With a throaty moan of surrender, a hot coil of need tightening deep insider her, Sunny closed her eyes and arched her back. Her hips rotated beneath the sheets ever so slowly in a sensuous rhythm. She heard Ryan's deep, masculine groan.
He tossed aside the interfering covers and captured her hips, pressing wet, hot kisses across sensitive mounds and valleys. Her breath caught on a tiny sob.
He tightened his hold and drew his tongue back and forth. Sunny's moans turned to ragged pleas, as she teetered on the brink of pure mindlessness. With a low growl deep in his throat, he invaded her tight, silken warmth with his fingers, and with slow, savoring swirls of his tongue.
Pleasure jolted through her with such intensity, colors flashed beneath her closed eyelids. With a shuddering cry she tangled her fingers in his silky hair and folded herself around him.
Lost in sensual pleasure, she clung to him convulsively, her lips parted and her eyes closed. She struggled to keep him still, for his slightest move sent shock waves rocketing through her.
After a moment, he freed himself of her hold, and his dark face swam before her, his silvery eyes half-lidded with passion.
She saw there an urgent need. He pinned her beneath him. She lifted her hips to meet him, and he staked his claim. Her muscles tightened around him, drawing him deeper in, staking a claim of her own.
That morning, they did not speak of their sexual odyssey; each of them went about the business of daily living as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But it had. And every chance gaze or incidental touch sent a charge of awareness pulsing between them.
After a cold morning shower that reassured Ryan his soul had indeed found its way back to his body, he met with Wilbur and Lavinia for breakfast on the sun porch. True to their word, they furnished him with a copy of the purchase agreement to fax to his attorney.
Meanwhile, Sunny took a steaming bath that calmed her inner trembling. She then donned a pale blue sundress and took breakfast with Mrs. Lee and Malcolm in the kitchen. Knowing the value of input from employees who would be handling Saturday's reception, Sunny listened to their ideas, contributed a few of her own and thoroughly enjoyed muffins and coffee in the room where she had so often sat as a child, watching her grandmother cook. By the time breakfast was over, they'd decided on a menu to submit for Lavinia's approval.
Sunny then returned to the bedroom for her copy of the week's agenda. She'd have to reschedule activities postponed yesterday due to the media hoopla and Lavinia's sudden plans for Saturday. The trout-fishing contest, the tour of Asheville's historical mansions, the bicycling trip. As she studied the schedule, there was a knock at the bedroom door.
"Who is it?" She wanted to avoid reporters eager to ask questions or snap a photo. How long, she wondered, before some reporter exposed the truth—that Ryan and she were an unmarried, estranged couple sharing a bedroom? For monetary gain, no less. How tawdry it would sound.
A jovial, country voice replied, "Flowers for Mrs. Alexander."
Curious, Sunny opened the oak door a crack. There stood Grady Barrett with a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses.
"Grady! For heaven's sake—!"
Jonathon bounced merrily at his father's side. The boy immediately noticed the balcony and dashed for it. "Can I see our house from here?"
"You're welcome to try," Sunny invited with a fond smile, baffled by their presence. "Just don't climb over the railing," she warned.
"No, ma'am, I won't," he promised earnestly, pushing open the French doors and disappearing outside.
Grady handed Sunny a crystal vase of roses with his gallant, heart-stopping smile. "For you, sweet lady."
"They're beautiful." She inhaled their delicate fragrance. "But why for me?"
"Just my way of saying thank you for giving me a kick in the butt when I needed it. I wasn't thinking about Jonnie's feelings during that interview."
She grinned approvingly. "And I'm glad you're not angry with me. But you didn't have to bring flowers."
"You didn't have to speak up, either. If you hadn't, I might never have realized what I was doing to my best little buddy in the world." Grady's expression was openly affectionate. "Where's that old man of yours?"
"My—? Oh, you mean Ryan." Sunny set the crystal vase of roses on the oak dresser, the marriage masquerade weighing heavily on her mind. She felt uncomfortable lying to Grady. "He's meeting with Wilbur."
