Shotgun Marriage

by Day Leclaire

  To her amazement, Jonah shrugged off the look. Using his height and breadth to secure his place at the front of the line, he turned his back on Rafe. “Anything else I can do for you?” he offered.

  Despair filled Ella’s eyes. “I’m afraid not. Welcome to the Cinderella Ball. Enjoy your visit and we wish you a...” Her voice wavered, but she recovered swiftly. “We wish you a joyous future.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Rafe stirred behind him. “Tell him to go, Ella. You know this is a private matter.”

  She gave her self-appointed protector a reassuring smile. “Rafe and I are old...” She hesitated, her smile turning bittersweet. “We’re old associates. But thanks for your concern.”

  Jonah inclined his head, conceding defeat. Sparing Rafe a final look of warning, he exited the reception line and plunged into the crowded ballroom.

  “A friend of yours?” Rafe asked, stepping forward to take Jonah’s place.

  “I’ve never seen him before in my life.” She lifted a shoulder with an air of hard-won indifference. “I guess he just recognizes trouble when he sees it.”

  For the first time, a hint of amusement lit Rafe’s silvered eyes. “And I am trouble?”

  She stilled, searching the taut, uncompromising lines of his face. “I don’t know. Are you?”

  “I can think of only one way to find out.”

  Ella nerved herself to ask, “Which is?”

  Cold resolve supplanted his earlier amusement and she shivered at the change. “Be my escort this evening. Then you will have the answer to your question.”

  His tone made it a demand, not a request. Nor did she miss the underlying threat—refuse at your own peril. The line of guests waiting to enter the ballroom had begun to build. She needed to end this unexpected confrontation and soon. “What do you want, Rafe?” she questioned in a low voice. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m a guest, of course.” His gaze held everything but innocence. “Why else would I attend?” Then he opened his hand to reveal a ticket. The thin strip of gold gathered in the overhead lights, reflecting each one with blinding intensity.

  “You’re here to find a wife?” Ella whispered, stricken.

  “Isn’t that the purpose of tonight’s gathering?” With a flick of his thumb, he sent the metallic wafer spinning skyward. The ticket arced through the air, a thousand bits of fire splintering along its length. It landed square in the middle of her basket with a resonate clink.

  “Welcome to the Cinderella Ball,” she murmured automatically, unable to tear her gaze from his ticket. Rafe had come to find a wife! How could she bear it? How could she stand aside and watch as he chose from the vast array of beautiful women attending tonight’s ball? She lifted her gaze, anguish clouding the amber clarity of her eyes. “Rafe—”

  He closed the polite gap between them, trespassing on the protective circle of air most people hesitated to violate. But then, Rafe rarely concerned himself with what “most people” might do. Nor was it the first time he’d violated her space—just the first time she didn’t welcome the encroachment.

  “Join me,” he murmured. “Assign this duty to another and dance with me, amada.”

  “I can’t.” She fought to keep her voice steady and impersonal. “I have an obligation.”

  “You are lying, Ella. It isn’t obligation that keeps you here, but fear.” The words were spoken so only she heard, the breadth of his shoulders concealing her distress from the prying eyes of waiting guests. “You will have to face me sometime. Why not get it over with?”

  “What do you want?” she repeated. “If you’ve come to find yourself a wife, why bother dancing with me?”

  “This is not an issue I care to discuss in front of others. When will you be free from your duties?”

  Never! “It may be some time,” she began, before reconsidering.

  Tonight represented her last chance for true happiness. She was still determined to give herself every opportunity to meet the man of her dreams. But how could she do that with Rafe in the vicinity? How could she stand aside and watch as he selected a wife? Worst of all, how could she possibly find love when the man before her still held that love tight within his grasp. Until she resolved the situation with him, she’d never be free. And until she was free, she couldn’t risk her heart again.

  “Come, amada,” he insisted. “Come with me.”

