The Wedding Bargain

by Lisette Belisle

  Slowly releasing her, he stepped back.

  Revealing her confusion, her hand shook as she brushed her hair back from her face. “Drew?”

  He shook his head, saying harshly, “Nothing. Forget it.”

  Without further word, he turned and walked away.

  Even if tempted, he had nothing to offer a woman like Olivia. Except himself. And that was never enough for the women he’d known in the past.

  They had nowhere to go but back to the cabin. Once fully aroused, he dreaded spending another night alone with Olivia.

  Before meeting her, he’d had a plan—go to Henderson, pick up his car, cash out a small trust fund and pick up some clothes. He planned to grab his possessions and go somewhere—he didn’t know where. A woman, no matter how tempting, was no reason to change his plan.

  After a moment, Olivia caught up with him. She was silent—now that she’d succeeded in twisting him in knots.

  A winding lakeside path took them to the road. About a mile downhill from the camp, they passed a farmer’s market and stopped to buy fresh eggs and milk. Fresh poultry. Some tomatoes. Apples. Drew took out his wallet to pay.

  Olivia kept adding items.

  Finally she walked toward him with a bouquet of flowers, ruffled hollyhocks in pink, red and purple mixed with lacy-edged white and yellow mums, clutched in her hand.

  At the sight of her, Drew felt his chest squeeze. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. There hadn’t been many flowers in his life lately. And maybe that was what was missing.

  Along with a few other things.

  With a knowing smile, the farmer’s wife accepted his money and commented, “Your girl is very sweet.”

  Your girl.

  Olivia reached him. “I couldn’t resist the flowers. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Mind?

  No, in fact, he loved it. At the admission, Drew felt his heart twist like a leaf in the wind…falling. If only their situations were different. If only life would give him a second chance. If only he hadn’t messed up every good thing in his life.

  Her face animated with pleasure, Olivia lifted the brilliantly colored flowers to her dainty nose. “They smell delicious.”

  “Yes, they do.” Drew smiled back. She’d spent his last dollar on a bunch of flowers. He was down to an uncashed check from his sister and he didn’t care!

  Hell!

  He must be going soft, getting all sentimental about a woman he’d known less than twenty-four hours—a woman with laughter in her voice, sunshine in her eyes, pale flyaway hair and a come-hither smile that beckoned him to discover her secrets.

  Chapter Four

  Drew’s smile grew ironic. Oh, he knew he was susceptible, feeling deprived and vulnerable to anything in a skirt. He’d vowed not to seduce the first woman he came across, not even the second or the third.

  With one bewitching smile, Olivia made it hard to remember exactly why he’d made such a stupid, impractical vow. She was there to tempt, to tease, to test him. Women had always come so easily, perhaps too easily. No matter how he tried to deny it, he couldn’t help but wonder—would she?

  They were going to be alone for another night. He had no idea how he was going to keep his hands off her. He laughed without humor. The gods must be having a field day.

  It was payback time for every indiscretion he’d ever committed—and there was a long string of them. Drew could only assume Olivia was going to drive him crazy for the next twenty-four hours, if he held out that long.

  “Let’s head back.” He wished he had an alternative choice, some place to go, but he didn’t.

  She checked the items she’d purchased. “I think we’ve got everything.” She waved to the farmer’s wife, who insisted on giving Olivia some fresh cream from the dairy.

  “You’ll need some to top off that apple cobbler,” the woman insisted.

  Apparently Olivia planned to do some baking. Drew marveled at her easy adaptability.

  Olivia waved farewell to her new friend—she obviously had a knack for collecting them—and fell into step beside him. She was so small, reaching only up to his shirt collar. Her step was light, graceful.

  All the way back to the cabin, Olivia stuck close to his side—less than a foot away. He felt dizzy from the scent of flowers. More than once, he regretted teasing her about hungry bears. Now he had to endure her nearness.

