Sweet Child of Mine

by Jean Brashear

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She reached for her purse and coat.

  “Wait, let me help you out.” The Bonanza’s design had a door only on the passenger side, so he had to crawl over her. He did it with care, but there was no escaping the scent of her perfume rising from the heat of her body, the brush of her hair on his cheek. It would be so easy to pause, to close the faint distance between them….

  Damn. He moved past her with haste and jumped down, then turned to lift her out. Hands easily spanning her waist, he lowered her carefully to the icy ground.

  Neither one moved. The heat of her warmed his hands, and he found himself tempted to bend toward that beautiful, expressive mouth. Sooty eyelashes swept down to veil her pansy-dark eyes. Her hands tightened on his biceps, but he heard the small whimper of distress escape from her.

  It was the dash of cold water he needed.

  Mistake. Mistake, Longstreet. Let her go. Now.

  Michael released her and stepped back, then focused on securing the plane.

  The one time she’d forced herself to look down, Lake Tahoe had been a perfect sapphire blue, and she’d seen the dusting of snow on the treetops, the soft white of the ski slopes. Suzanne stared out the window of the manager’s office at the small air terminal, watching unexpected snowflakes begin to fall and wishing she’d brought her boots. The plain black pumps she wore would never hold up if the snow picked up, but Michael had checked before they left, and snow wasn’t expected until sometime tomorrow.

  But thinking about snow wasn’t working as a distraction. In a few more minutes they’d be standing in some anonymous chapel, saying vows they would later break. Yes, couples did that all the time, but at least they started out thinking “till death do us part” meant exactly that.

  She couldn’t worry about that, she thought, brushing her fingers over the nosegay of violets, nor regret that she would not be wearing some stunning white confection. Michael had brought a suit and was changing now, but she would wear this simple wool dress. There was no one to impress, no sentimentality to appease.

  This was a simple, straightforward arrangement. A marriage of convenience that they would both forget one day down the road when each of them found their true mate of the heart.

  That would be the time for beautiful gowns and bowers of blossoms, not this. But she couldn’t help bringing the violets up to her nose and enjoying the delicate scent. At least her partner in this charade wasn’t heartless, no matter what he might say.

  “Are you ready?”

  She whirled at his voice, then lost the power of speech. She had never missed that he was a decidedly handsome man even in the boots and jeans he wore at his office, at council meetings, virtually everywhere he went.

  But she’d never seen this Michael Longstreet. This man could indeed inhabit the halls of power, be invited to the most exclusive clubs, dine with the cream of society. The navy pinstripe suit had to be custom tailored, so sophisticated were its lines, so perfectly proportioned to his body. Blinding white shirt, discreetly elegant tie, a shine on his shoes that could put out the eyes…he took her breath away.

  And made her more aware than ever that her dress had come off the sale rack of a no-frills department store.

  She flattened one hand on her stomach to stem the jitters. How could she even pretend to belong to this wealthy, sophisticated man?

  “Cat got your tongue?” he teased. Sliding the tip of one finger behind his top button, he grimaced. “I almost forgot how much I hate wearing a tie.”

  The jitters smoothed—a little. “You look like you just stepped off the pages of GQ.”

  He screwed up his face and shuddered. “I’ve done all of that I intend to do, thank you very much.” He walked into the office, and the entire space shrank. He was so big. So larger than life in so many ways.

  “You look lovely, Suzanne.”

  “It’s the same dress you’ve seen me in all morning. Michael, maybe we shouldn’t—”

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And I’ve enjoyed looking at you the entire time. The color makes your eyes even more vivid.” He stepped closer, let his gaze sweep her face before stopping at her eyes. “I always thought violet eyes were the invention of some marketing person, but yours are honest-to-God violet.”

  “Michael, this isn’t going to work. No one’s going to buy that I’m your wife.”

  One sable brow lifted. “They aren’t? Why not?”

  “Don’t be dense. Look at us.”

  His gaze swept over her with a thoroughness she felt to her bones. “I see a beautiful woman with skin pale as cream and hair black as midnight. What do you see?”

  “I see a Yalie in a Savile-Row suit who owns his own plane. Michael, I’m still paying off my student loans, my car is ten years old and I buy strictly off the sale rack.”

  “Are you trying to convince me or yourself that we don’t suit?” He laughed, but there was little mirth in it. “Suzanne, we already know we don’t suit, but it has nothing to do with money. Unless, of course, you intend to make me pay for what the rich kid did to you.”

  Shame washed over her. She ducked her head.

  “No. But you don’t understand. Your parents will keel over. They’ll hate your choice.”

  Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “No, they won’t.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I promise you they’ll welcome you with open arms.”

  “But we’ll never convince anyone that—”

  “I never took you for a coward, Ms. Jorgenson.” He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned broadly. “Am I to understand that the same tigress who’s tangled with me vociferously over every possible issue for months is afraid of what people might think?”

  “Of course not.” She tilted her nose in the air.

  “My parents will buy it because it’s what they want desperately. Jim’s cousin will buy it because we’ll put on one hell of a show. And as to the differences between us, frankly, I’m shocked at you. I never took you for a snob.”

