“Great,” Jack muttered. “That’s just great.” He glared at Gray. “I knew you would ruin everything.”
Amelia winced. “Jack, please. If anything you should be…relieved. Grateful. Mr.—” She shot Grayson a look, realizing she didn’t know how she was supposed to refer to him now.
“Gray,” the man inserted.
“—Gray,” she repeated, feeling more awkward than she could ever recall feeling, “has done nothing but help you. And your mother,” she forced herself to add.
“So what about me and Mol and Tim?” His demand was slightly choked and Amelia’s heart ached for him.
“You’ll all come to live with me, along with your aunt,” Gray said immediately.
“I don’t wanna,” Molly whispered to Amelia.
“Yeah,” Jack challenged. “What if we don’t want to?”
Amelia gently disengaged herself from Molly and went to her nephew, cupping his face in her hands, making him look right at her. Timmy’s hand flopped out, latching onto his brother’s shirt collar. “Remember the night at the hospital when I explained about your mom and what had happened to her?” She could feel the muscles in Jack’s jaw flexing beneath her fingers. So young. Trying to be so grown-up. “I told you that the three of us would have to be a team, from there on out. We’d have to pull together. To stay strong for your mom. Remember?”
He barely nodded.
“We’ve made most of our decisions as a team,” she went on. “But for this one I’m pulling rank. We’re a family and you and Molly and Timmy go where I go. But until your mom gets well and can come home again, there are some things that I’m going to decide for all of us—” she swallowed “—because it’s the best thing for everyone. And this is one of those things.” Her voice went hoarse.
“Can I drive that car of his?”
Oh, she loved this kid. She wanted to just sit there and cry. Instead, she managed to lift an eyebrow. “You’re twelve,” she reminded, her voice thick, but dry. “What do you think?” She tapped his cheek gently and let him escape her and Timmy’s curious fists.
“So it’s settled,” Gray said, reaching for the door. “Peter’s downstairs with the car. He’ll drop the kids at Brandlebury.”
“Wait.” She nodded toward the parcel. “What—”
“Diapers,” he said, his tone short.
Her eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
“You know. Disposable ones. So you don’t have to wash them. My secretary tells me that there are services we can hire to do that for you if you still insist on using the cloth things, but—” He shrugged, as if the details of that were unimportant.
Amelia was tearing open the opaque plastic bag. Sure enough, inside was a supply of disposable diapers that would last her for weeks. “He, um, he can drop all of us at Brandlebury,” she corrected absently. The man showed no interest in Timmy at all, but he brought diapers?
Turning from the thoroughly unexpected gift, she patted Timmy through the carrier and reached for the diaper bag, but Gray beat her to it. “I’m not resigning over the phone.”
“But you will be resigning,” he pressed.
She wanted to argue, but Jack and Molly were there. “Yes.” She finally capitulated. She’d turn in her notice, at least. That would give her several weeks left of employment, during which time Gray would probably realize that having her around all the time wasn’t as desirable as he seemed to think.
He gave her a sharp look, almost as if he were reading her mind. But he nodded, and ushered them out the door, even taking the keys from Amelia’s hands to lock it behind them.
She stopped at Paula’s door. She knew there would be plenty of questions to answer when her friend silently took the diaper bag that Gray handed over to her. Amelia transferred the baby to Paula. “We’ll talk later,” she murmured.
“You bet we will,” Paula promised.
Amelia could feel her friend’s gaze following them to the elevator.
The ride down was mercifully quick, and the sight of the long, black limousine parked at the curb in front of the building was more than enough to distract Molly and Jack from their reservations about the situation.
The moment they appeared, the tall gray-haired driver opened the rear door.
“Amelia, this is Peter,” Gray introduced. “Peter, Amelia White and her niece and nephew, Molly and Jack.”
