Marriage With Benefits (2 page)

A divorce would set his gray-sheep status in stone, and he’d been killing himself to reverse the effects of his monumental lapse in judgment with Lana. Why eliminate what little progress he’d achieved so far?

The other temple throbbed. “Darlin’, you’re not my type. Conquistador Barbie just doesn’t do it for me.”

The withering scowl she leveled at him almost pared back his skin. “That’s the beauty of this deal. There’s no chance of being tempted to turn this physical. No messy ties. It’s a business agreement between respected associates with a finite term. I can’t believe you’re balking at this opportunity.”

Because it was
marriage.
Marriage was a “someday” thing, a commitment he’d make way, way, way in the future, once he found the right woman. He’d be giving this stranger his name, sharing his daily life with her.

And of course, he’d be married, the opposite of single. “For the record, I’m wounded to learn my temptation factor is zero. It can’t be as simple as you’re making it out to be. What if someone finds out it’s not real? Will you still get the money?”

“No one will find out. I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re not going to tell anyone. We only have to fake being madly in love once or twice around other people so my grandfather buys it. Behind closed doors, we can do our own thing.”

Madly in love. Faking that would be a seriously tall order when he’d never been so much as a tiny bit in love. “Why can’t you have the money unless you get divorced? That’s the weirdest trust clause I’ve ever heard.”

“Nosy, aren’t you?”

He raised a brow. “Well, now, darlin’, you just proposed to me. I’m entitled to a few questions.”

“My grandfather is old-fashioned. When my parents died…” Her lips firmed into a flat line. “He wants me to be taken care of, and in his mind, that means a husband. I’m supposed to fall in love and get married and have babies, not get a divorce. The money is a safety net in case the husband bails, one I put considerable effort into convincing my grandfather to include.”

“Your grandfather has met you, right?” He grinned. “Five minutes into our acquaintance, and I would never make the mistake of thinking you can’t look after yourself. Why thirty-five? You don’t strike me as one to blow your trust fund on cocaine and roulette.”

“I donated all the money I inherited from my parents to the shelter where I work,” she snapped, as if daring him to say something—anything—about it. “And don’t go thinking I’m looking for handouts. My grandfather set up the trust and deposits the considerable interest directly into my bank account. I have more than enough to live on, but not enough to build a shelter. He’s hoping I’ll lose enthusiasm for battered women by thirty-five.”

“Well, that’s obviously not going to happen.”

“No. And I don’t enjoy being manipulated into marriage.” She tightened the lock of her crossed arms. “Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to hurt puppies or put your money into a pyramid scheme. This is going to save lives. Women who suffer domestic abuse have nowhere to go. Most of them don’t have much education and have to work to feed their kids. Consider it charity. Or are you too selfish?”

“Hey now. I’m on the Habitat for Humanity board. I tithe my ten percent. Give me a break.”

Good button to push, though, because against his will, wheels started turning.

Six months wasn’t too much of a sacrifice for the greater good, was it? Abuse was a terrible evil, and a charity that helped abuse victims was well worth supporting. He took in Cia’s fierce little form and couldn’t help but wonder what had sparked all that passion. Did she reserve it for crusading or did she burn this brightly in other one-on-one situations, too?

Through the glass separating the balcony from the ballroom, he watched his grandparents slow dance in the midst of his parents’ friends. Could he make this fake marriage work and protect his family from divorce fallout at the same time? He couldn’t deny how far a nice, stable wife might go toward combating his problems with Lana’s husband. Probably not a bad idea to swear off women for a while anyway. Maybe if he kept Cia away from his family as much as possible, Mama would eventually forget about the absentee daughter-in-law.

No. No way. This whole setup gave him hives.

Mama would never let him keep a wife squirreled away, no matter what he intended. Cia could find someone else to marry, and together he and Matthew would straighten out the kinks in Wheeler Family Partners’ client list. “As…interesting as all this sounds, afraid I’ll have to pass.”

