The mood at the table had shifted with that brief exchange, suddenly becoming much more intimate, even in the brightly lit luncheonette. His eyes bore into hers with an intensity she found overpowering, and instinct told Genevieve she should make her pitch right now. Anything to get him to stop looking at her that way...like he wanted to have her for lunch.
Her eyes darted about. She’d made a good choice in terms of setting. Only a few diners were present, and most of them sat at the counter toward the front.
She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, forcing herself to look into his smoldering stare. She actually felt her skin growing warm. When Barry looked at her with such a keen eye it felt comfortable, like house slippers that had molded to her feet. Dexter, on the other hand, made her feel like she was about to erupt into a ball of fire...
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she managed to say. Speaking had become difficult under the heat of his gaze. She swallowed hard. “A proposition.”
She noticed his eyebrows shoot up. He, too, leaned in close and whispered in a low, sexy tone. “Go ahead, baby. Proposition me.”
Genevieve’s heartbeat hammered in her ears. She could feel the sexual magnetism that oozed from his pores and made him so confident. Suddenly he didn’t look like a man who was half starved...at least not for food.
“Okay, here goes,” she said, her words tumbling out nervously. “I’m in a position to do something for you, and you’re in a position to do something for me. I was hoping we could help each other.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me what it is you can do for me.”
She picked up on the slight eagerness in his tone and knew she’d intrigued him. She took a deep breath and decided to play her trump card. “I can pay your law school tuition for your last semester.”
Dexter’s mouth dropped open, telling her this was the last thing he expected her to say. “Come on, Gen. How can you possibly pay my tuition when you can’t even afford to rent an apartment?”
“I can afford an apartment. I have an apartment.” She didn’t mention that it was a tenth-floor condominium on East Eighty-Fourth Street. “But I can’t go back to it unless I get what I need.”
“And what is it that you need?”
“A husband.”
Chapter 9
“What!” he exclaimed, so loudly that the other patrons turned to look at them.
“Shh,” she hissed. “This is supposed to be a private conversation, Dexter.”
“Sorry,” he said in a normal voice. Then he spoke more softly. “Why do you need a husband?”
“So I can go back to my apartment downtown.”
He sighed. “Let me rephrase. Why can’t you go back to your apartment without a husband? I know that occupancy laws in New York can be strict, but surely your building doesn’t make that distinction. It’s discriminatory. There are laws against that.”
Genevieve shifted in her seat. His last comment made her extremely uncomfortable. “Because I can’t,” she said crankily. “Are the details really important? I’m offering to give you the money you need to get what you want.”
“Yeah baby, and it’s got illegal written all over it.”
There he went again. Could he say anything that didn’t have the word law or legal in it? “I’m not asking you to rob a bank. It’s just that you’re the only one I know who can possibly help me.” She paused. “I don’t know many people, obviously.”
He reached across the table to place a hand on her forearm. “I know how it feels to need help when there’s no one who can give you any, Gen. I’ve been busting my butt for the last month. I’ve sold blood. I even considered selling my sperm, but that just didn’t feel right to me. But I don’t think you understand my position.”
Genevieve did understand part of his position. Selling sperm must have been as distasteful to him as marrying a man she didn’t love was to her.
“I did four years of college and four years of medical school,” Dexter continued. “I interned for a year, and I’ve had nearly three years of law school. If I’m part of anything that’s not on the up-and-up I run the risk of ending my career before I even start it, and let me assure you that after all I’ve been through I can guarantee you I’m not about to let that happen. I have to know what’s going on.”
She found it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying, but she was most aware of his earnest demeanor and the touch that punctuated his words. His hand was large and felt warm and strong against her skin. It brought back the memory of feeling his muscular arms locked around her.
She chided herself for having such carnal thoughts. It simply wasn’t appropriate for her libido to take over, not with the dilemma she was faced with. Besides, this marriage wouldn’t involve sex. It couldn’t. That would complicate everything, and she’d chosen Dexter in the first place because the arrangement between them could be so simple.
At that moment the waitress delivered their food, forcing Dexter to remove his hand, which he did in a sliding manner down to and off of the back of her hand and finally her fingers, creating a wonderful friction that lingered. He promptly picked up a spoon and cut off a huge piece, incorporating brownie, vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, and whipped cream. “Damn, that’s good,” he said, obviously forgetting about the don’t-talk-with-your-mouth-full rule.
“How nice for you,” she said tightly, not so much annoyed at him as she was at herself for thinking about him in a romantic way, even as she told herself their relationship would involve no such snags.
“Okay, don’t get your nipple in a noose. I do want to help you, Gen. No, maybe that’s not entirely truthful. I do want to help you, but what I really want is that tuition money.” Dexter rubbed his palms together. “But I can’t promise you I’ll help unless I know what you’re up to, and that’s just not negotiable.”
She knew he was right to be concerned, but because she still didn’t want to tell him the whole story, she tried to wiggle out of it. “That’s asking a lot, Dexter. I barely know you.”