"Oh, yeah. Ryan mentioned something about buying Windsong Place
. Hope it all goes through. Doesn't seem right, this place belonging to someone else."
"Would you like to sit on the balcony awhile?" she asked, feeling awkward in the bedroom with him.
"Nope, we can't stay. Jonnie and I are headed out to play some ball. But I was hoping you and Ryan could join us at my house for dinner tonight. We'll throw a few steaks on the grill, drink a few margaritas."
"And you can see my room," promised Jonathon with a bright smile on his freckled face.
"Sounds great. But I'll have to check with Ryan."
"Hey, Mrs. Alexander." Jonathon tugged on the full skirt of her sundress, and held up the smooth chunk of amethyst Ryan had given him. "This Pluto Power Crystal works!"
"It does?" Sunny asked, properly impressed.
"Sure." He polished it with his T-shirt, then gazed at it in awe. "I made a wish and it came true." He crooked his finger at Sunny, and she bent down so he could whisper in her ear. "Pa's gonna spend the whole week at home. With me!"
Delighted, Sunny laughed and gave him a thumbs-up.
"You'll make some lucky kid a great mom," remarked Grady, who'd been watching the scene. Sunny felt her cheeks warming beneath his admiring gaze. "Thanks again for setting me straight yesterday." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.
Just then, the door swung open and Ryan walked in. Grady grinned. "There you are, old buddy. Caught me kissing your woman, didn't you? That'll teach you to leave your pretty little bride all alone. I just might steal her away."
"She'd turn your hair gray in a week, you dog," muttered Ryan as he sauntered past them.
His amiable reaction disappointed Sunny. It hadn't bothered him at all to walk in on Grady's kiss. And why should it? It had been meant in an innocent way, and besides, she was nothing to Ryan but a… A what? An employee? A bed partner? A casual roll in the hay?
"She'd be worth a whole head of gray hair," Grady replied with another glance at her. She was surprised to see a wistful glint in his blue eyes.
"How about dinner, my place, tonight?" Grady said, and belatedly, he shifted his gaze to Ryan. "You and Sunny."
"Thanks, Grady, but we can't." Ryan's gaze flickered to Sunny. "We're on our way to Asheville."
"Asheville?" she echoed. "Why?"
"Business."
"How about Thursday night, then?" Grady persisted. "Dinner at my house—and I won't take no for an answer."
Ryan nodded acceptance, then looked down at a sudden tugging at his shirt. "Hey, Mr. Alexander," Jonathon said, "thanks for the Pluto Power Crystal. It really works!"
"Told you." Ryan smiled and listened to the boy's excited chatter. After a few minutes, Grady and Jonathon took their leave. Locking the door behind them, Ryan turned to Sunny. "Pack an overnight bag."
"I can't go anywhere," she protested. "I've got to help Lavinia with preparations for the ceremony."
"That's what we'll be doing," he replied curtly, "preparing for the ceremony." He glanced at the expensive gold watch that gleamed on his suntanned wrist. "We have to leave now. You have identification with you, right? Your driver's license?"
Mystified, Sunny nodded.
"Good." Ryan's glance fell on the bouquet of roses in the crystal vase. He plucked the card from its holder. "Grady brought you roses?"
"Yes. Wasn't that sweet?"
With a short laugh that sounded more like a snort, Ryan muttered, "Nothing Grady does is ever sweet." Tossing the card down beside the bouquet, he scooped up his briefcase. "I'll go
tell the Tanners we'll be back tomorrow night."
Sunny packed a suitcase while foreboding mushroomed within her. Some of her anxiety was caused by this sudden, unexplained change in plans, but mostly it stemmed from the energy that was radiating between Ryan and her.
What in heaven's name had she started?
As they headed south on the Blue Ridge Parkway
in Ryan's low-riding black sports car, he handed Sunny a legal-looking document. The purchase agreement.
"Look at the signature section," he directed.
She did. "They want my signature, too?"
"Not only your signature. They want half the business in your name."
"Uh-oh. Can't we just tell them I prefer otherwise?"
