Unexpectedly His

by Maggie Kelley

  Marianne looked at him through the tears stinging her eyes.

  He took a step closer. “Are you reneging on the engagement? Because it sure as hell feels like you’ve been using me to get some kind of twisted revenge on your ex, and now that you’ve got it, you decided to take off.”

  Letting him believe that broke her heart to pieces, but it had to be done. Her whole body trembled in preparation of her words. A six-week engagement had seemed like a perfect solution to both their problems, but Evans was right about one thing. She was smart enough to know better, and now she needed to protect her fiancé.

  She drew in a shaky breath. “It was a mistake. The engagement…the lies…everything. All a mistake.”

  “Is this about your father’s conviction? About how his conviction might affect my partnership?” he asked, his keen mind right on the money, as always.

  She shook her head. “No, why would any of that matter to—”

  “Because I don’t give a shit about my reputation or the damn job. All I want is you.”

  The words echoed through her torn-apart townhouse, everything she wanted to hear—and he might even mean it now. But he wouldn’t always. He’d regret his words one day, and Marianne refused to be the cause of his regret. When the time arrived, and he looked at her and wished he’d made a different choice, it would kill her. “Nick, I think you need to leave.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “According to our agreement, you owe me six weeks. I’ve got five more, and you are coming home with me tonight.”

  Home. More than anything she wanted to go home with Nick. She wanted to sneak up onto the rooftop and make love with him under the stars and forget how her choice to jump out of his birthday cake and into his life could cost him everything she knew he wanted. But she’d weighed the pros and cons and faced the truth: ending it now meant his dream could still come true.

  The acknowledgment shattered her, and she felt her body tremble in protest. Don’t do it. But she ignored the anxious flutter in her stomach. A clean break was best. Her heart banged out a last, desperate plea for safety. Do. Not. Do. It.

  “I’m sorry, Nick, but I want out. Not five weeks from now. Now.” Marianne drew in a shaky breath. “Tonight.”

  “Tonight.” Nick held his arms out wide, the daisies hanging in mid-air. “That’s it? You say you’re out and it’s over?”

  She tilted her chin in a defensive gesture. “I don’t remember signing a contract.”

  “A contract? Jesus, I offered to draw something up, but you trusted me to be a man of my word.” He barked out a laugh. “Guess I know why now.”

  Marianne heard the resentment in his voice and closed her eyes to edge back tears. When she opened them, he was still standing there, outwardly devastated, but impeccably controlled. The truth of what she’d done hit her hard. He believed her, and his distant, pained expression revealed another, even more difficult, truth. He’d never expected better. A stab of pain shot through her chest as the realization shattered her heart, tearing open old wounds so completely that she knew they’d never heal. She’d never recover from Nick Wright. And that was the most painful truth of all.

  Marianne drew in one last shaky breath. “I’m sorry. But this deal is not going to work.”

  Nick remained frozen, and the distance between them filled with the kind of chill normally reserved for the worst days of a New York winter. Despite the spring blooms in his hand, a shiver raced down her spine. His face was etched in stone. And she knew it was over.

  “These are for you.” And then he turned on his heel, tossed the rain-splattered flowers onto the dusty, plastic-covered table, and walked out of her life for good.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Always keep promises.”

  —mantelligence.com

  Nick had never spent a sleepless night in his life.

  Until tonight.

  He sank back against the leather cushions. Guess he’d been right all along—commitment was for suckers. Marianne was gone. He’d been crazy to think their relationship was real, that it was different from any other he’d experienced. Relationships had never worked for him, so why had he expected more from her? Because she’d charmed him on his birthday by popping out of a damned cake? How insane was that?

  Plain and simple—he’d been taken for a ride, and it was nuts to believe anything else. People left. That’s what they did. Hell, everybody but his sister had left him in some way, and he’d dealt with it. So why was he sitting here cuddling up with the classic movie channel, missing his fiancée, believing he didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle? Why did he still think Marianne would be different? Because he did.

  He clicked up the volume on the television to keep from dwelling on the way she’d filled the place with her romance novels and her cardigans. The way she’d captivated him with her intelligence and her trademark moves, her glasses and those killer legs.

  His place wasn’t the same without that damned woman in it. Worse, it might never be the same. The rooftop, the office, hell, the freaking shower. Marianne had breathed soul into the place. He muted the television and tossed the remote onto the couch. So much for his damned rules and his foolproof six-week plan. No back-to-back dates—out the window. No sleepovers—obviously he’d made a joke of that one. Thank God it wasn’t football season or he’d be turning in his man card. He slunk deeper into the couch.

  Marianne hadn’t seemed like a con artist, a woman who’d play the game for what she wanted and take off. She’d seemed vulnerable and genuine and sincere.

  Hell, he’d thought he loved her.

  The black and white glow from the television illuminated the emptiness of the room. Quiet seeped around him. He missed the feeling that came with having her here. Missed the way she turned off every light in the place except the one she was using. The way she’d check on her damn Prius every day. The late-night movies and her insomnia. Missed the way her hips swayed and the way her eyes lit up at the sight of flowers. Missed taking her face in his hands and kissing her under the light of the city stars. The cardigans, the glasses…everything.

