His 1-800 Wife (5 page)

"But this might not be the best way. You really need to give this a thorough understanding before we do anything."

She smiled then, as if light had just dawned. "I understand your concern."

"You do?"

"That was the initial reason I came." She walked behind the bar and pulled a canned soft drink from the refrigerator. Popping the top, she poured it into his empty glass. Jarrod wondered if her small act was to drive home a point. They had known each other a very long time. She was familiar with his family and he with hers. They'd practically grown up together, but he'd only been sexually attracted to her for a few hours.

Catherine came around and stood at the stool next to him.

"I thought we'd better get our story straight, but I don't think you're sober enough."

"I'm sober enough. What is it?"

She handed him the soft drink. He drank it all. "You've been away for five years. Suddenly you're back and after a witnessed argument, we're engaged. We've got to have a story for that."

"How about we say you were the reason I left in the first place? That I was falling. . ." He found it hard to say the word. "I was falling in love with you and I took the job in England because I wasn't ready for a commitment."

"That's good." She smiled. "But now you are?"

"I'm older, no longer playing practical jokes. I'm ready to settle down and start a family."

“You are?" Her eyebrows went up." I didn't know."

"It's a lie, Catherine. It's what I'll tell them," he said. He moved from the stool. It had to be the alcohol on his brain, he told himself. His mind was playing tricks on him. He couldn't be seeing them, himself and Catherine as a family. The children, their chil­dren. He shook his head to clear the image.

"Oh, of course." She cleared her throat. "Do you want to have kids someday?"

He turned back. She was standing in front of the bar stool. "Yes," he said quietly.

She approached him. "Jarrod." She swallowed. "Maybe you're right. I haven't thought this through. I never even asked if you have someone, someone special."

"There is no one else," he answered more sharply than he'd intended.

"It's hard to believe you could still be single. You're an attractive man, and I see how women circle you. Julianna Stone would elope with you tomorrow. Why haven't you ever married?"

How had this conversation turned to him? He didn't want to discuss himself. Not with her. "Let's concentrate on us, what we'll tell everyone. Julianna has her own problems."

She stared at him for a moment. He knew she wanted to continue the conversation on its present course, but he wouldn't go there. Not even in his inebriated state.

"Why did you decide to return now?" she finally asked, adhering to his wishes.

"I couldn't stay away any longer," he answered immediately, continuing to concoct the lie they would tell together. "We've been corresponding by e-mail, and when you went to Paris two summers ago I met you there. I couldn't leave England until after I'd completed my contract, but now I'm back for good."

"Jarrod, that's not true."

"It doesn't matter," he snapped; then, more qui­etly, he said, "They'll believe it because we'll be con­vincing."

Catherine stepped back. The implication must have hit her and she was back in the swing with him.

"Jarrod, this is a practical joke. We're getting mar­ried, but it's not real."

"You mean no sex."

"No sex." She nodded, agreeing with him.

"How long do you think that's going to last?" He walked right up to her. He could tell she wanted to move away, but Catherine always stood her ground. She'd been butting heads with him since their child­hood. He knew she wouldn't let him know how much his words could scare her. This was his Catherine, the one who would challenge him, who wouldn't back down when it came to a fight. Suddenly he under­stood why he'd tormented her all those years ago. He loved the way she rose to the challenge.

"You said we're adults and we can act responsibly."

"Like we were doing in that swing this afternoon?" He took another step. Heat enveloped them. He could smell her perfume. He leaned toward her. It wasn't perfume. What he smelled, what had kept him thinking of her for all those years was her own essence, the scent that defined Catherine. It was under the perfume, part of her makeup, as inseparable a part of her as her eye color and the ebony darkness of her hair. His eyes stared at her mouth. He watched her lick her lips. The gesture made him want to taste them, see if they were as sweet as they had been earlier in the day. He wanted to kiss her again. Jarrod felt her sway. He could feel the hesitancy in her. At the last minute she sidestepped him, just as he'd decided to close the gap between them. Jarrod had to stop himself from falling.

"We only need to kiss if there is an audience. And we have none."

"Any more rules?"

She flashed him a pointed look. "What about the argument?"

"What argument?"

"This afternoon in front of Audrey," she said.

"Lovers' quarrel," he supplied. "We can say you were angry because I came back and didn't immediately call you, but we patched it up in the gazebo." He watched her face. Color rose under her skin.

"We'll have to set a date," she recovered. "After­ward, I suppose we'll live in my house. Unless you have some objection."

"No objection."

"What about a wedding date?"

He shrugged. "You choose it."

"Jarrod, I don't want to feel I'm making you do something you don't want to."

"You're not." He went back to the bar, but not for a drink. He didn't want anything to impair his faculties. He was going to need every bit of his wits intact to deal with this woman. "Six weeks from today."

"What?" she asked.

"The wedding," he explained. "Saturday, August fourth. First Baptist Church."

"Audrey won't think that's enough time."

"Audrey's already married," he told her. "She'll have to adjust."

Chapter 3

The ocean roared. Catherine hugged her knees to herself as she watched the waves splashing, creating a sudsy play with the rocky cliffs. The sky was bright blue. Soft clouds moved gently overhead. A warm breeze blew loose tendrils of her hair. Gulls sang in the sky, cawing their incessant melody to all who would listen. This bright morning Catherine had the entire show to herself.

She hadn't slept well. She should have. She was getting what she wanted: a husband, her family off her back. Jarrod was really a friend. She couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. Six months after the wedding she'd be divorced and life would go on. So why was her plan giving her second thoughts?

