by Day Leclaire
She didn’t leave. Instead she stood quietly at his side and waited. Reluctantly he glanced down at her. Her dress was made of some sort of shimmery fabric, the light green an almost perfect match for her eyes. The V-neck bodice hugged her slender curves and he suppressed the savage urge to steal her away to a dark, private corner and become intimately familiar with those curves—curves, he suspected, that would prove to be a hell of a lot softer than her hands.
“You don’t want me,” he told her in a harsh undertone. “I’m not the right sort of husband for you.”
He might as well have saved his breath. “If you won’t eat with me, will you dance with me?” she asked.
Take her into his arms? Feel that pale, velvety skin beneath his hands, breathe in her scent and mold her body to his? He gritted his teeth. What the hell did she think he was made of? Stone?
“Not a chance.” He bit out the words and grabbed hold of her work-roughened hand. “It’s the buffet or nothing.”
He towed her through the crowds, calling himself every kind of a fool for not avoiding the trap closing in around him. But he found he couldn’t. Something in the way Wynne looked at him, the unquestioning faith he read in those candid green eyes made him want to take her under his wing and ensure that nothing ever harmed her. He didn’t stop to analyze his reaction. He only knew that for the past four hours he’d caught distracting glimpses of her—and of the men stalking her like a pack of feral dogs. And each time he’d thought her on the verge of selecting one for a husband, it had felt as though he’d been mule-kicked square in the gut.
He was doing her a favor, he decided. He didn’t know why she felt the need to go to this extreme, why she felt that marriage represented salvation, but he suspected she only saw the dream, not the reality. If he married her, she’d be free in a short amount of time. By then, she’d have realized that marriage didn’t solve problems, it only added to them. And she’d be only too happy for an opportunity to escape.
His mouth tightened at his feeble attempts to rationalize a way around the truth. If he were honest, he’d admit that he cared about just two things—gaining his inheritance and having this woman in his bed. He wanted her. He wanted her silken limbs wrapped around him. He wanted to see her in the full flush of passion. Most of all, he wanted her to continue gazing up at him the way she did, the way no one else ever had—with blatant adoration and trust.
She was a fool to assume him worthy of either. And he was a bigger fool for condoning it.
Wynne hesitated at the doorway to the dining area, staring in wonder at the feast laid out before them. “I’ve never seen so much food in all my life,” she whispered.
Jake glanced at the damask-covered tables, piled high with every imaginable delicacy. The Montagues had spared no expense. His mouth twisted cynically. But then, considering what they charged for tickets to this ridiculous party, they could afford a decent spread.
“What would you like?” he asked, amused by the hungry greed she made no effort to conceal.
“Some of everything,” she answered promptly. “Let’s start with the desserts.”
He laughed in genuine amusement, amazed that he still remembered how. “Not worried about calories?”
“Oh, no,” she assured blithely. “I find plenty of ways to burn them off.”
He lifted an eyebrow, wondering if she meant that to sound as suggestive as it did. “Burn them off, how?” he probed, handing her a china plate. “Busy nights?”
She helped herself to a huge slice of fudge cake. “Very.” Taking a deep breath, she glanced at him, her expression determinedly frank. “I work as a waitress and dishwasher. Correction. I worked as a waitress and dishwasher. I’m not even that anymore.”
Which explained the hands. As for his innuendo, she hadn’t picked up on that at all. Surely she wasn’t so naive. He frowned. Or was she? What if she were—he blanched—a virgin? Hell, he couldn’t handle that. Virgins expected permanency. Commitment. Romance. Virgins expected forever. He needed someone experienced. Someone who knew what she was getting into. Someone who wouldn’t balk when it came time to perform her marital duties and would then have the gumption to admit as much to Judge Graydon.
Someone who’d walk away from him without a backward glance.
“How old are you, anyway?” he asked suspiciously.
“Twenty-six.”
