Carnal Games

by Titania Ladley

  “He’s a criminal, Mik. How could you allow a man with a criminal record—no telling how long—to move in next door to us?”

  How could you marry one? he chuckled to himself. “Allow? Why, I had no say in the matter,” he insisted, his voice muffled as he reapplied the masked.

  “Oooh, you can be so exasperating!” Tania threw up her hands and plopped her boots back upon the table, crossing them at the ankles. “The man is my husband, for crying out loud!”

  Ah, we’re getting somewhere, Mikhail thought excitedly. “You married a criminal?” he asked with mock incredulity, removing the mask from his face for effect.

  Leaping to her feet, she assaulted him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you give me that innocent routine. You damn well know who he is. And you even gave the murderer—yes, I said murderer—a friggin’ key to my house, didn’t you, Mik? Didn’t you?”

  Mikhail simply grinned and sailed toward his file cabinet.

  “How can you snicker about it, Mik?” she shrieked, bewildered as he fingered lazily through the drawer. “I could be dead by now, since you allowed him to enter my home, my supposed haven of safety, without my knowledge or consent.”

  His response was merely to choose a prized manila file and zip across the room to present it to her. She took it only because he shoved it directly into her lap. “What’s this?”

  Mikhail returned to the sideboard and poured two fingers more of brandy. It was a silent toast of victory. “Just open it and take a look.”

  The file was unmarked and thin. Tania hesitantly opened it, not surprised to see the contents. “It’s my marriage certificate to Powers. What about it?” She’d given it voluntarily to him upon her return home from the wedding, sure it had been her ticket to security. Proof. It had been proof of her compliance with his ludicrous demands.

  “Look closely, dear.”

  Her eyes scrutinized her grandfather, then she returned them to scan the document. Still, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Keep going…” Mik replied coolly, deliberately, “…all the way to the bottom.”

  She did so, her eyes finally coming to rest upon her scrawled signature—and that of her husband. What—who? Sam? Sam Phoenix? “What the hell…?”

  “I think you somehow got your husband’s name in error, my dear.”

  Her eyes rose to snare him with her incredulity. “Who in the hell is Sam Phoenix?”

  “Why, he’s your husband, Tatiana. Hadn’t you already—”

  “You!” she shot from her seat as the file with her marriage document wafted to the floor. “You’re behind this, you…you—” she cut herself off. Her hands fisted at her sides and she ground out, “Oooh! Why did I have to end up with you for a grandfather?”

  When he simply lifted his silver bushy brows, Tania demanded, “Who is he, Mik? And how did this happen?”

  Mik sipped his drink leisurely, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. “Why, Tatiana,” he soothed mockingly. “Aren’t you the one who searched the Internet until you found an inmate on death row who would agree to marry you? Aren’t you the one who, after depositing a sizable sum in his trust account, drove all the way to the penitentiary to marry him? Aren’t you the one who planned on most likely presenting me with a tearful scene later on, explaining how you’d tragically become a widow? Wasn’t it you who—”

  “Enough!” she held up one halting hand to him, the other to her queasy stomach. “Just tell me who he is.”

  “Sam Phoenix is a man who happened to be interviewing your betrothed just before you were to meet him. There was a ruckus, Mr. Phoenix’s clothing was ruined by your inmate, and the warden temporarily loaned Sam some prison garb to wear until they could properly clean his nice suit. They hauled Mr. Powers back to his cell, and…well…stage left, you entered at just the right time to find Mr. Phoenix temporarily wearing prison clothing. The rest is, well, your own history in the making.”

  “Just the right time?” she spat sarcastically, her vision blurring. No. This couldn’t be happening. Mik’s Russian-accented words echoed in her head. She wasn’t a happy widow with a secure future ahead of her. She was a miserable new bride, and her handsome, loathsome husband was now living only a mile or so from her. He—and her lowdown grandfather—had tricked her. The “inmate” she’d married had obviously realized that she had mistaken him for Powers. What kind of fool would marry a stranger at first sight?

  Her stomach roiled. She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I’ll get an annulment,” she mumbled as she choked on her words.

