by Renee Roszel
Everyone laughed uproariously. Even Lucy managed to smile, but her heart wasn’t in it She had fine-tuned every fiber of her being to listen for Jack’s return.
At nine o’clock sharp, she heard the sound of his approaching car, of the front door opening, of masculine footsteps entering the parlor. She swallowed. He was here. A soft, husbandly kiss on her cheek told her that Jack was leaning over the back of the sofa. She knew he was doing it for the “pretense” she’d promised to go along with through the weekend.
What pretense! her mind screamed.
Preparing for his return, she’d planned for the past two hours, so she managed to put a hand on his when he rested his palm on her shoulder. And she managed to turn to him with a loving smile. “Hi, darling,” she said brightly. “Everything work out?”
He smiled back, but she could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Yes.” He straightened, drawing his fingers from her touch. “I got a good deal.”
“How marvelous for you, love,” she cooed.
His eyes widened a fraction.
She patted the sofa. “Join us? Damien’s telling some very funny stories.”
He surveyed the room, his grin seemingly easy. “Maybe later. I need a shower. Long day.”
“You go shower, lover.” She threw him a kiss that he didn’t catch, and she wondered why. His smile had dimmed. For a man who’d married her behind her back, he certainly wasn’t acting much like a new husband. Anger surging, she added sweetly, “Don’t be surprised if I join you.”
He blinked, scanned the group again. When he returned his gaze to hers, he nodded. “There’s an idea.” His grin was rakish and debilitating, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Even though his message was mixed, she could feel the effects of that smile all the way to her toes. What was running through his dishonorable, un-trustworthy, totally diabolic mind? She was at a loss, but she darn well intended to get to the bottom of it.
“Oh, lack,” Elissa called as he headed out the door. “Jule wanted me to tell you she and Hirk loved the all-expenses-paid weekend in the bridal suite at the Springfield Hilton. She said it was the closest thing they’ve had to a honeymoon.”
He turned, nodded, but his expression was serious. “It was the least I could do.” Without further comment, he turned away and was gone.
“Hmm,” Elissa pondered aloud. “He doesn’t look all that happy.”
“He’s tired,” Helen said, snuggling under Damien’s arm. “He’s had a lot going on lately.”
“I don’t think he looks well,” Stadler commented.
“You should ever look so well,” Elissa said with a short laugh. “Now, Damien, go on. Tell us about that Russian prince you interviewed, the one who had that hidden ‘sex chamber’ in his castle. I’m dying for details.”
As Damien enthralled the rest of the group, Lucy peeked at the mantel clock. Her timing had to be perfect. She’d had two hours to formulate her strategy. At first, she’d been furious, but then she’d realized that a true marriage with Jack was what she wanted. She loved him, but did he love her?
Why else would he marry her? But if he loved her, then why his reluctance to act like a husband? He’d had plenty of chances. He’d slept in her bed. And the shower fiasco! She could strangle him for that alone. But most confusing of all—what was going on with Desiree?
The whole situation was so bizarre, she didn’t know what to think. She had to hear from Jack’s own lips why he’d lied to her and tricked her. And if he loved her, he was darned well going to say so.
And soon.
She felt like a fool. How dare he play the kindly, sacrificing friend when he was her husband all the time? A woman had the right to be coy and reticent, to be pursued by the man she loved—not rejected at every turn. Irritated by his unfathomable game, she had spent the past two hours devising her revenge.
The clock struck nine-fifteen. Time to make her move. She stood abruptly, drawing Damien’s gaze. He stopped in the middle of a sentence. “Leaving us?”
She nodded, faking a smile. “I forgot to tell Jack something.” She made a quick exit, hoping her demeanor seemed normal. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Damien resume his story.
When she got downstairs, the shower was no longer running, but she could hear Jack in the bathroom. She stood before the door, her heart pounding against her ribs so hard she feared the protective bones would be pulverized. Her body shook with panic, but she knew she had to hit him hard and fast where it hurt. And the time was now.
