by Sandra Brown
"Ria, both of us have a high public profile. You know a lot of people. So do I. Many of them saw us leave that party together on Christmas Eve."
"Do you really think they'd put two and two together?"
"No, they'd add up one and one and get three. You, me, and baby. Or count up nine months from Christmas Eve and get September twenty-sixth. And I detest sneakiness. If we're doing this to legitimize our child, then we'd better do it right away. Otherwise, we'd do just as well not getting married at all."
"But everyone will know why we got married if we get an annulment as soon as the baby is born."
"It will be pure speculation."
"There'll be speculation aplenty if we rush right out and get married without even dating first. Rumors will really start flying when I begin to show."
He glanced down at her flat tummy. Impulsively he laid his hand on it. "Hard to believe, isn't it? That there's really a baby in there?"
It was hard for Ria to believe that her bones could turn to butter whenever he touched her. But with his palm lying firm and warm on her lower abdomen, she was afflicted with a languor and light-headedness that had nothing to do with pregnancy.
"Now that I've had time to think about it, I kinda like the idea of my baby growing inside you." He lifted those startling blue eyes up to hers. "In fact, I like the idea of you, period."
He leaned forward and placed a solid kiss on her lips. Then, tilting his head to one side, he kissed her again. This time his lips were parted. They pressed against hers, rubbing them slightly until they, too, separated.
She hadn't been inebriated on Christmas Eve after all. His kisses hadn't been embellished by the magic of champagne or by her memory. They were just as skillful and sinful as she had remembered. His tongue was nimble and quick and light, slow and sleek and sexy.
His hand moved up to the side of her breast and pressed the fullness. He swept his thumb across her nipple and Ria moaned because the caress felt so good to the tender, achy, itchy flesh.
He sighed her name as the kiss intensified. He applied more pressure to her mouth, and his tongue delved deeper. Ria became lost in the wonder of his kiss, in the solid presence of his strong body, in the smell of his skin and hair. She became immersed again in Taylor MacKensie, just as she had on Christmas Eve. And she was drowning, drowning…
Ria pulled herself up sharply. "No. Taylor, we can't."
He was breathing hard, blinking rapidly. "How come?"
"Because."
"Good reason."
"I have a condition of my own. There can't be any intimacy between us."
"I wish you'd told me that about three kisses and one feel ago," he muttered.
She stood up and pulled down her T-shirt, which had become twisted up beneath her breasts. She ran her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to straighten it. She smoothed her hands down the front of her thighs, wishing that would cool the sweet fever burning between them. Why did she still want him? How could she still want him, when she was paying so dearly for their one night together? "Any kind of emotional or physical involvement between us will only make it harder."
"It couldn't possibly get any harder than it is right now."
"Taylor!"
"Just kidding." Slowly and awkwardly he came to his feet. "I'll make all the arrangements and call you." He headed for the door.
"Wait! You can't leave before we discuss this. What are we going to say when people ask why we're not living together?"
"They won't ask. We will be living together."
"What? We can't! Where?"
"My house."
"Out of the question."
"Ria, believe me, I'm in no condition for a debate right now."
"We've got to get this settled."
"And I've got to get this settled," he shouted, pointing downward. Her mouth clicked shut. He nodded. "Right. I've got to go home, take a cold shower, and try to reconcile myself to being married in name only to a beautiful, sexy, pregnant lady. Okay?" he asked crossly. "I'll call you."
"Ready?"
"Yes."
Taylor nodded at her approvingly and ushered her into the judge's chambers. He'd handled all the details and arranged for the judge to marry them at five o'clock in the afternoon, after a workday for both of them.
Ria had gone home to bathe and change. This was a necessary rite, but it was still a wedding. Her wedding. She had hoped that dressing for it would make her feel better about it. It was too late to be having second thoughts, but now she questioned her decision to tell Taylor about the child.
