Accidental Wife

by Day Leclaire

  "You okay?"

  "I'm fine," she insisted with a too-bright smile. "I'm looking forward to starting a new life. Off with the old and on with the new and all that."

  "Yeah, right."

  She turned into the hotel parking lot and suddenly remembered his earlier comment. "I've been meaning to ask.. .why didn't you know what to expect?"

  He shook his head as though to clear it. "What?"

  "A few minutes ago. You said you'd booked a room in Vegas because you didn't know what to expect at the Cinderella Ball."

  "Did I?" He gave a weary shrug. "I must be more tired than I thought. I don't remember saying that."

  She pulled into a parking space and turned off the ignition. "You did. To be exact you said—"

  "I guess I wasn't certain I'd find anyone who would suit," he cut in decisively. "I didn't know what sort of women to expect at the ball."

  It wasn't until they were in the elevator that she found the flaw in his response. "I still don't understand," she began.

  "What don't you understand now?" He spoke calmly, yet she caught a betraying flash of autumn gold in his cool gaze.

  "You didn't have any conditions."

  He leaned against the back wall and folded his arms across his chest. "Come again?"

  "Conditions." She frowned as the elevator panel blinked its way through the lower numbers. "I asked what you wanted out of the marriage and you didn't have a list. Every other man I spoke to had some requirement or request or need." She turned to look at him. "Except you."

  "So?"

  The door slid open and he gestured for her to proceed. "So...you're intelligent. And you're good-looking in an uncompromising sort of way," she itemized slowly. "That much would be obvious to most women who met you for the first time."

  "Gee, thanks."

  Recalling the passionate kiss he'd laid on her, she conceded, "Unfortunately, you're a bit on the aggressive side." Though he certainly knew his way around a woman's mouth. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, deciding to keep that particular asset to herself.

  "I'm a man, not a marshmallow. Aggression comes with the territory."

  "You're also argumentative," she shot back. "But without a list, you're easy to please. That's your best quality, in case you didn't know. So why didn't you think you'd find someone to suit?"

  "I guess I have a pessimistic nature."

  "So do I, but I was still fairly confident I'd find someone."

  He stopped in the middle of the hallway and held out his hand. She stared at it blankly. "The key," he prompted in dangerously soft tones. "For the door."

  "Oh. It's a card, not a key."

  His hand didn't budge. "The card, then."

  Reluctantly, she dug through her handbag and gave him the thin strip of plastic. "What I'm trying to say is.. .you never showed any interest in other women after you danced with me. In fact, you spent the whole time helping me find a husband instead of looking for a bride."

  "What room?"

  "Eighteen-twenty. You spent all that money to attend the Cinderella Ball and you didn't find a wife."

  Reaching the appropriate door, he slid the card into the slot. The light on the steel plate by the knob flickered from red to green and the lock snicked open. "I believe that wedding ceremony we just went through means I found a wife." He thrust open the door. "After you."

  She hesitated. "But I'm not a real wife. And you never explained. Exactly why did you need to get married?"

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. "You're a real enough wife as far as I'm concerned. And I didn't." He planted his hand in the small of her back and ushered her firmly across the threshold. "Need to get married, that is."

  "You didn't?"

  She spun around as the door swung closed. He stood in front of it, a large, impregnable barrier. For the first time, she realized that aggressive men could also be intimidating—especially when the man in question was her husband. Perhaps if they were in an office instead of a hotel room and it was a business meeting instead of her wedding night, she wouldn't have felt so nervous. But he had such a grim expression on his face. She clasped her hands together, aware that her confidence was rapidly ebbing.

  She cleared her throat. "If you didn't need to marry, then why...?"

  "I didn't need a wife," he repeated, stepping away from the door and stalking into the sitting area toward her. "Not everyone gets married because it's the only way out of a tight spot. Some people actually marry for more pedestrian reasons. Like companionship. Or children. Or even love."

