The Marriage Solution

by Megan Kelly

  Tara had both kids in their beds. Jimmy had viewed the night as an adventure, which Dylan knew would wear off. Lily had settled in bed easily for a change. Tara was showering off the long day—and that was as far he would travel with that train of thought. He’d probably go to work Monday having had his first decent night’s sleep in a month, despite it being his honeymoon weekend.

  Life was good.

  Especially when Tara joined him after retrieving a pop from the fridge, her silver hair wet and her yellow terry-cloth robe short. He cleared his throat and forced his gaze away from her legs. Would not, could not, or damned I am, he misquoted Christopher’s favorite classic book.

  She sank onto the couch and tucked her feet under her. He liked how she made herself comfortable with him.

  “The move went well,” she said.

  “Very. Here’s to smooth sailing every day.” He held his bottle out and smiled when she brushed her can against it, reminiscent of their toast the evening before.

  “You do like to tempt fate,” she chided.

  If he wanted to do that, he’d pull her still damp body into his arms and investigate under that robe. He’d see how her Diet Coke tasted with his Corona. He’d test her willingness to play some adult games.

  He’d ruin everything.

  So he tamped down those urges, which he figured he’d be doing a lot of for the duration of their marriage. Hopefully, going through the day-to-day sameness of life together with kids would make him less aware of her as a woman.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in my bed?”

  Dylan choked, spitting beer as he straightened.

  “Sorry.” Tara grinned. “I meant that we could switch.”

  “No, I got it. Just took a minute. And yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

  She eyed the length of him. His groin tightened. Dammit. That familiarity thing better set in quick before he did something stupid.

  “You’re pretty long for a fold-out bed. I would fit better.”

  He groaned inwardly. If he didn’t have his mind in the gutter—or more correctly, in her robe—he wouldn’t be interpreting her words as sexual come-ons. Her expression radiated innocence. Maybe she didn’t think of him that way.

  Part of him wanted to prove her wrong. His brain told him to cool it. “No, I’ll be fine. Uh, sounds like you got the kids down.”

  “I admit, I’m surprised. Although Lily’s so excited, I don’t think she’s asleep yet. I thought Jimmy would be more troubled. He’s never had to share me at home.” She yawned. “I’m sorry. I hope you sleep well, but if you don’t, please let me know. I wouldn’t complain about sleeping on the couch. It’s just my size.”

  She wouldn’t have any complaints if he were with her. He’d see to her complete satisfaction. “Tara.”

  She rose, avoiding him, perhaps seeing his thoughts reflected in his eyes or hearing them in his voice. “I’d best get to bed. Sleep.”

  He stood. “There will be awkward times, while we get used to living together.”

  “Right.” Her sigh sounded like relief. “But we’ll get through them if we remember why we’re here.”

  He stepped closer, pleased when she didn’t step away. “We’re a team. I want to thank you for agreeing to this. I know it’ll work out for both of us.”

  Tara halted him with her palm out, a millimeter from his chest. “Whoa. I know how you tend to thank me. Let’s just shake hands.”

  He laughed. “Shake hands? What is this, an international banking deal?”

  “Let’s pretend it is.”

  “Scared of a little thank-you kiss?”

  “Not at all.” She smirked. “Thank-you kisses are given on the cheek.”

  “Is that so?” He’d meet her challenge and show her what he could do with a simple kiss. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her closer.

  She turned her head to present her cheek.

  Dylan swept his lips across it, then glided near her ear, up to her temple, down to her jaw. Her peach-scented skin made his brain fuzzy. He felt her shiver as her skin heated, and he heard her breathing pick up. She stood still under his caress, safe in their agreement. He put a lot of effort into the kiss, only to discover his own breathing coming more rapidly and his heart racing.

  Over a kiss on the cheek?

  “Dylan.” Tara stepped back, tightening the belt on her robe. A dead giveaway to her nervous state.

