GOING … GOING … WED!

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Her look spoke of her dissatisfaction, but it couldn't be helped. Alex needed some separation from Elizabeth and the matchmakers. And he needed it now.

  The auctioneer called for attention as a striking man in a white dinner jacket strode center stage. He was a cover model for romance novels, and the charity gift was a night on the town with him. Elizabeth disengaged herself, left his side and started the bidding, sparing him a quick glance.

  Alex eyed her, the hint of jealousy in her tight smile, and he was glad he'd bid on the Wife Incorporated services. He motioned to a waiter, and the man brought a tray of pale-pink champagne in crystal flutes. When he turned to offer glasses to Madison and Katherine, both women were gone, only the scent of jasmine and spice lingering behind.

  He scanned his surrounding and caught a glimpse of Madison, or rather a rear view. Her beaded gown was slung so low he could see the enticing dip of her spine. She had the sexiest walk he'd ever seen. Alex's body reacted to the delicious sight as she disappeared beyond the stone pillars. He took a deep breath and drained one flute without stopping, questioning his wisdom of getting within earshot of a woman who could command his senses simply by being untouchable.

  That, he thought, was more woman than he'd encountered in years.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  «^»

  Good God, did this woman look sexy in everything she wore? Alex wondered, though he hardly recognized her behind those huge, tortoiseshell glasses. In a jewel-green suit with her hair in a tight twist, she projected a competent manner as she strode up his driveway. Far removed from the sleek creature he'd encountered last night. "Are you always this prompt?" he asked, glancing at his watch.

  "Always. Consider it a sign of efficiency, sir."

  Alex stepped back to let her in, and she swept past. Her fragrance teased, made him think of satin sheets and hot sex. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head at his own imagination, then let his gaze follow her as she stepped into the foyer and surveyed the area with the practiced eye of a decorator. He knew his place lacked a homey feel, but then, it never felt like much of a home to him.

  "Fifty guests you said?"

  "Yes." He shut the door.

  Madison's gaze jerked to him. His hand in the pocket of dark pleated trousers, he still looked like the playboy millionaire, his tie loose, his blistering-white shirt still holding the crispness from an iron. That glossy black hair dipping over one brow. She was hoping he'd uglied up a bit in the past twenty-four hours, then was glad he hadn't. I shouldn't go there, she thought, turning her attention to the foyer.

  The inside of the condo bore the same sterile feel of the exterior, out of place in a city where Old Southern charm prevailed. The tile floor was a rich, deep-green, the shade joining the carpet that led up the curved staircase to the second floor. The upper hall was open, offering a view of the foyer below. A massive, arched window directly opposite the front door made a majestic statement, almost bleak when she'd first stepped inside, and now she tried to think of a way to tone it down.

  "Come on. I'll show you around."

  Following him, they toured through the living room, formal dining room and the kitchen, all rather contemporary, with that antiseptic feel. After inspecting the appliances, which looked brand-new, and estimating the counter space, the need for preparation tables, Madison noticed there were no personal items showing. No family pictures, knickknacks, just a couple of silk flower arrangements, some carefully chosen paintings and crystal ashtrays. Cool, impersonal. Alexander Donahue. She made notes, and as they returned to the dining room with its Queen Anne-style furniture, he pulled out her chair. Smiling, she slid into it, crossing her legs and flipping open her book. When she expected him to take a seat at the head of the table, he pulled out a chair adjacent to her and sat. Madison scented his cologne, felt the heat of his body, and she sat back to avoid the incredible lure of it.

  Alex sensed the barrier between them even at this short distance, and idly he wondered where she'd vanished to last night. Home to a husband? A lover? A cat? Katherine hadn't said, and he hadn't asked.

  "Do you have any preferences for the menu?" She shoved her glasses up her nose as she hovered over a huge appointment book, making more notes.

  "Can I trust you to select?"

  She met his gaze. "Yes. Are these out-of-town guests or locals?"

  "Mostly out-of-town."

