The Marriage Maker

by Christie Ridgway

  Impatient, Nancy grabbed the package and shook the contents onto the desk. A stack of paperwork—sandwiched between two pieces of card board and held together with a thick rubber band—slid out. Instead of a card, a yellow sticky note was slapped on the front.

  “For you,” it said, in a masculine slash. “As promised, and thanks again.” No name.

  No name was necessary. Not once Cleo freed the sheaf of papers. Because the romantic gift she’d been daydreaming about wasn’t really a gift at all. Thump. Her heart sank. Thump. The pages were Ethan’s half of their marriage deal. Thump. He’d been as good as he’d promised and bought the Bean sprouts building for her. Her heart settled to a slow, resigned, disappointed beat.

  Thanks again.

  Not surprisingly, her friends realized her disappointment and tried to cheer Cleo up by sharing the worst gifts they’d ever received from their husbands. There were some doozies—Nancy’s Glen had given her a new garage door opener for their anniversary, and for her birthday, Lorna’s husband of thirty-two years had recently presented her with a squishy toilet seat that played show tunes.

  “Well,” Nancy finally said, shepherding the other staff members out the office door, “at least it proves he knows you, Cleo. A woman like you appreciates a practical gift.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Cleo said, sadder than ever. It seemed that everyone saw her the same way. “’Practical’ me should feel happy.”

  But when her friends were gone, she whispered into the empty room, “But ‘practical’ me also feels ‘capable’ of wringing that man’s neck.”

  She tamped down a sudden urge to jump up on her desk and scream to the world that she wasn’t who they thought she was. She suppressed a second impulse to call Ethan and whisper scandalous things in his ear, just to shake him up.

  Why couldn’t people—Ethan—see that practical didn’t cancel out passionate and that capable could exist along side carnal?

  Two days later Cleo waved from her office window as her mother and Jonah took off down the street. Being a grandma thrilled Celeste, and she had even bought her own stroller for her “grandbaby.” She turned up her nose at the one Ethan had arrived in Montana with—it was as large and sturdy as the brand-new Range Rover he’d also purchased—but she adored touring Jonah through town in her simpler model.

  Cleo relaxed against her chair. If all that her marriage gained was a new focus for her mother, something other than those disturbing dreams, then Cleo was happy.

  But the soft, warm glow inside her sparked high and hot when fifteen minutes later she looked up to find her husband standing in the entry to her office.

  “Ethan!” She gulped. “I didn’t expect you back today.”

  He paused in the doorway, filling it with six plus feet of Italian suit and expensive shoes.

  Cleo put down the unexpected heat rising up her neck to the clothes, not the man. She just wasn’t used to power dressing.

  He walked toward her, and she gulped again. “I was able to get out a day early,” he said. “I wanted to see you.”

  Without thinking, Cleo rose from behind her desk. Her simple, Oxford-cloth cotton dress was probably wrinkled from a morning of sitting, and she automatically tried smoothing it with her palm. “You wanted to see me?”

  He nodded.

  Cleo tried slowing everything—her footsteps toward him, her pulse, her explanation that Jonah was with her mother. But then she stood in front of him and she wanted to touch his golden hair more than she wanted to kiss his mouth, and she wanted to kiss his mouth more than she wanted him to touch her.

  Slow down, she reminded herself again. This is the man who gave you a piece of property as a thank-you gift.

  With a renewed sense of self-preservation, she took a step back. “Why did you want to see me, Ethan?”

  “Because, uh…” He blinked, as if the why hadn’t occurred to him. His hand reached out and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.

  Goose bumps prickled on her cheek and ran down the too-warm skin of her neck. No. She took another step back. Sure, she wanted him to want her, but she wanted to make certain he was moved by passion and desire, not by convenience and gratitude.

  She cleared her throat. “Your trip was successful?”

  He nodded, and his expression suddenly lightened. “I know what I came to tell you,” he said, grinning. “I just, uh, forgot for a minute.”

