Can't Buy Me Love

by Heather MacAllister

  “I’m happy to do it. It’s what I wanted to be able to do for my family. They gave me unconditional support. I didn’t want to be a farmer and my dad just said to decide what I wanted to do and do it. So, after law school, I had to prove to all of them that their faith wasn’t misplaced. I had a commitment to them. I couldn’t make a commitment to you, too. I just flat-out wasn’t ready.”

  A whole lot was now clear. “Why didn’t you tell me this? Because I didn’t let you,” Alexis answered her own question. She’d been so hurt and so angry. She wouldn’t accept his calls and avoided him for the rest of the semester. “But you could have shared how you felt obligated to your family. I mean, we went together for almost two years.”

  “Ah…you were a big-city girl.”

  “And you think I wouldn’t have understood? Oh, come on. You can do better than that.”

  “Actually, I did talk about my family, but you weren’t as fluent in guy talk then as you are now.”

  “Clearly.” Obviously, she’d missed a huge indication of the way Dylan thought.

  “Also you were making plans for after graduation and I noticed they were changing. There was a lot of ‘we’ talk. ‘We have to figure out where we want to live so we can apply to firms in the same city.’ That bothered me.”

  “It scared you.”

  “Okay, it scared me.”

  “Here, again, a conversation—”

  “What did you think I was having with you that day?” He so rarely raised his voice. In the cellar, it sounded particularly loud.

  “And I offered to go anywhere you wanted to go!” She could still remember it.

  “I know.” The jaw she thought was so manly now looked tense. “You had the opportunity to work for Gallagher Simmons in Austin and you were ready to turn them down for me.”

  “Yes. Because I loved you.”

  “I didn’t want you to make that kind of sacrifice. You made me responsible for your future happiness. That’s a horrible burden to put on anyone.”

  Had she?

  “You were brilliant. You are brilliant. Everyone knew you would be a legal star. And here you were, ready to give it up for me.”

  “Not give it up,” she protested.

  “It sure sounded that way. I already had people depending on me. I couldn’t handle anything more. And…it was just so bizarre to think that you’d make that kind of sacrifice for me. I couldn’t…”

  “I understand now.” She pulled back. “I wish I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  Alexis cupped his face with her hands. She hadn’t had all that much wine, but it was cold and he was warm and she realized she’d spent seven years misjudging him. “Why? Because now that I understand, I know that you, my first love—if you don’t count the one at thirteen, the one at fifteen, the two at sixteen, and the sorta one at seventeen, and the really not so good one at twenty—you, my first true love, are the best of the lot. I’m going to kiss you now.”

  His eyes flashed. “Is that a good idea?”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  “I always think so, but the question I’m asking is will you hate yourself in the morning?”

  “What morning? This is just a little make-up kiss.”

  Of course, if anyone thought she truly believed that, they’d be trying to sell her swampland somewhere.

  Alexis settled her lips against his and it was like coming home. Unfortunately, it felt completely right.

  Dylan kissed her back, but she knew he was keeping himself in check. Well, so was she. Which, she had to admit, became more and more difficult the longer they kissed.

  “I hated feeling awful every time I thought of you,” she murmured close to his mouth.

  He exhaled. “It wasn’t any easier for me, knowing you felt that way about me.”

  Smiling, Alexis lightly rubbed her lips against his. Technically, it wasn’t kissing. Technically, it had much the same effect as kissing. She traced his jawline with her fingers, feeling the barest roughness. Dylan didn’t have a heavy beard, which had meant lots of extended kissing sessions and no roughened mouth and chin. She inhaled his familiar scent and shifted on his lap.

  “Alexis!” Dylan looked her in the eyes, then took her mouth in a hungry kiss. An inappropriate kiss. A kiss that was definitely headed somewhere it shouldn’t.

  She knew all the signs, one of which she was sitting on. And, in a bizarre way, she was reminded of Vincent’s little problem, which would become her little problem when she married him.

  Dylan had such a lovely big problem. She squirmed. What if, uh, Vincent’s problem never grew into a big problem? Could she live with that, or without that, as the case might be? Because with Vincent in Wyoming until just before the wedding, how was she going to determine if there was a problem at all?

  And speaking of problems…Dylan’s tongue went unerringly to the sensitive place toward the side of the roof of her mouth and Alexis felt her control slipping. No other man had ever discovered that place and she’d never told them. Maybe she’d used it as a test. Or maybe she was afraid that on some subconscious level she’d be reminded of Dylan.

  She broke the kiss and toyed with the knit collar of his shirt, pressing her lips against the side of his neck. “Did you ever do that with anyone else?”

  He shook his head. “How could I?” he whispered. He drew his fingers along her cheek, and then he pulled her mouth back to his.

  She shouldn’t be kissing him, but the altitude must have thinned her resistance, like the way it had thinned the air.

  Dylan’s hands cupped her head as though he was afraid to move them to other parts of her body, but that didn’t mean he didn’t use his position to good advantage. His thumbs massaged her earlobes and the hollows just beneath them. His fingers teased the back of her neck. And his mouth…oh, that mouth.

