Married by Mistake

by Abby Gaines

  It was ironic that despite the differences between them, he and Casey were both struggling with pressure from their families. Ironic that if their marriage had been real, it would have solved both their problems....

  The idea burst into blazing, clamoring life.

  “You’re right,” he said. “We should stay married.”

  “What?” She slipped off the windowsill, grabbing for the curtain tieback to steady herself. “I’m sure you’re very nice—” she didn’t sound at all sure, he noticed “—but I’m not desperate enough to stay married to a stranger.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You were desperate enough to lie to your fiancé and marry him on a reality-TV show.”

  “I was bringing the wedding forward,” she said. “We were engaged.”

  “And we—” with a wave of his hand he indicated the two of them “—are married.” He paced between the window and the couch as he thought about how they could make this work. “I don’t mean we’d be married for real. We’d just stay together until the annulment comes through. For a month, we pretend we’re truly husband and wife. In public,” he added hastily.

  “I can see that might help me,” she admitted. “But how does it help you?”

  Adam figured he’d have to tell her enough to convince her. “When my father died, he left me his majority share of Carmichael Broadcasting. His will stipulated that if I’m not married—or as he put it, in a marriage of a lasting and committed nature—when I’m thirty, my share passes to my cousin Henry.”

  “Is that legal, demanding that someone be married in order to inherit?”

  Adam shrugged as he leaned against the back of the couch. “No. At least Sam says it’s not. But the will stands until we make a case in court to prove it’s invalid. Sam and I are working on that now. But Henry and his mother, my aunt Anna May, have their lawyers working to prove the will is legal. They’re hoping Henry will inherit. They know I’d never get married just to please my father.”

  “Sounds like your dad was a real romantic,” Casey said. She caught a glint of irritation in Adam’s eyes.

  “Dad had reason to believe I was anti-marriage. I admit that when he died, getting married was the last thing on my mind. But I assumed I’d find someone suitable over the next few years.”

  Someone suitable? Did he mean someone he loved? “But you didn’t,” she guessed.

  “I was wrong.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I turn thirty next month. If the will’s ruled legal, I’ll have until I turn thirty-one to find a wife. My stepmother’s not so confident we can have it overturned. She’d like me to get married, so that I win either way. She’s spent the past few months arranging accidental introductions to the daughters of her friends. She’s organizing a party for my birthday, and I know she’s planning on inviting practically every woman in Memphis. I don’t have time for this crap—I have a business to run and a lawsuit to fight. But with Eloise, my life is turning into one long bridefest.” He poured loathing into the word.

  “Hey,” Casey protested. “This sounds just like my family. If you don’t do anything you don’t want to, how come you don’t just tell Eloise to take a hike?”

  “I wish I could,” Adam said with feeling. “Before Dad died, he asked me to take care of her. I want to honor his memory, to keep my promise. But she makes it damn hard.”

  “Were she and your father close?”

  Anger flickered in his eyes, then vanished. “You could say my father died for her.” The look he gave Casey said, Don’t ask.

  Briefly, she considered asking anyway. But that might be pushing her luck—and she still didn’t understand why Adam wanted to pretend their marriage was genuine. She abandoned her position at the window to return to the couch. “So you want to beat your aunt’s lawsuit and you want to escape Eloise’s bridefest.” She spoke the word with relish, and he glared.

  “If I’m married, she’ll have to back off. No more introductions, no birthday party. Anna May and Henry will think they’ve lost the battle because I’ve already met the will’s conditions. By the time the annulment comes through and they realize they were wrong, Sam and I will have built a compelling case against the will.”

  Adam spread his hands, palms up, as if to say this was unarguable logic. “So what say we buy ourselves some time? A month is long enough for me to deter Eloise and get my legal battle under control. Is it enough for your sister and your father to sort out their problems? You can use the computer at my place to work on your book, since you’ll have nothing else to do.”

  He smiled and Casey’s danger sensors went on alert. This man was used to getting what he wanted, and she suspected he might ride roughshod over others to get it.

