"I'm not asking you to." She lifted her chin and a curious dimple appeared. "All I'm asking is for you to be my husband for awhile."
"Why?"
"For Eric's sake," she whispered.
"Who is Eric?" he thundered. "Is he the man who got you in trouble? Hasn't anyone taught him about living up to his own responsibilities?"
"Eric is a helpless little boy."
"He can't be all that helpless if he can make you pregnant."
"I'm not pregnant!" She tugged the sheets tighter around her.
"Then why do you need to get married?" Shaw thundered again.
"I told you, for Eric's sake."
He heaved a sigh, glared up at the ceiling, and said, "Suppose we start at the beginning?"
"Fine."
"Who's Eric?"
"I told you. He's a little boy."
"Whose little boy? Yours?" She didn't look old enough to have children, but it was possible that she could have a child. Several for that matter. But still, Shaw thought, she couldn't be more than twenty-one.
"He's my sister's little boy."
"All right." He sat down on the bed very calmly. "Now we're getting somewhere. Why did you feel you had to marry someone if Eric is your sister's boy?"
"Because she and Dick were killed in an accident a month ago and there's no one else to take care of him the way he should be cared for," Brandy explained.
"Who's Dick?"
"My sister's husband."
"What about your parents?" He frowned, knowing he was letting himself get involved.
"They're gone, too… when I was ten."
He didn't want to pry further, but asked, "No other relatives?"
"Well, yes, that's the point."
His brows peaked.
"My aunt and uncle, Louis and May Logan, want to take Eric."
"Good," he said, slapping his hands on his thighs. "The problem's solved then."
She shook her head. "You don't understand." Tears threatened behind her eyes again, and she reached out and touched his back. "Please."
She had said please to him already once this morning. He could still recall the warm seductive look of her, feel her silky smooth skin. "Please what?" he had asked.
"Please help me."
He wanted to bash his fists against a wall. He wanted to shout and kick and scream. He wanted to do anything but sit here and listen to her. A crazy feeling skittered up his spine. If he weren't careful, this girl would have him wrapped up like a Christmas package. There was something about the way she looked at him, not pleading, but proud, yet helpless and alone. "How can I help you?" he grated.
"By staying married to me long enough for the courts to turn Eric over to my care, long enough for Louis and May to stop fighting over Eric as if he were a chicken wishbone and long enough for them to leave the country and forget him. Louis is planning to move to Australia," she explained.
"I still don't see what's wrong with them taking him."
"He'd hate it." She raked her left hand—the hand wearing his ring—through her sultry hair, reminding him that he was married to her, at least for the moment. It made him feel strange to know that he possessed this beautiful woman. No other man could lay claim to her while she wore his ring.
"Eric would hate living with them. They already have a brood of kids who don't get as much attention and love as they should. Louis and May are too busy flitting around the world to worry about their children having the security of going to the same school for even one whole year. Little Ginger went to four different schools during the first grade. Four! Can you imagine the insecurity of that? I hated school myself, but add being uprooted and having to make new friends each year—it's terrible! I don't want that to happen to Eric."
"How old is he?"
"Eric? He's six."
Shaw scratched his head while looking at her, reproaching himself for weakening. She had called it compassion, but he thought it was actually stupidity. He didn't want to get involved. "Why won't they just let you have him?" he asked.
"Because I was single." Was, he noted. "And particularly because of my career, they didn't think I'd be a good influence."
"What are you, a topless waitress or something?" He grinned. He could not remember how she looked naked, but he grew hot with the memory of the feel of her.
"No, a model. Or trying to be, at least," she replied.
That answer made him curiously angry, but he didn't know why.
"And they think I'm too young," Brandy added.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Eighteen."
"Eighteen!" Shaw shouted disbelievingly. And he'd taken her to bed. Correction, he thought, he'd married her! Married her! It was almost like robbing the cradle. "Do you have any idea how old I am?"
"No. Should I?" she answered innocently.
"Yes! I'm thirty. And here I am married to an eighteen-year-old!" He stalked away from her to the window, hoping the real world was still outside the room.
"Does that mean, then, that you've accepted the fact that we are married?" she asked him hesitantly.
"I've accepted the fact, but not the responsibility," Shaw countered.
"Which means?"
"I don't know what it means. I've never found myself in this kind of situation before. I've avoided any implication of marriage. How in the world you managed all of this I'm still not certain," he said, shaking his head.
Someday she might explain all the details of how she had arranged to get the blood tests after hours at the clinic, picked up the wedding ring and the license a week ago and spent days pleading with Reverend Rourke to marry her because of the urgency of the situation. Someday she might be able to tell Shaw. But this was not the time.
"I won't get in your way. I won't try to make changes. I promise it will only be temporary," she assured him.
"I hope you don't expect me to be faithful to you?" What in the world was he saying? he asked himself. Was he actually considering this farce of a marriage with her?
She looked down, pleating the sheets between her fingers. "I realize I've interrupted your life, but it won't be for long. I promise. But you will be—"
She paused and he prompted. "What?"