“Not so fast.” Her gaze pierced him with a prickly, no-nonsense librarian thing. “I’m trusting you with this information. Don’t disappoint me or you’ll spend the next six months tied up in court. My grandfather is selling the cell phone division of Manzanares and moving the remainder of the business to a smaller facility. I’m sure you’re familiar with his current location?”

Four buildings surrounding a treed park, centrally located and less than ten years old. Designed by Brown & Worthington in an innovative, award-winning Mediterranean/modern architectural mix. Approximately three million square feet with access to the DART light-rail.

“Slightly.”

“My grandfather would be thrilled to give the exclusive sales contract for the complex to my husband.”

She waited, but calculations had already scrolled through his head.

The commission on Manzanares beat the Rose building by quadruple. And the prestige—it could lead to other clients for Wheeler Family Partners, and instead of being the Wheeler who’d screwed up, he’d be the family’s savior.

Out of nowhere, the fifty-pound weight sitting on his chest rolled off. “If I went so far as to entertain this insane idea, can I call you Dulciana?”

“Not if you expect me to answer. My name is Cia, which, incidentally, sounds nothing like
darling,
so take note. Are you in or out?”

He had to tell her
now?
Evidently Cia did not subscribe to the Lucas Wheeler Philosophy of Life—anything worth doing was worth taking the time to do right. “Why me?”

“You may play the field well and often, but research shows you treat women with respect. That’s important to me. Also, everything I’ve read says you’ll keep your word, a rare commodity. I can’t be the one to file for divorce so I have to trust you will.”

Oddly, her faith touched him. But the feeling didn’t sit well. “Don’t you have a boyfriend or some other hapless male in your life you can railroad into this?”

“There’s no one else. In my experience, men have one primary use.” She let her gaze rove over him suggestively, and the atmosphere shifted from tense to provocative. Hidden terrace lighting played over her features, softening them, and that unrevealing dress dangled the promise of what she’d hidden under it.

Then she finished the sentiment. “To move furniture.”

That’s
why this exotically beautiful woman didn’t have a boyfriend stashed somewhere. Any guy sniffing around Miz Allende had to want it bad enough to work for it. Nobody was worth that much effort, not even this ferocious little crusader with the mismatched earrings who’d waltzed into the Black Gold Club and walked across the room with a deliberate, slow gait he’d thoroughly enjoyed watching. “You win. I’ll call you Cia.”

Her brows snapped together. “Throw down your hand, Wheeler. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain by marrying me. Yes or no?”

She was all fire and passion, and it was a dirty shame she seemed hell-bent on keeping their liaison on paper. But he usually liked his women uncomplicated and easygoing, so treating this deal as business might be the better way to go.

He groaned. At what point had he started to buy into this lunatic idea of a fake-but-pretend-it’s-real marriage to a woman he’d just met? Call him crazy, but he’d always imagined having lots of sex with the woman he eventually married…way, way, way in the future.

If he pursued her, he’d have to work hard to get Miz Allende into bed, which didn’t sound appealing in the least, and the deal would be difficult enough.

Business only, then, in exchange for a heap of benefits.

The Manzanares contract lay within his grasp. He couldn’t pass up the chance to revitalize his family’s business. Yeah, Matthew would be right there, fighting alongside Lucas no matter what, but he shouldn’t have to be. The mess belonged to Lucas alone, and a way to fix it had miraculously appeared.

“No,” he said.

“No?” Cia did a fair impression of a big-mouth bass. “As in you’re turning me down?”

“As in I don’t kowtow to the X chromosome. You want to do business, we’ll do it in my office tomorrow morning. Nine sharp.” Giving him plenty of time to do a little reconnaissance so he could meet his future wife-slash-business-partner toe-to-toe. Wheelers knew how to broker a deal. “With lawyers, without alcohol, and darlin’, don’t be late.”

Her face went blank, and the temperature dropped at least five degrees. She nodded once. “Done.”

Hurricane Cia swept toward the door, and he had no doubt the reprieve meant he stood in the eye of the storm. No problem. He’d load up on storm-proof, double-plated armor in a heartbeat if it meant solving all his problems in one shot.

Looked like he was going to make an effort after all.

