Marry Me

by Cheryl Holt

  "She taught me everything I know." So he'd never beat her in any fight. Gracie had a mind like a mathematician. She'd compute all the angles before he'd even picked his course of action.

  "What are you doing here, Merriweather?" she asked.

  "Call me Lucas. Everyone else in your family does."

  "Okay, Lucas. Why are you here?"

  He shrugged. "I don't have a clue."

  "Gracie figures you're planning to befriend me, bribe me, or seduce me. Which is it?"

  "I can't decide. What tactic would work best?"

  "I don't need any new friends, and I have ten million dollars, so bribery is pointless." She let her gaze meander down his torso. "Seduction might be intriguing."

  "You want me to seduce you?"

  "Sure, why not? Do you think you could?"

  He scoffed. "Do I think I could? Is the sky blue?"

  She didn't understand why she was behaving so outrageously, but he brought out her worst traits. She'd never met a man like him, and he stirred a pot of restlessness that was unusual for her.

  She was content with her life, but when the air around her was charged with so much sexual energy, when he emitted such animal magnetism, she found herself craving things she'd never had, things she didn't even want.

  "I've never been in a Porsche." She was anxious to break the tension. "Let's go for a ride."

  "Are you suggesting it because your mother said you should?"

  "No, I'm suggesting it because I'd like to go for a ride."

  "Aren't you afraid I'll take advantage of you if we're alone?"

  It was her turn to scoff. "You're not big enough or bad enough to take advantage of me."

  "You might be surprised."

  "I doubt it."

  "You have such a sassy mouth."

  He assessed her again, as if he might kiss her, and she actually squirmed with nerves. Would he? Right out on the street, with Peanut watching from the front window?

  She had to be wrong. He simply ignited so many synapses that she couldn't concentrate. He was probably thinking about what he'd had for lunch.

  "Are we going or not?" she asked.

  "Your wish is my command."

  He bowed as if he was her servant, and he reached for the door to open it for her, but she grabbed the handle herself and slid into the soft leather seat. He walked around the car and slipped behind the wheel.

  He had Bryce's same lanky grace, and Faith knew that he'd been a star baseball player in high school and college. There'd been rumors he could have played professionally, but for some reason, he hadn't tried.

  Faith figured he was too lazy to expend the effort. A career as an athlete would have required training and exertion, when he seemed more prone to idleness and vice.

  He started the motor and whipped away from the curb, driving carefully, but very fast, so that she was pushed into the seat by the forward thrust. In seconds, they were out of town and on the highway, climbing into the foothills. They cruised hairpin turns, the valley floor falling away.

  They raced higher and higher, the trees thinning, the cliffs steeper. She kept surreptitiously glancing at his hands, his long, slender fingers expertly clutching the steering wheel. He was so calm, so in control, and she had a feeling he lived his entire life that way, but she couldn't ask him about himself.

  The stereo was on, the music very loud, so they couldn't talk. What would they have discussed anyway?

  He was probably wired and recording her. He was his father's son, after all, and Harold had told her plenty of stories. If even a tiny portion of them were true, the man had been a devious brute.

  A bad seed, Harold had often said of his own son, Lucas's father. A real bad seed.

  The windows were down, the summer wind lashing her hair. She was grinning like a fool, waving at the wild flowers as they flew by.

  A scenic pullout approached, and without warning, he veered off the road and skidded into a parking space. As suddenly as they'd accelerated, they screeched to a stop. The loss of momentum caused her to jerk against her seatbelt.

  There were no other cars in the lot, and it was very quiet, the only noise the breeze in the trees and the pinging of the motor.

  "Wow!" she said. "That was…fun."

  She couldn't come up with a better word to describe her sensation of euphoria. She peered over at him, but he was gazing at her so intently that she was rattled by his expression. She scrambled out of the car.