If the elderly man was surprised by his passengers, he hid it well. “Pleasure to meet you, miss.” He took Amelia’s hand and helped her into the rear of the limousine as if she were dressed for the Academy Awards. He did the same with Molly, who produced a stunning giggle as she climbed in beside Amelia. Even Jack couldn’t keep his blasé facade entirely in place when he joined them, his eyes wide.
Molly scrambled across to sit on the facing seat next to her brother and when Gray took the seat alongside Amelia, her niece leaned forward toward him. “I like this a lot more than the bus,” she whispered.
Gray leaned forward slightly, too. “I’m glad,” he said, just as softly.
The shy smile that lit Molly’s face had been far too rare in the past three months. And now, it came courtesy of Grayson Hunt. Amelia twisted the strap of her briefcase, struggling with that fact. When Gray’s gaze found hers, she couldn’t make herself look away from those unreadable blue-green eyes.
“Peter will pick you up after school,” he told her. “No more bus rides.”
Every independent cell that Amelia possessed bristled at that, though it was plain that neither Molly nor Jack looked inclined to argue, since they were both obviously enamored with the luxurious vehicle. “That doesn’t seem necessary.”
“It is.” Gray’s voice was short.
Her nerves prickled again, but she kept quiet.
“You’ll need to be available this evening for dinner with Harry. Can your friend watch the kids, or do you want me to arrange a nanny?”
“Nanny!” Jack leaned forward, looking alarmed. “I don’t need some freaking nanny.”
“Jack,” Amelia scolded.
“Maybe a parole officer suits you better?” Gray asked smoothly.
Jack’s lips tightened and he sat back in his seat again, arms crossed over his chest.
“That wasn’t necessary, either,” Amelia told Gray. Across from them, that rare, precious smile had already faded from Molly’s solemn face. “There’s no need for you to arrange anything. I’m sure Paula can help out for a few hours.” She couldn’t let herself think too closely about his plans for that evening or she’d be incapacitated with nervousness.
“Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Yes. Of course.”
But the truth was, Amelia wasn’t certain about anything at all.
Later that evening driving out to the Hunt mansion on Lake Washington, Amelia decided she was wrong. She was certain about one thing.
Her uncertainty.
It just grew and grew until she felt as if she would choke from it even before Gray ushered her into the soaring structure that was his family home. The fact that he’d grabbed her hand as they left the car he’d parked in a wide, circular drive wasn’t helping any, either.
It was just a hand. Long fingered. Warm. Surprisingly callused.
Why was she noticing the calluses on his hands, when she ought to be thinking how heavy and cold that ornate ring he’d made certain she was wearing felt on her ring finger. “Wait.” It was as much a plea to him as to her own sensibilities.
He paused, one foot on the last of the shallow steps that led to an entrance that looked out over the moon-dusted water. “What?”
They’d said very little on the long drive out to the house. What was there to say? It wasn’t as if he had a need to fill her in on his family dynamics, when she wasn’t supposed to know about them, anyway. “Stick as close to the truth as possible,” had been his advice.
They’d met on the running trail. It was nobody’s business but their own why she’d been on the trail in the first place.
>
She opened her mouth, but no words emerged.
“Amelia, I’m not anxious to go in there, either,” he said, obviously recognizing her reluctance, when she continued to hang back. “But we can’t stand out here on the steps all evening.”
She looked from his face to the tall wide door behind him. “This just isn’t going to work,” she blurted. “Your father will never believe we are…that I—”
“That you what?” He gave her a sidelong look, the corner of his lips quirking. “Were so smitten with me that you let me sweep you right off your feet?”
Her mouth ran unaccountably dry. It was becoming too frequent an occurrence for her comfort.
He lifted her hand, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he brushed his lips across her knuckles below the engagement ring. “Such things can happen, Amelia.”
She didn’t doubt it. And it pained her immensely that her immediate thought wasn’t of her sister at all. “Not to me.”
He smiled faintly. His thumb dragged slowly, distractingly, across the ridges of her knuckles. “You’re going to want to watch where you drop challenges like that, honey. Might as well put out a sign begging to be proven wrong.”