Two

C
ia had been cooling her heels a full twenty minutes when Lucas strolled into the offices of Wheeler Family Partners LLC at 9:08 a.m. the next morning. Renewed anger ate through another layer of her stomach lining. She’d had to ask Courtney to cover her responsibilities at the shelter to attend this meeting, and the man didn’t have the courtesy to be on time. He’d pay for that. Especially after he’d ordered her not to be late in that high-handed, deceptively lazy drawl.

“Miz Allende.” Lucas nodded as if he often found women perched on the edge of the leather couch in the waiting area. He leaned on the granite slab covering the receptionist’s desk. “Helena, can you please reschedule the nine-thirty appraisal and send Kramer the revised offer I emailed you? Give me five minutes to find some coffee, and then show Miz Allende to my office.”

The receptionist smiled and murmured her agreement. Her eyes widened as Cia stalked up behind Lucas. The other women often found on Lucas’s couch must bow to the master’s bidding.

Cia cleared her throat, loudly, until he faced her. “I’ve got other activities on my agenda today, Wheeler. Skip the coffee, and I’ll follow
you
to your office.”

Inwardly, she cringed. Not only were her feminine wiles out of practice, she’d let Lucas get to her. She couldn’t keep being so witchy or he’d run screaming in the other direction long before realizing the benefits of marrying her.

If only he’d stop being so…Lucas for five minutes, maybe she’d be able to bite her tongue.

Lucas didn’t call her on it, though. He just stared at her, evaluating. Shadows under his lower lashes deepened the blue of his irises, and fatigue pulled at the sculpted lines of his face. Her chin came up. Carousing till all hours, likely. He probably always looked like that after rolling out of some socialite’s bed, where he’d done everything but sleep.

Not her problem. Not yet anyway.

Without a blink, he said, “Sure thing, darlin’. Helena, would you mind?”

He smiled gratefully at the receptionist’s nod and ushered Cia down a hall lined with a lush Turkish rug over espresso hardwood. Pricey artwork hung on the sage walls and lent to the moneyed ambience of the office. Wheeler Family Partners had prestige and stature among the elite property companies in Texas, and she prayed Lucas cared as much as she assumed he did about preserving his heritage, or her divorce deal would be dead on arrival.

She had to convince him to say yes. Her mother’s tireless efforts on behalf of abused women must reach fruition.

They passed two closed doors, each with name plaques reading Robert Wheeler and Andrew Wheeler, respectively. The next door was open. Lucas’s office reflected the style of the exterior. Except he filled his space with a raw, masculine vibe the second he crossed the threshold behind her, crowding her and forcing her to retreat.

Flustered, she dropped into the wingback chair closest to the desk. She had to find her footing here. But how did one go about bloodlessly discussing marriage with a man who collected beautiful women the way the shore amassed seashells?

Like it’s a business arrangement,
she reminded herself. Nothing to get worked up over. “My lawyer wasn’t able to clear her morning schedule. I trust we can involve her once we come to a suitable understanding.”

Actually, she hadn’t called her lawyer, who was neck-deep in a custody case for one of the women at the shelter. There was no way she could’ve bothered Gretchen with a proposal Lucas hadn’t even agreed to yet.

“Lawyers are busy people,” Lucas acknowledged and slid into the matching chair next to Cia instead of manning the larger, more imposing one behind the desk.

She set her back teeth together. What kind of reverse power tactic was that supposed to be?

He fished a leather bag from the floor and pulled a sheaf of papers from the center pocket, which he then handed to her. The receptionist silently entered with steaming coffee, filling the room with its rich, roasted smell. She passed it off and exited.

With a look of pure rapture stealing over his face, Lucas cupped the mug and inhaled, then drank deeply with a small moan. “Perfect. Do you think I could pay her to come live with me and make my coffee every morning?”

Cia snorted to clear the weird little tremor in her throat. Did he do everything with abandon, as if the simplest things could evoke such pleasure? “She’d probably do it for free. You know, if there were other benefits.”

Shut up.
Why did the mere presence of this man turn her stupid?

“You think?” Lucas swept Cia with a once-over. “Would you?”

