by Diana Duncan
“Baby?” Esteban exclaimed. “You are all right, Señorita? The fall … do you require a doctor?”
“No, thank you. Dallas caught me. I’m fine.”
“Señor Dallas?” Esteban’s tone grew stern. “This woman is carrying your child?”
“Fuck!” Dallas growled beneath his breath. “You heard her,” he gritted aloud.
“And you will not marry her?”
“I never said that.”
Esteban’s sharp glance arrowed from Dallas to Mia. She held out her left hand. She didn’t have to fake the trembling. “My bare ring finger speaks for itself.”
“She’s lying,” Soledad protested. “Dallas never said a word about her to me.”
“I don’t mix my personal life with my job.” Dallas shifted, and tense, hard-muscled thighs flexed beneath Mia’s butt. “Which is why I’ll take Mia home. Immediately. And she won’t be back.”
Not happening, cowboy.
What did she have to lose? She might as well play it to the max. Mia heaved a sigh and rested her head on Dallas’s chest. His body outwardly rock-steady, his heart thundered under her ear. “And then you’ll leave me all alone in that empty apartment.” She quivered her bottom lip. “Like always.”
Deep frown lines furrowed Esteban’s mouth. “I hired you because your reputation led me to believe you were a principled man. Why have you not met your obligations and married the mother of your child?”
Dallas’s respiration kicked into double-time. “As you know, I’ve been putting in twelve-plus hour days to get your security up to speed. I fully intend to meet my obligations where Mia is concerned.”
“I see.” Esteban pinned Dallas with a stare. “When?”
“As soon as possible. I’ll take care of her.”
And didn’t that sound promising?
“So, it is on account of working for me that you have not had time to do the honorable thing by your expectant fiancée?” Esteban tapped pursed lips with his forefinger. “This troubles me greatly.”
“Señor,” Dallas began. “Please, don’t concern yourself with—”
“It is very much my concern, and goes against everything I stand for. I was raised in poverty by a single mother. It is not a life I wish for anyone. And like mi madre, your fiancé is small and helpless in a cruel world. Many will take advantage of her.”
“About as helpless as a friggin’ tornado,” he muttered. Out loud, he said, “This situation is hardly the same.”
Esteban clapped his hands. “I have the perfect solution to ease both Señorita Mia’s distress and my troubled conscience. My private jet is available to fly to Las Vegas at any time, and the two of you could be married there.”
Mia gulped. Holy hell-in-a-handcart! She’d merely wanted to wangle an invite to dinner. Who knew drug lords could be over-the-top chivalrous?
Too bad he didn’t treat his victims so benevolently.
“That’s so nice of you, but I don’t—” She glanced at the broken branch and lattice debris littering the gazebo. She hadn’t heard anything useful before her fall from grace.
Mia looked up at Dallas, and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod, sustaining her objection. McQuade would hustle her out and ensure she never again got within ten miles of the place.
But if they were engaged to be married…
She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Access to Montoya’s inner circle! Did she dare even go there?
Dallas’s strong heartbeat thrashed beneath the soft cotton. He leaned forward. “With all due respect, sir, we don’t think that’s the best idea.”
Esteban’s elegant silver brows slammed together. “Perhaps I have misjudged you, Señor McQuade. A man who does not treat his woman with respect is not a man of honor—in any capacity.” His voice softened further, his tone uncompromising. “I do not wish to have such a man in my employ.”
A muscle ticked in Dallas’s jaw. “I’d marry the little lady in Vegas, if that’s what she wanted. She had her heart set on a fancy church wedding, though.” His livid gaze impaled hers, demanding she take the excuse.
Given this same ultimatum, most men would just quit. Apparently, Dallas was prepared to go to extremes to keep his job. She knew exactly how he felt.
To get her life back, she would marry the devil himself.
What was McQuade up to? He had a flourishing security firm, he didn’t need Montoya’s money. One less job wouldn’t break him. In fact, it wouldn’t even make a dent.
There was something more going on here.