After having been assured by her doctor that she was indeed pregnant, she had decided that she and the father would be married before the child was born. During that sleepless night, she had envisioned Taylor and her signing a document legally binding them, then signing another document legally severing them after the baby was born.
Things like sharing a house and the same last name hadn't figured in her mental pictures, any more than did the white-and-apricot rosebud bouquet he'd given her when he'd picked her up. The mandatory marriage had been humanized, but she couldn't put a finger on exactly when that had happened.
The bouquet trembled in her hands as she recited her vows before the judge and his secretary/witness. When the judge called for the ring, Taylor surprised her by taking a plain gold band from his vest pocket and sliding it on her finger.
And when the judge granted them permission to kiss, Taylor put all his expertise into it, convincing both smiling witnesses that this was a love match. The kiss almost convinced his breathless bride, and she knew better.
They left the courthouse as newlyweds. Ria, still rattled over the solemnizing kiss, said, "You shouldn't have bothered with the ring."
"I make it a rule never to shortchange my wives," Taylor said, sending a dazzling smile down her way.
"I'm your first."
"I'm setting a precedent." He helped her into the Corvette. "I've made dinner reservations at La Fleur."
The groom was chock-full of surprises. "I wish you hadn't."
"Aren't you hungry?"
"Not very," she replied evasively.
"Are you feeling sick?"
She toyed with the idea of lying, but decided that that wasn't a very auspicious way to begin any marriage. "No, it's not that."
He wheeled the Vet beneath the porte cochere, but ignored the parking attendant who bounded up to the side of the car. "Then what is it, Ria?"
"It's everything. The bouquet, the ring, the dinner. It's all so … so bridal."
"You don't like roses? You wanted a silver ring? A diamond? La Fleur isn't your favorite restaurant?"
"Damn you, stop making jokes. You know what I'm trying to say."
"No, I don't. Why don't you spell it out for me?"
"All right, I will. Don't go overboard with this thing."
Agitated, he pulled his bottom lip through his teeth while he studied her. "I'm supposed to be crazy in love with you, aren't I? Enough to get married impulsively. Wouldn't you say a man in that shape is likely to go overboard?"
"You didn't marry me impulsively and you aren't crazy in love."
"But they don't know that," he hissed, indicating the world in general beyond the windshield. "We've got to make this convincing."
"So your political career won't be jeopardized?" she asked snidely.
His jaw muscles contracted and his eyes turned a frigid blue. Leaning forward, he enunciated, "No, so people won't find out that you screwed a total stranger and got knocked up on Christmas Eve."
All the color drained from Ria's face while, conversely, the sour contents of her stomach surged up the back of her throat. "I'm going to be sick." Frantically she groped for the door handle.
Tossing the car keys to the parking attendant, Taylor rushed her inside. She made it into the ladies' room just in time. Afterward, the elderly attendant commiserated and offered her cold compresses. She laid one against Ria's clammy forehead and the other against her t
hroat.
"I've been telling that bartender he's mixing drinks too strong," the attendant said, patting Ria's hand.
"I haven't had anything to drink. I'm—" She started to say, "I'm pregnant," but amended it to, "I just got married."
The woman's creased face broke into a broad smile. "Wedding night jitters? You'll soon get over them."
Ria smiled weakly. When she was certain that the nausea had subsided, she applied fresh lipstick and left, the attendant's best wishes for a happy life ringing in her ears.
Taylor was pacing just outside the lounge. "Are you all right?"
"Better."
He looked almost as sick as she'd been. "Ria, I'm sorry. Lord, that was a terrible thing for me to say."
"Yes, it was. But I accept your apology, because I was being so bitchy." She was assailed by emotion, and her eyes filled with tears she was powerless to hold back. A search through her small bag failed to produce a Kleenex, but Taylor handed her a monogrammed handkerchief. "I provoked you," she said. "You've been so considerate. I expected you to be surly and difficult about all this. I was prepared for your scorn, but not your kindness." She raised her head and noticed that they had attracted a small audience. "Everyone's watching."