  As though in a trance, she inclined her head. Turning to an attendant stationed nearby, she surrendered her basket. “Could you take over, please? I need to help this guest.” And without a single murmur of protest, she allowed Rafe to take her arm and lead her away.

  He didn’t speak again until they were on the dance floor. Catching her surreptitious glances, he lifted a sooty eyebrow in question. “Have I changed that much in the past five years? I suspect I have, considering the way you keep looking at me.”

  “I suppose so,” she conceded, using the excuse to study him more thoroughly. “Somewhat.”

  With his jet-black hair and piercing gray eyes, she’d always considered Rafe dangerously attractive while not quite understanding why. But tonight she saw him with the eyes of a woman, recognizing what she’d been too young to comprehend before.

  How innocent she’d been not to see the unbridled passion that fired his spirit, she marveled, or the raw sensuality that was as much a part of him as bone, muscle and sinew. And yet, perhaps she’d been fooled by the remote wariness with which he shielded his innermost emotions, the cool control he used in his dealings with those who came within his sphere of influence. She found it a deadly combination. He lured his victims with the white-hot blaze of passion while his arctic stare warned that he’d not be easy to tame.

  “Well?” he prompted. “Are the changes so bad?”

  She tilted her head to one side, daring to tease, “You have a few more wrinkles.” Of course the lines bracketing his mouth and creasing the corners of his eyes only emphasized his natural strength and maturity. “And you’re going gray at the temples.”

  “Age has a way of doing that to a man,” he replied calmly.

  A faint laugh escaped her. “It has a way of doing that to all of us.” Her laughter died, replaced by a sadness she couldn’t conceal. “I suppose the most obvious change is that you’ve gotten harder, if that’s possible. Colder.”

  His arms tightened. “Don’t blame age for that.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I’m to blame, aren’t I?”

  He didn’t deny it, but cradled her in his arms as though she were precious to him instead of a woman he despised. It was too much. She couldn’t bear to be this close to him and know he didn’t share her feelings. She had to end this moment.

  “You said you wanted to talk,” she reminded.

  “First we dance.” His widespread hand filled the hollow at the base of her spine, stirring emotions that should have died long ago. “Then we’ll talk.”

  Ella closed her eyes to block out the sight of him. But it only intensified her awareness. Without sight, other senses came to the fore. She could hear him—the subtle give and take of his breath close to her ear, the exultant singing of her silk dress against his tux. His unique scent wrapped itself around her, a blend that made her think of wind and rain and rich, fragrant earth. And the feel of him... The muscles beneath her hand rippled as he moved, reminding her that he wasn’t a man of leisure, but one who worked the land, who came by his physique through years of backbreaking labor rather than from a high-tech gym. Finally, the only sense left unsatisfied was taste. And just the thought of closing her mouth over his, of rediscovering the distinctive flavor of him was almost beyond bearing.

  Her eyes flew open and she focused on the crisp bow tie at his throat. She forced herself to concentrate on that and only that, to ignore the other sensations rioting through her. Not that it helped. To her horror, the temptation to tug at the ends of his tie, to rip open his shirt and taste the strong, tanned column of his throat nearly consumed her. Fi
ve years ago, she’d wanted him with all her heart and soul. And now... She trembled in his arms.

  Dear heaven, she wanted him still.

  “What is it, Ella?” he murmured. “What are you thinking?”

  How could she answer when the truth was the very last thing she should entrust in his care? Fear urged her to run, just as desire compelled her to stay. Fear won the battle. With an inarticulate murmur, she pulled free of his arms and darted around the other dancing couples, desperate to escape. She didn’t understand her reaction to Rafe any more than she understood his reason for attending the ball. Both defied explanation.

  The garden seemed the safest retreat and she took the back staircase from the ballroom. Already guests were making their way to the library where the county clerk busily processed marriage applications. Ella mustered a smile of greeting as she passed, envying the happiness radiating from the fortunate couples soon to be wed.

