The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée (18 page)

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Authors: Sandra Marton

BOOK: The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée
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She pulled back in his embrace and looked up at him, eyes wide, mouth tremulous.
“I was supposed to be his hostess. His companion. His social secretary. He said—he said he'd never touch me.” She drew a deep, shaky breath. “But he lied. After a while, he—he came to my room…”
“Hush,” David said, and told himself that wanting to beat the crap out of a dead man was possibly blasphemous and undoubtedly insane. “It's over now, Scarlett. Try and forget.”
“And then, he died. And Clare came, and she laughed and laughed, and she told me Avery had never intended to leave me anything, that as it was, he'd kept me around longer than he'd intended, but it was only because he'd gotten sick—”
David kissed her. Her lips were cold, her skin icy, but he kept kissing her until he felt the warmth returning to her flesh.
“I know what you must think of me,” she whispered. “But I trusted Avery. And I couldn't see any other way—”
“What I think,” David said fiercely, “is that you're a fine, brave woman. And that I'm an idiot for making you cry.”
“I should never have come with you this weekend. It was bad enough I let you give me a job, and a place to live. But going away with you…” Her eyes met his. “I wouldn't have slept with you, David.”
“I know.”
“My situation with Avery, wrong as it might have been, was different.”
David nodded. “You were his wife.”
“Yes. And I was a good wife, strange as that may sound. So you can see why I—why I can't live up to my end of our bargain.” She swallowed hard, and tried not to think about where she could turn for the money she needed, nor about what it would be like, never to see David again. “I'm not for sale anymore.”
His thumbs traced patterns along her cheekbones.
“I know,” he said, as calmly as if he'd intended this, as if he weren't about to say something that would make everything he'd done up till now seem meaningless. “That's why I want to marry you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
W
HICH of them had he startled the most, Stephanie…or himself?
And yet, as soon as David had spoken the words, he knew they made sense.
He'd avoided the truth for years, but here it was, staring him in the face. It was time he got himself a wife.
Mary and Jack Russell were right. A man in his position needed one, and she couldn't be just any wife. He needed a woman who'd understand the social, as well as the business, aspects of his lifestyle. She'd have to entertain clients, give dinner parties and feel at ease with the people he dealt with, despite their titles and importance on the Washington scene. Until now, he'd relied upon whatever woman was in his life at the moment to play hostess, but that wasn't the same as having a wife to oversee the planning—or to sit beside you on the sofa when the evening ended, kick off her shoes and share a quiet moment.
Not that he'd expect that of Stephanie. It had never really been like that with Krissie and he wasn't foolish enough to think it would be any different this time around, but at least this arrangement would be an honest one, with all the expectations out in the open.
He'd learned from his mistakes. The first time he'd married, he'd been young and foolish; he'd thought you chose a woman with your heart. He knew better now. Choosing a wife was like choosing a car. He always bought Porsches, as much for their beauty and performance as for their workmanship. An intelligent man could apply the same standards to his choice of a mate. You wanted a good-looking model with superior ability, one that wouldn't disappoint in tough situations.
Stephanie filled the bill. She was beautiful; she was bright, she'd understand what would be expected of her, and she had no more illusions about marriage than he did.
There it was. He needed a wife. She needed a provider. It was an arrangement that would work. All he had to do was convince Stephanie, who was staring at him as if he'd just suggested they spend the weekend on Mars.
“Did you say…did you ask me to marry you, David?”
“Yes,” he said calmly, “I did.”
“Marry?” she said, looking bewildered. Well, he couldn't blame her for that. “You, and me?”
“That's right, Scarlett, You, and me.”
“This is a joke, right?” Stephanie started to smile, then read the answer in his eyes. “My God! You're serious!”
“I am, indeed.”
“Why?” She hesitated, then touched the tip of her tongue to the center of her bottom lip. “You aren't saying—you don't mean… You haven't—”
“Fallen in love with you?” He smiled and shook his head, as if she'd made a sad attempt at humor. “Of course not.”
“Well, that's a relief,” Stephanie said, giving the same little smile in return, because it was better than wondering why her pulse was racing.
“Love doesn't enter into this.” He folded his arms; his expression grew serious. “That's what makes my proposal so reasonable.”
“Reasonable?” She shook her head. “To you, maybe. Why on earth would we want to marry? I don't understand.”
There was a trill of laughter from the house. David frowned and looked over his shoulder. The party had spilled onto the terrace.
“Let's walk,” he said brusquely, and took her elbow. She didn't move, and he jerked her forward. She hurried to match his pace as he drew her deeper into the garden. “All right,” he said when they'd left the house far behind, “let me put this so you
can
understand.”
“I wish you would.”
“A couple of months ago, I arranged for a corporate merger.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “You see us as the new Procter and Gamble?”
