Falling for Her Convenient Groom

by Jennifer Faye

  As she knelt on the couch next to him, she pressed the napkin to his abdomen. Being left-handed, she had no choice but to place her other hand on his chest to keep herself from falling into him.

  She ran the white cloth up his side, all the while feeling the steely strength of his muscles. Her mouth grew dry. She didn’t dare meet his gaze. He’d know where her thoughts had strayed.

  “If you were trying to cool things off between us,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice, “it isn’t working.” And then he moved to unbutton his shirt.

  Carla’s mouth grew dry as she watched him undo one button and then the next. “What...what are you doing?”

  A little smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Taking off my wet shirt so you won’t worry about it any longer.”

  She sat back on her heels as he pulled his shirt free. She shouldn’t be sitting there openly staring at him, but she was helpless to stop. His chest was so toned, it was though he spent every day at the gym. His tanned skin was smooth, and his chest had a smattering of dark curls. Wow!

  Her fingers tingled to reach out and work their way up his torso. She resisted the urge. She wasn’t quite sure how that was possible. Maybe it was the fact that at this moment her mind was overwhelmed with everything that had happened today.

  She finally dragged her gaze up to meet his. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but it sure wasn’t the desire flickering in his eyes, mirroring her own rising needs.

  One moment, she was sitting there looking at him, and in the next his lips were pressing to hers. If she thought their first kiss as husband and wife had been something, it was nothing compared to this passionate embrace.

  Without an audience, there was no need to hold back. And he most certainly didn’t as he wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss. Then, using those muscles she’d been admiring, he swept her into his arms and repositioned them so she was lying back on the couch. He settled on top of her—the full, lean length of him. And they were still kissing—oh, were they kissing.

  And right now, Carla had absolutely no desire to stop this delicious moment. After all, what was to stop them? For the next six months, he was her husband. And yes, maybe they had made some initial ground rules about what was expected from the marriage, but as his mouth moved over hers and her fingers trailed over his bare shoulders, she couldn’t quite recall what those ground rules had been.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LAST NIGHT HAD been a mistake.

  A complete and total mistake.

  Franco couldn’t believe he’d let himself spend the entire night with his new bride. It had been the most amazing evening—one he wasn’t soon to forget. Oh, who was he kidding? He was never going to forget it. Carla was the type of woman who left her mark upon your life.

  He raked his fingers through his hair as he paced back and forth in the living room. He hadn’t even been married for twenty-four hours before he’d broken their agreement to keep things uncomplicated and totally platonic.

  Luckily for him, Carla had still been asleep when he’d awoken that morning. But he knew she’d be up soon, and then what would he say to her? How would he explain how he’d let things get totally and absolutely out of control?

  As his mind rolled back over the highlights of their evening together, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. So maybe it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it had been quite good—

  “Morning.”

  At the sound of Carla’s voice, the smile slipped from his face. Hesitantly, he turned. Carla wasn’t smiling but she wasn’t frowning, either. His body tensed as he waited for her to start yelling at him about how he’d broken all the rules when he’d slipped off his shirt and then proceeded to kiss her.

  He could blame it on the alcohol, but that wasn’t the truth. The fact was he’d been fantasizing about kissing again her ever since they’d been pronounced—he hesitated, still not at all comfortable with their new marital status—since they’d formalized their agreement. It was in that moment—with the memory of them taking a vow of forever, in sickness and in health—that he came back to reality. The excitement of the evening wore off and he could finally think straight once more.

  He cleared his throat. “Morning. There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you.” When she smiled, he felt his heart beat faster.

  He struggled not to return the smile. It was better to cool things off now before either of them got in too deep and ended up getting hurt in the end. And there would be an end. He didn’t believe in marriage—in forever. And this was just a business arrangement, nothing more.

  When Carla turned toward the kitchen, he followed her. “I was thinking we should get back to the city as soon as you’re ready.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee. “I’m sorry I slept so late.” She yawned. “I’m just really tired.”

  Her back was to him, so he wasn’t able to read the look on her face. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “About last night—it was a mistake.”

  Carla spun around. Her gaze narrowed on him. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. This just made him all the more uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but wonder if that had been her intent.

  Still, the longer the silence lingered, the more awkward the moment became. So he said, “I don’t want to hurt you. And if I let you think this is the beginning of something, it’d be a lie—”

  “Good. I was hoping you didn’t get the wrong idea, either.” Her voice was calm and restrained.

  It wasn’t the reaction he’d been anticipating. Most women he’d been involved with always wanted more than he could offer. And some got very angry when he set them straight.

  She took a big gulp of coffee before turning to him. “I just have to run upstairs and grab my stuff. Then we can go.” When her dismissal of their lovemaking left him speechless, she asked, “Is there something else?”