  Could she live without passion if she had to? Would she and Vincent ever develop such a sensual rapport?

  What about Dylan? Could he live without passion—specifically passion with her? Or was she misjudging his level of interest?

  At the point she couldn’t stand any more, Alexis wrenched her mouth from Dylan’s. “If you have anything to say, especially anything concerning the future, now would be an excellent time.”

  8

  THERE WAS NOTHING LIKE forbidden lust. Dylan knew better then to kiss Alexis once more, but he was a man, after all. A man who, seconds before, had been in a lip lock with a woman he was probably still in love with. A woman who’d, understandably, just pointed out that he needed to state his intentions when all he’d intended was to kiss her for as long as possible.

  Yep. That’s what forbidden lust will get you.

  He met her eyes squarely, knowing that what he said, what they said to each other in the next several minutes would be of life-defining importance. No pressure or anything.

  Especially since he hadn’t exactly figured everything out himself. This situation with Alexis had developed quickly—or had been seven years in the making, depending on which way he looked at it. He’d never expected to have her come back into his life again, and so had never thought of what he would do if fate gave him another chance.

  The key was to figure out what Alexis wanted. Not what she said she wanted, but what she truly wanted. And whether it meshed with what Dylan wanted.

  “A future with me would be different than a future with Vincent,” he began carefully.

  “It sure would.” Alexis wiggled suggestively on his lap.

  She was cheating.

  “If you’re waiting for an offer while you’re still committed to Vincent, it ain’t gonna happen.” There were rules. Especially rules about the best man and the bride. Especially when the best man hoped to continue to practice law.

  “What kind of offer are we talking?” The conversation had become a negotiation. Was he surprised? No. Did he like it? Also no.

  Still, it was a valid question and she deserved an answer. Dylan took her hand, looking do
wn at it as he ran his thumb over her knuckles. He was going to have to give her an answer at about the same time he figured it out for himself. Thinking back to the pre-nup, he said, “You want guarantees. Financial guarantees. I wouldn’t offer that.”

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t expect the same pre-nup from you as I would from Vincent.”

  But she would expect one. Okay, there it was. She’d never fully commit to the relationship knowing a pre-nup existed. Dylan gripped her hand and looked her right in the eyes. He didn’t want her misunderstanding, especially since he thought this might be a deal breaker. “You couldn’t expect any pre-nup from me.”

  She laughed again, but sobered quickly when he didn’t even crack a smile. She pulled her hands away. “You’re serious.”

  Slowly, he nodded. “Financially, we’re pretty much on par. If I was advising a couple in similar circumstances, I would recommend keeping all personal property separate and establishing a joint account for purchases after the marriage. They’d both invest. They’re both at risk.”

  Alexis presented her case. “Until the woman has children and can’t bring in the same income. Then, she’d have to deplete her personal property to maintain the same level of contributions. And when she went back to work, she wouldn’t be earning as much, because she’d have lost tenure and experience during the time she took off to care for the children. In the meantime, her partner would very likely have received salary increases and perhaps a promotion. They’d no longer be at parity. And should said partner become bored and want to divorce, the woman would have taken a financial hit, while the man would not. A pre-nup would address that.”

  “The man,” Dylan rebutted, “assuming traditional division of parenting duties, would not expect the woman to continue to contribute financially if she was no longer employed. Neither would he be able to increase his personal property because he would have to make up for the lack of financial contributions from the woman.”

  “But his ability to make more money would be enhanced by the fact that he hadn’t had an interruption in his employment history,” she argued.

  “And I think the marriage should start out on faith.”

  “Ha!” She looked at him in amazement. “Ha!” she repeated. “That’s because you’re the man. You don’t have as much at risk.”

  “I can concede some of the financial question.”

  “Some?”

  “A lot.” He stopped short of saying money wasn’t everything. “Traditionally, in case of divorce, most custodial parents are women. The man suffers by being separated from his children.”

  “He gets to see them on weekends for fun. The mother has to discipline them and make sure they do their homework and get to school on time. She’s the no-fun parent. The dad is fun and games and usually has more money for those fun and games. It takes a really strange kid to appreciate that. And let’s not get into child-care expenses.”

  “Let’s not because the dad would be paying child support.”

  “Which is never enough.”

  Dylan drew a calming breath, a deliberate attempt to slow down the rapid exchange. “There are no guarantees, Alexis. We’re arguing about something that only happens in a worst-case scenario.”

  “Isn’t that what you do for a living? Make legal plans for worst-case scenarios?”

  “Usually, it’s a second marriage where one or both partners has children whose inheritance they want protected. Or the bride and groom have vastly different financial profiles. Or, increasingly, partners in a business want the business protected from upheaval in the event one of them divorces. In the absence of those considerations, sometimes you’ve got to take a chance.”

  “I just want to make sure that the man is taking the same chance.”

  She wasn’t going to give an inch. Well, neither was he. Alexis was so concerned about preserving herself that she was missing the whole point of marriage—two people forming one unit, one life partnership.

