“Perhaps we’d better eat at the table,” she said, flustered.
“We can watch television in the living room,” Nick reminded her. “Catch the news.”
“Yes, all right, fine.” At least that way, she wouldn’t have to tax her brain, trying to carry on an innocuous dialogue with him.
She busied herself with taking the potatoes from the oven and dishing up the vegetables from the stove, while he lifted the steaks from the grill, putting one on each plate. A few minutes later, he and she were seated on the floor before the coffee table, the television tuned to CNN. But to Caroline’s dismay, the news didn’t deter Nick from conversation, after all.
“Champagne for the bride and groom.” He filled their crystal flutes half full from the bottle of Krug he had opened earlier. Then he lifted his glass. “I can think of a great many Russian wedding toasts. Unfortunately, my English fails me at the moment. So…to us, Caro,” he said softly.
“To us,” she echoed, touching her flute lightly to his own.
They sipped the champagne, Caroline drinking far more than she knew she ought. Beyond a few glassfuls of wine, she had no head for alcohol, and too much champagne always wreaked havoc on her senses. The bubbles tickled her nose: the wine itself seemed to rush through her body, giddying her.
Even now, she stubbornly didn’t want to admit to herself that it was Nick and not the champagne who was having such a strange, dazing effect upon her.
She had best get some food in her stomach before she wound up drunk and not responsible for her actions, Caroline thought, turning her attention to her plate.
“Is your steak all right? You did say medium rare, didn’t you?” Nick asked.
“Yes, it’s great…but much more than I’ll be able to eat, I know.” She eyed the big, thick porterhouse a trifle ruefully. “We should have just split one, I suppose.”
“Speak for yourself, baby. You know what they say. Man does not live by bread alone—and I intend to consume every bite of my steak.” With relish, he attacked his own plate.
Until this moment, Caroline had not thought of the act of dining as an especially erotic experience. But even the way Nick ate was somehow seductive. His teeth were very straight and white against his bronzed skin. They sank into the tender steak in a fashion that made her think, involuntarily, of them sinking into her soft shoulder, taking little love bites down her nape and along the insides of her thighs….
Heavens! She was doing it again, drifting off into a sensuous daydream about him, fantasizing about him! Cool, competent Caroline Fortune—imagining things that might have been scenes from an R-rated movie. The champagne had definitely affected her for the worse. She would not drink any more of it!
Mortified, Caroline bent her head over her plate, hoping desperately that Nick couldn’t read her thoughts. They simply had to be born of the fact that this was her wedding night—which she had never envisioned spending alone in her bed, especially with a tall, dark, handsome husband in the next room.
So near. And yet so far.
Eight
“Do you want dessert now or later, baby?” Nick inquired once he and Caroline had finished supper. Earlier, at the grocery store’s bakery counter, he had spied a small, simple wedding cake topped by a bride and groom and had insisted on buying it.
“Later.” She groaned, rubbing her stomach ruefully. “I don’t think I could possibly manage another single bite at the moment. I don’t remember the last time I ate so much.”
“How about if I put some coffee on, then?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
She helped him clean up and load the dishwasher. Then he started the coffeemaker, and when it was finished, they took their brimming cups into the living room, to sit again before the fire. Nick threw more logs onto the blaze, arranging them with the cast-iron poker.
“So. What shall we do now to entertain ourselves?” he asked, turning to smile at her slowly. “Tell each other spooky stories? I don’t know any about long-dead debutantes and escaped convicts with hooks for hands, but I could probably manage a couple about Russian witches.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m afraid I scare just as easily now as I did back during the days of my and my sisters’ slumber parties. I’ll only wind up lying in bed later and imagining you out here turning into a werewolf or something.”
“So that’s how you see me, is it? As wolfish?” Nick quirked one thick, dark eyebrow devilishly.
“Well…maybe a little,” Caroline confessed.