He couldn’t hide his relief. Twenty-six. That was encouraging. There couldn’t be many twenty-six-year-old virgins left in the world. Still…There was something about her. Something pure and innocent and fresh that made him feel as skittish as a stallion with his first mare. “You ever slept with a man?” he demanded bluntly.
She didn’t appear anywhere near as stunned as the diners who’d overheard his question. She tilted her head to one side and blinked up at him. “Should I have?”
“Yes. Without question.”
“Oh.” She slipped a raspberry tart onto her plate. “Well, if it helps any, I’ve been engaged three times.”
His hands tightened on his plate. Damnation. Three times. Three men. Three engagements worth of opportunity to lure his little elf into someone else’s bed. He should feel relieved. Instead he felt murderous. “Three times, huh?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him and he read the truth in her eyes. Three men had had her within their grasp and not held on. Were they blind, stupid, or just crazy? He took her plate out of her hands and jerked his head toward an open doorway. “Come on. Let’s find someplace private to talk. I want to get this settled.”
She cast a wistful glance toward the desserts they’d missed and then accompanied him out a set of French doors and into the garden. The November desert was unseasonably warm, the evening chill barely penetrating. Imported trees and shrubbery glittered with fairy lights, a full moon splashing the pathways with interesting patterns of illumination and shadow. Tables and benches were recessed into little nooks and, wandering deeper into the garden, Jake found an empty one.
“Tell me why you want to marry,” he began peremptorily, setting their plates on the table.
She sat, her gown shimmering softly in the subdued starlight, her hair and eyes burnished with silver. “I was afraid you were going to ask that.” She shot him a hopeful glance, nibbling at a morsel of rum cake. “I don’t suppose you’d care to go first?”
“Okay,” he consented, shoving his plate to one side. “It’s quite simple. I have an inheritance at stake. I either marry or I lose it.” His voice deepened, grew cool and stark. “And just so you know, I don’t intend to lose it.”
She lowered her fork and stared at him in astonished delight. “That’s wonderful.”
He leaned across the table, pinning her with a look of cold displeasure. “I’m about to lose my inheritance and you think it’s wonderful?”
“No, no. You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it so I will.”
“I have an inheritance, too. And the only way I can keep it, is if I marry.” She peeked up at him. “Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
He lifted an eyebrow, thinking it a little too convenient a coincidence. “Then why do you need a permanent marriage?” he asked skeptically.
“I told you. It doesn’t have to be permanent. It’s just…” She hesitated, as though choosing her words carefully—something he suspected she didn’t often bother with. “You see, there’s this woman. Mrs. Marsh. She wants my inheritance and she’ll do whatever it takes to get it away from me.” She frowned, her expression turning fierce. “She’s already scared off three fiancés. That’s why I need someone strong, someone who’ll help me fight her.”
That explained a lot. Her previous fiancés sounded like total bastards, making promises they had no intention of keeping. All so they could entice her into their beds, he didn’t doubt. “I don’t scare easy,” Jake commented. “And I’ve never yet failed to keep my word.”
She grinned. “I hoped you’d say that. Which leaves only one
problem.”
Of course. While he’d been distracted by the more pleasurable aspects of having her as his wife, she’d been baiting her trap. A trap he’d almost fallen into. When would he learn? Nothing ever came without a price. “What’s your problem?” he asked grimly.
“You want a brief marriage. But I don’t know how long it will take to get rid of Mrs. Marsh, to convince her that she can’t take my inheritance away from me.”
“I don’t understand. Once you’re married—”
“The inheritance is mine. Legally. But if she finds out it’s only a temporary marriage, she’ll never give up. She’ll try to get her hands on it after we divorce. She’ll argue that the marriage was just a ruse.”
He shrugged. “Then we’ll have to make sure she doesn’t learn about the divorce.”
Wynne nibbled on her lower lip. “If she does, I guess I could find myself another husband.”