"Discreet with your affairs. For appearances sake, for the courts?" she pleaded.
His eyes widened. No one had ever suggested he be discreet, and he couldn't believe his ears. It was ridiculous. It went against the grain of his principles. No woman had ever gotten the better of him and he had to hand it to her for not only attempting such a feat, but also for carrying it so far. Who was she to tell him what to do?
"Please?"
It was her eyes, great velvet pools of brown, that had snared him. Had she realized when she had planned all of this how susceptible he would be to them? Compassion, she had called it, but it was his own downright weakness.
Would it hurt to play her husband for awhile? he wondered. At least he knew, they both knew, it would be temporary, and he wouldn't mind a brief romance with her, although for the life of him he couldn't remember making love to her the previous night.
"What about my reputation?" he asked her. "A wife doesn't fit into my world—not even briefly."
"From what I've heard, your reputation could use a little stability." For the last week she had talked to everyone she could find who knew him, had spent evenings in all the nightspots he was known to frequent and had eaten dinner each night in his restaurant, The Pub. She had read back issues of the newspapers about his newest restaurant opening, and had even found a biography about him on file in the library, filled with gossip about his string of girlfriends. She thought she knew as much about him as anyone could, but that much had taught her no one knew him very well at all.
Shaw Janus' public life was a series of images projected to enhance the charisma of his personality: an up-to-date, '80's style man, who was conversant with radical life styles and live-together arrangements. His knowledge of both sides of an issue made it difficult t
o determine his personal viewpoints, but he always had an opinion, and was frequently asked for it by newspaper columnists. Still, she had discreetly watched him in action enough to detect a sense of fairness about him. And it was that sense of fairness that had convinced her he would take up her cause.
"Look, you don't know the first thing about me," he said.
She didn't answer. What he said was true enough. All she knew were generalities.
"I'm right in the middle of opening this new restaurant. For the first time in my life I'm getting where I want to go, but I'm not quite there yet, and a wife won't help the situation at all. I can't expect you to understand that. In fact, I don't think I even owe you an explanation if it comes to that, but just take my word for it. I don't want, and I don't need a wife," he repeated.
"Not even for a little while?"
"No," he snapped, and pulled on his socks and shoes. "I'm late for work already and I can see this conversation is going to take more than five minutes to iron out."
"Do you want me to stay here? Or shall I go home?"
"For God's sake go home. I don't want to pay for another night in the bridal suite. The first night was expensive enough."
Brandy suppressed a grin. He wasn't referring to the monetary expense of the room since they hadn't paid for it last night. And she knew he could well afford it. "Do you want to give me the key?" She held out her hand.
"The key? To what?" He jerked around to look at her.
"To your home, of course. I'll wait for you there."
"Look, I've been trying to tell you—oh, forget it." He dug around in his pocket and tossed it to her. "But don't get any ideas about moving in. Just be there when I get in this evening and we'll talk this thing through sensibly, like two adults, even though only one of us has reached that stage."
"Thanks." She smiled, her mind already racing ahead to decide how best she could win him over to her way of thinking.
"The address is—" he began.
"Oh, I know, thanks."
His eyes widened. What else did she know about him? he wondered. And who was she? He sat staring at her, his body growing hot at the thought of her body so warmly within his reach. Forget it, he told himself, shaking his head. That was probably how he got himself into this situation in the first place. No woman was going to seduce him—at least not a second time.
"What time will you be home?" she asked.
"Around six if things go well. I'll let you know if not." What was he doing, he wondered, giving her his schedule. Next thing he knew she'd have him neatly boxed into a timetable. He stood up, determined to get away from her. She had a strange effect on his rationality. "I'll pay the bill on my way down, if I have enough cash on me," he muttered. No telling how much he had spent on her during the previous evening.
"Shaw." She stopped him as he went to the door.
He turned back to her. "What?"
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me. I haven't done anything, and I don't intend to. So don't get any ideas about homemaking."
"Thanks for at least listening."
"I'll see you tonight." He turned on his heel and left her lying naked in the bed in which they had spent the night—alone in the bridal suite on the first morning of their marriage.
Chapter Two
Brandy stared at the door long after Shaw had shut it behind him. She wanted to be certain he was gone before she left the protective cocoon of bed covers. In some ways she was just as shocked as he that she had carried through her wild scheme. But she had been forced to—for Eric's sake.
The plain gold band looked out of place on her left hand. It would probably tarnish or turn her finger green before the week was out, but it had been the only one she could afford at the time. What did it matter how it looked as long as it was there—an acknowledgment of her marriage for the world to see?
Marriage. Brandy's sight blurred. All her childhood romantic illusions about courtship, a white dress and a loving husband had been shattered. She had not had time for any of that, and now she might not ever have a chance for love. She would never again be able to imagine herself as a blushing bride, because once she acquired custody of Eric, she would be labeled "divorced" forever.