  "And the dress for the party?"

  He frowned slightly.

  "The attire depicts the atmosphere, sir. May I see an invitation? And perhaps a guest list?"

  He rose from his chair and left the room, and while he was gone, Madison studied her surroundings, jotting down ideas and wondering if there was any china in that beautiful cabinet. All she could see was crystal. Very feminine crystal.

  Alex reentered the dining room, handing her the envelope.

  "After six. Cocktail attire. They'll expect more than hors d'oeuvres. How many have responded?"

  "All of them."

  Good Lord, she thought. "Famous for your parties?"

  He folded his arms over his chest. "It's business. I don't think they'd refuse."

  Not if they wanted to keep working for him, she thought, reminding herself he had a reputation for a reason. She focused on her notes, sweeping a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

  Even in the dull light of his dining room, Alex could see the rich, bronze highlights in her hair and had the strangest urge to reach across and unpin it, see it fall over her shoulders. He blinked and turned away, feeling her gaze follow him as he moved to the doorway and leaned against the jamb. She kept asking after his preferences, the liquor, bartender, a florist he used. Alex kept staring at her legs, and when she shifted, he glimpsed the lacy top of one of her stockings. He ground his teeth nearly to powder and fought the image of garters and lace and those damned legs and reminded himself that he didn't need to get sidetracked. She was his employee for this party. And he, the paying customer.

  "I'll need the key to get in and the hours you don't want anyone around."

  He rolled around the doorjamb into the kitchen and came back with the spare key, dropping it into her palm. "The hours don't matter unless its before seven and after ten."

  "That shouldn't be a problem. The catering budget?"

  "This is the company I used last," he said, slipping a card from his pocket and tossing it on the table. It spun toward her, but Madison recognized the logo.

  "Don't care about the cost, then, hmm?" she muttered under her breath, tucking the card in her book. "Have you contacted them yet?"

  "No."

  She sighed, shaking her head before lifting her gaze to his. "Mr. Donahue, you already neglected to mention this party was in a week. I have to tell you, it takes more than a phone call to order catering."

  "Are you saying you can't do it?"

  Oh, that challenge was in his eyes again. "I'm saying next time you want to host a party for fifty, think about how long it takes to prepare for it before you send out invitations."

  "That's why you're here," he said with complete innocence. "So I don't have to."

  She couldn't help but smile. He really was hopeless.

  Ignoring the little jump in his chest just then, Alex said, "Whatever you need is fine, Miss Holt. I'll expect you to be here early."

  "Of course."

  "Greet the guests, see to the preparations, the servants."

  "Certainly. I'll take care of everything, Mr. Donahue."

  "Mr." sounded so respectful coming from her, so aging, he thought as his gaze swept her briefly. "I'll assume you'll dress appropriately?"

  Madison's features tightened. Did he expect her to show up in thigh-high taffeta and fishnet stockings?

  "I'll dress the part, Mr. Donahue, if you'll be civil to the hired help." She stood, collecting her book, and with the key in hand, briskly walked to the door.

  Alex hurried after her, catching her arm. She jerked around, stunned to find him the
re, and abruptly he released her.

  His gaze searched hers, her irritation confusing him. "I didn't mean anything by it, Miss Holt."

  Madison sighed, wondering why that bothered her so much, then knew his flip comment made her see what she'd known all along – the line between them was wide, her upbringing a long way from his privileged rearing. And he just clarified it. "I know you didn't."

  His brow rose, a single black wing against tanned skin.

  She cocked her head, meeting his hard, blue gaze. "What kind of man spends two thousand dollars on a temporary wife, on top of the bill for this party?"

  His eyes softened, making him look even more handsome, the rat.

  "The kind who always forgets something, hates giving parties and would rather have someone else do it, because I'm lousy at it and frankly, too busy."

  "Well then, Mr. Donahue, you really do need a wife."

  She opened the door and, saying goodbye, stepped out and pulled it closed behind her.