  “Um, no. So we’re all right?”

  “Sure.” Her voice was light and upbeat. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  And with that she sailed out of the kitchen with her coffee cup in hand. He was left standing there with his mouth hanging open. Had that just happened? Was his lovemaking that unremarkable?

  Disappointment assailed him. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting from her, but it hadn’t been a complete dismissal of their passionate night. He should be happy. This gave them a chance for a do-over—a chance to keep things purely platonic.

  But he knew any attempt to forget what they’d shared the night before was going to be difficult. No. It was going to be a downright impossible feat. There was no forgetting Carla.

  * * *

  She had to get away.

  Her bare feet moved up the steps silently.

  Carla tripped at the top of staircase in her haste to get away from Franco. Her free hand reached out, grabbing the banister. Luckily she’d drunk enough of the coffee that it hadn’t splashed over the side.

  She didn’t tarry on the landing. The last thing she wanted was to face Franco again so soon. She didn’t want him to know how his words in the kitchen had cut her deeply. And she had a sinking feeling that her disappointment and pain were written all over her face. How she’d kept it all together in front of him had been her best acting job ever.

  She rushed inside the bedroom she’d shared with Franco. With the door shut, she leaned back against it. Her vision blurred. Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

  She grew angry with herself for getting worked up. But when he’d so easily dismissed their lovemaking—a night that felt like it was the beginning of something real between them—she’d felt as though she’d been cut to the quick. She didn’t readily open herself to someone like she had with Franco.

  Maybe it was the wedding vows—to love, honor and cherish. Or maybe it was the litany of romantic ballads they’d danced to all evening. Or m
aybe it was a bit too much champagne. Or perhaps it was a lethal combination of all those things that had had her letting down her guard last night. Franco had gotten closer to her than any other man had ever done, including her loser ex-fiancé.

  And worse yet was she’d let herself fall into a false sense of security with Franco’s soul-stirring kisses, his gentle caresses and his endearing words. Ugh! What was wrong with her? He was probably that way with all his women—

  She halted her thoughts right there. She just couldn’t deal with the thought of him being so loving and attentive with anyone else. Maybe it had been a one-night sort of thing, but she wanted to believe that it was special. She wanted to think their night together had been unique for both of them. Even if it wasn’t going to happen ever again.

  Because whether she liked it or not, Franco was right. They’d agreed not to let things get messy for a reason. It was best not to get caught up in some fantasy, because in the end she’d get hurt. Because Franco didn’t do relationships, unless they were of the business variety.

  They only had six months in which to make their plan a reality. And if they were so wrapped up in—well, whatever happened last night—they wouldn’t put all their energy into making this venture a huge success.

  She quickly grabbed her things—including her wedding dress—and headed for the door. It was time they got back to reality. She was certain once she was home that they would be able to keep the lines in their relationship straight. There would be no more confusion—no more kisses or anything else.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE RIDE BACK to Verona seemed to go on forever.

  Carla couldn’t wait to step in her apartment. She just wanted a few minutes to herself before she faced her father. Being back among her things would make her feel grounded—make her feel more like herself—not like Mrs. Marchello.

  But when they reached the city, Franco didn’t make the turn toward her place. “Wait. You missed the turn.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Of course he did. “My place is the other way.”

  “And my place is this way.”

  “But I don’t want to go to your place. I have to go see my father.”

  As Franco maneuvered the car along the sparsely filled road, he chanced a quick glance at her. “You do realize that you’re going to have to move into my place, don’t you?”

  “What? No. No. That isn’t going to happen.” She crossed her arms.

  In a gentle, nonaggressive voice, he said, “Don’t you think it’s going to look strange to people if we live apart?”

  She inwardly groaned. Why did everything that had to do with Franco have to be so complicated? Maybe in her haste to figure out all the legal ramifications and rushing to make sure her father was sufficiently looked after, she might have missed some of the complications of this plan.

  She wanted to argue with Franco. She wanted to tell him that it would be totally fine if they lived separately, but she knew that none of that was true. Drat him for being so logical.

  “Fine,” she said, “You can move into my place.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She turned to him. “Why not? It has two bedrooms.”

  “I’ve been to your place to drop off papers, and I’ve seen how small it is compared to my penthouse. Trust me. We’ll be much more comfortable at my place.”

  Trust him? The echo of her father’s warning rang in her ears. She’d trusted Franco last night by letting him see a vulnerable side of her, and look where that had gotten her. He’d brushed her off in the light of day, leaving her pride sporting a painful bruise.

  She’d trusted her ex and he’d cheated on her, all the while boldly lying to her face about the reason for delaying their wedding. And then there was her father, who’d taught her that trust was supposed to go both ways. And yet he staunchly refused to trust that she was making the right choices for the right reasons.

