The Marriage Bargain

by Victoria Pade

  And then he’d given her that real kiss. Softly, tenderly, at first. Teaching a little because she was pretty inexperienced. But savoring, too. Making her feel so wonderful she wanted to go on kissing him the rest of her life.

  Was she mistaken or was his face a little closer now, too?

  She wasn’t mistaken.

  With his eyes still holding hers, he’d actually leaned in slightly, just the way he had that other night….

  Was he going to kiss her?

  Victoria couldn’t believe it. Not after the way he’d acted since yesterday. Not after all he’d said just now.

  But there he was, closer still. So close she could see him more clearly even in the darkness. So close she could smell the scent of his after-shave again. So close she could feel the warmth of his breath.

  And she was raising her chin, too. Allowing him access even as a voice in the back of her mind demanded to know what on earth she was doing.

  Then he straightened. As if he hadn’t done anything at all.

  And he sneered at her.

  “Not much fun to be teased, is it?” he said, just before turning on his heels and going back inside, leaving her hanging. And feeling like a fool.

  So the payback wasn’t only going to be in working her like a ranch hand, she thought. It was going to be in humiliating her, too.

  And she did feel humiliated because the full impact of that almost-kiss still lingered inside her along with the embarrassment of knowing she’d have met it, returned it, maybe even liked it.

  But humiliation was payback she also had coming, she reminded herself.

  And again she thought that it could have been worse.

  Although at that moment, with lips dry from un-quenched thirst, standing there awash in old shame and regret, and in her newest humiliation, the fact that her comeuppance could have been more harsh wasn’t much comfort.

  Three

  “I’m going to have to talk to you later about all this,” Adam said snappishly into the telephone late the next morning.

  It wasn’t that his assistant on the other end of the call had done anything wrong. Adam was angry and disgusted with himself. With his own inability to keep his mind on track when he was trying to do business. Or any other time in the past two days for that matter.

  He’d set Victoria to the task of cleaning the cabin from top to bottom while he appropriated the desk in the corner of the living room for his office. That was where the phone was, so he’d opted for putting his laptop computer, printer and fax machine there, too.

  But the simple wire connections had taken him more than an hour and there wasn’t a single one he’d hooked up right on the first try.

  Thanks to Victoria.

  Secondhand clothes did not detract anything from her appeal. The plain, loose-fitting jeans and oversize, faded red sweatshirt she had on certainly should have made her less of a distraction. At least he thought they should.

  But had they?

  No, they hadn’t.

  In fact the big sweatshirt only made him strain all the more for a glimpse of her breasts hiding beneath it. And every time she bent over, those damn jeans just enticed him to look at her perfect little rump.

  Suddenly mergers and acquisitions and bottom lines and anything going bust developed completely new meanings for him, creating uninvited images in his mind that had nothing whatsoever to do with business.

  So, after his second stammer over ass…ets, he’d had to end the call that was supposed to have accomplished much more than it had.

  Now here he was, sitting with the chair at a sideways angle to the desk, papers in hand, still staring surreptitiously at that derriere of hers as she crawled on her hands and knees to scoop ashes from the fireplace. And although this whole deal had been intended as payback for her, it seemed to be turning into punishment for him.

  Punishment today. Punishment last night.

  Last night.

  Just the thought made him want to kick himself. It had made him want to kick himself every time—about a dozen of them—that it popped back into his mind to taunt him.

  He should never have gone out onto that porch with her. He should have stayed right where he was—inside. Even if he hadn’t been able to keep himself from watching her through the screen. At least then he’d had a physical distance from her even if he hadn’t had much of a distance from her mentally.

  But had he stayed inside? Had he been able to stay inside and resist the allure of her?

  No.

  He’d been drawn outside in spite of telling himself not to go. In spite of knowing he shouldn’t go. In spite of every ounce of wisdom he possessed screaming for him not to go.

  And what had happened as a result?

  He’d damn near kissed her, that’s what.

  Kissed her.

  As if he didn’t already know what kind of fresh hell that could stir up.

  Sure, he’d managed to stop himself before it was too late and he’d actually made any kind of contact. And, yes, he’d covered his tracks, pretending that it had been something he’d planned to do to taunt her. But that had only been an act. The truth was, something had come over him that he’d been almost powerless to control.

  Seeing her out in the moonlight like that. Talking about that night in her father’s barn so long ago. Remembering what it had been like to finally have her in his arms after daydreaming about it, fantasizing about it, wanting it for what had seemed like an eternity to a seventeen-year-old kid.

  But he couldn’t lose sight of how that kiss had ended, he reminded himself all over again. He couldn’t lose sight of what she’d done, or hadn’t done. Of the damage her silence had caused to his whole family.

  He owed it to his father, to his mother, to himself, to make her pay for that silence, that damage. For the bitter taste that kiss had left him with.