Mia squared her shoulders. Harper and Paul Grayson still had a sword hanging over her head … a blade that could completely destroy her on their whim. Freeing herself was worth any risk.
Or she was as good as dead, anyway.
She’d spent the night with Dallas in nothing but her underwear, and he hadn’t laid a finger on her. In fact, he’d been sweet and considerate and concerned for her welfare. He hadn’t hurt her then. And if McQuade wanted to get rid of her now, all he’d had to do was keep his mouth shut when she dropped into his lap—and let Esteban do what Esteban did best.
Instead, Dallas had stepped in to save her ass, at considerable personal risk. She had no idea why. But his motives didn’t matter, as long as she could use them to her advantage.
She again glanced at the jagged branch. Talk about a lucky break. She’d accomplished more in a few hours than she had in four endless, torturous months.
She could stall the wedding indefinitely and parlay the planning into excuses to pop by the mansion on a daily basis. She’d have open access to Esteban’s household.
Mia offered her agitated ‘fiancé’ a sweet smile. Objection overruled. “An elopement, how romantic! I’d eventually love a Vegas wedding.”
“Wonderful!” Esteban crowed. “No reason to delay, we will go today.”
She jolted. Today?
Oh, shit.
Esteban nodded. “I shall set the wheels in motion, then.”
You’ve stepped in it neck-deep this time, Mia. Way overplayed your hand.
Dallas’s eyes glittered. He started to speak, inhaled, then clamped his lips together.
Trapped between disaster and a prospective wedding to man she barely knew, her stomach pitched. Lose/Lose.
Mia, jump off the crazy train, now. This is insane!
Squelching the roiling panic, she managed to keep her mouth shut.
Esteban rose. “Señor McQuade, you will see to the security arrangements. Immediately.”
“Right away, sir.” Dallas stood, dumping her from his lap. He grabbed her hand and towed her toward the house, scattering cherry blossoms across the manicured lawn. She had to run to keep up with his loping stride.
He yanked her into a sunny, spacious living room where he planted her on a leather sofa. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but I’m damned well going to find out. Don’t budge from this spot,” he snarled. “Or I will shoot you myself.”
His scowl blacker than Texas thunderclouds, he stalked away.
Mia glanced around at the red stucco walls, vivid patterned rugs and primitive native art, and rubbed a twinge in her elbow. She’d lost what scraps remained of her sanity. I just agreed to marry a virtual stranger.
Who didn’t look too happy about it.
A shiver wracked her, and she stiffened her spine. She’d lived through tougher situations. Besides, if things actually went that far, a false marriage wouldn’t be difficult to annul once she’d cleared her name. And when Harper Grayson, the scum, and his son Paul, scum junior, ended up in prison as a result … she won.
Discovering Dallas’ agenda would have to wait.
She leaned into the cushions. No problem, right? She could rope and wrangle Cowboy, get what she needed, then split.
Soledad marched into the room and stared at her, arms crossed. Mia braced herself. Soledad clearly had Dallas in her sights. And a case of Snickers bars said Daddy’s Princess wasn’t accustomed to sharin
g.
“You are Dallas’s woman? He never mentioned you to me.”
Mia shrugged. “He didn’t mention you to me, either.”
“I am Esteban’s daughter, Soledad.” Surprisingly, Soledad’s face softened. “I want you to know, nothing happened between us.”
Mia’s fierce wash of relief caught her off-guard. Why did she care about the relationship, or lack thereof, between Dallas and Soledad?
“Truly,” Soledad said. “Had I realized his heart belonged to another, I would not have tried to tempt him. Now that I know about the bebé, I understand why your jealousy drove you to extremes. We women do such silly things for the love of our men. My Cousin Isabel, she—”
Soledad broke off, frowning. “I’m sorry about overreacting outside, but I thought you were going to hurt Papa. I hope we can start over and be friends. I am so lonely here.”
“Of course.” Guilt gnawed at Mia. If she succeeded, this woman’s father would end up behind bars, his financial empire crumbled. Mia understood better than anyone the sins of the father weren’t necessarily repeated in their children.
But she also knew innocents sometimes suffered the consequences of other’s bad choices.
