The Marriage Project

by Leclaire, Day

  “I’m satisfied.”

  “How can you say that when you haven’t seen me?” she demanded.

  “Are you trying to change my mind?”

  “No. It’s just—”

  He caught her hand in his and lifted it to his face. “Your turn.” Cautiously at first and then with growing boldness, her fingers slipped across each feature. He held still, strangely aroused by the sensation. “Well?”

  She leaned into him, her hands forking through his hair. He caught the scent of her perfume once again, a light crisp scent that made him think of citrus and springtime. It took every ounce of self-possession to keep from tipping her off balance and into his arms. He balled his hands into fists, wondering if she sensed the rigid control he fought to maintain. Considering her complete focus was on other matters, probably not. He released his breath in a half groan.

  “You have good hair, thick and springy,” she finally announced. “What color is it?”

  “That would be telling.”

  “Against the rules?”

  “‘Fraid so.”

  “Okay.” She moved downward, exploring each feature once again. “Your brow has frown lines.”

  “Occupational hazard. I have to look intimidating, remember?”

  “Right. I’ll keep that in mind. Eyebrows…”

  He decided to be helpful. “Two.”

  “At least it’s not one,” she retorted cheerfully. “Not quite Neanderthal, but they do have an aggressive quality to them.”

  “They match the rest of me.”

  “Oh, dear. As for the nose.” Her touch was so soft it bordered on torturous. “Straight. No notable lumps or bumps. Either you weren’t a fighter or you always won. Or more likely, no one could reach up far enough to sock you.”

  “I’m tall, but not that tall.”

  “Then which is it? Not a fighter or you always won?”

  “I’ve always been a fighter,” he warned.

  She didn’t take the hint. “Which means you won,” she announced with smug satisfaction. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’ll bet you were able to talk your way out of most unfortunate situations. It’s always best to use brain over brawn, especially when you’re the bookish type. Now where was I? Oh, yes. Great cheekbones. Ouch. A hint of whisker.”

  “Sorry. I did shave.”

  “No need to apologize. I’m guessing your whiskers are more aggressive than the rest of you. Next we have a firm no-nonsense chin and…” Her fingers spread across his mouth and stilled.

  “And?” He nibbled at the tip of her index finger.

  She whipped her hand clear. “And one mouth,” she finished briskly.

  “You can do better than that.”

  “One wide, hard—” her voice dropped to a husky whisper “—delicious, kissable mouth.”

  Resistance was no longer possible. He caught the lapels of the suit jacket he’d wrapped around her and tugged, propelling her into his embrace. She tumbled against him with a laugh. Sliding her arms around his waist, she found his mouth with unerring accuracy. His suit coat was in the way and he yanked it off her shoulders and tossed it aside.

  She wore a silk dress, the distinctive material unmistakable beneath his palm. But it wasn’t what he wanted to feel. He wanted her bare skin beneath his hands, to learn how she felt as thoroughly as he’d learned the contours of her face. To memorize each elegant dip and womanly curve. To test the weight of her breasts and the fullness of her backside. To uncover all the spots unique to her, the ones that would give her intense pleasure and leave her shuddering and eager in his arms.

  “I want you.”

  His words impacted, provoking a slight hiccup in her breath, while the tiniest of shivers trembled through her. “I know.”

  Her tone carried far too much reluctance. “Wrong time, wrong place?” he guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “And if it was the right time and place?”

  “I’m not in the habit of making love to complete strangers on stuck elevators.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “You don’t live in Seattle, do you? This couldn’t be anything more than a brief affair.” She eased back. “I don’t do brief affairs.”

  “What if it turns into more than that?” He couldn’t help himself. He cupped her head and drew her close enough for another kiss. It was taking unfair advantage, but he didn’t care. He wanted her and he’d use whatever means necessary to have her. “Are you willing to explore the possibility?”

  “Yes, I’m willing.”

