But not Sierra. She let his tirades blow over her like so much hot air. Then she did what he wanted. They hit it off.
At the end of the week he said, “Let me know when you come back to New York.”
When she did, he asked her to work with him. Her reputation grew. Not just for her ability with hair, but for her ability to deal with temperamental photographers, demanding ad agency reps, commercial clients, and the occasional prima donna model.
She was in demand—professionally and personally.
There were always plenty of men wanting to take her out. For years she’d gone—always hoping to find the one man she’d want to be with for the rest of her life.
But she’d never found him. And eventually she’d stopped thinking so much about it. She learned to love what she did, to be content with her life, to savor her friendships, to enjoy the dates she did go out on without looking for happily ever after.
Then along came Dominic.
He did to her heart, to her body, to her mind what legions of Skip Grimes clones had not. Mariah’s corporate shark of a brother-in-law was the one man who’d ever made Sierra’s heart beat faster, her brain sizzle, and her hormones sing.
What were there, eight million men in New York City?
Why him?
She’d tried to resist. She’d steered well clear of Dominic Wolfe after the day she’d bearded him in his office where she’d gone to learn Rhys’s whereabouts. And even when she hadn’t been able to stay totally away from him, like at Mariah’s shower, she’d made it a point not to spare him a glance.
Or she’d tried not to.
It was like trying not to think of giraffes. It was all she’d thought of. Finally, at Mariah’s and Rhys’s wedding reception, even though she’d done her best to avoid him, the inevitable happened. They had to dance with each other. Rhys’s best man, Mariah’s maid of honor. And then, of course, they’d drunk champagne.
And danced more. And stared into each other’s eyes. And finally had gone to that motel room, determined to get each other out of their systems.
It hadn’t worked for Sierra.
Nor for Dominic either, apparently.
So now they were married. For better or worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health.
“In bed and out of it,” Sierra muttered.
In her gut and in her heart she still thought she’d made the right decision.
She just needed to do her darnedest to make sure Dominic thought so, too.
In the meantime, though, she had something to give to Pammie.
Pammie didn’t believe it.
Pammie stared at the check Sierra handed her, then she blinked, and stared again. Her jaw sagged and all the color drained from her face. “It’s not real,” she said. “It can’t be real.” Her fingers shook. She seemed almost to gasp for air.
“It’s real,” Sierra assured her. “I was at the bank when they cut it. It’s made out to me, but it’s for you—for Frankie—for the transplant.”
“You’re not serious,” Pam said promptly, then looked at Sierra again and said, jaw sagging, “You are.” Her breath seemed to almost rattle out of her. “Good lord.”
Then as if she just that moment realized they were still standing in the open doorway, she grabbed Sierra and hauled her into her apartment, glancing over her shoulder toward Frankie’s bedroom
“How did you—?” She studied the check again. “Who’s Dominic Wolfe? And why did he loan you the money?”
“He didn’t loan it. He gave it to me.”
“Gave it to you? Why? In exchange for what?” Pam looked suddenly equal parts nervous and urgent. “What’s he going to do to you?”
“Nothing! Nothing I don’t want him to do,” Sierra qualified. “It’s all right. We…we made a deal.”
“What deal?”
Sierra shrugged. “I married him.”
Pam’s mouth opened. And shut. She looked appalled and horrified and then she shook her head fiercely. She thrust the check back at Sierra who put her hands behind her back. “Well, you’re not going to do it! Never. You won’t. I won’t let you! Not even for Frankie. I—”
“Pammie,” Sierra said gently, reaching out and folding Pam’s fingers over the check. “It’s done. I already have.”
Her friend’s fingers started to tremble, to crumple the check. Her eyes welled. “Oh, Sierra! How could you?”
“How could I not?” Sierra said simply. For Frankie she would have done a lot more terrifying things than marrying Dominic. She was actually feeling pretty good about marrying Dominic. “And stop mashing it! It’s real. We’ll go cash it at lunch, okay?”