“It’s not a challenge.” She tried tugging her hand free, but his hold was steady. “It’s a fact.”
“Are you saying that you’ve never lost your head to a man?” His gaze dropped to her lips and his voice seemed to drop a notch, as well. “Not even that accountant nerd you were engaged to?”
“How do you know about him?”
“Honey, I know everything. Remember?”
Her lips tightened. “Then you know why we’re no longer engaged. And that I’m not exaggerating about…about…losing my head where men are concerned.”
His lashes narrowed, leaving a slit of glowing aqua. “He knocked up a girl you worked with at the university.”
Her cheeks flushed. She truly didn’t want to know how he’d come by his information. “Is there some point to even getting into this? You’re just proving my point, anyway.”
“Your point being that you don’t lose your head, as you put it.” He found her other hand, lifting it, too, tsking with no small amount of amusement at the fist she’d made of it. “Haven’t you ever been carried away with desire, Amelia?”
“No.” She yanked her hands free. “Just because I agreed to this…plot…of yours, doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you make fun of me for the next few years, either.”
He laughed softly and grabbed her hand again, pulling her up the last step.
“I don’t see that there’s anything funny about this.”
He just shook his head and reached for the door. “Harry’s gonna love you. God help us all.”
Amelia had enough reservations about that to fill a reservoir. “Gray—”
He tugged her one last step over the threshold, right into his arms. She barely had a chance to draw in a shocked breath when he covered her mouth with his.
Shock? Shock was nothing compared to the electricity that streaked through her when his lips touched hers. Her fingers clutched the lapels of his suit coat—whether to push him away or pull him closer she didn’t know. Didn’t have the brain cells to ponder, really, as they seemed to shrivel into nonexistence when he lifted his head, breaking the contact almost infinitesimally. Just enough to mutter a soft oath. His curse whispered over her lips, then he kissed her again.
“Gray—”
He swallowed the protest she tried to raise—at least she told herself it was a protest, but even her feeble brain cells knew that for the lie it was. His hand swept down her spine; she felt the warmth of his palm, his widespread fingers through the soft fabric of her dress. They were no less warm than the hard chest beneath her grasping fingers.
“Good grief, Gray. Give the girl a chance to breathe.”
Mortified, Amelia wrenched out of Gray’s arms, as far as he allowed her to go. Which wasn’t far, since she could still feel the brush of him against her thighs. Her cheeks felt on fire as Gray’s gaze met hers for a moment before his head turned slowly in the direction of the man who’d interrupted them.
“Just trying to convince my fiancée not to follow her better instincts and head for the hills now that she’s seen the kind of shack she’ll be expected to live in.” Gray’s hand slid down and caught hers again, drawing her more fully across the threshold. “Amelia, this is my father, Harrison Hunt.”
No amount of media coverage of the tall, gangly man could have prepared her for the moment. His sheer height was intimidating, for one thing, though Gray—a few inches shorter—struck her as a more sizable man. But the blue gaze that peered at her through black-rimmed glasses seemed to hold as much wariness as she, herself, felt.
He also looked pale, and she couldn’t help but be aware that he’d so recently been in the hospital again.
“Welcome, my dear,” he said, holding out his hand toward her.
She didn’t have to feign nervousness as she stepped toward the computer mogul. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hunt.”
He took her hand in both of his. “You’re trembling.”
She flushed and shot Gray a desperate look.
He didn’t help matters any when he merely closed his hand in a thoroughly proprietary fashion over the back of her neck, bared by her chignon. “That’s my effect, Harry,” he said, looking satisfied. “Not yours.”
Her flush went hotter until it felt like a wildfire was burning her cheeks from the inside out.
“As it should be.” A small smile touched Harry’s lips and he squeezed her hand, almost reassuringly.
Which was probably just wishful thinking on her part. There was no guarantee, after all, that he would believe she’d agreed to marry his son without knowing who he really was. “I’m sorry,” she said, truthfully. “This is all a little…overwhelming.”
