“So are you going to tell me what’s going on with Kat and that guy?” Liz asked once again as he pulled her by the hand around the few tables in the rustic store, with its touristy T-shirts and cutesy candy section.
“She didn’t want him around anymore,” Ben said, going with a safe response.
“Really? She seemed to like him.”
Once more, Ben wished he could reveal Kat’s secret. But after this morning, he wasn’t sure what he could trust Liz with. Too bad, because she might’ve been a woman Kat could someday confide in. . . .
He ignored the plodding disappointment of his pulse as they came to the store’s back room, where Ben cracked open the door to see if any tabloid reporters were around. Had Hooper and the other saloon men herded the pests out of the area already? Because it was all quiet.
Carefully, he led his wife outside, the moonlight washing over the desolate surroundings. Boomer’s house wasn’t that far away, so should they make a run for it and call it a night?
“Coast is clear,” Liz said.
“Seems so.”
“Let’s just stay in the general store, then. You can play cowboy and I can be the saloon girl who stopped in for supplies.”
He looked at her and found a hopeful sparkle in her gaze. Did she want to kiss and make up for this morning?
This time, when his heartbeat thudded perilously, he gave in to it. How could he not with Liz? But then he remembered how the sight of her listening to Jameson had ripped in to him, how he’d realized that trust was a foolish thing and that he couldn’t give it as easily as she wanted him to.
“Come on, Ben,” Liz said as they stood outside the door. “We can have our honeymoon here. Forget someplace exotic and expensive.”
“You don’t mean that. All women like exotic and expensive.”
“Well, maybe the Caribbean would catch my fancy.” She touched his arm. “Then again, so would the Old West.”
His grip tightened on her hand, tempted by her. Damned tempted, his heart clawing at him. Say yes to her. . . .
“Yeah, Ben.” A stranger’s voice from the corner of the planked building. A glaring light that made him squint. “Go ahead and play Old West honeymoon for the camera. And while you’re at it, give a smile for the Eye on U site!”
Normally, Ben knew how to handle the tabloids—go along with them, flash a smile, and be done with it. But Liz had her hand raised, guarding her face from the spotlight, and a primitive urge snapped through him, his adrenaline spiking.
That light—it felt like it was attacking her. And it was because of him.
“Back off,” Ben said, already reaching behind him for the door so they could get inside the store again. “Contact my PR firm for an interview.”
But if there was one thing about a tabloid, it was that they didn’t give up on getting a story—or a dramatic reaction that would make their footage go viral.
“Did you two play cowboy and cowgirl the night you got married?” the reporter asked, shining that light on them so Ben couldn’t even see his face. “You’ve played horsey with a lot of women, but none of them got you wasted enough to get you hitched. What’s so different about Liz Palazzo that you gave in? Did she shake her showgirly tassles and hypnotize you?”
Ben’s first instinct was to fly at the reporter and slam his fist into his face. He almost did except for Liz holding him back. But while she gripped him, the reporter’s utter lack of respect covered him in a net of shame. Yes, he’d earned it, but he was married now—he wasn’t a playboy anymore. But worst of all, this asshole was bringing Ben’s wife into this, mocking her, too.
The guy wasn’t stopping there, either. “Hey, Liz—how hard was it to rope him into marriage? How much partying did it take?”
Liz yelled, “Apologize to my husband. Now.”
Her vigor almost blew Ben away, but the reporter only laughed.
“Apologize for what? Pointing out that he’s pulling the best, most spectacular Bennett Hughes stunt ever? You’ve got to know he’s a man about town. Check that—he’s a man about the country. Even the world. How does it feel knowing that you’ll be divorced within the month?”
The guy was really baiting them, and Ben coiled an arm around Liz’s shoulders, pulling her back. “Get out of here. I’m not kidding around.”
“Neither am I,” he said. “But you had to have been kidding when you went to the altar with her. Everyone knows she’s a broke slut who sunk her claws into a wild, crazy billionaire and maneuvered him into a hilarious marriage. . . .”
Pure rage split Ben in half, but the whole of him did something he’d never done before.
Damning the consequences, he rushed the camera, grabbing it and pulling it away.
The reporter, who turned out to be a small, bearded nerd, yelled, “You can’t do that!”
“Looks like he did!” Liz yelled back, just before someone else appeared around the corner of the building.
It was Hooper, his long mustache making him look like a marshal as he moved toward the reporter, pointing at him. “Broke off from the others and got away, did you? Time to join your buddies on the road.”
Another older weekend biker appeared—Dustin, Hooper’s scruffy friend—and he tossed off his leather jacket, heading straight for the camera Ben was holding. Without a word, he took it and smashed it to the ground.
“Air that,” he said.
The reporter’s tone rose to a wail. “I’ll sue your ass!”
Ben ignored him and secured Liz back to the general store while Hooper and Dustin puffed out their chests and bullied the reporter back around the corner of the building without even touching him.
