Emily had no idea how her best friend—normally a woman of perception—could be so mistaken. "I'm glad you think the guests had fun," she said, trying to hang on to her self-control for just a few more minutes. "I'm truly grateful for all your help, Caro. I'd never have made it through the ceremony without you there to poke and prod me into making all the right moves."
"My pleasure. I know you were stressed to the max, but it's over now. You've got nothing more to do except relax and enjoy the honeymoon." Carolyn chuckled. "Somehow, I'm guessing you and Jordan are going to have a real good time, wherever you go."
Emily glossed over the word honeymoon, and was surprised to hear herself laugh almost naturally. "Caro, you may be the world's biggest optimist, but even you can't seriously believe that there's nothing left for me to stress about. The media aren't going to let this story die anytime soon. Not to mention what San Antonio's infamous circle of gossips will make of it. In some ways, this is a very small town."
"There'll be a lot of talk for a few days," Carolyn acknowledged. "And you're right, the local media will give the story plenty of coverage, especially when Michael intensifies his schedule of campaign appearances. But most people have real short attention spans, and I'm willing to bet that a month from now the story will be deader than the dinosaurs."
Emily winced. "Bad example, Caro. In case you haven't noticed, dinosaurs are the most newsworthy dead animals in the history of the universe."
"Okay, bad analogy, but so what? Anyway, does it matter all that much if people gossip? Your friends and family know the truth, and that's what's important." Carolyn leaned forward,, speaking with sudden forcefulness. "You had a choice, Em, and you made the right decision. Thank goodness you didn't marry a man you don't love, just because you were afraid to face a little gossip. That wouldn't have been any more fair to Michael than it would have been to you and Jordan. You can't marry a man you don't love. Not unless you're looking for a huge amount of heartache."
Emily recognized that Carolyn was at least half right: a marriage between her and Michael would have been disastrous. Even more disastrous than marriage to Jordan, because she would have married Michael full of hope and naive expectations that he clearly wouldn't have been able to fulfill. At least with Jordan there was no hope of a happily-ever-after. Still, she worried about Caro's reaction when she found out that Emily and Jordan had married not because they were deeply, desperately in love, but because she was a wimp who wanted to avoid social disgrace, and Jordan wanted to keep Sutton money flowing into the depleted Chambers family coffers. Carolyn—or any other ethical person—was bound to be disgusted by two such rotten reasons for marriage.
What a miserable couple Jordan and I make, Emily thought wearily. We almost deserve each other.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of her remaining bridesmaids and put a stop to any further private conversation with Carolyn. Emily forced herself to join in the chatter of her cousins and friends, and felt weak-kneed with relief when she realized that she only had to get through one more round of farewells and good wishes before she would be free.
If you could describe leaving with Jordan for their honeymoon as freedom. She could handle it, Emily decided. She'd survived Michael's rejection and today's wedding ceremony without making a total idiot out of herself, which was more than she'd expected. With luck, she'd manage to hold everything together long enough to make it quite clear to Jordan that her agreement to marry him had definitely not included having sex. It was only rational to keep their relationship platonic, and Jordan would be smart enough to realize that. The situation they'd created was complicated enough without adding sex to the mixture. She was absolutely clear and firm on that in her own mind.
There would be no sex.
CHAPTER SIX
From the inglorious moment of their meeting in Ted Bernauer's bedroom, Jordan had never had any difficulty deciphering exactly what Emily was thinking. When she was around him, of course, her feelings tended to be monochromatic, shifting in a gray spectrum between disapproval and total condemnation. But even when he watched her with other people, he found her moods transparent, her courteous facade an inadequate shield that constantly leaked information about her true thoughts.
He'd heard Michael complain that her face never revealed any emotion, which made Jordan wonder if his brother had ever taken the time to actually look at his former fiancée. Emily tried to convey the impression that she was a woman with an even temperament, not much given to deep feelings or intense emotional reactions. Jordan wasn't sure why she was so anxious to conceal her true nature, but he'd never been deceived by her touch-me-not exterior. Passion and extravagant emotion simmered beneath the surface of Emily's genteel facade, all the more enticing because it wasn't instantly accessible to every casual observer.
Right now, as they rode the elevator up from the ballroom to the hotel suite he'd reserved for the first night of their honeymoon, Jordan could see Emily was in turmoil, despite the carefully blank expression she was maintaining. Unfortunately for him, he could read her thoughts almost as clearly as if she'd spoken them out loud.
She was trying to work out how to tell him that there wasn't going to be any sex tonight.
Jordan appreciated the ironies of life as well as the next man, and he'd spent a fair part of the past twenty-four hours trying to feel wryly amused at the absurdity of the situation in which he found himself. His control had been wearing increasingly thin as the night progressed, and he was no longer in the mood for irony and cynical detachment. What he and his testosterone-flooded body wanted to do right now was to grab Emily's hand, drag her into their hotel room, and fling her onto the bed. There they would make wild, tempestuous love until he finally got rid of the sexual tension that had been building, day by excruciating day, for three long, hard months.