  Satisfied, he tucked her close. “Then we’ll wait until the right time and place.”

  She released her breath in an irritated little sigh. “Kind of you to agree. Not that you had much choice.”

  “You’d be surprised at what choices I had.”

  Her head jerked upward, clipping his chin. “Do you really think you could have seduced me?” she demanded.

  He rubbed his jaw. Served him right for being so arrogant. Not that it stopped him from further arrogance. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind.”

  “I’m not that easy.”

  “Neither am I.” He felt around until he found his coat and carefully returned it to her shoulders, tucking her close to his side once again. “I just know where that kiss was heading.”

  “It was only a kiss,” she grumbled.

  “Guess again.”

  “Come on, Harry. You’re not being very practical about this. I’m not likely to be swept away by pure emotion and since we’re so much alike, neither are you. We’re too smart to get caught in that trap.”

  He grinned. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll convince one of us.”

  “Will they rescue us soon?”

  Apparently she’d decided to change the subject. An excellent option when you were losing the battle. Retreat and find an easier war to wage. “Not much longer now.” He dropped a kiss in the middle of her curls. “Try and relax. We’ll be out of here before you know it.”

  “And then we’ll go our separate ways.”

  “We’ll see.” A companionable silence fell between them, one he was reluctant to break. But there was a final issue they needed to clarify and it was past time he took care of it.

  “Madison? You know… It’s just occurred to me that we never introduced ourselves.” It wasn’t quite a lie, though close enough to make him uncomfortable. “I think I should tell you my full name. It’s Harry Jones.”

  Silence.

  “Jones,” he emphasized. “Ring any bells? As in the Jones from The Ten Principles of Love?”

  More silence.

  “Okay. Time for a bit of blunt honesty. I hope this doesn’t tick you off, but… Bartholomew is my father.”

  Still more silence.

  He cleared his throat, hoping to find a way to salvage the situation. When he stopped and thought about it, it was ludicrous. The man who’d faced down owners and directors of multi-million-dollar corporations was intimidated by the prolonged silence of one highly practical, overly protective, claustrophobic, half-a-Sunflower. “I know I should have told you before this, but considering how nervous you were, I didn’t want to make it worse.” Why didn’t she say anything? “Sweetheart?”

  Her only response was a soft, delicate snore.

  It took a few seconds for the truth to hit. When it did he shook his head. Damn. This couldn’t be good. The minute she learned his name, she was going to be furious. And he couldn’t blame her. He should have told her sooner. He might have, too, except for one small detail. He didn’t want her to learn his identity until after she’d formed an unbiased opinion of him.

  Face it, Jones. The chances of Madison’s opinion of him being unbiased once she knew why he’d come was remote to nonexistent. He grimaced. In fact, the only one hundred percent certainty was that she’d never speak to him again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Principle 3: For the most perfect mating…

  Take the tim
e to explore all the senses

  with your partner.

  MADISON came slowly awake, wincing at the stab of bright light and the sudden explosion of sound. What the heck was going on? It took a moment for her brain to kick in, but once it did, she shot upright, escaping Harry’s arms with telling haste. She stood poised in the middle of the elevator like a wild animal at bay, her eyes slow to adjust to the brilliant sunlight streaming in the car from the open door. A small crowd had gathered, staring with intense curiosity.

  For some strange reason, she found herself turning toward Harry. But if she’d hoped for reassurance from that direction, her hopes were in vain. He still lounged on the floor, but instead of seeing the man who’d done his best to ease her fears, or even the man who’d kissed her with such passion, she discovered a creature who looked like nothing more than a huge, grumpy lion. Good heavens! Had she really chosen to sleep in his arms? If there had been any illumination at all, she’d have kept as far from him as possible.