Jake stilled, fighting the surge of displeasure her comment stirred. He had no right to feel that way. Once she’d fulfilled her marital duty, it wasn’t any of his business what Wynne chose to do. He’d help get rid of this Marsh woman for now. Later could take care of itself. He hesitated, aware their deal wasn’t the least equitable. She still had the chance to find someone else, someone who’d stick around longer, who could guarantee Mrs. Marsh would never be a problem.
“I’m not right for you,” he said in a low voice. He stood, pulling her to her feet. “Go back to the ballroom and take another look around. Maybe you’ll find the perfect man, a permanent sort of man.”
She shook her head and smiled. “I’ve already found the perfect man.”
He’d give her one final chance to escape. If she stayed, she’d seal her own fate. It would be out of his hands and he could take her with a clear conscience. “Run away, little elf,” he insisted curtly. “Go now, while you still can. You don’t want me for your husband. I’ll only hurt you.”
“You could never hurt me,” she said, lifting her face to his.
“You don’t think so?” His hands closed on the narrow bones of her shoulders and he tugged her into his arms. “Why don’t we find out?”
And unable to resist any longer, he took her mouth with his.
CHAPTER TWO
WYNNE STOOD CLASPED in Jake’s arms, reveling in the most incredible kiss she’d ever received. He’d meant for it to be ruthless; she’d known from the grim set of his jaw and the hard grasp of his hands. He’d meant to scare her off. But somewhere between the time he’d pulled her close and the time he’d kissed her, his intentions must have changed.
He groaned, his mouth moving over hers with gentle warmth, probing, sampling, tasting at will. It was as though he were indulging in a leisurely exploration, stirring her in ways that emptied every thought from her head save one—to experience more. He must have sensed her total capitulation, for his touch grew more assured, firmer, coaxing a response unlike any she’d known before.
Did he suspect how thoroughly shaken she was by his kiss, how new and wonderful she found it? He’d been so concerned about her level of sexual expertise earlier, so appalled that she might still be a virgin. And yet, his kiss seemed to take that possibility into consideration, easing from the lightest of caresses to a more potent, heady embrace.
She stood on tiptoe, pressing closer, determined to enjoy every aspect of this unexpected treat. In response, he molded her against him, his body hard, his arousal blatant. His hands swept over her with unmistakable skill, as though committing each curve to memory. His touch burned, igniting a reaction that grew more intense by the moment. She trembled uncontrollably, desire overriding every other thought and emotion.
“Jake, please!”
The cry escaped before she could prevent it. For a crazed instant she thought he’d tumble them into the bushes and take her right then and there. Instead he tensed and pushed her away, cool air replacing the unbearable heat of seconds ago. She fought him, refusing to leave the protective warmth of his arms.
“We can’t take this any further, Wynne,” he murmured close to her ear. “This isn’t what I’d planned.”
She clung to him, shivering, struggling to regain her equilibrium. “What did you plan?”
“To drive you off.” His response was stark, yet painfully honest.
“Oh.” She snuggled deeper into his arms, burying her face in the curve of his shoulder. She fit as though made for him. “You didn’t succeed.”
“I can see that,” he said with a soft laugh. “Does this mean we’re committed?”
She forced herself to consider his question rationally, to control the emotional upheaval clouding her mind. Her mouth curved in a wry smile. It was an impossible task. How could she think when all she wanted was to lose herself in his embrace? She’d never fallen in love before, certainly not with a man she’d only known for a few brief hours. She didn’t have a clue how to separate reason from sentiment.
“Wynne?” Tension rippled through him and his arms tightened around her. “Have you changed your mind?”
She shook her head. “No. I haven’t changed my mind.” Pulling back, she looked up at him. “You said ‘committed.’ Is that a proposal, by any chance?”
He hesitated. “It’s a proposition for a temporary marriage.”
She wouldn’t get any more from him than that. At least, not yet. Not that it mattered. She’d have plenty of time to prove he needed her on a permanent basis. After all, who knew how long it would take to convince Mrs. Marsh that their marriage was real? A week, a month, six months? Those six months could become six years, she was certain of it. And six years could become sixty.
