by Day Leclaire
"Aside from the fact that I believed you were already married and that you have a few years on him?"
She lifted her chin. "Yes. Aside from those reasons."
"Your... relationship had begun to affect your work. You acknowledged as much last night. Why do you think Loren called me home?"
Her eyes widened in alarm. "The Sanderses—your parents—know?"
"What they know, or rather thought they knew, was that Eric was having an affair with an older, married woman. The affair had become common gossip among the employees and had distracted the principals involved to the point that they almost succeeded in losing the Dearfield account."
"Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes," he responded with brutal deliberation. "I recommended they fire you. If you hadn't been a nominee for the Lawrence J. Bauman Award, you would have been."
"Why?" she demanded. "Because I had the temerity to catch the eye of the boss's son?"
"No. Because you allowed your personal life to interfere with business."
"So it was Jonah Alexander, troubleshooter, financier extraordinaire and former LJB winner to the rescue. Is that it?" She didn't bother to hide her resentment.
"That's it."
"And your solution was to marry me?"
"Not by a long shot. You were the one who settled on that as a solution. I merely accommodated you."
"Why?"
For the first time, anger disturbed the even tenor of his voice. "What choice did I have? I couldn't change your mind about marrying and you wouldn't settle on an acceptable husband. Then Eric showed up and it was either marry or expose you as a liar." He stepped closer, his expression falling into grim lines. "But believe this, Mrs. Alexander, if I didn't think that revealing the truth might damage the reputation of International Investment, I'd have given you up in a heartbeat and damn the consequences."
"I had to do something about Eric," she protested.
"You didn't have to lie. If you make such foolish decisions in your personal life, I have to wonder what the hell you're doing on the job."
The criticism struck hard and cut deep. "My work is beyond reproach!"
"Except for the Dearfield account, you mean?" came the harsh retort. "Well, we'll find out, won't we?"
"What are you saying?" she asked apprehensively.
"I'm saying that I intend to analyze your performance over the past year. And if I find anything out of sync, LJB Award or no, you'll be out on that pretty little tail of yours."
She leaped to her feet, her hands balling into fists. "If that's how you feel, why did you bother to marry me?"
"You think I wanted to?" His anger erupted with tangible force, reflected in the taut line of his jaw and the hot sparks of gold flaming to life in his eyes. "Our marriage is an inconvenient means of salvaging an untenable situation. And you, my accidental wife, are a temporary encumbrance."
"How dare-"
"Oh, cut the self-righteous indignation," he snapped. "You used me last night every bit as much as I used you. What did you say? It wasn't just Eric but some personal matter you needed to resolve, as well?"
His reminder stopped her cold. How could she have forgotten Krista and Keli? "Yes," she conceded, her anger fading as swiftly as it had flared.
"Well, at least Eric won't be a problem any longer."
She stared in confusion. "Why not?"
"He won't poach," Jonah stated succinctly. "After this morning, there won't be any doubt in my brother's mind that not only are we married, but we share a passionate relationship. If I read him right, he'll be furious at you for not telling him the truth about us. Any feelings he might harbor should die a swift and bitter death."
She turned her back on him, blinking hard. She'd never wanted to hurt Eric, only ease an uncomfortable situation. But everything she'd done so far only succeeded in exacerbating matters. "How do we explain our marriage to him?" she asked quietly.
"We say that we became engaged before I left for London and we married a short time afterward on one of my trips to the States. We kept it quiet because we didn't want it to affect your position at work." His voice acquired a cynical edge. "We'll tell him you preferred to make it on your own. He should buy that."
Her mouth tightened. "Go on."
"We're celebrating our one-year anniversary by renewing our vows at the Montagues' party and had planned to make the big announcement to the family immediately afterward."
"You have it all worked out," she said, unable to conceal her resentment.
"Somebody had to."
"I'll have you know I had complete control of the situation." She turned to face him. "Your interference wasn't necessary."