Pam didn’t seem to be able to talk. But at least she nodded her head, then swallowed. “You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely.”
Tears welled in Pam’s eyes. “Oh, my God, you’re a life saver!” And she threw her arms around Sierra, and Sierra felt the other woman’s body trembling. “I kept telling myself,” Pammie babbled, “that if I prayed hard enough, trusted enough, bargained enough… But I didn’t expect you to be part of the bargain, Sierra!”
Sierra smiled. “This is my bargain. I wanted to do it.”
“Who is he?”
“My brother-in-law’s brother.”
Pam gaped.
“It’s not incest!” Sierra said hotly.
“I know! I’m just…just…surprised. He’s not the brother-in-law who’s an arrogant jerk, then?” She remembered Sierra muttering more than once about Rhys’s bossy know-it-all brother.
“Er, well…he has one or two redeeming qualities,” Sierra muttered, cheeks burning.
“He is the jerk!”
“Yes, but he’s not only a jerk!” Sierra protested. “Besides it was his idea!”
“He just walked up to you yesterday and said, ‘Let’s get married?’”
“Actually, he did.”
Pammie’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because he’s madly in love with me?” It was a joke, of course. But Pammie didn’t hear that.
She looked vastly relieved. But still she said, “You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Sierra lied briskly. “Now I’m just off to work. But I’ll be back this afternoon and we can deposit the check. Is Frankie awake?”
“Yes. Go on in. He’ll be really glad to see you. He missed you last night. Star Trek,” she reminded Sierra.
Sierra banged her palm against her forehead. “I forgot.” Two evenings a week Frankie, Pam and Sierra watched old Star Trek videos. “We had to go out with his father,” she explained. “I’ll try not to miss the next one. Put the check away. I’ll go say hi to Frankie.”
Frankie was eight. When Sierra had moved into the apartment at the other end of the hall he had been a five-year-old bundle of energy—all arms and legs and boundless enthusiasm, his dark hair forever mussed, his blue eyes alight with excitement as every day he stopped by Sierra’s flat and told her about his adventures.
In the past year and a half his adventures had become less physical. He’d been home more, in school less. But the adventures he told her had become no less enthralling. He had created his own cast of characters and provided adventures for them. He wrote the stories on the computer, then printed and illustrated them. Frankie had his mother’s skill with a pen and pencil.
He was at his desk already, even though it was just past eight. He was still in pajamas, but he was intent on his work, his head bent over his paper.
When he heard her footsteps he turned, and a grin lit his face. “Hey, Sierra. Come see! I’m makin’ the most humungous tree house! It’s got a sun porch an’ a movie theater an’ a hangin’ staircase.” He jabbed the paper in front of him.
Frankie’s characters always lived in great places—detailed places that were masterpieces of fantasy and engineering that were actually even more fascinating than the adventures they had.
Sierra crossed the room and bent to study his latest creation. “Wow
. I’d like to live in a place like that.” She ruffled a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.
“Pretty neat, huh? I’ll build you one someday,” Frankie promised. “A real one. When I’m an architect.”
When he was an architect…
That was his true love. For all that he created fanciful stories, the houses were a bigger passion. Becoming an architect was Frankie’s dream. The day she’d first met him, he’d said, “I’m gonna be an architect.”
“When I’m an architect…” was almost a daily refrain.
Lately just hearing those words hurt and made Sierra worry that they might not come true. But today they didn’t pain her the way they had. Now she could actually smile and tap the end of his nose and say, “A house like that? I’m going to hold you to it, buddy.”
Frankie grinned. Then he sobered. “You missed Star Trek last night.”
“I had to go out.”
“Where?”
“To dinner with a…with a friend.” She would explain about Dominic later. Now she gave him a tap on the nose. “I’ll catch you later, pal. Gotta run. Got to be uptown in—yikes!—twenty minutes.”