  “It could be just what you dreamed of, a no-strings marriage,” he added.

  She’d dreamed of no-strings love.

  “It sounds selfish,” she said, trying to imagine lying to her family just so she could stay away from them.

  “Exactly,” Adam said with satisfaction. “This is all about being selfish for once in your life.” He regarded her doubtfully. “I suspect you’re no good at it, but I’ll show you how. Then, when our time is up, we’ll go our separate ways. No demands on each other, no...neediness.” He all but shuddered at the word, and in that moment Casey decided to grab with both hands the opportunity he presented.

  “You’re right.” She felt a sudden, blissful lightening of her gloom, and sprang to her feet. “I’m sick of being needed. Let’s do it, Adam. Let’s be selfish.”

  “Utterly, totally, one hundred percent selfish.” He smiled broadly, and that furrow in his brow turned into a laugh line, making him look younger, almost carefree.

  He put out a hand to shake on the deal. By now, the buzz of electricity his touch produced was so familiar, Casey could almost persuade herself to ignore it.

  But could she ignore it for a whole month?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ELOISE CARMICHAEL DIDN’T let her hesitation show in her walk. Sam Magill had eyes in the back of his head where she was concerned. She wouldn’t put it past him to have sensed her arrival and be watching her progress up his front path on this fine Sunday afternoon.

  She wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her turning up at his house uninvited. She stiffened her spine and took brisk, businesslike steps, which wasn’t easy wearing delicate high-heeled pumps in the green silk-linen fabric that matched her suit.

  She pressed the brass doorbell near the wide front door and waited, clutching her green kid leather purse in front of her.

  Sam opened the door. He blinked twice in astonishment, making his face seem even more owlish than usual. Then a flush crept up his cheeks from somewhere below his chin. Today, that predictable reaction was a relief, not an embarrassment. Because Eloise was here to take advantage of Sam’s...interest in her.

  He smiled warmly. “Eloise, what an unexpected pleasure.”

  She had to admit it was nice to know at least one man was always happy to see her. Sam’s regard went some small way toward countering all the frosty welcomes she’d endured from her stepson over the years.

  “What can I do for you?” That catch phrase prefaced their every conversation.

  Eloise wondered if the man had ever heard of “Good afternoon” or “How are you today?” He was still smiling, hopefully now.

  She shouldn’t have come. She dropped her gaze from the transparent eagerness of his expression. Then blinked. He was wearing bedroom slippers on his feet! Brown-and-cream checked ones that had seen better days, judging by the pilling at the toes. Eloise drew in a breath. It was silly to be shocked, but James would never have answered the door in his slippers.

  James is gone.

  “I need to talk to you about Adam,” she said, the wobble in her voice part grief at the reminder of what she’d lost, but mainly anxiety for her stepson. “I should have called first, but I thought you might refuse to see me.”

  “Refuse... No, of course... Why would I?” Sa
m stepped back to let her in. He stumbled against an Oriental pot used as an umbrella stand and it toppled over, spilling two neatly furled black umbrellas onto the polished floorboards. “Oh, dear, just let me—” He bent to retrieve the umbrellas, and when he stood up, dislodged a hat hanging on a row of pegs on the wall.

  Sam had never looked twice at Eloise during her marriage, nor in those early years after James’s death. But for three years now, he’d had this crush on her. He knocked things over, blurted tactless remarks, blushed to the roots of his hair—just like a teenage boy, minus the acne.

  Knowing it would take him half a minute to regain his composure, Eloise waited in silence while he stumbled over words and furnishings.

  She valued loyalty, so she appreciated that his attachment to her never wavered. But she wished she wasn’t too much of a lady to tell him bluntly there was no point. That she didn’t need or want anyone if she couldn’t have James.

  Blast you, James Carmichael, for leaving me a widow. Do you know how lonely I feel every day? Every night?

  When Sam was coherent and no longer in immediate danger of destroying anything, she followed him into the living room.