  Bypassing the dining area and buffet tables, she continued through the French doors opening onto the garden. A pathway led off to the left, the trees and shrubbery glittering with fairy lights. She turned in the opposite direction, slipping between an almost indiscernible opening in the bushes. Safe from prying eyes, she wrapped her arms about her waist and bowed her head, allowing the pain to consume her.

  Rafe followed Ella at a discreet distance. It wasn’t difficult to keep track of her. Her gold gown provided a shimmering beacon to hone in on. He lost sight of her when she entered the garden, but by then he knew where she’d gone. If he hadn’t been through the gap between the shrubs before though, he’d never have found her. Even armed with that knowledge, he wasted several precious minutes uncovering the narrow opening.

  This place would serve him well tonight, he decided. Besides offering privacy, it would allow him time to determine a course of action without the threat of outside interference. He and Ella had often hidden from prying eyes within the shelter of the Montagues’ “privacy glade,” a small grassy area, surrounded by thick bushes.

  He’d come to Nevada for a short visit—to attract investors for a hotel he’d hoped to build on the west coast of Costa Rica. And he’d hired Ella as his temporary assistant because she’d gotten along so well with his sister, Shayne.

  It was the worse decision he’d ever made.

  Ella had been a starry-eyed, twenty-year-old embarking on her first job. The attraction between them had been instant and mutual. The three months he’d initially planned for the trip had stretched to six months and then to a year.

  Those had been special times, times when he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her until the world melted from existence. Back then, their love had seemed more constant than the dry desert winds and far fiercer than the scorching midday sun. How he’d wanted her! His need had become a desperation, a narcotic that had briefly seduced him into believing that magic and miracles could exist.

  What a fool he’d been.

  Taking a deep breath, he forced the memories from his mind. To dwell on such things now would only weaken his resolve. And he’d waited far too long for this moment to allow that to happen.

  He stepped from the concealment of the bushes into the glade and that’s when he saw Ella. A sledgehammer to the gut couldn’t have had a more crippling impact. For what seemed an eternity he fought to keep his knees locked in place, fought to force the air in and out of his lungs, fought to rein in emotions he’d believed forever denied to him. But his control slipped from his grasp like starshine through open fingers.

  Maldito! Never had he seen such a sight. If the heavens above had parted long enough for one of their denizens to slip to earth, she could be no more pure of feature or blessed with grace than this woman before him. For the sake of his eternal soul, he should leave her untouched; he knew it as well as he knew his purpose for being here. But he was a man, not a saint, with a man’s need to seize and possess. So he remained, absorbing the perfection of what soon would be his.

  Moonlight washed her ebony hair with silver and gave her skin a pearly iridescence. Her Grecian-style gown clung to the supple lines of her body, lines that had both ripened and grown more defined over the past few years.

  The softness of youth had been transformed into the lean fluidness of womanhood. Her breasts were fuller, her narrow waist flaring into shapely hips and a firmly curved backside.

  His hands closed into fists as he fought to gain mastery over the heat pooling in his loins. He wanted her, wanted to reacquaint himself with every inch of her. Only one thing kept him in place. She stood with head bowed as though in defeat. He’d thought he could come here this evening, that without a shred of emotion he could destroy the woman who’d caused his sister so much pain.

  But seeing Ella, defenseless and vulnerable, in pain herself, he found he couldn’t. He couldn’t take the path he’d originally planned. Not yet. Not until he’d determined whether she felt a shred of remorse for her actions five years ago. Perhaps if such an emotion eluded her, he’d be able to carry through with his intentions.

  He must have made some small sound for she stilled. With all the elegance and caution of a woodland deer, her head lifted and she turned to face him. For an endless moment their gazes met and held—the hungry, ruthless eyes of a predator locking with the wary topaz of the prey.

  She held something in her hand, a shimmering strip of gold that she swiftly pocketed in the pleated folds of her gown. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked like one of the tickets to the ball. “You shouldn’t have followed me, Rafe,” she stated in a low voice.