  She went over to a rock wall where she could stand and enjoy the spectacular view. Far down below was the town of Boulder. Even farther off to the right, the skyscrapers of downtown Denver looked like miniature toys. Beyond the city, the golden prairie extended to the horizon, and she wondered if Kansas was out there somewhere.

  At the higher elevation, the temperature was much cooler. Goosebumps popped out on her legs, her nipples hardening into taut buds, and she crossed her arms over her chest, hoping to hide what she wasn't eager for him to see.

  "It's colder up here," he said, walking up behind her.

  "But so beautiful."

  He surprised her by slipping his coat over her shoulders. It was warm from his body heat, and it smelled like him. She pulled it more tightly around her torso, and she stood with her thighs pressed to the rock wall, while he sat on it, facing her.

  With his coat off, she could clearly discern how his T-shirt hugged his sculpted anatomy, how the fabric stretched over it, how the sleeves circled his biceps.

  My, my…

  She'd previously joked about the possibility of his seducing her, and she'd thought she was kidding. Maybe she wasn't. If she could keep her head straight and her emotions in check, a quick affair might be fantastic.

  "How do you like my car?" he inquired.

  "It's okay," she blandly responded, as if she rode in Porsches all the time.

  "You loved it. Admit it."

  "No. You're vain enough already. I don't want to make it worse."

  "You've got a ton of money now. Why don't you buy yourself one just like it?"

  "What would I do with a fancy car?"

  "Live like the rich woman you are."

  "I'm happy as I am."

  They were silent, with her staring out at the scenery and him staring at her. His scrutiny was so powerful that she felt as if he was actually touching her.

  "Tell me about my grandfather," he finally said.

  "Are you taping me?"

  "No."

  He held out his arms, indicating that he was wearing only a shirt and jeans, but still, she didn't believe him. She riffled along the lining of his leather jacket, the hem, pockets, and cuffs. Then she stepped to him and ran her fingers over his shoulders, chest, stomach, and back. She found no concealed wires.

  When she would have moved away, he clasped her waist and eased her between his thighs. She could have wiggled away, but didn't. She was content to be near him, to revel in the sizzle that ignited.

  "For someone who has nothing to hide," he said, "you're awfully suspicious."

  "I don't trust you."

  "Which is very wise. I don't trust you either."

  "What are you hoping to learn about me?"

  "I want you to confess how you convinced Harold to marry you and give you all his money."

  "I'm a witch and I cast a spell on him."

  "I wouldn't put it past you." He drew her closer so her front was pressed to his. "I'll find out eventually—unless you'd like to save me some time and expense and explain how you tricked him."

  "You're so annoying. What makes you so sure you know everything?"

  "I'm a Merriweather."

  "So am I—by marriage. Maybe you've met your match."

  "Maybe."

  Then he kissed her.

  She'd been wondering if he was thinking about it, and she wasn't certain how she felt about being right. He was her sworn enemy, so what was she doing?

  The embrace was chaste and sweet, his lips warm and soft. He didn't grope or f
ondle her, didn't attempt any extreme conduct. He simply touched his mouth to hers, as if assuaging his curiosity. The wind rustled his hair, the sun shone down. It was a perfect moment.

  He pulled away and dipped under her chin, nibbling down her neck to take a bite at her nape. He continued on, blazing a trail to the spot where her halter top pushed her breasts together, and she was rippling with anticipation.

  Would he tug it down to bare her breasts? Would she let him? Was she insane?

  Ultimately, he didn't proceed, and she couldn't decide if she was relieved or disappointed. He studied her, appearing stunned by what he'd just done, and she gleaned some satisfaction from realizing that she could disconcert him.

  "You had asked me," he said, "if I planned to befriend, bribe, or seduce you. I guess I've picked seduction."

  "You're assuming I'll be amenable."

  "You'll be amenable"—he was infuriatingly confident—"but I will be too. I'm attracted to you, though damned if I can figure out why."

  "Men find me irresistible," she sarcastically claimed. "You'll be defenseless against my feminine wiles."

  "Like my grandfather was?"

