The Notorious Groom (Desire)

by Caroline Cross

  In all good conscience, she owed it to them both to set the record straight.

  Before she could change her mind, she sat up and swung her feet to the floor. Slipping on her shoes, she stood and walked quickly to the door, afraid if she paused even for a moment she would lose her nerve.

  She made her way down the hall to the opposite wing of the house, her way illuminated by the soft gallery lights that topped the paintings adorning the walls.

  She paused briefly to look in on Chelsea. The child was fast asleep, her arms outflung, one small foot peeking out from beneath the embroidered sheets at the side of the bed. Careful not to wake her, Norah tiptoed over, tucked the little girl’s foot back in and straightened the covers before making a silent retreat.

  She moved on to Eli’s room. A glimmer of light showed at the foot of the door. She raised her hand to knock, her mind racing as she tried to anticipate the next few minutes. What if he were in bed? What if he were asleep? What if he were in bed but he wasn’t asleep? What might he think about her seeking him out, at this hour? What if he jumped to the wrong conclusion?

  Her nerve deserted her. Disgusted by her cowardice, she nevertheless turned on her heel and fled along the hall, down the front stairs, across the entry and along the main corridor toward the kitchen. She would have a cup of tea to steady her nerves and then she would talk to him, she thought disjointedly as she passed the darkened doorways to the living and dining rooms, the study and den, the morning room, the music room, the family room.

  Except the family room wasn’t dark. It was aglow with the flickering silvery light from the television set.

  Norah came to an abrupt stop, fighting to catch her breath. She turned and retraced her steps. Once she reached the doorway, she gathered her courage and peeked around the corner.

  Slouched on the oversize blue-and-white-checked couch with his back to her, sat Eli. His bare feet were propped on the coffee table. A plate filled with discarded pizza crusts, some crumpled napkins and a solitary beer can littered the lamp table. He looked perfectly at ease, totally relaxed, as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

  The absolute opposite of her, she thought, pressing a fingertip to her trembling lips.

  So? That’s all the more reason to speak with him, said a stern inner voice that sounded a lot like her grandfather. Make it clear you won’t tolerate any more of his funny business.

  She really should. Only...he looked so comfortable, immersed as he was in some sort of sporting event on the TV. And it had been a long, eventful day. As much as they needed to discuss a few things, wouldn’t it be rude to interrupt? Perhaps she should write him a note instead. She could slide it under his door. That way, he could think about what she had to say and—

  “Hey, Boo. You going to stand there all night? Or are you going to come in and sit down?”

  She jumped like a scalded cat. Struggling to calm her skittering heart, she stared at the back of his head and wondered how on earth she’d given herself away. Not that it mattered. There was no way she could retreat now without appearing impolite.

  The story of my life. With an inner sigh, she entered the dimly lit room. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said self-consciously, skirting around the sofa to perch gingerly on the edge of one of the oversize chintz-covered chairs. “I came down to have some tea, and I heard the television and...” Her voice died off as she got a good look at him and saw what she’d been unable to see from the doorway.

  All he had on was a pair of shorts.

  Heat flooded her face. Glad for the muted light, she glanced hastily away. Only it was too late. His image was seared onto her brain: the brilliant blue eyes; the broad chest and flat stomach; the long legs, bare except for their coating of fine brown hair; the smiling Tweety Bird boxers stretched across his very masculine lap.

  Oh, dear. Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. “How—how did you know I was here?”

  He nodded toward the TV screen. “I saw your reflection. You were casting a shadow on left field.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I...I hope I didn’t interrupt a touchdown or something.”

  “Nope.” Amusement colored his voice. “It’s baseball, Boo. Texas at Seattle. The Big Unit’s on the mound right now.”

  She bit her lip. “Please. I may not be a sports aficionado, but I do know big unit is not a baseball term.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “Excuse me?” Surely she’d misunderstood.

