His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  “It will be a long time, Gillian.” He gave a heavy sigh and wearily leaned his head against the back of the couch. There was no way she would call off the wedding, and he knew he wouldn’t approach the Council. So they were getting married this coming Saturday. “I see only two options, Gillian.”

  “What’s that?”

  “First we could try to get along and make this marriage appear normal, or we could fight each other on every little thing and make both of our lives a living hell.”

  “Gee,” Gillian said on a chuckle, “do I really have a choice?”

  Mason felt a muscle jerk at the corner of his mouth but suppressed the smile. He had absolutely nothing to smile about. He felt like a condemned man, despite looking forward to the reward of having Gillian in his bed. Her tempting body had been depriving him of sleep for weeks now.

  “How about if we try to get along?” he suggested.

  “I don’t know, Mason. With the current divorce rate, we might be bucking tradition.”

  He glanced at the ruby ring. “You already know my opinion regarding tradition.”

  She twirled the ring between two fingers and gave a ghost of a smile. “Are you politely trying to tell me that you won’t be getting down on bended knee to declare your undying love for me?”

  “Is that the kind of husband you want?”

  “What I want and what I’m getting appear to be entirely different things.”

  “But it will work—” he raised an eyebrow “—won’t it?” He studied the emotions flitting across her face. Gillian looked half resigned, half unsure. Who could blame her? He felt the same way, too.

  She gave a soft sigh and slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. “One way or another, Mason, it will work.”

  “I’m sure it will,” he lied. He wasn’t sure about anything concerning Gillian or the wedding. He stared at her hand and the ring she had slipped onto her finger. The gem caught the light and burned a fiery red. He’d been right about his choice. The ring looked perfect on Gillian’s finger.

  “What time Thursday are Chico and his buddies moving your stuff?” Maybe he would make the first gesture and try to be home when they arrived. Gillian had never been inside his home.

  “Around dinnertime, I guess. You don’t have to be there—they won’t make off with your family silver.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that. Besides, I don’t have any silver.” Gillian was still defensive about her neighbors. “I emptied a spare bedroom for some of your stuff. The rest of the furniture can go in the empty apartment above the garage.”

  “You have an apartment above the garage?”

  “It came with the house. The garage at one time housed the housekeeper and her gardener husband. The original owner believed in servants.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I have a cleaning lady who comes in twice a week. She also prepares a couple of meals and freezes them for me. I also employ an outside lawn-maintenance man who sees to it that the lawn gets mowed and the bushes get trimmed. You won’t have to worry about keeping up with the domestic end of the house.”

  “I don’t mind cooking or cleaning.” She shot him an amused look. “Unless you’re one of those slobs wives are always complaining about. Do you pick up your dirty socks, clean the sink after you shave and consider a bowl of cereal a nutritious breakfast?”

  “I know what a hamper is for, the sink is always clean when I leave the room and I don’t eat cereal.”

  “Two out of three isn’t bad. I’ll have you munching down those little O’s within a month.”

  “I usually prefer two eggs over easy and two slices of lightly buttered toast with my morning coffee and paper.”

  She gave him a disgusted look. “You expect me to cook eggs over easy every morning?”

  “No. I expect you to eat your Cheerios while I cook my own breakfast. I’m not marrying you to gain a cook.”

  “Well, that’s good. My cooking skills are there, but I only have about a dozen dishes in my repertoire.”

  “I’m sure we’ll manage not to starve to death.” He stood up and stretched. “See, that wasn’t too bad. We discussed the wedding, and the domestic and physical aspects of our upcoming marriage.”

  “What about financial?”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m more than able to support a wife. You don’t even have to work if you don’t want to.” He had quite a few problems with her career, but he wasn’t about to forbid her to work. Maybe he could encourage her to better spend her time rather than chasing down deadbeat fathers.

  “What am I supposed to do all day while you work?”

  “You could volunteer at the local hospital.”

  “That would be interesting, considering I faint at the sight of blood.”

  “Your mother is a surgeon.”

  Gillian shrugged her shoulders. “So sue me.” She stood up and walked Mason toward the door. “I happen to love my job.”

  “The world would be a nicer place if everyone loved their job.” He was afraid of that. What was a man supposed to do now? This was the nineties and he couldn’t very well tell her to quit. He would have to wait until they were married to figure out another approach. How was it going to look having a judge’s wife running around the sleazier side of the city tracking down deadbeat fathers?

  He leaned against the door before Gillian could open it. For weeks he had been wondering if her kisses were as powerful as he remembered. His gaze caressed her mouth, and heat rolled into his groin. There was no way he was waiting till Saturday night to find out. He reached out and gently touched her cheek. “You don’t look any older than when you were a teenager.”

  “Jeez, Mason. There you go sweet-talking me again.”

  He pulled her closer. “Are you putty in my hands yet?”

  She gave an unladylike snort. “There you go dreaming again.”

  “I told you, I don’t dream.” He brushed a soft strand of pale hair away from her cheek and lowered his mouth.