Most overwhelming of all was the tingling current passing from Gray’s hand on her nape, straight down her spine.
“We put our pants on one leg at a time,” Harry assured, patting her hand comfortably. He didn’t let go as he drew her hand through his arm and turned away from the door.
She swallowed and hurried along with him as they passed through the enormous foyer. Couldn’t help but stare at the furnishings as they went from one room to the next, finally ending in a lushly appointed salon complete with a fireplace, a small fountain and an unobstructed view of Lake Washington through an entire wall of glass.
“Aunt Cornelia.” Gray left Amelia’s side for the slender, elegant woman who was standing near the windows, adjusting the placement of a long-stemmed red rose amid an enormous bouquet of equally vivid buds. “As beautiful as ever.” He dropped a kiss on her softly lined cheek.
The genuine affection on his face snagged at Amelia, and then she found herself face-to-face with the older woman, as Gray introduced them.
“Gray wasn’t exaggerating when he told us how lovely you were,” Cornelia greeted. Her smile was welcoming and much less intimidating than Harrison’s. She stepped forward and kissed Amelia’s cheeks. “I’m so delighted to meet you.”
“Thank you.”
Gray slid his arm around her shoulders, saving her from searching for something appropriate to say. “Cornelia is like a mother to me,” he said. “She was married to Harry’s best friend, George.”
Amelia knew that George Fairchild had been Harry’s partner from the beginning, but had died many, many years ago.
“And Gray and his brothers are as dear as sons to me,” Cornelia returned, smiling. Her gaze shifted from Gray to Amelia. “Harry, pour this girl some wine. What do you prefer, Amelia?”
Amelia glanced at the stemware sitting alongside the rose display. Cornelia had obviously been drinking from it. “Whatever you’re having is fine.” She had no particular palate for wine. Most of it tasted like bitter grapes to her.
“There you are.” Harry handed over a wineglass filled with a delicately hued white. “Gray? What’s your
pleasure tonight?”
Gray tilted his head slightly. “Other than Amelia? Wine’ll do.”
Harry returned to the granite-topped bar and poured another glass. “Corny, why don’t you give Amelia a tour of the place?”
Wariness shot through Amelia’s veins, which wasn’t alleviated at all by Gray leaning down and kissing her cheek. “Don’t let her bore you with tales of me growing up.”
Cornelia tucked her arm through Amelia’s. “Women in love always want to know about their man’s background.”
“This wasn’t a background I ever expected,” Amelia murmured, burying her nose in her wineglass. She was miles away from being in love with Grayson Hunt, but there was no denying her curiosity about him. She couldn’t even use Timmy as an excuse for that.
Cornelia laughed softly. “Well, life throws surprises at us all the time, dear. I’ve been telling my daughters that all of their life. But you mustn’t blame Gray for his small deception.”
Amelia managed not to wince as Cornelia picked up her wineglass before drawing her out of the room. And even though she’d braced herself for some sort of inquisition from the woman, none was forthcoming.
The only thing Cornelia did was provide a disarmingly entertaining narration of the Hunt family complex, from its design and construction to its current state.
Amelia didn’t have to pretend to be awestruck by its futuristic technological touches, contrasted by its wealth of stunning antique furnishings. There was even a grand reception hall—the one that Gray had mentioned—where, Cornelia told her, over the Christmas holidays an eighteen-foot Christmas tree took center place. Circling above the massive space was a balcony hung with black-and-white photographs chronicling HuntCom’s rise to glory.
“I’ll let Gray show you his wing,” Cornelia said, once they left behind the reception hall and passed a soaring staircase and yet another foyer. “It’s back along that way.” It seemed to Amelia as if they’d been walking in a mile-wide circle. “It’ll be your wing, too, of course, once you’re married. And I understand that you’re caring for your sister’s children right now, as well?” “Yes.
“Poor darlings. And you.” Cornelia stopped, and Amelia realized they’d reached a dining room.
The Bride and the Bargain Page 12