  She’d never been to this house before, and now she looked around with curiosity. Leather couches and chunky wooden tables stamped a masculine seal on the high-ceilinged room. A deep-piled rug in chocolate-brown warmed the floor, and bookshelves lined the walls.

  The room was comfortable, uncluttered. Expensive. Adam often said Sam had the sharpest legal brain in Memphis. In these surroundings, Eloise could almost believe there was another side to the man, beyond his bumbling adoration.

  She moved toward the nearest couch, and a sudden prickling in her throat made her cough. Now she smelled a familiar, spicy aroma, saw the faint blue haze that hung over the coffee table.

  Sam caught the direction of her gaze. “Let me get rid of that.” He pushed aside the newspaper spread across the table, and reached for his cigar, grinding the lighted tip into the cut-glass ashtray until it looked quite dead.

  “Thank you,” Eloise said. She waited for him to offer her a seat.

  But Sam was looking her up and down, taking in her fitted mint-green suit and ivory silk blouse with an overtness that surprised her. “That’s a very nice outfit, Eloise. You look...crisp and, uh, fresh.”

  Gracious, the man has no idea. Small wonder he’d never found himself a wife. “You make me sound like an apple.”

  He blushed again. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I meant to say you look...you look...” The hunger in his eyes dismayed Eloise.

  Mercy. “I can’t stay long, I’m on my way out for dinner,” she said. He appeared so alarmed, she had to add, “At a girlfriend’s house.”

  “You look sensational,” he blurted, as if he’d just found the right word. “And those shoes are perfect.”

  Call her vain, but Eloise couldn’t help smiling. “You know, Sam,” she said, “next time you meet an attractive, unattached lady, you should try paying her a compliment like that. You’ll be amazed at the results.”

  “But you’re an—”

  “May we talk about Adam now, please?” she said firmly.

  At last, he showed her to a seat, and took the leather recliner next to her.

  Eloise crossed her legs at the ankles, and strove for the right blend of command and entreaty. “I need to know about this wedding. I spoke to Adam on his cell phone, but he wouldn’t talk—you know how he gets. Now he’s not answering at all. Tell me what’s going on, Sam.”

  Patently uncomfortable, the lawyer ran a hand through his iron-gray hair. “Adam is...married.”

  She tightened her grip on her purse. “But who is she? How long has he known her? Does he love her?” Eloise heard the rise in her voice as she asked the questions that had kept her awake the past two nights. She drew a deep breath. “Sam, I’m worried my pressuring him to find a wife might have driven Adam to do something foolish.”

  Sam shifted in his seat, clearly agitated. Eloise could see he wanted to help her, but his voice was firm when he said, “Adam’s my client. You know I can’t tell you that.”

  She flashed her most charming smile. “Now, Sam, we’re friends. At least tell me if the woman is nice. Does she love Adam?” Eloise swallowed. “I can’t bear the thought of someone else latching on to Adam for what she can get.” Not after what the poor boy was going through with his aunt and his cousin. “Tell me at least if you made her sign a prenup.”

  Still surprisingly unmoved, Sam spread his hands. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Does his marriage mean Anna May’s lawsuit won’t get anywhere?” Eloise pressed. If Adam had traded one grasping woman for another, he might at least come out even.

  Sam coughed for several long seconds, with the apparent intention of ignoring her question.

  “Don’t think your smoker’s cough lets you off the hook,” she said reprovingly. “Maybe you can’t talk about Adam, but you can about Anna May.”

  But Sam remained annoyingly reticent. “Hmm, you know your sister-in-law.”

  Which Eloise did, only too well. James’s sister clung to Henry, her son, in a way that had stopped the boy growing into a man with any decent backbone. Not like Adam—so independent, so strong-minded. Of course, sometimes it would be nice if Adam would allow just a tiny bit of clinging. Eloise’s relationship with him was the polar opposite of Anna May’s with Henry.