  He had a dangerously masculine appearance, the enticing features she’d examined with such innocent abandon having somehow rearranged themselves into tough-hewn planes and hard, uncompromising angles. There was power implicit in every line of his body, the sort of power that came from brilliance of mind and strength of form and an indomitable will. All the time she’d thought herself caged with a sweet lamb of a guy, she’d really been caught in a snare with the king of beasts.

  She folded her arms across her chest and glared in outrage. How could he have possibly described himself as innocuous? The thick hair she’d had nerve enough to thread through her fingers was a rich golden brown shot with streaks the exact same shade as a lion’s pelt. Even his eyes reminded her of a caged beast, a shade of hazel enhanced with shards of jade.

  “Well?” he demanded in an undertone. “Am I what you expected?”

  Every feminine instinct she possessed urged her to flee the car. But since she’d always considered such instincts irrational, she foolishly held her ground. “You’re nothing like I imagined. Worse, you went out of your way to hide the truth from me. That wasn’t very nice of you. You’re supposed to be a Harry.”

  “My name is Harry.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t be. Harry’s a safe name. And you’re not the least safe. You should have been called something that warns people to beware. Like Hunter. Or Danger. Or Trouble. You also said you were an economist.”

  He sighed. “I am an economist.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re a lion. Shame on you. I don’t appreciate your deception one little bit.”

  He slowly rose, shaking off all remaining vestiges of being a safe, normal man and filling the small space with his presence. Madison fell back a step despite her determination to hold her ground. How could she have missed him when she’d first stepped onto the elevator? It didn’t say much for her powers of observation. If it hadn’t been for that darned book— She pulled his suit jacket more tightly around herself and the scent of him filled her nostrils. Instead of feeling more threatened, it served to reassure. This odor belonged to the man who’d protected her, not the intimidating stranger standing before her now.

  “There’s something else you’re not going to appreciate,” he replied. “I tried to tell you earlier, but you fell asleep.”

  “Another fact you neglected to mention?” As if pretending to be a lamb wasn’t bad enough. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”

  “For you, yes.”

  “Harry! Madison!”

  Harriet “Sunny” Sunflower pushed through the crowd and rushed to the door of the elevator, towing a large, handsome man behind. Not that he had much choice but to follow. Her hand was deep in the pocket of his suit jacket, which she held in a death grip, crumpling the expensive Italian silk. Based on the devoted smile tilting his mouth, he didn’t appear to mind. His smile warned that he’d indulge Sunny’s every whim. Considering how many whims Madison’s grandmother enjoyed, that was saying a lot.

  “I’m fine, Sunny,” Madison assured. She edged around Harry and escaped the elevator.

  “Of course you are, dear. After all, you had Harry with you.”

  It finally occurred to Madison that Sunny had used Harry’s name, too. She turned and eyed her companion of the last several hours, an unpleasant suspicion beginning to dawn. “You know Harry, Grandmother?”

  “Oh, dear,” Sunny murmured. “You’re upset.”

  “Grandmother—”

  Sunny addressed the man she’d dragged along. “She only calls me Grandmother when she’s upset. I can’t begin to guess what I’ve done this time. I imagine I’m not supposed to recognize Harry. But since he’s your son, I don’t know why I shouldn’t. Do you? Especially since we all met at the airport yesterday.”

  Sunny and her companion appeared to be of a comparable age, both in their early sixties and each exuding a warm, charming vitality that Madison knew from years of observation won devoted friends with careless ease. It didn’t take much brain power to figure out who he was, Madison decided, which was just as well considering her brain cells weren’t firing with their usual efficiency. No doubt this was the infamous Bartholomew Jones. Which would make Harry—

  “I’m sure Madison will tell us what’s wrong if you give her a chance,” Bartholomew reassured Sunny.

  “I assume you’re Mr. Jones?” Madison interrupted. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

  “My fault, I’m afraid.” He offered his hand. “Please call me Bartholomew. And I see that you’ve already met my son. Sorry I missed out on lunch. The book signing ran longer than I’d anticipated. Harry did warn me we were going to be late. I sent him ahead to let you and Sunny know and offer my apologies.”

