by Mary Malcolm
Turning, she pulled up to a guarded gate. “One-hundred White Carriage Court.”
“Name?” The man was large, probably ex-military. He wore a gun on his hip and a grim expression.
“Cassie Sands. They should be expecting me.”
He glanced down his list, then buzzed her through.
Who lived like this? On either side, the street sat lined with gorgeous, opulent houses. Old-fashioned light poles, perfectly manicured front lawns. Houses that belonged to people with too much money and not enough sense.
Cassie couldn’t hide her disgust.
Not that she didn’t like nice things. No, she liked nice things as well as the next person, but really. Really? She passed a house on the right with a six-car attached garage. The house towered three stories high, had what she knew to be an imported three-tier French fountain and a long curved driveway circled in perfectly manicured topiaries and marble statues. She’d studied some interior design in college. That place would have been her professor’s wet dream.
She kept her eyes open for White Carriage Court.
The deeper in she drove, the more bucolic the surroundings. After a few minutes she spotted a house so obnoxious, so tediously large that Cassie had a sinking feeling she knew exactly where Stephen lived. As she drove closer, her feeling was confirmed.
One-hundred White Carriage Court had its own fence and an intercom and camera outside the gate.
After she was buzzed in, she drove through a winding thicket of crape myrtle and ash trees and over a small hill before pulling in front of the house.
She slammed the door of her Civic and her shoulders drooped.
Welcome to hell, she thought.
At least it had pretty roses. Gathering her suitcases and purse, she walked to the front door and gave it a quick rap.
“Mrs. Sands?”
A rail-thin woman, who looked to be in her mid-forties, answered. Her cropped hair hung loose over her ears, a tiny mole sat on her right cheek just below her eye. She wore a tidy uniform with a button-up navy vest over a clean pressed shirt. Her face was plain other than the mole, and her expression mostly blank, except for the light behind her eyes. It was unreadable. Mirth or possibly disgust, it was impossible to tell and Cassie couldn’t ask this stranger how much she knew of her new arrangement. “Yes. You must be Abigail?”
“Yes, ma’am. May I take your bags?”
Cassie shook her head. “I can carry them myself. Thank you though.”
Abigail looked confused. “It is my job. Please, let me take them to your room.”
Room. Another thing Cassie hadn’t thought about. In order to pull this off, she’d have to share a room with Stephen. Otherwise, household staff at very least would talk and it’s only a matter of money before one spills the beans to a tabloid.
Ah, hell.
“Thank you, Abigail. May I follow you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the woman said as she marched ahead. They walked up a winding marble stairwell and down one of the longest hallways Cassie had seen in her life. Who lived like this? “Abigail, how many people live here?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do Stephen’s brothers live here? Extended family? Who all lives here?”
The woman turned, a bemused look on her face. “Why you, of course. And Mr. Sands.”
Of course.
“This is the master bedroom,” she continued as she swept open a door. “I will be downstairs preparing dinner. Mr. Sands should be home momentarily.”
“Thank you, Abigail.”
The woman nodded and left the room.
Cassie wondered what Stephen had told his staff. Abigail hadn’t asked her anything, but then again, Cassie wouldn’t expect her to. That would be improper.
And people in this level of society were all about propriety.
Cassie wasn’t. She stripped off her windbreaker and tossed it across the bed. A gorgeous four-poster so wide it looked to have been custom made. A bed she would never share, she assured herself, which was a little sad. It looked so much more comfortable than the discount mattress she slept on at home.
The room looked amazing. Not quite what Cassie would have done with the space, but whoever had decorated had done a nice job. There was a fireplace against one wall, thick plush olive carpet. Curtains covered an entire wall. Curious, Cassie peeked through. Then pulled them open just a few feet. The entire wall, twelve feet tall and possibly thirty feet long, was made of a single pane window. A large bench spanned the distance and the curtains ran the length of the room. She pulled them open further and glanced out.
She could see the Fort Worth skyline from here. The two large Sands buildings, and the tower where her prom was held. She heaved a sigh as she wondered what Liz and Annie were doing tonight. If they were relaxing.
Her cell phone hadn’t rung, so she hoped Annie was having a good night. Most weren’t.
“Beautiful view, isn’t it?”
Cassie’s heart jumped as she turned toward the sound of Stephen’s voice.
He stood with his back against the doorjamb and arms crossed. “You can see my other place from here. I thought you would like that one better than this when I first met you. Was I wrong?”
She shook her head in agreement and turned toward him. The room that had seemed so large just moments ago now shrank around her. He felt intimately close. And alluring. And dangerous.
“Two bags?” He walked into the room and moved her suitcase up to the bed, unfastened the latch.
She stepped from the window and put her hand over it before he could open it. “I didn’t think I’d need much more.”
He laughed. Rich and throaty. “I expected you to pack your apartment, I thought I made that clear.”
Rolling her eyes, Cassie pulled her suitcases toward her. She hadn’t moved any closer to him. Couldn’t. The idea of sharing a room with this man terrified and electrified her. “I wasn’t certain how much to bring, we didn’t talk about that.”
