. He wasn’t messing around.
The longer we sat at that table, eating course after course, I had to keep reminding myself that what we were doing here wasn’t real. There was nothing meaningful or lasting about what was going on.
Damn, but he was good at this, which only reinforced the idea that I had a lot of work to do before I would be capable of pulling off the kind of trickery he was managing as easily as snapping his fingers. I’d thought he was supposed to be a hockey player, not an actor, but he was nearly fooling me, and I knew exactly what was going on. Or at least I thought I did. It was difficult to convince myself I was right about that since his actions were having such a decided and potent effect on me.
Every time he looked deep into my eyes, I felt the intensity of it all the way to my toes. Each brush of his fingers along my bare skin left goose bumps in its wake.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening. The relationship between us was supposed to be strictly business, or at least that was how it had been drawn up. There wasn’t supposed to be any true attraction here, and my feelings had no business showing up in anything we did. I needed to keep my head in it and my heart out of it, plain and simple. That wasn’t happening, though.
I must be hormonal, or possibly the events of the day had simply left me overwhelmed and vulnerable to the charm he was expertly exerting upon me. Either way, I knew I needed to take this as a learning experience. Now I knew the kind of effect he could have upon me, so it was up to me to find a way to gird myself against it.
With my thumb, I spun the ring on my finger, twirling it around and around as I debated my options for guarding my heart against his sensual assault. This whole marriage was going to prove to be a challenge for me, as I had always had a tendency to link physical contact with my emotions, and the plan was to be all over each other in public.
Like he was doing right now.
Hunter slid a finger down the length of my forearm again, and when he reached my hand, he took it in his and twined our fingers together, trapping the diamond I’d been spinning between our palms. My heart fluttered, my pulse skipping the occasional beat and doubling up on some others, and I bit down on my tongue in an attempt to regain control over my body and its unruly response. This wasn’t going well. Not at all. And it was only the first day.
Hell’s bells, how was I going to come out of this with my heart intact?
“So you’re in college?” he asked me, seemingly oblivious to the insanity he was causing to race through my veins.
“Taking this year off, for obvious reasons.” Not that I was happy about it. The break from school was something Mama and Lance had insisted upon, saying that I needed to put all my efforts in clearing up my name. Finishing up my degree would have to wait.
Hunter scowled at my admission, but he schooled his features so that no one but me could see it. His hand tightened over mine, though, digging the ring into the meaty part of my palm. It didn’t really hurt, but it was more than enough for me to sense his displeasure. I tried to loosen my hand from his grip so I could shift the ring back into the position it ought to be in, but he held it firm, never removing his gaze from me.
“I’m a communications major at OU,” I forced out through gritted teeth.
He finally relaxed his grip some, but he didn’t let me go. Instead, he started teasing my skin with the pad of his thumb, tracing circles over the inside of my wrist, the super-sensitive flesh that covered my rampant pulse. Surely, those circles were designed to drive me wild. Heat raced to the spots he touched, and my nerves went into overdrive. He might as well have been branding me with his mark.
“You could keep going to school while we do this,” he said. “I’m going to be on the road with the team half the season, anyway.”
“Everyone thinks it’s for the best,” I said, consciously avoiding mentioning the specific people included in everybody.
“I wouldn’t say everybody thinks that,” he grumbled.
“Close enough for government work.”
“Hmm.”
There wasn’t any hiding how much he disagreed, but at least he let it drop for the time being. “So, communications?” He took another sip of champagne, teasing the back of my hand by ghosting his thumb over the skin repeatedly. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Do with it?” I raised a brow in question. I’d been willfully ignoring the fact that I didn’t have a plan for after I finished with my degree. It was just one more thing that Lance would inform me of, no doubt.
“After you graduate. What kind of career do you want to have?”
I shrugged, as if that would bring an answer to my lips. “I haven’t really thought about it.” Yes, it was an outright lie I was feeding him, but I didn’t want him to think I was as pathetic as I knew I was. Getting a communications degree was just what pageant girls tended to do. Most of them married some rich guy and never needed a degree or a career, anyway. Mama always made light of it, saying, What Tallulah Belle is really working toward is her MRS degree. Meaning she intended for me to do what everyone else did. That was just one more plan of hers that I’d screwed up. I mentally tossed that on the ever-growing pile.
Yes, I was getting married to Hunter, and he totally fit the bill in terms of the money he made and the fact that I wouldn’t have to do anything. That was only true if we stayed married, though, and everyone who mattered knew that wasn’t going to happen.
The teasing circles Hunter had been tracing on my flesh stopped, and there was a lot of tension in his grip. He didn’t get it. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t sure I always understood it, but Mama had planned everything out from before I was even born.
“So you’re not going to go to school while we’re married. You don’t have a degree or a career lined up. Just what, exactly, are you going to be doing for an entire year?”
I shrugged again, which brought out a tic in Hunter’s jaw.
“Being the best wife I can be for you?” I suggested helplessly. “Seeing and being seen so we can change what the press is saying about us?”
“That’s not much to fill a year with,” he groused. “I’m going to be playing hockey. I’ve got a job to do that’s going to eat up a lot of my time. I’ll be gone half the time, on the road with the team.”
I’d already been dreading the coming year, but the way he was looking at me now caused me to lose my appetite completely. His eyes were still boring through me, but there was a crease between his brows to go along with the twitching jaw, and it seemed as though every word I said only upset him further. The subtle cues I was getting to his thoughts were so completely counterpoint to the ways he was touching me that my head was a bigger mess than it had been before the day had gotten started.
I pushed my plate away, unable to think about eating another bite because I had no clue what I was going to do with my life, and it killed me. Hunter was right. He had his job. He had the team. He would be required to go to practices and play in games, and they’d be gone on the road quite a bit. That was one of the se
lling points in choosing him, supposedly. He had a life to live.
But me? My entire life had been built around becoming Miss USA. There was no Plan B. There wasn’t a backup plan for when that fell through. And I didn’t have the first clue what to do with myself. All my friends were my sorority sisters and other girls who competed in pageants, and I wasn’t going to be around them. The Delta Delta Delta girls were honestly the first people in my life in a very long time who I could call friends. Mama and Lance had kept me in poise classes, dance classes, singing lessons, wardrobe fittings, speech training, and a thousand other pursuits that were designed to help me reach one goal, and one only, so there had been no time for anything along the lines of creating friendships of the sort that would last. I had acquaintances, and many of them likely claimed I was their friend, but how many of them knew me? Even my major in college had been decided for me with no thought as to what I might want or what I would do with it when my pageant days were done. Now I was facing a future that scared the life out of me because it was so open and full of possibility that it made me want to cry.
Because all of a sudden, I had choices. But I’d be damned if I had the first clue how to make decisions for myself, and the thought of it made terror creep through my veins like ice, leaving me shivering.
“Are you cold?” Hunter asked, narrowing his eyes.
I shook my head, not sure how to explain. The air conditioning in this restaurant was working overtime, but that was a necessity at this time of year. My body was used to going from intense heat outside to full blast AC inside. It wasn’t the temperature. Not at all.
The waitress came to clear away our plates before Hunter could question me further. “Do you want me to box the rest of this up for you?” she asked, indicating my nearly full dish.
I shook my head. The thoughts racing through my mind were going to make eating the rest of it later as impossible as eating it now. “Unless you want to take it back to your hotel?” I suggested to Hunter once the idea struck me. He might want something to eat later, and there was no good reason to let it go to waste.
[Tulsa Thunderbirds 01.0] Bury the Hatchet Page 4
