by Jennie Lucas
“You were saying,” he prompted.
“I was?”
“Wedding cake. Why you don’t want it.”
“Right.” Ripping her hand away nervously, she squared her shoulders and said in a firm voice, “This is just a business arrangement, so there’s no point to wedding cake. Or a wedding dress. I think it’s best for both of us—” she looked at him sideways, not quite meeting his eyes “—to keep our marriage on a strictly professional basis.”
“As you wish.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You are the bride. You are the boss.”
She swallowed, turning her head to look at him nervously. “I am?”
He smiled. “I know that much about how a wedding works.”
“Oh.” Josie’s face was the color of roses and cream as she chewed on her full, pink bottom lip. “You’re being very, um—” her voice faltered and seemed to stumble “—nice to me.”
Kasimir’s smile twisted. “Will you stop saying that.”
“But it’s true.”
“I’m being strictly professional, just as you said. Courtesy is part of business.”
“Oh.” She considered this, then slowly nodded. “In that case…”
“I’m glad you agree.” He wondered if she would still accuse him of kindness if she knew the truth about what he intended to do with her. Or exactly why she was the answer to his prayer.
An hour ago, he’d been on the phone in his home office, barely listening to his VP of acquisitions drone on about how they could sabotage Vladimir’s imminent takeover of Arctic Oil. He’d been too busy thinking about how his own recent plan to embarrass his brother had blown up in his face.
Kasimir had long despised Bree Dalton, the con artist he blamed for the first rift between the brothers ten years ago. All this time, he’d kept track of her from a distance, waiting for her to go back to her old ways (she hadn’t) or to agree to let Josie marry him to get the land (she wouldn’t, and he could go to hell for asking).
Kasimir had finally decided to try another way: Josie herself.
Until they’d met at the Salad Shack a few days ago, all he’d known of Josie was in a file from a private investigator, with a grainy photograph. Six months ago in Seattle, the man had tested her by dropping a wallet full of cash in the aisle of a grocery store in front of her. Josie had run two blocks after the man’s car, catching up with him at a stoplight, to breathlessly give the wallet back, untouched. “Girl’s so honest, she’s a nut,” the investigator had grumbled.
So finally, Kasimir had come to a decision. Knowing his brother was recuperating from a recent car-racing injury in Oahu with a private weekly poker game at the Hale Ka’nani, he’d bribed the general manager of the resort, Greg Hudson, to hire the Dalton sisters as housekeepers. He’d hoped Vladimir would have a run-in with Bree Dalton, causing him a humiliating scene, but that was just an amusement. Kasimir’s real goal in coming here had been to try to negotiate for the land, and the requisite marriage, directly with Josie Dalton.
He shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d flung her soda at him and run out. Or that, according to the report he’d gotten from Greg Hudson, not only had there been no screaming match between Vladimir and Bree, they’d apparently fallen into each other’s arms at the poker game. Bree had won back the entire amount of her sister’s wager, then promptly accepted Vladimir’s offer to a single-card draw between them—a million dollars versus possession of Bree.
Reintroducing the formerly engaged couple to happiness after ten years of estrangement, had never been Kasimir’s plan. For the past day and a half, he’d been grinding his teeth in fury. He’d spent last night dancing at a club, women hitting on him right and left, until even that started to irritate him, and he’d gone home early—and alone.
Then, like a miracle, he’d been woken from sleep with the news that Josie Dalton was here and wished to marry him after all.
And now, here she was. He had her. She’d just changed his whole world—forever.
He could have kissed her.
“I will be happy to get you a cake,” he said fervently. “And a designer wedding gown, and a ten-carat diamond ring.” Reaching for her hand, he kissed it, then looked into her eyes. “Just tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”
Her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. He felt her hand tremble in his own before she yanked it away. “Just bring my sister home. Safely away from your brother.”
“You have my word. Soon.” He rose to his feet. “I must call my lawyer. In the meantime, please take some time to rest.” He gestured to the bookshelves of first-edition books. “Read, if you like. Your breakfast will be here at any moment.” He gave a slight bow. “Please excuse me.”