  “A snob? Me? But you’re the one who—” Her temper, never docile, was beginning to acquire claws.

  “As far as I can tell, my only crime this morning has been complimenting you on a lovely dress, bringing you violets, owning a good suit or maybe all three, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out why any of them is a hanging offense. Would you care to explain?” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “You’d never understand.” Primarily because he was right. She was acting like a madwoman. It only made her more upset.

  “When you have some spare time, maybe you’ll explain for the layman.” He chuckled indulgently.

  Suzanne saw red. She stabbed his chest with one finger. “Listen, buster, don’t you dare patronize me. I’ll have you know—”

  She didn’t get to finish because he grabbed her and pulled her against him. “Maybe John Wayne had it right. There might be only one way to handle a woman with a temper.”

  He lowered his head and suddenly her mouth was too busy to answer.

  For a moment, Suzanne was too stunned to react.

  Then she was all too aware of the same quick fire that had raced through her veins before when Michael had kissed her. A part of her wanted nothing more than to yield, to revel in the power of this compelling man’s kiss.

  But a part of her knew it was the road to disaster.

  She put her hands on his chest and shoved. “Stop it, Michael. I don’t want this.”

  Temper flared in his eyes, something she’d never seen before. Heat, hunger…all were there.

  But swirling in the mix was the same caution she felt. For a moment his hands tightened on her arms.

  Then he stepped away.

  “I will concede that it’s a bad idea.” But just as she started to smile in triumph, he nipped that in the bud. “But you’re lying to yourself if you say you don’t want it. You want me, Suzanne, and I want you. It doesn’t have to be smart. It just is.”

  She took one step back an
d found herself against the window. She hugged her arms around her waist. “It doesn’t matter.” When she saw the corners of his mouth tilt, she shook her head. “It can’t matter. You know that as well as I do.”

  “We don’t have to make this an endurance contest, Suzanne. Just because we don’t intend to stay married doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the proximity as long as it’s comfortable for both of us.”

  She looked for that comfort in his eyes, but she didn’t see it. “It’s not comfortable, Michael. For either of us.”

  The casual grin he displayed to the world came to the rescue. “Ah, but dancing close to the flames is its own kind of pleasure, don’t you think?” His tone was light, his grin disarming. But she could see something there that matched too closely to how she felt. There was danger here.

  For both of them.

  So she straightened and did them both a favor. “I’m not much for taking foolish risks. And I have a child to consider.”

  Shame crept over his face then. She could see the heat give way to reality. All humor left his face, and his eyes turned somber. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  It was so tempting to soften then, but she knew it would be a big mistake. “So, are we ready to begin this charade?”

  Michael looked at his watch. “It’s just about time.” He turned to leave.

  But then he turned back, on his face a curiously hesitant look. “Suzanne, look, I’m sorry. I was out of line. I just—” He stopped then as if unsure how to proceed. “Listen, if we’re going to carry this off, there’s something I need to give you. Otherwise, my parents will never buy that this is for real.”

  “What is it?”

  He reached into his pocket and retrieved a deep blue velvet bag that looked very, very old and handed it to her. “This is something the brides in our family wear when they’re married. It’s been a tradition for generations.”

  She was shocked that her fingers trembled as she tried to untie the braided golden cords. All the time that her fingers worked at the bag, her heart pounded and she tried to find the voice to refuse whatever it was.

  Finally, she freed the knot and opened the bag whose nap was worn smooth as silk. She glanced up. “Michael, I don’t think—”

  He took the bag from her and spread the mouth of it. “Hold out your hands.”

  She obeyed, and into her palms dropped a cameo of such delicate workmanship that she uttered an involuntary gasp. “Oh, Michael, it’s beautiful.” Even as one finger traced its contours, she lifted her gaze to his. “I can’t possibly— Michael, this would be wrong.”

  A muscle in his jaw leaped. “I was never allowed to give this to Elaine.” His voice went rough. “I don’t want to betray its significance either, but if I don’t give it to you, my parents will never believe in this match and all of this will be for nothing.”

  Suzanne felt an almost holy stillness, a kind of reverence for this piece and its tradition that shook her to her bones. She looked up at him again. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Let me put it on you.” His tone darkened. “Please. It comes down from oldest son to oldest son. My father’s a good man, and I have to believe that counts for something. Surely my ancestors would understand the reason we’re doing this.” He stood very still, so still that for this moment, it seemed they were alone in all the world.

  Her fingers closed around the cameo, the delicate golden chain dripping through her fingers. Suzanne closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, to whom she wasn’t sure. Please, forgive me if this is wrong.

  Maybe it was only what she wanted to believe, but in that moment, she felt an answering chord of peace settle deep in her heart. Michael was a good man. He was trying to do the right thing, just as she was.

  She opened her eyes and tried to find her voice. “Would you—” She cleared her throat and tried again but could only find a husky whisper. “Would you put it on me, Michael?”