"You had it all under control?" She couldn't mistake his sarcasm. "Which part?"
"Once I married—"
"Fine. Let's start there. Never in my life have I heard of anything as crazy as this Cinderella Ball. You really intended to marry a complete stranger?"
"Yes." She strove for nonchalance. "What's wrong with that?"
"What—" He bit off a curse. "You knew nothing about me. Not even my real name. I could have been an ax murderer. Or worse."
"What's worse than an ax murderer?" she muttered.
"Don't tempt me to show you. How could you be so irresponsible?"
"I'm sure there were no ax murderers present," she argued. "The Montagues ran security checks. They had all the guests investigated before they authorized their invitations."
"A fat lot of good that did."
His voice had become dangerously soft, the bass tones rumbling with stormy threat. His hand closed around her arm and he tugged her close. She made a small sound of complaint, not that he noticed or cared. Instead, he secured her against him, the thin cotton of her nightgown providing as flimsy a barrier as his towel. She splayed her hands across his chest, her fingers sinking into the generous pelt of hair to the taut layer of skin and muscle beneath.
"Joe—Jonah, please. You don't understand. It was perfectly safe."
"Really? Well, for your information, wife, I didn't have an invitation. I walked right in the front door and no one made a move to stop me. Now tell me again how everyone was investigated and deemed safe. Am I safe? Well? Am I?"
She stared into blazing hazel eyes, the strength of his fury impacting with stunning force. More than anything, she wanted to look away. But she didn't, compelled to meet that impossible gaze while still retaining the tattered scraps of her control. "No," she replied tartly, remembering his attempted seduction once they'd returned to the hotel. "You aren't the least safe. Last night proved that beyond any doubt."
"Did it?" His eyes narrowed as he considered her comment and she regretted ever having made the dig. "After thirty-odd hours without sleep, some of it's a bit hazy. I don't recall much toward the end, except—"
"Nothing happened!" she broke in defensively.
A hint of jade green crept into his curious gaze, and a slow smile creased his mouth. His arms slid around her, his hands settling on her hips. "That's not quite the way I remember it," he said, easing her close.
Struggling was out of the question. She hardly dared so much as breathe for fear of the consequences. "I thought you couldn't remember anything."
A quiet laugh broke free. "I don't. At least not much. My last memory was falling asleep on the softest, fluffiest pillow I've ever set cheek to." Color flamed in her face, and his gaze drifted from there downward, settling on the agitated rise and fall of her breasts. "I wouldn't mind trying it again."
"Let go of me." If anything, his hold tightened and she was terrified that he might kiss her. If that happened, she'd be lost, just like every other time he'd touched her.
And he knew it as surely as she.
"I don't recall much after that." His brow wrinkled. "I sure don't remember undressing. And yet when I woke up this morning, someone had taken off my shoes." He cocked a gold-tipped eyebrow. "You?"
"I may have."
"And my shirt?"
A sudden im
age of the night before came to her. Once she'd gotten over her initial shock and anger at his falling asleep, she'd been unable to just leave him sprawled on the bed, fully dressed. He'd looked too uncomfortable. The shoes had been easy. The shirt less so because he'd worn a cummerbund. Never having seen a man put on such a device, let alone attempted to remove one, she'd wrestled with it for endless moments before locating the hooks. Added to which, he'd been so huge, it had taken every ounce of strength to roll him over enough to take care of the problem.
"You haven't answered my question," he prompted.
"Once I figured out how your cummerbund worked, the shirt was a snap. I put your cuff links on the dresser, by the way."
She didn't add how unnervingly intimate the procedure had been. Finding the buttons within the folds of his dress shirt hadn't seemed so bad; his body heat singeing her through the soft cotton, though, had come as a distinct shock. He'd lain stretched across the bed, his shirt gaping, hers to touch and care for. She'd hurried initially, desperate to get the job done. But as she'd worked the shirt off his shoulders and arms, her movements had slowed. And heaven help her, she'd been unable to resist caressing that incredible musculature. Did he know? Did he suspect that she'd traced every hard curve—the deep furring of his chest, the taut ripples of his abdomen, the beautifully sculpted biceps?
