by Diana Duncan
Then Soledad’s polite cough caught Mia’s attention. The other woman sat on the opposite sofa studying them with evident interest.
So that’s why Dallas had let her wallow all over him.
Why on earth had she dropped her guard enough to do such a thing?
Disguising humiliation with a nonchalant head toss, she snatched a compact from her purse and finger-combed her tousled hair. “How long have I been asleep?”
“You’ve been sawing logs for close to two hours, sugar.”
“I do not snore!”
“How would you know? I’m the one you were sleeping on.”
The unwelcome image of Dallas’s hot, hard-muscled body in bed beside her invaded her thoughts. Mia’s heart stuttered, and languid heat flooded her limbs.
She snapped her compact shut so hard it cracked. She was immune, dammit. Immune. And would stay that way.
Another stretch limo waited as they deplaned. One brief stop at the courthouse and sixty-dollars later, Dallas James McQuade and Mia Elaine Linden possessed a license to marry. Each for reasons they were keeping from the other.
Mia stepped out of the desert heat back into the air-conditioned limo. To outsiders, their marriage would look just as real as the sphinx guarding the Luxor hotel. But it would be just as phony. All flash, no substance.
Esteban instructed the driver to tune the radio to an oldies station as the limo cruised down the strip. He smiled at Mia. “Where would you like the ceremony to take place, Señorita?”
She stared out the window while they passed chapel after chapel. During her drama phase, she’d portrayed Juliet, Queen Elizabeth, and the mischievous Puck, among others. But this was her most important role. At all costs, she needed to give the appearance of a devoted bride.
A pang of longing pierced her. She and Val had done everything together since first grade. Her best friend should be here for her wedding. Mia sighed. But the marriage wasn’t real, so it didn’t matter.
She gestured. “Too many choices. I can’t decide.”
The song on the radio ended, and a new one began. Sam Cooke’s soulful voice sang out, “Cupid …” At that moment, they drove past Cupid’s Wedding Chapel.
“Stop!” Esteban commanded, and the driver obeyed. “The hand of fate directs that you shall be married here.”
They exited the car. Mia groaned at the giant red heart with a neon arrow blazing from the top of the white building. “Cupid, keep your meddlesome little fingers out of my life,” she muttered. “Or risk getting them broken.”
“I beg your pardon, Señorita?” Esteban inquired.
“I said this is the most exciting moment of my life. I can’t wait to go in.”
Dallas lasered her with a cobalt glare before leading the group along a curving sidewalk between a row of feathery palm trees.
Inside the front office, Esteban offered to cover the ceremonial expenses as a gift, but Dallas insisted on paying the five-hundred dollar tab.
His serious sapphire eyes thoughtfully studied rows of rings glittering on black velvet before he finally pointed to matching platinum bands subtly engraved with intertwined vines. “Those all right with you, darlin’?”
She bit her lip. The rings were exactly the same ones she would have chosen. “I like them. Very much.”
The chapel owner smiled, his pride obvious. “It’s one of the last pair my grandfather hand-crafted before he passed away last year. One of a kind. You won’t find these anywhere else in the world.”
“We’ll take them,” Dallas said, reaching for his wallet again.
Mia swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. Why was Dallas being so considerate to a make-believe bride?
After Mia chose her flowers, she left Dallas to finalize the remaining details.
She and Soledad slipped into the bride’s dressing room to change. Wearing Señora Montoya’s gown, Mia examined her reflection. The scalloped V-neck and empire waist flattered her small bust. Over the tailored slip, a closely-fitted sheer lace layer skimmed her hips to overlap a second layer at her knees, which then flared out toward the floor-length hem. Simple and unfussy, but gracefully feminine.
She grinned at her pink argyle Chucks peeking beneath the frothy hem. None of Soledad’s shoes had fit, but somehow Mia’s own familiar sneakers seemed exactly right.
Soledad had donned an elegant, understated chocolate brown sheath. Mia’s impromptu maid-of-honor swept back the right side of Mia’s hair and fastened it with a silver comb wired with dainty deep pink rosebuds. Then Soledad handed her a fragrant bouquet of deep pink and pale pink roses, stems tightly bound with crisscrossed pink satin ribbon.