  “Thank you,” he said, amused to goad her.

  She shook her head at him. “You’re welcome. And let’s leave it at that.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You can’t kiss me if we’re going to live together.”

  He didn’t care for the finality of her tone. “Is that an ultimatum?”

  “Take it as you like. Those are my conditions.”

  He watched her march down the hall after setting the rules. As much as it galled him, he had to admit she was right. Kissing her, breathing in her clean scent and feeling the warmth of her damp skin after her shower night after night would be hell on earth.

  He settled on the couch, wondering how he’d ever sleep in pajamas. Driven crazy by the scents and images of a desirable, untouchable woman in the house, he doubted he’d sleep at all.

  Yet, that night and the next, he had no problem.

  He didn’t stir as Tara stopped at his doorway Monday morning, frowning with concern over his cramped position. She’d give him a couple of days and then offer to take the pullout bed again. His rumpled hair begged for her fingers to comb through it. His body would be warm, even though he’d kicked off most of the sheet covering him, exposing a long, muscled male form in stiff, new, navy cotton pajamas. The straining buttons tempted her with a tuft of dark chest hair, and the top of his pants showed a smooth, pale hip bone. She took in his bent limbs and tried not to let his sacrifice soften her resolve. Unhappy with the results, or lack thereof, she quietly turned to get the kids out of bed.

  “We’re really going to school together?” Lily whispered at the dining-room table, munching dry cereal.

  At least Tara didn’t have to remind her to be quiet. She’d shushed Jimmy several times, until he finally understood the game of “Don’t Wake Dylan.” Tara had promised him a kiss and a hug if they could get out of the house undetected.

  Which they did.

  Dylan woke to the smell of maple syrup. Lily? He bolted upright, thinking of the stove and fire. How had she—? Then he remembered. He checked his general state of dress and declared himself decent, only to find the house empty. Disoriented, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been by himself. Lily had become such a major part of his life, he felt her absence as though he were a lone shipwreck survivor. He found only remnants of the others. Wet washcloths hanging on the towel bar. Rinsed plates, glasses and a bowl in the dishwasher. A drip of syrup and the tab from a box of frozen waffles on the counter.

  His family was gone.

  Dylan jerked from the thought. Lily was gone. As were the other people who lived here, who were not his family. He couldn’t afford to get attached. He and Tara would be getting an annulment in three to six months.

  Crap. He’d hoped enlisting Tara to help Lily would end his problems, not create new ones. If he got involved with anyone, it wouldn’t be with his child’s “nanny,” regardless of the minor detail of their marriage. He not only depended on her, but he couldn’t escape after their affair ended. She’d be here every day.

  He certainly wouldn’t get romantic with a single mother, given that when he thought of Rosemary, it brought the pain she’d caused bubbling up to the surface. But at the moment, he still had these bizarre, unsettling feelings.

  “What the hell am I supposed to make of this?” he asked the empty room.

  There was no answer.

  TARA MET DYLAN at the door that night, a little unnerved to have someone in her home.

  “I brought in the mail,” Dylan said. “I hope that’s okay.”

>   Tara shrugged. “That’s fine. I usually leave it on my desk if that works for you.”

  “Sure.” He handed her a pile of envelopes.

  In between the bills and donation pleas from charities lay a personal letter. Tara didn’t recognize the handwriting and there was no return address.

  After slitting it open, she removed a photograph. “Oh, my God.”

  Dylan peered over her shoulder before she finished speaking. “That’s the two of us.”

  Kissing.

  Tara felt frozen. “Where was this taken?”

  “Looks like it’s outside the courthouse,” Dylan said. “Remember? You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Very funny.” She did recall the moment. “But no one was with us. Who took this? Who even knew we were there?”

  Dylan blew into the envelope. “There’s a sliver of paper.” He removed it. “It’s a note.”

  Congratulations. We thought you’d appreciate a memento.

