The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée (10 page)

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Authors: Sandra Marton

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The wood groaned. Stephanie shrieked. And then the door gave and he barreled through the opening and damn near through her, too. She shrieked again as his momentum carried him forward, onto her. Together, they fell against the wall.
David's elbow hit first. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he was aware of a lancet of pain and the knowledge that his arm would probably hurt like hell later on.
Mosdy, he was aware of her.
Of Stephanie. Her softness, and the fullness of her breasts, braless apparently, beneath the oversize sweatshirt. Of the silky brush of her hair against his mouth. The faint, incredibly sexy aroma of woman and flowers and sweat…
And of her knee, as she aimed it straight for the most vulnerable part of his anatomy.
David cursed and sidestepped just in time. She caught him in the thigh instead of where she'd been aiming, but it was close enough so that he got the message.
There was no gun—his brain had registered that fact right away—but that didn't mean she wasn't hell-bent on murder.
“Okay,” he said grimly as she struggled to get a thumb in his eye and a knee to his groin. His hands closed on her wrists; he lifted her arms and pinned them to the wall above her head. “Okay, Scarlett, that's enough!”
“I'll scream,” she panted. “And everybody in this house will come running. The maid. The butler. The chauffeur. The cook. The housekeeper…”
“Funny not a one of them came running when I was leaning on that doorbell,” David said with a mirthless smile, “or when you were screaming up a storm, a couple of minutes ago.”
Color drained from her face. “They're—they're all busy.”
“Busy.” He smiled silkily. “Of course. Why didn't I think of that? No well-trained servant would interrupt his or her work to respond to a doorbell or, heaven forbid, a woman's bloodcurdling screams.”
“They're all here, I'm telling you.”
“Sure they are.”
“I've only to call them—”
“Call.”
“—And they'll come running.”
“Tripping over each other's feet, as they rush to your aid, right?”
“Yes. No. I mean—”
“I know what you mean, Scarlett. I'm just not buying. You've told one tall tale too many. First a loaded rifle—”
“A shotgun,” Stephanie said with surprising dignity.
“And now a bunch of stalwart servants near at hand.” David grinned. “You've certainly got a fine imagination.”
Color seeped back into her face, along the elegant, high arches of her cheeks.
“And you've got your nerve, coming here!”
“I've been trying to tell you, I'm here for a reason…and not the one you think.”
But he was having increasing trouble, remembering the reason for his visit. The supposed reason because, the truth was, he'd been searching for an excuse to find this woman ever since he'd turned his back on her in that airplane and walked away.
He could see the swiftness of her pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. She wasn't frightened of him anymore; the magic words—Jack Russell—had taken care of that. She was just wary now, and angry.
And so damn gorgeous.
She was breathing rapidly, and not even the fullness of the sweatshirt could disguise the rise and fall of her rounded breasts. He was still holding her hands locked above her head; the position of her arms tilted her body forward ever so slightly and his weight was still on her—it had been the only way to keep that knee from getting him where he lived—and now, for the first time, he registered the fact that her hips were angled toward his, that her pelvis was tight against him.
Heat rose in his loins and raced through his blood; he saw her pupils enlarge as she felt the immediacy of his arousal against her. The pulse in her throat beat faster, and his heart raced along with it. She knew what was happening, and she was responding to it. She wanted him, wanted what he knew now he had never stopped wanting.
He slid his hands up her throat, to her face. Her skin felt cool against his fingertips. His thumb slid across her mouth, and her lips parted.
God, he was on fire!
He whispered her name, his voice husky and thick with need. The sound of it seemed to startle her. He felt her stiffen against him, and saw the sudden contraction of her pupils.
“Don't,” she said. “Please, don't.” And even in the escalating fever of his desire, David recognized the fear in that soft, breathless plea.
It stunned him.
He'd known many women over the years. Some had claimed to adore him, one—his former wife—to despise him, but none had ever feared him. It was a new experience, and an ugly one.
There was nothing lower than a man who inspired fear in women.
And Stephanie wasn't just afraid. She was terrified.
His hands slid to her shoulders. He felt her start to tremble.
“Listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you. I'd never hurt you—”
“Let go of me!”
He did, immediately, although what he really wanted to do was take her into his arms, hold her close, promise her that no one would ever hurt her, not so long as he was there…
“Now, get out of my house.” She pointed her finger at the door. Her hand was shaking, but her voice was clear and steady.
“Jack Russell asked me to talk to you.”
“I don't believe you!”
“Jack told me you'd phoned him about a legal problem. He asked me if I'd come down and discuss it with you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why would he do that? And how do you know Mr. Russell?”
“He and I are partners in the same law firm. He told me you needed legal advice.”
She stared at him, speechless, and then she gave a choked laugh.
“Let me get this straight. You're his errand boy?”
David's mouth thinned. “I'm no one's errand boy. Jack asked me to talk to you and I said I would, as a favor. To Jack,” he added with deliberate emphasis.
Was he telling her the truth? she wondered. Probably. He couldn't have found out about her call to Russell any other way. Not that it changed the facts. Given the choice between finding Godzilla and David Chambers on her doorstep, she'd have opted for the reptile, and never mind that it wasn't the one who had the law degree.
Stephanie stood as straight and tall as her five feet, four inches permitted.
“Well, you've done it. You've come here to see me—and now you can go home.” Her chin tilted. “You can inform Mr. Russell that you did as he'd requested, and that I sent you packing.”
“No loss, Scarlett. I always thought this was a complete waste of time. I told Jack straight off that you haven't got a case.”
“Thank you for your opinion, Mr. Chambers. And goodbye.”
“I'll give Jack your regards.”
“You do that.”
He nodded, stepped out onto the porch, started toward the steps… Hell, he thought angrily, and swung toward her.
“I was wrong.”
“Indeed you were.”
“It is a loss. Mine—considering that I've already wasted the day.”
“What a pity,” she said sweetly.
“Yeah. I'm sure it breaks your heart that I expected to be back home on my ranch just about now.”
“My goodness,” she purred. “I didn't know they had ranches up there in the nation's capitol.” And she laughed softly in a way that made him want to walk over, grab her and shake her until she stopped laughing…
Or grab her and kiss her until she melted in his arms.
A muscle knotted in David's cheek.
“It seems to me you've got a choice here,” he said, his tone brusque. “You can feel smug about knowing my weekend's shot to hell, thanks to you, or you can come down off that high horse and tell me your story.” David swept back his tweed jacket and slapped his hands onto his hips. “Your choice, though frankly, I don't give a damn what you decide.”
He didn't, either; Stephanie could see it in his stance. And in his face. That hard, handsome face that she'd thought of so many times during the past days and nights, although why she should have was beyond her.
Everything about him was exactly as she'd remembered. His hair was drawn back in that sexy ponytail; his skin had that golden tanned look that nobody had ever gotten from a bottle or a sunlamp. The well-tailored dark suit, snowywhite shirt and silk tie of two weeks ago had given way to a gray tweed jacket, a pale blue cotton sweater and a pair of chino trousers. His boots were dark brown this time, and scuffed just enough so they looked as if they'd seen real use. Not that they would have. She could just imagine his ranch, with yards of manicured lawn and hot-and-cold running servants, and a big, paneled den lined with the heads of dead animals where he sat pretending to be a Western Hero while outside, other men sweated and worked their butts off on his behalf…
“—Your mind.”
Stephanie blinked. “I didn't… what did you say?”
“I said…” He glanced purposefully at his watch. “Make up your mind. If I'm going to be heading back to Washington, I'd just as soon get started.” He smiled coolly. “Maybe I can get back in time to do something pleasant with my Friday night.”
Call some woman, he meant. Take her someplace cozy for dinner, then bring her back to his place, take her in his arms…
Which was none of her business. Absolutely none.
“Well?” he demanded. “What's it going to be?”
Not that he needed to ask. David almost smiled. Stephanie's face was like an open book. She wanted to tell him to go. Maybe it was more accurate to say that what she really wanted was to push him down the steps and off the porch.
But she also wanted him to stay. That didn't surprise him. She'd called Jack for help; to turn that help away now would be stupid, and whatever else she was, the widow Willingham was not dumb.