  Then there was her soft voice, the bounce in her step, the gleam in her smile, the soft accidental brush of her hand against his—all guaranteed to wear down his resistance.

  Was it all innocent?

  Or was it only wishful thinking on his part?

  They walked back to the cabin along the same track they’d found the day before. The woods were thick, endless, stretching in every direction. It would be easy to get lost in them.

  The cabin greeted them like an old friend.

  Built of roughhewn logs, weathered and burnished to a soft gray, it glowed in the midday sun. The sunny glen seemed far from the immediate past.

  And the future.

  He had today. All anyone had really. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? He smiled wryly, admitting that Olivia’s optimism was beginning to rub off on him.

  She made lunch.

  Either he was starving, or it was the best tuna casserole he’d ever eaten. Chin in hand, with her elbow leaning against the edge of the table, Olivia inched the serving dish closer.

  “There’s more,” she offered.

  Recognizing that enticing feminine note, Drew pushed away from the table and stood. “No, thank you.”

  It would take more than a combination of canned tuna, condensed mushroom soup and noodles to seduce him.

  He grabbed for an escape hatch. “The farmer’s wife took quite a shine to you. I’m sure she’d let you stay the night.”

  At the suggestion, Olivia shook her head. “But I don’t know her. I can’t just intrude. Besides, I’m comfortable here.”

  Drew had only known Olivia for one day—it felt longer—but he recognized that stubborn tilt to her chin. Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, he persisted. “Hasn’t it occurred to you by now that you shouldn’t trust me?”

  She smiled at him. “But I do trust you. If you intended me any harm, you’d have done something about it by now.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Well, you’ve left behind a trail of witnesses, starting back at the diner. Then there’s Walt, and the farmer’s wife.”

  “Spoken like a true cop’s daughter,” he said with an edge, frustrated at his inability to simply walk away from her.

  Shrugging off his bad humor, Olivia started to gather the dishes. “So what are we going to do with the rest of the day?”

  We?

  Drew raised an eyebrow. “Not bored already, are you?”

  “Not exactly, but I like to keep busy. I wish I’d brought some needlework with me. I never expected this kind of delay.”

  She looked around. “This place could use a good cleaning.”

  “Why bother?” As usual, the feminine mind was a mystery.

  “I could start on the windows—after the dishes, of course.”

  With a smooth move, she shoved a stack of plates, cups and saucers at him. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Dishes. You wash and I’ll dry,” she said.

  “Right.” He looked down at the messy collection. He’d never washed a dish in his life!

  At his hesitation, Olivia frowned. “That is, unless you’d rather dry?”

  Drew gritted his teeth. “No, that’s fine. I’ll wash.”

  How hard could it be?

  Fifteen minutes later, Drew stood with his arms up to the elbows in soapsuds. The sink overflowed. He frowned, wondering what had gone wrong.

  Olivia mopped the floor. “You only need a capful of detergent.”

  The kitchen was small and didn’t allow much room. Her hip brushing against his, she squeezed past him in the narrow space to reach a puddle of soap-su
ds by his foot.

  Hiding his instant response to her nearness, Drew laughed huskily. “Now you tell me!”

  “Never mind, the floor needed to be scrubbed, anyway.”

  Drew managed to finish the dishes while Olivia rinsed and dried. She was very efficient—so efficient that she went straight to washing the windows. But first, she changed into her black jeans. Yes, they fit exactly the way he remembered—snug.

  Needing an escape, Drew decided it was time to chop some wood for the fireplace. Despite the day’s warmth, he knew the night would turn cold. Besides, he needed to stay occupied.

  For five years, he’d survived the loss of freedom by learning to focus on each moment, filling in time with assigned duties—eating, reading, watching television, working out and even sleeping on schedule.

  Emotions had played no part in his life; but meeting Olivia had reawakened certain masculine needs. He couldn’t deny that he wanted Olivia badly. He wished he could go back to a simple case of lust at first sight. Now, after spending just one day with her, Olivia had a personality, a mind and a heart to go with the perfection of her body.

