A Family Circle 1 - A Very Convenient Marriage (10 page)

❧

The soft hiss of the rain in the courtyard seemed to thicken the silence inside, making it an almost tangible presence. Neither of the room's occupants had said a word since Lena's departure. The housekeeper had gone home as soon as the meal was served, leaving the newlyweds alone in the big house.

Sam ate with the methodical precision of an assembly-line worker building widgets. And with about as much pleasure.

Nikki picked at her meal, rearranging the food on her plate and forcing down an occasional bite. She was vividly aware of the man sitting across the table from her.

"I think we were set up."

Nikki jumped, startled. The silence between them had been so thick that it was a shock to have it broken. Her eyes jerked to his face.

"Setup?"

"For this meal. I think Lena set us up." There was a hint of rueful humor in his eyes, and Nikki felt the knot of tension in her stomach ease a little.

"I think so, too," she agreed.

"You'd think I'd recognize a sting when it's staring me in the face, but I fell for it like a rookie."

"I've known her long enough to be suspicious, but I didn't see it coming."

"She's very good. I mean, she didn't actually tell me you weren't eating in tonight. She just held out the bait and I jumped for it." There was real admiration in Sam's tone.

"She did the same thing with me. Said you hadn't been eating here at all."

"She said the same thing about you."

"I haven't been. Not since the... since we..."

"Got married?" Sam said the words she couldn't quite get out.

"Yes." Nikki gave up the pretense of interest in her food and pushed her plate aside, "It seems so incredible, I have a hard time saying it."

"I know what you mean."

Sam pushed his own plate aside and reached for the thermal coffeepot Lena had set on the end of the table. He held it up, lifting one brow questioningly. Nikki nodded and pushed her cup across the table. Sam filled both their cups, nudged the cream and sugar in her direction and then leaned back in his chair, cradling his coffee between his palms. The bone-china cup looked ridiculously small and fragile in his large hands.

Nikki added a spoonful of sugar and a healthy dollop of cream to her coffee. The only sound in the room was the soft rush of the rain outside and the musical chime of her spoon against the delicate porcelain of the cup as she stirred her coffee. But the tension that had characterized the silence only moments before was gone.

"I think this is some kind of record," Sam said.

"What is?"

"We've been together for—" he glanced at his watch "—almost twenty minutes without getting into an argument."

"We didn't speak for seventeen of those twenty minutes," she pointed out dryly.

"And that's another record. Three minutes conversation without attempted murder on either side."

"Where's Ripley when you need him?"

There was a short, almost companionable silence. Nikki took a sip of coffee and shot a surreptitious look across the table at Sam, wondering if he was as surprised as she was that they were actually managing a civil exchange. From the look in his eyes when they met hers, he was.

"I was out of line this evening when you came to my room," he said. "I'm sorry."

The reminder of the scene—
was it only an hour ago?
— brought an extra tint of pink into Nikki's cheeks. She looked away from him, trying to banish the image of his nudity. "I really did think you'd said to come in," she said, hoping he wouldn't notice her blush.

"I guess your finishing-school ears just aren't accustomed to my middle-class accent."

Nikki's shoulders stiffened. So much for their brief cease-fire, she thought. He couldn't go more than a few minutes without making snide remarks about the differences in their backgrounds. She was surprised by the depth of her disappointment. The last few minutes had been so pleasant.

She lifted her head, a cutting response hovering on the tip of her tongue. And she saw the humor in Sam's blue eyes. There was nothing sarcastic or critical in his expression, and Nikki realized she'd misjudged him.

Maybe not for the first time?

It was a novel thought, the idea that she might have misjudged him. Not that she'd been completely wrong. Certainly she hadn't misjudged his determination to dump her on the Ventura Freeway in the middle of the night. But maybe he wasn't quite as hopeless as she'd thought.

"Next time, I'll ask you to repeat yourself," she said. And it was hard to say who was most surprised by the faintly teasing note in her response.

"Maybe I should ask you to repeat what you think you heard." Sam's half smile became a full-fledged grin, and Nikki's heart bumped ever so slightly. He really was a remarkably attractive man, if you liked the type. And wasn't it a very good thing that she didn't?

"Lena thinks we should try to get along," she said abruptly.

"So I gathered." Sam cradled the cup against his palm. "I assume that's why she set us up tonight."

"Yes."

"It would certainly make the next twelve months a little easier."

"True."

There was a brief silence while they both considered just how long a year could be.

"I guess I haven't been the easiest guy in the world to get along with," Sam said finally.

She could have commented that that was the understatement of the year, but she didn't. He'd offered an olive branch and the least she could do was respond in kind. "I haven't been an angel of sweetness and light."

"I'm the one who's been at fault in most of this."

Nikki shook her head. "I can't let you take all the blame. I know my temper's been short."

"I don't blame you. I've been a real s.o.b."

She felt a flash of irritation. Did he have to argue with everything she said? "Really, I'm just as much to blame as you are," she insisted in an aggressively reasonable tone.

Sam's smile tightened subtly and his eyes took on a faint chill. "I launched the hostilities in Max's office the day we met. You're not to blame for responding in kind."

