Mating Game

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Mating Game Page 16

by Maynard, Janice


  And he might have been right. Before yesterday. He might have eventually persuaded her to sell. Though she didn’t want to. Though it went against everything she believed. She might have let Lochhaven go, thinking she had no other choice.

  But now she did. Now she had $60 million to restore this grand old Southern home to its original glory. And, by God, that was what she was going to do. Even if it meant marrying some guy off the street. It might come to that, if her list kept shrinking.

  She called Krystal at midmorning. Nola desperately needed a friendly ear, and the older woman had a knack for putting crises into perspective.

  Kystal sounded chipper, the exact opposite of Nola’s frame of mind. “What’s up, my love? How are things in Georgia?”

  Nola had thought she could discuss her options calmly, but her voice wobbled noticeably when she spoke. “I’m screwed, Krystal. I don’t know what to do.”

  They talked for an hour. Nola outlined the problems with all three original husband candidates, and she alluded to the fact that the amount of the inheritance was far larger than she had imagined.

  Krystal listened intently, occasionally inserting a comment. When Nola fell silent, Krys sighed loudly over the phone. “Well, baby . . . you’ve gotten yourself into a hell of a mess.”

  Nola walked out onto the front porch, her cell phone to her ear. “Tell me something I don’t know. I can’t walk away from this, Krystal. Even without the money, the house means too much to me to let it fall into the hands of someone who’s not family.”

  “Then go for it.”

  Nola frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You only have one option, Nola. You have to get married. Now it’s simply a matter of deciding between the least of three evils, or two, if Billy really won’t marry you.”

  “But Marc almost killed me and Tanner lied to me.”

  “So are you willing to marry someone off the street?”

  Nola gulped. Krystal had cut to the heart of the matter. And she was right: Any of Nola’s choices had to be better than tying herself to a stranger.

  When she bade Krystal a fond goodbye and hung up, her heart was heavy, but her mind was clearer. She knew the end result she wanted. Now it was simply a matter of deciding how to get there.

  A conversation with Marc was next on her list. She interrupted him in the middle of a phone conversation, but he opened the motel door with a surprised smile and beckoned her in.

  When he hung up, she couldn’t hold back an exclamation. “Good God, Marc. You could run the Starship Enterprise from this room.” Every surface, including the extra bed, was covered with electronic equipment of one sort or another: fax machines, printers, three different laptops, and assorted other devices that were out of her frame of reference.

  She shook her head, bemused. “Are you making money, even here?”

  He grinned gleefully. “When I left suddenly to come to Georgia, word got out that I had retired, and I was able to sneak in and pull off several sweet deals before anyone knew what hit ’em.” He hugged her enthusiastically. “What are you doing in town? Not that I’m not pleased to see you, but I thought you and your hunky handyman would be knee-deep in renovations on your Barbie Dream House.”

  Same old Marc. She couldn’t help but feel a wave of affection for him, despite everything that had happened. She dropped her head to his shoulder, and he held her suddenly at arm’s length, his gaze sharp. “What is it, baby? Tell me.”

  She bit her lip. “Are you really busy?”

  He stepped around her and shut off his cell phone, his BlackBerry, and two of the laptops. The third one had a dark screen. “Never too busy for you,” he said gruffly. He tugged her toward the bed. “Sit down and tell me everything.”

  So she did. She started with Tanner and ended up with Billy. Marc listened quietly except for the occasional mutter of surprise.

  She rubbed her hands over her face. Her legs were bare, she had on no makeup at all, and her hair was a mess. Never, in Chicago, had Marc seen her looking so . . . mussed. She’d always been careful to dress nicely whenever she was with him. He was sartorial perfection even now, in this bare-bones motel room. His crisply pressed dress shirt was tucked into black dress slacks with a knife-edge crease. His only concession to relaxation was that he wasn’t wearing a tie, and he was in stocking feet.

