by KyAnn Waters
“It’s beautiful.”
“I’d hoped you would like it. Considering the circumstances, I didn’t think you’d want a traditional dress.” He lifted the dress from the box. “I’d be honored if you wore it.”
Chapter Nine
A niggle of guilt wormed through Trent’s guts. Grandfather had insisted Trent wear the kilt that he and his father before him had worn when they’d married. A hundred guests sat in folding chairs while Trent stood in front of Judge Reynolds wearing the Ross colors and feeling like he was sinking in quick sand. The wedding march began and all eyes turned to the back of the room as Cassie entered on the arm of his grandfather. Granddad wore his kilt and looked so happy, And Cassie, her dark hair cascading down her bare shoulders, and a bouquet of wildflowers in hand, looked more beautiful than any bride he’d ever seen.
She took slow steps to accommodate his grandfather and when they reached Trent, his grandfather pulled him into a hug that nearly broke Trent. Annie rose from the left corner chair and helped Grandfather to the chair beside hers. Trent took Cassie’s hand in his and gave it a squeeze when he felt the slight tremor in her fingers. She gave a small smile and nodded as he faced them toward the judge. The judge was an old family friend and when they’d requested a simple civil service, had readily agreed.
“We are gathered here today to join this man and woman…”
Trent kept his gaze straight and clasped Cassie’s hands. When Judge Reynolds asked if he took Cassie to be his wife he replied, “I do.”
The judge asked Cassie if she took Trent to be her husband and for a brief instant he feared she would say no. She murmured, I do,” and relief flooded through him.
“Who gives this woman to be married?” Judge Reynolds asked.
Trent and Cassie shifted and looked in his grandfather’s direction.
He rose and said, “I do.”
Cassie smiled and Trent glimpsed the moisture in his grandfather’s eyes before they faced the judge again.
Judge Reynolds called for the rings and Trent slid the wedding band onto Cassie’s finger. When it was her turn, she fitted onto Trent’s finger the gold band his grandfather had given her from his own hand.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the judge said. “You may kiss the bride.”
Trent pulled her close and whispered, “We’re in for it now,” then dipped her back and kissed her. She played her part well—too well—and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Trent lingered, drawing in her scent and tasting her tongue for a moment before setting he upright. He walked her down the aisle amid cheers and tears and hurried her to the reception room.
“Are you okay?” he asked once they reached the room ahead of the guests.
She nodded. “I have to admit, it’s strange to be married, even if it’s in name only.”
“I know,” he said. “But you’re doing great. Granddad is thrilled.”
She smiled gently. “He is, isn’t he?”
The murmur of voices and echo of footsteps filtered into the room.
“The guests are about to descent upon us,” he said.
“All forty of them,” she said in mock horror.
Trent laughed. “I know, I promised only a dozen guests. I couldn’t stop Granddad from inviting everyone he wanted to invite.”
The guests burst into the room, his grandfather in the lead. He reached Cassie and gave her a bear hug. “Come along, lass, I want to introduce you to some friends.”
She looked at Trent.
“Never mind him,” his grandfather said. “You have your entire lives to spend with each other. Tonight, you’re mine.”
Trent grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and watched as
his grandfather laughed, smiled, and paraded Cassie around to all his friends. Trent couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen him happier. Annie stood alongside his grandfather and laughed when he took Cassie’s hand and showed her the ring Trent had placed on her finger. The ring he’d intended for Lindsey. His grandfather was as proud of the ring as any bride would have been. Any bride except Cassie.
Only yesterday, Trent had imagined Lindsey standing where Cassie now stood, laughing with his friends, glancing up at his grandfather while a mischievous smile curved his lips. Cassie’s eyes narrowed playfully, and his grandfather threw his head back and laughed heartily. Trent’s chest tightened. Would Lindsey have put on as good a performance as Cassie? No. Trent was paying Cassie to pretend to be his wife, but she wasn’t pretending to care about his grandfather. For that, he would be eternally grateful.
The six-piece orchestra began a slow melody that turned the chatter in the room to a whisper.
Across the dance floor, Tomas caught Trent’s eye and lifted the champagne glass he held as he announced in a loud voice, “Time for the couple’s first dance.”
They cleared the center of the ballroom, creating a pocket of public intimacy. Trent took four steps forward and extended a hand to Cassie. She placed her hand in his and soft applause broke out among the guests. The lights dimmed, the chandelier reflecting off the dark sheen of her hair. The soft locks framed her lovely face. The style suited her. The sequined dress flared over her hips, lay flat across her stomach and cupped her breasts, teasing his eyes with creamy flesh and sparkle. Unlike Lindsey’s flamboyant sex appeal, Cassie’s sexuality simmered, heated and tempted a man to notice.
He pulled her into his arms. “You okay?” he murmured near her ear. Lavender fragranced her hair. He inhaled deeply.
“I feel like skin is the only thing holding me together,” she said.
Her skin. The silken softness beneath his fingertips. The warmth of her flesh. He shifted his hand to her hip, rocking her gently in time to the music.
“You look stunning.”
“More like stunned.”