  Son of a bitch. He didn’t simply think he loved her. He did love her. Nick chuckled into the semi-darkness. He was in love with his fake fiancée. Strike that: ex-fake-fiancée. The knowledge came like a gavel slamming down on his heart, creating a pain so sharp that he fell deeper into the sectional wondering what had happened.

  Nick knew from experience that not everybody got a shot at the real deal, and he wasn’t about to waste his. As unlikely as it seemed, he was in love with sweet, sexy Marianne McBride. Now, there was only one question left. What was he going to do about it?

  …

  Early the following morning, having driven the one hundred miles from Manhattan to East Hampton on three hours of sleep, Nick made the hard left past the sea grass, drove the Spider up the pebbled driveway, and parked under the cypress tree next to the house. Sometime last night, he’d decided to walk away from the firm, come here to set the legal record straight, and let the chips of his career fall where they may.

  For better or worse, he loved Marianne in a way he’d never believed possible—with his entire heart—and he refused to accept that he was nothing more than a party date to her. If she didn’t intend to explain her quick departure from his condo, then Nick needed to figure out what was going on and find a way to bring her back home. To his home. Where he wanted her. Where she belonged. The Hamptons seemed as good a place to start as any.

  “Come on up, Nick.” John McBride’s deep, welcoming voice called out from the upper deck of the oceanfront house. Resting back in an Adirondack chair, he waved him toward a hidden set of stairs at the end of the portico. “I’ve been waiting since you called.”

  Nick took the steps two at a time, reaching the deck in a few seconds. He was here to set the record straight about Marianne’s ex, to do right by her father, and his gut told him there was no time to waste. “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Mr.
McBride.”

  “Call me John—we’re about to become family,” he said with a smile. “Besides, I should be thanking you for driving all the way out here given that my range of motion is being curtailed for the short-term.” His smile turned into a smirk, and he lifted the leg of his khaki pants to reveal the ankle bracelet. “Coffee?” he asked, indicating the insulated white pot on a nearby glass table.

  Nick accepted, grateful for the caffeine, but unsure if he was impressed or concerned by the man’s easy acceptance of his house arrest. He took hold of the stoneware mug being pressed into his hands and sat on the edge of a second slatted chair. “John, if it works for you, I’ll cut straight to the chase. A portfolio crossed my desk yesterday that creates a bit of an issue for me.”

  “You’re concerned about the effect of my conviction on your career.”

  “No,” Nick assured him quickly, his hands cutting into the air between them. “If I’m being honest, the issue had crossed my mind, but no, that’s not why I’m here.”

  The older man’s face settled into an inquiring, serious expression so reminiscent of his daughter’s that Nick had to smile. “Long drive for a cup of coffee.”

  Nick’s tired half smile acknowledged the statement. “Well, sir, the portfolio in question belongs to Jason Ward.”

  The man nodded astutely. “I see.”

  “He wanted to invest in a fund, so I reviewed his financials, and it looks to me like he made some well-timed profits, the kind that draw the attention of the SEC—am I in the ballpark here? Or am I spinning my wheels?”

  John pulled off his readers and raised his eyebrows. “My wife was right about you. You are a smart one.” He tossed his glasses next to a discarded newspaper on the table. “I didn’t know they were illegal—not at first.”

  “Then why go down for it?”

  There was a pause as he considered his answer. “Because I’m the one who gave him the tip. Not intentionally, of course, just a casual mention about the merger of a friend’s company—stupid of me, really.” He eased back in the chair, as comfortable as if he were telling a fairy tale. “Next thing I know, the SEC is knocking on the door looking for answers, and Jason is claiming he made the trade honestly, not knowing it wasn’t public information. Named me as the tipster.” He shook his head. “What was I going to do? Call my daughter’s fiancé a liar? I had provided Jason with information.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Nick said.

  John chuckled and held out his upturned palms in a simple, eloquent gesture. “Hell, I was guilty. I failed to do my due diligence, trusted the wrong man, and the transaction was technically done under my watch.”

  “No offense, sir. But I’d think that Jason would know better than to act on inside information.” Hell, he’d caught wind of “insider tips” a time or two. That didn’t mean he’d ever acted on them.

  “Yes, well…” Marianne’s father drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, his expression equal parts angry and indifferent. “Marianne was engaged to Jason. I’d have gutted my business to save her pain, so…” His words trailed off.

  “So you gave him a pass and skipped an investigation.”

  “I had the insider information, and my company profited. So, yes, I made the deal with the Feds. No public mess or trial, an easier investigation. Everybody wins. Never considered the backlash to my daughter’s career, but she always loved the numbers, not the money. Not sure she ever loved Jason, though, not after the way she handled him at the party the other night.”

  Nick leaned forward in his seat. “Yes, about that…”

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right?” The older man winked and gestured toward the ankle monitor. “But I don’t think we’ll being seeing him around here anymore. Not now that Marianne is finished with him.” He eased back into the chair and looked him square in the eye. “She loves you, Nick. Even an old fool like me can see that.”