  He raised his voice. “You’re right. It’s not a term, it’s a person. Big Unit is the nickname of the Mariner’s premier pitcher, Randy Johnson.”

  “Oh.” She tried not to look as foolish as she felt. “Oh, right.”

  A commercial came on. She felt her stomach tighten as Eli transferred his full attention to her. “So. Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the matter? Miss me already?”

  “No!”

  “Ah. Then you must be having second thoughts.”

  His perceptiveness caught her off guard. “No,” she said again, more sharply than she intended. He raised an eyebrow and she flushed. “It’s just—” She stopped and took a deep breath. It’s all right. You can do this. “I think we need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  She plucked nervously at the arm of the chair. Go on. Tell him. “I thought perhaps we should establish some ground rules for your stay here.”

  He settled deeper into the sofa, steepling his fingers over his stomach. “Okay. I’m all ears.”

  Her gaze flicked to his bare chest. Hardly. Swallowing, she forced herself to look away. “Well...” She tried to think of how to start.

  “Look, if you’re worried about the mess—” he gestured vaguely toward the cluttered table top “—don’t be. I plan to pick it up. I don’t expect anybody to wait on me.”

  “Oh. Well, good.” It was a start. Encouraged, she said a little more confidently, “Mrs. Barnes is quite strict about that sort of thing, you see. She gets quite testy if one makes a mess or leaves one’s things where they shouldn’t be. I’ve found it makes life much easier if I clean up as I go along.”

  He looked at her strangely. “But isn’t Mrs. Barnes the housekeeper?”

  Norah nodded. “Yes, although she prefers to be called a domestic specialist.”

  “Hmm.” He gave her another indecipherable look, then a slight shrug. “Okay. What else?”

  “Well...” She hesitated, not wanting to offend him. “I think it would be a good idea if you kept your shirt on inside the house.”

  He pursed his lips. “Why?”

  She stared at him, surprised by the question and totally unprepared to answer. What could she say? That the sight of his bare skin made her feel strange? That part of her was fascinated by his sheer maleness, while other parts felt achy and restless and intimidated? “Because it’s more seemly,” she said finally.

  “Hmm. Do I have to wear one in the shower?”

  “Why, of course not—”

  “And what about in bed? Because the thing is—” he crossed one ankle over the other “—I like to sleep in the nude, Boo. And it would be pretty damn silly for me to wear a shirt when the rest of me’s buck naked.”

  To her horror, a vague but scandalous image was taking shape in her mind. “All right! You’ve made your point. Perhaps you could just agree to try and be more aware of other p-people’s sensibilities?”

  “Hey, I’m a sensitive guy. No problem.” He yawned. “Is that it?”

  She wanted in the worst way to lie and say yes. At the same time, she’d come too far to quit now. If only she could think how to broach what needed to be said. “I...I also wanted to make sure...I mean, I think it’s only fair...that is, I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression—”

  “Spit it out, Boo.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm her unsteady pulse. “I wanted to make sure I’d made it clear that ours is to be a...platonic...relationship
.”

  “No? You’re kidding! Is that why we’re not sharing a bedroom?” He lifted his hand before she could answer. “Sorry. Pretend you didn’t hear that. Go on.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s just...I thought...after what happened at the ceremony—and then, when you came to my room—that perhaps you didn’t realize that under the circumstances, it would be very unwise for us to consummate—”

  He held up his hand for silence. “Relax. I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. And I think you’re right. It would be unwise.”

  She gave a start of surprise. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t such easy acquiescence. “Really?”

  “Sure. I mean, I don’t want to boast, but one night with me wouldn’t be enough, and then where would we be? It’d be bound to complicate matters.”

  Speechless, Norah stared at him, suddenly realizing she’d been right all along.

  She had made a mistake. Not only that, but she’d underestimated the size of it.

  Eli was going to do and say whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, no matter how outrageous. And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

  Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.