Regrettably, he knew better than to indulge his fantasy. Instead of enjoying hours of wild sex, if he wanted to have any chance of making this farcical marriage work out, he needed to steel himself to resist temptation.
All things considered, he could safely say that it was going to be one hell of a long night.
But better than the many long nights that had preceded it, since now he could allow himself to hope. For three months he'd lived with the knowledge that Emily was destined to become his brother's wife. In comparison, sleeping in the same room with her and not having sex should be relatively easy.
Or maybe not, Jordan thought ruefully, as the elevator halted and Emily rocked momentarily against him, igniting desires he'd spent the past hour ruthlessly extinguishing.
Making no comment on the fact that she scooted away from contact with him as if he were a certified carrier of bubonic plague, Jordan indicated that she should turn right.
"We have the corner suite," he said, reaching into his pocket for the key card. "With luck, our luggage should be waiting for us in the room already."
"Thank you." Emily's voice sounded distantly courteous, but Jordan heard the trepidation rioting behind the calm facade, and almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Right now, he didn't have much sympathy to spare for anyone except himself.
The suite was spacious and attractively decorated. A minor point in the plus column, he reflected. He could lie in bed and count sheep, or curse his fate, or sneak adolescent yearning glances at Emily, secure in the knowledge that at least his surroundings were congenial, even if his mood was foul, and his libido in a major state of rebellion.
The large sitting room had French doors that opened onto a balcony, and the separate bedroom was furnished with two queen-size beds as he had requested when booking the suite. A request that had caused the well-trained registration clerk to bunk several times before keying the command into his computer in discreet silence. The clerk was, after all, dealing with the groom in a wedding that had been billed as the passion-fest of the decade. Under the circumstances, Jordan figured the guy was entitled to a little astonishment. He probably thought they had some weird sexual fetis
h that required two beds. Jordan wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan out loud at the escalating craziness of his situation.
Emily's reaction to their honeymoon suite didn't make it any easier for him to hold on to his cool. She explored the rooms with the darting gaze of a hunted rabbit who knew the hounds were gaining fast. At the sight of the two beds, her shoulders slumped with relief.
Jordan waited for her to say something, but she seemed to decide that the less said the better. A typical Emily reaction, but one he was willing to let her get away with for now. Given that virtually everything he'd said to convince Emily to marry him had been a lie, he was in no position to complain about people who didn't have the courage to bring important issues out into the open. Jordan the rebel, the kid who'd walked away from his heritage without a backward glance, had turned into a card-carrying member of Cowards Anonymous when confronted with the possibility of confessing to Emily how he truly felt about her.
"I asked room service to send us up a light supper around eleven," he said, flinging his jacket over a chair and loosening his black tie enough to unfasten the top button of his starched and pleated shirt. "I don't know about you, but I barely ate at the reception. Every time I got a bite of food on my fork, some cousin or great-aunt would come up to congratulate me. Eventually, I gave up."
"Same with me. I never even got to eat any wedding cake, except for a mouthful while the photographer shot pictures." Emily gave him a tentative smile. "Actually, now that you mention it, I'm starving."
Her smile worked its usual devastating magic on his common sense, his hormones and his general state of rampaging sexual need. He was damn lucky his tongue wasn't hanging out. Jordan glanced at his watch, giving himself a couple of seconds to get his act back together. Emily, in the close proximity of their honeymoon suite, was not doing a thing for his state of overheated lust.
"It's almost eleven, so the food should be arriving any minute," he said, when his heart was no longer thumping in double time. Damn! This was not going to be a fun night. He hadn't felt this aroused—this unsure of himself—since his best friend in high school dared him to ask for a date with Lindsey Ibbotson, princess of the cheer-leading squad and possessor of the boobs voted "best all-around" in the guys' locker room poll.
"I'll take care of the room service waiter," Jordan said. "Why don't you go ahead and unpack whatever you need for tonight? Maybe you want to take a shower and change into a robe, or something."
Emily's hesitant smile vanished at the reminder of the obstacles that still lay ahead before she could take refuge in the safety of sleep. She linked her hands tightly in front of her, kneading them anxiously. Jordan wanted to laugh at her unmistakable embarrassment, but no laughter came. Instead, he found that he was dry-mouthed with desire.
After a few moments of tense silence, Emily cleared her throat and launched into the speech he'd been waiting for. "Jordan, I've been trying to find some casual and sophisticated way to discuss the sleeping arrangements for tonight but I can't. So I guess I'll have to be crass and juvenile." Her cheeks turned pink. "I'm sure you weren't expecting us to—to sleep together, but just in case you were, I don't think that would be a good idea."
"I agree," Jordan said blandly, deliberately misunderstanding. Hell, he wasn't going to get any other satisfaction tonight, so he might as well at least have the pleasure of watching Emily squirm a little.
"You—you do?"
"Sure," he said. "That's why I ordered a room with two beds. I'm a pretty restless sleeper and I've never enjoyed sleeping with my lovers, have you?"
Emily sent him an appalled glance. "I didn't mean…I know I said sleeping, but I wasn't actually talking about sleeping…'"
"No?" Her fingers were going to snap off if she twisted them much harder, Jordan thought wryly. "What were you talking about, then?"