  Nick shifted in his seat, uncertain a woman like Marianne could love him, but damn sure he loved her. “We could still go to the Feds, find a way to set the record right.”

  The older man smiled. “That means a lot to you—setting the record straight.”

  “Without a doubt.” Nick looked over at him, ready to make his case. “My father was not a man to stand up for anyone or take the high road. Doing the right thing is important to me.” Especially when it came to Marianne. He wanted to make sure nothing could hurt her—or their future—and he wanted to bring her home.

  “Nick, from where I sit, you’re nothing like your father, but there’s nothing to set straight here, nobody to protect, because it’s all water under the bridge. A short stint in prison was a small price to pay for what I believed was Marianne’s happiness. No point looking back.” He picked up his coffee and raised it in a toast. “Never a saint, I probably earned the time, anyway.”

  “But sir—”

  “It’s settled. Jason made plenty of legit profit working for me. Invest his money or send him packing, whatever works, but don’t dredge up more pain or another scandal, let the past go,” he said, definitively. “Just be good to my daughter.”

  “I will,” Nick said, a small measure of hope seeping into his heart. “If she’ll let me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I guess I wanted love more than anything else in the world.”

  —Marilyn Monroe

  Marianne stared at the impossible matrix score. There must be some way to fine-tune the total. Her fingers flew across the screen. Perhaps it was a correlation issue. If she took the number of minutes she’d spent with Nick and divided them by the numbers of times he’d sent her mind and body reeling… She shook her head. No, obviously that was not going to work. Her fingers trembled above the keys.

  She needed to find an adjustment to confirm her decision to break off their relationship, some confidence interval or standard deviation to prove the matrix was wrong about her and Nick. She wrinkled her nose at the screen. Hells bells, computer models predicted behavior all the time, not to mention explaining the occurrence of natural phenomena, hurricanes, earthquakes, so why not predict, or better yet, control love?

  Their business deal had grown into passion and friendship. Yes, Nick had freed her inner siren and encouraged her sexuality, but she wasn’t trying to get over the best sex ever—although sex with Nick was the best ever—no, she was trying to get over the one man she’d always love.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, she snapped the cover of the tablet shut in one swift motion. No calculation could change her decision. Marianne wanted a lifetime of Nick Wright, but not if being with her cost him everything. She slid her hands beneath her glasses, pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes.

  Statistically, only two percent of people suffered from broken heart syndrome, a small, but real, number. And she was among them. Glasses askew, her skirt wrinkled, her hair a mess, she was melting down in a way she never thought possible, and no Marilyn marathon could change the fact that her heart was completely shattered, literally aching from the pain. She’d agreed to a temporary engagement and committed the worst possible sin. She’d fallen permanently in love.

  The click of Jane’s heels against the tile caused her to smooth her skirt and straighten her glasses. No more sexy dresses. No more fishnets. No more scandalous shoes. Her inner siren’s run was over. Back to plain, achingly serious Marianne.

  Jane stopped in front of her desk, deposited a cup with the words Grande. Passion. Marianne scrawled in black Sharpie across the front, and got straight to the point. “Nick was offered his partnership, but he turned it down.”

  Marianne eyed the paper cup as her splintered heart started cautiously to collect its pieces. “Why?”

  A sympathetic sound of impatience erupted from Jane’s throat. “Because Nick is a good man with a heart of gold, okay? He’s not just the guy whose serial relationships are always short-circuiting.” She pushed the tea cup closer, and the words stared Marianne in the face. “Bu
t I think you already know that.” She opened her mouth to object, but Jane waved her off. “Do you know he worked nights to get through college?” She shook her head. “Well, he did, and when he finally got a scholarship, he kept his night job to put Jake and me through school, too. Do not let go of this wonderful man, Marianne. Do. Not.”

  Marianne looked away, tears burning her eyes as she smoothed her wrinkled skirt. “He is wonderful, Jane—so, so wonderful, but our relationship only worked because it wasn’t real, because of our deal. He never really wanted me. Not plain old regular new girl, Marianne. He wanted his cake girl for a temporary six weeks. No matter how wonderful he is, that hasn’t changed.”

  Jane shook her head, obviously not buying it. “Nick was attracted to you from the minute he saw you pop out of that cake, yes, but somewhere along the line, he fell for you. For Marianne. Not the new girl or the cake girl, but for you. All of the wonderful, beautiful things that you are—inside and out.” She sipped at her coffee and glanced at her over the rim of the cup. “And while we’re on the subject of the cake girl, I may have a teeny-tiny confession.” She tilted her head and tugged hard on her right ear, the childhood tell of a gambler’s daughter. Cupid was about to lay all her cards on the table. “There never was an actual cake girl.”

  Marianne blinked behind the glasses, stunned, but secretly thrilled by the revelation. “No cake girl?”

  “No cake girl.” A tight, forgive-me smile creased her face. “I arranged the cake for Nick’s birthday, but not the girl, hoping that my favorite siren would climb in there and pop out in time to meet her statistically perfect match.”