“Everything.”
She rolled her eyes again. “My furniture, my refrigerator, bed, that’s a lot of stuff, Stephen. What would your housekeeper think about all of that? Plus, I told you I had plans. And you only gave me a few hours. How much do you think can be packed in a few hours? When was the last time you moved yourself?”
“She’d think what I told her,” he said, only answering one of her statements and at the same time moving a step closer.
She stood her ground. He’d backed her down earlier; she would not back down to him again. “And what is that, exactly?”
“That my new wife is moving in and we’ll be storing her things until we decide what to keep and what to give away.”
The soft tan couch in her apartment had been purchased in the first month her bakery turned a profit. As well as the framed prints on her living room wall. They were gifts to herself, reminders of how far she’d come from the days of living on furniture not even good enough to be donated. She would not be giving these things away. “No,” she said.
His brow arched. “No?”
Stepping from the bed, she crossed to the window. “You will not be giving my things away. They are mine. I’ve earned them, they will not be given away. We can sublet the apartment if that’s what we have to do to keep your image, but we are not giving my things away.”
His brow formed a deep crease as he sat in a chair at the end of the bed. “That wasn’t the plan.”
“Damn your plans, Stephen. This,” she gestured around the room, “wasn’t my plan.”
His lips pursed and he crossed a leg over the other. “You think I’d really give your things away? God, Cass, what kind of man do you think I am?”
“You just said you would. But no, I don’t suppose you are that kind of man. You are the kind of man willing to hold me captive while my sister struggles to take care of my niece on her own. And yes, I know I wasn’t guiltless in all of this, but it doesn’t speak highly of you now either, does it?”
&nbs
p; His eyes darkened and he uncrossed his legs.
With a low growl he moved forward in the chair, rose and met her. Eyes glowering he said, “You’re right that you’re not guiltless.”
A reminder. Again. She knew it was her own fault but she felt angry for the situation she was in. She just wanted to help her family, dammit! A child shouldn’t be torn from its family just because there aren’t enough resources to help those who truly need it. Human life should be worth more than that. “You could have helped me without using me,” she challenged.
“You tried to blackmail me.”
She crossed her arms.
He crossed his.
They stared each other down in a space so tight that if either took a deep breath they would bump into the other.
His blue eyes rolled, torrid emotions visible just beneath the surface. And his chin showed stubble from a long day. She felt overwhelmed by his scent. She felt an overwhelming desire to lock her hands in his hair and pull him in for the most knee-bending kiss he’d experienced in his life.
Instead she waited.
Finally, he blinked. Stepped back. Walked away. “Dinner should be ready shortly,” he offered over his shoulder. “I will be going out, but Abigail can get you situated in the dining room.”
“You aren’t staying for dinner?” The thought hurt more than made sense.
Nothing made sense, truthfully. Why would he keep her here if he didn’t plan to spend time with her? He’d told her they must act as husband and wife. In his world, did husbands not eat with their wives?
“I have a meeting.” He didn’t turn around. Didn’t look at her.
She wouldn’t beg. “Fine.”
“I’ll have Gayle make arrangements for the rest of your belongings to be brought over tomorrow. We can’t sublet the apartment because it would seem as if you’d be going back. We can’t allow people to think that.”
Exasperated, she asked, “Who would think that?”
“Does it matter?”
She wanted to stay stubbornly mute, but couldn’t. “I’m subletting it. We’ll say whatever we have to say, I’m sure you have some PR guy out there somewhere who can find the right spin.”
He turned. “I had Gayle put an announcement in the paper. Announced that we’d been married and that you’d been away taking care of family issues. As true as can be said, don’t you think?”
“There’s something I don’t get, Stephen.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
“A month ago you were set on hiding me. Now you’re dying to show me off. A month ago I thought you were a struggling artist, now I know you live in Fairlawn. Can you tell me...no, never mind.”
“What?” he asked, though the dark wariness in his eyes were earned.
“How much does a person have to hate themselves to hide so much from someone they say they love?” The look of contempt that came from her statement made her look away. She’d known Stephen when he was passionate. When he would empty his pockets for a homeless person. The man before her now was not the same man. This man seemed calculating. He had everything planned out and would not deviate.
She could not fall in love with this man. No matter how much he looked like the old Stephen.
Crossing the room, he went through a set of double doors. A closet, she realized. “You have to appear as my wife, Cassie,” he said through the opening. “That’s the deal. If you don’t want this, I can always get the money back. You haven’t written it over yet, have you?”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “This afternoon. And you know I can’t go back.”
“I know.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to the room. If she imagined herself back in her place, she could make this all disappear. Garnet walls, she imagined. And the silver tin ceiling in her dining room. Colorful glass bottles, bookshelves lining the walls. Stacks of baking magazines. Home Beautiful magazine open and marked up on her coffee table. Pellegrino water in a blue glass with a plastic straw.
She opened her eyes.
This place did not smell like home. Home smelled like oranges and basil, rising yeasty dough.
Stephen’s bedroom smelled like Stephen.
