Temporary Husband (6 page)

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “I’ll treasure it forever.”

“You’ll treasure it for the
brief
length of our marriage,” he retorted in a hard voice.

But she shook her head, leveling him with another of those bewitching smiles as sensuous as it was innocent. “No. I’ll treasure this ring for the rest of my life because it’s given me everything I’ve always wanted.” Then her brow wrinkled in concern. “But what about you? Where’s your ring?”

“I don’t need one.” Their marriage was a temporary measure, not worthy of a ring to symbolize the event.

Understanding dawned in her eyes and with that understanding came a terrible sadness, one that totally devastated his defenses.

And as the minister pronounced them husband and wife, Jake realized he was in deep, deep trouble.

Wynne knelt on the carpet, eyeing the hotel door in disgust. For the tenth time she stabbed the card into the locking mechanism and for the tenth time a red button flashed its rejection.

“Whatever happened to keys?” she muttered. “I liked keys. And keys liked me. At least they unlocked the—” The door opened and she practically tumbled into the room.

Laura stood there, dressed in a nightgown and robe. “Oh, thank goodness! I thought I heard you. I was
getting worried,” she exclaimed, then frowned in concern. “What were you doing on the floor?”

“I was trying to get this stupid thing to work,” Wynne said, holding up the card key as she struggled to her feet.

Laura froze, staring at Wynne’s hand. “You’re wearing a ring! You did it, didn’t you? You’re married.”

“Yes, I’m married,” Wynne said with a smile, wriggling her fingers so the light flickered across her wedding band. It slid off her knuckle and she hastened to push it back in place. “Oh, Laura, I’m so glad you came with me. Now I can tell you all about him. He’s wonderful. He’s everything I’d hoped.”

Laura grinned, tears leaping to her eyes. “I’m so relieved. I’ve spent the night worrying that some fasttalking rat would take advantage of you. Who is he? What does he do? How old is he?”

Wynne stared at her blankly. “I…I’m not sure. But, his name is Jake…Jake…Good grief. Considering we’re married, you’d think I’d remember his last name,” she muttered. “Oh, never mind. His name’s not all that important. It’s Jake something-or-other.”

Laura’s tears evaporated, along with her smile. “Jake something-or-other? You can’t remember your own husband’s name and you don’t think that’s important?” she questioned ominously.

“No. What
is
important is that he’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. And he’s the sweetest man in the world.” She hesitated. “Well…To be honest, I suppose he isn’t all that sweet. No, sweet’s the wrong word.”

Laura groaned. “What’s the right word?”

“Tough. Strong.” Wynne smiled cheerfully. “Hard as nails would be a pretty accurate description. Mrs. Marsh doesn’t stand a chance against him.”

“Hard as nails, huh? That’s good. I guess,” Laura said with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “Where is he from?”

Wynne shrugged. “I never thought to ask. Someplace further down south, I think. He has an accent—or rather a drawl.”

“I don’t believe this! You don’t remember his name, never bothered to ask where he’s from, or what he does for a living. Nor do you know how old he is. Is it just me or is there something wrong with this picture?” She tightened the belt of her bathrobe and glared at Wynne. “What, precisely,
do
you know about this man? Why does he need a wife?”

Wynne smiled in relief. “Now that one I can answer. He needs a wife in order to keep his inheritance.”

“And what’s his inheritance?”

“I…I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters! What if—” Laura paused, her eyes narrowing. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

Wynne peeked at her friend from beneath her lashes. “I’d really rather not say.”

“I’d really rather you did.” Laura folded her arms across her chest. “Please. Tell me. What are you hiding?”

“Just wait until you meet him. You’ll think he’s perfect, too,” Wynne hastened to assure. “And he’s a good man, though I suspect he wouldn’t agree.”

“He wouldn’t agree? Wynne! What sort of person did you marry? Tough, hard, strong. He sounds like some sort of brute. And you still haven’t answered my question. What have you left out?”

Wynne cleared her throat. “Not much. And he’s not a brute! He’s the kind of man who can take care of Mrs. Marsh. He’s more than a match for her, even if he only
wants a temporary marriage.” She could see this latest piece of news didn’t go over well.