  Beside him, she felt like Daisy Duke, only not as hot. She fell back on the pillow and studied the cracked ceiling tile above the bed. “So tell me what to do. Please. I’m fresh out of options.”

  Marc settled down beside her and tugged her into his arms. “I could make you feel better.”

  She actually managed a giggle when his finger trespassed and found her nipple. But she batted his hand away. “If I have sex with you right now, it would only be to make myself feel better, like you said. And that would simply be using you.”

  He found the nipple again and stroked it gently. “Feel free,” he said huskily. “I’d consider it an honor.”

  She turned her head to him, feeling secure and warm and lazy. “You’re full of bullshit. If you had your way, we’d be back on a plane to Chicago by midnight.”

  He touched her lips with his, a fleeting caress . . . no more. “True. But I’m trying my damnedest to be supportive here. It sounds like Billy is out. And I know you’re still too mad to consider me. But surely you can cut Tanner some slack. He wasn’t trying to steal from you. He was just a businessman doing what we types do. Though I still think you’d be a fool to marry him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I should have known you’d side with him. Anything to make a buck, and to hell with how you got there.”

  “All he did was tell you the truth, Nola. From what I can see, he’s right. That behemoth of a house you call home will suck you dry in no time. And then where will you be? Eating peanut butter sandwiches and wearing the same clothes for a decade, simply because you poured every dime into a last-ditch effort at renovation.”

  She held a hand in the air. “Stop. You haven’t heard the best part.” Again, hysteria loomed, and she fought it back. She was punchy and her emotions were all over the map. She grinned wryly. “Apparently I have sixty million dollars.”

  She blurted it out, waiting to see what he would say. It wasn’t often that Marc Overmyer was rendered speechless. He had an answer for everything. But for once, she had stunned him.

  He blinked twice. “Sixty million? Are you sure?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  He smiled admiringly, overlooking her dishabille. “Maybe I should seduce you into marrying me right on the spot. I suddenly feel a craving to mingle our assets.”

  She burst out laughing, feeling better than she had in twenty-four hours. “You’re a dear, and I love you, Marc,” she said slowly. “But not like a woman needs to love a husband for the next fifty years. And admit it—you don’t want to live here, and I can’t go back, at least not for six months, maybe longer if I’m really going all out on this renovation. So where does that leave us?”

  “With breakup sex?” He sounded hopeful.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Marc. It’s too confusing after everything that’s happened. I need us to be friends. That’s all. Good friends.”

  He kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. “If that’s what you want, baby, I’m all for it. I’ll keep you safe. I swear.”

  Despite knowing she was mere days away from her marital deadline, Nola was at a loss. She spent the afternoon taking photos by the lake where she’d picnicked with Billy, wondering how she’d managed to screw everything up so thoroughly. She couldn’t bear the thought of going home, couldn’t stand to walk back into her house knowing that Tanner wasn’t there. If she didn’t think about it, the hurt was almost bearable.

  Finally, when fatigue rolled over her like a heavy blanket and the shadows deepened, she got in the car to head back in the general direction of Lochhaven.

  The road was straight as an arrow, but it rippled like
a wide ribbon tossed in the air, undulating on invisible currents.

  In her rearview mirror she spotted a car that had one headlight out. The vehicle was following her a little too closely, and she let off on the gas, hoping the driver would pass. But he only dropped back, and then sped up again when she increased her speed.

  There were several opportunities for him to slide by on the occasional flat stretch, but he never took the opportunity. Now she was getting pissed. All she wanted was some peace and relaxation, and she didn’t need some bumper hog crowding her.

  She tried to find a place to pull over, but the newly planted fields of corn and cotton were edged right at the road with barbed-wire fences. There wasn’t even a driveway wide enough for her to pull off and rid herself of the inconsiderate driver.

  She had just crested one of the larger hilltops outside of town when, from nowhere, the dark car gunned it and came up beside her right at the top, jerking his wheel sharply and screeching down her side door with his vehicle.

