“I’ve been curious to find out how you got away from those ladies we met at the bar?”
Jackson thought about how much, if anything, he wanted to tell his friend.
“I hated leaving you there,” Collin added, “but hey, those women were dangerous. I mean, come on—offering to pay a stranger to be your husband?”
Dangerous wasn’t the first word that came to mind, but it was a good start.
“You’re scarin’ me, buddy. Tell me you didn’t agree to marry her.”
“I had to.”
“You what?”
Jackson glanced toward the dance floor where couples swirled about, everyone enjoying themselves. “We’re getting married within the month, for reasons I’d rather not discuss at the moment. Just keep it quiet, will you?”
“Oh, man.” Collin waved the bartender over and ordered another round of drinks.
Hundreds of people filled the ballroom, yet every time Jackson scanned the room, he easily spotted Madison in the crowd. Thirty minutes ago he saw her sipping champagne with Mr. and Mrs. Bingham. Fifteen minutes after that, she was laughing it up with a new acquaintance. Now she was talking to a group of ladies and their husbands. At first glance he thought she was alone, but his jaw hardened when he saw Bryce Archer appear and whisper something into her ear. She answered with one of her charming smiles and then hooked her arm around Archer’s and allowed him to escort her onto the dance floor.
Where was his brother? Jamie was supposed to keep an eye on her. What was Jamie thinking, letting Archer get his clutches on his fiancée? The fact that Archer was his biggest contender for the Bingham deal was only half the problem. The worst of it was that the guy was a certified lecher; every move Archer made was calculated, aimed at manipulation and deceit.
Collin’s gaze followed Jackson’s to the dance floor. “Whoa! That’s some dish Bryce found himself, isn’t it?”
“That’s not a dish, Collin, that’s Madison Brown. My fiancée.”
Collin’s face lost all color. “That can’t be the same woman. Tell me it’s not too late to change my mind.”
“You had your chance.” Jackson stood. “I better save her. She looks as nervous as a cornered deer.”
“I don’t know how much hunting you’ve done lately. She looks perfectly happy to me.”
Jackson released some hot air through his teeth.
“I wouldn’t go out there,” Collin warned. “You’re already on Archer’s hit list for dumping his sister and stealing his biggest client. Why don’t you let me handle this?”
“I haven’t seen Archer’s sister in years,” Jackson argued. “She’s probably married with two kids by now. I hardly think he’d remember any of that. Besides, if you save her from Archer, I’d have to save her from you.”
Collin grinned. “Good point.”
Blaming Madison for his sour mood, Jackson drained his glass, and then crossed the room in long, ground-covering strides. He stopped at the edge of the dance floor and waited impatiently for the dance to end. When the music concluded and the applause faded, he weaved his way through the people on the dance floor.
Madison stood in the center. After thanking Archer for the dance, she turned away, but the man wasn’t ready to let her go. Archer took hold of her waist and whirled her back into his arms just as the orchestra started up again. His hands lingered on the small of her back.
Jackson continued to make a path through entwined couples, nodding at Irene and Peter as he passed by. Jackson tapped Archer on the shoulder. “I believe my fiancée was saving this dance for me.”
“Apparently not,” Bryce countered, holding Madison much too tight against his chest.
People danced around Jackson, giving him unpleasant looks for getting in their way. One man politely asked him to take a seat and wait his turn.
Jackson turned away to let them finish the dance when he heard Madison say, “Please let me go.”
She was trying to pull away, but Archer’s hands were all over her. The man refused to let her go. Jackson had no desire to cause a scene. Not here. Not tonight. But Archer reeked of whiskey and the wobble in his step told him the man was drunk.
Jackson raked a hand through his hair as he approached Archer again.
“Wait your turn,” Archer said, his voice slurred.
“You’ve had too much to drink, Archer. And the lady is uncomfortable. Let her go.”
Red-faced, Archer pressed his hips up against Madison and rubbed against her before finally dropping his hands from her waist. “Jesus Christ. You’d think I was shagging the broad instead of dancing with her!”
That did it. Jackson grasped Archer by the collar and took three steps until he was holding Archer against one of many marble columns lining the ballroom. His other hand clenched into a fist and drew back.
“Don’t,” Madison pleaded. “He’s had too much to drink.”
Men and women gathered around to gawk. The band stopped playing.
Jackson loosened his hold enough so that Archer’s feet rested on the floor again. Teeth clenched, Jackson said in a low voice, “Touch her again and I won’t hesitate to knock a few teeth out of that big mouth of yours. Someone call the man a cab,” Jackson said over his shoulder.
“You’re not sending me home, you arrogant bastard.”
“You’ve had too much to drink, Archer. Go home.” Jackson released his hold on the man and turned toward Madison. The wide-eyed terror in her eyes as she looked past him caused Jackson to swivel about just in time to receive one of Archer’s fists in his eye.
Jackson staggered backwards.
Archer wasn’t finished. He charged for him, both arms swinging. Jackson ducked and this time Archer’s meaty fist hit Peter Bingham’s face instead, sending the old man straight to the ground.