"Don't worry about it. Brides are expected to cry," he said, "especially when the groom takes off his pants." She was laughing when he took her elbow and led her into an alcove, where there were pay telephones and cigarette-vending machines. It afforded them some privacy.
"Ria." He rested his hand against her cheek. "What I said in the car … that was a very ugly word to use for something as miraculous as making a baby. And…"
"What?" she asked after his pause was extended.
"I never thought of what happened between us as just screwing."
Their long, telling stare was broken by a man who came in to use the telephone. "We don't have to stay if you don't feel well," Taylor said, blotting her cheeks with his handkerchief before repocketing it.
"Yes, please, I want to. You went to all the trouble of making the reservation. It would be a shame to waste it."
She could tell by his smile that he was pleased. The maitre d' politely inquired if Ms. Lavender was all right. She assured him that she was, and Taylor told him, "It's Mrs. MacKensie now, Peter."
The head waiter, who knew both of them by name, admirably recovered from his surprise and said, "Congratulations, Mr. MacKensie."
He bowed formally to Ria, then showed them to the best table in the restaurant and sent over a complimentary bottle of champagne. Within minutes everyone in the kitchen, the staff of waiters, the other diners, even the parking valet, who was giving the Corvette an almost sexual rubdown, had heard that Mayor-elect MacKensie had married the architect Ria Lavender.
"Don't you get tired of men looking at you with unadulterated lust?"
She lowered the embossed leather folder that held her menu and gazed at him over the top of it. Her eyes were no longer vacuous, and color was coming back into her cheeks. "What did you say?"
"Every head in the place turned when you walked through."
"You imagined that."
"Uh-uh. A dozen pairs of covetous eyes stabbed me in the back. I feel sorry for the poor, deprived suckers, but that doesn't mean I'll stand for their ogling my wife." Ria knew he was talking foolishness only to make her feel better, but it was working. She even warmed under the lazy inspection his eyes gave her. "New dress?"
She hated to admit that she had bought the suit for the wedding ceremony, especially after having accused him of placing too much importance on it. The ecru linen two-piece suit had a slender skirt and a well-fitted one-button jacket with a single, wide lapel of matching cotton lace. A strand of pearls was nestled in the hint of cleavage that showed.
"Yes, it's new, but I didn't buy it just for today. I needed it anyway."
Taylor smiled teasingly. "The pearls, are they a gift from a man?"
"My parents. College graduation."
He nodded curtly and with satisfaction. "What do you feel like eating?"
"Campbell's chicken broth."
He snickered from behind his menu. "Then order the consommé. That's what you'll get."
Ria was surprised that she could eat an entire grilled chicken breast. For dessert the management sent out a complimentary frosted white cake only large enough for two. To the delight of the restaurant staff, Taylor sliced it ceremoniously. They fed each other bites and made toasts with champagne, though Ria barely sipped hers.
When it came time to leave, Taylor assisted her out of her chair and kept a solicitous hand on the small of her back as they headed for the exit. They had just reached the maitre d's desk when they came face-to-face with a trio waiting to be seated.
The unattached blonde's eyes drifted over Ria without really seeing her. She smiled radiantly at Taylor. "Taylor, how wonderful to run into you. You're not leaving, are you? It's so early. We just got here. You remember the Wilsons?"
"Of course," Taylor said, shaking hands with the man and nodding to his wife.
"Why don't you join us?" the blonde suggested. She included Ria in the invitation only by glancing in her general direction before turning her hungry eyes on Taylor.
"Sorry, not tonight. Ria, this is Lisa Burton. Lisa, this is Ria, my wife."
The Wilsons saved the awkward moment from becoming a total fiasco. Both women were stunned speechless. Ria recovered faster than Lisa did. She acknowledged the introductions and responded to Mrs. Wilson's inquiry about whether she was the architect she'd heard so much about.
Lisa breached every rule of etiquette and cut straight to the heart of the matter as soon as she'd recovered her power of speech. "Isn't this rather sudden, Taylor?"