  "He begged me to marry him. I told him he shouldn't."

  "I bet you didn't try very hard."

  "He knew you'd come sniffing after his money. He felt that I had the stamina to fight you for it and win."

  "You make it sound like war."

  "Isn't it?" she asked. "Wouldn't you do anything to get what you want from me?"

  "Yes," he readily admitted.

  "I'm exactly the same. I'll do anything too. You should be worried."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "Just warning you, big boy. While you're busy seducing me, I'll be seducing you too. Let's see where it lands us. Let's see who winds up on top at the end."

  He snorted with derision. "You talk tough."

  "I am tough."

  He might have kissed her again, and she might have let him, but another car drove into the deserted lot. Kids barreled out the rear doors.

  "Take me home." She spun and went back to the Porsche.

  As if to prove a point, he didn't follow immediately. He remained on the rock wall, brooding, watching her. Finally, he walked over and got in. He started the car and careened down the mountain.

  It was a disturbing ride, filled with unspoken emotion and sexual tension. They were both single adults and free to tumble into any sort of relationship they wished. Would they have an affair? Should they have an affair?

  Her mind was awhirl with questions: What were the pitfalls? What were the benefits?

  She didn't have the cool detachment necessary for a purely physical liaison, which was the reason she rarely dated. No man had ever tried to get to know her, to get close or form a lasting bond. Lucas Merriweather would be worse than all of her previous boyfriends combined.

  He was rich, traveled and sophisticated. What woman wouldn't be intrigued? But she was positive she'd like him more than she should, and she wasn't in the mood for a broken heart. Then again, it had been a long time since she'd slept with anybody, and she had no doubt he would be really, really good in the sack.

  Should she? Would she?

  All too soon, they arrived at her house. He didn't turn off the motor, didn't say a word. On the entire trip down the mountain, he hadn't spoken, and she'd been silent too. She opened the door and stepped out, and he leaned across the console to announce, "I'm taking you to dinner tomorrow night."

  "What if I don't want to go?" she asked, merely to be contrary.

  "I'll be here at seven. I'm never late, so please be ready."

  "I'll think about it."

  "Wear something sexy. Show me lots of leg."

  "I haven't agreed."

  "You will. You're eager to discover—maybe more than I am—what it could be like between us."

  "You're impossible."

  "Seven o'clock. Be ready."

  He hit the gas and sped away. She stood on the curb, scowling as he disappeared around the corner.

  What had they set in motion? Where would it lead? Where would it end? Nowhere she cared to be, of that she was certain, so why participate? Why hadn't she put a stop to it? Why had she made it so easy for him?

  The pathetic fact was that he fascinated her, and she was impatient to act on that fascination. Harold had talked about him so frequently that she felt she knew and understood him, as if she'd been waiting for their paths to cross.

  Fate was drawing them together for purposes that went beyond money, children, family, and lawsuits. If fate was driving them, there was no telling where they were headed.

  Eventually, she trudged inside. She was so morose, she could have been a lovesick adolescent, suffering through the first throes of a romance.

  When she'd been in the car with him, the world had seemed brighter, more exciting and thrilling. Without him, it was too quiet, duller, less stimulating. She wanted to return to that exhilarating moment when he'd kissed her, which was bizarre in the extreme.

  She proceeded to the kitchen where Gracie would be expecting a full report.

  "Well?" Gracie asked as she entered. "What's his plan?"

  "He picked seduction. He plans to seduce me."

  "Two can play at that game."

  "That's what I told him."

  Gracie studied her, checking that her clothes were on straight.

  "What happened?" she inquired. "Anything interesting?"

  "He kissed me."

  "Excellent. Was he any good at it? What's your opinion?"

  "The man is so friggin' dangerous."

  "Ooh," Gracie cooed, "my favorite kind."

  CHAPTER THREE

  "She's different from what we were expecting."

  "In what way?"

  Lucas looked at his mother, Jacquelyn, and paused, gathering his thoughts so he could adequately describe Faith Benjamin.