She walked to the closet, ready to apologize for what she’d said. “I—”
She should have stayed seated. He stood in nothing but boxers. His clothes lain carefully over a chair, a pair of blue jeans being pulled from the rack.
He turned. And grinned. “Like what you see?”
She should wipe her drool. It wasn’t proper to drool. Tan muscular chest, lightly peppered with black hair. A trail of sinful thoughts leading into the dip of his boxers. She closed her eyes and gathered her thoughts. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” She opened her eyes. She. Would. Not. Give. Into. Him. “You look fine, Stephen. You know you do.”
He yanked the jeans on, completely covering those muscular thighs. Relief filled Cassie as the erotic thoughts faded slightly.
Then he stepped forward. His chest so close. “I told you you’d want me.”
So arrogant.
“I don’t. I want you to get dressed, Stephen. You’ll be late for your meeting, or whatever it is you have planned tonight.”
Whatever it is that meant she’d have to spend her first night in a foreign home completely alone.
“Wouldn’t want to be late,” he breathed, inches from her face.
“No,” she assured, keeping her hands firmly at her sides.
“But how about a goodnight kiss?”
Chapter Four
Stephen Sands felt like temptation standing in front of her asking for a kiss. Heart thudding, she ached to touch his still-bare chest. She fought against the memories of him from earlier. His lips against hers, the way their tongues felt as he explored her mouth. The way his chest felt beneath her hand. She itched to feel him again. No fabric to separate them, only skin. Manly. Skin. Too beautiful to really be hers for the touching skin.
Hers.
It hit her. As his wife, she had power she hadn’t even thought about. Sure, she might have felt like a victim of circumstance earlier, but now, now it hit her. She was Stephen Sands’ wife.
Cassie Sands. Cassie Sands, who had an open bank balance if she wanted it at pretty much any retailer across town. Cassie Sands, who had the right to deny her husband the thing he wanted most in this world, should she choose.
And oh, she couldn’t wait to see the look on his face once she let him know exactly what he’d be missing by being married to her. Truly and fully married. She might have to act as his wife, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t torture him a little in her own right.
She took a step back. “Stephen,” she purred, “I will not be kissing you tonight. And you should let go of any thoughts of anything else from me when other people aren’t around.”
Giving into temptation, she traced a finger slowly down his chest toward his naval. “In fact,” she assured, “you should be prepared for a lot of lonely nights.”
Uncertainty shone in his eyes.
She might not win the battle, but for now, she had the upper hand. “I wouldn’t want my husband stepping out on me.”
His eyes darkened. “I hadn’t intended to.”
“Two weeks after I left you I saw you in the Fort Worth Weekly with, who was it, the mayor’s daughter? She looked pretty cozy wrapped around your arm.”
It had killed her to see, like he couldn’t even let the dead body of their relationship cool before moving on. She stepped away from the closet.
And he stepped out. “She’s a friend. Mostly. Tabloids believe what they want to believe, not everything you see in the check-out line is truth.”
She rolled her eyes. “If a man tells you he’s a liar, he’s a liar. Didn’t you tell me that once?”
He narrowed his gaze. “What are you driving at, Cassandra?”
“Those pictures told a thousand words. You don’t have to actually cop to being a womanizer for me to know who you are.” Finally,
for the first time that day, she felt as if she had the upper hand. “Expect a lot of lonely nights, Stephen.”
“I’m not in a relationship, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Oh no,” she said as she moved to the window. “I expect you aren’t. Now you’re married. And you’re a very virile man. I won’t ever forget that. You’re right that stories can be made up, but I’ve never groped one of my friends in the alley behind Don Juan’s. You did. That same night.”
He stepped back into the closet and came out wearing a shirt. “What’s the deal, Cassie? Are you trying to assure that I won’t cheat on you? Because I won’t. It isn’t my intention to be the one to ruin this marriage. You already did that.”
She smiled and stepped away from the window. “You said it would last as long as it needs to last?”
He pulled on a pair of sneakers and tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “Dammit, Cassie, I don’t have time for this. What are you driving at?”
She could still win this. She could still get out of this ridiculous arrangement. If Cassie could convince Stephen that it would be worse being married to her than not, she could absolutely go back to her own life. “I’m not having sex with you, Stephen.”
He grinned. “You already told me that. And I disagree.”
“No, I don’t think you understand. I will not have sex with you. So I’m thinking,” she held up her fingers and calculated, “how long would we have to be together to make this not seem like a quickie marriage? A year? Two?”
His eyes darkened and a tick formed along his jaw.
“That’s a long time for you to be celibate, Stephen.”
He moved in on her again. “Cassie, if you think you’re going to get out of this simply by threatening me, you are mistaken. We will have sex. And you’ll be the one to ask for it.”
With that he bent over her and captured her lips again. She tried to pull away, but his hand fastened behind her back. One cradled her bottom and drew her against him, she felt the weight of his attraction as she allowed herself to relax into his grasp.
He pulled away. A smug, self-satisfied smile burned across his face. “You can’t ignore our attraction, Cassie. If you could, you wouldn’t kiss me so freely.”
