A Wedded Arrangement (Convenient Marriages, #3)

by Adams, Noelle

  “So why do you look like that?”

  “Look like what?”

  “Like you’re about to smile. Like you think something good is about to happen. Like you’re... you’re... smug.”

  He let the smile come, turning up the corners of his mobile mouth and softening his face deliciously. “I’m not smug. I still feel so bad about how I treated you that it makes me sick to think about it, and I’m never going to treat you like that again. But I finally understand what’s going on here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “You’re protecting yourself too. Just like I was doing.”

  “Lance...”

  “See, you’re calling me Lance now, rather than Carlyle. That’s got to be a good sign.”

  She made an indignant sound. “Stop. Whatever you think is going on here is not what’s going on. I don’t think you understand how much you hurt me yesterday.”

  “Of course I understand.” His smile faded into a sober look. He reached over and took one of her hands, rubbing her palm with his thumb. “And I’ll keep telling you how sorry I am until you believe me.” He paused before he asked softly, “Do you remember telling me last night that you don’t love me anymore?”

  She blinked. Thought back. Winced at the slash of pain the memory evoked. “I didn’t mean that. I was drunk.”

  “I know you were drunk. I know you didn’t mean it.”

  “But... I mean, I didn’t... I never...”

  He shook his head and lifted her hand to his mouth. He pressed a gentle kiss into the palm. “You can tell me anything you want, baby. I’m serious. If you need to tell me you don’t love me, then do it. I know yesterday was a major step backward, and it was almost entirely my fault. I’m not rushing you. Do what you need to do, even if it means taking a break from me. I’m just telling you I know what’s happening now, and I’m not going to believe you when you tell me you don’t love me.”

  She gurgled and pulled her hand from his grip. “Lance, that’s not what’s hap—”

  “What’s happening is that I love you, Savannah. I’ve loved you for what feels like forever. I might have even loved you when I asked you to marry me, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time.”

  “Wh—”

  He shook his head with a wry smile. “You tell me how else to understand what happened when I heard the conditions of my grandma’s will. The lawyer explained that I needed to be married for a year, and the first thing I thought of—the very first thing I thought of—was you. I knew who I wanted to marry, and I was more excited about that than about the money. It gave me an excuse to finally do what I guess I’d been wanting to do for a long time, and nothing else I can remember got me going the way the thought of marrying you did.”

  “Lance, this can’t be—”

  “It is. I’m telling you it is.” He met her eyes evenly and didn’t waver. “I love you, Savannah Emerson, and you love me too.”

  What he’d just told her felt like it was going to blow a hole in her head—her heart. She twisted her body in an automatic posture of defense. “Please don’t! You can’t just blurt all this out to me and expect me to believe it. Not after everything that’s happened. I’m not the kind of person who can just accept it and trust that it’s true after being hurt the way... the way... I’m not built that way.”

  “I know that. That’s why I’m not going to just tell you. I’m going to show you. And I won’t say it again until you want me to.”

  “But I’m telling you I’m not going to—”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll deal with it. But you haven’t convinced me yet.” His expression changed. He leaned over and kissed her mouth, his lips light, tender, lingering but not deepening.

  And despite her confusion and fear and resolve to protect herself better than she had, she couldn’t help but kiss him back.

  He was the one who withdrew. He was smiling again. “Okay. I won’t kiss you again if you don’t want me to. I won’t make a move on you until you make a move first. But I’m giving you fair warning. I’m not confused about this thing anymore. And the most important thing in my life right now is making you believe that I love you and that it’s safe for you to love me too.”

  She raised a hand to cover her mouth. She made a muffled whimper as another wave of fear and bewilderment overwhelmed her.

  Lance stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

  She was glad of the brief respite from his disturbing presence. He returned in a minute with a sleeve of saltine crackers.

  “Eat a few of these,” he said, “and drink more water. It will settle your stomach.”

  She did what he told her to do because focusing on her hangover was a lot easier than dealing with what he’d just said.

  She didn’t know how to even begin to process that.

  SHE CANCELED HER ONE appointment for Monday and spent the day in bed, but then Tuesday rolled around, and Savannah couldn’t hide away in her bedroom any longer.

  Her hangover was completely gone, but she still felt blah and heavy and confused. She was actually relieved to go into work and focus on familiar tasks—it gave her mind a break from Lance and what he’d told her the previous morning.

  She had appointments scheduled throughout the day until the last one at five thirty and didn’t get back home to the condo until after six thirty.

  When she walked in, she pulled to a stop when she saw Lance in the kitchen, sorting through a bag of take-out containers.

  He glanced up with a smile as she approached. “Hey. Perfect timing. I’ve got Marco’s.”

  “Marco’s?” She frowned suspiciously. “Did you have a meeting in Charlotte?”

  “No. Not today.”

  “Were you out that way for some reason?”

  “No.” He was busying himself with lining up containers on the counter.

  “Then how did you get Marco’s?”

  He gave her a twitch of a smile. “I got in my car and drove out to get it.”

  “But why? It’s half an hour away.”