  Gillian raised her face and met his kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pressed herself to his body. A primitive moan of desire erupted between them. Neither knew who made the sound. Neither cared.

  Mason deepened the kiss with a forceful sweep of his tongue. Gillian responded with a playful nip of her teeth. His hands roamed the soft cotton of her shirt and the seductive flair of her hip. Heat pounded through his veins and pooled at his groin. Urgent need hardened his shaft to a painful column that tugged at his underwear and bulged the zipper of his pants. He wanted Gillian more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted to sink himself so far into her warmth that he would never want to come out.

  His strong masculine hands cupped her bottom and pressed her against his arousal. He wanted her to feel exactly what she was doing to him.

  Gillian arched her hips forward before jerking backward and moaning in pain.

  Mason immediately broke the kiss. “What’s the matter?”

  “What the hell do you have in your pants?”

  Mason fought the flush stealing up his face. “I… Um…” He glared at the grin spreading across her face. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “I wasn’t referring to that!” Gillian made a valiant effort to control her laughter but failed. “You have something hard in your pocket.” She glanced down at the front of his bulging pants and chuckled again. “That wasn’t right, either.”

  He finally understood what she was referring to. “Keep laughing and maybe I won’t give it to you.”

  She bit her lip. “Come Saturday I’ll have the right to take it.”

  “I have a feeling we’re talking about two different things.” The prospect of Gillian taking him Saturday night only made his situation harder.

  She glanced down again. “I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

  He pulled the brightly wrapped box from his pocket and handed it to her. “Happy birthday, Gillian.” He brushed a soft kiss over her
moist mouth and opened the door. She looked like she’d been thoroughly kissed and had enjoyed it. “I better leave while I can still walk.”

  The small package fit neatly into the palm of her hand. “Aren’t you going to stay while I open it?”

  “If I stay any longer the only thing that will get opened is the snap on your shorts.” He kissed her mouth before stepping out into the hall. “I’ll see you at my place on Thursday around dinnertime.”

  He gently pulled the door closed behind him.

  * * *

  Gillian stood in the middle of Mason’s driveway Thursday night and smiled. “Well, we made it.” Three pickup trucks overflowing with furniture and Chico’s car, crammed with cardboard boxes, sat behind her loaded car. The small motorcade had made it from her apartment with only one stop—at the local Golden Arches for burgers and fries.

  “So I see.” Mason glanced at each vehicle and its driver before turning his attention on Gillian.

  “Anywhere in particular you want us to start?” His massive brick house stood to her left, and the garage was directly in front of her. She was feeling a little edgy. There was something so intimate about putting all of her belongings next to his. They’d be sharing closets, mixing furniture and hanging their toothbrushes side by side.

  “Why don’t I give you a walk-through of the house so you can decide what you want in the house and what you want stored in the garage for now?”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” She joined Mason on the brick walk that led to the side door and his kitchen.

  Mason glanced at Chico and his buddies as they unpiled from the vehicles. “Why don’t you guys come on in. There’s plenty of cold sodas in the fridge.”

  Gillian stood in the driveway three hours later and waved goodbye to the moving crew and their empty trucks. For better or worse, she was moved into Mason’s house. Until the wedding, she would be staying at her parents. Her bedroom furniture was in the spare bedroom along with boxes containing personal items and clothes. Her living room furniture and kitchen set was stored above the garage, along with boxes of dishes and pots and pans. Mason’s kitchen had been totally equipped, and all her mismatched dishes would have looked ridiculous sitting in his glass-front cabinets.

  She walked over to her car and took out the last item sitting on the back seat. The purple dragon weighed a ton but she managed to close the door and carry him toward the house. She didn’t mind too much about condemning her dishes to the garage, but never her dragon. Mason could object all he wanted, but she wanted to see something of hers when she walked into this house Saturday night after she became Mrs. Mason Blacksword.

  Mason took the dragon from her arms as soon as she stepped into the house. “Here, give me that before you pull a hernia.”

  “Can’t have that, now can we? Think of the delay that would cause in the wedding.” She walked through the kitchen and hall and stood in the front foyer glancing around.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A perfect place for Simon.”

  “Who’s Simon?”

  “You’re holding him.” She glanced into the formal dining room and scrunched her nose. The room looked as if it had never been used. Pale gold carpet matched the shiny wallpaper and seat cushions. The gold was the perfect background for the dark, massive table, chairs and buffet table. A crystal chandelier hung directly above the table. Simon would never be comfortable in such a haughty setting.

  “You named your, um, statue?”

  “I name everything.” She walked around the bottom of the stairs and entered the living room. It was just as pretentious as the dining room. She kept on walking right out of the room. She gave Mason’s office behind the living room a scornful glance. The room was too dark and gloomy and filled with nothing but boring law volumes. Her last hope was the family room at the back of the house. She had casually glanced at it during his nickel tour and wasn’t overly impressed. But considering the state of the other rooms, it had to do. She didn’t want to tuck Simon away somewhere upstairs.

