Fortune's Twins

by Kara Lennox

  It happened before Eli could think. Eli’s fist clenched, his arm cocked and he popped Harvey Brinkman right in the nose.

  But the reporter was a bit tougher than Eli gave him credit for. He came back swinging, and before Eli could duck Harvey had slammed him in the face with his tape recorder.

  Eli saw stars for a moment. His vision cleared just in time to block Harvey’s next punch.

  “I see I hit a nerve,” Harvey said with a sneer. “But what else do you expect people to think? Why else would a man go looking for a one-night stand from months ago, suddenly eager to drag her to the altar?”

  Eli pulled back for another punch, but he stopped himself in time. Harvey wanted to prolong the fight, maybe acquire a few battle scars, because it would make a better story. Reason enough not to smash the weasel’s face in, which was just what Eli was itching to do.

  “For the record,” Eli said through gritted teeth, “I am marrying Gwen because she is the mother of my children, and because I happen to think she will be an excellent wife. I have a deep and abiding fondness for her.”

  Harvey pulled out his notebook and scribbled furiously. “Fondness. That’s not the same as love.”

  “I won’t mince words with you. Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to call security?”

  “This courthouse is a public place. I have as much right to be here as anyone else.”

  Eli flexed his fist and took a menacing step forward. “Just exactly how expensive is that camera?”

  “Are you threatening me with further violence?”

  “Just asking a simple question.”

  “I could file assault charges against you. You threw the first punch.”

  Eli considered his options. He wasn’t really afraid of a minor criminal charge. A good lawyer could get him off with a slap on the wrist, especially given the circumstances. He was defending his pregnant bride’s right to some privacy. But the publicity would only cause Gwen more distress, and he didn’t want that.

  “Three hundred dollars. That’s my final offer.” It was also all the cash he had in his pocket. He’d been planning to use it to pay for the honeymoon, such as it was.

  Apparently he’d found Harvey’s price. “You breathe one word about this, and I’ll deny it to my death.”

  “Which might come along sooner than you expect, if you bother us again.” Eli pulled a wad of fifties from his wallet and handed them over.

  Harvey glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then pocketed the money. “I believe your original request was that I leave the premises. Which I will do. Oh, and Mr. Garrett?”

  “What?”

  “You’re late for your wedding.”

  Eli looked at his watch. Oh, God, it was eleven-fifteen. He strode toward the J.P.’s chambers and opened the door. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he announced, “but I—” He stopped as a collective gasp arose from the assembled guests.

  “Eli, what happened?” someone asked.

  That’s when he saw the blood dripping on his coat sleeve. He glanced into an antique mirror the judge had on his wall and almost fainted. His face was covered with blood. He looked like something out of a horror movie.

  Someone handed him a handkerchief, which he used to clean up his face. All of the blood had come from one deep cut on his cheekbone, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

  “Oh, Eli, you need to have that stitched up.” It was Gwen, standing beside him, her face wreathed with concern. “What happened?”

  “Harvey Brinkman. When I politely suggested he leave the courthouse rather than upsetting you and endangering your health, he bashed me in the face with his tape recorder.”

  “How politely?” she asked dubiously, using a Kleenex to dab at the blood he’d missed. “Here, hold this on the cut to stop the bleeding.”

  “Not very,” he admitted. “I hit him first, though not very hard. You’re right, he’s a very annoying person. But he won’t be bothering us any more today.”

  “You need to go to the emergency room.”

  “Not until we’ve said our vows. That’s what everyone’s here for, right?”

  She smiled, and he finally stopped fussing with his bloody face long enough to get a good look at her.

  “Oh, my God, Gwendolyn, you look beautiful.” With her hair piled up on her head and woven through with flowers, and the flowing green dress, she could have been a goddess.

  The goddess of fertility, what else?

  “Thank you. I wish I could say the same of you.”

  “Are we going to have a wedding or not?” Wyla asked crossly.