Suddenly, she looked like a bride.
Mia started to tremble. In a few minutes, she would be married … to a stranger.
“That dress was made for you, Señorita. Please keep it as my wedding gift.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Sí, you must accept. You are muy hermosa. Your groom will wish to make love to you all night long.”
Very beautiful. Mia gripped her bouquet so tightly it was a wonder the stems didn’t snap. If her groom knew what was good for him, he’d keep his hands to himself, and his pants firmly zipped.
And if he didn’t … ?
There’s still time to stop this demented charade.
She squared her shoulders. She’d hit a dead end, and this was the only viable option. Besides, she could manage tall, dark and Texan. “We’d better get out there.”
Mia swung open the door, and strode out to face her future.
As the recorded music began, she stumbled. Why had Dallas chosen Beyonce’s romantic, poignant “Halo” to serenade her walk down the aisle? More false affection for Esteban’s sake?
Blinking away the unexpected pang of sentiment, she followed Soledad along the muted teal carpet. She looked around at brocaded white walls, white pews adorned with sheer white bows, and lacy baskets brimming with roses the color of rich claret. She’d expected tacky Vegas kitsch, but the little chapel was charming.
Lit white tapers flickered on either side of the altar. After a wry glance at the whimsical gold candlesticks of winged Cupids, she finally looked at Dallas. Nerves slammed into her, snatched away her breath.
He’d changed into a black suit jacket and slacks and a white shirt, accented by a navy silk tie that turned his irises into sparkling jewels. Straight and tall, her groom stood in front of a pastel stained glass window with his arms locked at the small of his back, long legs braced wide in an imposing masculine stance. His strong, sculpted features were impassive, his chiseled lips set. Diffused light misted through the luminous tinted glass and glowed around him.
A magnificent pagan warrior awaiting his mate.
Mia shivered, as wracked by chills as if she’d just stepped naked into an ice storm.
What reckless delusion had made her think she could control this man?
Fighting the overwhelming, alien urge to run, she joined him at the altar, barely noticing when Soledad slipped into the pew behind her to sit with Esteban and the bodyguards.
Her groom bent lovingly to purr in her ear. “Second thoughts, sugar? You can put an end to this debacle anytime.”
The soft taunt firmed her resolve. “You wish, McQuade,” she whispered back. “You’re stuck with me.”
His big, warm hand clasped her bloodless fingers. “We’ll see.”
Was that a threat? She didn’t know. Didn’t know much of anything about him.
She raised her chin. She wasn’t about to turn coward now. Wasn’t about to slave away at menial jobs the rest of her days with an ugly black mark staining her reputation. Refused to let ruthless criminals steal her lifelong dream.
This was the only route she had left…other than prison.
From far away, she heard the minister begin, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”
Chapter 5
As the ceremony progressed, one thought began to torment Mia.
Dallas would have to kiss her.
Her pulse slammed into overdrive. She jerked, and he looked down, a question in his glance.
Mia stared into her reluctant groom’s stormy eyes, trying without success to gauge his ire. How angry was he? Would he try to punish her?
Why on earth was she still here?
Not too late. You can still back out.
He’d kissed her in the swing, but the brief pressure of his lips had lifted before she’d even realized his intent. However, she’d been kissed by other guys. The memory of slobbery lips and clumsy tongues provoked an involuntary grimace. But with Esteban looking on like a doting Fairy Grandfather, she had to pretend to enjoy it.
Dallas frowned and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze that did nothing to ease her anxiety.
Suffocated by growing dread, she robotically answered the minister’s questions. Her limbs went cold, her palms damp. She slid Dallas’s ring onto his finger with unsteady hands, his heated skin scorching her chilled fingers.
Then the moment she dreaded rushed to meet her.
“Dallas and Mia, I pronounce you husband and wife. Those whom God has joined together, let no one separate.” The minister paused to bestow a beaming smile. “Dallas, you may kiss your lovely bride.”