  She fell back several steps, her eyes widening. "Is that why you wanted to get married? For love?"

  "Why the sudden interest, Nikki?" His question had an edge she didn't like, a raspy quality that spoke of exhaustion and frustration and anger. "We had all night to talk. You could have asked these questions at any point during the evening. But you didn't give a damn about anything except solving your own little predicament. So why bring it up now?"

  The sitting area that had seemed so spacious when she'd first entered the room had grown dramatically smaller. "I.. .I just wondered why you married me."

  "Because solving your problem solves mine."

  "I don't understand."

  He stripped off his jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair. "I don't expect you to. Yet."

  Before she could question him further, he took a final step in her direction. Retreating an equal distance, the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she sat down abruptly.

  "It's a king-size bed," she explained in a rush, scooting backward on the quilted cover. "When I realized the mistake, I tried to get two doubles, but the hotel's full. Every room's taken. I thought maybe the couch..." She gestured wildly toward the sitting area.

  "You're not using the couch and neither am I." The mattress dipped beneath his weight. "We're husband and wife now, remember?"

  He trapped her beneath him before she had a chance to roll away and she stared at him in shock. "But you claimed we wouldn't... You didn't intend..." Frantically, she searched her memory, struggling to recall his exact phrasing. "You said you didn't want to sleep with me!"

  "I told you it wasn't worth discussing. And it's not. Certain issues are non-negotiable, and this is one of them." His eyes were a fierce green, glowing with blatant desire. "So no more discussion. No more negotiations. The time has come for action."

  "No—"

  "Yes, Mrs. Alexander. Most definitely, yes."

  Framing her head with his hands, he stole a gentle kiss, confirming her earlier opinion. Dear heaven, but he knew his way around a woman's mouth. He also knew when to coerce and when to coax. And right now, he coaxed. Teased. Tempted.

  Seduced.

  Hot little flames flickered to life again, splashing across her skin, seeping deep within to weaken every muscle and sear every nerve ending. She tried to resist, to explain all her reasons for keeping their relationship pla-tonic. But the words were lost, swallowed by a far greater need—a need that consumed all rational thought.

  The buttons of her suit jacket fell open and his mouth drifted downward, following the length of her throat. She teetered on the edge of surrender. He was her husband. He was helping her resolve an untenable situation. And she wanted him. Heaven help her, she wanted him. Considering the circumstances, could making love be so wrong?

  "Nikki," he muttered in a passion-slurred voice. "I'm sorry. I can't resist."

  "I know," she whispered. "I feel the same way."

  "Thanks for understanding."

  His shadowed jaw rasped across sensitive skin and she held her breath, aware that she'd committed herself to folly. He cupped her breasts, nuzzling the curves above her lacy bra and then...

  Nothing.

  "Joe?" she murmured, shifting beneath his oppressive weight. He didn't respond, and as the seconds ticked by, desire waned. She moistened her lips, the return of sanity making her extremely self-conscious. "Are you sure about this?" she asked uneasily. "Don't you think we sh
ould wait until we know each other a little better? Joe? Joe?"

  And it was then she realized he'd fallen fast asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Nikki stirred, two disparate sounds bringing her to full consciousness.

  One was the familiar hiss of a shower.

  The other was a tentative knocking at the door.

  Neither made any sense to her. But then, until she'd had two strong cups of coffee, not much did first thing in the morning. She rolled onto her back and blinked up at the ceiling, struggling to recall why the bedroom looked and felt so strange.

  And then she remembered—remembered everything.

  She darted a quick, nervous glance toward the far side of the mattress. Joe wasn't there, only a depression in the bedding confirming he'd spent the entire night beside her. That explained the sound of running water. Her— she swallowed hard—husband must be in the shower. Another knock sounded at the door the same instant as the flow of water stopped.

