Книга - Marrying Mr. Right

Marrying Mr. Right
Carolyn Greene


True love is worth waiting for…WHITE WEDDINGSMarriage is foreverThe last time Greg saw his wife was on their wedding night…from the back of a police car! Before their vows could be consummated he'd been arrested for something he'd didn't do….Now Greg is back, and ready to claim Christina as his virgin bride. The trouble is, Christina had given up hope of ever seeing Greg again–and has reluctantly agreed to marry another man.Greg is determined to win back his wife. So he hatches a plan to rescue Christina, and convince her that the day she married him was the day she married Mr. Right!







“Do you want to marry him as much as your parents want you to?” (#ub471cfdf-1836-5ca1-b870-85fc73007bf9)Title Page (#u57545030-da00-5a2c-b24f-6dc96250a161)Dedication (#uc3a3e3a0-5bbc-5d5c-afe8-eed02970feff)PROLOGUE (#u06f60572-2c12-566f-bf03-48df85720d7e)CHAPTER ONE (#ue3f71209-3f28-581e-b46d-cee361c89f95)CHAPTER TWO (#u34181669-77f0-547b-9967-1775c4cff578)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“Do you want to marry him as much as your parents want you to?”

Christina felt her face grow warm. Jerking her hand away from Greg’s grasp, she busied herself with clearing the table. “Of course I want to many him. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because you’re still married to me.” Greg followed Christina as she took the dishes into the kitchen. “After all these years, you’ve never made a move to get a divorce. And I’d venture a guess that you’re still a virgin.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business!” The dishes clattered into the sink

“Ah, but It’s true, isn’t it? Because you’re not the kind of woman who would cheat on her husband, no matter how long he’s been gone.”

Christina glared at him. “For your information, I take my vows very seriously.”

“Those vows also said ‘until death do us part,” he reminded her “A marriage isn’t dead until the last bit of love is gone.” He moved closer and took her in his arms. “And last time I looked it was still alive and breathing....”







True love is worth waiting for...

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another book in our miniseries WHITE

WEDDINGS.

Everyone loves a wedding, with all the excitement of the big day: flowers, champagne and the thrill of the happy couple exchanging vows.... Over the next few months, some of your favorite authors will bring you all this and more in a series of very special romances.

You’ll meet blushing brides and gorgeous grooms, all with one thing in common: for better or worse, they’re determined the bride should wear white on her wedding day...which means keeping passions in check! Because for these couples, true love waits—until the wedding night...

Happy Reading!









Marrying Mr. Right

Carolyn Greene







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Bonnie Pega, flower lady extraordinaire.

And to Ernest Irby, my favorite magistrate.


PROLOGUE

“WE’RE here to be married.”

Greg’s voice was deeper than most eighteen-year-olds’, giving him an air of authority that some men twice his age didn’t possess. Christina sighed as the warm, vibrant tones surrounded her and melted any fragments of doubt that lingered in her subconscious.

The magistrate flashed a cynical frown at his secretary who passed him the forms they’d filled out earlier. Then he leaned forward and propped his elbows on the cluttered mahogany desk. “Manied, eh? I would’ve figured you for a traffic violation or vandalism.”

The man turned to Christina and studied her carefully.

Christina self-consciously pushed back a windblown tendril of blond hair and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her dress. She’d chosen to wear the white sundress because its color fit the occasion, but now she realized it only served to accentuate the differences between her and Greg.

With his deep-set dark eyes and disreputable-looking biker clothes, it was easy to see why he’d earned the nickname, “The Italian Rapscallion.” Greg slid his arm around her waist, and for the thousandth time that day—and the millionth time since she’d met him—she felt her heart thudding against her ribs.

As for Christina, with her light hair, fair complexion and eyelet-lace ruffles, she knew she must look every bit the sheriff’s daughter. And the homemade rag doll she was holding must have only added to her aura of innocence. She dropped her arm so that the doll hung more discreetly by her side.

Mr. Terby took off his glasses and laid them on their marriage papers. “Do your parents know where you are, little girl?”

She straightened and clutched the doll tighter. “I’m not a little girl,” she said, fully aware of the contradiction between her words and the image she was presenting. “I’m eighteen years and one month old, which is legal marriying age in Virginia.”

“So it is,” he said, putting the glasses back on and straightening papers. “But, as a father myself, I feel it’s my civic duty to see that young people don’t rush into a decision they may later regret.” This time he stared over his half glasses at both of them. “How long have you been engaged?”

Greg looked at his watch. “Two hours.” His attitude said, Wanna make Something of it?

Not a word was spoken for a full minute as each male refused to back down from the other. As always, Christina was amazed at how casually Greg dared to defy someone in such a high position of authority. And she knew from having seen him glare down the school principal and assorted teachers that polyester stretch pants would come in style before Greg would buckle. His refusal to back down from any challenge was one of the many reasons Christina found herself attracted to him.