Grabbing the doorknob, she pushed it open and barged inside. Jack was standing at the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, his chin half-glazed with shaving cream. At her abrupt entry, he dropped his razor. It clattered into the porcelain sink. “Lucy?”
She made herself look away from him, pretending total disinterest in his marvelous male body. “Pardon me, Jack.” She moved briskly to the linen closet and threw open the doors. “I need to get my suitcase.” She reached up, but the shelf was too high. She knew that, but she made several jumping grabs for her bag anyway. “I’ll just—be—a second,” she explained between bounces.
“What are you doing?”
“I need my bag.”
“Why?” He lifted a hand towel from a nearby rack.
She stopped her futile jumping and turned to him. “Would you get my suitcase for me?” she asked as pleasantly as she could.
He wiped away the remaining soap. “What do you need it for?”
“Nothing that concerns you.” She nodded toward the shelf. “Please?”
His eyebrows dipping, he did as she asked, handing her the suitcase.
“Thanks.” She breezed out without a second glance. Second glances where this man was concerned were dangerous.
She wasn’t surprised when he followed her into her room. “What are you going to do with it?” he asked.
She tossed the case onto her bed, her pulse at life-threatening levels. Her ears rushed so loudly with blood she could hardly hear. Flipping the latches, she opened the bag. “I’m running away with Stadler. He told me tonight he’s breaking it off with Sareena, and he wants me back.” She needed badly to look at his face, but she compelled herself to keep moving. She dashed over to her dresser and yanked out a drawer.
“You’re what?”
She purposely spun away from him so that she couldn’t be influenced by his body or his eyes. Without the slightest interest in what she was doing, she tossed the drawer’s contents into her suitcase and closed it.
“Interesting trousseau,” he muttered.
She jerked around to face him. “What?”
He crossed his arms before his broad chest, cocking his head toward her bag. “You just packed a drawer full of socks in that thing.”
She felt like a fool for being so oblivious, but she masked it by rearing her chin in defiance. “What are you doing in here anyway? This is none of your business.”
His expression darkened. “You’re not serious about this.”
“Why not?” she demanded, striving for an offhand tone. “You and I aren’t married, so what does it matter?”
Everything about him went still, as though her query had broadsided him. After a few seconds, he ran a hand over his eyes. “My God, Lucy,” he said, sounding troubled, “was that your plan all along? To make him jealous?”
That ploy hadn’t occurred to her, but it would do for an excuse. She yanked up the suitcase. “It worked, didn’t it?”
His eyes blazed with outrage, a staggering sight. Lucy’s limbs reacted to it by going sluggish. She wished she’d had the self-control to keep her glance averted from his. With a shuddery intake of breath, she gathered strength and stormed by him. “Oh, and don’t worry about your rings. They’re in my jewelry box on the dresser.”
His answer was a muffled curse.
Now what are you going to do, big guy? her mind shouted as she flew up the stairs and dashed headlong for the parlor. She burst into the room, her determination fo
rmed like a rock inside her.
“Stadler,” she called, then cleared the shrillness from her voice. “I’m ready to run away with you, darling. Mind carrying my bag?”
Stadler’s fair head popped up, his plum eyes going round with surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this, but he bounded over to her and took her bag.
Just then, amid gasps of surprise, Jack padded into the room, clad only in his towel and looking like an angry Greek god. “You can’t do this, Lucy,” he growled.
“Of course I can.” She grabbed Stadler’s arm and aimed him for the door. “You have your car keys, don’t you, love? We can send for your things later.” For once, Stadler seemed to be without words. Lucy felt a twinge of guilt at what she was doing. Then the memory of the letter he’d sent her—dumping her—flared in her mind, and she let her guilt go. “Come, darling.” She threw him a simpering smile. “We’ve wasted enough time. I’m ready to start a new life tonight.”
