The One-Night Wife

by Sandra Marton

  "Savannah," he said huskily. "Savannah, I—I—"

  The words he needed were there. So close. So very close. He just couldn't find them. He only knew that whatever was happening to her was happening to him, too.

  It was magic, and only a fool would try putting a name to magic.

  Savannah had never lived with a man before.

  Her years with Alain didn't count. She'd been a guest on his yacht and in his chateau, always with a room and bath of her own and no greater connection to him than to the servants who attended him.

  Now, she knew she hadn't been a guest at all. She'd been a servant, a different kind of servant, but that was what she'd been. His cook prepared meals, his maid cleaned, his chauffeur drove his big black limousine...

  And she was a source of amusement.

  All this time she'd let herself think she was valuable to him because she played cards so well. The truth, which she'd only just started admitting to herself, was that she was good but Alain was better. Aside from that, she'd been his clever pet. A puppy taken from the streets, cleaned up, taught manners and little tricks.

  He'd liked teaching her which fork to use, which wine to drink because it made him feel superior. But most of all, he'd liked watching her sit at a table filled with important men and beat them at cards because the men all thought he was the reason she was so skilled.

  Now, it would give him a bigger kick to sell her to them.

  Horrid as the thought was, she knew it was the truth. That was what he'd intended all along. Alain had simply used what had happened with Sean as an excuse to move up the calendar.

  Was he sick? Evil? She didn't care. Fate had given her the chance to escape and she was going to take it.

  It was the same fate that had given her Sean O'Connell— and would, she was certain, eventually take him from her.

  Winning streaks never lasted.

  The longer they lived together in the house on the beach, the more terrible that truth became.

  Savannah told herself not to think about it. To enjoy these days. These nights. To be happy.

  Oh, and she was happy! It didn't matter what they did. Dance in one of the island's beautiful clubs, walk the beach barefoot, dine in an elegant restaurant, have conch burgers at a little shack Sean knew near the harbor, or grill lobsters when the sun sank into the sea, whatever they did was won­derful. Her lover was wonderful. And she—she—

  Savannah's thoughts skittered in panic. She what? Feel­ings were dangerous things. Life had taught her that early on. What she felt for Sean was affection. Gratitude. Respect. There was no sense in trying to make more of it than it was.

  She did love being with him. It was safe to use the word that way. He seemed to enjoy being with her, too. True to his promise, they spent their days learning about each other. He was a meat-and-potatoes guy. She preferred salads. He liked watching documentaries on TV. She liked watching old movies. He liked chess. She'd never played the game. He taught her and after a slow start, their games often ended in stalemates.

  He also adored rough-and-tumble sports. She learned that the hard way, when he swore up and down one rainy night that there was nothing on their satellite TV but football, rugby and soccer.

  "Liar," she said huffily, snatching the remote from him and clicking through the channels until she found a pair of women earnestly discussing how to get in touch with your inner self. She suffered through five minutes of it until Sean groaned and held his hands over his ears. Then she giggled, flung herself on him and said there were really better ways to get in touch with your inner self.

  And he obliged. They loved and played and avoided any­thing serious...until one morning. They were having break­fast on the patio—mangoes from a roadside stand, croissants from a bakery in Bijou—when Sean suddenly asked her a question. "Tell me about yourself," he said.

  The question took her by surprise. She looked up from her plate and flashed a quick smile.

  "There's not much left to tell. I mean, you already know I can't cook worth a hill of beans. Remember those conch fritters?"

  She grinned but he wasn't going to let her off. She knew it as soon as he took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

  "Come on, Savannah. Think of all I've told you about me these past days."

  It was true. He'd regaled her with stories about his family, about growing up in a big, glitzy hotel.

  "Compared to yours, my life story's dull."

  "Nothing about you could be dull." Sean kissed her fin­gers, one by one. "I want to know everything."

  She looked at him. ' 'Do you think your family will ask you detailed questions about me?"

  "My fam..." Of course. She thought he was asking be­cause the answers would help him maintain the fiction that they were getting married. Truth was, he'd damned near forgotten that was the reason they were here. "You never know," he said, hoping he sounded sincere. "What am I gonna do when Keir asks if you got straight A's in school, or Cull wants to know if you were a Girl Scout?" He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. ' 'Some things are very important to the O'Connell clan."

  For a second, she thought he was serious. Then he grinned, reached for her and hauled her into his lap.

  "I'll bet you did get straight A's."

  She had, for a while. When her mother was still alive, and even the two years in that first foster home, before the man she was supposed to call Daddy started noticing her budding breasts, and the woman she'd never been able to call Mom realized he was noticing.

  "Savannah?" Sean kissed her mouth. "Hey," he said softly, "I'm only teasing. You don't have to tell me any­thing you don't want to tell me."

  "No. You're right. You need to know more about me."

  The look in her eyes made him sorry he'd raised the sub­ject. "I don't," he said fiercely. "I'm going to be introduc­ing you as the woman I love. Nobody's going to have the right to question either of us."

  Savannah's heart skipped a beat. "As the woman you'll be pretending to love," she said carefully.

  Their eyes met. "Yeah," he said, after a minute. "That's what I meant."