  He understood her marriage to Vincent, now. She didn’t love him, so she wasn’t going to invest herself emotionally. And with all the financial worries taken care of, she wouldn’t have to invest herself financially, either.

  No, the only thing she was selling was her soul.And she didn’t even know it. But that was another issue.

  Dylan verbally laid his cards on the table. “My wife and I won’t have a pre-nup.”

  “My husband and I will,” Alexis countered at once.

  And there it was. No room for compromise.To have a future together, one of them would have to give in. The only hope they had was if one of them changed her mind.

  Alexis searched his eyes, then stood. Dylan wanted to rub his legs, but didn’t.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m glad we had this chat. It clarified things. And I have to say that I’m surprised at your position on pre-nups.”

  “They’re necessary in some circumstances but not for the couple we discussed.” He gave her a half smile. “Besides I believe in the magic of love.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I don’t know what else to call it. All I know is I’ve seen starry-eyed couples come in to discuss the pre-nup and afterward, something is missing. The magic is gone.”

  “It’s called a reality check. They get the same look when they buy insurance or draw up their wills.”

  “You’re so tough. So cynical,” he said.

  “So realistic.”

  So wrong. But he didn’t say so aloud.

  At least he’d had a shot.

  He wondered what she was feeling. Probably nothing. He on the other hand…was going to think about it later.

  Alexis wandered over to the other chair and sat down. To cover the awkwardness, Dylan began flipping through the guest book. The front pages covered the history of the inn and the wine cellar, particularly the club during the Prohibition era. He began reading aloud about the thickness of the walls and some of the people reputed to have frequented the club. “And no one was ever caught,” he read, “because of the secret back door.”

  “What?”

  “No one was ever caught because the patrons escaped through the wine cellar to the secret back door.” They stared at each other.

  “Do you suppose that secret back door is still here?” she asked.

  “Let’s look for it.”

  Dylan was glad to have something to distance them from their earlier discussion and figured Alexis was, too. They started on the opposite wall from the door and felt their way around the perimeter. Nothing.

  “I suppose they boarded it up.” Alexis stamped her feet.

  Dylan was getting chilly, himself. “Then we should see the boards.” He ran his fingers over the stones and mortar. No cracks. Nothing.

  The back wall was topped with red bricks above three giant wine barrels. He stood back and squinted, trying to see if there were any changes in color in the bricks that might signal a more recent remodel. Again, nothing.

  “You know, it said ‘secret’, so that means it’s hard to find, but it can’t be so hard to find that people couldn’t leave in a hurry.” Alexis had walked back to the guest book.

  “They could have just covered it up.”

  “I don’t get the impression much was changed down here. Hey, there was a winery in town. That explains where those oak casks came from. Oh,my gosh. Look how they cleaned them.” She held up the book.

  Dylan went over and saw old black-and-white photos of a man going through something that looked like a pet door. “They scrubbed them down from inside?”

  “I guess they had to clean them somehow.”

  Dylan turned back and studied the three large casks. After walking over to them he looked at the small square doors and tried to imagine fitting through one. “Man, you put on a few pounds and there goes the job, unless you could convince your boss to cut a bigger door.”

  Alexis looked up. “Dylan…”

  A bigger door. “I’m with you.” He’d bet these barrels weren’t just decorative.<
br />
  Dylan waited until Alexis made her way over to the giant casks before asking, “Which one hides the door?”

  “My guess is the middle one. If it were the ones to either the left or the right, it would be too hard to remember, especially if you were slightly tipsy.”

  “Works for me.” He and Alexis studied the edge of the middle cask. They tried pulling and pushing, but had no luck. Dylan got one of the chairs and stood on it, examining the hoops for hinges.

  “Try the other side,” Alexis suggested.

  “That would make it open backward.”

  “And harder to find.”

  Dylan moved the chair, stood on it and immediately found a set of hinges. “I don’t believe it. Right or left is too difficult to remember, but a backward door isn’t?”

  It took both of them to get the door open enough for them to squeeze into the dark confines of the wine barrel. There was a musty, oaky, but not unpleasant smell.

  “Can you see anything?” Alexis asked.

  Dylan removed his key ring and pressed the vanity light on his car-alarm transmitter. The back of the cask was missing and a door was in the wall.

  “This is kind of exciting,” Alexis said. “An adventure.”

  “Glad you’re having a good time. Have you noticed how blasted cold it is in here?”

  “Well, yes. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to think I was whining.”

  “No. It’s become a lot colder. Was a front supposed to come through? Did you check the weather forecast for tomorrow?”

  “Cool and sunny.”

  Dylan reached for the door handle. “This thing feels frozen. Okay, get ready to pull.”

  He and Alexis both worked their hands together on the big metal ring and yanked. The door fell open easier than they expected and sent them stumbling backward as something that had been pressing against it fell inwards.

  “Is that dirt?” Alexis asked.

  Dylan pressed his tiny light, which illuminated a hill of white.

  Snow.

  “That can’t be snow,” Alexis said.

  “It’s white. It’s cold. It’s wet. What else could it be?”