  Confronting the unknown entity in the hallway seemed a safer bet than confronting the well-known entity toweling off after his shower, she decided. Kicking back the covers, she pulled on her robe and went to answer the summons. With luck, Joe had ordered breakfast before closeting himself in the bathroom. Thrusting an unruly tumble of hair from her face, she unlocked the door and tugged it open.

  "Hi, Nikki." Eric stood there, an abashed grin on his face. "Surprise."

  She whipped the door partially closed and ducked behind it, glaring at him through the remaining two-inch crack. "What are you doing here?" she demanded in a furious whisper. "Have you lost your mind?"

  "Is that room service?" Joe's deep voice rumbled from close behind. "I'd kill for a cup of coffee."

  "It's not room service," she replied without turning around. Speaking softly, she ordered, "Go away!"

  Eric's jaw dropped. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell my brother is doing here."

  Her eyes widened in alarm. "Who? Where?"

  "Right there behind you! My brother, Jonah. What's he doing in a hotel room with you? And dressed like that, no less!"

  She spun around and literally went weak at the knees. Never in her life had she seen such an appealing sight. Joe stood in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel. His skin was golden, his chest an endless expanse of dark brown fur, and he stalked toward her with the determination of a gladiator ready to join battle. Everything about him exuded power. From the resolute expression in his autumn-hued eyes to his wall-like shoulders to his solidly muscled legs, he approached with the grace and assurance of a seasoned warrior. And all she could do was stand and wait, un-. certain of the rules of engagement in this particular war.

  Reaching her side, he wrapped his arms around her. "Morning, sweetheart," he muttered in his distinctively raspy voice and nuzzled the side of her neck.

  She gasped at the torturous pleasure his stubbled jaw kindled. "Joe, what is—"

  "Don't say a word," he cut in tersely. He spoke close to her ear, his quiet warning conveyed with a harshness that stunned her. "Just play along or I swear you'll regret it."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but as though anticipating that, he kissed her. It was long and slow and deep, stealing every thought from her head. Unable to help herself, she relaxed, her body turning pliant and eager within his embrace. How did he do it? the rational part of her mind wondered. With one kiss, he demolished every hint of resistance and turned her from a reasonable, logical, intelligent woman into a helpless puppet. How was it possible?

  "What the hell is going on here?" Eric shouted.

  Nikki started, having completely forgotten about his presence. But Joe—or was it Jonah?—didn't even twitch. Taking his time, he finished the kiss before lifting his head. He grinned down at her, flicking his finger across her rosy cheekbone.

  Finally, he addressed Eric. "Hello, little brother. Here I manage to sneak off for a romantic weekend with my wife and you still find a way to track me down. How'd you do it?"

  Eric fought to draw breath. "What— When—"

  Jonah released a gusty sigh. "It was Jan, wasn't it? She spilled the beans." Shooting Nikki a reproving look, he ruffled her already-ruffled hair. "You've got to get better control over that secretary of yours, sweetheart. What could be so urgent that we can't have a private weekend without business intruding?"

  "I—" Her mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish.

  Without missing a beat, Jonah returned his attention to Eric. "And just what is it that's so urgent?"

  "I didn't— I thought—"

  "I'll tell you what," Jonah interrupted. "There's a restaurant downstairs. Order up a large pot of coffee while we dress and we'll join you for breakfast as soon as we can." He didn't wait for Eric's reply, but slammed the door shut in his brother's face.

  "What the hell—"

  Jonah cupped his palm over her mouth. "Wait!" he snapped in a curt undertone and cocked his head meaningfully toward the door. Hustling her to the sitting area at the far end of the room, he removed his hand. "Okay, finish."

  "Is going on?" she concluded in a furious whisper. "Just who the hell are you?"

  "Your husband."

  "That's not what I mean and you know it! You're not Joe Alexander, are you?"

  "No."

  He folded his arms across his chest, drawing her attention once again to the corded muscles of his well-developed arms and the impressive width of his shoulders. Lord, he was gorgeous, she reluctantly conceded. And distracting as the devil. She closed her eyes to block out the sight, focusing once again on the business at hand. "You're Jonah Alexander? Eric's brother?"