He looked at her incredulously. “That didn’t stop you from asking me to marry your butt.”
“Asking you to marry me is one thing. Explaining the details behind the question is something else. I haven’t laid this out, Dexter, but I thought you understood. This marriage wouldn’t be like most. We won’t be sharing pillow talk. It would be an arrangement. We each get something we need out of it. But just because I asked you to marry me doesn’t mean I can trust you with my secrets.”
Dexter calmly took another bite of his brownie. “Well, that’s just too bad, because I won’t marry you unless I know what it is you’re trying to hide.”
She glared at him across the table.
He remained unruffled by her fierce stare. “I think we’re going about this the wrong way,” he said easily. “Let’s try another approach. Does this have anything to do with murder?”
She looked at him incredulously. “No!”
“With money or goods? All right, I know there’s money involved, or else you couldn’t afford to pay my tuition, but was it stolen or earned illegally?”
“No.”
“Hmm. No murder, no stolen goods. Are you being blackmailed?”
She laughed at the absurd notion. “No, Dexter, I’m not.”
“Well, what else – wait a minute. You say you have to get married.” His eyes dropped.
The table obscured Genevieve’s midsection, and she immediately convinced herself he wasn’t going to ask what she thought he was going to ask.
“Are you pregnant?”
She gasped. He did ask. “No!”
“You’re really making me work hard for this money, aren’t you?” he muttered.
His look of deep concentration was almost comical. Genevieve tried hard not to laugh.
Dexter, almost oblivious to her presence, mumbled aloud between bites of his brownie. “Why would a gorgeous single woman in this day and age be so desperate to get married? Can’t go hom
e to her apartment without a husband...”
She could tell when his mouth opened, then closed, the moment the idea occurred to him. “Now,” he said in a lazy drawl. “Of course, my male ego wants to think that you took one look at me and decided I’m the only man in the world for you.”
“Wouldn’t that make things easy,” she said wistfully.
“However,” Dexter continued, now sounding every inch the attorney, “the fact that, A, you said you can’t go home without a husband; and, B, you’re from France and living in New York, makes me think it’s an immigration problem. But that’s silly...isn’t it?”
Genevieve did her best imitation of a game show bell after someone won a new car or a trip to Hawaii. “Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.” But it came out flat and joyless, matching her mood. She searched his face for clues to what he was thinking. If anything, he looked thoughtful. That could be good or bad, from where she sat. He might be thinking how he could help her, or he might be pondering if he would get a monetary reward or even a nice addition to his résumé if he turned her in to the authorities.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” he said. “There’s thousands of illegal immigrants right here in New York. But I don’t get it. Most of them come in to the States because they’re impoverished and dream of something better.” He shook his head. “You just don’t look poor to me, Gen. Is someone after you or something?”
“Not here, but in my parents’ country.” She named the island nation.
He repeated the name of the island. “I don’t hear too much about that. Isn’t that where a lot of the jet set have property?”
“Yes. They don’t do a lot of regular tourism. The island is pretty small, for one thing. There are just a few very exclusive hotels. But the standard of living for the natives is miserable. Many of them don’t even have indoor plumbing. Imagine that, in the twenty-first century.”
“So what’s the problem? They charge real estate tax on all those estates, don’t they?”
“Yes, and plenty of it. But the government leaders were getting it all, living, as you Americans say, high off the hog.” She frowned uncertainly. Some American expressions confused her. Was it high off or high on the hog?
She decided it didn’t matter. “My father urged the president to do something to help the poor, the sick, and the hungry. When he threatened to expose the corruption they had him killed.”
“I’ve never heard about any trouble down there on the news.”
“That was because they killed my father before he could speak up. And he made me promise to keep quiet, or they would get me, too. So life there goes on as usual. The wealthy Americans and Europeans, tucked safely away in their luxurious oceanfront estates, have no idea of the conditions their servants live in. My father wanted to start programs to provide vital services for them, but the other officials were too greedy. They didn’t want to give anything up.” She dabbed at the damp outer corners of her eyes with her napkin. “I’m sorry.”
He took the napkin from her hand and took over wiping her eyes, a simple gesture but an affectionate one that soothed her frayed nerves. “Better?”
She knew he was treating her like she was a two-year-old who’d gotten a booboo, something she would ordinarily object to, but at this particular moment Genevieve didn’t mind a little coddling. She knew he was pampering rather than patronizing her, so she merely nodded.
“Don’t apologize,” Dexter said firmly. “You’ve been through hell. I’m sorry about what happened to your father, Gen, and also that you had to keep this bottled up inside. Sometimes confiding in someone helps take the pressure off.”
“Dexter, will you keep my secret?” She had to know.
“Yes, of course. But I can’t believe Immigration wouldn’t give you refugee status if you went to them and explained.”
“I don’t agree. I have no proof of what’s going on down there, Dexter. I don’t even have a death certificate for my father. I can’t chance the news wire services picking up the story. If that happens my father’s enemies will know it was me who tipped them off. They’ll send people to New York to find me, and I’ll probably be dead before the INS can put me on the first plane out.”