"Lavinia won't hear of it. Something about the sisterhood of women, a wife's God-given right, and some lesson she learned at their Orlando location."
"I'll talk to her."
"No, you won't. Wilbur was a little too impressed by our rival bidder last night. Kept saying what a great guy he was. I have a feeling we'd better wrap up this deal now, before my father finds a way to discredit us."
They exchanged a contemplative glance. Sunny honestly wasn't sure how far Edgar would go to get what he wanted. He had opposed their original marriage with pitbull ferocity, because it had ruined his plans for Ryan's future. The need for absolute control was almost a sickness with Edgar Rockwell Alexander, especially where his son was concerned. Had he mellowed over the years? Sunny doubted it.
"But I can't sign the purchase agreement as your wife," she pointed out. "That would be fraud, wouldn't it?"
"Too damned close to it for comfort. We're skating close enough to fraud already, introducing ourselves as husband and wife on national television. Renewing vows that were legally dissolved a long time ago. I never meant for the whole damned thing to get out of hand like it has."
"You're not going to give up Windsong Place
, are you?"
"Hell, no. I mean to have my home back." Determination underscored his words. "There's just a few legalities we'll have to take care of before we sign this agreement."
"Before we sign?"
"We," he confirmed softly.
Sunny frowned a question.
Ryan smiled then—an odd, crooked smile that didn't quite warm his eyes. "We'll just have to get married again."
* * *
10
« ^ »
His proposal—if it could be called one—stunned Sunny.
Ryan interpreted her lack of reaction as acceptance. "I told Lavinia I'd hire the preacher for the, er, renewal of our vows. Only the preacher, you and I will know that a little legal paperwork preceded the ceremony."
"Paperwork!" she finally managed to say. "That's what you consider marriage—a little legal paperwork?"
He drew his brows together in a slight frown. "It wouldn't be a real marriage. Legal, maybe, but not binding. After our business transaction has been completed, and when the media loses interest, we'll … uh…"
She finished the sentence for him. "Divorce?"
With his gaze steady on the road ahead of them, he nodded. And repeated quietly, "Divorce."
The word sent a chill through her. "No," she whispered. "I can't do it."
"Of course you can." After a pause, he uttered dryly, "It's nothing you haven't done before."
Her breath caught in her throat. Yes, she had divorced him before. "Stop the car," she uttered.
"What?"
"I said, stop the car."
With one look at her—the first direct look he had given her all morning—Ryan slowed the car and swerved onto the grassy shoulder of the narrow mountain highway. Sunny sprang from the automobile and walked briskly away from it.
She stopped at the edge of the road, which overlooked a densely forested valley. The wind whipped her blond tendrils wildly around her face, and the skirt of her sundress billowed around her legs.
She told herself to breathe. In, then out. In, then out. Surely the function would become automatic again, in time. But would the terrible squeezing around her heart ever let up, and would the lump in her throat ever dissolve?
He'd sounded so casual about the whole thing. A little legal paperwork. And then, a divorce. Nothing they haven't done before.
The bastard! It hadn't been traumatic for him, it had just been the end of an ordeal. The vows they had taken—those empty, broken vows—had been nothing more than legalities necessary for the good of their unborn baby's future. They'd had nothing whatsoever to do with love.
She'd always known that, though, so why did it hurt all over again?
Standing there staring down into smoky treetops and russet slopes, Sunny hated Ryan. Hated him. Because he had not been touched, while she had been torn apart.
And nothing had changed. He'd been unaffected by their sexually explosive loving, while she felt as if she'd been reborn. She warned herself, keep those defenses strong.
When her breathing returned to a reasonable facsimile of normal, Sunny tossed a scathing glance over her shoulder to see him leaning against his gleaming black sports car, watching her.
"Something wrong?" he asked curtly.
"No. Nothing at all." The mountain wind whistled bleakly between them.
"Then let's go. We'll need blood tests and a license."
"Why the hell should I do this?" she cried, rounding on him, her hands balled into fists. "What's in it for me? I've never had to marry anyone before to get a management position. Somehow that's never been part of the job description."