  She climbed unsteadily to her feet. “Yes. Well.” She swallowed. “Since we’re agreed, I—I’ll let you get back to the game.” Afraid to find out if there was anything else he wished to add, she bolted from the room.

  Norah stood on the terrace outside her bedroom. The moon was high, the centerpiece of a black velvet, star-studded sky. In the distance an owl hooted, hidden in the grove of cedars at the edge of the estate. The sweet smell of phlox and alyssum drifted up from the nearby gardens, carried by an intermittent wind.

  It was a beautiful night. Yet Norah barely noticed. After hours of unproductive thinking, the only thing she was sure of was that she felt all jumbled up inside.

  Still, as she kept telling herself, nothing of value was ever accomplished by standing around feeling sorry for oneself. And her concerns were pretty minor when compared to real problems like hunger or war or poverty. She should try to count her blessings, she thought, as she reached up to pull the pins from her hair.

  Things could be worse. She could be preparing to go to sleep in a strange bed in a strange place. Or she could be married to Nick Carpetti.

  With an instinctive shudder, she turned her back on the glittering night and walked into her darkened room. Rubbing a tender spot on her scalp, she headed toward the bathroom. only to falter when she heard a muffled rap on the door. It was followed by the faint sound of the doorknob being rattled.

  The sound went through her like a thunderclap. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me,” came a dulcet whisper. “Chelsea.”

  She sagged with relief, even as she told herself she’d known all along that it wasn’t Eli. When she was certain she could move without her knees giving way, she switched on a lamp and hurried across the room, her bare feet silent on the carpeting. She undid the lock and opened the door.

  Chelsea looked up at her, her golden curls tumbled, her petite form dwarfed by the oversize navy T-shirt with Wilder’s Automotive emblazoned across the front. The little girl smiled anxiously. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No. Of course not.” She drew the girl into the room and shut the door.

  “I didn’t see a light....”

  “I was awake,” she assured her. “I was...thinking.”

  “Is that why you still have your clothes on?”

  Norah was glad for the dim light as she flushed. “Yes. What about you? Why are you up so late? Is something the matter?”

  “No. Not really. It’s just...” Chelsea walked over and perched on the edge of the bed. “I had a strange dream, and it woke me up, and now I can’t get back to sleep. I keep hearing strange sounds, creaks and stuff that sounds like somebody moaning.”

  Norah crossed over and sat down beside her. “I’m sure all you heard was the wind in the trees or the house settling. Old houses do that. It’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I wasn’t afraid,” Chelsea said quickly. “I just didn’t know what it was.”

  “Ah.”

  “And then I started thinking, and I remembered I had a question.”

  Norah’s curiosity got the better of her. “Couldn’t you ask your father?”

  Yawning, Chelsea drew her legs up and scooted back toward the headboard. “I was going to, but he’s asleep.”

  “Oh.” Relief rolled through her. At least, she thought it was relief.

  “He’s been up late a lot since the fire, so I didn’t want to bother him. He worries about stuff. He likes to make everybody think he doesn’t, but he does. Besides, this is something I sort of need to ask you.”

  Norah felt a twinge of pleasure at the thought of being needed. “Okay.” She curled up on the foot of the bed.

  “It’s just...now that you and Eli are married, what am I supposed to call you? I can’t call you Miss Brown, ’cuz you’re not. But it would be stupid to call you Mrs. Wilder when you’re my stepmother. Wouldn’t it?”

  Norah considered the child’s earnest expression. “Yes, it would,” she agreed. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “Well...I call Eli Eli,” the child pointed out.

  “Yes, you do.” Norah wanted in the worst way to ask why, but refused to pry.

  It turned out she didn’t have to. “After my mom died, when I first came to live with him, he said I should call him Daddy, but it felt kind of funny,” the child volunteered.

  “I see,” Norah murmured. Not for the first time, she wondered about the little girl’s mother. Had she loved Eli? Had he loved her? Why had they been apart?

