Temporary Husband (2 page)

“You aren’t going to tell him, are you?” Laura demanded bluntly. “Not
everything?
”

“It’s only fair.”

Laura planted her hands on Wynne’s shoulders and turned her around. “Listen, my friend. I’ll go along with this crazy scheme, I’ll even help in any way I can. But there’s one condition.”

“Only one?” Wynne teased.

“Just one. You aren’t to tell him the truth until after you’re married.”

“But—”

“Look what happened when Brett found out. He ended your engagement.”

Wynne grimaced. “He obviously wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

“Nor was Jerry. Nor was Kevin. The minute they found out, they both dumped you, too.”

“All that means is that knights are in scarce supply these days,” Wynne insisted.

“My point exactly. So if you take my advice, you’ll pick out your knight, wed him, bed him, then tell him the truth. That way he won’t have any choice but to help you.”

Reluctantly Wynne shook her head. “I can’t lie, Laura. You know I can’t.”

“Fine. Just don’t give him all the details. Be vague.” Laura glared. “You can be vague, I know you can. I’ve seen you do it often enough.”

Wynne peeked up at her friend. “I believe that’s thoughtful, not vague,” she offered.

“Trust me. I know vague when I see it and you’re vague.”

“Okay, but I can’t lie.”

“I’m not asking you to lie. Just be selective in what you tell him. I’m not joking, Wynne. I want your promise. I know how seriously you take promises. Swear to me that you’ll keep your mouth shut until the ring’s on your finger.”

Wynne frowned, hesitant to commit to something so contrary to her nature. “I promise I won’t tell him until after we’re married…unless he asks.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Is that good enough?”

“I guess it’ll have to do.” Laura sighed. “Let’s just hope he’s so enthralled by big green eyes and white-blond hair he doesn’t think to ask too many questions.”

“It’ll work out, you’ll see,” Wynne consoled. “Why, with any luck at all, he’ll be vague, too.”

Chesterfield, Texas

Jake Hondo glared at his attorney—even though said attorney was also his best friend. Correction. His
only
friend. “You told me you could get that stipulation in the will overturned,” he said in a furious undertone, yanking open a massive oak door reading, Dodson, Dodson and Bryant, Attorneys at Law.

Peter Bryant shrugged, practically jogging to keep up with his client. “I didn’t expect your cousin to contest it. If it hadn’t been for Randolph the judge might have let the condition slide. But that’s not possible now. I’m sorry, Jake. I did my best.”

“Your best, huh? Well, your best means that I have seven’ days to find myself a wife or I lose my inheritance.” He thrust a hand through pitch-black hair and gritted his teeth, struggling to control his anger. “Marriage. What a joke.”

“It’s not a dirty word. Marriage can be quite pleasant.”

“It’s a state of pleasantness I’ve managed to avoid for thirty-five years. Why spoil a perfect record at this late date?”

“Come into my office where we can discuss it in private,” Peter suggested, opening a doorway leading off the plush corridor. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, dropping his briefcase onto his desk.

“Only if it’s a hundred proof. Dammit, Peter. What the hell am I supposed to do now? What about a temporary deal? You know, one of those marriage of convenience things?”

Peter poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass tumbler and handed it to Jake. “Assuming you could find someone agreeable, there’s still one other detail you should keep in mind.”

Jake swallowed the whiskey and lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I believe your grandfather’s exact wording is…‘wedded and bedded,’” Peter ventured to clarify as he crossed to sit behind the desk.

“I know his exact—” Jake ground to a halt, slamming his empty glass onto the oak table top. “You can’t be serious! Tell me you don’t mean what I think you do.”

“’Fraid so. I gather your grandfather must have anticipated you’d try to create a loophole with a temporary arrangement. He hoped for a real marriage with a real wife and real kids.”

Jake waved an impatient hand. “I don’t give a damn what he hoped. Just explain the specifics. How the hell are they going to prove the marriage is consummated? Don’t tell me they’re going to have a doctor—”

“No, no,” Peter hastened to assure. “Though if your cousin had his way it might have come to that. The lady’s word will be sufficient.”

Jake balled his hands into fists, wishing he were still young and impetuous enough to give physical expression
to his fury. “Any other details I should know about?”

