by Sandra Brown
Yes, she needed to get back into her routine. But if he knew her, and he felt as though he was coming to know her fairly well, she'd drive herself until she collapsed from exhaustion. Deep down she was probably blaming herself for the miscarriage. By now she'd probably remembered some childhood transgression that had finally caught up with her. She would convince herself that the miscarriage had been her penance. "I'll be damned before I let that happen." Taylor left the patio and went storming through the house. Halfway to the bedroom, he brought himself up short. This was the wrong approach. A smart man didn't issue ultimatums to Ria Lavender. If he went in there barking orders, that was the last he'd see of her. On the other hand, if he told her that he wanted to take care of her until she was completely recovered, she'd resent his pity. So what was it to be?
Firm but sympathetic. Yeah, that should do it. He paused on the threshold of the bedroom. She had filled one suitcase and was folding clothing into another one. He felt the whiskey in his stomach heave and swell like the north Atlantic.
He didn't want to use his ace in the hole to get her to stay, but he would if nothing else worked.
Ria turned at the sound of his approach. She mistook the glitter in his eyes for anger. She couldn't really blame him, not after the dreadful thing she'd said. He would welcome her leaving as soon as possible. "Give me another minute or two. I only need to pack my cosmetics in the bathroom, then I'll be ready."
"I don't think you should leave."
Dropping a lacy teddy into the suitcase, she spun around. "What?"
"You heard me."
"But why?"
"The doctor said you needed bed rest, at least through the weekend."
"I've got a bed at home."
"But will you stay in it?"
"Yes."
"Uh-huh."
"I will!"
"Ria, I've lived with you for several weeks. As long as there's an unwashed glass in the kitchen sink, you won't sit down to watch a television program."
She avoided looking at him, partially because she was guilty as charged and partially because he was so devastatingly good to look at. His lack of sleep the night before had only emphasized the bone structure of his face. Fatigue flattered him. The shadows around his eyes made them appear a deeper blue.
He was dressed in a trim-fitting sport shirt that showed off the triangular shape of his torso. The faded, tight jeans looked as though they had been melted down and poured over him. It seemed impossible that that fit could have been achieved by any other method.
The hurting emptiness inside her yawned wider when she thought of not having him in her life. She was going to miss his humor. And his passion.
"I promise I'll rest," she said lamely.
"You need to eat properly. You won't if I'm not around to force-feed you."
"How do you know?"
"I saw your oatmeal bowl this morning."
"It was horrible. You wouldn't have eaten it either."
"I didn't have to."
"I can cook well-balanced meals for myself."
"Precisely. You shouldn't be standing up cooking, much less going to the market."
"I won't starve, Taylor. You make me sound like an invalid. I got along very well for almost thirty years without you." He wouldn't have a comeback for that, and she knew it.
He took another tack. "What are you going to tell your parents?"
"Oh." Her triumphant smile collapsed. "I had forgotten that."
"Good thing I reminded you, then. They're driving down on Sunday to meet me, aren't they?"
"I'll call and tell them something came up."
"It would be out of character for you to break an important date like that. They'd figure out that something was wrong, probably drive down anyway to find out what it was, and then, when they got here and discovered—"
"All right!" She sank down onto the bed. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. Packing had exhausted her. The doctor was right. She couldn't just pick up where she had left off. It would take time to build her strength back up, especially when her spirits were so low. "I suppose I could stay here until Sunday night, after Mom and Dad leave. I'll think up something to tell them about us later."
"Actually," Taylor said, sitting down beside her, "I think you should stay for a … a while."
"Indefinitely?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Lots of reasons."
"Name one."
"You just got here," he said shortly.
"And what will people say if I move out right now? Isn't that what you're getting at?"
"No, Ria."
"Isn't it?" She sprang to her feet. "I get it now. All this talk about resting, eating properly, sparing my folks, is just so much bunk. You don't want your voting public to know that your new wife walked out on you."
"You know that's not why I want you to stay."
"And if they found out that I'd lost a baby, that would really make you look bad, wouldn't it? They might not be too excited about swearing you in as mayor."
"My being mayor has nothing to do with why I want you to stay."
"Then it must be the free sex."
"What?" he roared. The tethers he'd kept on his temper snapped.
"Sure, why should you spend money taking out Lisa and her ilk, when you can have a bedmate at home every night for free?"
"I've never known you to have a convenient headache," he said.
"Not until now," she ground out. "But for your information, I'm off-limits for six weeks."
His curses were so vivid, so vile, they made Ria shudder. "What do you think I am, a caveman? Is that what you think this is about? Sex? Ha! Don't flatter yourself. I had plenty of it, for free, before Christmas Eve. That wasn't the first one-night stand I'd ever had, you know." He jerked his chin up arrogantly. "Or even the best one."
That smarted, as though he'd slapped her. But rather than let him know he'd hurt her, she asked, "Then why do you want to stay married to me?"
"To save face," he said bluntly. "Stay with me until I'm officially sworn in as mayor. Then if you want to leave, I won't try to stop you. I think you owe me that much."