  “Besides,” Chelsea went on cheerfully, interrupting her thoughts. “I liked calling him Eli better. There’s lots of dads, but only one Eli.”

  From the mouths of babes. “You could call me Norah if you like,” she suggested.

  “Are you sure it’s all right?”

  “I’d like it.”

  They exchanged a smile, easy in each other’s company. Across the room the breeze ruffled the curtains. Chelsea yawned again, then slid down and snuggled into the pillows. They enjoyed a moment of companionable silence.

  “Norah?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think it’s wrong of me to be happy that you and Eli got married?”

  Norah considered. “I don’t think so. As long as you remember that it’s only temporary.”

  The child made a face. “Don’t worry. Eli won’t let me forget. He says as soon as the insurance money comes through, we’re out of here.”

  “Oh.”

  Chelsea burrowed deeper into the bed, her eyes growing heavy. “This is so nice.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You want to know a secret?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I’m really glad I get to live here with you...” She paused as another yawn claimed her. “Even if it’s only for the summer.”

  “So am I,” Norah said softly.

  The corners of Chelsea’s mouth turned up in a sweet smile, and then her lashes fluttered down as she gave up the fight to stay awake and drifted off to sleep.

  Tenderness swept through Norah. Tenderness...and a renewed sense of optimism.

  So maybe marrying Eli hadn’t been the wisest thing to do. But then again, it wasn’t that bad. She might not like his teasing or the strange, restless feelings being near him evoked, but neither of those things had ever killed anyone. She would survive. She was tougher than she looked.

  On the plus side, her home was safe. It was nice not to be alone. And best of all, it seemed she had a chance to make a difference, however slight, in Chelsea’s life.

  Suddenly the prospect of dealing with Eli didn’t seem quite so overwhelming. She would simply do what she’d always done.

  Avoid him as much as she could. And be as unobtrusive as possible the rest of the time.


  With that realization, a weight suddenly lifted from her shoulders and she felt so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. Yawning, she scooted off the bed, careful not to wake Chelsea, and finally got ready for sleep. She retrieved a pair of lightweight quilts from the carved trunk at the foot of the bed. She covered Chelsea with one, then went around to the other side of the bed and curled up beneath the second quilt.

  Moments later, she was sound asleep.

  Four

  “Morning, Boo.”

  Norah’s heart plummeted at the sound of Eli’s voice. Seated at the kitchen table, she gripped the newspaper a little tighter, took a deep breath and braced herself.

  She looked over to see him standing in the inner doorway. Instantly her stomach hollowed. It didn’t seem to matter that he looked the same as he had the past five mornings—rumpled, untidy, half-awake. There was simply something about the sight of him in a T-shirt and boxers, with his hair unbrushed, his face unshaven and a faint pillow crease across one cheek, that got to her.

  Perhaps the fact that he was so drop-dead gorgeous made it hard for her to think.

  “Good morning, Elijah.”

  He started across the tile floor toward the coffeepot. “You’re up early again today. What is it this time? Another meeting? More books to catalogue?”

  “Actually, I have some...paperwork I need to do,” she improvised, since she couldn’t very well say she’d hoped to be up and gone before he got out of bed. “What about you?”

  He made a face. “Mel Johnson’s gonna drop his car off for a tune-up. I tried to put him off until later, but he’s an old customer, and he wanted it done as soon as possible since he’s going out of town for the weekend.”

  “Ah.” Norah wondered at the disclaimer. If there was one thing she’d learned this week, it was that despite his laid-back, bad-boy facade, Eli had a responsible, reliable side to him. She’d been surprised by how hard he’d worked at getting his business reestablished, single-handedly transforming the carnage house into a working garage far faster than she would have thought possible. And she was doubly surprised by the way he pitched in around the house, picking up after himself and Chelsea and generally doing chores her grandfather would have disdained as women’s work.