With a slow tempo, he led her across the dance floor, his kilt brushing her dress.
“I still can’t believe we’re married,” she said. “It’s surreal.”
“Don’t worry. It’s only temporary. You won’t be stuck with me forever.”
She sighed and leaned her cheek against his lapel. “Nice kilt, by the way.”
He heard the amusement in her voice. “Granddad’s idea. He wore this kilt when he was married, as did his father.”
Cassie’s head snapped up and she met his gaze. “I’m so sorry. He’s a good man.” She stared for another moment, then lowered her head and again pressed her cheek against his chest.
Trent closed his eyes. He’d been right. She cared. That’s what his grandfather would feel, would remember when he left this world. They swayed. Words, along with everyone in the room, disappeared as he became aware of the soft crush of her breasts against his chest, the subtle shift of her hips against his. They danced well together. Her fingers absently tickled the pleat of his shirt. Heat surged along his spine and a slow stretch warmed his cock. Dammit, he hoped like hell she wasn’t aware of the affect she had on him. He didn’t need the complication of physical attraction. And what he’d seen of her personality, she was fire inside and out.
“Trent?”
Pulled from his thoughts, he noticed the music had changed and other couples had joined them on the dance. He kissed her forehead.
Grandfather appeared at their side. “My turn for a dance.”
“Don’t wear him out.” Trent smiled at Cassie as he handed her over to him.
Cassie cocked a brow. “I think you have it wrong. You should be worried he’ll wear me out.”
James gingerly spun. The mellifluous sound of her laughter floated over Trent as he walked away, confirmation that he’d made the right decision. She made his grandfather happy.
Tomas slapped him on the shoulder. “You work fast, my friend.”
Trent snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed a hefty swallow. “What can I say, I’ve always been a man who goes after what he wants.”
“And you wanted the caterer?” A
note of surprise laced his words.
“I wanted a wife.”
Tomas glanced at Cassie. “She’s cute, but not what I’d call your usual type.”
And, that, he had to admit, was appealing. There was no misunderstanding about the duration of their association. But she held his interest. As an event planner she’d been competent, but as social hostess, playing the part of Mrs. Weston, she was unbelievable. Or maybe the better phrase was ‘totally believable.’
“I would’ve thought someone like Lindsey Fremont more your type,” Tomas said.
Trent clenched his jaw. “She’s too Hollywood for me.” She couldn’t tell the difference between playing a part and reality. He was just another leading man role.
Tomas grinned. “Time for the best man to make a toast.”
Trent snapped from his thoughts. “No.” He tried to invent a good reason but any legitimate objection should have been made before the I do’s were exchanged.
Tomas crossed to the buffet table, picked up a knife, then gently tapped the side of his crystal tumbler until the room quieted.
Trent moved through the small crowd and sidled up to Cassie. “Time for the toast.”
“What?” She glanced toward Tomas. “But he doesn’t know anything about us.”
Trent smiled. “Which will make this interesting.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close.
Wait staff circulated trays filled with champagne flutes. They brought two glasses to Trent and Cassie.
Tomas faced Cassie and Trent. “We all love Trent. His generosity, his dedication to family and his enthusiasm for life are boundless. When a friend is in need, he’s the first one to help. So it’s no surprise that when he had something as wonderful to share as the woman he loves, we would want to be here for him, for you both. Trent, she’s beautiful, intelligent and, to be married to you, we know she’s patient.” Soft laughter rippled through the room. “Cassie, I speak for everyone when I say you haven’t just gained a husband, but a family of friends.” He lifted his glass.
Trent lifted his glass. Cassie followed his example and lifted hers. Then he stared down at her as they both took a sip. Trent’s heart pounded. Why did she have to be so beautiful? Her eyes sparkled and her full lips parted as she looked up at him.
“Kiss her!” his grandfather called.
Trent snapped his gaze onto him.
Granddad lifted his brows. “We’re all waiting.” He lifted his champagne glass. “And if you don’t, I will.”
“You aren’t supposed to be drinking.”
“It’s a wedding—and I’m sipping. Besides, I won’t miss the toast to my new granddaughter. Now give your new bride a real kiss—no’ like the chaste kiss you gave her when you said your wedding vows.”
Trent turned his attention to Cassie. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but if anyone read his lips…. He took her champagne glass and handed both of theirs to the nearest guest.
“Here we go, Mrs. Weston,” he whispered, then banded his arm around her waist.
Her breasts pressed against his chest. Cassie wound her arms around his neck as he covered her mouth with his. The taste of champagne mingled with her sweet taste as Trent applied gentle pressure with his tongue to part her lips. She opened to him and the warm caress of her tongue sent a direct message to the erection that pressed into with the V of her sex. She speared fingers into his hair. Trent took the cue and gently rocked his hips—then remembered their agreement.
He broke the kiss, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She gave an almost imperceptible nod. He turned her toward his clapping friends.
“Thank you all for celebrating with us, but I believe my wife is tired.” Trent faced his grandfather.
“Not to worry, sir,” Doris said quickly. “Annie and I will see your grandfather off to bed soon.”