“Relax, baby. Although I’ll admit that the idea is tempting, I’m not going to gobble you up. You’re safe with me.”
Much to her surprise, Caroline felt a strange sense of pique and disappointment at his words, as though she actually did want to be gobbled up by him. And that was ridiculous.
“How about a game of cards?” she proposed, to divert herself—and him.
“You mean like…strip poker?” He grinned roguishly.
“No, I do not mean like strip poker!” She flushed, biting her lower lip. “Honestly, Nick! Do you realize that every discussion we have seems to lead to—to…well, you know. To—to—”
“Sexual innuendos?” he suggested, feigning helpfulness.
“Well…yes.”
“Caro, you’re my wife—and this is our wedding night. And I’d be lying if I said that it hasn’t crossed my mind to take you into that bedroom and make love to you. I’m a man, for heaven’s sake. And you’re a beautiful, alluring woman. I’m attracted to you—and I think perhaps you’re attracted to me, too.”
“How can you say that? You’re—you’re almost a stranger to me.” She glanced down at her coffee cup, unable to go on meeting his eyes, afraid her own would somehow reveal to him just how attracted to him she was. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself by succumbing to a man who had married her only to prevent himself from being deported. “I—I hardly know you.”
“As any good chemist—and I am definitely one of those—could tell you, despite all the laws of science, there’s still no accounting for the chemistry between a man and a woman. If it’s there, it’s there—regardless. If it’s not, it’s just not. And whether or not you know somebody has nothing whatsoever to do with it. It’s a physical reaction—something that’s all in the pheromones.”
“So you don’t think the mind or the emotions play any part in it whatsoever?” Caroline queried, curious and feeling somehow depressed by his words. Until this moment, she had begun to think she had previously misjudged Nick. Now she wondered if these past few days he had simply been on his best behavior, concealing his Old World tendencies toward women. Because what he was talking about was sex, not love—and she had simply never been able to separate the two.
“No,” he answered her question. “Attraction is all physical.”
“Well, I suppose I should feel flattered. But it…just doesn’t work that way for me, Nick. Before I become involved with a man, I like to think I know him, that we have many things in common, that we have…feelings for each other, that we care about each other. It just wouldn’t seem right to me, otherwise.”
“No, I imagine not. You’re a romantic, Caro.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing—except that it frequently makes life a great deal more complicated.”
“Why? Because you have to share yourself with another human being?”
“That’s a part of it, yes,” he rejoined slowly, staring down at his coffee cup, idly swirling its contents.
“And you don’t like to do that?”
“I didn’t say that, Caro.”
“Not in so many words, perhaps. But it is what you meant, isn’t it, Nick?”
“No, it isn’t. What I meant was that for me to want to do that, I have to feel that the woman is special, that she’s someone I could fall in love with. I believe that’s true for most men, actually. We’re not as inclined as women, I don’t think, to examine our emotions too deeply unless we hav
e cause to. So…how about that game of cards?” He deftly changed the subject.
“We are talking about something like gin rummy, aren’t we?” Caroline asked, at once relieved and yet somehow oddly disappointed to be again on safer ground.
“If that’s your pleasure. But just to make it a little more interesting, what do you say to the loser having to fix breakfast?”
“I say that’s a deal.”
In the end, Caroline found not only a deck of cards, but also a cribbage board in the huge old cupboard that stood against one wall. So she and Nick played that, and despite the fact that she had always considered herself a very good cribbage player, she lost, her peg several holes behind his at the completion of the game.
“My luck was really out tonight, I guess,” she commented ruefully as she gathered up the cards and cribbage board to put them away.
“Well, you know what they say. Lucky at cards, unlucky at love. So perhaps it works the other way, as well.”
“Maybe,” she agreed lightly, getting to her feet. “But somehow, I have the distinct impression that I’m not going to be asked out on too many dates when prospective suitors learn that I’ve already got a husband at home.”