When they hit the front porch, the frosty air slapped her, and she was reminded of the cold front that had swept in today, nipping the crocus and the redbuds. It was freezing, and she’d forgotten her coat. She fairly dragged Stadler down the steps toward his car, parked in the circle drive. She could tell from the clatter behind her that Jack wasn’t the only person following them outside.
She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Everybody was on the porch but Jack. He was standing on the front lawn. So tall, so gorgeous in his near nudity, his expression was murderous. “Lucy, don’t go,” he shouted, but she ignored him, climbing into Stadler’s rental compact.
Her companion fairly ran around to his door. He shoved her suitcase into the back and was in the driver’s seat in a flash. “You won’t regret this, Lucy-pet,” he said, sounding short of breath.
“I hope not,” she mumbled, looking in the side rear-view mirror. Jack was framed there, legs braced wide, hands on hips. His features haunted. But he was no longer demanding that she stay.
She swallowed hard and prayed.
. When Stadler turned the key in the ignition, she thought she heard something over the sound of the engine. As Stadler started to shift into gear, she touched his arm. “Just a second.” She rolled down her window. “What?”
Jack dragged both hands through his wet hair. “I said you can’t marry him. You’re already married to me.”
There it was! The truth. Her heart leaped, but her anger at his deception flared.
“What did he say?” Stadler asked, but she whipped around to him and held up a hand. “Shush!”
Then she glared back at Jack, accusing coldly, “I don’t believe you.”
He took several steps toward her, then stopped, holding out his hands in a pleading gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you—but you’re my wife.”
He didn’t know how to tell her?
“He didn’t know how to...” Stadler sounded baffled. “Say, Lucy, didn’t you know you were married?”
She whirled on him. “Would you please shut up for once?” Sticking her head out the window, she pretended amusement. “Jack, it’s dear of you to keep pretending, but you can cut it out. I’ve told Stadler everything.”
Jack’s tortured gaze slid to the dark sky, and she saw his breath frost the night air in a long, unhappy sigh.
“It’s okay, Jack,” she added with effort. “It’s better this way.” Louder, she said, “Okay, Stadler, we can go.”
“Dammit, Lucy, stop!” Jack called, his voice like an echo from a tomb. “You’re married to me.”
Stadler again reached for the key, but Lucy slapped his hand back. “Don’t touch that!”
“But you said—”
“One more second,” She shifted away from him and stared at Jack, the lift of her chin exhibiting defiance and subtle challenge. “You know, Jack, you actually sound serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” he murmured. His features had grown watchful, brooding. The effect was heart wrenching, and she felt her chest constrict, but she fought to hold on to her resentment.
Fumbling for the door handle, she almost fell out of the car. After righting herself, she called over her shoulder, “Wait right here, Stadler.” She slammed the door and faced Jack, glaring at him reproachfully. “What kind of a snake would marry a woman and not bother to tell her about it?” Her teeth chattered and her body quivered. She was freezing, but she planted herself there, crossing her arms and holding her silence. She wanted him to pay dearly for what he’d put her through.
His expression was like that of someone who’d been hit in the gut with a bat. She saw him shudder as he drew in a sharp breath.
His anguish touched her, and she felt another stabbing pain in her heart, but she tried to overlook it. “Well?” she demanded. “What kind of a lying snake would do such a thing?”
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. When he met her gaze again, Lucy saw bleak frustration and pain in his eyes, his vulnerability laid bare. “A snake so blindly in love he couldn’t help himself,” he admitted in a rusty whisper.
His rough admission made her heart stumble. She didn’t think she had ever heard anything quite so beautiful in her life. All the bitterness and anger left her, and she could only stare at the gorgeous, nearly nude man standing in the cold, saying the words she wanted so badly to hear.
“Lucy,” Stadler called, “what’s going on?”
She ignored him. “Why didn’t you tell me, Jack?” she asked, the hostility gone from her tone.