Even though Ben knew his friends would “escort” the chickenshit away, he still saw red as he slammed the door behind him and Liz slapped on a light switch. Brightness flickered, as if the bulbs couldn’t decide whether to turn all the way on.
Liz was covering her forehead with a hand, pacing. “He’s going to sue you, Ben!”
“I don’t give a shit. The things he said about you . . .”
“No.” She shook her head and halted in midstride. “No, Ben. The things he said about you . . .”
She sucked in a patch of air, and it sounded like she was about to sob. But she caught herself, sinking into a chair by a table. Ben almost reached out a hand to her, perplexed.
Was this a woman who would accept an offer from Jameson to divorce Ben? He didn’t think so. Her pain was his pain and he willed it to go away.
Her voice splintered as she said, “If you wanted respect from this marriage, I’m afraid you’re not going to get it.”
As the truth of that sunk in, he didn’t want to believe it. Then he recalled the camera’s spotlight blaring out of the darkness, the reporter’s insults flying like spears of illumination.
He hadn’t changed enough to convince anyone.
Even worse, that light had shown Ben once again that he was born to disappoint and, this time, Liz had finally, truly realized it.
***
Liz was shaking, wishing she could strangle that reporter for what he’d said about Ben.
Good God, if her husband had thought there was any chance of eventually becoming a respectful, married man, it’d be a long time in coming—if ever. But after listening to that reporter, she’d reached a dark epiphany: how could Ben achieve respect with her, the ex-showgirl who came off like a gold digger who’d used her wiles to marry him on the first night they’d met? They’d been naïve to think it’d go any other way but this.
Her chest felt like it was being pried open, her heart exposed and vulnerable as it bled. She could deny it all she wanted to, but she was a gold digger. Yes, she’d been attracted to Ben at first sight, but Anita was right—she’d been desperate to find love, and what if the emotion she’d felt had just been hormonally induced and it was only after the business proposal that she’d talked herself into feeling something genuine for him?
What if she was actually terrible for her
husband but she hadn’t admitted it because this arrangement benefited her more than him?
Numb, she gazed at Ben, who was clearly trying to stay cool in the face of her meltdown. But she could see past his shields and into the hardened heart she knew was hidden behind the façade. Was she about to harden him even more?
“I can’t help thinking,” she said, “that no one is ever going to take you seriously with me as your wife.”
“Don’t say that.”
Still, the reporter’s words kept hammering at her.
Everyone knows she’s a broke slut who sunk her claws into a wild, crazy billionaire and maneuvered him into a hilarious marriage. . . .
They could act all they wanted to at family dinners and wedding celebrations, but the reporter had called them out on the truth. So had Jameson, even if he hadn’t realized it. And in spite of all the benefits she was getting from this marriage, she cared too much for Ben to deny the reality.
Ben had narrowed his gaze at her silence. “Are you hinting that you don’t want to stay married or something?”
She winced. “No. I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking it.”
And he was jumping to conclusions, the situation spiraling out of her control. She’d hit a button in the most exposed part of him—the part that didn’t believe in love and had suspected her of taking Jameson’s bait this morning.
“I told you,” she said softly, because if she talked any louder, her voice might quiver. “I like being married to you, Ben.”
A disbelieving smile pulled at his mouth. She’d never seen him smile like that before, and it showed her how injured he was by that reporter’s words. Was every day going to be a struggle to let him know that she was on his side? That she . . .
Yes, loved him. She really did, even if he wouldn’t believe it.
“I’m telling the truth,” she said, her throat raw. “All I want is to stay married to you.”
“Even after all those ugly things that were said outside.”
“Ben.” She slowly stood, not knowing if her legs were going to hold her up. “Please listen to me, and get that guy’s voice out of your head. I married you because—”
“Liz, we know why you married me.”
She gulped, unable to lie. “It’s true that I was swayed by your money and the security it means. But you have to believe there was more to it than finances.”
Was that faith in his gaze? Or was it fear she was going to cross an emotional line again and make him confront things about himself that he wasn’t ready to recognize?
But it was now or never if she wanted to fight for this marriage—for him. She couldn’t help thinking that if she said the wrong thing, he’d be gone, and not only physically.
Just . . . gone.
“I liked you for you,” she said, the words so sincere that they hurt. “And you didn’t have to do anything to make that happen.”
His gaze warmed, the tips of his mouth lifting slightly—so slightly she wasn’t even sure she was seeing straight.
Then his mouth hardened, as if he couldn’t buy into the thought of anyone liking him unless he could give them something in return.
She blurted out the only words that could save her. “I love you for you.”
A bang of silence left an echo in her body, and it seemed to reverberate through the store, from one corner to the other until it hit her again. Still, he didn’t say a word.
She could feel a prickle of sweat on her skin, her heart shriveling. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Liz, love doesn’t . . .”
Exist?
Right. He couldn’t feel deep emotions, and she’d been playing the biggest joke imaginable on herself. Yeah, stupid Liz, rushing into a man’s arms yet again. A sharp pain in her stomach made her want to shrink into herself, disappearing.