Nick, in the process of taking their coffee cups into the kitchen, abruptly froze at that. Then, after a moment, he set the cups down and joined her at the cupboard just as she finished closing the drawer. “Caro, I am so sorry,” he said quietly, taking her in his arms. “I don’t know how I could have been so selfish, so stupid. But because I wasn’t seeing anyone special and with everything that’s happened and how fast, I just never even gave a thought to that aspect of the situation. God! I didn’t even think to ask if you were seeing anyone. I just assumed—”
“No, it’s all right. I wasn’t, actually…dating anybody, I mean.”
“Good. That’s good, then, that I didn’t mess anything up for you. But look, Caro, if you should want to—go out with anyone, that is—anytime during our marriage, I want you to know I…well, that I won’t insist on fidelity. I’ll…ah…turn a blind eye, as they say.” But even as he spoke these words, Nick thought suddenly, fiercely, that he damned well wouldn’t look the other way, that she was his wife, and that he didn’t want her becoming involved with any man but him! Not just his possessiveness toward her, but also the ferocity of it startled him.
“Oh, Nick, I…don’t know what to say—except that I—I couldn’t do anything like that. I just wouldn’t feel right about it. I know our marriage is one of convenience, but still, there might be…talk, rumors flying around Fortune Cosmetics. Grandmother, for one, would just absolutely hit the roof!”
So would I, Nick thought grimly, although he didn’t speak the words aloud. Instead, he said, “Of course she would. She told me as much herself. Oh, not meaning you, but me—that she expected me to do right by you, to be a faithful husband. I have to admit I was a little insulted, because naturally, I hadn’t planned on being anything else. Nor will I be. So. Shall we have that cake and some more coffee now?”
“Yes—and then I suppose we should flip a quarter or something to decide who gets the bathroom first.” With her hand, Caroline smothered a yawn. “Forgive me. But in case you haven’t noticed, Nick, it is getting late—and I’m afraid my internal rhythms aren’t programmed for keeping me awake much past eleven, especially after a couple of glasses of champagne.”
He laughed. “Neither are mine, actually. That’s what comes of punching an early clock in the corporate world, I guess.”
They ate their cake, after which Caroline won the coin toss. So while Nick rinsed their plates, she ran the water for her bath, pouring in a fragranced oil manufactured by Fortune Cosmetics for just this purpose. Then, after making sure she had towels and her negligee and robe, she locked the bathroom door behind her and took off her clothes. She felt strange and not a little uncomfortable performing such intimate, personal tasks with Nick in the next room. But then she reminded herself that no matter what, he was her husband and she was going to be living with him like this from now on—or at least until he was safe from the INS and the two of them could obtain a quiet divorce.
Caroline slipped into the bathwater, telling herself that regardless of how she might wish to linger, that wasn’t a good idea. After the champagne she had drunk, she might accidentally fall asleep in the bathtub—and then Nick might wind up having to break down the door to prevent her from drowning. She imagined him lifting her naked body in his arms, carrying her into the bedroom, laying her down upon the bed, compelled to give her artificial respiration. Except that in her mind, his mouth-to-mouth efforts to save her turned into passionate kisses….
With a start, Caroline jerked awake, realizing abruptly that she actually had nodded off. She forced herself to sit upright in the bathtub, to splash water repeatedly on her face until she was certain she wouldn’t fall asleep again.
“Caro. Caro!” Nick rapped sharply, peremptorily, on the bathroom door, then rattled the knob vigorously. “Are you all right in there?”
“Yes. Yes!” she called frantically, anxiously clutching the washcloth to her breasts, apprehensive that at any moment her imaginings were about to become a reality, that he would kick down the door.
“Well, what’s taking you so long, then? I got worried about you.”
“I’m sorry. I…ah…was daydreaming, I guess,” she explained lamely, for there was no way she was going to tell him she had nodded off. He might think she was still dozing, talking in her sleep, and come crashing through the door.