Irene screamed.
Jackson bent down to help Peter from the ground.
“Jackson!” Madison shouted.
It was too late. Archer lunged, causing Jackson to stumble backwards through the crowd as he tried to find solid ground. People divided like the Red Sea until Jackson bumped into a refreshment table. Punchbowls toppled, drenching the floor with ice cubes and red punch. Before he could catch his balance, both feet landed on scattered ice, and Jackson found himself skating across the floor, straight into a large marble breast belonging to a very stone-faced statue of Venus de Milo.
~~~
Madison froze when a camera angled toward her. Bright lights flashed as photographers marked the event for the morning papers.
Jamie rushed in to help poor Mr. Bingham to his feet.
Fifteen minutes later, Madison found herself sitting in a private parlor, watching Peter Bingham slap Jackson on the back in a kind of congratulatory embrace. The two men sat across from her, laughing and carrying on like two war dogs who had been to the front and survived to talk about it.
Ridiculous.
Irene Bingham entered the parlor with two damp towels. She handed one to Madison. Irene went to her husband and coddled him, holding the cloth to his bruised eye as she whispered soothing words into his ear.
Madison was not ready to forgive Jackson for inviting her to such a prominent event, only to ignore her for most of the night before suddenly deciding to sweep in and play the part of the hero rescuing the damsel in distress.
As if she needed a man to save her. It was a ridiculous notion. She could’ve easily handled Archer herself. It was enough to make her want to bruise Jackson’s other eye.
She glanced from the towel in her hand to Jackson, who happened to be looking her way. He lifted a brow, looking at her with irreproachable puppy-dog eyes, as if he were waiting for her to tend to his discolored face as any concerned fiancée would probably do.
She rolled her eyes, marched over to where he sat, and plopped the rag over his bruised eye, holding it in place with one finger. Of all the men in the world to ask to be her husband, she had to go and pick Jackson Lang—an impossible, insufferable beast if ever there was
one.
Chapter Five
Early the next morning, Jackson slid into his car. As he adjusted the rear view mirror, he caught a glimpse of his sorry face. A few hours’ sleep hadn’t helped. His eye was framed by several shades of blue. Hell, his entire face looked a mess.
How the hell was he going to get through the next three months married to the woman if he couldn’t get through one night?
Knowing he had to tell Sheila about his upcoming marriage wasn’t helping his sour mood either. He and Sheila Sinclair had been seeing one another, on and off, for two years. They both had exceedingly busy schedules. Sheila was a defense attorney and she spent many weekends out of town. But when either of them was in the mood for companionship, and when their schedules allowed, they made time for each other. Sheila was intelligent and exquisite to look at, the sort of woman who caused men to take a long look as she passed by.
Jackson knew from the beginning that Sheila wasn’t the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He liked her. She liked him. No responsibilities, no obligations attached. Just the way he liked it. But he wasn’t insensitive, which is why he intended to tell Sheila about his engagement. The problem was she was away on business—half way across the world. He wasn’t about to give her the news over the phone. When she returned to the States, he would tell her everything in person.
As he backed out of the driveway, visions of big blue eyes belonging to a woman who was everything he stood against floated through his mind. But if Madison was truly the sort of woman he stayed away from, why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Last night she’d surprised him—the last thing he’d expected was for the cute little duckling to turn into a swan.
Grasping the wheel, he accelerated onto Santa Monica Boulevard. He wondered if the real problem was that he didn’t want to feel responsible for Madison or anyone else. Once she became his wife, he was afraid he’d begin to feel accountable…even worse, duty-bound. It was as if he could already feel the old ball and chain snug about his ankle.
He stopped at the light, reminding himself that he desired women with curvy hips and long legs. Nothing could explain his sudden attraction to a petite, small-chested woman who was obviously ill at ease with men.
But none of that mattered, he told himself for the hundredth time. This union between the two of them was temporary.
~~~
“I can’t get over the nerve of that man,” Madison said into the receiver.
“I don’t know…the whole night sounds dreamily romantic to me,” Jen said.
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you had been there.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Jen told her, “Jackson Lang is a regular Clark Gable. I wish I was the one marrying him. He was fighting over you, for Heaven’s sake. You should be thrilled. How many women can honestly say they’ve had two men fight over them?”
With the phone pressed to her ear, Madison slipped on her flats. “Jackson wasn’t fighting over me. He was defending himself. The man is rich. And he has a boyfriend, Jen. Marrying me isn’t the big sacrifice we first thought. He’s obviously marrying me to get the Bingham deal, and at the same time using the false marriage to cover up his sexual preference—exactly why he was being so mysterious about his reasons for agreeing to go through with this. So get the picture of Clark Gable right out of your head.”
“Okay,” Jen muttered, “Rock Hudson then.”
Madison groaned at Jen’s obsession with kings of Hollywood from the past.
“It sounds to me as if Jackson needs a wife as much as you need a husband. So, if you ask me, it’s all working out. But I worry about you, Madison. Ever since Steve messed with your head, you think all men see you as this sad little mouse. Take a good look in the mirror and wake up. No matter how mad you get at me for saying this, I’m glad you’re marrying him.”
