by Day Leclaire
Marc fought for restraint. “I ought to do it right?”
“You got it.”
“You’re trying to get me arrested, aren’t you?”
“As tempting as that notion is, I’m not. In fact, I called the local sheriff’s office to warn them what you were up to. They’ll probably stop laughing next week.”
“Oh, great. Did you call the local paper, too?”
“Sure did. You can put the photos in your wedding album. It’ll be a tale to tell the kiddies.”
“Thanks,” he said through clenched teeth. Though he did take heart in the fact that she anticipated kids in his future with Hanna.
“You’d better thank me, Salvatore. You wouldn’t have gotten two blocks without my help. Everyone in Hidden Harbor knows Hanna. They wouldn’t take kindly to a mysterious stranger up and stealing her away.”
“Even if it’s her husband?”
“Especially if it’s her husband. You already have everyone in a tizzy, wondering whether you’re going to take her away with you to whichever foreign city you hail from.”
“San Francisco isn’t a foreign city.”
She snorted. “It is when you live on the east coast. Hell, Baltimore is a foreign city to us. We want to keep Hanna right here. We found her We’re keeping her.”
“What do you mean you fou—”
Pru tapped her watch. “Time’s up, charm boy. You have precisely sixty seconds to pack up your bride and get her out of here before the Tylers arrive. That’s if you’re lucky.” She gave him another of her malicious smiles. “But, I’m bettin’ your luck’s just run out.”
Swearing under his breath, he thrust open Hanna’s door. She was wearing those atrocious reading glasses and she looked up in astonishment when he bolted into the room. “Marco? Is that you?”
“Sorry, cara. We need to move this along. Could you stand, please?”
“What’s going on? I don’t have time—”
“Yes, yes, I know You never have tune. Unfortunately, I don’t have time, either. So since neither of us has any...” He caught her hand and yanked her from the chair. Whipping her glasses from the tip of her nose, he tossed them aside. Next he swiftly looped the rope around first one wrist, then the other, tying them with a couple of careless knots. Finished, he tossed her over his shoulder. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid.”
“Marco! Put me down. You can’t do this. I have work. I have clients.”
“So I’ve noticed. You also have charts and schedules and plans.” He carried her into the reception area. “Lots and lots of plans.”
“Pru!” She shoved her hands against his back. “Do something.”
“I already have, Hanna. I told your stepsons you were being kidnapped. They should be along...” She checked her watch once more. “Oh...right about now.”
Marc let loose with a swear word that no doubt turned his genteel Southern bride’s ears pink. Moving as quickly as safety allowed, he headed down the steps and out of the building. He hit the sidewalk the same instant as the Tylers pulled up in a battered pickup. The expression on their faces was an identical look of shock and fury. They also shouted the exact same curse, one Marc resented for his mother’s sake. Whoever said people in the south took life at a more leisurely pace hadn’t visited Hidden Harbor.
With a mere fifteen seconds left to his allotted hour, Marc tossed Hanna into the backseat of the convertible he’d rented. Ignoring her shrieks of outrage, he vaulted behind the steering wheel in true Zorro fashion. If he hadn’t left the key in the ignition, he doubted he’d have escaped in time. As it was, he almost knocked over Jeb as he roared away from the curb. Of course, if he’d actually hit the man, the convertible would have been totaled. Jeb, no doubt would have walked away without a scratch.
His sweet bride managed to fight her way into an upright position. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind? What are you doing?”
“I thought that was obvious.” He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and fought to suppress a grin. Apparently, her hair hadn’t taken kindly to being turned upside down and dumped in the rear of a fast-moving car, particularly one without a top. While Hanna busily gnawed at the ropes restraining her wrists, her hair exploded around her like an erupting volcano. “I’m kidnapping you.”
“Would you mind telling me why you’re kidnapping me?”
“Not at all. I decided we deserved a honeymoon. And since I knew you wouldn’t agree, at least not without three or four years advance notification, I took it upon myself to rearrange your schedule.”
“A honeymoon?” He couldn’t quite tell whether the idea thrilled her or elicited something akin to horror.
“That’s right. A honeymoon. You know.... One of those occasions that usually comes immediately after the wedding and shortly before the babies. At least, it does if you get it in the appropriate order.”
“Babies?”
“Sorry, my sweet. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“So we won’t be going directly from our honeymoon to an obstetrician?”
She’d recovered her sense of humor, he was relieved to note. “Not unless we get real lucky.”
“Lucky.” Hanna leaned over the seat, strands of her hair wrapping around him. If her wrists weren’t tied, it probably would have been her hands around his neck instead of her hair. “How did we go from the Cinderella Ball to babies? What happened to our trial marriage? In case you’ve forgotten, you’re still my bridegroom-on-approval. And I’m not sure I approve.”
He’d hoped she’d given up on that idea. He should have known better. His wife hadn’t quite gotten the hang of “happily-ever-after” yet. Nor had she relaxed her guard enough to enjoy wedded bliss. Perhaps after tonight that would change. Something had to. He was getting tired of carting her from office to bed at three each morning and finding her long gone when he awoke the next day. She couldn’t keep up the pace without damaging her health and he couldn’t spend another night in their bed without making love to her.