  “Sure, but it’s also your favorite.”

  “But... but...” She clung to the edge of the counter.

  “I’m allowed to drive out to get my wife’s favorite food if I want to. Are you going to say no to it just because I didn’t have a meeting in Charlotte?” His tone was casual. Dry. Laid-back. Not earnest and tender the way it had been the day before.

  And it was a relief. A huge relief. That he sounded more like himself.

  She relaxed and started opening the containers. “No, I’m not going to say no to it. Thank you for getting it. But don’t expect me to fall at your feet in a puddle of goo because you showed up with food.”

  He chuckled. “The minute you dissolve into goo, I’ll know for sure that something is seriously wrong in the world. See anything you like in there?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know perfectly well that you got my favorites. How you figured out what they are, I don’t know.”

  “I’m just talented that way.” He went into the wine closet and returned with a good bottle of Syrah. He showed it to her. “Good?”

  “Yeah. That looks good to me. But I’m only having one glass. I’ve sowed my one wild oat, and I’m planning to never get drunk again.”

  They ate at the kitchen island, chatting casually, having enjoyable arguments about the political aspirations of one of his friends and about how much money one should spend on a bottle of wine.

  It felt familiar. Comfortable. Almost like home.

  But it was also different than it used to be with Lance. He didn’t try to kiss her—not even once. And his only touches were light and casual. He didn’t say a word about being in love with her, but she caught him gazing at her occasionally.

  He looked like he was in love with her.

  It was very unsettling.

  But she also couldn’t help but want him to look at her like that again.

  THINGS BETWEEN THEM continued in a similar manner for the rest of t
he week.

  Lance was home every evening, wanting to spend time with her. One night he took her out to one of her favorite pizza places in town, and then they went next door to a bowling alley and challenged each other to a game. (She won, of course. Lance hadn’t done much bowling in his life.) On another night, he cooked for her. Parmesan risotto and steaks with a Stilton cheese sauce. After some needling, she got him to admit he’d gotten Maria to teach him how to prepare the meal in advance. And then another night they stopped at a gourmet market for sandwiches and cheese straws and ate them on a bench by the lake. One night they stayed in and ate pasta while they binge-watched Netflix.

  Savannah tried to keep it in perspective. She knew Lance had a strategy going here, that he was doing all this on purpose.

  But it was hard not to believe he meant what he said when he didn’t appear to want anything but her company.

  All in all, she had a good week, and not even the glimmer of fear in her belly could overwhelm the flutters of soft emotion.

  Her defenses were seriously battered by Saturday, when he took her out in his sailboat. He didn’t make her do all the work herself. He just asked her to help occasionally, and she was pleased with what she’d learned on the other times they’d been out together before.

  The weather was a little cool, but it was sunny and crisp, and she wore a cozy sweater and had a blanket to cover up with so she was perfectly comfortable. When they’d found a spot in the lake, they dropped anchor and let the boat be rocked by the gentle waves of the water.

  Lance came to sit beside her, pulling the blanket over both of them and wrapping an arm around her.

  It was the closest to a move he’d made on her all week.

  She leaned against him. He smelled like effort and sunshine and clean laundry. She pressed her cheek against the soft knit of his sweater.

  “I really like it out here,” she admitted, almost as embarrassed as if she’d been confessing to a secret sin.

  He squeezed her just slightly with his arm. “Me too.”

  Something in his tone made her look up at his face, and she sucked in a breath at the look in his eyes. It was deep and tender and almost awed and just slightly possessive.

  She looked away quickly. “Lance, don’t.”

  “What was I doing?”

  “Looking at me that way.”

  “Hey, I’m trying to be good here, but I can’t always control the way I look at you. When you feel something like this, it just comes out one way or another.”

  She sighed and snuggled against him. “Yeah. I guess. It just makes me feel...”

  “What?” He sounded almost hopeful.

  She was afraid she was going to disappoint him when she concluded, “Guilty.”

  “Why do you feel guilty? I’m the one who messed things up between us.”

  “No, you didn’t. I mean, yeah, of course you did. But I messed things up too. It wasn’t all your fault. It’s nice of you to take all the blame, but I know I’m just as responsible as you are. I’ve always been too... hard.”

  “No. No, you weren’t. You were never really hard. You’re guarded. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Maybe, but it’s always kept me from getting close to people. It’s kept me from trusting people. It’s the main reason I’ve had so much trouble—and I’m still having so much trouble—trusting you even now.”

  He tilted up her head to meet her eyes again. “Look, you had every reason to be guarded. You had every reason not to trust people like me. All your life, we’ve treated you like shit.”

  “Not all of you.”

  “Maybe not, but a lot of us. And I’ve definitely not treated you right. Maybe partly because I always suspected you had the power to tear down my defenses but also because I was selfish and clueless and didn’t understand the lives of people who were different from me. I didn’t treat you right when we were younger. Less than a week ago, I didn’t treat you right. No one in the world would blame you for being careful.” His voice changed to a low grumble. “And if they try to blame you, I’ll beat them up.”