Pam was waiting in the living room, her cheeks aglow with color for the first time since the doctor had told her Frankie needed a transplant a month ago. Since then she’d been looking like her world was crumbling around her feet. Now she looked nervous, worried, and just the tiniest bit hopeful.
And when Sierra came back into the room, Pammie clutched her hands and started to cry.
“Stop that!” Sierra commanded, horrified. She snatched a tissue from the box on the desk and thrust it at Pammie. “Stop it right now!”
“I can’t help it. I know you said he loves you, but do you love him? It’s like you’re selling your soul and I’m just…just…letting you!”
“Of course I love him,” Sierra said, and wondered if she was lying or not. “I’m not selling my soul! I’m giving Frankie a chance. Dominic is giving Frankie a chance.”
“And you’ll be all right?” Pam was still worried.
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to live in a posh apartment and be Mrs. Dominic Got Rocks. How could I not be fine?”
“Money isn’t important,” Pammie protested, then had the grace to look abashed because they both knew that in this case—in Frankie’s case—it was.
Sierra gave her friend a gentle hug. “I know that. Dominic knows it, too.” At least she hoped he did.
Still Pammie shook her head and dabbed at her eyes.
Sierra gave her one last squeeze. “I have to get to work. I’m going to be late. I’ll see you later. Call your doctor and tell him it’s a go.”
“So, did you get a wife?” Shyla grinned as Dominic strode in.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” He gave her a blithe smile as he breezed through the reception area, grabbed his mail off her desk and strode into his office. Over his shoulder he saw Shyla staring after him openmouthed.
He shut the door and it banged right open again.
“Who?” Shyla demanded. She’d been his secretary for seven years. She knew him as well as anyone. She didn’t stand on ceremony with her boss.
“You don’t know her,” he said brusquely.
“Not the persistent Marjorie then.” Shyla had been deflecting Marjorie for him. Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do, grab the first woman you met?”
“No.” He made a pretense of riffling through his mail, hoping if she was ignored, she’d go away.
She didn’t budge. “Who?” she asked again.
“Her name’s Sierra,” he said finally when it was clear she wasn’t moving until he answered.
“And who is Sierra? Sounds sort of familiar?” Shyla got a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were mentally going back through all the women in Dominic’s address book.
“My sister-in-law’s sister,” he said grudgingly.
Shyla’s eyes went round. “The purple-haired one?” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Dominic glared. “She’s a stylist. It’s her image.”
Shyla wiped the astonishment off her face. “Of course,” she said solemnly, but her eyes were twinkling and her lips were twitching.
“You liked her!” Dominic reminded her sharply.
“I said she was the only woman I’d met who could back you down,” Shyla agreed, nodding her approval once more.
“Not the only one, obviously,” Dominic replied dryly. “There’s you.”
“Besides me,” Shyla said cheerfully. Then she grinned. “You and Sierra. How about that?” She looked positively gleeful. “I’ll bet Daddy had a cow.”
“Close,” Dominic admitted.
Shyla laughed. “I’d like to have seen it. Good for you.” Then she sobered. “But surely you didn’t marry her just to annoy your father. Did you?” she pressed when he didn’t reply at once.
Dominic glowered at her. “Of course not!” There was the sex, too, but he didn’t see any reason to be specific.
Shyla looked relieved. She nodded, smiling, and gave him a quick hug. “Then, congratulations. I’m so happy you’ve fallen in love at last.”
In love? Dominic blanched. Not quite! But he didn’t think a denial was what Shyla wanted to hear. Edgily Dominic stepped away and pulled out one of the letters from the mail pile. “Get me the file on Harker,” he told her. “This is a business. We have work to do.”
And God knew he tried, for the entire day, to do it.
He studied the Harker file, twisted his tie around his fingers, and found instead that he wasn’t thinking about Harker but about Sierra’s activities with his tie the previous night.