“Mia?” Soledad’s cheerful voice pulled her out of the dark abyss.
Mia glanced up and saw the other woman watching her, head tilted. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Ah, you are daydreaming about your mucho virile Dallas.” Soledad chuckled. “I asked what you planned to wear for your wedding and honeymoon.”
Very virile indeed. A flush prickled her skin. Honeymoon? Mia swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan on—”
“You would like to borrow a dress?”
Mia enviously assessed Soledad’s voluptuous figure. “We’re hardly the same size.”
“No matter. We can find something. Come.”
She’d be a fool to pass up the chance to case the rest of the house. Mia followed Soledad upstairs to a huge bedroom decorated in coral and cream, peeking into rooms as they passed and memorizing the layout.
“My mama was pequeña, like you, and she adored formal occasions.” Soledad slid open a mirrored door and disappeared into a cavernous walk-in closet, her voice growing muffled. “She died years ago, but I have never had the heart to give away her things.” She emerged holding a white, sleeveless empire-waisted gown spun from gossamer lace. “She wore this for a charity ball. It is perfect for you.”
The vintage gown was lovely. A lump lodged in Mia’s throat. Her own mother wouldn’t even know about her wedding. Even if she did, would she care? “Soledad, I couldn’t.”
“Of course you can. Mama would have been the first to insist.” Soledad thrust the dress at her. “Try it on.”
She studied the diaphanous lace. “It’s awfully sheer.” Her dancing flamingo underwear would show right through.
Soledad pursed her lips. “I believe there is a fitted satin slip that goes beneath. I shall find it. Try on the dress, see what you think.” She disappeared into the vast closet again.
Mia stripped off her shoes, socks, jeans and T-shirt. Wearing her panties and bra, she draped the dress across a chair and bent over to unfasten the row of intricate pearl buttons closing the back.
Pounding footsteps thundered along the carpeted hallway, accompanied by slamming doors. “Of all the mule-headed, contrary females,” Dallas’s baritone drawl shouted. “Where the hell are you, Mia, and what kind of trouble are you cooking up now?”
The bedroom door whipped open. Mia straightened, whirled.
Dallas stood frozen on the threshold. His startled gaze swept her from flushed forehead to flamingo bra and panties, down her bare legs to her pearly pink toenails … then slowly cruised back to her face.
Raw, carnal heat arced between them. Fierce hunger ignited in those brilliant indigo pools, and a low rumble vibrated in his chest.
A tremor shivered down her spine. The man was starving, and she was a four-course banquet. With dessert.
And she wanted him to eat her up.
Her heart leapt into her throat, its pounding beat threatening to choke her.
Dallas quickly banked the fire in his eyes. “What’s going on?”
She-who-was-never-at-loss-for-words couldn’t utter one coherent syllable. Mia stood paralyzed, Bambi caught in the hunter’s sights.
“Earth to Mia.” A lazy, seductive grin slid across his mouth. “Why are you standing around in your—not Bugs Bunny this time—skivvies?”
“Um. Wedding gown. Get. Out!”
“Wedding gown? Shit.” Scowling, Dallas retreated into the hall and swung the door shut.
Mia blinked. Holy crap, what just happened here?
Soledad stepped out of the closet brandishing a white silk slip. “Was that Señor Dallas? What did he want?”
Me.
Trembling, tingling all over, Mia strove for a steady tone. “To discuss Cartoon Network’s current line-up.” Soledad gave her a puzzled stare and Mia shrugged. “Never mind.”
She tried on the dress, which, while not a perfect fit, still looked amazing. She re-dressed while Soledad zipped the gown into a garment bag. “Soledad, may I borrow a phone?”
“Of course.” Soledad pointed to a teak desk in the corner and left Mia alone.
Mia called the cannery to request a sick day, which her new senior supervisor grudgingly granted—provided she worked tomorrow’s night shift. she hung up the receiver with shaky hands.
Looked like she was getting married.
* * *
A little over an hour later, Mia scooted out of Esteban’s chauffeured limo at the Portland airport, then climbed the steps to his private jet.