Laura looked stunned. “A temporary marriage? You spent all your money on a temporary marriage? I can’t believe this! What happens when it ends? You’ll be right back where you started. No job. No money. No place to live. How will that help? Mrs. Marsh still wins and you’ll have gone through all this for nothing.”

“Jake won’t let that happen,” Wynne insisted stubbornly. “He says he isn’t interested in a permanent relationship, but I think he’ll change his mind.”

“You’re willing to gamble everything on a bunch of maybes? You’re willing to risk losing—”

“I won’t lose a thing,” Wynne interrupted, her voice sharper than she’d intended. She took a deep breath, fighting for composure. “Please, Laura. Let’s not argue. This is my wedding night, and I’m so happy. Wait until you meet him. You’ll see what I mean. You’ll understand why I’m so certain he’s the right man.”

“You’re spending the night with him?” Laura demanded apprehensively.

Wynne nodded. “He’s asked me to and I’ve agreed. I came by to pick up my overnight bag and check on you. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, everything’s fine here,” Laura claimed. “Blissfully quiet. But what about you? Maybe you should—”

Wynne cut her off. “Maybe I should get my bag and join my husband,” she said with gentle finality.

Laura raised her hands in surrender. “Okay. I give up. It’s your life to live as you see fit.”

“Don’t be angry,” Wynne pleaded. “You’re my best friend. Try to be happy for me. I’ve been dreaming of this moment all my life. I have an incredible husband and a whole new life ahead of me.”

“Right. Besides, look at the bright side,” Laura said dryly. “If things don’t work out, you have an automatic escape clause.”

“Oh, I won’t need it,” Wynne claimed, flashing an impish smile. “And if I have anything to say about it, neither will Jake.”

J
AKE STOOD IN FRONT
of the hotel window looking out at a starlit night, lost in the darkness of his thoughts. Would Wynne come? he wondered. Or would she have second thoughts about the wisdom of their marriage and run? He didn’t want to care one way or the other. But he did. His future hung in the balance, the choices made by a pint-size elf the determining factor. He clenched his hands, jamming them into the pockets of his robe. Damn. He’d never felt so out-of-control in his life.

And he didn’t like the feeling.

A knock sounded then—not a soft, tentative rap, but a rapid, eager tattoo. Suppressing a smile of satisfaction, he strode to the door, flinging it open.

Wynne stood on the threshold, her green eyes peeping at him from beneath wispy white bangs. “Hi,” she said.

He lounged in the doorway, his tension fading beneath the sunny warmth of her smile. “Hi, yourself.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Were you afraid I wouldn’t show up?” she asked gently.

Was he so transparent? “The thought crossed my mind.” He forced out the admission, and stepped aside so she could enter.

“You’ll find I’m really quite trustworthy,” she assured, glancing around the suite with interest. “But since you don’t know me very well, I can understand your not realizing that.”

“Thanks for filling me in,” he retorted dryly, taking her bag.

Her gaze settled on him, the passion and vitality in that one look as powerful as a physical blow. It never ceased to amaze him how different she was from all the other women he’d known. How had so much zeal been bundled into such a tiny package?

“You’ve showered,” she said, stating the obvious. “Would you mind if I did, too?”

“Be my guest. There’s another of these hotel robes hanging on the door. Feel free to use it.”

“Thanks, but I have a nightgown.” She gestured toward the case he held. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.” He tossed the bag to her. “But you won’t need it. Not for long.”

A hectic flush chased across her cheekbones and Jake regretted the crassness of his remark. There were times he felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop—and this was one of them. She gave a shrug that showed amazing sangfroid considering her obvious embarrassment, and crossed to the bathroom.

She seemed so young and fragile from the back, her shoulders fine-boned, the graceful sweep of her neck highlighted by the short pixieish cut of her hair. He’d never realized the nape of a woman’s neck could look so vulnerable. A sudden urge to protect her gripped him. But then he realized the only protection she needed was from her husband.

She hesitated at the doorway to the bathroom and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, I meant to ask when I first arrived,” she said unexpectedly. “What’s your…
our
last name? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”

His mouth tightened. “Hondo,” he replied, then stated with cool deliberation, “it was my mother’s name.”