“You asked for a trial marriage and I agreed,” Marc conceded. “But so far all we’ve had is the trial without any of the marriage.”
“I assume by this little kidnapping scheme that you’re planning to change that?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“And if I do?”
He pulled the car to the side of the road and killed the engine. Holding out his hand, he helped Hanna climb into the bucket seat beside him. He first freed her hands and then removed his mask. “Here. You can use the scarf to tie your hair.”
“Again.”
“Yes, again.” He studied her for a long moment. Faint lilac smudges underlined her eyes emphasizing the paleness of her skin. He knew the early signs of exhaustion when he saw it. “This has to end, Hanna. Either we make an effort to create a real marriage or we call it quits, no harm done. You go back to your clocks and timetables and appointment books. Choose one of the steroid-enhanced peacocks constantly being paraded through your office. And continue on with your sterile life.”
She fixed her gaze on the front windshield. If it hadn’t been for the faint tremor of her chin, he’d have sworn his words hadn’t made any impression. “Or?” she finally asked.
“Or you can go away with me for the next two days.” He tied her hair back with his scarf, knotting it at the nape of her neck. A wayward curl danced at her temple and unable to resist, he smoothed it from her face. “What do you say, Hanna? We can get to know each other. I can feed you more chocolate and you can spill your secrets.”
A smile flirted with her mouth. “I’d rather avoid the chocolate, if you don’t mind. Once was quite enough.”
“Agreed. In that case, you can spill your secrets without the chocolate.”
“All of them?” she whispered, bowing her head.
“Well .. Maybe just one or two more.”
She turned and looked at him, her eyes full of spring greens and autumnal golds, the colors echoing the depth and richness of both seasons. “You’ll want
to make love to me, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve wanted to make love to you from the first time I saw you,” she admitted with devastating frankness.
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“Marco?”
“Yes, my sweet?”
“If you don’t want my stepsons killing you, I think you’d better get us out of here.”
Marc glanced over his shoulder and swore. The Tyler boys had finally caught up with them, their rattletrap bearing down with all the determination its rusty innards could muster. “Fasten your seat belt, Hanna. Time to go.” He started the engine and floored it, leaving Jeb-Janus-and-Josie choking on an impressive plume of dust. Hanna swivelled in her seat and gave them a reassuring thumbs up. Marc restrained from also giving them a finger, especially since it would be a slightly different version than his wife’s. He checked the mirror again, his mouth tightening. When he returned from his honeymoon, he’d deal with that situation once and for all.
“So where are we going?” Hanna asked.
“I rented a cottage a little north of here. I checked it out yesterday to make sure it would do.” He grinned. “See? You’re not the only one who can plan.”
“I’m impressed.”
The cottage offered the best of two worlds—sea and woods. Tucked snugly into the edge of a pine forest, the decks off the front of the house provided a sweeping view of the ocean. The cottage was small, but charming. The first floor had an open-style kitchen and a huge living room, one wall of which was an enormous stone fireplace. Marc left Hanna to explore while he unloaded their suitcase from the trunk of the car and carried it upstairs to the only bedroom the cottage boasted.
He’d given particular attention to the appearance of this room, more so than any other part of the house, wanting it to echo what Hanna had created at home. No doubt the real estate agent who’d shown him the various rental cottages had thought him insane, since the first place he’d checked had been the bedroom. But he didn’t give a damn. It had taken most of the day and nearly a dozen stops before he’d found this place. The second he’d set eyes on the four-poster canopied bed and white lace coverings, he’d known Hanna could relax here.
She appeared in the doorway to the bedroom and took a long minute to prowl around, poking through the closets and dresser before stepping out onto the small balcony. She finished off her exploration by dropping onto the mattress. “Oh, my,” she said, turning a satisfied smile in his direction. “This is absolutely perfect.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
“And you packed for both of us?”
“Hope you don’t mind.” He set the suitcase onto a mahogany stand and unzipped it. “A cold front’s moving down from the north tonight, so I wanted to make sure you had something warm to wear tomorrow.”
She perked up. “Does that mean we can have a fire?” “Sure thing.”
“The office building doesn’t have a fireplace. I wish it did.”
“Maybe we can have one installed.” He leaned against the bedposts, pleased to notice the lines of tension easing from her face. “Or maybe we can get a real house instead of living in a converted factory.”
For a moment, her expression turned wistful and he remembered their conversation the night he’d fed her the chocolate—how she’d wished for a house like the room in which they’d been married. “When I was a little girl, I used to dream of having my own place.”
“What else did you dream about?” he asked gently.
At first, he didn’t think she’d answer. When she did, he had to strain to hear her words. “I dreamt of a big, old-fashioned home.” Her glance was as direct as ever, amusement emphasizing the soft green color. “You know the type I mean? With the decorative wooden trim painted in pastels. And a big old porch with a wooden swing for two.”
“And who’d be sitting on that swing with you?”