  J. Albert and Marnie Summerfield

  Tara’s fingers went numb. “Jay’s parents. But how did they know we were there? Even your mom didn’t know until that morning.”

  Dylan shot her a look. “My guess is you’re being followed. I’d say the Summerfields hired someone to follow you.”

  She covered her mouth. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Who gets followed around? We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “They want to gather evidence for their case. Their investigator must have been trailing you and got lucky that day when we left the day care.”

  “Lucky? Huh. We’re going to have to be careful in public.”

  “Or…” Dylan pursed his lips, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Or what? That calculating gleam in your eye scares me.”

  “Don’t be afraid.” He flashed a grin. “I’m on your side, after all.”

  “Okay, so what are you plotting?”

  “What do you say we use this shadow to our advantage?” Dylan took her hand. “Would you like to go out on a date? It’s about time we took this relationship public.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you think I should call your mom again?” Tara asked two nights later as dinner progressed. Being in the middle of the restaurant—a table Dylan had requested as most visible—in the nicest, second-most-expensive restaurant in town gave her the willies. She’d left behind her life of paparazzi and having every action watched. Extremely rich families held a certain fascination for some people. She’d never understood it and had never considered it anything more than an annoying part of her life as a teenager. Suddenly, it took on a much more sinister aspect.

  How could anyone recognize them in the candlelit room? She could barely see the food on her plate.

  “I’m sure Mom has everything under control,” Dylan replied. “She runs a day care, for Pete’s sake.”

  Tara nodded. She wasn’t used to swanky places anymore, and the Allegro was as swanky as Howard got. She almost longed for a drive-through cheeseburger. If toys came with their meals, the patrons of this restaurant would have something more entertaining to do than to stop by and say hello to her and Dylan. The only people she knew in Howard were from the day care, not many of whom could afford to be regular customers here. Dylan had only returned to town in the past few years, though, and quite a few friends of the Ross family stopped by to see him or to congratulate them on their wedding.

  A check of her wristwatch declared it already 9:00 p.m. “What if Lily is crying?”

  Dylan took her hand, gazing into her eyes like the lover he wasn’t. Not with her, at any rate. “Tara, my darling bride, please stop worrying about the children.”

  She smiled back, trying on a moonstruck expression. “Husband dear, let go of my hand so I don’t have to kick you under the table.”

  He chuckled and released her. Cutting his steak offered a natural cover for his action. Fortunately, the white-clothed tables sat far enough away from one another that conversations could remain private. Many a marriage had been proposed here, which was why Dylan chose it as the most romantic place in town to be seen.

  “Who do you think it is?” Tara asked in a low voice. She shot surreptitious glances around the room.

  “Who do I think what is?”

  “The P.I. following me. Or us. Have you seen anyone taking pictures? I thought there was a flash earlier.”

  Dylan shook his head. “There could have been. Someone is celebrating an anniversary a couple of tables behind you. Your stalker might be using that event as cover to take pictures of you.”

  She shuddered. “Don’t call him a stalker. He’s probably a nice, harmless grandfather making ends meet.”

  “If that’s what you want to believe. We should give him a couple of money shots.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Money shots? In my misspent youth, that meant I should flash him. I’m too mature for that now, thank goodness.”

  “Amen to that. Wait. Are there any pictures left of you doing that?”

  “Very funny. And no.” She hoped not.

  “Darn. Anyway, I meant let’s give him something worthwhile for his time. I don’t recall a Lovers’ Leap, but isn’t there still someplace where the kids go to neck?”

  “How would I know? And I wouldn’t go anyway. The point is to be out in public, not to sneak off alone.”

  “Then you’ll have to put up with this.” He rose and extended his hand. “Will you dance with me?”

  Her face heated. “Oh, jeez.”

  Him standing in the middle of the room, hand out, drew gazes their way. Refusing him, as she wanted to, would also garner attention. She hoped her smile disguised her gritted teeth as she placed her hand in his and let him assist her to her feet.