Trent nodded, pressed Cassie’s lower back and they managed two steps before Doris called, “I took the liberty of having Mrs. Weston’s belongings moved to your room.”
Cassie stumbled, but Trent tightened his hold on her, and said, “Thank you, Doris,” and kept Cassie walking.
When they entered the hall, Cassie increased her pace. “Your room?” she demanded.
“Of course.”
“Why?” she snapped. “The staff knows the truth.”
“We’ll discuss this privately.”
She hurried up the stairs. “We aren’t sharing a room.”
He quickened his pace to match hers. When they reached the second floor, he guided her toward the staircase to the third floor.
“You can’t force me.”
“Would you prefer I carry you?”
She twisted and looked at him over her shoulder. Her mouth thinned, but she turned back and continued up the stairs. When they reached his room, he swung open the door.
She halted. “Have you forgotten the terms of our contract? A few glasses of champagne and a hot kiss doesn’t mean I’m going to tumble into bed with you.”
He shook his head. “We will discuss this in my room, Cassie.”
Her eyes narrowed an instant before she entered his room. He followed and closed the door behind her.
She whirled to face him. “Mr. Weston—”
“Trent,” he cut in.
“What?”
“You must call me Trent, even in private. A slip like that could be disastrous.”
Cassie angled her head in acknowledgment. “Trent. What the hell is going on?”
“Don’t you think my grandfather will notice if we’re not sleeping in the same room?”
She hesitated. He supposed she hadn’t given their sleeping arrangements any thought.
“You didn’t say anything about this in the contract,” she said.
“But I did. The contract states that our arrangement is strictly business. We’ll share the same room, but not my bed. I’ll sleep there.” He indicated a chaise in the corner of the room. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but he didn’t sleep much these days.
She returned her gaze to his face. “All right, but your staff is going to think I’m a whore for jumping into bed with you.”
“No one in this household would dare refer to you in any way other than honorable.” He held her gaze. “Not even under their breaths. Listen, Cassie, I told the inner sanctum about our arrangement, but not everyone who works at Brettonwood knows the truth. I believed that those closest to me needed to know, but as much as I trust my staff, it would take only one person slipping up or calling the tabloids for things to go bad. Which is why I insisted we talk here, privately. We can’t make a habit of having private discussions in hallways.”
She arched a brow. “Like the one we had last night when you propositioned me?”
“That’s right.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
“You can change in the bathroom.” He crossed to the armoire opposite the bed and opened the top drawer. As expected, his underclothes had been moved and women’s lacy underwear, stockings and a pair of long, pink cotton pajamas lay neatly folded in the drawer. Trent looked at Cassie. “Doris put your underclothes here. I imagine your other clothes are hanging in the closet.”
She glanced at the closet. “You sure there isn’t an iguana hiding in there?”
Trent grinned. “If there is, Ms. Adams, just let me know and I’ll slay the beast for you.”
She stared for two heartbeats, and he wondered if he’d said something inappropriate.
“Mrs. Weston,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“We’re married, remember?”
Trent nodded. He wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon.
She walked to the pulled armoire and the pajamas from the drawer, started to turn, then stopped.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Um, yes.” She hesitated, then turned, giving him her back. “Can you unzip me?”
He grasped the zipper and his cock jerked when the fabric parted
as he lowered the zipper over the contours of her back, revealing creamy skin, then the lace of her bra. He stopped at the crest of her rounded buttocks. She was petite, but fit, her body built to be a man’s playground. He swallowed hard and let his hand fall away.
“Thank you.” She hurried to the bathroom.
Trent yanked his bowtie loose, then unbuttoned the first two shirt buttons. A soft knock at the door drew his attention.
“Come in,” he called.
The door opened and Philip entered. “Sorry to disturb you, sir. Do you require help with your kilt?”
“Not tonight, Philip. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Philip canted his head in acknowledgement and closed the door. Trent stripped off his jacket and draped it over the standing valet located alongside the armoire. He dropped his cufflinks on the bureau, then began unbuttoning his shirt, but slowed, his mind on the lacy panties he’d seen in the drawer. The pink would barely cover the thatch of curls between Cassie’s legs. Was she stripping off a pair of panties like that right now? Dammit, he’d signed a contract that practically forbade him from such fantasies. He finished unbuttoning the shirt, then whipped it off his back and tossed it over the jacket.
The bathroom door opened.
Oh hell. He was in trouble. Cassie made pink cotton pajamas look as sexy as a black teddy and stilettos. He kept his eyes on her face, but didn’t miss the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Nipples poked the ribbed fabric.
She froze mid step, her gaze shifting from his face, to his chest and dipping lower, then snapping back to his face. When their eyes met, he cocked a brow.
A blush tinted her cheeks, but she shrugged. “You look good in a kilt. Sue me for looking.” She walked past him to the closet and quickly hung up the dress. “If you don’t quit staring at me, you can sleep in the bathtub,” she said without rancor. A second later, she emerged from the closet and went to the bed.
Trent broke from the stare. “Can I have a pillow?” he asked as she slid beneath the sheet and blankets.