  Despite the temptation of that gorgeous grin, Cleo retreated one more step, the backs of her thighs hitting the edge of her desk. She leaned against it, but couldn’t help smiling a little in return. “Good news?”

  “Great news.” His grin widened.

  Cleo folded her arms over her chest to stop herself from reaching out and tracing his mouth with her fingertips. “Okay,” she said. “Out with it.”

  “The Coving tons have dropped their suit.”

  For a moment Cleo puzzled over the unfamiliar name. But then it hit her. “Jonah’s grandparents?” She couldn’t put a name to the euphoric bubble that burst inside her. “Jonah’s grandparents have given up fighting for custody?”

  Ethan’s answering grin made her head spin. “Yep.”

  Cleo didn’t know what was wrong with her. The edges of the room started going black and Ethan seemed too far away. “He’s going to stay with you?” she said over the lump in her throat.

  “He’s going to stay with us.”

  The room shrank to a tunnel.

  “Cleo? Cleo?” She heard Ethan’s voice but, like the rest of him, it was distant. Then large warm hands grasped her shoulders. The funny thing was, she thought dazedly, she knew those were Ethan’s hands, even though he was so very far away.

  “Cleo, honey.” He pulled her up against his chest. “Breathe, honey. Breathe.”

  As instructed, she sucked in a breath. Then another. The room lightened, the tunnel opened up and suddenly her vision completely cleared and she was staring at the lapel of an olive-colored, lightweight wool suit jacket.

  Ethan took her chin in his hand and made her look up. His gaze ran over her face. “Your color’s coming back. Are you all right? What was wrong?”

  Cleo licked her lips. “I knew…I knew you were going to see your attorney in Houston about the custody, but I didn’t let myself think about it.”

  He frowned, his eyebrows coming together over his concerned blue eyes. “Okay.”

  “And you’ll notice I didn’t ask you about it, even though we talked almost every night.”

  He nodded. “And I didn’t say anything to you, because there wasn’t anything to tell until today. I visited the Coving tons, too, and told them about you and about our marriage, but I wasn’t sure of their response.”

  Cleo swallowed to ease her dry mouth, aware of what she’d been hiding from. I was supposed to be the reason they would let you have Jonah, she wanted to say. I was terrified I wouldn’t help.

  What would their marriage have been about then?

  And she had been hiding from something else, too. She hadn’t acknowledged how worried she’d been about one more thing. One more very important thing.

  He frowned again. “What aren’t you telling me, Cleo? I want to know why you almost fainted on me a minute ago.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Oh, Ethan,” she said. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she blinked them back. “I don’t think I could bear to lose him.” The truth was wrenched from her heart. “I’ve been too scared to even think about it. I care about that little boy so much.”

  The tears in Cleo’s eyes kept her from seeing Ethan’s expression, but it didn’t matter, because he jerked her against him and held her close. “Cleo.” He murmured her name gruffly. “Oh, Cleo.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and breathed in Ethan’s scent. His solid warmth comforted her. “Thank God, we get to keep Jonah.”

  His cheek rubbed against the top of her head. “Thank God,” he echoed.

  “I didn’t know how easy it would be to
love him,” she said.

  Ethan stilled. Two heartbeats passed, and then he pushed her a few inches away, just enough to look down into her face. “Cleo…” he said hoarsely.

  She reached up and touched his mouth, just as she’d been wanting to. “What?” she whispered.

  There was something in his eyes she’d never seen before. His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “I wish—”

  “Am I interrupting something?” boomed a loud, male voice.

  Cleo automatically swung toward the door, breaking her connection with Ethan. He stepped away, and she stared at the newcomer in her office. “Stuart?” she said stupidly, her mind still caught up in Ethan’s embrace and the second time he’d started an “I wish” that he couldn’t finish.

  Her longtime friend Stuart Smith smiled wickedly and leaned one rangy shoulder against the doorjamb. “Forgotten me already?” His gaze flickered toward Ethan. “You won’t be forgiven, sweet heart, unless you tell me that this guy in the Eye-talian apparel is your brand-new husband.”