“Ha. The other benefits couldn’t possibly be good enough to warrant making coffee. You’re on your own.” Her eyes trailed over the sheaf of papers in her hand. “What’s all this?”

“A draft of a prenuptial agreement. Also, a contract laying out the terms of our marriage and divorce agreement.” Lucas scrutinized her over the rim of his mug as he took a sip. He swallowed, clearly savoring the sensation of coffee sliding down his throat. “And one for the sale of Manzanares.”

Taken aback, she laughed and thumbed through the papers. “No, really. What is it?”

He sat back in his chair without a word as she skimmed through the documents. He wasn’t kidding—legalese covered page after page.

Now completely off balance, she cocked a brow. “Are you sleeping with your lawyer? Is that how you got all this put together so fast?”

“Sure enough,” he said, easily. “Can’t put nothing past you.”

Great. So he’d no doubt ensured all the terms favored him. Why hadn’t she had her own documents drawn up last week? She’d had plenty of time, and it threw her for a loop to be so unprepared. Business was supposed to be her niche. It was the only real skill she brought to the equation when continuing her mother’s work. If passion was all it took, her mother would have single-handedly saved every woman in danger.

“Run down the highlights for me, Wheeler. What sort of lovely surprises do you have buried in here?”

It dawned on her then. He was on board. She’d talked Lucas Wheeler into marrying her. Elation flooded her stomach so hard, it cramped.
Take that, Abuelo.
Her grandfather thought he was so smart, locking up the money, and she’d figured out a way to get it after all.

“No surprises. We each retain ownership of our assets. It’s all there in black and white.” His phone beeped, but he ignored it in favor of giving her his full attention. “You were up front with me, and I appreciate that. No better way to start a partnership than with honesty. So I’ll direct your attention to page fifteen.”

He waited until she found the page, which took longer than it should have, but she had this spiky, keen awareness of him watching her, and it stiffened her fingers. “Fifteen. Got it.”

“I want you to change your name to Wheeler. It’s my only stipulation. And it’s nonnegotiable.”

“No.” She spit out the word, eyes still stumbling over the lines of his unreasonable demand. “That’s ridiculous. We’re going to be married for a short time, in name only.”

“Exactly. That means you have to do the name part.”

The logic settled into her gut and needled. Hard. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t give up the link with her parents and declare herself tied to this man every time she gave her name. It was completely irrational. Completely old-fashioned.
Cia Wheeler.
And appalling. “I can’t even hyphenate? No deal. You have to take out that stipulation.”

Instead of arguing, he unfolded his long frame from the chair and held out his hand. “Come with me. I’d like to show you something.”

Nothing short of a masked man with an Uzi could make her touch him. She stood without the offered hand and scouted around his pristine, well-organized office for something worth noting. “Show me what?”

“It’s not here. I have to drive you.”

“I don’t have all day to cruise around with you, Wheeler.” If his overwhelming masculinity disturbed her this much in a spacious office, how much more potent would it be in a tiny car?

“Then we should go.”

Without waiting for further argument, he led her out a back entrance to a sleek, winter-white, four-door Mercedes and opened the passenger door before she could do it. To make a point, obviously, that he called the shots.

She sank into the creamy leather and fumed. Lucas Wheeler was proving surprisingly difficult to maneuver, and a husband she couldn’t run rings around had not been part of the plan. According to all the society articles she’d read, he only cared about the next gorgeous, sophisticated woman and the next party, presumably because he wasn’t overly ambitious or even very bright.

Okay, the articles hadn’t said that.
She’d
made presumptions, perhaps without all the facts.

He started the car and pulled out of the lot. Once on the street, he gradually sped up to a snail’s pace. She sat on her hands so she couldn’t fiddle with a hem. When that failed, she bit alternate cheeks and breathed in new-car smell mixed with leather conditioner and whatever Lucas wore that evoked a sharp, clean pine forest.

She couldn’t stand it a second longer. “
Madre de Dios,
Wheeler. You drive like my grandfather. Are we going to get there before midnight?”

That drawn-out, dangerous smile flashed into place. “Well, now, darlin’, what’s your hurry? Half the fun is getting there and the pleasures to be had along the way, don’t you think?”