He couldn’t tell whether she’d picked up on the significance of his comment or whether she deliberately feigned ignorance. Or didn’t it matter to her? He shook his head, unwilling to believe she found his parentage
inconsequential. The people of Chesterfield considered it of critical importance.

“Hondo,” she repeated. A tiny smile played around her mouth and his gut clenched at the guileless sensuality. “Wynne Hondo,” she said, as though tasting the words. Then she laughed aloud. “It doesn’t fit me half as well as it does you. But maybe it will in time.”

She shouldered her overnight bag and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him to mull over what she’d meant by “in time.” It had better mean damned short and not a second longer. The splash of the shower interrupted his thoughts and he became instantly aware that every sound she made reverberated through the thin walls.

He could hear the material of her gown rustle as she removed it and pictured her stripping—baring soft, pearly skin. He knew the minute she stepped beneath the steamy spray, her murmur of pleasure as seductive as a siren’s song. It took every ounce of willpower not to thrust open the door and join her. Would she complain…or would she welcome him? He reached for the knob, determined to find out.

She’d be slippery with soap, wet and sleek. If he found her willing, he’d take her in his arms and make her his wife in fact as well as name. But before he could follow through, the water stopped and he hesitated, annoyed that the choice had been taken from him. He released the knob and stepped back and after a few short moments she emerged from the bathroom.

He froze at the sight of her, unable to draw breath, feeling like someone had smashed an iron fist into his chest. He seesawed on the edge of control, rock-hard with desire, passion driving him to the point of no return. Only one thing kept him from plunging over the edge and taking what he wanted…

Wynne’s nightgown.

His wife stood uncertainly in the doorway, enveloped in whisper-thin cotton. The nightgown floated around her like mist, clinging for a moment as it caressed the pure, graceful curves of her body before swirling away. But one detail stopped him dead in his tracks…the damned thing was white. Stark white. Snow white. Unadulterated, unsullied, virginal white, the color as untainted as the woman who wore it. Three men, he struggled to remind himself. She’d said three men. He shook his head in disbelief. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

Because once they’d touched her, how the hell could they have walked away?

She moved into the room. Light from the bedside table threw her body into silhouette, almost bringing him to his knees. It was the most erotic sight he’d ever beheld, crippling in its impact. For such a little thing, her figure was all woman. She had a narrow waist that flared into sweetly rounded hips, her backside exhibiting just the right amount of curve. Her breasts shifted beneath her nightgown, the nipples dark shadows that pearled before his eyes. With a muttered exclamation, he forced his attention upward and away from temptation.

She stood quietly, staring at him, her eyes huge and wary, her hair tousled and damp from her shower. He didn’t say a word, but simply held out his hand. After a momentary hesitation, she slipped her fingers into his.

“I see why you wanted to wear this instead of a robe,” he said, his voice husky with need. “It’s very provocative.”

“Really?” She glanced down, her brows drawn together. “I always thought it rather modest.”

He chuckled. “Your idea of modest must differ from mine.” He reached for her, running his index finger along the curve of her breast, pausing at the peak to draw lazy circles around the rigid tip.

Her head jerked upward and she stared at him, her eyes enormous, the green turning as dark as a shadowdraped forest. She moistened her lips. “Could we turn off the lights?” she requested anxiously.

“The lights stay on. I want to see you when we make love.”

She didn’t argue, but some of the color ebbed from her face. “I didn’t expect to feel this nervous,” she confessed. “But I can’t seem to stop shaking. Are you sure we can’t turn off the lights? Just this once?”

His mouth tightened and he left her for a moment, flicking the switch on the bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, relieved only by the faint illumination from a fast sinking moon. “Better?”

“Much, thank you.” She drifted across the room, the conspicuous white of her nightgown marking her progress. “Should I…should I get into bed?”

He bit back a caustic comeback, aware that something was out of kilter, but too hard-ridden by desire to analyze what it might be. “Sure. Get into bed if it makes you more comfortable.”

“Actually I’m thirsty,” she said, veering toward the bathroom. “I think I’d like some—”