Ria's strength and defiance deserted her in the same instant. She sat down on the bed again. Idly she picked through the suitcase of frilly underwear, remembering one of Taylor's bawdy comments for nearly every garment.
More than any pain she'd endured, this hurt. Their marriage had been a sham. These past weeks he hadn't been falling in love with her, as she had been with him. He'd been kind, funny, and considerate only for the baby's sake. He had been affectionate only because she was the mother of his child. His possessive attitude had nothing to do with her personally.
And they'd always been very good for each other in bed.
He'd acknowledged and legitimized her baby by marrying her, just as she'd asked him to. He hadn't only been a good sport about it; he'd gone out of his way to make her feel like a well-loved bride.
It would be unsportsmanlike of her to leave him in the lurch now. His career depended on his public image. She'd got him into this marriage, making as little fuss as possible. It was up to her to get him out of it the same way.
But could she bear pretending to be his loving wife? When would he realize that she wasn't pretending? How much longer was it until the swearing-in ceremony? Several weeks? A month?
She supposed she could endure living with him for that long.
The deciding factor, however, was that the thought of leaving him was so dismal, she really couldn't bring herself to do it.
"All right, Taylor. I'll stay."
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
« ^ »
"More coffee, Frida?" Taylor leaned down to pour his mother-in-law another cup. They were enjoying their after-dinner coffee on the patio.
Mrs. Lavender smiled up at him. "Are you trying to butter me up?"
"Naturally," he confessed with a wide grin. "I want to make a good first impression."
His parents-in-law laughed at his disarming honesty. At Robert Lavender's urging, Taylor began outlining some of the city-improvement programs he wanted to initiate once he was sworn into office.
Ria, feet drawn up onto the chaise, watched the three of them. The day had gone well, far better than Ria had had any right to expect. She had dreaded it, dreaded having to deceptively play the role of a happy newly-wed for the two people she loved and respected most.
The moment she had answered the front door to her parents that morning, tears had threatened. She'd been tempted to throw herself into their arms and have a good cry, pouring out the whole sordid story. At least she hadn't had to talk about the miscarriage. One of the wisest decisions she'd ever made had been not to tell them about her pregnancy. They would be upset when her short-lived marriage ended in annulment. Why distress them further by telling them about the grandchild they had lost?
Credit for the day's going so smoothly went to Taylor. It was no mystery to Ria why he had been elected mayor. He was a born politician. He was charming and gracious, a wonderful conversationalist, and an even better listener. If he was faking his sincerity, then he was a superb actor. There were times when even she was convinced that he liked her parents and wanted them to like him. He could have won a Son-in-law of the Year contest hands down.
He was also a model husband. She couldn't fault his performance in that role. What depressed her was that it was just that, a role.
Their argument Friday afternoon over whether she would stay or go had taxed her already depleted strength. Once they had replaced all her clothing in the closet, Taylor had ordered her to bed, and she had obeyed without argument. She'd slept most of that day away. He had brought her a supper tray to the bedroom. As soon as she'd eaten, she fell asleep again.
Waking up Saturday morning, she'd noticed that his side of the bed hadn't been slept in. Tiptoeing through the house, she'd found him sprawled half on, half off the living-room sofa. It had pricked her conscience to think that she had forced him out of his own bed. She'd decided to make amends by cooking breakfast.
A few minutes later he had stumbled into the kitchen, where she already had the coffeemaker going. "What are you doing up?" He had haphazardly wrapped a sheet around his middle and was clutching it with one hand while scratching his tousled head with the other. He yawned broadly.
"Making coffee. You look like you need some."
"Go back to bed. I'll bring you yours."
"I feel fine."
"Go back to bed or—"
"I'm—"
"—I'll drop this sheet and expose myself to you. And you know what happens to me first thing every morning whether I want it or not," he warned softly.
She scuttled back to bed. The coffee he brought her was accompanied by three strips of crisp bacon and the largest waffle she'd ever seen. Its corners overlapped the plate.
"Why don't we stuff this and use it for a throw pillow?"
Her joke didn't amuse him. He picked up a fork and folded her fingers around it. "Eat it. Every bite." She could manage only half the waffle before surrendering with pleas of mercy.
So it went all day. He wouldn't let her do anything for herself. When she complained about going stir-crazy in the bedroom, he let her lie on a chaise in the sun on the patio.
From there she got to watch him wash and wax both cars. Wearing only denim cutoffs and splattered car-wash suds, he kept her from getting much rest. Her eyes kept straying from her magazine to those clumps of soapy white foam that clung to his chest hair and sensuously slid down his bare thighs and calves. She'd never seen anybody make an art form out of dripping water, the way Taylor did.
"I'm going to the grocery store. What should we serve our guests for lunch tomorrow?" Notepad in hand, he plopped down on the foot of her chaise, straddling it and facing her.
Ria was glad he had exchanged the damp cutoffs for slacks. The sight was disquieting enough as it was. She hoped he couldn't see the direction of her gaze behind her sunglasses.
"I hadn't thought about it," she said, doing so now. "How about chicken crepes, a huge green salad, parsley carrots, and strawberry tarts?"