  Mikhail raised her bet one higher. “That’s your prerogative if you want to be disinherited and exiled from the ranch.”

  She was going to be ill, just completely retch all over his sleek wood floor. What kind of fool, indeed. She was that kind of fool, she suddenly realized, and now the joke was on her! But this Sam Phoenix wouldn’t be laughing by the time she was done with him.

  Muffling a cry of sheer self-disgust, she raced from the room.

  Chapter Four

  Fury had never been ridden so hard. As she approached the gate where, only hours before, she’d seen the ghost of her husband for the first time since that day at the prison, she dug her spurs in and forced her mount to leap low over the gate. In the silver of the midnight moonlight, she urged Fury to tear at the earth, and she restrained her anger, setting it aside and allowing it to simmer for a potent scalding of the man who was her temporary husband.

  She would show him. She would show this arrogant Sam Phoenix just who was in control here. Oh, the irony of it all! she thought bitterly. To purposely tie herself to a man without a future, only to find that she was the one without a life ahead of her!

  Nearing the white adobe home with its red-tiled roof, she held Fury back in the shadows and reined in to watch the moving van back into the circle drive. It swerved around the tinkling water fountain and rolled toward the wide stairs that led to the front door. The trucker hopped out of the cab and went to lower a ramp, drawing it up the stairs and setting it upon the top step.

  It was true. Somebody, at the very least, was moving into the Bellows’ estate. Were they moving in at this hour to hide something, to stealthily set up camp under her very nose? She didn’t know, but suspicion festered in her gut like a pus-filled ulcer.

  Tania’s gaze went from the arched wooden double front door to the wrought-iron edged windows, then rose to the matching rail above, which encircled a balcony over the entire front veranda. It was an elegant Spanish-styled home of enormous size, though nowhere near the vastness of her grandfather’s mansion. And though the front was bathed in floodlights, she could see the outline of the rear of the home against the Texas prairie beyond…her land, her territory.

  Urging Fury forward, she took him at a surreptitious pace, and approached the fence near the circle drive. Her nerves were wired. She wound the leather strap of the reins round and round her fist. She waited, she simmered, she spewed inside as she fully expected the new owner to emerge at any moment.

  When he appeared on the terrace immersed in the soft yellow lighting there, Tania pulled back on the reins involuntarily. Tall and built like a lean jaguar, he simply took her breath away. Casually, he crossed the covered patio and met the trucker. He placed his feet in a wide stance and folded his arms over his broad chest. In denim shirt and jeans, he was ruggedly handsome, she silently admitted as her palms tightened over the leather straps in her hands. She watched with narrowed eyes as he threw his sleek head back and roared good-naturedly at something the man said, his cowboy hat remaining firmly in place.

  As the movers became occupied with their task, her body stiffened. Sam’s gaze drifted insolently across the yard, out into the dark of the night…and rested mockingly upon her. For a brief second, she thought she could see the muscles flexing at his jaw, but when his taut features spread into a breathtaking grin, she knew she was in for it.

  He strode toward her through the glow of the elegant lighting, like that jag
uar, lazy, in control, stalking her. As he neared, she could see the mischievous green sparkle of his gorgeous eyes, could swear there was a raw sexuality oozing from them.

  And a reflexive gush of wetness soaked her panties.

  “Howdy, neighbor,” he drawled with exaggeration. He climbed atop the fence that separated them, hooked his boots on the rung below him, then carelessly leaned down to rest his elbows on his knees. “Or should I say, ‘welcome home, wife’?”

  “No, you shouldn’t. I’m getting an annulment,” she blurted out, itching to swipe the smirk from his tanned face.

  “Now, darling,” he mocked. He dropped to the ground and sauntered toward her, coming to stop just at her left thigh. “Is that any way to start a honeymoon?”

  Tania struggled to control her anger, focused on the fine thoroughbred that grazed in the nearby darkened pasture. A waft of clean male scent rose up to assault her. “Don’t start with me. I’m aware you’re in cahoots with my grandfather, which is precisely why I had to resort to marrying a man like you in the first place.”