He shot back his sleeve, looked at his watch again, and that did it.
“You're right,” she said, the words rushed together as if she knew that if she didn't say them quickly, she'd never manage to say them at all. “I suppose I've no choice in the matter.”
“There's always a choice, Scarlett. I'm sure you've been around long enough to know that.”
She smiled bitterly at the thinly veiled condemnation in his voice. How smug he was. How sure of himself. How totally, completely, thoughtlessly male.
She thought of telling him so, of adding that if he really believed there were always choices, he'd either been born with a silver spoon in his mouth or with an IQ rivaling that of a slug.
Stephanie turned on her heel and strode toward an arched doorway at the end of the enormous hall. “Very well, Mr. Chambers. I'll give you ten minutes.”
“No.”
Incredulous, she spun toward him. “No? But you just said—”
“
You
are not giving me anything,” David said in a clipped tone. “Let's be sure we understand that from the start.” He eyed her stonily. “I'm the one who's giving
you
something. And if you can't get that straight, I'm out of here.”
Her face bloomed with color. “I do not like you, Mr. Chambers,” she said. “Let us be sure
you
understand that!”
He laughed. “Why, Scarlett, darlin', you just about break mah heart.”
“I'd take that as a compliment—except we both know you haven't got a heart.” Stephanie jerked her head toward the doorway. “We can talk here, in the parlor.”
David hesitated.
Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly
…
“Are you coming, sir? Or have you suddenly changed your mind?”
Change it, David told himself.
Don't be an idiot
,
Chambers
.
“Don't be silly,” he said with a tight smile. “I wouldn't miss our little talk for anything.”
And he sauntered down the hall and stepped past her, into the parlor.
CHAPTER SEVEN
T
HE room suited the house, or perhaps it suited David's expectations.
It was big and overdone, a relic of a bygone era. And it was meant to impress, assuming you were the sort who'd be impressed by dark velvet sofas and chairs that looked as if they'd buckle under a person's weight. Lamps topped with fringed silk shades fought for space on tables crowded with an army of gilt cupids and porcelain shepherdesses.
“Sit down, Mr. Chambers.” Stephanie yanked open the top drawer of a mahogany rolltop desk. “That green love seat's probably the most comfortable spot, and you can turn on the lamp beside it.”
David looked at the love seat in question. “Comfortable” was not a word he'd have used to describe it, but then, compared to the other chairs and sofas in the cavernous room, he figured she might have been right. He ran his hand over the rectangle of white lace centered on the headrest.
“Antimacassars,” he said with a little laugh. “I didn't think they made them anymore.”
Stephanie turned toward him, a sheaf of papers in her hand. Something that resembled a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “
They
don't, but Clare does.”
“Your sister-in-law?”
“Correct. Antimacassars aren't popular items in today's world. I'm surprised you'd even know the word.”
“I had an aunt who had antimacassars draped over every chair and sofa in what she called ‘the front room.'” David strolled to a fireplace that looked big enough to house a family of four, tucked his hands into the back pockets of his chinos and put one booted foot up on the hearth. “The room was off-limits, but sometimes, when we were visiting, I used to sneak inside. It was kind of like stepping into a time warp. Chairs that creaked when you sat down, lampshades hung with dusty…” He frowned, as if he'd just realized what he was saying, and cleared his throat. “Not that this is anything like Aunt Min's front room,” he said quickly. “This is, well, it's…interesting.”
“Don't try and be polite, Mr. Chambers. It would be too out of character. Besides, there's no need to mince words. This room is not interesting. It's ugly. Everybody knew it, except for my husband.” She tapped the stack of papers on the edge of the desk, squared off the edges and handed them to him. “This is all the correspondence I've had with my lawyer, with the judge, with Dawes and Smith…”
“Clare's attorneys?”
“That's right.”
David fanned through the documents. “Impressive.”
“But meaningless. I'd lost the battle before the first shot was fired.”
-“Yes. Jack told me your husband and his sister held all his property jointly. That means—”
“I know what it means,” Stephanie said impatiently. “I also know what Avery promised me—”
“Money,” David said.