Finally, Mr. Terby turned back to Christina with a resigned sigh. “If you and your baby doll are ready—”

“It’s not a baby doll.” Although her words were barely more than a whisper, they captured the magistrate’s attention. Now she wasn’t sure how to explain why it was so important to include in the wedding ceremony the rag doll she and Greg had made in class. The doll they sewed themselves and were assigned to “raise” as their child in the Family Life course at school had sentimental value in their relationship, which was why she’d brought it along for this big event.

Mr. Terby raised one graying eyebrow.

“It’s our son, Murdock,” Greg said without a hint of embarrassment. He didn’t bother to elaborate further, even though it was clear he’d snagged the older man’s curiosity with his statement.

Greg slanted his gaze at Christina and flashed her a mischievous wink. The simple gesture assured her that—unlike Mr. Terby—he didn’t think she was silly or overly sentimental for bringing the memento to their wedding. Although they were as different as two people could. be, Christina knew she’d found a kindred spirit in Greg.

Mr. Terby heaved another sigh. “Very well. Let’s get on with it.” He stood and walked around his desk to a filing cabinet, where he retrieved a thin booklet bound with a narrow gold cord. Then he turned and, grabbing a crocheted loop that dangled high on the wall, pulled down a screen covered with a painted backdrop of a rose-covered trellis. Taking his position in front of it, he palmed his hair to smooth it, then beckoned them to join him.

“Most couples prefer something a little more romantic than an office setting,” he said by way of explanation.

While it was a slight improvement over the rest of the book-and-paper-cluttered room, the amateurish artwork with its garish hues of pink and green seemed more tacky than romantic. But Christina preferred not to focus on that. Instead she looped her arm through Crneg’s as he led her around the desk to stand before the magistrate, and she concentrated on the marital miracle that was about to occur. Greg gave her a smile that took her breath away. She’d never been happier than she was today.

Mr. Terby cleared his throat and began. “Dearly beloved...”

Christina hadn’t questioned Greg’s motive in asking her to make their pretend marriage real. It was enough that he wanted her. That he made her feel more desirable and more feminine than she ever had in her entire life. That he chose her over all the other, prettier girls at school who openly flirted and clam ored for his attention.

“Now place the ring on her finger.”

Christina and Greg both looked at each other as if expecting the ring to appear from the sheer strength of their wanting it In the next moment, Greg surprised her by reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a knife. The muscles in his forearm flexed as he exposed the blade and stepped toward the startled magistrate.

Christina gasped, and the sound was echoed by the secretary who observed the proceedings from near Mr. Terby’s desk. The magistrate backed away, as if he were trying to escape down the painted path beneath the trellis.

Greg paused. “Excuse me,” he said, motioning the gentleman aside.

Mr. Terby hurriedly complied but stopped short of bolting from the office.

Greg bent and freed the crocheted loop from the pull-down screen, then once again took his place beside Christina. Taking her hand in his, he returned the knife to his pocket and slipped the knotted white threads onto her finger. The fit was a little loose, but the effect was decidedly pretty. Christina held out her hand and admired the makeshift wedding band. Like the man who had put it on her finger, it was untraditional yet appealing.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Mr. Terby once again stood before them, and he seemed anxious to finish the proceedings.

Lawful wasn’t a word typically used to describe Greg, but now wasn’t the time to argue a point.

After they had finished their “I do’s,” Mr. Terby added, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, after which my secretary will take an instant photo of the two of you in front of the tcellis.”

It was the first time he’d kissed her. Removing the doll from between them, Greg took her in his strong arms and pressed a gentle—almost cautions—kiss on her lips. Upon contact, it was as though everything and everyone in the room ceased to exist. All Christina noticed was the feel of his mouth on hers, the hardness of his muscled ribs against her breasts and the heat of his hands where they splayed across her back.

If a chaste, public kiss from Greg could be this good, then surely a private encounter with him later would be pure bliss. Christina felt as if her heart might explode right out of her chest

Back in Morrison Heights, Greg led her past the parked cars to the motel room door, which he opened with a plastic key card. He couldn’t believe his incredible good fortune. First she’d said yes, then she’d said I do, and now she was wearing a look that said I want you. Before she could go inside, he stopped her with a kiss.

Although his proposal at lunch today had been im pulsive and said as a joke, it was rooted in his desire for Christina—his desire to be with her always and continue enjoying the company of the girl who’d captured his heart from the moment he met her.

Instead of laughing at him as he’d expected, Christina had given him a soft smile. “Are you serious?” she’d asked. And he’d nodded, still waiting for the laughter that was sure to follow.

The darling of Morrison Heights, she could do no wrong in anyone’s eyes—especially not Greg’s. She was everything he wasn’t, and whenever he was with her, he felt awash with the stability and goodness that were lacking in his own home.