“Each of the companies had different strengths,” he said, deciding her nervous attempt at humor didn't merit a response. “One had—I suppose you'd call it power. The other had, well, a certain flair for doing things.”
“Let me guess,” Stephanie said. “You've got the power. And I've got—what did you call it? Flair?”
A breeze ruffled the rosebushes behind them and blew a strand of hair across her cheek. David reached out and tucked it behind her ear.
“For lack of a better word, yes.”
“David, I still have no idea what you're talking about.”
“I'm trying to explain the benefits of marriage. Let me try by telling you what I stand to gain.” He cleared his throat. “Being a bachelor in this town isn't easy.”
Stephanie smiled. “Do that many Mimi Sheratons pop out of the woodwork?”
“I know it must seem amusing, but trust me, Scarlett, it's not. And then there are the Annie Coopers, and the Mary Russells—Jack's wife—ladies who wake up in the morning and ask themselves, what man can I marry off today?” He sighed. “It gets to you, after a while.”
“I'm sure it does,” Stephanie said politely.
David scowled. “Look, I know I'm not making a good job of this…”
“No,” she said, even more politely, “you're doing fine. You want a wife, to keep you safe from matchmakers and predatory females. Or is there more?”
“This isn't funny, Scarlett. I'm serious.”
“I can see that. Go on. You said there was more.”
“Well, there are my professional responsibilities.”
“I'm already working as your secretary, David. What more could I possibly—”
“Okay. Okay, I'm making this sound like—like—”
“Like a merger. But then, that's exactly what you said it was.”
“Hell!” David put his fists on his hips and glared at her. “Why must you make this so difficult? I'm talking about the kind of life I live. There are parties. Dinners. All kinds of functions…”
“And you need a wife, to oversee them.”
“Yes,” he said with a relieved smile. At last, she was getting it. “That's right, I do.”
“So you said to yourself, ‘Self, I need a wife. One who can plan a dinner party, make small talk, you know the routine.' And your Self said, ‘Well, there's always Stephanie Willingham. She's done this kind of thing before.'”
“No,” David said quickly, “it wasn't like that.”
“Of course it was.” Stephanie flashed a quick smile. “Think of the benefits, David. No on-the-job training needed. Right?”
“Dammit, Scarlett—”
“No. No, really, I understand. Truly, I do.” Her voice quavered a little, which was dumb. Why would it upset her, that David would offer her the same arrangement she'd had before? It made absolute sense—for him. “But, what's that saying? Been there, done that. And I'd be a fool to do it again.”
“I'm not suggesting a repeat of your first marriage. I'm not Willingham. Haven't you figured that out by now?”
“I hoped I had,” she said, speaking carefully, not wanting to let him know how hurt she was. “But here you are, making me the same offer.”
“The hell I am!”
“You are! There's no difference.”
“Sure there is.”
“Name one.”
“For starters, I'll direct Jack to write a pre-nup, guaranteeing you a generous income for the rest of your life, no matter what happens to me.”
“I don't need your money. It's for—”
“Your little brother. I understand that. I'm just pointing out that you wouldn't be left destitute, if I weren't around. And I won't dole money out to you, month by month. I'll deposit…” He paused and did some quick mental math. “I'll put five hundred thousand dollars into your checking account, Monday morning.”
Stephanie stared at him. Half a million dollars? He was serious! But why?
“Why?” she said. “Why would you do all that, David? You're not a man who needs to—to buy a wife.”
Why? he thought. It was a good question. Could he answer it, without looking too deeply inside himself?
“Because you and I can be up-front about what each of us expects from this marriage,” he said.
“You want a relationship that's so—so cold-blooded?”
“I was married before. We were in love, or so I thought,” he said bluntly. “It was a disaster.”
“What happened?”
An image flashed through David's mind, of Krissie, in bed with her lover. It still hurt. The fact of the adultery, yes, and the divorce…but it was the betrayal that had devastated him.
He shrugged. “It turned out we each had different ideas about marriage.”
“Lots of people are divorced, David. They don't end up trying to—to buy a spouse.”
“Are you being deliberately dense? I'm not trying to buy you!”
“Really?” Stephanie folded her arms. “Well, that's how it sounds to me.”
“Then you're not paying attention or you'd understand that I'm outlining a marriage in which each of us contributes something of value.”
“What I understand,” Stephanie said, “is that I won't make the same mistake twice.” She stepped back, her head at a proud angle. “Thank you for your offer, David, but I'm not interested.”
“Scarlett, you're not thinking. You're—”
“Damn you!” She flew at him, moving so fast that he didn't have time to duck, and pounded her fists against his shoulders. “A marriage
needs
feelings!
I
need feelings. I need—”
“I know what you need,” David said, and pulled her into his arms.
His mouth was warm, his arms strong. She struggled against him for the time it took her heart to take one suddenly erratic beat and then she admitted the truth to herself, that she was struggling not against David but against what she felt, and she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the hunger inside her.
“Marry me,” he whispered.
She hesitated, and he kissed her again.
“Scarlett. Just take a deep breath and say yes.”
Stephanie looked at him. Then she took the breath he'd suggested.
“Yes.”