“In that case, I accept,” she agreed. “Though I’ll be happy to stick around longer if you want.”
“I won’t.” Steel had crept into his voice. “Don’t think you can alter my decision about this, Wynne. It won’t happen. This marriage is a temporary arrangement.”
“Whatever you say.” She sighed, sliding her fingers through his crisp, dark hair. “Would you kiss me again? I rather liked it. It was nice.”
He frowned. “Nice, huh? Remind me not to ask you for a reference.”
Color tinted her cheeks. “Well…I liked kissing you enough to want it to go on for the rest of the night.”
“It can.”
If he meant to alarm her with his bluntness, he failed. Miserably. She stared in wonder, lifting her mouth to his. “Really? All night?”
He set her from him, his fierce gaze telling her all too clearly how much of a temptation he found her—a temptation he intended to resist. “All we have to do is get this farce of a wedding over with. I have a room at the Grand Hotel and we’ll go there the minute we’re married. Once that’s out of the way, we can make this night last as long as you’d like.”
Her smile grew luminous. “That’s just perfect. I’m staying at the Grand, too.”
“Listen to me, Wynne…” His tone cut through her
euphoria, sounding deadly serious. “There’s one or two details we haven’t agreed on.”
“Is that all?” she teased in an effort to hide her nervousness. “Just one or two?”
“When we get to the Grand…” He hesitated as though searching for words, then stated flatly, “I expect to consummate the marriage. If you’re not certain you can handle that, now’s the time to back out.”
“I won’t back out,” she replied instantly. Why would she? He was perfect. He was everything she’d always wanted in a man. She’d discovered her knight in shining armor, just as she’d known she would. No. Without a doubt, she’d find joy in this marriage and with this man, no matter how long their time together might last. An impish smile played about her mouth. Of course, she intended it to last a bit longer than he did. “That’s one detail taken care of. What else is there?”
“I have a prenuptial agreement I want you to sign.”
She shrugged. “No problem. Give me a pen and I’ll sign it.”
His mouth tightened. “You
won’t sign a damned thing until you’ve read it,”
“Fine, I’ll read it. Why? What does it say?”
“That when we divorce, my inheritance stays with me.” His gaze met hers, his eyes direct and unflinching in their regard. “All of it.”
“Well, of course. That’s the whole point of the marriage, right?”
He gathered her hands in his. “It occurred to me that you might be marrying for more than just an inheritance.”
She stared down at their joined hands. Hers were engulfed in his, and she frowned at how red and chapped her skin remained despite all the moisturizer she’d used. Did he despise the roughness? she couldn’t help but wonder. She’d always thought it a small price to pay when balanced against all she stood to gain.
“I told you why I need a husband,” she said, not quite certain what he was implying. “What more could there be?”
“Maybe you’re tired of working so hard to make ends meet and are looking for someone to help ease your burden.” It was the gentlest of accusations and carefully phrased—quite out of character for such a blunt, cutto-the-chase type man.
“I see,” she murmured. “You think because I work hard, I’m unhappy.”
He shook his head. “Not unhappy. Just anxious to start a new life. Marriage can look damned appealing if it means escaping a lifetime of drudgery.”
She smiled in relief. “I can understand why you might think that. And you’re right. I do work hard to make ends meet.” In fact, if he knew the whole truth he’d consider her situation quite desperate. No money. No job. No place to live. But that was only a temporary condition.
“Is that why you’re marrying, to escape your current life?”
“No,” she stated without hesitation. “Some people might see marriage as a way out. But I’m not one of them. I have my health. I’ve never been afraid of hard work. And when things go wrong, I do whatever it takes to right my situation. Marriage only ensures I hold onto my inheritance.”
She’d deal with the rest of her troubles when the time came—when her marriage ended. If her marriage ended, she couldn’t prevent the wistful thought.