“The money I'm entitled to.” Her face pinkened but her head was high. “As for what I meant about losing the battle before the first shot was fired…you should be aware that there isn't a person in this county who wanted me to collect a dime from my late husband's estate.”
“What people want has little to do with what the law determines.”
Stephanie laughed. “Mr. Chambers, look around you. You're standing in Avery Willingham's home, in the town named for his great-great-great-grandfather. Maybe I left out a great or two—I never did get it straight. My husband owned this town and the people in it. Everyone admired him and revered him—”
“Everyone,” David said, his eyes on her face, “except for you.”
Stephanie's gaze never wavered. “Have you come here to pass judgment, sir, or to tender advice? If it's judgment, I've had enough to last a lifetime and you can just turn around and go straight out the door. If it's advice, I suggest you read through those papers and then tell me what you think.”
David smiled. “I gather you're not an advocate for delicate Southern womanhood, Mrs. Willingham.”
“Delicacy is an indulgence,” Stephanie said coolly, folding her arms, “and I have neither the time nor the patience for it.”
“No.” His tone was the chilly equal of hers. “Not with your husband's assets at stake.”
She didn't so much as blink. “That's right. So, what's it going to be? Are you going to read those documents or are you going to leave?”
Amazing, he thought. This woman only gave the appearance of fragility. Under that delicate exterior, she had a strength he admired, even if he didn't admire the greed that drove it.
“Well? What's it going to be, Mr. Chambers?”
Logic and reason told him that his best bet would be to dump the papers on the nearest table, but he'd put in long hours on the road to get here. What would be the point in walking out now? Besides, he was doing this for Jack, not for the widow Willingham. So he walked to the love seat she'd designated as comfortable, undid the buttons on his jacket and cautiously eased his six-foot-two-inch frame onto the bottle green velvet.
“Brew me a pot of strong coffee and give me an hour,” he said, “and then we'll talk.”
Stephanie fought to keep the relief from showing on her face. For a minute or two, she'd thought David might really drop her papers into her arms and march out the door. And she hadn't wanted that, despite her threats. She needed his advice…and needing his advice was surely the sole reason she'd want anything whatsoever to do with this man.
She watched as he began reading the first page. After a minute, he frowned, half rose, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside. Then he sat back and pushed up the sleeves of his cotton sweater, all the while never taking his eyes from the page.
He'd already forgotten her presence. Well, she was accustomed to that. Avery used to do the same thing… No. It wasn't the same. Her husband had deliberately ignored her. It had been a way of showing her her proper place in his life, but David was oblivious to her because he'd lost himself in reading the documents. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and those piercingly blue eyes were fixed on the printed page.
Her gaze fell to his hands. They were powerful, and very masculine. His forearms were muscular and lightly dusted with dark hair. He should have looked as out of place as a weight lifter at a tea party, perched on the ridiculous love seat with his boots planted firmly on the flowered rug, but he didn't. He looked—he looked big, and wonderfully rugged, and he dominated the room with his presence.
“Do I get that coffee or not?”
She started at the brusqueness of his voice. He looked up, his expression unreadable, and then he gave her a smile that could only be described as patronizing.
“Or is making coffee a skill you haven't mastered?”
“You'd be shocked at the skills I've mastered,” Stephanie said with frigid disdain.
No, David thought as she swept from the room, hell, no, he wouldn't…and then he took a deep breath, forced his mind back from where it was threatening to wander, and focused on the law.
The law, at least, always made sense.

* * *

He was barely aware of Stephanie placing a silver serving tray on the table beside him. He reached out, located the cup of coffee by feel, and took a sip. It was black, hot and strong, and surpassingly good. He acknowledged it with a curt nod.
The next time he surfaced, the cup, and the pot, were both empty. Stephanie was sitting across from him, her feet crossed at the ankles, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
“You drank it all,” she said. “Do you want me to make more?”
David shook his head, rotated his shoulders, and lifted the papers from the cushion beside him.
“No, that's fine. I'm done reading.” He rose and walked to the secretary.
“And?” Stephanie said. “What do you think?”