  No, thanks, Alex thought. That was the last thing he needed. He'd just keep hiring Wife Incorporated for the temporary kind.

  * * *

  The next evening Alex pushed open his front door and heard music. Beach music. And voices, lots of them. Crossing the foyer he headed toward the noise and found Madison in the kitchen, her forearms braced on the counter. In jeans and a dark T-shirt, with her hair braided back, she looked more like a schoolgirl mulling over her homework than an adult planning a party. Another woman stood to her right, the pair listening to tunes on a tape player. And he wondered what the Beach Boys had to do with the party.

  As if she sensed his presence, she straightened and turned.

  God, what a smile, he thought as she crossed to him.

  "Good evening, Mr. Donahue." He looked exhausted, Madison thought. "We'll be out by nine, I swear."

  The woman behind her looked suddenly nervous as he glanced impatiently at his watch, then her.

  "Perhaps you should go into your study and unwind?"

  His lips quirked. That's exactly what he planned to do. He'd considered calling Elizabeth and asking her to dinner, though she'd ream him over the short notice, and although he wanted to lengthen the ties between them, sitting in a restaurant alone was as unappetizing as having to make conversation tonight. He was ready to forego the growling in his stomach and get right to bed.

  "Who are these people?" He gestured to the people filing into his kitchen from the back door.

  "The staff. They need to know their stations. What I want … et cetera."

  "Et cetera," he added.

  Her lips curved gently, and she had that patient "I'm waiting" look he'd just begun to recognize. Clearly she didn't want him around, and that was fine with him. He turned toward the foyer and his study. Stepping inside, he found it softly lit, a brandy tipped on the warmer and a meal laid out for him on his desk. The ice still popped in the water glass. Steam rose from the chicken and fettuccini.

  His shoulders sank and he dropped the briefcase and fell into the chair.

  I'll be damned, he thought. He took up the brandy, swirling it to cool, then sipped, loosening his tie and propping his feet up on the desk. He plucked at the salad, popping a carrot slice into his mouth. This, he thought, was nice. Really nice.

  * * *

  An hour and a half later Madison peeked around the edge of the door, calling to him. When he didn't respond she stepped inside, smiling gently. He was asleep, his hands folded over papers on his stomach, a gold pen still in his fingers. The computer screen was still on. She'd done her best to get that meal on his desk when she'd heard him drive up, a tactic to get him out of the way, and was glad he'd done it justice. Crossing the room, she reached across the desk to gather the place setting.

  Dishes clinked, and he stirred, his eyes fluttering open. His gaze honed in on her like an arrow to a target. Madison felt trapped. There was something about waking a sleeping man, a handsome man she didn't know, that was terribly intimate. Then he smiled slowly, and she felt heat trip down to her toes.

  "Thanks."

  "No trouble."

  "Why did you do it?"

  "You hired a wife for the week, sir." She straightened and turned away with the dishes. "There are perks." Oh, she really shouldn't tease him like that, she thought, smiling.

  "And just what are those perks, Miss Holt?"

  At the door she paused to glance back over her shoulder. Her look was so infinitely sultry and full of feminine power his body clenched, peaking with his curiosity.

  "Aside from the obvious?" She held up the plates. Her sultry voice gripped him in places he didn't want to think about, and he nodded, unable to find his tongue just then, the images of doing everything but "the obvious" with her crowding through his mind.

  "I'm referring to a real wife, you understand."

  He nodded.

  "Other than two people sharing a life, sharing themselves, making babies and raising them." She shrugged. "I can't think of a thing."

  His lips curled bitterly. A storybook representation. Female fantasy, he thought, watching her go, a rather pleasant sight, yet he wondered if she was trying to make him see what bachelorhood didn't offer or luring him in for the kill. Either way, it cleared the dull haze possessing him whenever she was around and made him see clearly. The lady was dangerous to his plans. Wife material.