He tossed the file aside. Obviously he needed to do something, not just read. So he paced his office, trying to compose a reply, something about the advances of the communications industry, but his mouth went dry as all he seemed to able to think about was the ways Sierra had communicated her desire.
He slammed his fist into his other palm. Then he punched the intercom, and told Shyla to bring the letters she’d finished so he could read and sign them.
He saw—but scarcely read—the words on the page. In his mind he was seeing instead images of Sierra’s parted lips, her creamy skin, that tiny dusting of freckles just above her breasts.
“Damn it!” He jumped out of his chair again and stood, hands braced on the desk, head bent, as he took deep lungfuls of air and tried to get her out of his mind.
He couldn’t.
But not because he was in love with her, like Shyla thought! Absolutely not. It was just his libido. Hormones. All that testosterone which finally had someplace to go!
He wondered if Sierra was up yet. Maybe he could ring her, get her to meet him at his place for a quickie. God! What was he thinking? He never thought things like that!
Well, not never. Today, it seemed, he did.
All the while his assistant Kent Traynor discussed the Harker buyout with him, Dominic’s mind wandered. He found himself idly staring at Traynor’s solid navy tie and wondering if his wife had ever—
“—don’t you think?”
“What?” Dominic jerked back to the moment, aware that he felt oddly flushed and disoriented.
“Think it’s a good deal,” Traynor was saying. “The Harker buyout,” he clarified when Dominic didn’t reply at once.
“Oh. Yes, yes. Yes, I do.” Which he supposed he did, based on what he’d read in the file yesterday. He sure as hell hadn’t been able to focus on it this morning.
“So we should go ahead?” Traynor got to his feet.
“What? Oh, yes, I suppose we should.” Dominic checked his watch, still wondering if he would have time for Sierra before a one-thirty meeting.
“I’ll get right on it then,” Traynor said happily.
“You do that,” Dominic said and reached for the phone.
She wasn’t home. He supposed she might have gone to his place, but Lupe, his cleaning lady, said there was no one else there. Disgruntled, he called her agent.
“Of course I know where she is,” he said. “Right where she’s supposed to be. At Gibson Walker’s.”
“Until when?”
“Until they’re finished, of course.”
Dominic ground his teeth. “How far ahead is she booked?” Then, hearing the answer, he said, “Unbook her.”
“What?”
“She’s got other things to do.”
“What?”
“She’s on her honeymoon,” Dominic said and banged down the phone.
He was in Gibson Walker’s reception room, when she came out of the studio that evening. Toby Hart, one of the models, had his arm looped over her shoulder and was feeding her one of his ritual lines of bull when she spied Dominic across the room.
He was tapping his foot and glancing at his watch and glaring in annoyance at Edith, Gib’s office manager, who stood guarding the inner door with the ferocity of a pit bull.
Sierra smiled. “Hey. Hi!”
“Who’s that?” Toby asked.
“My, um, husband?” It wasn’t supposed to sound like a question, but somehow it did.
Toby hooted. “A husband? Our Sierra has a husband?” He started to laugh.
Dominic stepped up and with deceptive casualness removed Toby’s arm from her shoulders and replaced it with his own. His fingers felt like steel as they curved into her upper arm. “She has a husband,” he said with steely smoothness.
Toby grinned, still thinking it was a joke.
Then, “You’re late,” Dominic growled.
Sierra blinked. “For what?”
“This.”
Before she realized what was happening, his lips were on hers. It was a humdinger of a kiss. Fierce, passionate, possessive.
It said, “She’s mine,” in no uncertain terms. And Sierra, eyes flickering open for an instant, saw that Toby had received the message. As had Edith and Gibson, and Charlee and Cara and Dave, the other models, Sebastian, the ad agency rep, and Lisa, the makeup artist. They stood in a clump in the studio doorway, jaws sagging, as Dominic staked his claim.
The Inconvenient Bride Page 6