  She giggled and hid her face in his sweater for just a moment. “Thanks for saying that,” she said when she lifted her head again. “But I still feel kind of guilty. You’ve been so great all week, but don’t you feel like... isn’t it kind of frustrating... aren’t I torturing you some more?” To explain her point, she slid her hand down to brush against the front of his trousers.

  She’d felt his body tightening and so wasn’t surprised to feel that he was halfway hard.

  He gave a thick sigh as she gave him a little squeeze before she slid her hand back to his chest. “It’s not torture, Savannah. Would it be nice to have sex with you again? Of course. I’m not about to say it wouldn’t. But do I have any expectation of it happening yet? Not at all. And is waiting for it torture? No. Not remotely.”

  She was moved by his words, but she was still herself. With a sardonic lilt in her voice, she said, “Having a whole conversation over there by yourself, aren’t you?”

  He let out a huff of amusement and wrapped both arms around her. “Don’t distract me with banter. Let me tell you this. This past week has been the best week of my life. Hands down. No possible competition.”

  She straightened up and searched his face. He looked nothing but sincere. “Really? Why? We aren’t even kissing, much less having sex.”

  “Why? Are you kidding me? Do you really think the thing I’ve wanted most in my life is sex? I’ve had sex. Plenty of it. It’s fun, but it can never fill the hole that’s always been in my soul. I want to love someone. For real. And have that person love me back. I want... family. I want... home.” He paused with a raspy inhale, like he was controlling emotion. “Baby, this is the closest I’ve ever come.”

  She lost it for just a minute. She squeezed him with her arms and buried her face against his shoulder as she shook.

  They hugged for a while, naked emotion tangled in the embrace with their bodies. But eventually she pulled away and wiped a stray tear from her eye. “Okay. You’ve got to stop being all deep and earnest like that, or I’m going to start thinking you aren’t Lance Carlyle anymore.”

  He laughed, looking as relieved as she was by the break in tension. “Oh, I’m still the real Lance Carlyle. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

  “Good.” She reached up and stroked his cheek, her fingers sliding back into his hair.

  His eyes heated up at the touch, but he held himself very still.

  She remembered what he’d told her about not kissing her until she asked him. She knew he would hold himself to that. So she stretched up toward him until her lips brushed against his.

  He gave a little jerk, like the threads of his control had snapped, and he took her head in a possessive hold with both hands as he deepened the kiss.

  She held on to him. Opened her mouth to his tongue. Responded urgently. Nakedly. Giving him everything she had.

  He was the one to finally break it off. He leaned back against the seat and panted loudly, rubbing his face like he was waking up from sleep.

  Then he slanted her an ironic smile. “That’s what I call progress.”

  Her body was still pulsing with excitement from the kiss, but she couldn’t help but laugh.

  THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, she came home from work and noticed that Lance’s Aston Martin wasn’t in his parking place, so she figured he wasn’t home yet. She was surprised to find him in the condo, trying (and failing) to cook Maria’s famous pan-fried chicken, which Savannah adored. When flames shot up from the frying pan, they gave up on the chicken and had the mashed potatoes (which had come out very tasty) with roast-beef sandwiches.

  Savannah forgot about the missing Aston Martin until the following evening when it wasn’t in its parking space again, even though she didn’t get home until after seven. But by the time she got upstairs and discovered that Lance had brought in Thai food and set a romantic table on the terrace, complete with candles and po
rtable heater in case it got too chilly, the car completely slipped her mind.

  On Thursday the car still wasn’t there, and its absence finally had a big enough impact that she had to seriously think about it. Either the car was getting serviced—something major enough to take several days—or else Lance had lent it to a friend, something that didn’t seem likely given how much he treasured the ridiculous vehicle.

  What else could have happened to it?

  Determined to ask first thing and not let it slip her mind tonight just because she was distracted by Lance’s adorableness, she marched upstairs and let herself in.

  “Where’s your car?” she called out from the entryway before she’d even announced her presence or said hello.

  “What’s that?” His voice sounded slightly muffled, so she followed it into the living room. Lance was bent over with his hands braced on the back of the sofa. It took a few seconds for her to realize he was pushing it.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, putting her bag on the dining room table. She was still wearing her ankle boots, so she pulled them off as she studied the furniture arrangement.

  Everything had gotten moved, so there was a big empty space in the middle of the floor.

  “I’m giving us some room,” Lance said, straightening up with a lopsided smile. He wiped a trace of sweat from his forehead.

  That was when she noticed his outfit—jeans and plaid shirt. And cowboy boots.

  Cowboy boots.

  “What. The. Hell.” Her eyes grew to twice their size as she stared at him.

  He gave a silly step forward to show off his boots and then did a goofy catwalk twirl. “Pretty good, huh?”

  She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Breathe. Her whole body shook as hilarity overwhelmed her.

  He made an expression of aggrieved outrage and tsked. “After all my efforts. You just laugh.”

  “Oh my God!” she gasped, holding her stomach and bending at the waist. “This is it. This is the last straw. You’ve pushed me over the edge at last.” There was no way she could stop laughing, even as she forced out the words.