  The woman grated on Eli’s nerves any time she opened her mouth. “Yes, we are going to have a wedding.” He looked down at Gwen. “We are, aren’t we?”

  He couldn’t quite read her face. Was she concerned? Annoyed? Or disgusted with his back-alley brawling?

  Then she smiled. “Yes, we are,” she said, and his heart lifted.

  IN LIGHT of the circumstances, the J.P. performed the wedding ceremony in record time. Eli gave Gwen a quick kiss on the mouth, which nonetheless left her lips tingling. They signed the marriage license, along with the J.P. and the witnesses, and she became Mrs. Eli Garrett.

  After a flurry of hugs and handshakes, congratulations and well wishes, Sylvia took Gwen aside. “Amanda and Shelly and I were going to treat you guys to a wedding reception lunch at the Crystal Ballroom, but—”

  “I’m taking Eli to the E.R. Thank you, though, it was nice of you to plan something for us.”

  “Even if it’s spur-of-the-moment,” Sylvia said, “you deserve a nice wedding.”

  “It was a nice wedding,” Gwen said, meaning it. “I thought I just wanted to get through it, but having my friends here means a lot.” She laid a hand on Eli’s arm. “Eli? You have a date with a suture.”

  He wrinkled his nose, making him look like a little boy. “The bleeding’s slowed down a lot. Maybe a butterfly bandage—”

  “No dice. I’m not going through the rest of my life known as ‘Mrs. Scarface.’ Now let’s go. Give me the keys to your car, and I’ll drive.”

  Clearly he didn’t want to let her drive his precious Jaguar, but he gave her the keys. She kept a wary eye out for Harvey Brinkman as they exited the courthouse and headed for Eli’s car, but he was nowhere in sight. He probably didn’t want to take any pictures showing the damage he’d inflicted on Eli.

  “Well, that was an interesting wedding,” Gwen said as she started the engine. It purred to life with a rumble of pure power.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Mad? Why, because you were throwing your fists around on our wedding day like a schoolyard bully?” But she softened the question with a smile. “You were defending me and my right to privacy. You were concerned about me and the babies. What you did was sweet and noble—if a little foolhardy. No, I’m not mad.”

  Eli reached over and tucked a flower back into her hair where it had slipped out. “Thank you.”

  The innocent touch sent sparks shooting through Gwen’s whole body. She again thought about the wedding night to come and wondered how it would play out.

  The emergency room at All Saints wasn’t crowded, much to Gwen’s relief. She wasn’t up to lots of staring from strangers. Her face had become familiar to those following the lottery story, especially here in Pine Run where so many stories had run in the paper and on TV.

  “What did the other guy look like?” the doctor joked as he cleaned the cut on Eli’s cheek.

  “He got off easy,” Eli said.

  “I wish you’d flattened him,” Gwen grumbled. “I’d have gladly paid for you to get out of jail, just to see Harvey Brinkman with a black eye.”

  She sat by Eli’s gurney, holding his hand to give comfort, though he hadn’t asked for it and didn’t appear worried or apprehensive. She remembered how he’d done the same thing for her, only a few weeks ago, and smiled. What a couple of tough characters they were.

  “Ah, Harvey Brinkman,
ace reporter,” the doctor said, nodding. “Now I understand.” He’d put four very neat stitches in Eli’s face. “You might want to have a plastic surgeon take a look at it. You’ll definitely have a small scar.”

  Eli waved away the doctor’s concern. “I was too pretty anyway.”

  “Are you sure, Eli?” Gwen asked after the doctor left the room. “If money is a problem—”

  His laughter cut her off. “No, that’s not it. I don’t need for you to pay my medical bills.”

  “It’s not a matter of pride, I hope. Because I don’t mind.”

  He released her hand. “Gwen, I have money. Are you telling me you don’t know that?”

  “Well, yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. You haven’t exactly volunteered to show me your tax returns.”

  “Is that what that interrogation the other day was all about?”

  “Calling it an interrogation is a little rough, don’t you think? I was just trying to get some dialogue going. I want us to be able to trust each other—with anything. You can trust me, Eli.”