Dallas entered behind her. He silently waved her into one of the plush ivory sofas parallel to the body of the aircraft, then sat beside her. He hadn’t said a word to her during their trip to the airport and spoken only to Esteban when directly addressed.
Anyone who didn’t look closely would believe he was calm … yet she knew better. Although his low drawl was measured, a tempest raged in his eyes. He probably thought she’d back out before it went this far.
But she had everything to gain, and nothing left to lose.
Why hadn’t he backed out? What did he have to lose? Out of the corner of her eye, she studied Dallas McQuade’s hooded gaze, implacable profile, and the stubborn square of his chin. Obviously, he could compartmentalize his anger, bank his emotions.
Would he unleash his wrath on her later, when they were alone?
Mia set down her purse, burying trepidation before it could swell into fear. She’d weathered angry gales before. Physical blows could damage her body, but her spirit had always triumphed.
She glanced again at her soon-to-be-husband. Not an iota of cruelty lurked anywhere in his ruggedly beautiful face. During all their previous encounters, he’d been a perfect gentleman, even when she’d kneed him in the balls. And he seemed hell-bent on protecting her.
Mia prayed her assessment was correct.
Soledad chose the other sofa facing them, as did Esteban’s two bodyguards who had responded to the alarm. Esteban introduced Mia to Carlos Diaz, the big, dangerous-looking Costa Rican, first. Then the enigmatic American, Zane Wolfe, whose watchful chocolate eyes and lean, dark power personified his surname. Even armed with a black belt, she wouldn’t want to tangle with either of them.
Esteban excused himself, then took a seat at the built-in desktop in the back and extracted a sheaf of documents from a cordovan leather briefcase.
She’d sell her soul to see those papers. Maybe later she could head for the restroom and cop a peek as she passed.
The back of her neck prickled. She glanced up, and her gaze collided with Dallas’s intent stare. As if he’d read her mind, he gave a head-shake and captured her hand in his.
She tried to tug free, but he refused to let go.
From across the aisle, Soledad observed the subtle tug-of-war, her forehead crinkled.
Heavi
ng a silent sigh, Mia surrendered and let her fingers rest in the big, capable hand now cradling hers.
The jet taxied to take-off position, hurtled down the runway, and lifted, quickly reaching cruising altitude. Mia’s ears clogged and she yawned to equalize the pressure. A second jaw-cracking yawn sneaked out.
Last night’s lack of sleep ambushed her, her eyelids drifting closed. She leaned into the cushions, listening to the engines hum.
As Dallas’s thumb circled her palm in a soothing caress, a flock of butterflies looped aerial maneuvers inside her stomach. Weird. She’d flown hundreds of times and never experienced a flutter.
She sucked in a shaky gulp of air. Pressed so close to Dallas’s solid heat, his evocative scent enveloped her. She breathed in the woodsy aroma, willing herself to relax. Not more than ten breaths later, she surrendered to exhaustion.
* * *
“Mia, wake up.” Dallas McQuade’s deep drawl rumbled in her ear, tugging her from slumber.
“Go ‘way,” she mumbled, swatting at him. She was so tired.
“Do you need a kiss, Sleeping Beauty? I’d be happy to oblige.”
Ripped from her stupor, she snapped awake. She lay in Dallas’s embrace, draped across him like a kudzu vine. His arm was around her waist, cradling her body, which had snuggled close to his in slumber. Her head rested on his chest, her hand rode intimately high on his thigh. She’d have to be blind to miss the enormous erection inches from her fingertips.
“Almost there, sweetheart,” he said.
When Mia’s horrified glance flew to his, he arched a cocky brow. “Vegas. We’re almost to Vegas.”
She jerked upright and blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“There’s something about a soft, warm woman trustingly asleep in your arms that tugs at your heartstrings, darlin’.” He leaned closer and nuzzled her ear to whisper. “Don’t forget, we have an audience.”
His husky voice vibrated in her ear, sizzled along her nerve endings. As her nipples tightened and a quiver wracked her, she quickly scooted away.