Dallas bent toward her. In spite of herself, Mia recoiled. He checked. Glossy brows furrowed. His arm slid around her waist, turning her so his body hid her from their audience, and then he lowered his head, the pause so brief their observers wouldn’t have noticed.
He bent closer. Her heart tried to hammer out of her chest as his lips met hers. Firm and warm … and not at all slobbery. He didn’t try to ram his tongue down her throat, instead, his lips lightly touched her clenched mouth.
Dallas’ hand cupped her cheek. “Relax, Mia,” he whispered. “I won’t force anything on you.”
His gentle words and even gentler touch quelled her panic, and her body went from ramrod stiff to warily tense.
He planted a tiny kiss on each corner of her mouth, then again claimed her lips. He didn’t invade. Didn’t demand. Didn’t take. His mouth cruised over hers sweetly … languidly. Whisper soft, his lips brushed hers and his warm breath feathered her mouth.
His gentleness destroyed her rigid control.
Mia’s eyelids grew heavy, drifted closed. Liquid flame flickered to life in her belly and flowed through every cell, banishing the iciness in a rush of heat. Enveloped in Dallas’ strength, his scent, and his warmth, fears and objections melted. Her lips parted, gladly opening to his gently seeking tongue.
His breathing quickening, he dipped inside, exploring, tasting … cajoling her warm rush of response with heartbreaking tenderness. His hot, compelling, taste intoxicated her, instantly addicted her. Made her yearn for more. Made her crave this shattering connection with every fiber of her being.
Mia’s fingers clutched his lapels, clinging to him. One glorious taste of Dallas McQuade wasn’t nearly enough.
When he finally eased away, a small sound of protest escaped her throat, and for a heartbeat, the same all-consuming flames that burned inside her smoldered in his eyes.
They turned as one, his palm on the small of her trembling back supporting her as he escorted her down the aisle.
Shaking like a palsy victim, legs barely functioning, Mia’s head swam. What had happened to her lifelong indifference to men, her wariness of their deceit?
Dallas’ soft, slow lips had lit the fuse on a chain reaction of stunning sensation. With one kiss, he’d breached all her defenses.
Made her want him more than she’d ever wanted anything.
Her chest constricted. How was she supposed to protect herself? What would stop her from falling at his feet, begging for attention like the helpless, broken female she’d vowed never to become?
Their few guests followed them to the exit, and Esteban clapped enthusiastically. “Now the honeymoon begins, sí?”
She tripped over her own feet, but Dallas’ sure hands shot out and saved her from falling. “No. I …” She struggled to keep her voice level. “I…can’t. We need to get back. I have work and—”
“Nonsense. You deserve a honeymoon. And the eager groom will not wish to wait to claim his bride. Señor Dallas, you have a hotel preference?”
Dallas glanced from Esteban’s jovial grin to Mia’s peaked face. She’d gone pale during the ceremony. Purple smudges under her eyes and her makeshift nap on the plane told their own tale. The little lady looked worn to a frazzle. Eight hours of shut-eye would do her a world of good.
And he’d definitely like some private time with his headstrong, contrary “wife.”
He intended to pry answers out of the woman who’d corralled him into marriage with the tactical ruthlessness of a four star general. Outflanked and outmaneuvered.
He had a sinking suspicion Mia thought that as his wife, she’d get to scope out Esteban’s mansion.
No question in his mind about why he’d married her. After a decade of meticulous ass-busting groundwork, with victory so close he could taste it, he wasn’t about to get fired at the beginning of his third week on Montoya’s payroll. Esteban’s quiet ultimatum had clearly communicated the threat. Marry the “expectant fiancée,” or else.
Dallas rolled his tight shoulders. No problem. Once the deal was wrapped, he’d annul this farce.
In the meantime, he’d use it to his advantage.
“Wherever you’re most secure, sir.”