It was Jarrod, and that comment about children. He had been drunk. She could blame it on that, but when he answered her question there was no sign of drunkenness in his eyes. What she saw was sorrow. She'd never thought of a family. She'd only thought of solving her immediate problem. What would happen if things got out of hand and she got pregnant?

No! She shook her head to reassure herself. No sex. They'd agreed on that. There was no way she could get pregnant. This was going to be a business deal, not a real marriage. Still, her thoughts suddenly included him.

She remembered him last night in the library of his mother's house. Sober, he was charming. He'd wrapped the garden party ladies around his finger. In the swing she'd succumbed to that same charm. Drunk he looked just as good, better than good. She'd turned away from him when he tried to kiss her, but she'd looked into his eyes. Searching for some way to explain her behavior, her feelings, her newfound affection for someone she thought of as brother mate­rial. His eyes weren't evenly brown. In their depths was a ring the color that reminded her of a lion's mane. His skin, the wine dark color of a bay mare, contrasted with her own. He was the perfect combination of noble beast and king of the jungle.

And yesterday. What had happened to them yester­day? How could she feel so different in his arms? Her body had become liquid honey, warm and oozing, and raw with power, blending into his. She'd never felt like that before. In all the years they'd been together, the tricks he'd played on her, the rainstorms he'd seen her through, even the hug at the airport when he left for England, hadn't prepared her for the bevy of sensations that raced through her when he kissed her.

She couldn't figure it out. Even the roaring ocean didn't give her answers. She'd come here to ask for help, but she couldn't focus on any one question. There were too many of them crowding in on her, falling over each other in their quest for answers. What would marriage be like, even an in-name-only marriage? The ocean crashed in her ears. Was that it? Did she really want that kind of marriage?

She didn't.

She wanted a real relationship, one based on trust, mutual loving and equal giving, but that never hap­pened. She'd seen it. In every marriage she knew, even her sister's and her mother's, something had been traded in, given up, and mostly the women gave up part of themselves, part or all of their dreams. She wouldn't do that. Not for anyone. She had dreams and she would see them through. She would never marry for real.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Catherine squinted, raising her hand to the sun. Jarrod stood a few feet from her perch against the stone wall that ran for miles along the rocky coast below, separating, in some cases, the sand from the grass. The sun was behind him, making a silhouette of his powerful body. She blamed his surprise appear­ance as the reason her body began to tingle. The rush of blood in her ears rivaled the ocean forces, pumping double time.

He wore shorts and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes. But pecs, abs, and muscle definition that could keep Michelangelo busy for an eternity. A living statue. Catherine swallowed.

Jarrod might have been brother material when he left for England, but the muscle-chested god standing in front of her now brought out no sisterly feelings on her part. She squirmed, feeling she needed to remain on her guard. If he discovered that she thought of him sexually, he might try to kiss her again, and although Catherine yearned to feel that rush of exhil­aration that overtook her when he held her in his arms, she had no defense against him.

Jarrod dropped down to the sand beside her. His arm brushed hers. Quickly she moved away, but not quickly enough to forestall the fire that burned her like a thousand suns.

"What's going on, Catherine?"

"Why should something be going on?"

"Because this is your alone place. You come here when you need to talk to the sea."

"I don't talk to the sea." She tried to laugh, glanc­ing at the blue water. His gaze told her that he knew her well enough to know she came to the water when she needed to sort things out. It was fright­ening that the years of separation hadn't dulled his memory of her habits.

"You let it talk to you. So what did it tell you this morning?"

"That you were right last night." She grabbed a handful of sand, watching the granules sift through her fingers, rather than look at Jarrod.

"I was drunk last night."

"You still made sense."

"About what?"

"About the plan needing more thought." Cather­ine watched him playing with the grass as well.

"Is that what you're doing here?"

"I'm trying."

"I gave it some thought last night—after the booze wore off."

"What did you decide?"

"The decision is no longer ours." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small blue velvet box. He offered it to her.

"What is that?" She stared at the ring box as if it held some strange potion that would forever alter her if she opened it.

Jarrod pulled the blue top open. Catherine gasped at the ring inside. It was beautiful. A huge, blue, square-cut diamond. It was surrounded by smaller white diamonds in an invisible setting. The stone, which had to be five or six carats, looked as if it were floating on the bed of white that covered the inside of the box.

She didn't even know she'd reached for the box until she had it in the palm of her hand. She cradled it as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever held. "Jarrod, it's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen."

"It belonged to my grandmother."

Catherine was staring at the stone. It took a moment for his words to register.

"What did you say?" She looked at him. "Jarrod, I can't wear your grandmother's ring." She handed the box back to him, but even as she did, she was imagining the ring on her finger.

Jarrod snapped it closed. "I told my mother you'd react this way, but she is so thrilled with the engage­ment that I couldn't do anything but bring it."

"This is getting out of hand," Catherine said. "Couldn't you tell her we'd buy a ring? That I only want a gold band, no engagement ring?" She closed the box, covering it with both hands.

"I tried," Jarrod said. "She would have none of it. She said every woman wants an engagement ring."

Catherine stared at the box in his hand. She hadn't thought about a ring at all. She'd never considered a wedding ring either. Of course, she figured she'd wear one, but it would be plain, like their agreement, all business, no embellishments. Nothing like the beautiful blue diamond had ever entered her mind.