  She was jerked downward into his embrace before she could blink. Like slamming into a brick wall, she felt the breath leave her, though not due to the impact. Warm and solid and hard in all the right places, he was pure potent masculinity.

  Dizzy, she gripped his tight biceps. “Please,” she breathed heavily. “Don’t.”

  The pleading tone, combined with the fear and vulnerability in her lovely eyes had him lessening his hold. But he refused to release her. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of holding in my arms,” he declared. His lips brushed hers with expert precision. “I don’t think I’ll ever let you go.”

  Why he was doing this to her, he didn’t know. Before sometime in the recent past few minutes, he knew she’d still assumed him to be Royce Powers, and the sound of the man’s name coming from her lips in the throes of passion earlier that night, had made him determined to ante up and tell her everything. But for some odd, twisted reason, he’d damn sure been enjoying himself, knowing she thought him an escaped convict.

  So now she knew the truth of her own making. He sighed and studied her as she trembled with her anger. Ah, but there were obviously going to be more roller coasters to ride with this fascinating woman, because what he’d uncovered about the little spitfire was hardly yawn-inducing material.

  Returning home after the prison wedding, he’d furiously finished his manuscript and sent it packing to the publisher. In the meantime, he’d had a private investigator searching for a one Tatiana Petrov from Austin, Texas. Within the same week, he’d gotten a most intriguing phone call from his new grandfather-in-law, Mikhail Petrov, regarding one particular piece of property that happened to be on the market, and was, according to Mikhail, ironically adjacent to Tatiana’s homeland. It hadn’t taken long for Sam to get things moving.

  Though he’d been surprised to find that she was the heiress to a wealthy rancher—well, that is, she would be if she married and produced heirs of her own—he hadn’t been at all amazed to learn that she was the ranch foreman. Strangely, it fit her, despite the manner in which she oozed that irresistible femininity.

  “Please,” she repeated, her tone rising with a measure of panic. “Please don’t do this to me. I…I want my life to go on as it was. I—this whole fiasco is ridiculous.”

  “It’s your fiasco, darling,” he accused, unable to resist the temptation to still the trembling of her lips with his own. Firmly, he claimed her mouth, sucked the very life from her, and forced her hat to fall back and dangle by its rope down her spine.

  Once again, Tania was thrust into his alluring eroticism. She felt the warm heat suffuse her from the core of her womanhood to the roots of her hair. The sensation of radiance, safety, and utter carnal, blazing heat was too powerful for her to resist. Good Lord, but this man was her husband! Agitated, she struggled against him, denying herself the pleasure of their bodies together, like two bars of hot, melting wax fusing into one. Fear turned to anger, re-igniting the blaze of her ire.

  “I said don’t!” She ground her teeth together and shoved him away from her.

  Remaining at a distance from her, he raked her with his glazed stare and replied, “Since you’ve spoken with Mikhail regarding me, I’m sure you now know I’m not that dangerous criminal you once thought, Tatiana.”

  The sound of her given name on his breath was like soothing, drug-induced music. One thumb hooked in a belt loop, he reached to remove his hat, revealing a full head of blue-black hair tossed rakishly about his head. Nonchalantly, he flung the hat upon a fence post like a game of ring toss. When he lifted a thick forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow, she felt her knees go weak.

  Unable to remove her gaze from him, she croaked, “No, you’re not. You’re even more dangerous.”

  He stepped nearer, lifted a hand to massage the long pale braid. Like twisted silk in his hand, he seemed to savor the feel of it between his fingers. “You’re pretty potent yourself, darling.”

  It was ridiculous, she thought with self-disgust, how the mere touch of her hair could drive a shooting warmth straight to that spot between her thighs. Yanking her braid free, she spat, “You’re a vile, scheming, opportunistic sonofabitch!”

  “Now, now, Tatiana,” he scolded, tsking as he did so. “Do you really want to have your mouth washed out with soap? A lady shouldn’t speak such language.”

  “I’ll not share my ranch with you—and I’m no lady!” Her voice rose and drifted across the inky Texas sky, out into the wilderness that surrounded them.