He swung around and faced her. He could see her fingers knotting together. She was apprehensive, and he could hardly blame her. She'd invested half a dozen years, maybe more, in a project named Avery Willingham, and now she was about to be cut out of the payoff.
“And,” he said with a smile as bright as a shark's, “your chances of changing the judge's decision range from slim to none.”
“I don't want to change his decision. I thought you understood that. Clare can have everything. I only want what I'm entitled to.”
“Nothing. That's what you're entitled to, in the eyes of the law.”
Stephanie nodded. Her face gave nothing away. “Well, then, I guess that's—”
“There was no pretense about it, I have to give you that much,” David said, his voice harsh.
“No pretense?”
“About why you decided to snag Willingham.” He jerked his head toward the secretary, and the documents. “It was a tradeoff, plain and simple. He put money in the piggy bank, and you gave him what he wanted. I have to hand it to you, Scarlett. You look like a throwback to Jane Austen, but the truth is that you've got a cash register where most people have a heart.”
Stephanie flushed and rose to her feet. “Contrary to the sleazy little script you've worked up, Mr. Chambers, I did not set out to snag Avery. I knew him for many years. I worked for him, as his secretary.” David snorted and she stalked toward him, eyes flashing with anger. “I was a damn good secretary, too!”
“Until you looked around and saw that there was a chance at a better-paying job.”
“You're like all the rest. You know it all, and don't give a damn for the truth!”
“Tell it to me, then,” David said, his laughter suddenly gone. “Give me something to go on, something that makes this look like anything but what it is.”
“Prove my innocence, you mean? I thought lawyers were supposed to defend their clients, regardless of guilt or innocence.”
“You've got your facts twisted, Scarlett. You're not my client, remember? As for guilt or innocence…there's none at issue here.”
“Then why do you expect me to defend myself to you?”
“I don't.”
“Good. Because I don't intend to.” Stephanie slapped her hands on her hips. “But I'll tell you this much. I was Avery's secretary for a year. And then…” Her throat constricted as she swallowed. “And then he said what he really needed was a wife. Someone to run his home and entertain his guests.”
David's smile was wolfish. “And I'll bet you were even better at providing entertainment than you were at taking dictation.”
“In return,” she said, refusing to be drawn into the game. “Avery agreed to—to compensate me. It was his idea, all of it. The marriage, the terms…and the money.”
“And you jumped at the offer.”
Stephanie thought of the shock she'd felt when Avery had proposed the arrangement, of how she'd agonized over it; of how he had reassured her that it was the only way she could ensure proper care for Paul…
And of his promise that nothing between them would change.
“Is this how the law is practiced on your turf, Mr. Chambers?” Her voice was cool and steady. It had to be. She would show no weakness, ever again. “Do lawyers get to be judge and jury, too?”
He smiled in a way that made her want to take a step back.
“No. They don't.” He began moving toward her and she couldn't help it, she did take a step back, then another, until her shoulders hit the wall. “Frankly, I've always thought that was unfortunate. After a while, most lawyers can pretty much tell if a client's telling them the truth—or a load of bull.”
“I'm not your client, remember?”
“It's a good story, Scarlett, and you tell it well. But the simple truth is that you conned Avery Willingham into marriage. Well, maybe that's a bit harsh.” His smile sent shivers up her spine. “What you did was set out the bait. Then you settled back, waited—”
“Get out of my house!”
“What's the problem? Is the truth too rough for your delicate tastes?” Darkness filled his eyes. “Or is there another truth, one that I've somehow missed? If there is, tell it to me now.”
Of course, there was another truth. The
only
truth. But she had made a promise to Paul, one she would not break.
“The late Mr. Willingham bought you.” His voice was flat and harsh. “Twenty-five hundred bucks a month, deposited into an account in your name. That was the deal.”
“Yes,” she said. “That was the deal.”
David nodded calmly, even though he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. He looked down into those chocolate eyes. What had he expected? That she'd weep? That she'd spill some incredible tale explaining that she'd been forced into the marriage? He'd come to this house, knowing the truth. She'd sold herself to the highest bidder. She'd gone to a man's bed for money…

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