Montoya chose the Venetian. Esteban and Soledad booked adjoining suites to one another so Carlos and Zane could bodyguard father and daughter. Dallas asked for a suite one floor lower for privacy—again declining Montoya’s offer to pick up the four-hundred plus tab. He’d gotten himself into this with his big mouth. And a little help from a certain intoxicating brunette he’d been trying to defend. He’d spring for the whole fiasco.
He handed over his credit card, praying the cost would only be financial. Bitter experience had taught him that a cold-blooded viper lurked behind Montoya’s kindly paternal image. Before all was said and done, Dallas might have to pay in blood.
And pay, he would. He owed a blood debt.
Check-in completed, Dallas picked up his nylon duffel and Mia’s garment bag. He slid an arm around her waist as their group wove through the crowd toward the elevators. She immediately shifted, breaking contact.
So, they were back to that. He hoped she would trust him more after the kiss in the chapel. After their unexpected, shimmering connection.
His fingers tightened on the bags. Only he knew what maintaining his control during that kiss had cost him. He’d ached to plunder her sweet mouth, and holding back had been agony. But Mia definitely hadn’t wanted the intimacy. At least not at first. Toward the end, her breaths had quickened, her lips gone soft and pliant, her warm, sweet tongue seeking his. She’d returned his kiss with breathless hunger, nearly sending him over the edge. Nearly making him forget what he had to do.
And what he couldn’t do.
He needed her to trust him. He needed to make her spill her secrets so he could find out exactly what she was up to.
It was the only way he could keep her from being murdered.
The entourage paused outside Dallas’ suite. Groaning inwardly at Esteban and Soledad’s expectant smiles, he scooped Mia up and carried her over the threshold.
Inside, he kicked the door shut behind them and glanced around. Decorated in muted gold, rust, and blue, the suite was welcoming and luxurious. The entry foyer had a walk-closet and a full bathroom. The sitting area—complete with wet bar, dining table, couch and fireplace—led into the bedroom and master bathroom, which he assumed contained the Jacuzzi the desk clerk had rhapsodized over. High, arched picture windows overlooked the neon strip glittering behind an enormous, canopy-draped bed. His body tightened. Plenty of room in that bed for a whole different type of maneuvers.
Too bad only Mia would be sleeping there.
“You can put me down now, cowboy,�
�� his bride huffed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Resisting the temptation to drop her on her sassy little ass, he set her on her feet.
She strode to the nightstand, where she deposited her bouquet. Turning her back on him, she stood staring out the window at the radiant red-orange desert sunset.
He followed. “All right, Mia. What’s going on?”
“I’m looking at the sun setting over the strip, it’s spectacular. Have you ever been to Vegas before?”
“Cut the bull, sugar. Why’d you jump at the chance to marry a man you barely know?”
She turned to face him. Dainty winged brows furrowed. “I have my motives.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“No!”
The backwash of relief staggered him. “Thank the Lord for small favors.” Diplomacy evaporated in fatigue and frustration. “Why were you following Soledad?” He took a step toward her, invading her space. “How did you get into Montoya’s estate without being spotted?”
She retreated a step. “I have my ways.”
“Tell me.” He advanced.
She retreated again. “I’d rather not.”
He took another step toward her. She took another back.
He stalked her until she bumped into the wall next to the bed. Planting both hands on the wall beside her head, he leaned in close. “Keep this up, and you’re gonna get hurt.”
Her chin wobbled for a nanosecond. Then her mouth firmed. Glaring up at him, she went rigid. “Maybe. But I’ll go down fighting.”
Dallas stared at the defiant set of Mia’s jaw, the rigid line of her slender shoulders. Slick move, dumbass. Way to get her to talk.
He knew better. He should have waited until they’d eaten and then lulled her into lowering her defenses, not jumped on her like a bulldog on a bone the second they walked through the door. If he located his missing brain cells long enough to put them to use, he could finesse the intel from her.
Disgusted with himself, he straightened, thrusting his fingers though his hair.
Mia flinched. Pivoting, she popped a powerhouse side kick at his kneecap.
He dodged left, barely avoiding the hit. His right hand shot out to grab her wrist. “What was that for?” He spun her around to face him and hauled her close to his chest. “Simmer down.”