“Kasimir?”
He froze. Had Josie somehow guessed his plans? Was it possible her expressive brown eyes had seen right through his twisted, heartless soul? Hands clenched at his sides, body taut, Kasimir turned back to face her.
Josie’s eyes were shining, her expression bright as a new penny, as she leaned back against the sofa pillows. His gaze traced unwillingly over the patterns on her skin, along the curve of her full breasts beneath her T-shirt, left by the soft morning light.
“Thank you for saving my sister,” she whispered. She took a deep breath. “And me.”
Uneasiness went through him, but he shook it away from his well-armored soul. He gave her a stiff nod. “We will both benefit from this arrangement. Both of us,” he repeated stonily, squashing his conscience like a newly sprouted weed.
“But I’ll never forget it,” she said softly, looking at him with gratitude that approached hero-worship. Her brown eyes glowed, and she was far more beautiful than he’d first realized. “I don’t care what people say. You’re a good man.”
His jaw tightened. Without a word, he turned away from her. Once he reached his home office, he phoned his chief lawyer to arrange the prenuptial agreement and discuss ways to break Josie’s trust as quickly as possible. The discussion took longer than expected. When Kasimir returned to the library an hour later, he found Josie curled up fast asleep on the sofa, with a cold, untouched breakfast tray on the table beside her.
Kasimir looked down at her. She looked so young, sleeping. Had he ever been that young? She couldn’t be more than twenty-two, eleven years younger than he was, and more stupidly innocent than he’d been at that age. In spite of himself, he felt an unwelcome desire to take care of her. To protect her.
His jaw set. And so he would. For as long as she was his prisoner—that was to say, his wife.
He reached a hand out to wake her, then stopped. He looked down at the gray shadows beneath her eyes. No. Let her sleep. Their wedding could wait a few hours. She deserved a place to rest, a safe harbor. And so he would be for her….
Carefully, he picked her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. He carried her upstairs to the guest room. Without turning on the light, he set her gently on the mattress, beside the blue silk pillows. He stepped back, looking down at her in the shadowy room.
He heard her sweetly wistful voice. I do love a good wedding cake with buttercream-frosting roses.
Kasimir had told her the truth. She would be his only wife. He never intended to have a real marriage. Or trust any human soul enough to give them the ability to stab him in the back. This would be as close as he’d ever get to holy matrimony. For the few brief weeks of the marriage, Josie Dalton would be the closest he’d ever have to a wife. To a family.
He took a deep breath. She’d make an exceptional wife for any man. She was an old-fashioned kind of woman, the kind they didn’t make anymore. From his investigator’s reports, he knew Josie was ridiculously honest and scrupulously kind. Six months ago, a different private investigator had her under surveillance in Seattle. He’d dressed as a homeless street person, which should have rendered him invisible. Not to Josie, though. “She came right up to me to ask if I was all right,” the man reported in amazement, “or if I needed anything. Then she insisted on
giving me her brown-bag lunch.” He’d smiled. “Peanut butter and jelly!”
What kind of girl did that? Who had a heart that unjaded and, well—soft?
Unlike Vladimir and Bree, unlike Kasimir himself, Josie deserved to be protected. She was an innocent. She’d done nothing to earn the well-deserved revenge he planned for the other two.
Even though it would still hurt her.
He felt another spasm beneath his solar plexus.
Guilt, he realized in shock. He hadn’t felt that emotion for a long time. He wouldn’t let it stop him. But he’d be as gentle as he could to her.
Turning away from Josie’s sleeping form, he went back downstairs to his home office. He phoned his head secretary, and ten minutes later, he was contacted by Honolulu’s top wedding planner. Afterward, he tossed his phone onto his desk.
Swiveling his chair, he looked out the window overlooking the penthouse’s rooftop pool. Bright sunlight glimmered over the blue water, and beyond that, he could see the city and the distant ocean melting into the blue sky.