* * *

They left the Sheraton house without making their goodbyes, and drove to Georgetown.
David's house was dark, and silent. The sound of the door, shutting behind them, echoed against the night.
Stephanie could hear the thud-thud of her own heart. She was trembling. She'd accused David of being crazy, but she was the crazy one. What had she agreed to? She, of all people. Why would she agree to this marriage? To become this stranger's wife? She couldn't go through with the marriage, or with what would come next. It was one thing to feel the stir of desire in David's embrace but to act upon it, to think, even for a moment, she'd feel what a woman was supposed to feel when a man touched her…
“David,” she said urgently, “I think—”
“Don't think,” he said, and took her in his arms.
He kissed her over and over, each kiss deeper, hungrier, than the last until she was clinging to his shoulders.
“Scarlett,” he whispered, and swung her into his arms.
Stephanie looped her hands behind David's head. A pale ribbon of creamy light streamed in through the window. In its faint illumination, she could see the need etched into his face.
“I've never wanted a woman as I want you, Scarlett,” he said softly.
“David.” She swallowed audibly. “I can't…I'm not…I don't much like sex. You have the right to know that. I'll disappoint—”
His kiss silenced her. “Never,” he whispered, and carried her up the stairs.

* * *

She had not been in his bedroom until this night.
It was austere, what little she could see of it in the shadowed dark, what little she could concentrate on, other than the hot pounding of her own blood.
David put her down, slowly, beside the bed.
“There's nothing to be afraid of, Scarlett.” He cupped her face in his hands, bent his head and brushed his mouth gently over hers.
“I'm not afraid,” she said, “I know you won't hurt me.”
It wasn't true. He
would
hurt her. Not physically. She knew that. He was nothing like Avery, who had taken pleasure from the pain of others. But she was vulnerable to David in other ways, ones that could result in a far deeper pain, because she felt—she felt—
“David.” She caught his hands as he reached for her. “This is a mistake. We shouldn't marry.”
“We can be happy,” he said gruffly. “Did you ever think of that?”

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