  One single brow rose mockingly as he lifted a shoulder. “You said that, not me.”

  “Oooh!” She stomped one boot and clamped her jaw like a vise. She heard the ‘splat’ just before she looked down in horror to see her boot planted firmly in the middle of a huge cow pile.

  Sam’s eyes warmed like hot green tea. Amused, he murmured, “Got yourself in a heap of shit, didn’t you, kitten?”

  Aware his words had a dual meaning, Tanya scalded him with a look before bending to pull her foot from the boot and carefully place it on a clear patch of ground nearby. With a disgusted sigh, she asked, “May I please rinse my boot off under your spigot?”

  Sam stepped aside and bowed mockingly, one hand fanning toward the barn. “But of course, my lady.”

  She ignored the jibe and, toting the offending shoe, simply clomped toward the fence one-booted. Sam watched with hooded eyes as she tethered her horse and climbed the gate, presenting him with a most pleasing view of shapely curves straining against snug Levis. So, knowing a victory when he saw one, he followed.

  ***

  Tania knew exactly where the stables were. She’d spent many hours playing here as a child with Bobby Bellows. One late night as teens, they’d fumbled with one another in a dark, hay-filled stall. But groping had been the extent of their accomplishments, and oddly enough, had served to bury any sexual curiosities she’d had at the time. She’d had better things to do, namely learning to run her beloved ranch. But now, she was still, to her private embarrassment, a virgin…with the exception of what he’d done to her at the prison…and in her bed earlier tonight.

  When Tania neared the outside spigot, it was with stunned surprise that she watched a little girl burst through the side door of the house and sprint across the small yard to the stable.

  “Daddy!” the high-pitched voice squealed as the dark-haired tot raced toward Sam. “Guess what I finded today?”

  Tania turned in time to see pure joy spread across Sam’s handsome face. He bent and scooped the small girl up in his arms. He swung her about, then planted her with ease upon his massive shoulders.

  What? What was this all about? Did the kid say ‘Daddy’? He was a…daddy?

  Her stomach flipped. She felt her blood pressure skyrocket. If he was a father, then that meant she was a…a stepmother? Oh, God, no! This couldn’t be happening to her. It was all Mik’s fault, not to mention this boorish ma
n who’d tricked her into marrying him.

  In pure shock, she watched as Sam’s gaze rose up and back so that, in the light spilling out across the yard from the house, he could see the angelic face of the child who rode happily on his shoulders. Her dark, shortly-cropped hair fell forward over her naturally tanned face, and eyes the exact shade of green as her father’s looked lovingly down at him as her tiny arms strained to encircle his head and clasp her fingers below his chin.

  “I saw a arm-dil today,” she sang, bouncing as she did so. “He was big—” she risked lifting her arms to throw them wide in demonstration of size “—and bwown. And he had a funny-wooking nose. I like it here, Daddy. We really gonna wiv here ’stead of Dal-was, Daddy? Huh, Daddy?”

  “Yes, Alexa, we’re really going to live here instead of Dallas,” he assured her, swinging her from his shoulders into his arms so that her tiny body was pressed against the wall of his chest. “And it’s ‘armadillo,’ not arm-dil. Now you stay away from those when you see one. They can be vicious and hurt you if you mess with them.”

  Her eyes, like huge green mints in her tiny heart-shaped face, swelled with fear. She threw her arms around his neck and laid her head on his beefy shoulder. “I don’t wanna be hurt, Daddy,” she whined, her eyes darting into the darkness beyond where, earlier that day, she’d been happily chasing the 'mean' creature.

  At the girl’s words, Tania was assailed with memories. Memories of fear, memories of sharp cold and dull hunger pains. Suddenly, she yearned to take the child into her own arms and soothe her, reassure her that she had nothing to fear, no uncertainties. She abruptly ached to protect this child from the worries brought on by that world beyond the ranch—and the realization of her own swift response frightened her. She didn’t know the first thing about caring for a child. It wasn’t her place to reach out and coddle, she coaxed herself silently, even as her hands flexed and opened with her restraint. She may be a stepmother, technically, but she’d make a terrible mother.