  She ignored his “Eye-talia”—she’d punish him later by telling his Nona Marchetti, who would then withhold Stuart’s favorite cannoli dessert—and made quick introductions. “This is my husband, Ethan Redford. Ethan, this comedian here is a half-Italian cowboy with the unlikely name of Stuart Smith.”

  Stuart shook Ethan’s hand. “Ropin’ and rigatoni. With one I caught Cleo. But it was the other that held her.” His smile took on that wicked edge again. “Do you know how much Cleo loves pasta, Ethan? Well, any kind of food if a man is cooking for her. It’s because—”

  Cleo gripped Stuart’s forearm and dug in her fingernails. “Are you looking for your daughter? Bessie is probably at storytime with the four-year-olds.” She tugged him in the direction of her doorway. “Don’t let us stop you.”

  Stuart winced, but the teasing light didn’t leave his eyes as he firmly planted the heels of his cowboy boots into her carpet. “Something tells me Ethan doesn’t know that you once wore my ring.”

  “I didn’t know.” A funny expression crossed Ethan’s face and he looked at her. “You wore another man’s ring?”

  Stuart chuckled and Cleo shot him a mean look. He always did have lousy timing. When he saw that she and Ethan were…close, couldn’t he have just left them alone?

  She sighed. “I wore Stuart’s class ring. I was fifteen years old.”

  The teasing was gone from the tall cowboy’s brown eyes, leaving only fondness behind. “For two years, though, Cleo. You wore it for two years, and it was the darkest day of my life when you took it off and gave it back to me.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Stuart, you went out with Dinah Marcus behind my back. Two times.”

  Stuart nodded. “I was an idiot.” He looked over Cleo’s head at Ethan. “Don’t be stupid, Ethan,” he said, and Cleo thought he even sounded a bit serious. “Don’t let go of this woman.”

  There was an ironic edge to Ethan’s voice. “I’ve heard that from more than one man, believe me.”

  Cleo shook her head. Men were so funny sometimes. “You big silly,” she said to Stuart. She went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and then pat it, as if sealing it there. “Dinah Marcus went on to become your wife, and a happier couple I’ve never met. You don’t have to pretend anything for Ethan. He sees me for what I am.”

  And then she frowned at the disquieting notion. Was she really just the practical, sensible woman he thought?

  Stuart bent to give her a goodbye peck on the mouth. “I know exactly what Ethan sees, sweetiepie.” With a two-fingered salute and laughter in his eyes, he left them.

  Cleo pursed her lips and turned toward Ethan, shaking her head. “That man…”

  The strange, intense look on Ethan’s face had her stumbling over her tongue. He walked toward her with purpose and she found herself stepping back, toward the safety of the open door.

  Ethan continued to advance. “I’ve been wondering, Cleo.” His words were thoughtful, though his voice was tight. “Have you dated and kissed and broken the heart of every man in Montana, or just White horn?”

  Cleo’s eyes widened. Her hands found the knob of the door, and she hung on to its solidness. There was something new in the way Ethan was looking at her, something she’d barely remembered from months ago when they had first met. There was a kiss in his eyes. Suddenly nervous, she squeezed the knob.

  He must have noticed. “What a good idea,” he said. In one fluid movement, he plucked her fingers free and kicked the door shut with his foot.

  Six

  Driven by impulse, Ethan took hold of Cleo by her upper arms and maneuvered her back against the now closed door of the office. She licked her lips nervously and the coil inside him heated and tightened.

  “Ethan?”

  “Mmm.” His muscles were tense, too, and he didn’t know if it was because of the three airport terminals he’d sprinted through to make his Montana flight, or because of something else.

  “Um, you know that Stuart was only teasing me…you…um, I guess us.”

  Oh, yeah, and it was just about as funny as he was feeling right now. Annoyed-as-hell funny. Because when he’d first walked into her office just the sight of her had wiped everything else from his mind. He’d wanted to taste her ripe mouth and put his hands on her ripe curves and take her, take her, take her.