She risked a quick upward glance, but his expression told her nothing. He held her so close the crisp hairs of his chest brushed the curve of her jaw, swamping her with desires she'd never known she possessed—desires she didn't dare communicate to him. They were the same feelings that had spilled through her as she'd unbuttoned his trousers. She'd panicked then, just as she was almost panicking now. Last night, she'd bolted from the bed and locked herself in the bathroom for a long, hot shower. Afterward, she'd thrown a blanket over his slumbering form and crawled into bed next to him. Curling into a tight ball as far to one side of the king bed as she could manage, it had taken her a long, long time to drift off to sleep.
"Where have you gone, Nikki?" he questioned softly.
Her gaze flew to his and she shook her head, unable to answer. For where she'd been, she didn't dare allow him to follow. To her eternal relief, a knock sounded at the door, sparing her the need to invent a response.
"I think this conversation might be worth pursuing further," he said.
"I disagree." She stirred within his hold. "Aren't you going to answer that?"
"I'm debating."
"There's nothing to debate. We've been an awfully long time," she said, pulling free of his embrace. "Let's hope it's your clothes and not Eric."
It was clothing. After signing for the package, he glanced over his shoulder at her. "With any luck, Eric's put the appropriate construction on our delay and is busy inventing an excuse for being in Nevada." He tore open the package and his towel hit the floor. "You might want to get dressed, too."
With a strangled gasp, Nikki snatched up her overnight bag and flew into the bathroom, slamming the door. It took five minutes to calm down enough to dress, and a further five to dab on enough makeup to conceal the ravages of a restless night. Finally, she emerged, dressed in a businesslike fitted gold skirt and blouse, her hair thoroughly brushed and gathered at the base of her neck with a clip.
Jonah took one look at her and shook his head, his mouth settling into a grim line. "Not a chance."
"What's wrong now?" she questioned defensively.
"You look like my secretary, not my wife." He approached, flicking open the first several buttons of her blouse and removing the clip holding her hair. "Unless we're at work, you wear your hair loose."
"Why?"
"We're making a statement, remember, creating an illusion? That illusion is that we're married and can't keep our mitts off each other. When we walk into the dining room, the first thought that I want Eric to have is that we've just made love and then thrown on whatever clothes came to hand in order to join him." He examined her critically. "No jewelry except your wedding band and wear your heels from last night."
"But they're ivory. They don't match—"
"Exactly. We dressed in haste, remember? Come on. Let's go."
Jamming her feet into the shoes he indicated, she snatched up her purse and followed him to the door. They accomplished the ride in the elevator in total silence. Just before the doors slid open, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her close for a quick, hard kiss.
"I hate it when you do that," she protested the minute he released her.
"If you hate it so much, stop clutching my shirt. And when we join Eric, follow my lead. Understand?"
"No."
"Do it anyway. You ready?"
She nodded, dreading the next few minutes. He started toward the restaurant and she caught his arm. "Jonah, wait." She moistened her lips. "Please. Don't.. .don't hurt him."
His gaze turned wintry. "I think it's too late for that. Don't you? But if it makes you feel any better, I promise I won't give you the chance to hurt him anymore."
With that, he snagged her elbow and led her toward what she suspected would be the most uncomfortable conversation of her life.
CHAPTER FIVE
"What do you mean we're going to Chicago?" Nikki demanded as they entered the airport lobby. "I need to get back to New York."
"And you will," he retorted, joining the short line in front of the first-class passenger check-in counter. "Just as soon as we stop in Chicago and see my parents."
That didn't sound good. "Do we have to?" she asked faintly.
"Yes, we do." He glanced down at her, correctly interpreting her reaction. "Don't worry. I'll do the talking again."