  So no, she wasn’t ready to trust Franco so easily. And she wasn’t ready to give in on their living arrangements just because he said so. “But my place is closer to the office.”

  “Your office. Not mine. My place is between them both.”

  That much was true. She was running out of reasons why they should stay at her place instead of his. And quite honestly, she just didn’t have the gumption to keep fighting him over this. As it was, she had to deal with her father in the near future. She was going to need all her energy to deal with him and make sure her marriage to Franco didn’t cause him to have a medical setback.

  “Okay,” she said softly.

  “Excuse me, did you just agree to stay at my place?”

  “Yes! Yes, I did. But don’t push it.”

  He was quiet for a moment as he negotiated a busy intersection. “Do you want to move your things now?”

  “No. I need to go to my place, change clothes and go see my father. It’s time he knows that I intend to take over control of the company. Immediately.”

  “Agreed. I’ll go with you.”

  “Absolutely not!”

  Franco slowed the car as he pulled off into a parking spot. “Why not? I’m your husband.”

  She shook her head. “It’ll be too much for him with you there.”

  “What do you mean, too much?”

  There was quite a bit she’d failed to tell Franco about the true reason behind her move to take over the company. Because when all was said and done, she was willing to give up the company. However, she wasn’t ready to lose her father.

  “Just trust me.” She pleaded with him with her eyes, hoping he’d let the subject rest.

  The truth of the matter was that she hadn’t wanted to dig into the painful details. She would do whatever it took to see that her father was well taken care of since that stubborn man wouldn’t do it himself. And no, she didn’t want Franco to see her vulnerable again.

  Franco’s dark gaze probed her. “If we’re going to trust each other, we have to start talking to each other.”

  He was right. Maybe if they’d slowed down long enough to talk last night, they’d have reminded each other of the rules of their marriage, but instead they’d let their desires take over and everything had spiraled out of control. It was a lesson learned.

  She glanced down at her clasped hands in her lap. Memories flashed in her mind of seeing her father in a hospital bed. Not once. But twice. She wrung her hands together.

  And the last time he was in the hospital, with all the wires connected to his chest and the IV in his arm, his complexion had been the same pale shade as his white sheets. Her tattered heart had tumbled down to her heels.

  Carla closed her eyes, willing away the troubling images. She couldn’t go through that again. She couldn’t lose him already. Because if she did—if she lost him—she’d be all alone in this world. And she wasn’t ready for that, either.

  Sure, there was Gianna, but she was happily married now and expecting her first baby. She wouldn’t have the time to spend with Carla like they’d done in the past. And though she was immensely happy for her cousin, she knew that things would never be the same again.

  But how did she explain any of this to Franco without him seeing her as weak? Because when it came down to it, they were now business partners. And there would be a lot of negotiating in the future of how to handle this venture between her national restaurant chain and his expansive line of spices. It would be quite an endeavor—one where she needed to hold a strong edge so as not to be bulldozed by him and his narrowed pursuits.

  “It’s my father.” She hesitated, trying to tamp down her rising emotions.

  “I know he isn’t happy about our marriage, but there’s no way he can break the contract as long as we’re married. My attorneys went over everything. They said it was as ironclad as they’d ever seen.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not about
the contract.”

  “Then what is it?” His voice was soft and coaxing.

  What would it hurt to tell him? Sure, she’d promised her father not to disclose information about his second heart attack because he’d been worried that his business associates would view him as weak. Her father was the strongest, proudest man she’d ever known.

  And telling Franco now when her father was out of the hospital and doing well, according to his physicians, wouldn’t be a big deal. After all, Franco was now her husband. And maybe if he understood why their combined effort to put his spices in her restaurants was so important to her, he’d be more of an ally than an advisory. Secretly she longed for Franco to be on her side. Otherwise these next six months were going to drag on forever.

  “You know that my father had a heart attack the night of Gianna’s wedding, but what you don’t know is that just recently he’d had a second heart attack, and this time they had to do bypass surgery.”

  Sympathy reflected in Franco’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s afraid people in the business world will treat him differently. But while he’s worried about getting back to work, the doctors are worried that with the amount of damage to his heart, running a business of that size will be too much for him.” Her voice wobbled with emotion. “And I just can’t lose him. Not yet.”

  Franco reached out and pulled her close so her head rested on his shoulder. “He’ll be all right.”

  She wanted to believe him. “So you see why you can’t come with me today. I just can’t risk getting him too upset.”

  “I understand.”

  One man in her life understood her decisions, but would the other one be as understanding? She had her doubts.

  * * *

  Everything was changing so quickly.

  Carla hadn’t lingered at her place. She’d quickly packed the essentials and then headed to her father’s house. She told herself that she was in a rush to get back to work—not to see her husband again, even if he was so easy on the eyes.