“My husband. And maybe a baby or two.” Her laughter held a hint of self-derision. “Silly, isn’t it? In this day and age I should be dreaming about a high-powered career and a staff of employees instead of something straight out of the fifties.”
“You have a high-powered career and a staff of employees. We’re talking about dreams, not reality.”
She straightened, her expression settling into remote lines. “Actually we were talking about childhood dreams. The kind that never come true. The kind you don’t need anymore once you’re an adult.”
“So you don’t want a house?”
She shrugged. “Why, when I have the office?”
“Ever practical. Right, Hanna?”
“Absolutely.”
“And the husband? No, wait.” He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. I’m the husband.”
“Sarcasm, Marco?”
He didn’t bother answering, since he figured his tone was self-evident. “What about the children, Hanna? Have you thought about them?”
“I’ve thought about the possibility. But right now I barely have time for you. I don’t think we’d be wise to add a baby to the mix. Babies take a lot of care. They need time and attention. You can’t just want them one minute and toss them aside the next when they become too much trouble. You can’t just—” Her voice broke and she stared at him with stricken eyes.
He straightened. “Hanna?”
“I—” Her voice failed her again and he started toward her, but she tumbled from the bed, warding him off with upheld hands. “I’m sorry, Marc. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I guess the late nights are finally catching up.”
She’d called him Marc instead of Marco. That, more than anything else, kept him from touching her. He wanted to push, to demand that she explain what was wrong. But he didn’t dare. You’re the patient Salvatore, he reminded himself. And pushing Hanna wouldn’t elicit as positive a response as coaxing. Reining in his need to take charge and force answers to his questions, he simply said, “In that case, we’ll have to make sure you have plenty of opportunity to relax.”
“Thank you,” she whispered gruffly.
His mouth pulled to one side. “For what? Giving you a chance to relax or letting you off the hook?”
Reluctant laughter gleamed in her eyes. “Yes.”
“Got it. Hungry? Would you like some lunch?”
“How about a phone? I have to check in with Pru—”
“Not a chance.”
“But—”
He cut her off with a single look. “What will happen if you take a day off?”
“Marco, you can’t simply swoop down and carry me off when the mood takes you,” she complained.
“Why not?’
“Because I have responsibilities. People are depending on me. You might not have any business concerns to worry about, but I do.”
He went rigid, annoyance beginning a slow simmer. “What makes you say I don’t have any business concerns?”
She shrugged. “I know you told me you were some sort of salesman. I guess that gives you more free time than it gives me.” She gestured to indicate the room. “This was a sweet idea, but I can’t leave everything at the office without making advance arrangements.”
“You just did. The world won’t end because you walked away from work. Nor is work the same as having a life.”
“I have people depending on me.”
“So do I.”
That stopped her. “Really? You never said anything.”
“You never asked.”
A hint of color mounted her cheeks. “You’re right. I haven’t. I apologize.”
“I don’t want an apology. In case you haven’t noticed, I want a wife. Do you want to be my wife, Hanna?”
He saw it again, that wistful longing for some unobtainable dream. Was he like the gingerbread house with the white picket fence and porch swing she’d described? Is that why she’d set herself a goal to marry in five years, because a husband symbolized all she longed to possess? Well, he wasn’t a symbol, any more than he was a line on a grap
h. He was a man and her husband. And tonight she’d have that fact brought home.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he prompted. “Who are you going to put first today, your business or your husband? Just one day, Hanna. That’s all I’m asking.”
Her hands closed into fists and he knew she fought a fierce inner battle. He didn’t doubt for a minute that her entire life she’d put business ahead of pleasure, denying what she most needed. But the desire was there, burning so brightly it was a wonder it didn’t set her aflame.
“You come first.”
At least she didn’t add, “today.” His mood right now was uncertain at best and that one, simple word would have been just enough to push him over the edge. This was supposed to be a romantic two days. Marc doubted Hanna would find anything romantic about his losing the infamous Salvatore temper.
“Thank you,” he said. Unable to resist, he gathered her close and kissed her.
There was so much sweetness in her, so much warmth and passion. If only he could find a way to push past the barriers she was constantly erecting. As though reading his thoughts, she pulled back and murmured something about unpacking. He let her go. He could afford to be patient a little longer.
Maybe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY SHOULD HAVE brought chocolate.
“Would you care for anything else to eat?” Hanna asked politely. She desperately wanted to break through the barriers between them—defensive barriers she’d slammed into place the minute he’d kissed her and couldn’t seem to lower no matter how hard she tried.
“No, thank you,” Marco answered, every bit as politely.
“A drink?”
“There’s a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator. Would you care for a glass?”
The offer was tempting. Too tempting. “Perhaps later, thanks.”
“Hanna—”
He’d finally lost patience with her. And why not? She’d lost patience with herself. “This is ridiculous!” She threw down her napkin and shot out of her chair. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stalked into the living room, pacing in front of the barren hearth. “Why are we even bothering, Marco? We have nothing in common. You’re West coast, I’m East. You’re a family man, I’m a career woman. I’m meticulous and driven, which drives you crazy.”