  But when he’d come to his senses and told her about the Covingtons’s decision, she’d floored him again. Knocked him flat on his butt by the depth of her feelings for Jonah.

  God. He’d never known a woman who cared this much. The tears in her eyes had been more precious than diamonds, and it had half thrilled and half chilled him that he realized it…and yet couldn’t offer her anything as valuable in return.

  Ethan Redford was a man who always paid his debts. But he suspected Cleo’s bill was something he could never clear. He would never have that much cash.

  Or whatever else she wanted it paid in.

  “Ethan.”

  He ignored her, and the fact that his bill was just about to go up. Way up.

  That hot coil was burning inside him with undeniable insistence. It had been twisted and heated by every man he’d watch kiss her, by every man who had known her longer than he had, by every man who had at one time wanted her.

  She was his now.

  And he was going to have her.

  He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. Sweet. Cleo tasted like a sugary treat.

  He’d known from the beginning she’d be bad for him.

  He stroked her mouth another time and she made a little sound, but he didn’t even bother to figure out what it meant. He wanted more. The sweet taste of Cleo’s mouth was just too good.

  He crowded her against the door and kissed her again. Her lips were soft and pliant but he didn’t even try to open them with his tongue. He wanted to, damn, he wanted it bad, but anticipation was almost as addictive. And he had to prove to himself he had some kind of control when it came to her.

  She made another noise and wiggled against him. He groaned and his hands left her upper arms. To hold her head still, he drove his fingers into her hair, and then bent again to her soft lips.

  Control, he reminded himself. Anticipation. He brushed against her lips, brushed once, twice, but when she made that anxious little noise again, he couldn’t stop himself from following her breath inside her mouth.

  Anticipation fled. Control disappeared. Inside Cleo’s wet heat, Ethan lost all sense of timing, all notion of the tactics that made him a winner in the boardroom. He pressed his tongue deeper, pressed his heavily aroused body against her belly.

  Her arms looped around his neck. She lifted herself against him, tilting her hips to move him closer. His heart ricocheting in his chest, he angled his head to explore her mouth from another direction, and he rubbed his tongue along hers.

  Her body jerked against him, and the movement made him lift his head. Her mouth was wet and her violet eyes were at an erotic half-mast. He groaned
silently, needing her again, more, closer.

  Desperate to touch, he ran his palms down her back to cup her round bottom. He shuddered and instantly craved more.

  “Cleo,” he whispered. His mouth trailed over her lips, her cheek, and down her neck. He wanted to devour her, in huge gulping bites.

  He rubbed his pelvis against hers and that coil of desire inside him wound tighter. His fingers moved with a will of their own, pulling up the fabric of her long dress in great bunches. As he took her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside, he thrust his hands beneath her silky panties.

  Her silky skin filled his palms.

  She moaned.

  Something slammed hard in his chest, as if it was knocking against it.

  The something slammed again, and the knocking—

  Someone was knocking on Cleo’s office door.

  Ethan lifted his head, withdrew his hands, stepped back. Her skirt fell around her calves like a curtain going down on pleasure.

  She stared at him.

  He buttoned his suit jacket to hide his erection.

  Cleo was still staring at him, despite another insistent knock.

  “Cleo, someone’s at the door,” he said.

  She blinked.

  “And if it’s another one of your old boy friends,” he said flatly, “I can promise you blood will be shed.”

  Blinking again, she whirled around and opened the door. Maybe it was because of his threat that Cleo stepped into the hall, leaving him alone with his thoughts…and his lust.

  He dropped into an empty chair, rubbing his palm over his face. What the hell was he doing?

  If he wanted to seduce Cleo—and God knows he did, but he still wasn’t at all sure it was right—why had he acted like a oafish hothead and pushed her against the door and then pushed his tongue in her mouth?

  The slow tease, the gradual courtship, and then the well-timed union of two separate entities were steps he’d studied in business school and then perfected in the business world. Wooing a woman had never been any different for him. Or to him.

  But with Cleo… When it came to Cleo he forgot all his lessons and let impulses, neediness, and cravings drive him.