Nikki fought to control her annoyance. Really, he was the most obnoxious man she'd ever met. And wasn't it typical of him to insist on having the final word and taking all the blame-Suddenly it hit her that they were actually on the verge of quarreling over who was most to blame for their past quarrels. The absurdity of it brought her eyes to Sam's face. The same thought must have struck him, because his eyes reflected her own surprise and disbelief.

"This is ridiculous. I can't even believe we're arguing about this," he muttered.

Neither could Nikki. She wasn't normally an argumentative woman. What was it about the man she'd married that brought out this side of her? And how were they going to dig themselves out of this latest hole?

"You're right, it is ridiculous. If you want to take all the blame, I won't stop you." She nodded her head graciously.

"Gee, that's big of you," Sam said dryly. "Thanks. I think."

"You're welcome."

Nikki saw the laughter in Sam's eyes, and a soft giggle escaped her. Sam chuckled. The moment of shared laughter banished the last of the tension between them.

"Maybe we can blame everything on the situation," Sam suggested. He shook his head as he reached for the coffee pot. "I thought arrangements like this only existed in books and movies."

He raised the coffeepot and gave her a questioning look.

"No, thank you. One cup is my limit."

"You'd never make it as a cop." Sam twisted the lid back onto the thermal pot and picked up his cup.

"Do you have to drink a lot of coffee to be a cop?"

"At least a pot a day," he confirmed solemnly. "We've got to have something to go with all those doughnuts."

"I can imagine." Though from what she'd seen of him— which, come to think of it, was a considerable amount—she doubted that Sam spent much time eating doughnuts. A man didn't end up with all that lean muscle by spending his time at Winchell's.

"Do you think we could manage to maintain this level of civility for more than a few minutes?" he asked, his tone pitiable.

Nikki shot a quick glance across the table, taking in the humor in his eyes, the warmth of his smile and the tousled thickness of his dark blond hair. She was shocked to realize that she didn't think it would be difficult at all.

"Maybe if we worked on it," she conceded.

"I'm willing to try if you are. A year is a long time to be at odds with someone you're living with. We could try and think of each other as roommates. My brother Gage has a woman roommate, and they manage to rub along together fairly well."

"In a way, I guess that's what we are," Nikki said slowly.

"Truce?" He offered his hand across the table.

Nikki hesitated only a moment before accepting the gesture. She felt an immediate jolt of awareness, the same tingling feeling that she'd had the first time they shook hands in Max's office. She'd had it again, only much stronger, when he'd kissed her in the chapel.

His fingers seemed to swallow her hand, making her very aware of how much larger and stronger he was. The thought should have been frightening. They might share a marriage license, but he was still a stranger. It wasn't fear Nikki felt, though. It was a deep feminine awareness of the masculinity of the man across from her, of the differences between them.

"Truce." She heard the breathy tone of her response and hoped Sam would attribute it to the surprise of finding them in agreement. She pulled her hand free.

"Maybe we'll make it through this next year without killing each other after all," Sam said, giving her another of those grins that made her pulse jump.

"It just might be possible."

Somehow, twelve months didn't sound nearly as long as it had a few minutes ago.

❧

"So, how's married life?" Liz's eyes were bright with curiosity. "I don't see any wounds, so I assume you and your new hubby haven't come to blows yet."

Once a month, she and Nikki got together to have lunch, go shopping or catch a movie together. Liz deposited Michael with a baby-sitter and, as she put it, escaped long enough to confirm that the real world still existed. Nikki thought that Liz's husband and son were the real world, but she enjoyed a chance to spend a few hours with her friend. This was the first time they'd seen each other since the wedding and Liz was bursting with a curiosity she didn't even try to hide.

"He's not my hubby and married life is just fine, especially since it's not really a marriage."

Liz clicked her tongue in disgust at this boring response. "Details. I want details."

"What kind of details are you hoping for?" Nikki asked. She gave her friend a stern look. "As if I didn't know. You're hoping for some lurid tale of passion."

"Lurid tales have gotten a bad rap in recent years. And what's wrong with passion?"

"Nothing. But that's not why I got married. For heaven's sake, Liz, I'm not going to jump into bed with a man I barely know just because we share a marriage license."

"You've thought about it, though, haven't you?" Liz asked wickedly. "I mean, there he is. And there you are. All alone together in that big house."

"I think you've been spending too much time watching soap operas. Things don't work the same way in real life as they do on TV. Maybe we should get together more often so I can give you a reality check," Nikki said, giving her a concerned look. "There's nothing going on between Sam and me."

"If I were living with a man as gorgeous as Sam Walker, I don't think I'd be boasting about the fact that nothing was going on."

The waiter's arrival with their meals gave Nikki a momentary respite, but she knew Liz too well to think the topic would be forgotten. She was right. The moment he was gone, Liz pinned Nikki to the booth with an intense look.

"And you can't tell me that you haven't given some thought to the possibilities inherent in this whole setup."

"I hardly even know he's in the house," Nikki said, lying through her teeth. She gave Liz a quelling look as she reached for the saltshaker. "This is strictly a business arrangement and that's all it's ever going to be. Enough said. Now, can we please change the subject? How is my adorable godchild?"