“Not as far as the will is concerned, no. But I did suspect Randolph might try something devious, underhanded and unfortunately legal. So I devised a counter measure.” Peter smiled expansively as he pulled a thick, gold-embossed envelope from his desk drawer. “I believe this will help you find a temporary bride.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “What is it? A list of candidates?”

“Close.” Peter patted the envelope. “I took the liberty of arranging for this the minute Randolph fired off his first salvo.”

“Get to the point, Bryant.”

“Sit down and I’ll explain.” He waited until Jake had complied before continuing. “Have you ever heard of the Cinderella Ball?”

“No. Nor am I in the mood for fairy tales.”

“This isn’t a fairy tale. Not exactly.” Peter grinned. “Though it is sort of sweet.”

“Please. Spare me.”

“You’re such a cynic,” the attorney observed, then held up his hands as though hoping to calm a threatening storm. “Relax. Since you’re not in the mood for a lengthy explanation, I’ll give you the short version.”

“Smart move.”

“I heard about this ball back in my college days. It would seem a couple by the name of Montague throws one of these affairs every five years because that’s how they first met—at a ball. One look and they fell madly in love. They were married by dawn the next day and have,,according to them, lived in wedded bliss ever since. By holding this Cinderella Ball, they’re hoping to give other couples a similar opportunity.”

“Sounds like a bunch of bull,” Jake stated bluntly. “I find it hard to believe anyone would be interested in attending something so ridiculous.”

“You’d be surprised,” Peter replied. “There are a lot of lonely people in the world. They want marriage and they want a partner who shares the same mind-set. All the ‘guests’ who request a ticket are investigated by a security company to weed out the psychos and weirdos. Those that pass scrutiny pay a hefty fee to attend. That alone culls the mix even further.”

“So you sent in my name?”

Peter nodded. “If we hit a snag with the will, I thought this might be a viable alternative.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” Jake stood and crossed to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself another drink. “There has to be some other way. Find it.”

“As your lawyer, I’m telling you this is the only alternative. As your friend, I suggest you walk away. Forget the inheritance. Let Randolph have it.”

Jake’s expression hardened. “Not a chance.”

“Then you must marry.”

The words hung between them for a long moment. With a sigh, Jake nodded and sat down again. “Give me the details.”

“By attending this ball, you’re able to cut through all the usual first meeting nonsense and get right to the basics. Everyone who attends wants to marry, so it’s just a matter of finding a compatible spouse, one who shares your interests. In just a few minutes you can discuss and settle all sorts of issues, from finances to children. And no one is offended by such frankness.”

“They don’t have time to be,” Jake inserted.

Peter nodded. “Exactly.”

“So I wander around this place canvasing women to see who’d be willing to marry me, sleep with me and then walk away. Is that it?”

“That’s it, though I think I should warn you. The odds of finding someone who’s agreeable are next to nil.”

Privately Jake agreed. “And if I don’t find myself a wife?”

Peter shrugged. “Then I won’t make you reimburse me for the ticket.”

Jake actually smiled. “Fair enough. But what about a prenuptial agreement? There’s not much point in gaining my inheritance if some greedy little viper’s going to snatch it away again.”

“I can draw up a document. Getting her to sign it will be your problem.”

A cold light entered Jake’s eyes. “She’ll sign it,” he assured curtly. “Or she’ll look elsewhere for a husband.”

“Then let me also warn you that without her having a lawyer representing her interests, the legality of the document may be at issue. She could contest it.”

“She won’t,” Jake stated with absolute certainty. “Otherwise she’ll find herself grabbing hold of more trouble than she can handle. The woman I marry won’t be some starry-eyed dreamer with visions of Prince Charming and fairy castles and happily-ever-afters dancing in her head. She’s going to be plain, practical and levelheaded. And once the terms of the will are met, she’s going to walk away without a backward glance. I guarantee it.”

T
HE MOMENT
W
YNNE
saw him, she knew she’d found her knight. If she hadn’t already believed in love at first sight, she would have in that instant. He stood tall and broad and indomitable against the dusk-filled November sky, everything about him suggesting Prince Charming, fairy castles and happily-ever-afters all rolled into one.