  She walked into what should have been a family room. There was no evidence of a family anywhere. The room was just as immaculate as the rest of the house, but it had possibilities. Two sets of French doors led to a patio outside, and one wall was a massive fireplace. The burgundy leather sofa and chairs looked inviting and comfortable. The rest of the room looked sterile enough to perform open-heart surgery in.

  She pointed to a set of French doors. “You can put him down there.” Sunlight should flood the room during the morning, but for now the soft glow of an outside light didn’t penetrate the doors. The patio was huge and empty but held endless possibilities. A white table and chairs, a couple of chaise lounges with bright-colored cushions should liven up the patio. That and about half a dozen massive tubs filled with flowers.

  Mason set down the dragon and followed her gaze out the doors. “So what do you think of your new home?”

  She looked away from the backyard. Dismal came to mind. The house looked like it was decorated by a professional. Beautiful to look at, but don’t you dare touch. How could he stand to live in this place all by himself? She shrugged her shoulders and politely said, “It could use some color.”

  He glanced around the room. “You think so?”

  Gillian shook her head. Mortuaries boasted a brighter color scheme. “I’m sure a couple of plants here and there will lighten the place up.” Along with a couple of coats of paint, some dazzling artwork and new curtains, she added silently.

  He gave Simon a condescending look. “Plants will be fine.”

  Gillian ignored Mason’s obvious displeasure at having Simon invade his home and mentally added a cheery fire, new lamps and a big hairy dog sleeping by the fire. Now that she was moving out of the apartment, she could finally get a dog. Her landlord frowned on pets. Lord knew, Mason’s house was big enough to handle a large dog, and there was plenty of property. A herd of cows could graze in his backyard. Maybe this marriage wouldn’t be so bad after all. Not only was she about to gain a husband, but a dog, too.

  Chapter 5

  Gillian glanced around the noisy guest bedroom in Senator Targett’s home and grimaced. What in the hell was she doing? In fifteen minutes she was scheduled to walk down an aisle set up in the senator’s formal gardens and become Mrs. Mason Blacksword. She was about to marry a man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her. She wasn’t even positive that she liked Mason.

  He had a reputation for being fair and just in court, which she hoped carried over into his private life. The only thing she knew about his personal life was that he played golf, which she had discovered by accident when she opened a closet at his house and found three different sets of golf clubs. Mason never talked about himself, and his house had revealed very little about him. There had been only one personal photo in the entire house, and that had been an eight-by-ten of his mother and two sisters sitting on an end table in his sterile living room. How could she like a man she knew so little about?

  She wasn’t fearful of Mason. He had a quiet, refined essence that surrounded him. In a way he reminded her of what elegant lords of old England must have been like. But who wanted to be married to a stuffy old lord? They had reputations for keeping mistresses. Mason didn’t strike her as a man who was keeping a mistress on the side, and his response to her when they kissed left no doubt about his desire. If he had a woman tucked neatly away in some corner of the city, then she was doing a lousy job of satisfying him.

  A fiery blush swept up her cheeks as she thought about what was going to happen tonight, long after the wedding guests departed and they returned to Mason’s house. Her nights of sleepless frustration were about to come to an end. The fire his kisses had started threatened to become an inferno whenever she thought about them. Tonight she wanted to burn. Tonight she wanted to experience what it meant to be a woman.

  She might not love Mason, but she wanted him. She only prayed it was enough to build a marriage on.

  “
Nervous?” Tabitha asked.

  Gillian jumped at her friend’s voice. She had been so busy daydreaming she hadn’t noticed her maid of honor had finished getting the crown of pink flowers pinned onto her hair and had joined her. The floppy bridesmaids’ hats were history. “I’m sorry, Tab, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you’re nervous.” Tabitha held Gillian’s bridal veil in one hand.

  “Not really. I’ve been preparing for this day since I was twelve.”

  Gillian carefully moved the train of her dress out of the way and gingerly sat down on the vanity bench. The excited chattering in the room was giving her a headache. There were eight women in the room, along with Celeste, her flower girl, and the photographer snapping picture after picture of the final preparations.

  Tabitha positioned the veil on top of her hair and started to pin it down. “You look a little pale.”

  Gillian glanced at herself in the mirror in front of her. She looked whiter than her gown except for the two patches of blush staining her cheeks. “It’s all this white that I’m wearing, that’s all.”

  “You sure?” Tabitha studied her friend with a critical eye. “It’s not too late, you know.”

  “Too late for what?” She helped Tabitha hold down the headpiece so she could secure it better.

  “To call off the wedding.” Tabitha stuck in the last pin and adjusted the lace. “I think it’s barbaric the way the Council is treating you.”

  “They aren’t treating me any differently than any other fertile member.”

  “They can’t make you marry a man you don’t love.”

  “Who knows, maybe love will grow, Tab.” She gave her friend a wishful smile. “I agreed to this marriage years ago. I wouldn’t back out now.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and checked the mirror one last time. “Mason’s not that bad, Tab. He’s handsome, has a good job and doesn’t seem to have any abnormalities.”

  Tabitha always had a hard time adjusting to the fact that her best friend was being forced to marry a virtual stranger. They had been arguing about it for years.