  But he was beginning to think that resisting her in the process might be one of the hardest things he’d ever have to do. After all, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from going outside to be with her the night before. And he was having one hell of a time keeping his eyes off her now, off her hair all tied up into a knot of curls at the top of her head. Off her cheeks flush with work. Off that rear end his hands were itching to reach out for.

  But resist her he would, he swore as he realized his thoughts and eyes were taking yet another stroll in her direction.

  Because no apologies—no matter how heartfelt she made them sound—no beautiful face or enchanting eyes or great body, were enough to make up for what she’d done.

  He was going to make sure she paid for it.

  And if, in the meantime, he had to toss and turn in his bed at night, remembering that brief moment twenty years ago when he’d held her, kissed her, lost himself in the sweet velvet of her mouth, if in the meantime he had to wage war with his own wandering thoughts and unwelcome desires, then that’s what he’d do.

  He’d toss and turn and wage that war.

  But he’d have his due.

  It just wouldn’t be easy denying the part of him that seemed to be wanting more than that.

  Victoria didn’t mind doing the housework Adam assigned her as much as she minded doing it with him watching her. What did he think she was going to do if he turned his back? Sit down and eat bonbons?

  It was just so annoying. And unnerving.

  She tried to ignore it. To ignore him. To seem as if she wasn’t even aware of it.

  But, boy, was she aware of it!

  Aware of him.

  It didn’t help that he was dressed the way he had been most of the time when he’d worked beside his father. Not only did seeing him like that stir up old memories, old appreciations, but now he filled out his blue jeans a whole lot better than he had then. Not to mention that the tan Western-style shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up to expose those ultra-sexy forearms and wrists also stretched across his broad shoulders, chest and back like a loving caress and barely contained the bulge of his biceps.
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  And if that wasn’t enough, there was even something arousing about the masculine sight of his big feet in snakeskin cowboy boots instead of the Italian dress shoes he’d worn the day of their wedding.

  Arousing? Had she thought he was arousing?

  She hadn’t meant that.

  How could someone so contrary be arousing? Regardless of what he had on or how he looked?

  So what if his black hair was still as perfect as if an expensive stylist had cut it that very morning?

  Perfection only made him seem all the more unapproachable.

  So what if she noticed all over again each time she looked at him how incredibly handsome were his strong, chiseled features?

  He still couldn’t look at her without frowning so darkly his face turned into an ominous storm cloud.

  So what if she’d lain awake in bed most of the night before wondering what things might be like between them if the fiasco in her father’s barn had never happened? If Adam’s family had just moved away on their own and now she and Adam had both returned to Whitehorn coincidentally at the same time?

  That wasn’t the reality of things.

  So what if she’d spent until the wee hours of this morning imagining them encountering each other at the Hip Hop Café? Their glances meeting, a split second of perplexity mingled with interest in those pewter-gray eyes of his before it dawned on him who she was and his supple mouth stretched into a grin that let her know how glad he was to see her?

  That wasn’t what had happened. He knew exactly who she was, didn’t like her, and was more likely to snarl at her than smile.

  So what if she’d imagined him casting her one of those I-dare-you-to-come-closer looks that had been so intriguing when they were adolescents, a look she couldn’t resist, a look she wouldn’t have had to resist now? A look that might have brought them together and been only the beginning of them talking the whole night through, catching up, finding that all those same sparks from years ago could be reignited?

  Now the only challenge in his expression dared her to defy his orders, decrees and demands.

  So what if she’d pictured them coming to this cozy little cabin under other circumstances—to spend some time alone, getting to know each other in a way they never had before? Discovering that that childish attraction could blossom into something much more? Something that was meant to be, that had always been meant to be?

  No matter what she pictured in her mind, the only reason they were at the cabin was so that he could work her like a dog.

  So what if she’d recalled those few moments on the porch the night before but put a different spin on them, imagining Adam following her outside, coming up from behind her to wrap his arms around her so he could chase away the chill, propping his chin atop her head, teasing her kindly, devilishly?

  The truth was that he’d come out onto the porch only to be nasty to her, to throw her apology back in her face, to let her know just what a horrible thing she’d done in allowing her father to believe the worst of him.

  So what if her fantasy had been so vivid she could feel herself leaning back against his muscular body, trusting him, enjoying the feel of safety and security and sensuality all rolled up in strong arms and powerful hands that only touched her with the utmost tenderness?

  The truth was that he hadn’t touched her at all, let alone with tenderness. And as for feeling safe or secure when she was anywhere around him? Fat chance of that!

  So what if she’d seen herself turning in those arms to look up into his moon-gilded features, tilting her chin just as he dipped his downward to press his lips against hers exactly the way she remembered from her father’s barn?

  This time he’d only made it seem as if he might be about to kiss her so that he could pull back and make her feel like an idiot for anticipating it, for not rejecting him first and making it clear she had no intention of letting him kiss her now or ever, whether they were married or not.