  “But do you trust me?” he asked quietly. “Harvey Brinkman seems to think I married you for your money. Is that what you think?”

  Gwen wanted to lie. She really, really wanted to lie. But she couldn’t, not in the middle of a discussion about trust and honesty. “It crossed my mind, but only when I didn’t know you at all. And when you were so willing to sign a prenup, well, that pretty much put my mind at ease.” Almost. “I’m sorry I couldn’t just trust you completely right on the spot. I didn’t know anything about you except—”

  “—except that I was good in bed?”

  “Eli! I was going to say, ‘except that you were handsome and kind.’ Not a bad start, but still, only a start.”

  “Sorry.” Eli shrugged. “They say trust has to be earned, and maybe I haven’t earned it yet.”

  “We’ll work it out. If we just talk about things, instead of holding them inside, I know we can make this work.”

  He took her hand again and squeezed it. “I’m going to try.”

  They walked to the cashier’s station, where Eli was supposed to make his insurance co-payment. He handed the cashier a credit card.

  A few moments later, she slid the card back to him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett, but the card’s no good.”

  “What?”

  “Either you’re over the credit limit, or you haven’t paid your bill.”

  “That’s impossible. Try it again.”

  “I already tried it twice,” the cashier said with an apologetic tone. “We take personal checks.”

  Gwen reached into her purse and produced her own credit card. “Here, I’ll get it.”

  “No, you won’t. We’ll work this out some other way.”

  But the cashier had already snatched the card away.

  “Eli, don’t be ridiculous. We’re married.”

  “I could drive back to Jester and get another card. I have a drawer full of them. Or my checkbook.”

  “If it’s important to you, you can pay me back later. I’m not interested in more driving. I’m tired, and I’d like to go to our hotel.” Where, hopefully, they could put this entire incident behind them and get on with being married.

  “Damn, I wasn’t even thinking about you. Do you want to sit down? Can I get you something to drink? I think I might have fifty cents in my pocket.”

  She grinned. “I’ll be off my feet soon enough.”

  Eli folded his arms. “This is embarrassing, you know.”

  “Well, a little embarrassment keeps us humble.”

  “I had three hundred in cash, but I used it to bribe Harvey Brinkman.”

  “So that’s how you got rid of him.” Gwen signed the credit card slip and took her receipt. “Well, it was money well spent. Shall we go, Mr. Garrett?”

  “As you wish, Mrs. Garrett.” He took her arm, and Gwen found she could breathe easily again. Men and their pride. The fact his credit card had been refused didn’t mean anything. That happened to innocent people all the time—probably a computer glitch.

  She refused to believe it was anything else. She was turning over a new leaf. From this day forward, she would trust Eli completely, unless he gave her a reason not to.

  THE HISTORIC Westwind Hotel was small and luxurious, catering to couples who wanted a romantic getaway and business travelers who were used to the best. Gwen had never been inside, and though she’d always heard nice things about the hotel, she was still a bit surprised a town the size of Pine Run had such a gem tucked away on the town square.

  “Oh, Eli, this is so nice,” she said as the bellman placed their small suitcases on side-by-side luggage racks. The room was huge and had its own stone fireplace with gas logs. Oriental rugs covered the polished oak floor, and a massive four-poster with a canopy dominated the far end of the room.

  Closer to the door was a sitting area featuring silk-upholstered overstuffed chairs and a fainting couch.

  Gwen couldn’t resist the fainting couch. It was surprisingly comfortable. “Oh, yes, I could get used to this. All I need is a cup of tea and a book to read, and I’m set.”

  Eli whispered something to the bellman, who quietly withdrew. Then Eli scooted Gwen’s legs over a bit and sat next to her. “Just what every new husband wants to hear—that his bride intends to spend their wedding night reading and sipping tea.”

  Gwen’s heart fluttered, as it did whenever she had carnal thoughts about Eli, and warm honey flowed through her veins. She thought he might lean down to kiss her, but instead he slipped off her shoes and massaged her feet.