She drew in a determined breath, giving up on euphemisms. "I was talking about having sex."
"We only need one bed for that." He sent her his most charming and intimate smile.
"We don't need any beds for that."
He quirked an eyebrow. "You prefer the floor? The couch? A chair?" He flashed her a sexy leer. "Whatever you want, Em. I'm real flexible."
"Good heavens, no! I don't want to have sex on the floor! Or anywhere!". Her blush darkened to crimson. "This isn't coming out right," she said, pacing the room. "What I'm trying to say is that this is a marriage of convenience, based on my need not to disappoint my parents, and my even more pathetic need not to be held up as an object of pity in front of San Antonio's social elite, and your need to… well, whatever your needs were, precisely."
"I guess I thought I was pretty much saving Michael's ass," he said, provoked into a half truth.
"Well, yes, I guess you were. And he should be grateful for that, just as I am. But we still can't get sexually involved, Jordan. The situation's messy enough and sex would only make things way more complicated for both of us."
He shrugged. "Personally, I don't see a damn thing that's convenient about a marriage where there's no sex."
"Well, I can see that it's not very convenient for you to spend several months in a state of celibacy." Emily forced herself to meet his gaze. "This is obviously one of the many hundreds of things we should have discussed before today's ceremony. But we didn't, and the bottom line is that I can't fall into bed with you just because the state says it's legal. We have nothing in common except that we both want the Laurel Acres project to succeed, and that's a lousy reason to have sex with someone."
He wanted to tell her that he didn't give a damn about the success or failure of Laurel Acres, except insofar as their respective parents needed the profits the project might generate. But he wasn't ready for the discussion that admission would generate, so he kept silent.
Encouraged by his silence, Emily spoke with increasing confidence. "I'm sure now that you've stopped to consider the situation, you'll agree that things will be a lot simpler if we keep our relationship platonic."
"No, I don't agree. We're married. Why can't we make love?"
She frowned, beginning to look irritated by his failure to comprehend. "Because we're going to get divorced in less than a year. Because we're not in love, so we wouldn't be making love. We'd be having meaningless sex—"
"Have you been in love with everyone you ever had sex with?" Jordan discovered that he really wanted to know the answer to that question.
She hesitated for a second or two. "I thought I was," she said finally. "I would never have sex with a man unless I cared about him. And that's not the case with us, is it?"
But she'd cared about Michael, Jordan thought bleakly, otherwise she would never have agreed to become engaged. Sometimes Emily's relationship with his brother had seemed so asexual that he'd wondered if they had actually been to bed together. A crazy hope, given Michael's predatory attitude toward women. Anyway, it was ridiculous to care. Even more ridiculous to harbor a jealous wish that his brother had never seen Emily drowsy in the aftermath of sexual climax, her defenses shattered and her barriers down. He had no possible right to resent the fact that Emily and his brother must have made love many times during the past three months.
Jordan deliberately slammed the door shut on images that led him to a place where he absolutely, positively didn't want to go. No point in dwelling on what had happened between Emily and his brother since that relationship was over, however much Emily might regret its end. He consoled himself with a reminder that the past might belong to Michael, but the future was his.
Jordan shook off a momentary desolation. Hell, he should be grateful for small mercies. Two days earlier he'd been preparing himself to watch Emily marry a man he was convinced would never make her happy. Now, with the help of a lot of fast talking, he had weeks—months— in which to convince her that she'd ended up married to the right brother.
Tonight, however, was not the appropriate time to start an in-depth exploration of the many misconceptions Emily harbored about him. She wa
s emotionally spent, not to mention physically exhausted. In all honesty, he was pretty damned tired himself.
Crossing the room, he abandoned his slightly mocking pose. Touching her lightly on the cheek, he spoke softly, with no defensive, cynical edge to his words.
"Don't look so worried, Em. I shouldn't have teased you about this. The truth is, I never expected the two of us to make love tonight. That's why there are two beds. Although it's also true that I can be a restless sleeper."
Her spectacular golden-brown eyes looked up at him, warm with sudden gratitude. "Thank you, Jordan. I really appreciate your consideration. Given that most couples nowadays fall into bed together on their first date, and only ask each other's names afterward if they've had a real good time, I know I must seem weirdly old-fashioned."
"Mmm, you do, but pleasantly so." He smiled at her, keeping his distance because he wasn't sure he could touch her and still find the willpower to move away. "We have months of married life ahead of us. I can wait."
She started a confused explanation of why she was sure their marriage would work much better if sex was kept permanently out of the equation. A knock at the door came just in time to save her from descending into total incoherence.
Jordan grinned and walked across the room toward the door. "Saved by the bell, honey, wouldn't you say?"
She let out a shaky breath. "I'll unpack," she mumbled, escaping to the bedroom. "I think I'll take a shower, too."
Jordan agreed with the room service waiter that they would eat at the table by the window, and watched as the young man set out an attractive supper of tiny sandwiches, fresh fruit and miniature cookies.
"Compliments of the general manager," the waiter said, opening a bottle of champagne and placing it in a bucket of ice. "Enjoy your meal, sir."
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