  So what if, in her mind, he’d carried her back inside the cabin, to his room, to his bed—

  Victoria shook her head, trying to rid herself of this back-and-forth reverie and the path it was taking before it went all the way to where it had gone in the early hours of the morning.

  So what, so what, so what…?

  So what good did it do her to even think about things being different than they were?

  No good at all.

  In fact just imagining it had made her heart pound, last night and again now, and there wasn’t anything good about that.

  It was even worse than having to work under Adam’s scrutiny.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if she wanted any of those so-whats to be true. She could have lived her whole life perfectly happy with never having laid eyes on him again.

  It was just that since she had laid eyes on him again it could have been so much nicer if things were different.

  She cast Adam a quick glance, hoping he might have finally stopped staring at her.

  He hadn’t.

  And he was scowling again. As if she’d done something wrong.

  Or maybe he could somehow tell what she’d been thinking just by looking at her.

  Victoria could feel her face heat even at the impossible prospect of that.

  Wouldn’t he just love to know what had been going through her mind! Wouldn’t it boost his ego and his enjoyment at her expense a hundredfold?

  But of course he couldn’t read her thoughts, she assured herself. He had no way of knowing what had just been on her mind.

  She was grateful for that.

  Because she’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing she would even entertain a notion of him as anything but the bane of her current existence. She certainly wouldn’t allow him again what she’d allowed him on the porch the evening before when she’d made it seem as if she might have let him kiss her.

  Maybe she’d had to marry him. Maybe she had to do his bidding. But she didn’t have to let him know he could stir up anything in her except maybe contempt. He certainly didn’t have to know she ever had any thoughts of him as an attractive, sexy, arousing—

  There was that arousing business again.

  Once more it set off an alarm inside her that made her shy away from the very idea.

  She might have to play this game of his but she didn’t have to let the man himself get to her, she told herself sternly.

  Every time anything remotely positive or alluring or enticing or engaging went through her head she vowed that she’d remind herself that he was a man who had forced her to marry him. He was a man who had threatened her family’s well-being. He was a man who was delighting in working her unmercifully.

  He was a man who hated her. Who had seen the worst of her, wouldn’t forget it, wanted to rub her nose in it, and certainly wouldn’t forgive it.

  Okay, so that part chafed and haunted her when she would much rather her cowardice of so long ago be forgiven and left in the past.

  But he was going to make sure that didn’t happen and she had to accept it as the consequence of her actions.

  As a consequence of his actions, she wasn’t going to let herself be attracted to the man who wouldn’t forget or forgive. Let alone allow anything akin to arousal.

  As far as she was concerned, he was the ogre refusing her passage across the bridge that would put her greatest shame behind her.

  And that was just how she was going to think of him.

  Except that as she finished cleaning out the firebox and stood with the bucket of ashes, she caught sight of him again. In all his masculine glory.

  Adam Benson was no ogre. He was drop-dead gorgeous and could make her blood race through her veins as easily now as he could when she was fifteen.

  Then he barked, “When you’re finished in here you can take the ladder out of the barn and pick the last of the apples off that tree out back. I’ll have apple pie for dessert tonight. You do know how to make an apple pie, don’t you? Or didn’t the prima donna ever learn to cook?”


  “I can make an apple pie,” she answered flatly, feeling her blood slow its pace.

  “Good. Then do it.”

  Victoria didn’t answer that. She merely went to dump the ashes in the trash, thinking that maybe she didn’t have to try so hard to fight images of him as an appealing man.

  Maybe she just had to open her eyes.

  Dinner that evening was meat loaf, potatoes, rolls and salad, with the freshly baked apple pie waiting on the counter and the cabin bathed in silence.

  Unfortunately that silence left Victoria thinking too much about her own misery and what had caused it.

  High up in the apple tree she’d accidentally encountered a beehive. Even a fast retreat down the ladder hadn’t kept her from being stung several time on the face, ears, neck, arms and hands. As she sat through the evening meal she was all too aware of the itching, burning agony of the welts that had grown to full cherry size and were almost as red.

  She’d hoped her late-day shower and shampoo would help, but instead the welts just seemed to be worse and she could hardly keep from fidgeting as she sat across the small dinner table from Adam, trying to scratch without causing herself even more pain.

  For his part, Adam had gone from staring at her while she cleaned the cabin to acting as if she were invisible since her return from apple picking. So he didn’t notice either the red marks or her attempts to alleviate her own discomfort. Instead he had his nose buried in a computer printout as he ate.

  Only when she set a slice of the pie in front of him did he put aside his paperwork and look up at her.

  Well, not all the way up immediately.

  First his gaze hit her at waist level where she had the purple shirt she’d brought with her from home tucked into a fresh pair of her new hand-me-down jeans. Then his gray eyes slowly raised, stalling over her breasts for a split second, before going all the way to her face.

  That put the scowl back in his expression.

  “Have you broken out in spots?” he asked, taking a closer look, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.