From Liz's expression, it was obvious that she didn't think there'd been nearly enough said, but she accepted the change of topic. And in a gesture of true friendship, she refrained from bringing up Sam's name for the rest of the afternoon.

Nikki appreciated her restraint. She only wished that he'd stay out of her thoughts as well as the conversation. And she wished she'd been telling the truth when she said that she hardly knew he was in the house. But if she'd told Liz the truth, she'd have had to admit to thinking about her new husband more than she liked.

It had been a week since they'd agreed to a cease-fire. As she'd crawled into bed that night, she'd wondered if it was possible that she and Sam could really get along. From the moment they'd met, they'd struck sparks off one another.

Now, driving home after her time with Liz, she found herself considering the possibility of a whole new kind of sparks between them. She dismissed the idea almost immediately. Even if she were to become attracted to Sam, and assuming the feeling was mutual, it wouldn't make any difference. This was still a business arrangement and, if there was one thing she'd learned from her grandfather, you did not mix your business and your private lives.

"And you forced me to break that rule, Grandfather, when you came up with that ridiculous clause to put in your will," she said out loud as she turned into her driveway. "Because you forced me to mix business with my private life in a major way."

Sam's truck was parked in front of the house. Nikki's heart jumped a little, but that was easily explained. She and Sam might have been getting along this past week, but she still wasn't accustomed to the idea that she no longer lived alone. And it wasn't as if she and Sam had become friends overnight. The overt hostility was gone, but they were still strangers. They'd hardly seen each other this past week, which could be why their truce had held, she thought as she pushed open the front door!

Sam was coming down the stairs as she entered the house, as if he'd been conjured by her thinking about him. He smiled when he saw her, and Nikki was struck by how much more pleasant it was to be on speaking terms. Prior to their truce last week, they'd probably have exchanged little more than a nod.

"Nikki, I'm glad I caught you," he said, taking the last two stairs in one stride.

He was wearing jeans, well-worn and faded, clinging to his long legs in a way that made her aware of the muscles beneath the snug denim, and the light from the chandelier picked out the gold in his dark blond hair. All in all, he looked altogether too attractive. It was too bad Max hadn't come up with a nice, mousy type for her to marry, someone with a plastic pocket protector and safety glasses that slid down his nose—someone who wouldn't have even the slightest effect on her pulse.

With an effort, she forced herself to concentrate on what Sam was saying.

"I was hoping I'd get a chance to talk to you before I left for work."

"I thought you worked today," she said. Walking to the narrow mahogany side table that sat along one side of the entryway, Nikki set ha- purse down and picked up the stack of mail there before turning back toward Sam. The little bit of extra distance made it easier to breathe.

"No rest for the wicked." His smile couldn't completely banish the tired lines beside his eyes. "Thanksgiving is next week." Sam was shrugging into his jacket as he spoke. "I never thought to ask if your family is coming back from Europe for the holidays."

"My family?"

The questioning tone of her voice made Sam's brows go up. "Your mother and your brother," he clarified. "Are they coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas?"

"Not that I know of. I think Mother planned to spend the holidays in Monaco. I don't know what Alan will be doing." She shrugged. "We're not really very close." Which was a bit of an understatement, particularly when it came to her brother, whom she hadn't seen since their grandfather's funeral two years before.

"Then there's no conflict," he said with satisfaction.

"Conflict?"

"With your family and mine both expecting us to join them. We can go to Los Olivos." He pulled his keys out of his pocket, apparently satisfied that the decision had been made.

"I can't spend the holiday at your family's home," Nikki protested, horrified at the idea.

"Why not?"

"Because they think we're married."

"We are married."

"You know what I mean." Agitated, she set the mail back down and shoved her hands in the pockets of her slacks.

"You mean they're going to expect us to act like a couple." He took the lift of her shoulder as agreement and continued. "You didn't think we could make it a whole year without running into situations where we'd have to pretend we were really married, did you?"

"It's too soon. We could never carry it off. Besides, I was planning on spending the holidays with Jason. Otherwise, he'll be alone." She finished on a note of triumph, confident that she'd solved the question of the holidays.

"Isn't Jason going to think it a bit odd if we spend our first holiday together apart?" Sam's tone was dry. "We're supposed to be madly in love, remember?"

Nikki stared at him. She wanted more than anything to argue with him, but she couldn't. Jason would think it very odd if she spent Thanksgiving with him and left her new husband to go off and join his family.

"Why don't you see if Jason wants to join us?" Sam asked, accepting her tacit agreement that they'd be spending the holidays together. "Thanksgiving is pretty much of an open house and I know he'd be welcome."

"I'll ask," Nikki said, giving in to reality.

"Don't look so glum," Sam chided. "We haven't burned anyone at the stake in at least five or six years."

"That's reassuring."

He grinned at her gloomy tone, lifted his hand in farewell and disappeared out the door. Nikki stayed where she was, listening to the delicate sound of the fountain in the corner and trying to convince herself that this visit didn't have disaster written all over it.