  An honest answer from an honest man. She couldn't ask for anything more, could she? At the very least, he deserved honesty in return.

  "Well," she said slowly, "I was never a Girl Scout..."

  She told him everything. About her father, who'd left when she was so small she couldn't remember him. About her mother, a drug addict, and how she'd died.

  She told him about her sister, cruelly disabled by an ill­ness no one really understood, and how Missy had screamed and screamed when the authorities separated them and put

  Savannah in the first of a series of foster homes and Missy in an institution.

  She told him how she'd hated those homes, though she left out the uglier details, and how she'd run away from the last and worst one, how she'd found a way to snatch Missy, how they'd hitchhiked from Savannah—the city her mother had named her for—to New Orleans. How they'd survived with her earning money using skills she'd picked up and honed in one of the endless series of foster homes.

  She told him all the things she'd never told anyone, and by the time she talked of Alain, how he'd rescued her and Missy, how she'd thought he was her savior, she was weep­ing, the sound so raw and heartbreaking, Sean cursed the fates that had kept him from finding her sooner.

  "Hush," he said, as he lifted her tearstained face to his and kissed her and kissed her until the world was reduced to only the two of them. Only the two of them, because only the two of them mattered.

  That was the minute when he knew that he loved her.

  He told her that night.

  It was their last on the island. The next afternoon, they would fly to Las Vegas. He'd thought he'd tell her there. Or maybe on the plane. He'd wait a little while, until the time was right.

  But walking hand in hand along the beach, under the benevolent gaze of a fat, ivory moon, he suddenly knew it would never be more right than this. He'd neve
r felt more vulnerable in his life as he turned her toward him.

  "Savannah," he said. "Savannah..."

  She raised her face to his, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw something that told him everything would be all right.

  "Savannah," he said softly, smiling with wonder, "you're in love with me."

  She jerked under his hands. "My God, O'Connell, you have the most monumental ego—"

  Sean lifted her to her toes and kissed her. "You'd better be in love with me," he whispered against her mouth, "be­cause I love you. I adore you. You hear me, Just-Savannah? I love you with all my heart."

  Time seemed to stop. Nothing moved, not the sea or the air or Savannah. Sean felt a chill in his blood. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she didn't feel what he did. Maybe—

  And then she gave a little cry and threw her arms around him.

  They made love there, on the still-warm sand, and then he carried her to the house and they made love in the shower. They went to bed and slept curled together, and when they awoke before dawn, they made love again.

  "I love you," Savannah whispered, looking up at him, her eyes wide with wonder as he slipped deep, deep inside her. "I love you, love you, love—"

  He kissed her and they flew, together, into the blinding white heat of the universe.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Savannah didn't want to leave their house or their island.

  That was how she'd come to think of this place where she and Sean had forged their love. They were safe here. They belonged here.

  Heaven only knew what the real world had in store.

  Boarding the jet for their flight to Las Vegas, her teeth were all but chattering. Sean kept his arm tightly around her and hugged her to his side.

  "There's nothing to worry about. My family's going to love you."

  She nodded, as if she believed him, but she didn't. Those brothers he always talked about sounded just like him. Big. Strong. Smart. They'd see right through her, know in an instant she didn't measure up to their wives who were un­doubtedly women from good, solid backgrounds—back­grounds that were nothing like hers.

  And his sisters... She could almost see them. Bright. Beautiful. Proper. One single, two married to men who were so powerful it made her head spin. Fallon's husband was head of an international conglomerate. Megan's was a sheikh.

  A sheikh! she thought, and bit back hysterical laughter.

  And then there was Sean's mother. Mary Elizabeth O'Connell-Coyle. The matriarch of the clan. Sean adored her—that was obvious. What son wouldn't adore a woman who sounded like a cross between a queen and a saint?

  You couldn't leave his stepfather out of the equation. His name, Sean told her, was Daniel. He'd been a cop. Cops always made her nervous, ever since her days on the streets. They saw right through a person. It would take Dan Coyle five seconds to know what she really was, just a dirty-faced street kid who was about to pull the biggest scam of her life on some very nice people who deserved better.

  She told herself it wasn't a complete scam. She wasn't Sean's wife but they were in love. They'd only be stretching the truth a little.

  Who was she kidding? They'd be stretching it a lot.

  The money. She had to concentrate on the money, though thinking about it was agony. She had to take it. With it, she could save her sister's life—but Sean didn't know that. She hadn't told him about Alain's threats, not just to Missy but to her. That he'd intended to use her as a prize.

  She couldn't risk telling Sean. He despised Alain already. She was afraid of what he might do if he knew the true extent of Alain's villainy. Not that she gave a damn about Alain. It was Sean she was worried about.

  If he went after Alain because of her, if he hurt him, got in trouble, she'd never forgive herself.

  The plane was airborne. Savannah shut her eyes and told herself she had no choice. She had to do this. Had to take .the money. The money. The money...

  Oh God!

  How could she accept money from her lover? How could she lie to his family? She couldn't, that was all. End of story. She'd find another way.

  "Sean," she whispered frantically, as their plane leveled off, "I can't do this!"