  “I had no choice.” He approached, skirting the ring of moonlight that encircled her. “You felt it, too. Didn’t you, mi alma?”

  “Don’t call me that.” Golden sparks leapt to life within her fiery gaze. “I’m not your soul. How could I be, when you have no soul?”

  His mouth twisted. “I don’t doubt you’re right. But that doesn’t change a rather bitter truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “You still want me.”

  The breath shuddered from her lungs, the fragmented sound disturbingly audible in the stillness of the night. “I wish I could deny it,” she retorted, before falling silent. Then she squared her shoulders, her mask of composure slipping back into place. He was impressed. She accomplished a feat few could have managed considering the stress of the moment. “I wish I could deny my feelings,” she repeated. “But I can’t.”

  The dense shadows concealed his satisfaction. “No more than I can deny wanting you.” He’d surprised her, his frankness slipping beneath her defenses to touch the vulnerability he’d witnessed earlier. He lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

  “It seems...unlikely.”

  “Why? Because we’re at odds over this Cinderella Ball?”

  “Yes.”

  His laughter held little humor. “Do you think desire is like a light switch? Do you think it’s an emotion that can be turned off with a flick of the finger? Is it like that for you?”

  “No.”

  The bleakness in that one single word impacted with devastating force. He didn’t want to acknowledge her distress. But how could he avoid it? She stood so alone, a fragile captive held within a prison of moonlight. And all he had to offer was a different sort of prison—one where they shared their captivity. Unable to refrain, he reached into the silvery pool of light and caught her hand, drawing her toward the momentary freedom of the shadows.

  “Desire, mi alma, is like an uncontrollable hunger. It must be fed before it can be sated.”

  He brushed his thumb along the tender fullness of her lips. They parted and for a hot instant he thought she meant to take him into her mouth. Then she turned her head as though denying her need. Deliberately he cupped the curve of her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

  “We never fed that hunger,” he told her. “We never feasted on our passion. Never satisfied our appetites. And now we’re starving, dying for a taste of forbidden fruit.”

  She didn’t
relent. “Then we’ll have to starve. Unlike Eve, I refuse to be tempted.”

  “You want me to seek satisfaction elsewhere?”

  She flinched as though she found his words painful. “Then you were serious? You’re here to find a wife?”

  “I’m thirty-five years old. Don’t you think it’s time?”

  “I’m the last person you should ask. Although I’m curious.” She slipped from his grasp, distancing herself from him physically, if not emotionally. “Why come here to choose a wife? Considering how opposed you are to the Cinderella Ball, I’d think this would be the last place you’d pick.”

  He gave her the truth. “I came to resolve the situation between us. I can’t move forward until I’ve put the past where it belongs. In the past.”

  Tension radiated from her. “What do you mean? How do you intend to settle our differences?”

  “For a start, I wish to spend the evening with you. We could... talk.”

  “No,” she instantly protested. “Not tonight.”

  His eyes narrowed at the hint of desperation he sensed behind her words. Closer scrutiny was in order here. “I’m afraid I must insist,” he said with a negligent shrug.

  “You would be wise not to refuse me.”

  “And if I do?”

  “Then I will choose my own method of resolving our...differences. One less to your liking, I fear.”

  Still she stood her ground, fixing him with an unflinching gaze. His admiration for her strength and perseverance grew. She’d always been a determined woman, one who didn’t back away from adversity. More often than not, she chose to champion the underdog, a circumstance that had caused conflict in their relationship. Oddly, it pleased him to discover that she’d held to her convictions.

  “Why come forward now, Rafe?” she demanded. “Why after all these years?”

  “Is my timing bad?” he asked in mock innocence.

  “It couldn’t—” Her breath caught for a revealing instant. “It couldn’t be worse.”

  He frowned, hearing again that note of desperation. Something was very wrong here—something more than just his presence—and he was determined to discover what that might be. “Is my timing bad because it interferes with the Cinderella Ball?”