That fear spurring her on, she scrambled from the bathtub, hastily drying herself off and yanking on her negligee and robe. She brushed her teeth quickly, debating about whether or not to wash off her makeup. It wasn’t good to leave it on overnight; her grandmother had warned her so a thousand times. But there was no way, Caroline decided, that she was going to let Nick see her without it—at least, not just yet.
“Like you should care, Caro,” she muttered to herself. “You’d better get a handle on this situation, keep reminding yourself that this is a marriage in name only!”
She unlocked the bathroom door—not expecting to find herself face-to-face with Nick. When she did, she jumped, startled, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle her gasp.
“Oh.” Caroline laughed weakly. “You scared me, Nick.”
“I didn’t mean to. Are you sure you’re all right?” His brow was knitted with concern as he gazed down at her.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, I don’t know, Caro—except that you told me you were tired, and then you went into that damned bathroom and stayed there for nearly an hour.”
“An hour! I—I didn’t realize.” She must have been asleep for far longer than just a few moments, Caroline thought, dismayed. It was a wonder she hadn’t drowned! “I’m sorry. It really has been a long day, Nick.”
“Yeah, I know. So why don’t you go on to bed? I’ll grab my shower, try to make as little noise as possible.” Nick didn’t add that if she didn’t get into bed and out of the light, he was going to have to take a very cold shower. But he recognized that something of this must have shown upon his face, because suddenly, Caroline nodded, swallowing hard and clutching the edges of her robe together as she pushed past him wordlessly, doing her best not to brush against him.
Nick swore softly in Russian and disappeared into the bathroom, nearly slamming the door behind him. Damn! Celibacy was going to be a lot harder than he had thought. Why in the hell had he ever agreed to this crazy marriage? He should have just let the INS deport him!
The water from the shower head hit him in an icy blast, taking his breath away, driving like needles into his skin. He couldn’t stand it. Whoever had suggested this as a cure for what ailed him was a complete sadist! he thought. Shivering, Nick turned on the hot tap, groaning when he remembered the sight of Caroline’s soft, negligee-clothed body illuminated by the light from the bathroom and bedroom. He had been able to see the sweet curve
of her breasts—too full, really, for her to have been a technically perfect model—and a hint of her dusky nipples, the arch of her slender hips, the length of her racy legs.
He had wanted to grab her up and fling her down upon the bed, rip off her negligee and make love to her until the wee hours. Unbidden into his mind had come the thought that he was bigger and stronger than she and that he was her husband—to say nothing of the fact that she probably wouldn’t tell anyone if he didn’t keep his part of the bargain in their arranged marriage. He had been so tempted.
But he wasn’t Paul Andersen, and Nick couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt Caroline that way. Even if she had responded to him, she would have been humiliated and ashamed afterward. As a result, she might even have been driven to file for a divorce—and then her grandmother would surely have demanded to know why.
Nick didn’t scare at all easily. Still, Kate Winfield Fortune on a tear wasn’t someone he particularly wanted to tangle with.
No, as the saying went, he would just have to grin and bear it. He groaned again at the thought. Stepping from the shower, he toweled himself dry, then pulled on the pajama bottoms and robe he had packed out of deference to Caroline’s sensibilities.
Opening the bathroom door, he saw that she had left the lamp burning on the night table, so he wouldn’t have to make his way in the dark to the living room.
“Caro, are you asleep?” he asked quietly as he moved toward the brass bed.
“Hmmm. Almost,” she murmured drowsily, stretching and yawning.
Like a kitten, he thought, his groin tightening with desire. In truth, she wasn’t really awake. He could slip in beside her, take her in his arms and consummate their marriage before she even knew what was happening….
No, he couldn’t do that, damn it!
“Caro… Good night, baby. Happy wedding day,” he whispered, then bent and kissed her lightly on the mouth before shutting off the lamp and reluctantly tiptoeing from the bedroom.
Hired Husband Page 9