  “Just take me to see him. Please, Sam, you’re my friend.” Oh dear, she hadn’t meant to reach out and clasp his hand where it rested on the arm of his recliner. It was the sort of gesture she wouldn’t think twice about with one of her girlfriends, but with Sam... The feel of his fingers beneath hers distracted her, and for a moment she tightened her grip. How long had it been since she’d touched roughened male skin? Oh, James, James.

  Sam’s face was brick-red as he extricated his hand. He stood up. “James was one of my closest friends,” he said, and for a moment she thought he’d read her thoughts. “I count Adam a good friend, too. But you and I both know you don’t see me as a friend, Eloise.”

  She felt heat in her cheeks and was about to contradict him when he said fiercely, “And we both know I don’t think of you as just a friend.”

  Eloise scrambled off the couch, less elegantly than she’d have liked. She stared at Sam, uncertain.

  But the fire left him as suddenly as it had blazed. “If there’s anything else I can do...” he said mildly. “Maybe drive you to your dinner tonight? If you plan on drinking wine I could fetch you afterward....”

  It was the sort of offer he was always making, implying she was incompetent. “I am perfectly capable of driving myself.” Eloise drew herself up to her full five feet seven—which suddenly didn’t feel tall enough—and said with all the imperiousness she could summon, “You asked what you could do for me. I told you, and you refused. Don’t ever say those hollow words to me again.”

  As she swept from the room, she said over her shoulder, “You, Sam Magill, are no gentleman.”

  * * *

  “ADAM,” Casey said on Sunday afternoon. “Are we rich and famous?”

  Adam looked up from the newspaper. Casey was sitting on the couch, along with...was that the hotel maid sitting next to her, face blotchy and eyes puffy?

  “We?” he said cautiously.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Adam Carmichael.”

  He flinched, and she grinned.

  “Why do you ask?” The maid was definitely crying, sniveling into a handkerchief that looked suspiciously like one of Adam’s. Casey was clasping the girl’s free hand.

  Whatever was going on, Adam knew he wasn’t going to like it.

  “I mean,” Casey said, “do people do as you tell them?”

  “Usually.” Everyone except his family.

  “Great.” Casey turned to the maid. “Don’t worry, Ria, we’ll help you.”

  The girl sobbed something incoherent in Spanish.

  “Casey...” Adam murmured.
Her eyes met his, wide with innocent inquiry. He jerked his head meaningfully at the maid. Counting on the girl not understanding, or being too upset to listen, he said, “Emotional blackmail.”

  Casey bristled. “Poor Ria hasn’t seen her fiancé in six months. He doesn’t have a U.S. work permit, so he’s stuck in Mexico. I’d be crying, too.”

  “Did she ask you to help?” The girl had a nerve—Adam would complain to the hotel management.

  “Of course not,” Casey said, affronted on the maid’s behalf. “I offered.”

  That was even worse.

  “What happened to being selfish?” he demanded.

  “I can’t be that selfish.”

  “This—” he meant their plan “—won’t work if you don’t.”

  Before he could stop her, Casey phoned the manager and invited him up to the suite. When he arrived, she asked him to apply for a work permit for the maid’s boyfriend and give him a job. “My husband and I would be so grateful,” she said, with what Adam conceded was an impressively straight face. And when the manager appeared less than willing, she grasped his hands and pleaded with him.

  With Casey holding his hands and batting her eyelashes, what else could the guy do but agree?

  The maid was ecstatic, the manager thrilled to have earned Casey’s glowing smile. Adam found himself tipping the girl what he imagined would be half a week’s wages. Which totally went against his policy of giving generously through organized charities. He suspected his sole motivation was to earn the same kind of approval from Casey that the manager had.

  Why should I care what Casey thinks of me?

  “See how easy that was?” she said, when they had the suite to themselves again. She beamed that wide smile he was coming to associate with her, an open smile that drew people to her with their problems and melted the hearts of hotel managers.

  He wondered if it was a form of manipulation, and the thought provoked him. “What I see,” he said, “is that you’re as good at dealing out emotional blackmail as you are at taking it. You pressured that manager into something that’s most likely against his job ethics.”