  Nola reacted on instinct: She pulled as far to the right as she could, thinking that at any moment she would see the oncoming car that had prompted such a stupid maneuver.

  But when they came down the other side, the road was empty except for the two dueling vehicles. For the first time, fear gripped her chest. This wasn’t some random, reckless driver. This was someone who meant her harm.

  She dragged in a lungful of air and tried to stay calm.

  Carefully, she dropped back, hoping he would finish passing her and move on. But it was not to be. They were soon heading up another hill, and he was parallel to her, crowding her to the edge. She fought the urge to panic and steered carefully.

  It was a gift from God that nothing else came toward them. A head-on collision would be inevitable.

  But on the third hill, her luck ran out. The driver of the other car wrenched his steering wheel one last time, and the resultant jolt to Nola’s car sent her careening into the ditch.

  She stomped her brakes to no avail. Her wheels had no traction. She tried to steer, she tried to slow, but the force of the last collision carried her forward, nowhere else to go, until she slammed into a large fence post, and the car shuddered to a halt.

  The air bags deployed, she clawed her way free of them, and the now pitch-black night settled in around her.

  Twelve

  Nola’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. With shaking hands, she groped for her cell phone in her pocket. The cheerful music from the radio grated on her nerves, so she reached to turn it off. The resultant deadly silence was so loud it hurt.

  Was she injured? She couldn’t tell. Her whole body was numb. She dialed 911, and then, without conscious thought, without weighing the sense of what she was doing, she punched in Tanner’s number. When his gruff voice answered, he sounded so dear and so familiar that everything inside her coalesced into a ball of need.

  Her words were barely audible. “Tanner. I’ve been in an accident.” A single sob erupted. “Please come get me.” She started crying in earnest on the last word, but his sharp request for directions reined her in.

  She sucked in a breath, and in fits and starts and ragged syllables, she told him approximately where she thought she was. In the dark, and with the unmarked country roads, it was hard to tell, but she had a fair idea. Tanner was local—he’d find her.

  She was hanging awkwardly, snagged by her seat belt, but she dared not release it. The car was tilted at a forty-five-degree angle, and from the rank smell, she was pretty sure water was leaking in at the passenger-side door. If she opened her seat belt and fell into that nasty ditch stew, she might seriously freak out.

  Tanner made it before the ambulance. His big truck screeched to a halt behind her. She heard his door slam, and seconds later he was at her side. She couldn’t see his expression until he turned on a flashlight and carefully ran the beam over the interior of her car. “Oh, God, Nola.” His voice was anguished. “Where are you hurt?”

  He had reached inside to take her hand, and she clung to it. “I think I’m okay.”

  He touched her cheek softly and she felt a wet smear. “Your nose is bleeding,” he said.

  “Probably the air bag. It smacked me pretty good.”

  He stroked her hair. In the far distance they could hear the whine of the official vehicles. His voice was hoarse, but gentle. “I don’t think I should move you, darlin’ . . . not until the EMTs show up.”

  The world started closing in on her. She gripped his hand. “Get me out, Tanner. Please. I can’t stay here. And I can feel my legs, I swear. I’m fine.” Her teeth were chattering, and her voice went up an octave.

  He must have sensed imminent hysteria, because he spoke hastily. “All right. Give me a second.” He dropped the flashlight on the ground and opened her door. When he leaned in, she recognized his warm, comforting smell. He put one arm behind her and another under her legs.

  He was moving slowly, ready to stop if she made a sound of pain. The angle was awkward, and it had to be killing his back. She urged him on. “I’m okay, really.”

  He held her carefully. “Put your left arm around my neck. Do you think you can undo the seat belt with your right hand?”

  It was a tricky maneuver, but they managed it. When she was free, he backed out of the car and carried her to the cab of his truck. By the time he had set her carefully on the seat, the cops and paramedics were on the scene.