  She squeezed his hand, hard, as she leaned closer. Passing the other tables meant she needed to whisper her objection. “I was eating.”

  “The food will still be there. Tonight—” he spoke against her cheek “—isn’t about eating.”

  “Trust me,” she said as she turned into his arms on the cozy tile dance floor, “I’ll be returning to the table after this one song. This place is outrageously out of my price range these days, and the food is too delicious to waste.”

  His arms enfolded her waist and Tara laid her hands against his strong, hard chest.

  “Relax,” he said into her hair. “You’re supposed to be crazy about me.”

  Tara met his gaze and trailed a fingertip across his chin, just missing the corner of his lips. His eyes darkened.

  “No one is that good of an actress.”

  His smile flashed before his teeth nipped at her finger, which she snatched away. “Some women would disagree.”

  He took her hand and brought the offended finger to his lips, then slid it inside his mouth. And sucked. Tara swallowed.

  “Some women,” he continued as he folded her hand in his against his heart, “consider me quite the catch.”

  “Then how lucky I was to catch you.”

  He blinked in surprise, and she jerked her head toward a couple to her right, who were now close enough to overhear.

  “We were both lucky,” Dylan said. “Have I thanked you today for marrying me?”

  “Not yet.”

  His head dipped toward hers. “Then I’ll thank you twice as thoroughly later.”

  The deep timbre of his voice suggested intimacy but carried to those nearby. Tara could have sworn the knees of the other woman dancing buckled momentarily. She could empathize. Her own legs threatened to fold, tumbling both her and Dylan to the floor. Her more base nature wanted to take over.

  Lust. She wanted to blame the wine. She wanted to blame Dylan’s improper expertise. She wanted to blame the romantic atmosphere in the restaurant, or their charade, or the look in his eyes.

  Mostly she wanted to take him home and explore his body.

  “That sounds delightful,” she said. “I’ll hold you to it.”

  A slow burn ignited her insides
as his body responded.

  “Definitely hold me to it,” he agreed. “To it, against it, inside it.”

  “We have all night,” she whispered. “And I want dessert.”

  “Me, too.”

  Tara shook her head, unable to stop a smile. Those women he knew were right—he was good at being naughty.

  They returned to the table, his hand low enough on her back to be suggestive. And to affect her mental balance, if not her physical. For the rest of the meal, his gaze stayed on hers. He forked a piece of steak into his mouth, closed his lips around the utensil, and slid it out slowly, wickedly, eyes flirting with hers. One of his hands would find hers, hold it, run his fingers across her skin. By the time dessert came, she couldn’t remember what she’d ordered. It said something about the talent of the chef that she even tasted the double fudge amaretto cake.

  She rose to go home with Dylan and excused her light-headedness as a sugar rush.

  The humidity wrapped them with lazy longing, and being in the dark car alone intensified the intimacy. She didn’t know what to say, how to break the spell or whether she wanted to. Perhaps he felt nothing. Maybe he was simply quiet, plotting their next social foray.

  Tara peeked at him. Strong hands lazed against the steering wheel. He sprawled in his seat, the picture of ease.

  She couldn’t believe it. Had his entire amorous male display just been an act?

  They walked into the darkened house together. Brushing past him, Tara thought she heard his sharp inhale. Maybe the entire thing hadn’t been an act. The thought made her smile with both relief and power.

  “Mom.” Dylan greeted Betty with too much enthusiasm, though he kept his voice quiet for the kids’ sakes. “How did everything go?”

  “Fine.” Betty picked up the novel she’d brought and stuffed it in her canvas tote bag. “The children get along together very well. Lily went to bed asking for you, Tara, but it didn’t take half an hour to get her quieted down. I’ve had more trouble with Paul.”

  “Paul?” Tara looked between her husband and mother-in-law. “Isn’t he the gentle one?”