“Why not just go back to France? I’ll be honest and tell you I’d hate to see you go, but wouldn’t you be safe there?”
Genevieve forced herself not to linger on the sweetness of him saying he would hate to see her leave, but her breath caught in her throat nonetheless. “The government officials have easier access to France than they do to the States. My father told me my best bet was to hide in New York. But my citizenship is on that island.” She saw his puzzled expression and the question forming on his lips and knew what he was thinking. “I know I implied I’m a French citizen, but I’m not. I try to not even mention my country’s name. I didn’t want anyone to make a connection, in case the INS came around and started asking questions about me.”
He nodded. “Understandable. All right, let me make sure I understand. You want me to marry you in exchange for paying my college tuition.”
“Yes. Temporarily, until I can get established.”
Dexter grunted, obviously thinking. He spoke after half a minute. “Gen, I don’t mean to be indelicate, but—”
Her shoulders stiffened. Maybe Dexter didn’t realize it, but people only said they didn’t want to be indelicate, or nosey, or unfeeling, for that matter, when they were about to say something indelicate, nosey, or unfeeling.
“Did you really mean it when you said no, uh, pillow talk?”
She was prepared for this question, and she had her answer ready. When this was all over, she’d find someone for whom she’d feel all the affection she had for Barry plus all the passion Dexter brought out in her, and it would be everything she ever dreamed of. Lust aside, a false marriage still lacked the ingredient she had to have—love. She might have made a promise to Barry that their marriage would entail intimacy, but this time she held the cards, and there’d be no such promises made. She wanted something with no emotional encumbrances, something where no one would be hurt, something they could both walk away from when the time came without a backward glance.
To Dexter she said, “Our marriage will be on paper only, except when the INS is concerned. I’d like to be able to return to my apartment. Paying Stan and Brenda two hundred-and-twenty-five dollars a week is draining me. If I have to stay in that room indefinitely I might go through everything my father left me, and while my work brings in decent receivables, I don’t have a lucrative career as a malpractice attorney ahead of me,” she said pointedly.
It wasn’t entirely truthful. Nine hundred dollars a month wasn’t exactly chump change, but it would hardly break her. Between the money her father had made and the way Sy invested it, she was a millionaire several times over, but she didn’t want Dexter to get wind of that. Money did strange things to people, and while she seriously doubted he would do such a thing, the possibility did exist that he might demand more money to help her if he learned what she was worth. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she’d only known Dexter a brief time. It seemed like he’d been part of her life for ages.
There was something else she wanted him to know. “Just to keep the record straight, my father was a highly respected chemist most of his life, and that’s where his income came from, not pillaging his government’s treasury. The moment he learned what went on down there he wanted out. He was threatened then, so he stayed, but quietly set about making arrangements for me through his attorney in case anything happened to him.”
“All right. I understand. Your father was one of the good guys in this. Let’s get back to what we were talking about. I want to make sure I’ve got this right. Your plan is for me to stay up here while you return to your apartment alone?”
“Yes.” She felt she had to repeat the most important aspect of the plan. “It would be a marriage of convenience, remember? And it would be temporary. I certainly wouldn’t expect you to
stay tied to me forever.”
He smiled, revealing remarkably—considering his horrendous dietary habits—healthy-appearing teeth. “And here I was, looking forward to playing house with you. Let’s face it, Gen. We’ve both known since the night we kissed that we’ve got what it takes to burn up the sheets.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Dexter radiated sex appeal, even underweight and with that mop of wild curly hair. The way he looked at her, the things he said unsettled her like no man had in years, and certainly not Barry. This was the first time he’d acknowledged their kiss. So he hadn’t forgotten...
She swallowed hard and tried to speak in a normal tone. “No, Dexter. I want to keep this impersonal. It’s better that way. Believe me, I know. Now, if you agree to do this, I think it would be a good idea for me to get some things of yours to take home with me, if you don’t mind. A toothbrush you’ve used. If you tell me the brand names you use I’ll go out and buy some personal items like deodorant and lotion. I should probably get a few clothing pieces as well. It has to look like you live with me in case anyone comes around to check unannounced.”
“Where exactly is ‘there’?”
“The Upper East Side.” She deliberately kept it vague.
He put his spoon down, then folded his arms across his chest. “So I don’t get the exact address?”
“Not unless the INS wants to interview us there, and they’ll probably ask us to come to them. You can contact me by cell phone. It’s faster than writing a letter, anyway.”
“I don’t want to write you a letter,” he said in a tone as frosty as the ice cream on his plate. “If I’m married, I think I’m entitled to know where my wife lives.”
She didn’t understand his change in attitude. Why the proprietary stance all of a sudden? He sounded like a relic from the nineteenth century, when a wife was regarded as a possession, no different from the comb he obviously never used. “Can’t you understand I want to keep your involvement to a minimum? It’s for your own protection, Dexter.”
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