  Nola wanted Tanner. She didn’t know these strange men and women with their professional sympathy and quick movements. The exam in the ambulance was a relief. Apparently nothing was broken. She had some scratches and a bloody nose, and there would be bruises by the bushel, but her vital stats were fine. Her right wrist had been jammed into the seat during impact. They wrapped that and professed her good to go.

  Resnick, like the surrounding towns, wasn’t the big city. The nearest hospital was an hour away. In a serious crash, helicopters would be called in, or victims could take a long ambulance ride. But in this situation, the woman in charge suggested that Nola see her doctor the following morning, and handed Tanner two tablets that he could give the patient so she could rest during the night.

  After Nola gave the police her report, and they examined the wide swath of dark-colored paint where the other car had side-swiped her, it was all over. One of the officers retrieved Nola’s purse from the wreck.

  Tanner bundled her up in his arms again, carried her like fragile glass to his truck, and drove her home.

  Lochhaven was a huge, gloomy presence when they made it there. Nola had forgotten to leave a single light on, and she knew that if she had come back to the empty, darkened house all by herself, she would have been afraid.

  Tanner insisted on carrying her everywhere, despite her protests, loping up the long flight of stairs inside as if she weighed nothing. He bypassed her room and headed down the hall. In the bathroom that had been his until she kicked him out, he set her on her feet. “Leave the door open. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She peed quickly, giving her poor bladder much-needed relief, and then she put down the toilet lid and sat on it, her head in her hands.

  Tanner found her like that, and made a noise under his breath. “I brought you a nightgown and pajamas. I didn’t know which one you would want.” He had riffled through her drawers.

  She lifted her head. “I need a shower.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise. You’re still in shock.”

  When she pouted, he solved the problem by undressing them both, turning the water to just past warm, and stepping into the tub with her. Without a word being spoken between them, he washed her carefully from stem to stern, and with such tender delicacy that she felt like weeping all over again. Her tears weren’t because of the accident or from her fear or her exhaustion, but in recognition of the fact that, despite recent events that had shaken her trust, Tanner really did care for her.

  His cock was hard and eager against his belly. Neither of them acknowledged it. Bu
t with her back to him, she felt it and, despite her discomfort, felt the tingle of arousal.

  After he washed and rinsed her hair, he spared thirty seconds for his own quick rubdown and then lifted her out onto the bath mat. Carefully, he dried her off and then himself. She offered him a toothbrush, still in cellophane, from the cabinet, and they brushed their teeth together like an old married couple.

  Afterward, he again scooped her into his arms and strode toward his room. The bed had been straightened and the covers turned back. On the nightstand was a glass of water and the pills.

  He had done more than fetch nightwear. She took the pills obediently but refused to put on any clothes. Nothing could feel better than Tanner’s hot, bare skin against hers.

  He rewrapped her wrist, and when they were settled, her back spooned to his body, he stroked her hair. “How do you feel?”

  She yawned sleepily. “Sore. But okay. Good night, Tanner.”

  His hand stilled and she felt tension in him. “This isn’t the time, but I’m sorry for everything. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  She nodded, her cheek pillowed on his hair-covered forearm. “Tomorrow,” she agreed, the word slurred.

  She awoke before he did, propelled once again by the need to visit the bathroom. Getting out of bed was painful and slow, but eventually, she made it upright. She crossed the hall, did her business, and then moaned aloud when she glanced in the mirror. Oh, Lord. What a vision.

  Predictably, Tanner came running, his expression agitated. “What is it? Are you okay? Tell me, damn it.”

  She held out her arms. “Look at me. I’m a freak show.”

  Her nose had bled more during the night, and both eyes were turning black-and-blue. Because they hadn’t dried her hair before going to bed, red spikes stood up all over her head, making her look like a punk rocker. Her face, where there was no bruising, was so white she looked like an albino.

 

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