  Madison forced herself to take the time to shake hands before turning on Harry. He’d escaped the elevator, too, and stood looming behind her. Apparently something about his presence had discouraged the curious onlookers milling about in the lobby. The crowd had dispersed, offering them a certain amount of privacy. Not that she’d allow Harry’s size to intimidate her the way it seemed to intimidate everyone else. Not a chance. She was on to his tricks.

  “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” she demanded. “And don’t try and say you didn’t connect me with Sunny. I won’t believe you.”

  “I knew who you were from the start. That’s why I stayed on the elevator instead of getting off on your grandmother’s floor. I thought you and I should speak privately.”

  “So you lied.”

  “I didn’t go out of my way to identify myself, no,” he admitted without apology. “You were nervous enough when we got stuck in the elevator without my making it worse.”

  “You deceived me. You let me ramble on and on about the book and my grandmother and all sorts of personal details without once warning me that I was making a total fool out of myself. How could you?”

  “You weren’t being foolish, merely a concerned and loving granddaughter.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared down his straight, unbroken nose with an air of detached calm she could only envy. “I was also trying to keep you from having hysterics.”

  “I’ve never had hysterics in my life.”

  “You can thank me for that,” he had the nerve to retort. “I kept you distracted discussing The Principles of Love. If I’d told you my full name, you wouldn’t have been willing to speak to me and I’d have had the devil of a time getting your mind off our predicament.”

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Sunny interrupted. “They’ve been discussing the principles, Bartholomew. I see romance in their future.”

  Madison bit off a scream of frustration. “You do not see romance in our future, Grandmother. Those stupid principles don’t work. We’re living proof of that.”

  Sunny’s face crumpled. “Oh, dear. Are you certain?”

  Why did she always do that? Madison wondered in despair. At the first hint of adversity or criticism, her grandmother wilted like a flower. If Madison didn’t know bett
er, she’d have thought it was deliberate. “I’m sorry, Sunny. But the first principle is ‘Sometimes it only takes one look…’ Harry and I never even saw each other until a few minutes ago.” She shot Harry an infuriated scowl. “And once I did, I realized a relationship would never work. He deceived me about his appearance. He pretended to be a lamb.”

  “Funny,” Harry muttered. “I seem to remember warning you that I was intimidating. Lambs are not intimidating.”

  Sunny’s anxious gaze shifted between them. “But you two did sit in there and talk, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yes—” Madison confessed.

  “And you were attracted to each other, weren’t you?”

  Madison hadn’t seen the question coming and a fiery blush bloomed across her cheeks.

  For some reason that cheered Sunny right up. “Silly girl. I told you the principles worked. You and Harry are proof positive, just as Bartholomew and I are. I have an idea. Why don’t the four of us get together for dinner tonight? Seven, at House Milano. I’ll give Joe Milano a call and arrange for a private table.”

  “You can order lamb chops,” Harry offered helpfully.

  “Wait a minute,” Madison protested. “How can you say the principles work? What are you talking—” But Sunny and Bartholomew were already halfway across the lobby.

  Harry unfolded from his stance by the elevator and snagged her arm. “She’s talking about the second principle. If you’d read more than three pages of the book, you wouldn’t have walked into that one.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask. What’s the second principle?”

  “‘The voice of love can win the most stubborn heart.’ We may not have seen each other, but we did talk.” He slanted her a grim look. “In fact, all that talking led to far more interesting pursuits. Thanks to that blush—not to mention a kiss-swollen mouth and a hint of whisker burn—they know it, too.”

  “I can’t help blushing. It’s not something I can control.” She fingered her lips. “And if I have a swollen mouth and whisker burn, it’s all your fault.”

  “I realize that. And you’re welcome, by the way.” He continued smoothly on before she had a chance to express her annoyance. “I also realize that if you could control any or all of those things, you would.”