  Like Celeste. Old news, old heartache, he thought, and although the burning in his chest whenever he thought of her had lessened, the lingering sting was a reminder of how blind he'd been. He'd opened himself up more than once, allowed himself to want with a lonely hunger so deep it clawed through his soul, until he found out the hard way those women wanted to be in his lifestyle, not his life. None of their wants had to do with accepting him with all his flaws. And he had his share. He'd settled for knowing the territory and setting his own boundaries after that. To keep certain types of women on the edge of his life. Women like Miss Holt. Women who offered a glimpse of what he couldn't have. And although his attraction to her was purely physical, it was still a hazard. He was not going to look like a fool again.

  Beyond the doors of his study voices faded, cars drove away, and he heard the front door close, the sound hollow in the empty house. He sighed, glancing around, then lifted the snifter of brandy to his lips, feeling suddenly more alone than ever before.

  * * *

  Frowning, Alex crossed his threshold and stopped. Okay, he thought with a look around. The party was tomorrow and this was to be expected. But after a three-day business trip trying to swing a deal that would put his computer division ahead of the competition by two years, he was hoping for some quiet. What he had was chaos. Trucks lined his street. Men carried tables and chairs through the doors as if he wasn't there. The scent of food filled the air. He stood in the high-ceilinged foyer and simply stared. There were plastic runners covering the tiled floor, boxes stacked near the arched window, and the sound of people and dishes echoed from all directions. Alex slung his garment bag off his shoulder, set it and his briefcase by the door, then tossed his jacket on a chair before heading into the living room.

  "Where do you want this, Madison?" a tall, muscular man in a tight T-shirt and jeans said. He and his partner stabilized a portable bar on dollies.

  From somewhere in the house Madison yelled, "Outside, and be careful of the carpet and tile, David. One mark and I'll beat you up right good."

  David and his buddy exchanged a smile and apparently decided her wrath wasn't worth the risk as the two men lifted the heavy wooden bar and carefully maneuvered it through the open glass doors. Alex walked toward the kitchen, lurching back when two women, looking harried and carrying boxes, darted past, murmuring "Excuse me." Linens stacked the dining table. Glassware, flatware and dishes covered every available space on extra tables. He stepped into the kitchen, the aroma of sausage and onions making his mouth water as he scanned the room for Madison. He cleared his throat.

  Seven people looked up and stared a
s if he might eat them alive.

  "Miss Holt?"

  An attractive woman barely in her thirties pointed to the back door. "I think she's in the garage, Mr. Donahue."

  Frowning, Alex crossed the kitchen, skirting people and counter edges, then pushed open the inner door leading to the garage. A catering truck was parked rear first, dangerously close to his boat. The back was open, the surrounding concrete floor covered with four huge coolers.

  He called for her. A clean-cut young man unloading yet another cooler, looked up, inspected him with a quick glance, then inclined his head toward the front of the truck. Alex headed that way, glancing back briefly at the kid as he went around the truck and crashed into someone. Someone soft.

  Hands flew to his chest. A cushion of soft breasts and thighs pushed against him, sending him back a step and into the side of the truck.

  "Whoa, easy now," he said softly, and in the tangle of their feet, he grabbed her waist to steady her.

  Madison looked up and swallowed her breath. She lay awkwardly against him, his knee thrust between hers. "Oh, my."

  Alex gazed into her eyes, thinking a guy could easily get lost in there and go willingly. "You okay?"

  "Ah—" she blushed hotly "—yes. Fine." She pushed away from his chest, which only served to grind his thigh deeper between hers. She inhaled, her skin brightening as she scrambled back. His gaze ripped over her, touching on her breasts, then down to her cutoff jeans. She felt stripped naked in the single look. "I do apologize, Mr. Donahue," she managed, then bent to pick up her clipboard.

  "My mistake."

  His biting tone made her straighten abruptly. "Is something wrong?" She shoved loose strands out of her eyes.

  Alex shook his head, looking off to the side as a van rolled to a stop outside his place. His back braced against the truck, he shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping to look casual and disguise his unexpected response to her. "You were going somewhere?" he asked in a dismissing tone.