He was, as far as she could tell, perfection.

She first noticed him as she approached the “palace,” a huge mansion that rose out of the Nevada desert like a great white beacon of hope. He stood in the center of the flagstone walkway, taking in the whimsical, wedding cake design of the house with an expression of cynical disdain. Clearly he considered the overall effect pretentious.

She considered it a dream come true.

Not that she’d hold his attitude against him. Heavens, no. The man she married needed to be in touch with the real world, to have a tough, no-nonsense edge. He needed to be a match for Mrs. Marsh.

She slipped closer hoping to get a clear look at him. As though accommodating her, he turned slightly so the floodlights lining the walk stabbed across his face, revealing in brutal detail every austere plane and angle. What she saw stopped her cold. This was no Prince Charming boldly blocking the path, but a Prince of Darkness.

The man might have been hewn from solid rock, as starkly beautiful and as fatally dangerous as the desert
surrounding them. Hair as black as coal swept back from a broad furrowed brow and framed high, arching cheekbones and a firm, squared jaw. His features were too bold to be called handsome, but she didn’t mind. The harsh, craggy planes appealed to her.

He looked down then, as though surprised to find her at his side, and lifted a dark eyebrow. She caught her breath, captured within the austere glare of his bright golden eyes. “Getting a jump on the competition?” he asked, his voice reminding her of the rumble of distant thunder.

She tilted her head to one side. “Excuse me?”

“You’re looking for a husband aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then run along inside, elf. I’m no one you’d want to marry.”

He was accustomed to instant obedience, she realized. But he’d soon discover she didn’t skitter away at the first flash of lightning or crack of thunder—for that’s what his expression reminded her of, the threat of a fastapproaching storm. “I need a strong man. You look strong,” she said instead.

“I need a wife to share my bed. And then, after a brief-as-possible marriage, we go our separate ways.” He folded his arms across his chest and lifted an eyebrow. “Is that what you want, too?”

“I want a man who likes to win,” she said, evading the question. “Someone who’s a fighter.”

“You waging war?”

She frowned, considering. “I guess you could call it war. All right, yes. I’m waging war. But, I also need someone fair and reasonable and patient. A…a gentle warrior.”

He laughed at that, amusement lightening his eyes, but doing nothing to ease the hardness of his features. “You have the wrong man,” he stated and walked away.

She watched him go, taking in his easy, long-legged gait, not in the least surprised when people quickly made room for him, giving way to the stronger force. That was how he’d be with Mrs. Marsh, she didn’t doubt for a minute. And though he claimed he wasn’t fair or reasonable or patient, she suspected he lied. Oh, not deliberately. He wasn’t the type. He just didn’t see his own goodness. But she did.

“You’ll do,” she whispered with a wide grin. “In fact, you’ll more than do.”

Jake wended his way through the crowd streaming toward the mansion. One down, he thought grimly, and only a few hundred more to go. With nine or ten hours available to him, that meant he had to interview about a dozen or two women an hour. That gave him three and a half minutes per candidate. He shook his head in exasperation. This was crazy. Three and a half minutes to choose a wife. Great. Just great. What the hell could Peter have been thinking? Better yet, what the hell was
he
thinking to have gone along with such an asinine plan?

He climbed the sweeping steps leading toward the entrance hall and glanced back. His elf still stood where he’d left her, her dress a pale splash of green in the gathering dusk. Too bad she hadn’t worked out. She’d been a tempting little morsel.

Unfortunately the instant he’d spotted her hovering at his elbow, he’d known she was all wrong. For one thing, she looked the type who expected a Prince Charming and fairy castles and happily-ever-afters. And for another, he found her too damned attractive. One look at all that white-blond hair tumbling into eyes the color of new spring leaves and he’d known he’d have to put a whole lot of space between them. Otherwise he’d end up slinging her over his shoulder and heading for the nearest exit. And that would never do.

He frowned, turning from the sight of her, shaking off the memory of her wide, pixielike smile. She had too open a face—mischievous, intelligent…and vulnerable. The sort of face that threatened to creep into a man’s heart and soul and poison him with impossible fantasies. Fantasies he’d given up on eons ago. Fantasies that would never come true.