“I would have, when I thought you were ready.” His chiseled features were stark. “Nate called that night. He wanted to perform the wedding and I didn’t have time to tell him the truth.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Then I heard about the myth.” Dark, desolate eyes sought hers. “Dammit, Lucy, I’ve loved you for so many years, I wanted to believe the myth was true. That we were meant for each other. So I let Nate marry us. For real.”
Unable to help herself, she moved toward him. “You’ve loved me for years?”
When he nodded, she was overwhelmed with regret about the time they’d wasted and reflexively punched him in the stomach.
He grunted, his features pained. “I deserved that.” Placing his hands on her arms, he said, “If you don’t love me, you can get the marriage annulled. But—” he stopped, seemingly to get control of his voice “—I couldn’t let you become a bigamist.”
“That’s large of you.” There was more testiness in her voice than she felt. He loved her. He’d loved her for years. That was all that mattered. Well, almost. The Desiree Question reared its ugly head. “But before I get my annulment, there are some things we need to clear up.”
“Can we do it inside?” With a shudder, he added, “Or if you want to be rid of me quickly, we could argue out here a little longer and you’ll become The Widow Gallagher.”
She glared at him. “Wait here.” Wheeling around, she marched to Stadler’s car and stuck her head in the window. “Don’t go anywhere. Okay?”
He nodded, but looked put out.
After stalking back to Jack, she took his hand. “Come on, mister. You have some explaining to do.”
They marched up the steps as Elissa, Helen, Damien and four guests silently stepped back to clear their way.
“I can’t wait to hear this story,” Elissa said in an aside to Damien.
He laughed. “Amazingly enough, I can tell it—at least up to this point.”
Lucy cast him a dubious look, and he winked. Confused, she tugged Jack along to her room. Once inside, she closed the door and turned on him. “Okay.” She shoved hard against his chest, and he stumbled backward onto her bed. “Talk to me, Gallagher! And it had better be good!”
He lifted himself up on one elbow, looking steadily at her. “Shouldn’t I get dressed?”
“No.” She walked toward him. “Who exactly is Desiree?” He sat up, but she pushed him down, continuing to lean over him, her hands on his chest. Conjuring up the most severe expression in her
arsenal, she said, “Answer the question.”
He lay there, eyeing her warily. “If I tell you, you’re going to punch me again.”
She thought she detected a hint of humor in his gaze. “Don’t you laugh at me, Jack Gallagher. Who is Desiree?”
His expression grew sheepish. “Okay,” he said with a resigned breath. “Desiree is Damien.”
She frowned, unsure she’d heard right. “Desiree is who?”
He grabbed her wrists as though in self-protection, just in case she decided to hit him. “Damien did the calling, pretending to be a fictitious woman named Desiree. Mainly, his end of the conversation consisted of, ‘Jack, you’re making me puke,’ and ‘You’re scaring me, man.’ Since he knows more French than I do, he fed me a few French phrases. Once I repeated them, he’d tell me they meant things like, ‘The pig is eating slop,’ or ‘Smelly shoes belong on the back porch.’” He grinned, looking charming and guileless. “Damn bastard has a crappy sense of humor.”
Scowling, Lucy climbed on the bed and straddled his waist “Damien called you night and day, day and night. and pretended to be a French—” she choked back an inelegant word that came to mind “—model?”
“We thought a little jealousy might...” He stopped, letting her finish it in her mind.
Her mouth sagged open. “Did everybody know?”
He shook his head. “Only Damien. And he didn’t know we were really married.”
That was a relief, but not much of one. Irritated beyond words at the scheme, she tried to free a hand to punch him, but he held tight. “You burn!” she accused him. “That was—that was...” She didn’t know slimy enough words to call him.
“Smart?” he teased.
“It was mean, deceitful, rotten!” She struggled unsuccessfully to free her hands to slap him silly.
“But you do know you love me now, right?”
She was taken aback by his blunt statement. How had he guessed? “Of course I don’t love you now!” she blurted, indignant. “How could I love a man who—”