“I do understand that Steve put me down to bring himself up,” Madison told her friend. “He called me a lot of horrible things, but I’m over all of that. I know who I am now. For the first time in my life, I feel good about myself.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. I’m fine. But, do me a favor, Jen. Don’t forget who Jackson really is…and mostly, never forget that this is a temporary union.” The sound of a car pulling into the driveway caught Madison’s ear. “Gotta go. He’s here.”
“Okay,” Jen said hurriedly. “I’ll let you go, but on your way to the executor’s office don’t forget to ask Jackson about the wedding ceremony. You need to marry the guy quick or this is all for nothing.”
Madison said goodbye, grabbed her purse, glanced in the mirror, scolded herself for glancing in the mirror, and then finally ran out the door.
Jackson was leaning against his car, looking just as handsome in denim and a button-down shirt as he had looked in his tuxedo last night.
Maybe even better. Even with the shiner.
He hadn’t shaved, either, and the shadow of dark whiskers on his jaw only added to his appeal. He held open the passenger door for her and managed a cordial, “Hello.”
“Good morning,” she said, as if last night never happened, ridiculous considering it was hard to miss the black and blue eye. She looked away from his damaged eye, refusing to feel any sympathy for the man. If he wanted to invite her to a ball and ignore her all night…fine. What did she care? In three months they would never have to see each other again.
~~~
Jackson shut the car door and came around to the other side. Everything about Madison set his teeth on edge, starting with her ponytail. Once again she seemed to be trying hard to come across as perky and innocent and it bothered him. Logically, he knew he had a choice in the matter of whether or not to marry her. The truth was he was angry with himself for being sucked into Heather’s little plot to begin with. Heather had known from the start he would do anything she asked after Walter made him promise to take care of her.
Jackson slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He looked at Madison.
She looked at him and smiled.
An unexpected pang rose in his chest.
She had no idea what she did to him. Even those ridiculous black-rimmed eyeglasses failed to turn him off. She had the kind of cherubic face that doll-makers dreamed about.
A horrible thought struck him.
Why the hell was he feeling anything at all, let alone pangs and thoughts of cherubic doll faces? Women didn’t cause him pangs. By the time he merged onto the street every muscle he possessed was tense. The woman sitting next to him was bad news. The shiner he wore was a prime example. He’d never been in a fight in his life. But there he was last night, at the event of the year, a thirty-five-year-old man in a tuxedo, fighting for a woman he hardly knew. So what if there was bad blood between him and Bryce Archer? If Madison wasn’t an expert at looking guileless, he never would’ve felt the need to rescue her in the first place.
“Are you okay?” Madison asked.
“Fine, thanks.”
“Because if there’s something bothering you—”
Jackson hit the brakes a little too hard, swerved to the right, and came to a screeching stop at the side of the road. He looked her way, glaring at her, knowing he was angry at himself, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying what he was feeling. “What do you want from me? It’s not enough that I’m agreeing to marry you? You want me to live with you, follow your rules, and now I’m supposed to spill my guts, too?”
His fingers clamped hard around the steering wheel. “Do you want to change the rules, Madison?” His voice grew softer, but not any gentler as his gaze fell to her lips. He lifted a finger and traced the outline of her mouth. “Because if you do…”
She pushed his hand away from her face. “You didn’t have to agree to any of this. We both made choices. Take me home. We’ll forget the whole thing.”
“Not in this lifetime.” He pulled back onto the street. “I don’t back out of my commitments,” he explained feebly
before concentrating on the road stretching ahead of them.
~~~
The man baffled her. One minute Jackson wore a look of casual indifference, and then in the next his expression hinted at something else altogether, something resembling desire.
Baffling or not, they needed to talk. “We’ll be arriving at Mr. Razzano’s office soon,” Madison said. “As the executor of the trust, he’ll want to ask you a lot of questions. From what I’ve gathered, Grandfather left Mr. Razzano a list of rules to follow if I were to get engaged. I have no idea what the man is going to ask, but if you don’t mind, I think we should get a few things straight before we arrive.”
“For example?”
“For instance, where does my sister live?” Madison questioned.
“You don’t have any sisters.”
“Just testing you,” she said with a smile. Her attempt to be civil was useless. Jackson stared straight ahead, his thoughts seeming miles away.
“What color are my eyes?” she asked next.
“Hazel.”
She frowned.
“They’re blue,” he ground out, as if the color made him angry.
Sheesh. He was acting so strange. His profile was stern. No sign of humor whatsoever.
Without further prompting, he added, “You sleep with a window open every night. You graduated from high school twelve years ago. You adore children and wouldn’t mind having three or four of your own kids someday. You enjoy photography and singing, although you couldn’t hold a tune if your life depended on it.”
She raised a brow, impressed.
“You’ve held an assortment of jobs since college,” he continued. “Let’s see, you put your degree in tax accounting to work by becoming a waitress at Denny’s—”
An Offer He Can't Refuse Page 6
