by Susan Crosby
He had a job to do, and the job came first. Unfortunately, she had become part of his job.
He forced his gaze from the dress form, shifting instead to the opposite corner where a desk held a computer and printer. Stacks of papers were piled neatly beside it. He resisted the temptation to thumb through them.
After a few minutes, the bedroom door opened. She was bundled in a fluffy pink bathrobe over a long, flannel night-gown dotted with tiny flowers. Her hair hung straight and wet to her shoulders. Her cosmetic-free face glowed from the scrubbing she’d given it. He wished he had the right to hold her.
“I’m sorry for the clutter,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I’m redecorating the second bedroom, so everything’s out here until I’m done.”
“It’s a nice home, Magnolia. I don’t think I told you that last time. Very warm and inviting.”
“I like it ” She sat on the sofa and rested her feet on the coffee table.
“I didn’t know you sewed.”
“My second love. Major in English, minor in fashion. Yes, I know. It’s an odd combination. But I have plans for both.”
“Where’s the necklace I gave you?”
Startled by the question that seemed to come from nowhere, she straightened a little. Her fingers feathered her throat. “It didn’t go with what I wore tonight.”
“I asked you not to take it off.”
“But...I was wearing rhinestone earrings. The necklace is gold.”
“Ah, I see. Fashion comes before sentiment.”
“But—”
He waved a hand. “Never mind. Tell me what happened,” he said, his tone softening as he sat beside her.
The phone rang.
He moved like a man possessed, curving his hand over the receiver before she could touch it. “If it’s Hastings, let me listen, too,” he said.
“Why?”
“Humor me, Magnolia.” He passed her the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Well, my little fox, you led this hound on a merry chase.”
Maggie tipped the phone Diego’s way at the first sound of Brendan’s voice. “I decided I needed to be with my family, after all.”
“Yet you’re at home, not at your sister’s house.”
“My head hurt. I wouldn’t have been good company.”
The ensuing silence made the lie seem bigger. She squirmed a little.
“I’ll forgive you, Miss Walters, this time. I underestimated how much you resented my arranging the evening. Next time I’ll ask. But mark my words, I will have you—one way or another. Good night.”
Diego took the phone and pressed the disconnect button “You handled that very well.”
Maggie expelled a sound of disgust. “Can you believe him?” The pitch of her voice broadcast her budding fury. She pushed herself off the sofa. “‘I will have you.’ Ha! In his dreams.”
“Magnolia—”
“‘One way or another.’ What does that mean? Willing or not?”
“Calm down.”
“Dead or—” She stopped short and pressed a hand to her mouth, her mind filled with the memory of Brendan on the telephone in his penthouse. Quick and painless, he’d said. Quick and painless?
She sought Diego then, watched him walk to her, felt his hands curve around her arms as if to steady her. “Dead or alive?” she whispered.
“Take it easy. You’re safe.”
“I thought he was just another dictatorial, powerful man, used to getting his own way.” She sorted it out in her head. “He’s more than that, isn’t he? That’s why you’re so worried. He’s some kind of criminal.”
“That’s the rumor.”
J.D. tightened his hold on her as she pulled back in dawning awareness. He couldn’t give her details. She wore her feelings on her face, and he couldn’t take the chance she’d slip up. But two young women had been murdered, and the evidence pointed to Hastings Magnolia could not be the third. He’d see to that.
“How do you know so much about him?” she asked.
He saw suspicion cloud her eyes. Be careful, he warned himself. She’s way too perceptive.
“You chatter with customers. I listen.”
“Are you sure about him?” Her gaze wandered over his face. “Of course you’re sure. And Misty said—She called him a crocodile. But I don’t understand. He’s a member of the Carola. The people there—”
“Have to be rich, powerful or famous. That’s all.”
She pulled away to perch on the edge of the couch. “So, I’ve shattered the ego of a powerful man. What does he do about it? Does he get me fired?”
J.D. sat across from her. “If so, he’d be advertising his failure to win you over.”
“Pride. Okay, that’s good. But he’s undoubtedly ticked off.”
“Extremely.”
“You’re a big help.”
He found he could actually smile. “Maybe it’s time to visit your mother,” he suggested.
Her mouth dropped open. “In New Orleans? You’re kidding. That’d be worse than anything Brendan had in mind.”
He said her name softly. She was losing her fear. He needed her to understand that Hastings posed a real danger. “I really think you should go.”
“Go into hiding, you mean.” She shook her head. “He’d find me at my mother’s in an instant. He already seems to know everything there is to know about me. I’m not running. I’m not hiding. I have a life to have. A job. School. A niece or nephew on the way Responsibilities. I can handle this.”
“No, Magnolia. You can’t. Not alone.”
“Yes, I can.”
He leaned forward. “Don’t underestimate him. He’s a genuine power and a genuine threat.”
“He’s harassing me. I can call the police. I could get a restraining order or something. Patrick would help me.”