For ten years, he’d been wearing Vladimir down, fighting his company tooth and claw with his own, getting his attention the only way he knew how—by making him pay with tiny stings, death by a thousand cuts.
But getting Bree Dalton to betray Vladimir would be the deepest cut of all. The fatal one.
Rising to his feet, Kasimir stood in front of the window, hands tucked behind his back as he gazed out unseeingly towards the Pacific. He’d give his lawyer a few weeks to transfer possession of Josie’s land back to his control. By then, once the two little lovebirds were enmeshed in each other, Kasimir would blackmail Bree into stealing his brother’s company away.
He narrowed his eyes. Bree would crush Vladimir’s heart beneath her boot, and his brother would finally know what it felt like to have someone else change his life, against his will, when Bree betrayed him.
She’d have no choice. Kasimir had all the ammunition he needed to make Bree Dalton do exactly as he wanted. A cold smile crossed his lips.
He had her sister.
CHAPTER TWO
JOSIE’S EYELIDS FLUTTERED, then flew open as she sat up with a sharp intake of breath.
She was still fully dressed. She’d been sleeping on an enormous bed, in a strange bedroom. The masculine, dark-floored bedroom was flooded with golden light from the windows.
How long had she been sleeping? She yawned, and her mouth felt dry, as if it was lined with cotton. Who had brought her here? Could it have been Kasimir himself?
The thought of being carried in those strong arms, against his powerful chest, as she slept on unaware, caused her to tremble. She looked down at the mussed white bedspread.
Could it possibly be his bed…?
With a gulp, Josie jumped up as if it had burned her. The clock on the fireplace mantel said three o’clock. Gracious! She’d slept for hours. She stretched her arms above her head with another yawn. It had been nice of Kasimir to let her sleep. She felt so much better.
Until she saw herself in the full-length mirror on the other side of the bedroom. Wait. Was that what she looked like? She took three steps towards it, then sucked in her breath in horror, covering her mouth with her hand.
Josie knew she wasn’t the most fashionable dresser, and that she was a bit on the plump side, too. But she’d had no idea she looked this bad. She’d crossed the Pacific twice in the same rumpled T-shirt and wrinkled, oversize men’s jeans that she’d bought secondhand last year. In her flight back from Seattle, she’d been crushed in the last row, in a sweaty middle seat between oversize businessmen who took her armrests and stretched their knees into her personal space. And she hadn’t had a shower or even brushed her teeth for two days.
Josie gasped aloud, realizing she’d been grungy and gross like this when she’d been face-to-face with Kasimir. Picturing his sleek, expensive clothes, his perfect body, the way he looked so powerful and sexy as a Greek god with those amazing eyes and broad shoulders and chiseled cheekbones, her cheeks flamed.
She narrowed her eyes. She might be a frumpy nobody, but there was no way she was going to face him again, possibly on her fake wedding day, without a shower and some clean clothes. No way!
Looking around for her backpack, she saw it sitting by the door and snatched it up, then headed for the large en suite bathroom.
It was luxurious, all gleaming white marble and shining silver. Tossing her tattered backpack on the marble counter, where it looked extremely out of place, she started to dig through it for a toothbrush. Some great packing job, she thought in irritation. In the forty seconds she’d rushed around their tiny apartment in Honolulu, trying to flee before Vladimir Xendzov could collect Bree as his rightful property, Josie had grabbed almost nothing of use.
The top of a bikini—just the top, no bottom. Her mother’s wool cardigan sweater, now frayed and darned. Some slippers. She hadn’t even remembered to pack underwear. Gah!
Desperately, she dug further. A few cheap souvenirs from Waikiki. Her cell phone, now dead because she’d forgotten to pack the charger. A tattered Elizabeth Gaskell novel which had belonged to her mother when she was a high-school English teacher. A small vinyl photo album, that flopped open to a photo of her family taken a year before Josie was born.