"Let's see," he said, writing on the pad, "that's cold sliced ham and potato salad from the deli, fresh fruit and Brie, French bread and butter. Good idea, Ria. And I think the sherbet sounds delicious for dessert. Which should it be, orange or lime?"
"Taylor!"
"I'll grill steaks out here on the patio for dinner. Baking potatoes is no hassle." He laid a finger against her protesting lips. "But if you're a very good girl and stay off your feet for the rest of today, I'll let you make that 'huge green salad' tomorrow."
The spontaneous kiss he dropped on her mouth surprised them both. For a moment they stared at each other. Then he said a gruff good-bye and left quickly.
The next morning, before the Lavenders arrived, they read Delia Starr's feature article on them. "There's nothing in here about the baby," Ria remarked, faintly surprised by the omission.
"I made certain there wouldn't be."
Ria laid the paper in her lap. "When?"
"I called her from the hospital. I knew you wouldn't want to make public or private explanations."
"Thank you, Taylor." She reached out and touched his shoulder. He covered her hand with his.
And now, all day, they'd played house for her parents' benefit. It was beginning to grate on Ria's nerves. Because at times, she forgot it was playacting. Taylor was attentive, leaping to her side every time she lifted anything heavier than a feather. Once, when she bent down to pick up a fallen napkin from the floor, he nearly knocked her over trying to get to it first.
"Will you relax?" she said in a strident whisper, having called him into the kitchen on some pretext.
"Will you stop doing things you shouldn't?"
"They don't know about the … the baby." She still couldn't bring herself to say the word miscarriage. "They'll get suspicious if you don't stop behaving like a fool."
"They think I'm a fool in love, waiting on his bride hand and foot."
"Well, your enthusiasm is driving me crazy. Stop it."
But he didn't. He was constantly near her, touching her cheek, massaging her neck, rubbing the small of her back, placing a solicitous arm around her. Once, for no apparent reason, he bent down and kissed her lips softly. She felt a flurry in her tummy before remembering that his demonstrations of affection were calculated and a part of the show.
"Ria? Did you hear what I said?"
She pulled herself out of her musings to find that all of them were staring at her curiously. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
Taylor instantly moved to her side. "Are you all right?" His blue eyes seemed to spear straight through hers.
"I'm fine. I just lost track of the conversation. Repeat what you said, Dad."
"I said that I'm glad you didn't marry that stuffed shirt Guy Whatshisname."
"You and me both, Robert," Taylor said, curling his hand around the back of Ria's neck.
Frida Lavender said, "I guess it's safe to tell you now, Ria, that your father and I never liked Guy much. Taylor is much more suited to your personality." She gazed at them affectionately. "I think it's so romantic that you met on Christmas Eve."
"Yes, it was," Ria said uneasily.
"I guess it was fated that we took that trip to London when we did," Mr. Lavender said.
Taylor covered his heart with his hand. "Then I shall be eternally grateful to fate."
They laughed, but Frida's pretty mouth puckered into a frown. "We would have liked being at your wedding. It was so sudden. It hardly seems official without the church and organ and flowers. All the trimmings."
"Mom, I—"
"My fault entirely," Taylor said, interrupting Ria. "Ria and I had talked marriage from the night we met." He smiled down at her and added sexily, "It was that kind of night." He held her gaze for a moment before addressing her parents again. "When I finally convinced her to marry
me, I suggested that we do it right away and as quietly as possible. Please forgive us, but I didn't want my rivals to think I was grandstanding for the sake of the election, since my bachelorhood had been such an issue.
"And"—he paused, to stress the importance of his words—"the exchanging of vows meant something so personal and special to Ria and me, we selfishly didn't want to share them."
Mrs. Lavender blinked, misty-eyed. "Ria's very lucky to have found a man with your sensitivity, Taylor MacKensie."
Robert Lavender reached for his wife's hand. "Time to go. If she starts crying, there'll be no stopping her. Besides, we've got that hundred-mile drive facing us."
Standing together in the doorway, arms around each other's waists, Taylor and Ria made promises she knew they would never keep, about going to visit her parents soon and allowing them to host a dinner party so they could introduce Taylor to all their friends.
By the time the taillights of their car disappeared down the street, her nerves were shot. She closed the door with more emphasis than was necessary. "You didn't have to overdo it, you know," she snapped.
Taylor was taken aback. "I thought I did an admirable job of convincing them that I was a loving, attentive husband."
"Oh, you did. Every word was as syrupy-sweet as that waffle you forced me to eat yesterday."
"So what are you complaining about?"
She placed her hands on her hips. "Shouldn't you have been just a smidgen less charming? Somewhat of a heel? At the very least a little inattentive? They're going to be shocked when the big split comes. They'll ask themselves how I could be stupid enough to let Sir Galahad slip through my fingers. They might be relieved when we break up, if you'd shown one single dastardly flaw today instead of being so damned perfect."
"Well, excuse me. Next time I'll try to act more like stuffed-shirt Guy."
"They didn't know him well or they wouldn't have called him that."
"They knew him well enough not to like him. But you damn sure did, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"How long were you with him? And just what has he got that made you so dotty over him, when nobody else even likes him?" His blue eyes glittered. "Or shouldn't I ask?"