A tear dripped down her cheek. It was her first day of marriage and already she was contemplating divorce. Brandy had been raised with the idea of permanency of marriage and had repeated the vows "until death do us part." But all along she had known in her heart that would not be the case. Reverend Rourke had known it also as he lifted his eyes to hers and made her repeat the words, phrase after phrase, slowly and solemnly.
It wouldn't do any good to cry over lost dreams. She had Eric to think about now, and that was problem enough without worrying over her silly romantic notions. She was exactly where she wanted to be, wasn't she? she thought. She had calmly and coldly linked her destiny—and Eric's—to Shaw Janus, at least for the time being. If she was going to force Shaw Janus to live up to the commitment she had tricked him into, she had to make the best of the situation—for everybody's sake.
Brandy sighed, wiping her high cheekbones with the back of her hand. She had a lot to do today even though she did not have a modeling session scheduled. She could not spend the day lolling about in bed like some honeymooning teenager. Even though her nineteenth birthday was several months away, Brandy felt she had passed into the world of adulthood; her childish dreams would stay forever locked in yesterday.
Brandy showered, washed her hair and stepped back into the clothes she had shed the night before. After Shaw had fallen asleep, she had climbed into the bed beside him with the hope of presenting a picture of seduction in the morning. He had to believe he had made love to her so that she could use the consummation of their marriage as her one tenuous thread of keeping him bound to her. What little she had learned of him told her he was a man of mixed principles and she could only pray that those principles would extend to his feeling of obligation to her. She hoped he would feel guilty enough to want to do the "right thing" for her: to stay married long enough for her to obtain custody of Eric.
She put all of her cosmetics into her purse and picked up the paper he had left on the dresser. It was a copy of their blood test. Holding it now she could feel the same sense of surprise Shaw had felt when the reality of their situation washed over him. It shocked her, too. This long shot of maneuvering a man into marriage—Shaw Janus at that—was still a little difficult to comprehend. It would change her entire life, not just for the next few months, but for the rest of her life. Although she might want to deny it, she was Shaw Janus's wife. Someday she would be his ex-wife, but she would never be Brandy Logan again.
The thought made her sad, and she sat down on the edge of the bed to try to understand why. If this marriage was an intrusion to her life, she could imagine the obstacles it would present for Shaw. At least she had had time to think about it, to weigh the odds, to choose him. He, poor man, had been the victim, like it or not. And she had gotten him so drunk last night he had not even been able to consciously make a choice about the situation. But if she simply had gone to him, explained her problem, and asked him to marry her, purely on a business relationship, he would have refused. She had been forced to be devious. Thus she felt obligated to make life as simple as possible for him during their time together. She prayed he would agree to stay married to her for awhile.
Brandy thought back to the first time she had seen him, dressed to the nines in a vested suit with a tweedy trench coat. He looked like something out of an advertisement for men's clothing—one of the entirely untouchable higher echelon of males. For all the rumors of his carousing, he had seemed incongruously above the typical male image. He was, in fact, selective.
One night, while she had sat in the corner of his restaurant, she had watched three women approach him. She had almost held her breath wondering how he would respond. The women were very beautiful, by her estimation, in face as well as body, yet he seemed only amused by their performanc
e.
He had bought them drinks, danced with them, sneaked kisses in the dusky light. But he had gone home from the supper club alone, obviously to the great disappointment of the three women.
She had witnessed the charm Shaw Janus could pour on for a female—if he wanted to, and Brandy had taken advantage of that. Fortunately, he also could not hold his liquor well.
She had watched him for a week, cataloging his tastes and habits. He drank Scotch with pretzels. He preferred blondes to brunettes, which, as a brunette, had worried her. He arrived alone and left alone, but she suspected he often made arrangements to meet some-one elsewhere later: she had rarely observed him in his apartment late at night. Perhaps most curious of all, he continually took notes—on napkins which he would stuff into his jacket pockets, or on a notebook he sometimes carried with him. Once, she had even seen him make a notation on his hand.
Now she was married to Shaw Janus, had the key to his apartment and would see him there this evening.
Brandy considered going to her apartment, packing all the belongings she could manage in one trip and distributing them throughout his place, but second thoughts told her that would irritate him. She had him where she wanted him; she had to be tactful, meek and subservient in order to keep him there.
The first thing to do was convince him of the urgency of the situation. She had to make him see the importance of having Eric with her. Then she could worry about moving in with him—if he would let her.
Brandy went by her apartment to check her messages and change clothes. Her agent had not called, which meant she'd have no work again tomorrow, plus the added worry of whether she would have enough money on hand when the rent became due.
She took the time to select the most attractive outfit she owned—a pair of black velvet pants topped with a lacy pleated blouse with a black velvet tie at the throat. The effect was feminine, yet not too obvious, and understated, yet flattering.
Eric had spent the last few nights with a friend, and she had intended to let him stay in that comfortable routine until she could sort things out with Shaw. As she tried to think of ways to win Shaw's support, she thought of Eric. If only Shaw could love Eric as she did, he might want to help her keep him. Perhaps Eric himself could win Shaw over.
For Eric's Sake Page 2