  Outside, he found the woodpile and a stack of sawed-off logs. Drew bent to his task. He set a split chunk of wood on end, then split it in halves, then fourths.

  Then he reached for another, and another…

  He’d been at it quite a while by the time Olivia came outside. She waved—he pretended not to notice. A moment later, he almost cut off his left foot when she climbed a stepladder and leaned forward to get at a stubborn spot on a pane of glass.

  When he swore under his breath, she turned to look at him.

  “Did you say something?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he muttered, then went back to splitting logs. The woodpile grew…and grew.

  After a while, apparently satisfied with the sparkling glass panes, Olivia came and sat on a log—close, but not too close.

  Drew tried to ignore her. Fat chance.

  She was looking at him as if she was measuring him for a suit—or a bed. Drew slammed the door on the thought.

  He whacked another section of a log with the ax. He put all his strength in it, feeling a measure of satisfaction when the blade sliced through cleanly.

  Olivia picked up a twig of pine brush, feathering and twirling it between her fingers, as she contemplated him with obvious curiosity.

  “Did you grow up in Maine?” she asked after keeping him guessing about her next move.

  “Yes,” Drew replied with caution. He’d been fooled by her casual air before.

  “You’re very fortunate.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, I mean, look around you.”

  Frowning, he looked around and saw only trees.

  “I guess.”

  “You had all this freedom. All this space.” Olivia spread her arms wide to encompass the surrounding forest. “No traffic jams, no smog.”

  “Just bad weather and bears,” he said dryly.

  She smiled. “Believe it or not, California has a few bears. And as far as bad weather goes, snow at least comes with a warning, not like an earthquake, which just happens.”

  “Good point.”

  She continued, “In Henderson, people don’t even bother to lock their doors. I grew up in a neighborhood where being safe meant three sets of locks on the door.”

  “That must have been rough,” he said, trying to imagine what her childhood must have been like.

  “You probably never had to worry about a thief who sneaks up a dark stairwell. Or a random shooter seeking a thrill, or some teenage kids holding up a convenience store, then stealing a getaway car just for kicks.” Her voice trembled. “My stepfather was a cop. One day, he was on routine duty. There was a robbery—a high-speed chase. He was killed when his cruiser crashed.” She stopped abruptly, then took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t know why I said all that. I never talk about him.”

  “Maybe you should,” Drew said, confounded when he realized what he’d invited. He didn’t want her to confide in him, but it was too late to stop her now.

  With a sad resigned smile, she said, “Talking about it doesn’t change anything. He was a good cop, and he loved his job. From the time I was old enough to read the newspaper, I was afraid something like that might happen.”

  Olivia hadn’t meant to reveal anything that personal to a stranger. But he was eyeing her with such sympathy and she was surprised at how badly she ached to tell someone about Mike—his generosity, his strength, his kindness. She swallowed.

  “Olivia,” he said softly, as if he could dam the hurt inside her. No one could repair her childhood. “I’m sorry. Your stepfather sounds like a good guy.”

  “Thanks.” Olivia squared her shoulders. “I’m okay. It was all so long ago.” She stood, then brushed the seat of her pants. “Anyway, thanks for listening.” She kept her voice carefully neutral.

  Moments later, Drew watched her walk away, aware that she’d broken through another barrier of his indifference.

  In autumn, daylight spent itself early.

  When the sun started to sink, the temperature dropped along with it. Drew gathered a few chunks of wood. He wasn’t looking forward to a long cozy evening alone with Olivia.

  He walked into the cabin. His face fell at the sight of the table set for two. Olivia had arranged the flowers in the center, next to a squat candle. Drew set the firewood on the pile beside the fireplace, then added a log to the flames.

  “I thought we’d save the generator,” she explained, lighting the candle.