And suffer through the accusatory stares and barbed silences she'd experienced with Eric? Not a chance. "That's what I'm afraid of. Last time you did the talking, I ended up appearing—"
"Heartless? Guilty as sin? A traitor?"
She shot him a sour look. "You do it deliberately, don't you? You twist everything I say to your own advantage."
"I don't have to twist a single thing. You've managed to tangle yourself in this little web of deceit all on your own. I'm just trying to straighten out your mess. If, in the process, you come across as less than sympathetic, it's not my fault."
"Oh, no?" She planted her hands on her hips. "For your information, I wasn't the only one being deceitful last night, Joe. Nor would I be in this mess if you hadn't interfered. I had everything all planned."
His eyebrows winged skyward and he made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "You call attending the Montagues' ball a plan?"
"Yes." She ticked off her points one by one. "Go to the ball and find a husband. Make a big production out of introducing him at work. Take care of a personal situation. And let Eric down gently. Gently!" She glared at him. "Do you even know the meaning of the word 'gentle'? The man I intended to marry would have."
"I see. Adding another player to the drama is supposed to simplify it. Especially someone unfamiliar with both the role and his lines. And a gentle man, no less." His voice dripped sarcasm. "Now there's a contradiction in terms."
She bit down on her lip to halt the impetuous rush of words. She knew when to beat a temporary retreat in order to salvage her pride. And that time had definitely arrived. Besides, their breakfast with Eric had gone precisely as Jonah had predicted and had been every bit the unmitigated disaster she'd feared. Eric had offered the transparent excuse of calling on a potential customer as his reason for being in Nevada. Jonah had repeated the story he'd invented surrounding their engagement and marriage. And she'd sat there gulping coffee and trying to appear madly in love with one brother while avoiding the hurt gaze of the other.
Taking a deep breath, she asked, "What are you going to tell your parents?"
"The truth. It'll make a pleasant change, if nothing else." The ticket window cleared and he crossed to it, dumping their luggage on the scale. "Reroute these through Chicago for a one-night layover," he requested, slapping thei
r airline tickets on the counter. "And what's your first available flight from Chicago to New York on Monday morning?"
"No! I have to get home tonight," Nikki protested. "I'm expected."
"Change your plans," he said without a trace of sympathy. "I've had to. There's a bank of phones behind you. I'm sure the incomparable Jan can reschedule your early-morning appointments with one hand tied behind her back."
Realizing further argument would prove futile, she did as he suggested and crossed to the phones. She called her sister first, keeping it light and breezy. "I won't be home until Monday, I'm afraid. My business took longer than expected. And... and I have a surprise for you."
"For me?" her sister asked. "You didn't have to do that."
"I mean.. .it's not for you precisely. It's—it's something I got for myself. But I hope you'll be pleased."
"What is it?" Krista demanded. "Tell me."
"I can't. I've been a bit impetuous...." Nikki glanced at Jonah's broad back and swallowed. Very impetuous might be closer to the truth.
"You? Impetuous? I can't believe it."
"Believe it," Nikki retorted. "I'll see you Monday, though I'm not sure when. And I'll bring my surprise with me. You'll love him." She groaned. "It. You'll love it."
A momentary silence greeted her statement. "Oh, Nikki," Krista said in a troubled voice. "What have you done?"
"Something wonderful," Nikki insisted with a hint of defiance. She shut her eyes. Wonderfully terrifying. Ter-rifyingly wonderful. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"And we'll talk, right?"
Nikki winced. "Right. All my love to you and Keli. I've got to run."
"Nick, honey?"
"What?"
"It's not your fault." Krista's voice dropped, the words tumbling out in an urgent rush. "You don't have to spend the rest of your life making up for one youthful indiscretion. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened. It isn't worth ruining your life over—"
"I'm not," Nikki interrupted briskly. "I'm just trying to take care of you and Keli. It'll work out, I promise."
"Try taking care of yourself for a change," Krista shot back. "That's all I ask."