"Do you think I like the idea any more than you do?" His dark scowl and curled lip stabbed her like a knife. "What started out as a personal matter has snowballed into a public one. And a legal one. If we don't marry, we'll be guilty of fraud."
"You get a million-dollar piece of property out of the deal. What do I get? To work for you? No picnic, I can promise you that."
He glowered at her for a moment, then conceded, "So I'll sweeten the pot."
Surprise silenced her, then she scoffed, "How?" He murmured something unintelligible. "What?"
Clearing his throat, he repeated, "I'll make you my partner."
She gaped at him. "What?"
"My partner," he repeated again, his voice heavy with reluctance. "I'll give you a percentage of ownership."
Sunny stared at him. "A percentage of Windsong Place
?" It took a moment for the idea to sink in. She would own part of it. Forever. It would mean permanent job security. And a home—the home she had always loved. Wouldn't that meet all the goals she had set for herself? Wasn't he offering a solution to all of her problems? In a state very close to shock, she asked, "How much of a percentage?"
Ryan smiled wryly. "We'll negotiate on the way."
"Negotiate, hell. Fifty-fifty."
"You've got to be kidding. Windsong Place
has been in my family for generations. My great-great-grandfather built it! Eighty-twenty is more like it."
"It doesn't matter who built it. You don't own it now." She sauntered toward the car. "Fifty-fifty, or nothing."
"Seventy-five, twenty-five. Take it or leave it."
"I'd leave it. You're lucky I didn't take you to the cleaners the last time we divorced. You're getting off easy this time around. Fifty-five, forty-five … that's my final offer."
Sunny moved through each step of the premarital process in a daze. She avoided thinking about the end result of this day's work; something told her it would be counterproductive to do so. By one o'clock, they had finished with the blood tests and licensing paperwork, and arranged for a minister.
After lunching at an outdoor café with umbrella-shaded tables in downtown Asheville, they did not drive back to Windsong Place
, which would have taken less than two hours. Nor did they check into a local hotel. Instead, Ryan took her to a private airport on the outskirts of Asheville, where they were met by his corporate jet.
"Where are we going?" inquire
d Sunny, wide-eyed.
"New York."
"New York! For what?"
Ryan smiled tightly as he guided her from his sports car to where the small jet thrummed, its uniformed pilot poised at the door in readiness. He yelled above the roar of the engine as they neared the craft, "You'll see."
Sunny preceded him up the few steps to the elegant interior. When they were seated comfortably inside, with the heavy door locked and their seat belts fastened, Sunny asked, "Are we going to New York for business?"
"I suppose you might call it that."
She gave up for a while. They lounged in plush, comfortable recliners, listened to relaxing music and sipped chilled Chablis. After watching the cottonlike clouds drifting below them, she finally turned to Ryan with another question. "To talk to your attorneys about the purchase?"
"No. My attorneys are in Philadelphia."
"To visit your New York office?"
"I might stop in."
His noncommittal answers only heightened her curiosity.
When she showed no sign of letting the subject drop, he shook his head with sardonic amusement. "Actually, I thought you could shop for a wedding gown."
For the second time that day, she was flabbergasted. "A wedding gown! Surely we don't have to buy a gown for this … this charade." The idea of donning real wedding apparel somehow made the ceremony even more of a mockery.
"The media's invited." His mouth twisted in a rueful imitation of a smile. "As Lavinia would say, think PR."
"I … I can't afford a wedding gown."
"It's just another business expense." His dry response, though lightly spoken, contained an element of harshness. He flipped open his wallet and tossed her a credit card.
Just another business expense, was it? If that's what he considered it…
Sunny spent that afternoon shopping with a vengeance. A limousine drove them to New York City's most exclusive shops and boutiques. At first, Ryan personally inspected each gown she tried on, deliberating over them as if the fate of his corporation depended on it, but after the first hour, he threw his hands up and sent Sunny off on her own. He retreated to the relative peace of his office.
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