  She’d never thought of feet as being an erogenous zone, but the feel of Eli’s strong hands squeezing and pressing in just the right places, was making her literally short of breath. All she could think about was how his hands would feel on other parts of her body.

  “You’re a god,” she said. When he’d thoroughly massaged her feet, he stood and offered her a hand up.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the bed, where we can be more comfortable.”

  “Eli…did I mention that I can’t make love? Not that you’d want to, but I just thought I’d set the terms up-front.”

  He smiled gently. “You mean you can’t have intercourse. But there are lots of ways to make love.”

  His eyes burned into her, and Gwen could have sworn the temperature went up ten degrees. Just what exactly did he have in mind? She was most anxious to find out.

  He helped her up and led her to the bed. “First, I insist you take off your stockings. For your comfort, of course.” He gallantly turned his back while removing his jacket and tie.

  Gwen was more than happy to dispense with her maternity panty hose. Then she climbed onto the bed, propped some pillows behind her, and waited.

  “You don’t mind if I get comfortable, too, do you?”

  “Oh, be my guest.” He peeled off his shirt. Gwen enjoyed the visual feast of his muscular chest and powerful shoulders, tanned from working shirtless while patching the roof of his house.

  But he didn’t stop there. He unfastened his belt, then shucked his pants and boxers all in one graceful movement.

  Gwen knew she should have been shocked, or at least surprised, that he would be so unselfconscious when they hadn’t been intimate for months. He hadn’t even kissed her today, except for that brief smack after they’d been declared husband and wife.

  But she was too fascinated to be shocked. He was the most gorgeous naked man she’d ever seen. All right, granted, she hadn’t seen very many, but Eli was anatomical perfection personified—lean and powerful like a racehorse or a tiger.

  And he quite definitely desired her! The evidence of his arousal wasn’t something he could fake.

  Eli climbed onto the bed, crawling toward her on all fours with a predatory gleam in his eye. Gwen’s heart did that fluttering thing again. Just what did he have in mind?

  “I bet you’d like to have the pins out of your hair.”

/>   “Oh, yes, that would be divine.” She maneuvered so that her back was to him. He placed two pillows behind her for support, then began gently removing the roses from her hair.

  With the first bloom, he ran the petals along the nape of her neck before discarding it. He grazed her jaw with the second flower, sending shivers in every direction. Each rose he removed became a teasing caress—on her neck, her throat, the tops of her breasts. He even inched her skirt up and rubbed one of the flowers on her thigh.

  “I’m going to be very sad when you run out of flowers,” she said, her voice shaking. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her? How much stimulation could one woman stand?

  He took out the hairpins next. She hadn’t realized they were poking her in the head until he removed them, massaging each sore spot as he went. Soon the strands of her auburn hair fell around her shoulders, across her face, as Eli rubbed her scalp.

  “Where’s your hairbrush?” Eli asked. “You’ve got some tangles.”

  “In that small black bag,” she said, pointing. “But you don’t have to—”

  “I want to.” He slid from the bed and walked over to retrieve her cosmetic bag. She watched his tight buns, the only part of him—from this angle, anyway—unkissed by the sun. Her palms itched to touch them, to see if they were really as hard as they looked. She seemed to recall that they were.

  With the bag in hand, he walked around the room, turning off all the lights except for one small lamp. Then he drew the curtains, so that everything was bathed in only the dim golden glow of the low-wattage bulb.

  “I’ve never had a naked man play with my hair before,” she commented as he began to gently brush her long hair, one section at a time. He removed tangles one by one until the brush ran smoothly from scalp to the middle of her back. Then he laid the brush aside and combed with his fingers, tracing the tips along her hairline at her nape.

  “Promise me you’ll never cut your hair short,” he said in a coarse voice.

  Gwen’s hair had always been her finest feature. “I won’t cut it.”

  He massaged her neck and shoulders, unzipping her dress and pushing the velvet aside.