“Your brother-in-law’s attention should be focused only on your sister and the baby nght now. You can’t ask him to get involved.” He settled back in the chair again. His gaze held hers. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
“Stuck?”
“There’s only one solution that I can see.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re going to have to marry me.”
Four
Maggie jerked upright. She felt the blood drain from her face as her mouth moved uselessly to form some sort of reply.
“We won’t share a bed,” he assured her. “The marriage can be annulled when it’s safe to do so. Until then, you would have my protection.”
“Protection,” she repeated, fitting the word into her situation. His protection, but at what cost?
“Hastings follows his own code of ethics. He won’t touch another man’s wife, another man’s leavings, although he’ll cheat on his wife without a second thought.”
“He’s married?”
“With three children.”
“How—” she stopped momentarily, trying to make sense of it all “—how do you know all this?”
“It’s my job to know about him—about everyone who comes to the Carola. You’re going to have to trust me, Mag nolia. I won’t let any harm come to you, that I promise.”
“I need facts, Diego. Concrete facts to support so drastic a solution.”
He leaned forward. “Fact. Hastings threatened you. Fact. No one can stop him from coming to your place of employment—unless he does something drastic enough to get himself kicked out. By then it may be too late.
“Fact. Rumors are not proof. The police won’t get involved based on rumors. Fact. We don’t know exactly how far this man would go, particularly when, as you say, his ego has been shattered.”
He sat back, seeming to relax. “I say an ounce of prevention is worth more than a pound of cure. I have offered you a way out. If we marry, not only should it halt his pursuit of you, it puts us in physical proximity for me to protect you, in case... well, just in case Put your stubbornness aside and think this through.”
Maggie closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples, which had started to throb. “I need some aspirin,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She escaped into the bathroom, shutting him out with a deliberate chck of the lock She dumped two tablets into her hand, washed them down with a full glass of water. Then she looked into the mirror, not liking what she saw there—the fragility that lingered. She was tempted to give in to it. Tempted to let Diego handle everything, to take care of her.
Tempted. But not giving in.
She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t dreamed of meeting a wonderful man, falling hopelessly in love, walking down the aisle to him in a gown she’d designed and made, and pledging to love, honor and cherish him forever.
Her dream hadn’t come from any shining example—her mother had been married six times—but Maggie still believed in one man, one love, one marriage for a lifetime.
Part of that dream involved a glorious marriage proposal in which her husband-to-be declared his undying love and devotion.
Never once had she imagined, “You’re going to have to marry me.”
Well, so much for romance, she thought, relegating her dreams to a shadowed corner of her heart. Fantasy had no place in the reality of the moment, the reality of her situation.
She filled the water cup again, drank deeply, stalling.
Why wasn’t he confiding in her? He wanted her to trust him but he didn’t trust her. How could they have even a temporary relationship without trust?
Temporary. She stared at the sink. The truth was that Brendan or not, trust or not, love or not, she wanted to marry Diego. The feelings that had simmered in her for so long had to have names attached to them, had to find their place. He’d kept her at arm’s length, never giving them a chance to see what could happen.
She could use this time to create a home with him. They would share the same space, eat together, have tune for conversation. She couldn’t tell him why she was saying yes, of course. He needed his own fantasy of protecting her. And maybe she was a little worried about Brendan, as well.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t handle it.
She ran a brush through her hair, noting the color was back in her face. Good. She didn’t want him to remember her weakness but her strength.
J.D. turned when the door opened. He’d been staring blindly at her apartment, imagining himself living with her. When that vision became overwhelming, he’d moved to the window to watch the street, which was better than examining why he’d offered her marriage. He could have forced her to a safe house. Why hadn’t he? Fact. He didn’t want her out of his sight.
He saw refusal in the way she carried herself, in the color in her cheeks and the fire in her eyes. He was set to argue again.
“I’ll change,” she said. “We can head to Lake Tahoe and get married tonight.”
“No.” A lifetime of controlling his emotions allowed him to meet her halfway across the room. He would not show his relief, which threatened to break him in two. “We’ll do this right. We’ll have a real wedding, with newspaper announcements, invitations, everything. No, not the newspaper, I think. But Hastings has to believe this is genuine, Magnolia. You can’t tell anyone differently.”
Her tone was just as businesslike. “If you want Jasmine to believe it, I have to make my dress, and that’s going to take some time. There’s no way she’d accept that I’d get married without making my dream gown.”
“How much time do you need?”
Maggie moved to pick up a calendar. “January twenty-first. That gives us three weeks. I’ll have a week of semester break left, so we could pretend to honeymoon then. I want Jasmine to stand up with me, and her baby’s due in six weeks. I think if we add all those facts together, it’s a believable scenario for a hurried wedding.”
“I’ll pay for the dress and—”
She interrupted. “Oh, no, you won’t. You want this traditional, right? I pay for the gown. That’s traditional.”
“There is a rule about that? Where is it written?”