But why was she even fighting for him when she’d seen what her mere presence did for him? Why did she want to stay in a marriage that would only make his bad reputation worse?
She knew. You walk out of here and he’ll never trust a woman. But was he even capable of doing that anyway?
It seemed there was nothing left for her to say, but she tried.
“I get it.” Her voice was trembling now and she couldn’t care less. She’d already revealed her heart and soul. What was left? “Love leads to failure for you. You’ve seen it happen again and again with your dad, and you’ve never been good at it yourself. That’s part of the reason you think you’re useless—because you could never find that one special person who made you feel something. I wish I could do that for you, Ben. I really do.”
She started to walk toward the door. So what if any more tabloid reporters were out there?
“Where’re you going?” he asked.
She halted. Was he about to ask her not to leave? Was he going to give this marriage a real go, even if it’d be harder work than they thought to gain that respect he wanted?
“I’m heading back to Boomer’s,” she said. “I don’t feel much like celebrating in the saloon.”
He didn’t speak, and a misguided remnant of optimism rose in her just like it always did at the dumbest moments.
“I didn’t have time to tell you,” he said softly. “But my father wants us to come to New York with him. There are some Japanese clients he wants me to meet. He eventually wants me to head up a resort they intend to develop in Florida, and it’d be my welcome-back-to-the-family opportunity.”
So he wasn’t throwing in the towel, just because she’d confessed her feelings and scared him off? He wanted them to go to New York together?
She started to smile. She’d do anything for him.
Then he turned halfway around, talking over his shoulder to her, like he was guarding himself. “I can tell him that you’re staying behind to buy a house. That way, a separation will seem natural.”
A . . . separation?
“It’d be best for now,” he said, “until we sort out a few issues.”
Like her being in love with him. Oh my God. He was running, and she didn’t see any way that she would ever catch up to him to haul him back to her. It was over—at least the part about this being a real marriage.
“I’d need to leave tonight,” he said. “On the jet with Dad.”
She heard herself answering. “Okay.”
Obviously, she’d said too much already, and she couldn’t bear to face him again, knowing that he didn’t want her love.
Then again, who did?
If there was one thing she’d learned about herself, though, it was that she wasn’t going to leave his reputation flapping in the wind. She’d signed a contract. She was his wife. She was his means to an end, and she’d agreed to it for the next year and a month.
If she could make it that long.
“Have a good trip, then,” she said quickly, dashing for the door before the tears came. Because she’d also learned that sadness didn’t do any good. She was stronger than tears.
Liz didn’t stick around to hear if he had anything else to add as she ran to Boomer’s house, going inside only long enough to grab the keys to her new, fancy, hollow car and drive it out of the garage and into the desert night, not knowing where she was going.
Only knowing that she couldn’t be around for him to pack and say good-bye to his fake, never-had-a-chance wife.
21
Liz wondered if Ben had been relieved when she’d taken off that night. But if that was the case, he sure didn’t reveal it in the texts he’d been sending throughout the week while he was in New York.
Meetings going well, he’d write. How’s the Poppy dog?
The messages might’ve fooled anyone into thinking the two of them were a fully functional couple, that he was still the carefree guy she’d first met, even if that, too, was only an act now.
He was back in his protective, everything’s-okay shell, and even if she told herself that she shouldn’t care, it broke her heart all over again.
&nb
sp; But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t carry through with this charade, keeping her word as Ben worked in the Hughes Corporation offices to secure that all-important respect he craved. It was phase two of his plan, and wasn’t that the purpose of their contract anyway? For him to gain respect?
Wasn’t that what she wanted for him?
Yes, it was, and she’d made it through heartbreak before, and she’d damned well do it again. Besides, Ben had paid off thousands of dollars of Liz’s debt, and she wasn’t about to stiff him, even if her pride was telling her to leave him behind. She wasn’t that person, and Ben had never promised her his heart, anyway. Hell, she even wanted her own form of respect from the dinner club, so she was getting what she needed, too.
So she’d girded herself, growing the hell up, throwing all her energy into touring Vegas properties with their Realtor. The thing was, though, she could never find the right place. How screwy was it that Boomer’s retro-’70s pad seemed more comfortable than any of the mansions she saw, just because she’d had some of her most hopeful days there with Ben and Poppy?
That didn’t mean Liz hadn’t kept trying. Boomer was set to return to Rough & Tumble next week, and she was going to relocate to a suite at the Macau Hotel on the Strip.
But that wasn’t a home.
She was at yet another mansion today with the Realtor and Anita, who she’d brought along to help her make a firm decision this time. After all, it was only going to add fuel to the tabloid fires—which had laid off of them lately in favor of juicier stories—if the Hugheses never bought a house for themselves. Ben had already quieted the reporter who’d harassed them at the general store with a new camera and a lot of hush money, so he’d asked her—via an e-mail, of course—to make the house a priority, allowing them to look like they were settling in before they arranged a honeymoon neither of them wanted.
Down and Dirty Page 26