  "Yes. I shortened my name so you wouldn't recognize it."

  She'd figured out that much already, but it still came as a distinct shock to hear the casually stated confession. She sank into a chair, staring at him in disbelief. "Why?"

  A cynical light turned his eyes a chilly golden brown. "Can't you guess?"

  With his standing there in nothing but a loosely knotted towel? Not a chance. "Maybe if you dressed," she suggested faintly.

  His mouth curved in amusement. "I will—just as soon as the clothes I ordered from the men's shop downstairs are delivered. No luggage, remember?"

  She bowed her head to avoid looking at him. "I still don't understand," she said through gritted teeth.

  "What in particular is giving you trouble?"

  She could hear the laughter in his voice and resented it passionately. "What's going on? Why were you at the Cinderella Ball last night? Why did you marry me?" A sudden thought occurred and her head jerked up, her hair spilling across her shoulders in a riotous tangle of sable brown and deep russet. "We are really married, aren't we?"

  "Oh, we're legal all right."

  "But you used a fake name—"

  "I just used a nickname, same as you. If you'd bothered to look at our marriage license, you'd have seen Jonah Alexander spelled out in all its glory." His tone was dry, his gaze mocking. "From there it would have been a simple enough leap to connect me to Eric."

  "If I had, I'd never have married you," she retorted bitterly.

  "No doubt."

  "And you still haven't answered my questions."

  He ran a hand across his shadowed jaw and she remembered how his day-old beard had abraded her skin when he'd nuzzled her neck. Mild pain had melded with a more profound pleasure. The result had been electrifying and she eyed his jawline speculatively. What would it be like to feel that tantalizing scrape against her breast? An intense warmth unfurled in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought and she clenched her hands, fighting the unwanted sensation.

  "Well?" she snapped.

  He shrugged. "I came to the Montagues' to stop you from marrying Eric."

  "What? I wasn't planning to—"

  "I know that now."

  "But you didn't last night," she stated with dawning comprehension.

  "Not until after we'd conducted a rather lengt
hy conversation."

  "The one outside in the garden." His strange behavior the previous evening began to make sense. Finally. "That's why you were asking all those odd questions and kept pestering me about my prospective bridegroom. You didn't understand the purpose of the ball."

  "Not entirely," he conceded.

  "What in the world did you think I was doing there?"

  "Meeting Eric."

  "I can't believe this," she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair.

  "The evidence was damning," he explained without apology, "especially the part about you and Eric flying to Nevada on International Investment business—"

  "We don't have any business interests here," she inserted automatically.

  "I'm well aware of that fact." He waited a beat before adding, "And so is the rest of the office staff."

  She couldn't hide her dismay. Apparently Eric's pursuit of her had left ample room for conjecture, not to mention gossip. "But we weren't traveling together," she argued. "I didn't even know Eric had followed me until he showed up at the Montagues'."

  "The bottom line is that you both flew to Nevada. You both had reservations here at the Grand. And there'd already been talk of an affair. In this case, two and two may have added up to five, but to an outsider it sure as hell looked like an elopement."

  "You were leaping to conclusions," she said dismissively.

  "Was I? Don't forget one other detail—the Montagues' Cinderella Ball. The few facts I'd ascertained suggested it was some sort of gala for couples who wanted to marry. And when I called the Grand, they confirmed that most of their guests were attending and gave me directions. I'd have booked a room here, but they were full by then."

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you find out about the Cinderella Ball?"

  "You left the announcement on your desk."

  "You searched my desk?" she demanded, outraged.

  "If you're expecting an apology, you've got a long wait," he said with callous disregard. "I had a job to do and I did it."

  "So you came out to Nevada believing Eric and I were going to marry and bent on stopping us, right? Why? What difference did it make if I married your brother?"