  They were in their Denver mansion, one of the city's grand old behemoths that had been built a century earlier with his great grandfather's mining fortune. Although it was beautifully designed and a historic landmark, it was also drafty and uncomfortable.

  The large windows couldn't keep out the winter cold, the furnace—added decades later—didn't adequately heat the rooms, and when it rained, the roof leaked. The family rarely spent time in it.

  His fussy sister, Brittney, preferred New York City. His lazy brother, Dustin, thrived in Los Angeles. His aloof, distant mother favored Santa Fe, while Lucas didn't really live anywhere. He liked to travel, and he enjoyed the freedom of being able to move on whenever he wished to leave.

  The four of them didn't get along. His parents' marriage had been a train wreck, filled with bitter arguments and incessant conflicts. He and his two siblings were the survivors, raised by nannies and housed at boarding schools. As a child, he'd seldom interacted with Jacquelyn. He'd seen her on holidays and short summer breaks when he was home between camps. He hardly knew Dustin and Brittney.

  Yet they'd made the trip to Denver. They were money hungry, intent on hoarding what was theirs, and only the potential loss of millions could have lured them to congregate.

  "She's just a normal person," Lucas said of Faith, aware that the portrayal was unsatisfactory.

  "There's no such thing as normal," his mother sniffed.

  At age sixty, she was remote and brittle, thin to the point of emaciation. Her brown hair had turned to silver, her blue eyes lacked their prior vibrancy. She'd had too much cosmetic work done on her face, and the skin was stretched so tightly that her eyebrows were in a constant state of surprise.

  "I suppose," Lucas clarified, "I should have said ordinary. She's not a drug addict or alcoholic. She's smart and shrewd and pretty, and she seems to have a good head on her shoulders."

  Dustin scoffed. "You would notice that she's pretty."

  "Well, she is. Should I lie and say she's an ugly hag?"

  "Seduce her then," Dustin urged. "If she's pretty, it won't be a chore. M
ake her fall in love with you—that should be easy—and you can convince her to do whatever you want."

  "I don't think it would be that simple. She's wary of me, and she has her own agenda. She's too intelligent to be fooled by fake flattery."

  "Every woman can be fooled by fake flattery," Dustin insisted.

  "Not her."

  "If that's what you imagine, you should let me have a go at her."

  Dustin was twenty-eight, Lucas's younger brother, and though they were only two years apart in age, Lucas felt decades older.

  Physically, they could have been twins. They had the same height, build, and handsome facial features, but the resemblance stopped there.

  Dustin was lazy and entitled, as was Lucas, but he took it to extremes and was ruthless in his pursuit of pleasure. The notion of his inserting himself into the mess with Faith was disconcerting. The last thing Lucas needed was to have his cruel, disreputable brother involved.

  "Did you discuss the inheritance with her?" Brittney asked.

  "She won't give it back without a fight."

  "How could she expect to win against us?"

  "She contends that all of this—the marriage, the money—was Harold's idea."

  "A likely story," Brittney fumed.

  She was very thin like their mother, a perfectionist determined never to put on an extra pound. While he and Dustin were dark-haired and blue-eyed like their parents, she was blond and her eyes green. She didn't look like the rest of them.

  "Faith has two kids," Lucas said, "that she claims are Harold's."

  His mother straightened in her chair. "Where would that arrogant old man have gotten any children?"

  "I don't know."

  "Is she the mother?"

  "No, but she'll want to keep the bequest for them."

  "That complicates matters," Dustin mused.

  "It certainly does," Lucas agreed. "If this ends up in the news, we'll be the ogres, picking on the virtuous young mother who's merely trying to raise her dead husband's kids."

  "You make her sound like a saint," his sister chided.

  "Not a saint, but definitely a mama bear who will protect what's hers."

  "Damn," Dustin muttered, "I was hoping this would be quick and easy."

  "It couldn't be," Lucas said. "Not when there's this much money involved."