The vibe spilling off him said they weren’t talking about driving at all. The car shrank, and it had already been too small for both her and the sex machine in the driver’s seat.

Slouching down, she crossed her arms over the slow burn kicking up in her abdomen. Totally against her will, she pictured Lucas doing all sorts of things excruciatingly slowly.

How did he do that? She’d have sworn her man repellant was foolproof. It had worked often enough in the past to keep her out of trouble. “No. I don’t think. The fun is all in the end goal. Can’t get to the next step unless you complete the one before. Taking your time holds that up.”

Lucas shook his head. “No wonder you’re so uptight. You don’t relax enough.”

“I relax, women suffer. Where are we going? And what does all this have to do with me changing my name? Which I am not going to do, by the way, regardless of whatever it is we’re going to see.”

He fell quiet for a long moment, and she suspected it wasn’t the last time she’d squirm with impatience until he made his move. Their whole relationship was going to be an unending chess match, and she’d left her pawns at home.

“Why don’t we listen to the radio?” he said out of nowhere. “Pick a station.”

“I don’t want to listen to the radio.” And if she kept snapping at him, he’d know exactly how far under her skin he’d gotten. She had to do better than this.

“I’ll pick one, then,” he said in that amiable tone designed to fool everyone into thinking he couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions printed on the heel. Not her, though. She was catching on quick.

George Strait wailed from the high-end speakers and smothered her with a big ol’ down-home layer of twangy guitars. “Are you trying to put me to sleep?”

With a fingertip, she hit the button on the radio until she found a station playing Christina Aguilera.

“Oh, much better,” Lucas said sarcastically and flipped off the music to drop them into blessed silence. Then he ruined it by talking. “Forget I mentioned the radio. So we’ll have a quiet household. We’re here.”

“We are?” Cia glanced out the window. Lucas had parked in the long, curving driveway of an impressive house on a more impressive plot of painstakingly landscaped property. The French design of the house fit the exclusive neighborhood but managed to be unique, as well. “Where is here?”

“Highland Park. More specifically, our house in Highland Park,” he said.

“You picked out a house? Already? Why do we need a house? What’s wrong with you moving in with me?” A house was too real, too…homey.

Worse, the two-story brick house was beautiful, with elegant stone accents and gas coach lights flanking the arched entryway. Not only did Lucas have more than a couple of working brain cells, he also had amazing taste.

“This place is available now, it’s close to the office and I like it. If this fake marriage is going to work, we can’t act like it’s fake. Everyone would wonder why we didn’t want to start our lives together someplace new.”

“No one is going to wonder that.” Is that what normal married people did? Why hadn’t she thought longer and harder about what it might take to make everyone believe she and Lucas were in love? Maybe because she knew nothing about love, except that when it went away, it took unrecoverable pieces with it. “You’re not planning on sharing a bedroom, are you?”

“You tell me. This is all for your grandfather’s benefit. Is he going to come over and inspect the house to be sure this is real?”

Oh, God. He wouldn’t. Would he?
“No, he trusts me.”

And she intended to lie right to his face. Her stomach twisted.

“Then we’ll do separate bedrooms.” Lucas shrugged and crinkled up the corners of his eyes with a totally different sort of dangerous smile, and this one, she had no defenses against. “Check out the house. If you hate it, we’ll find another one.”

Mollified, she heaved a deep breath. Lucas could be reasonable. Good to know. She’d need a huge dollop of reasonable to talk him out of the Cia Wheeler madness.
Dios,
it didn’t even sound right. The syllables clacked together like a hundred cymbals flung against concrete.

She almost got the car door open before Lucas materialized at her side to open it the rest of the way. At least he had the wisdom not to try to help her out. With a steel-straight spine, she swung out of the car and followed him to the front door, which he opened with a flourish, then pocketed the key.

With its soaring ceilings and open floor plan, the house was breathtaking. No other word would do. Her brain wasn’t quick on the draw anyway with a solid mass of Lucas hot at her back as she stopped short in the marble, glass and dark wood foyer.