Her heart twisted as she picked it up. In the picture, her mother was glowing with health, her father was beaming with pride and five-year-old Bree, with blond pigtails, had a huge toothless gap in her smile. Josie ran her hand over their faces. Beneath the clear plastic, the old photo was wrinkled at the edges from all the nights Josie had slept with it under her pillow as a child, while she was left alone with the babysitter for weeks at a time. Her parents and Bree looked so happy.
Before Josie was born.
It was an old grief, one she’d always lived with. If Josie had never been conceived, her mother wouldn’t have put off chemotherapy treatments for the sake of her unborn child. Or died a month after Josie’s birth, causing her father to go off the deep end, quitting his job as a math teacher and taking his seven-year-old poker-playing prodigy daughter Bree down the Alaskan coast to fleece tourists. Josie blinked back tears.
If she had never been born…
Her parents and Bree might still be happy and safe in a snug little suburban home.
Squaring her shoulders, she shook the thought away. Tucking the photo album back into her bag, she looked at her own bleak reflection, then grabbed her frayed toothbrush, drenched it in minty toothpaste and cleaned her teeth with a vengeance.
A moment later, she stepped into the steaming hot water of the huge marble shower. The rush of water felt good against her skin, like a massage against the tired muscles of her back and shoulders, washing all the dust and grime and grief away. Using some exotic orange-scented shampoo with Arabic writing—where on earth had Kasimir gotten that?—Josie washed her long brown hair thoroughly. Then she washed it again, just to be sure.
It was going to be all right, she repeated to herself. It would all be all right.
Soon, her sister would be safe.
Soon, her sister would be home.
And once Bree was free from Vladimir Xendzov’s clutches, maybe Josie would finally have the guts to tell her what she felt in her heart, but had never been brave enough to say.
As much as she loved and appreciated all that Bree had sacrificed for her over the past ten years, Josie was no longer a child. She was twenty-two. She wanted to learn how to drive. To get a job on her own. To be allowed to go to bars, to date. She wanted the freedom to make mistakes, without Bree as an anxious mother hen, constantly standing over her shoulder.
She wanted to grow up.
Turning off the water, she got out of the shower. The large bathroom was steamy, the mirrors opaque with white fog. She wondered how long she’d been in the water. She didn’t wear a watch because she hated to watch the passage of time, which seemed to go far too slowly when she was working, and rushed by at breakneck speed when she was n
ot. Why, she’d often wondered, couldn’t time rush by at work, and then slip into delicious slowness when she was at home, lasting and lasting, like sunlight on a summer’s day?
Wrapping a plush white towel around her body, over skin that was scrubbed clean with orange soap and pink with heat, she looked at the sartorial choices offered by her backpack. Let’s see. Which was better: a wool cardigan or a bikini top?
With a grumpy sigh, she looked back at the dirty, wrinkled T-shirt, jeans and white cotton panties and bra crumpled on the shining white tile of the bathroom floor. She’d worn those clothes for two days straight. The thought of putting them back over her clean skin was dreadful. But she had no other option.
Or did she…?
Her eyes fell upon something hanging on the back of the bathroom door that she hadn’t noticed before. A white shift dress. Going towards it, she saw a note attached to the hanger.
Every bride needs a wedding dress. Join me at the rooftop pool when you’re awake.
She smiled down at the hard black angles of his handwriting. She’d thought she hadn’t wanted a dress, that she wanted to keep their wedding as dull and unromantic as possible. But now…how had he known the small gesture would mean so much?
Then she saw the dress’s tag. Chanel. Holy cow. Maybe the gesture wasn’t so small. For a moment, she was afraid to touch the fabric. Then she stroked the lace softly with her fingertips. It felt like a whisper. Like a dream.
Maybe everything really was going to be all right.
Josie exhaled, blinking back tears. She’d taken a huge gamble, using her last paycheck to come back to Honolulu, trusting Kasimir to help her. But it had paid off. For the first time in her life, she’d done something right.
It was a strangely intoxicating feeling.
Josie had always been the one who ruined things, not the one who saved them. She’d learned from a young age that the only way to make up for all the pain she’d caused everyone was just to take a book and go read quietly and invisibly in a corner, making as little trouble or fuss as possible.