  Sean took her hand. "Sure you can."

  "Lying to all those people...? I don't know why we ever thought it would work."

  He didn't answer, not for what seemed a long time. Then he nodded. "You're right," he said calmly. "It wouldn't."

  She stared at him. "Then, what are we doing? Why are we going to this party?''

  "We're going because it's my mother's birthday."

  "But you just said—"

  "And because I made her a promise."

  "O'Connell, are you crazy? Two seconds ago, you and I agreed that—''

  "That lying to my family would be a mistake." Sean undid his seat belt. Slowly and deliberately, he undid hers and drew her to him. In the hushed darkness of the first-class cabin, they might as well have been alone. "So we're not going to lie." He took a deep, deep breath. "You're wearing my ring." He reached into his pocket and took out the matching wedding band. "I want you to wear this, too."

  Savannah looked at the band glittering in his palm. It was beautiful but it was as meaningless as the diamond winking on her left hand. Seeing it made her want to weep.

  "I won't put it on. This is wrong, Sean. Don't you feel guilty? This is your family! You love them. How could I— how could we—''

  "I do love them." He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face to his. "But I love you in a way I never imagined I could love anyone." Another deep breath. Hell, it was a good thing he was sitting. He'd spent the whole day thinking about this. He knew what he wanted. Nothing would change that. Then, how come his knees were knock­ing together? "Savannah McRae, will you be my wife?"

  She stared at him in shock. "What?"

  "Marry me as soon as we get to Vegas. I don't want to wait. We've waited too long as it is." His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I adore you, Savannah. Twant to spend my life with you. I'll make you happy, I swear it/Are you worried about what this will do to your sister? Don't, sweet­heart. We'll bring her to live with us. Or move her where she can get the best treatment." His voice grew rough. "Damn it, Just-Savannah, say something!"

  Savannah's eyes filled with tears, but they were the kind he'd prayed he'd see.

  "Yes," she said, "oh, yes, yes—"

  He didn't let her say anything more. His mouth was al­ready on hers.

  The wedding ceremony didn't take very long, but it was perfect.

  Sean bought her a dozen pink roses, held her hand tightly in his while they took their vows.

  "I love you with all my heart," he said once they were man and wife, and Savannah smiled into his eyes and kissed him.

  His family had already gathered by the time they arrived at the Desert Song Hotel. The party wasn't until the next night, but they wanted some time alone together.

  They were just what Savannah had expected they'd be.

  They were nothing like she'd expected they'd be.

  But they definitely were stunned when Sean drew her forward and introduced her as his wife. Nobody moved, nobody said a word. Then Mary Elizabeth laughed and kissed her on both cheeks.

  "My son made me a promise," she said, and shot a sly look at Sean. "And he's a man who keeps his promises. Welcome, Savannah. It's lovely meeting a new O'Connell."

  They all surrounded her then. His sisters, who weren't proper or stuffy at all. His sisters-in-law, who were as down to earth as they could be. His brothers-in-law, who could have been two nice men from anywhere instead of the bil-lionaires they were. Dan, his stepfather, hugged her and said it was remarkable how he kept gaining new daughters.

  Only his brothers seemed a little reserved.

  They were polite and welcomed her to the fold. But all that evening, all the next day, she caught them checking her out with quick glances. Looking at each other in a way that was disconcerting.

  "Is this for real?
" she heard the one named Keir mutter to the one named Cullen.

  Was what for real? What did they know?

  Savannah told herself it didn't matter. She had Sean. He loved her. She loved him. What could possibly hurt her now?

  The answer came in a phone call an hour before the big party. The family, all but Mary Elizabeth, was gathered in th,e living room.

  "We told her she has to make an entrance," Megan said. "Actually, we arranged for a big surprise."

  Fallon nodded. ' 'One of the guests is a singer Ma adores. The second she steps into the room, he's going to launch into Happy Birth—"

  "Savannah?" Bree was coming toward them with the phone in her hand. "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but there's a call for Savannah."

  "For me? Are you sure? Nobody knows I'm here."

  Bree smiled and handed her the phone. "Somebody does."

  Savannah put the phone to her ear. "Hello, cherie," Alain said softly.

  She felt the blood drain from her head. She looked around her, half-afraid he might be in the room. Sean caught her eye. Something? he mouthed. She forced a smile and shook her head. "Just a last minute—a last minute gift I ordered for>your mother," she said, and went out on the terrace. She slid the door shut and took a deep breath. "What do you want, Alain?"

  "Only what you were supposed to do a month ago, cherie. The public humiliation of Sean O'Connell."

  She closed her eyes. "That's not going to happen."

  "Ah, but it will, Savannah. And I'm indebted to you for setting things up so nicely." He chuckled. "A big family gathering, lots of important guests arriving from all parts of the globe..."

  "How do you know all this?"

  "I know everything, cherie, including the fact that you will do as you're told."

  ' 'No." Savannah clutched the terrace railing with her free hand. "Whatever you want, I won't do it. Do you under­stand, Alain? Everything has changed."

  "Not everything," he said with a soft laugh she knew she'd never forget. There was a brief silence and then she heard a sound that almost drove her to her knees.