  He sighed so softly she might have imagined it. “Turn around,” he said, his voice still rough. He took the cameo from her hand and his touch burned her fingers.

  She tried not to feel his touch on her sensitive nape, but all along the back of her, she could feel him with every cell in her body. Deep within her, a dread began to grow. She would be changed by this forever, no matter how hard she tried. This was not a man a woman could walk away from and forget.

  “Thank you, Suzanne.” She felt him press one soft kiss to her nape, and goose bumps shot over her body.

  She stepped away to save herself, but she didn’t turn back to him until she’d wrestled some measure of control. It was far from easy.

  Finally she lifted her head, raised her eyebrows, did her best imitation of a casual tone. “Well now, are we ready?” She could almost pass for ready, as long as she didn’t look at him.

  “Ready or not, it’s time.”

  She might have heard a hint of strain in his voice, but she couldn’t be sure. There was nothing to be gained by looking deeper.

  He placed a hand at her waist as he led her to the door.

  Suzanne carefully stepped away from his touch.

  Michael escorted Suzanne down the aisle of a lovely little chapel he’d been able to wrangle on such short notice only by the application of a good sum of money and every ounce of charm he possessed. It might be a sham marriage, but it was Suzanne’s first and he hadn’t wanted it to be sleazy. This place came highly recommended, and he thanked his lucky stars that the minister’s wife did the bookings and had a soft spot for romance. He didn’t know if Suzanne had realized it yet, but today was Valentine’s Day in one of the wedding capitals of the world. Every chapel in Tahoe had been booked for months in advance.

  They didn’t have long. They were being squeezed in between ceremonies. It made no sense, but he really wanted to do this right. Years from now, he didn’t want her looking back and finding the memory sordid, hasty though all of this must be.

  She’d looked shocked when the minister’s wife had handed her the expensive bouquet he’d ordered, insisting on holding on to the small nosegay of violets, too. As she stood beside him now, he could see that she was pale as water, gripping the flowers for dear life. The Longstreet cameo stood out against the deep purple of her dress. Her eyes were wide, her lush lips pressed together tightly. He touched her elbow and she jumped.

  He leaned down. “You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Just relax. The firing squad has today off.”

  Her lips tilted upward. She whispered back. “You look a little pale yourself.”

  Michael grinned at her jibe. “It’s not every day a man marries his fiercest opponent.”

  A hint of color rushed to her cheeks. “See that you remember that, mister.”

  They both chuckled softly. Then the minister cleared his throat, and the tension came roaring back.

  Even as he listened to the words, Michael shoved away memories of the last time he’d heard them, trying not to compare this day to the one so long ago. He’d been so young. So certain. Ten feet tall and bulletproof.

  Silence fell, and he realized it was time for his vows. He risked one glance at Suzanne, and the nerves he saw settled him. He’d always responded well to being needed, and she definitely needed the shield he could provide.

  So he carefully locked away memories of a day when these vows had been fresh and new and thrilling. Swallowing hard, he responded. “I, Michael, take you, Suzanne to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold…”

  Suzanne listened to his smooth baritone voice and fought back the urge to weep, to run out of this room this instant. She squeezed Michael’s forearm. Bobby, she reminded herself. This is for my son.

  Michael placed his right hand over hers, and the warmth of it helped her settle. She glanced up as he spoke.

  He was every woman’s dream. Argue though they might, different as night and day, she would never deny that he was a man worthy of respect. The woman who had his love would be fortunate indeed.

  But he’d mad
e it clear that no woman would ever have his love. It was dead and buried very far away.

  Suddenly he looked down and she realized it was her turn. “I, Suzanne, take you, Michael to be my lawfully wedded husband…”

  He held her in his gaze for every single word, and she tried not to wish that the clasp of his hand was for more than holding her in place.

  Then the minister asked for the rings and Suzanne started to shake her head and tell him they would have none.

  But Michael surprised her. The minister’s wife gently pried the flowers from her fingers, and Michael took her left hand in his own. In his fingers he held a stunning band of alternating diamonds and amethysts.

  Her startled gaze flew to his, and she started to speak, to refuse it.

  His eyes darkened in warning just before he began to speak. “With this ring…”

  Suzanne watched the ring slide onto her finger as if crafted specially for her. The lavender of the amethysts offset the icy fire of the diamonds. It was the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen.

  Then he held out another ring to her, a simple golden band. She watched him press it into her palm and for one second, she closed her fingers around it.

  Then the minister began to speak, and Suzanne held Michael’s left hand in her own as she slid the band on his long finger, feeling the heat of his skin as her fingers drifted over his. “With this ring, I thee wed…”

  Michael took both her hands in his and kept her facing him as the minister pronounced them married. She could see the intent in his eyes and she knew it would be smarter to turn her cheek toward the kiss that was coming.

  But something in those green eyes held her—a fleeting glimpse of pain—and she thought about how hard this must be for him, who had known what it was like to say these words in love.

  So Suzanne held her ground and accepted Michael’s kiss that sealed their bond. It was a tender kiss with none of the shocking heat that had passed between them before, and she resolved to make this as easy as possible for him.