"This" didn't have to be clarified. Lisa's eyes were dark with malice. Taylor draped an arm across Ria's shoulders. "I met Ria last fall."
Late, late last fall, Ria thought.
"We got married this afternoon." Having divulged all the information he planned to, he nudged Ria forward. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we're in a hurry to get home."
Ria's knees were about to buckle and her cheeks were hot with embarrassment over Taylor's implication that the wedding night was about to commence. She was desperately glad to rush out of the restaurant on his arm. She held herself together by crossing her arms tightly over her midsection while they waited for the attendant to bring the car around. Taylor, humming off-key, perused the lost-and-found and opportunities-for-employment notices tacked to a bulletin board on the garage wall.
Once she was seated in the Corvette, Ria rested her head in her hand. "You're not going to toss the consommé, are you?" he asked. "'Cause if you are, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me time to pull over and stop."
"Taylor, I just met Lisa. Your Lisa. Did you see the expression on her face when you told her I was your wife? How can you be so blasé, about it?"
"I don't want to talk about Lisa," he said tightly.
"Obviously, but I think we should."
Stubbornly he clenched his jaw and said nothing. They reached his house, but Ria barely glanced at her new home. She was too perturbed at Taylor for keeping her in suspense about his girlfriend. He came around to help her out and carried her suitcase up to the front door, which he unlocked. It swung open, but Ria refused to step inside.
"Waiting for me to carry you across the threshold?"
"I'm waiting for you to tell me about Lisa."
He dropped the suitcase and placed both his hands on the wall behind her, trapping her head between his arms. "Let's get this straight right now. She's not, nor ever has been, my Lisa. If having slept with her makes her mine, then she's also belonged to lots of other men. Got that? And I don't owe her any explanations. It was purely coincidental that I had a broken date with her on the night I met you." He lowered his hands. "Now, unless you want to have our second quarrel as a married couple out here on the front porch, I suggest you drop the subject of Lisa and let me carry you across the threshold."
She let him, because she didn't have any choice when he picked her up. But she couldn't forget the dumbfounded expression on that woman's face. The affair might have been just that to Taylor, but Lisa Burton had attached considerably more importance to it. However, for the time being, and for the sake of harmony, she let the subject drop.
Taylor carried her not only inside, but through the entire house. "This is the kitchen." Everything in it was stark white, with the exception of the walls, which were terra cotta. "It's got all the modern conveniences."
"Will you please put me down?"
"No."
"But I can't explore."
"A euphemism for meddle, and there'll be plenty of time for that later. You need to get off your feet. I think your ankles are beginning to swell."
"They are?"
Panicked, Ria raised one foot and examined her ankle. It was as trim as ever. She glared up at Taylor. He burst out laughing. "Gotcha."
Ria felt his laughter vibrating through her breasts, and it was contagious. They exchanged farcical comments about the living room, the casual den, and all the other rooms in the house. But her laughter ceased the moment he opened the door to the master bedroom.
A wall of windows opened onto a sweeping mountain vista. The recent sunset had left the sky a vivid purple backdrop for a crescent moon and Venus in all its glory.
One glance at the spacious room and Ria knew she had married a sybarite. The carpet was ankle deep. There was a king-sized platform bed dressed up in a black leather bed sack. At the foot of the bed lay a mink throw rug that looked downright iniquitous. The lighting was subtle, multi-directional, and seemingly without source. A black marble fireplace was built into the wall opposite the bed. Low chairs invited one to curl up and enjoy what the high-tech entertainment center had to offer. A crystal bowl of white tulips decorated the bedside table. On the other side of the bed, a bottle of champagne was chilling in a silver cooler.
As an architect, Ria could appreciate the room's exquisite design. As a woman, it made her tremble like a virgin looking into the pirate captain's cabin.
Taylor released her, letting her down slowly and keeping his hands on her shoulders as though she might bolt.