  “Good thinking.” Drew joined her at the table.

  “I hope you’re hungry.” She ladled a thick, creamy tomato-based soup into a bowl, then passed it to him. “I found a deck of cards—I thought we could have a game later. I’m a pretty good poker player.”

  Drew could well imagine—she had him going around in circles. He could think of only one way he wanted to fill the evening hours, and it wasn’t playing two-man poker.

  Fried chicken and corn on the cob, followed by apple cobbler made up the remainder of the meal. Drew ate more than his share. After dinner, they did the dishes, then played cards.

  He lost.

  “I win,” she said, fanning out her cards to reveal three jacks and two queens—a full house.

  Revealing two pairs, he chuckled. “I let you win.”

  “I hate a sore loser.” Hiding a grin, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand and yawned delicately. “I’m exhausted. Do you mind if I use the shower first?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not in any hurry.”

  With a half smile, he watched her disappear into the bathroom. Here he was, stranded overnight with a beautiful sexy woman—a woman who claimed she trusted him. Very clever. She tempted him, tied him up in knots, then did the old trust routine. And damned if it wasn’t working. He couldn’t seduce her—not unless she made the first move, and then all bets were off.

  Half an hour later, Olivia came out of the bathroom wearing a thick fleece nightshirt. It was cuddly-looking, pale gray, and reached from her chin to her toes, but nothing could disguise the feminine curves beneath. Her hair was still damp, curling around her ears and throat.

  “Your turn.” She ran a brush through her hair.

  His mind filled with the image of her, Drew walked into the bathroom. It was still warm, still fragrant with the scent of her shampoo.

  “Be careful…” Her warning came too late.

  He walked into a makeshift clothesline strung across the small bathroom. It caught him squarely across the throat.

  Next a damp silk shirt slapped him in the face. His startled gaze took in the tantalizing sight of black silk briefs and a matching lacy bra. It wasn’t padded, he noted in the brief second it took him to tangle himself in it.

  From behind, Olivia crashed into him. The floor was damp. He turned to catch her before she fell. With an “oomph,” she landed against his che
st. At the impact, he could feel himself slipping, sliding, falling.

  With his hands tightening around her slender waist, he landed them both in the bathroom sink; his hip collided with the cold water tap, and water gushed out. Pressure forced it in all directions. Within seconds, he was drenched.

  Olivia’s face glistened with drops of moisture. “Sorry, did I forget to warn you—I rinsed out a few things earlier?”

  Instead of an apology, laughter lit her eyes.

  It was too much.

  Drew dipped his head. He watched her soft gray eyes darken and widen with awareness seconds before his lips touched hers.

  His hands spanned her waist as he dragged her closer, crushing her against his chest in a convulsive move. His needs were urgent, with no room for hesitation. When she didn’t push him away, he coaxed her mouth open, then invaded, groaning when he felt the tip of her tongue.

  His hands roamed over her, feeling warmth through the thick fleece fabric she wore. He wanted flesh on flesh. And she was wearing too many clothes, and so was he, and they were both drenched from the gushing faucet.

  He reached back and turned it off.

  Not breaking contact with her mouth, he lifted her slight weight and carried her into the main room. The flickering firelight guided him to his cot, where he gently lowered her, then settled beside her. The bed was narrow, but it would do.

  He raised his head long enough to draw breath. With a faint smile, he smoothed pale hair from her flushed cheeks. Her hair was like silk, her skin rose-petal smooth.

  He edged the collar of her nightshirt from her throat. “How do we get you out of this?”

  She gulped, stiffening beneath him. “What?”

  He groaned. “Please tell me you’re not a virgin.”

  Her face reddened.

  “You are.” His eyes narrowed. He waited for her to deny it.

  She didn’t. Instead, she apologized. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

  His voice deepened. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  “I thought men just did.”

  “Well, we don’t! I’m not a mind reader. So next time, don’t go leading a man on unless you mean it.”