Machismo oozed through his control. Perversely, she encouraged it, needing some kind of emotion from him. “In every bride magazine published. Don’t you know anything?”
“Why would I know that?” His voice gathered volume. “I have not been married before.”
“Then you’ll have to acknowledge me as the expert. And I say I pay for my own gown. I have enough money saved.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Mr. Macho. You’re doing me the favor, here. You’re protecting me. The least I can do is pay for it.”
“Magnolia, if you make the dress of your dreams for this wedding, what will you do when you really marry?”
Tears welled. Couldn’t he let her have her fantasy for just a minute? Turning away, she set down the calendar. “I’m too tired to think about this anymore. Why don’t you go home and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“Like hell.”
He’d come up behind her with the stealth of a panther. He cupped her shoulders, turning her to face him. He lifted her chin and examined her face. She stared right back at him, hating the tears that threatened to spill, hating that he saw.
“You think I would leave you here alone?” he asked softly, gruffly. “I told you I would protect you. Tomorrow I’ll replace your door and install a security system. But tonight you will sleep, knowing I’m here, knowing you’re safe. Do you have any objections to that?”
She shook her head, relieved and uncomfortable at the same time. One pressure removed and one gamed. Would it be like this forever?
“There’s a sleeper-sofa in the spare bedroom,” she said. “I’ll get bedding for you.”
“I’ll use the couch here. A pillow and a blanket will do.”
She gathered bedding from the linen closet and made up the sofa for him, aware of him standing still and silent behind her, watching her fuss. Straightening, she turned around. “Thank you for everything.”
He nodded. “Good night.”
J.D. watched her hurry into the bedroom and shut the door. He let out a breath and stood hunched over, his breathing erratic, still fighting his need to take her in his arms, her tears a siren call of feminine need for masculine comfort.
He ran his hands through his hair as he moved into the bathroom to wash up, needing a shower, but not daring to have his hearing limited by the running water.
He turned out the living room light and undressed to his slacks. Pulling his pistol from his ankle holster, he laid it on the coffee table, a habitual, if probably unnecessary, precaution. He moved to the living room window and rested a bare foot on the low ledge of the window as he observed the street below.
Time passed, exactly how much, he wasn’t sure, but long enough for her to have fallen asleep. He found himself at her bedroom door, his hand on the knob. Magically, it turned and he moved through the shadowy, moonlit room to where he could just see her dark hair fanned against the light fabric of her pillow. He crouched beside the bed, enjoying the distinctive, delicate scent that permeated the room before he realized she was watching him.
The bedclothes rustled as she raised up on an elbow. She rested a hand on his chest a tentative moment before she stroked him, conforming her palm to the contours of his muscles, across, down, and up, with careful caresses, her gaze never leaving his. Her fingertip brushed one nipple, stayed to tease as it tightened, then treated the other to equal pleasure. She followed an imaginary line from his throat to his navel and back up, lightly disturbing the sparse hair dusting his chest. He didn’t move a muscle. His body betrayed him, anyway, as need pooled deep inside him.
“Who are you?” she asked.
His stomach lurched. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’ve been lying here thinking about you. You’re so strong. Stronger than I even imagined,” she said, her voice hushed. “You hide that strength from the world Why?”
“I am what you see.”
“Yes, Magnolia. Do not make me some fantasy hero, some mystery man. I am no more than I seem.”
“You’re complicated. You have a strong body, even stronger principles. You’re intelligent. Yet you seem content with the work you do. Don’t frown at me. It was not a criticism, but an observation.” She paused. “Do you have goals, Diego? Dreams? Are you content being a maître d’? I think you could do anything you set your mind to.”
She toyed with the hair below his navel, her nails lightly scraping his skin. Madre de Dios. Taking a deep breath, he curved his hand over hers, tucking her fingers within his. “I’m doing what I must. But make no mistake. This marriage will be in name only. Do not try to change that. You will only get hurt.”
She pulled free as if to retreat. Instead, she pressed two fingers to the placket of his slacks.
“What are you going to do about that?” she asked in a near whisper. With agonizing slowness, she traced the hard length.
“Control it.” He lifted her hand away more carefully than she deserved for teasing him. “Go to sleep.”
“You want me.”
“And that pleases you, doesn’t it?” He brought his face close to hers. “It means nothing, Magnolia. What is significant is what I do about it.”
“What if I continue to try?”
“I would hope you have enough respect for me not to make a difficult situation impossible. Even I have limits to my control. But I need to awaken each morning with a clear conscience. I’m counting on you not to push.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”
He stood. “That’s probably for the best.”
J.D. closed the bedroom door behind him, then walked with measured strides to the sofa. Sinking onto it, he rested his head in his hands until his need for her faded. He pulled up the quilt and stretched out the length of the couch, closing his eyes. He’d always wondered how aggressive she’d be. Now he knew. She was all smoke and fire, as he’d always suspected. And he wanted her more than ever.