Some people thought he was making time with Christina to annoy her father, who’d taken an instant dislike to him. Sure, he’d love to see the look on Sheriff Cline’s face when he and Christina announced their elopement, but he’d want to be with her no matter who her parents were.

To his surprise, the laughter he’d expected upon his impromptu proposal never came. When she’d said yes, he’d been so relieved and happy he’d insisted they tie the knot right away...before she came to her senses and changed her mind.

And now, standing in front of this tacky motel, she returned his kiss with an ardor that equaled his own. It had been clear all afternoon that she wanted him—perhaps almost as much as he wanted her—and it had taken every ounce of willpower to end their wedding kiss and wait until they reached the motel to make love to her. The motorcycle ride here had been sheer torture, and feeling Christina’s arms wound so tightly around his midsection had only made his physical discomfort worse. She tilted her head back, staring up at him with his own desire mirrored in her clear blue eyes.

An animal sound escaped from his throat as he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the room. As he set her down, he reveled in the feel of her body sliding down the length of his own. Pushing a white ruffle off her shoulder, he bent and placed a kiss on her neck. He didn’t want to spook her by moving too fast, but when she tipped her head, giving him free access to her bare shoulder, he gave a tug to the other side of her dress.

The white ruffled cloth fell to her waist, baring a simple cotton bra. The old saying was right, he thought. Good things did, indeed, come in small packages.

Kissing her to distract her from the momentary shyness that seemed to overtake her, he slipped his arms around her and deftly released the fastener.

Her breasts were small but inviting, and she didn’t flinch from his touch. He knew she was a virgin—she’d told him so when they were working on their Family Life project. She’d said she considered her virginity a gift for the man who would someday be her husband, and he’d fallen even deeper in love with her.

She seemed too good to be true and yet here she was, giving him—of all people—her precious gift.

When her small hands fumbled at the hem of his shirt, untucking it from his jeans, desire coursed through him. He peeled off the unwanted clothing in one smooth motion.

In response, she clung to him, her soft flesh flattening against his chest. It was all he could do to keep from backing her onto the bed and having his way with her—hard and fast.

But that wouldn’t be good enough for someone as special as Christina. He wanted to unwrap her gift slowly, savoring the anticipation as her treasure was gradually revealed to him. Dropping another kiss on her lips, he told her, “I want you so much.”

She sighed, and the motion pressed her closer against his naked torso. “I want you to know,” she began, pausing as she obviously groped for the words she wanted to say. “Those vows we said earlier—for better or for worse, in sickness and in health and everything else—I meant every word of it.”

Greg nodded silently. He had no doubt that she took her vows seriously, just as he did.

“I’m going to be a good wife to you...in every way. I want to please you. It’s my first time,” she confessed, “but I want it to be good for you.”

Christina snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Greg had just started backing her toward the bed when a banging sounded behind them. Before he could gather his wits, the door was flung open and sunlight spilled into the room.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” a male voice boomed.

As Christina stared past Greg, the passion in her eyes was quickly replaced with panic.

“Daddy!”

Greg turned his back to her, shielding her from the questioning gazes of Sheriff Cline, his deputy and the motel manager while she hastily adjusted her clothing.

The uniformed men glared at him in much the same way someone peers distastefully at a bug before squashing it.

“Daddy, before you get the wrong idea—”

“Never mind that. young lady. We’ll talk later about you casting your pearls before swine.” Sheriff Cline nodded to the deputy, who approached Greg with a pair of handcuffs. “Right now I have a matter of a robbery to discuss with your hoodlum friend here.”

Greg didn’t resist as the deputy cuffed him and recited his rights. The shame he felt right now wasn’t for himself—it was for having put Christina in the middle of this mess.

“You can’t do this,” Christina insisted, clutching Greg’s arm. “He hasn’t done anything for you to atrest him.”

Greg stood straight, but he didn’t meet her gaze. Couldn’t meet her gaze. “Christina,” he said softly, “let the man do his job.”

“Bet you didn‘t—”

He turned away from her, and he knew she assumed the worst. Not that he blamed her. He should be used to it by now—people always tended to think the worst about him—but it hurt so much more, coming from Christina.

He could try to explain. Try to tell her that the situation wasn’t what it seemed, and he was confident she would believe him. But her father wouldn’t, nor would anyone else in town, for that matter. He was as good as convicted right now.

She watched in stunned silence as the deputy led him to the patrol car parked outside, slammed the rear door shut and said to no one in particular, “Looks like this piece of trouble will be off the streets for at least a couple of years.” Then he threw Greg’s shirt onto his lap.

Christina started toward the car, and her father laid a hand on her arm. Breaking free of his grip, she ran to Greg and yanked open the car door.

“I’m going to find someone to help you,” she declared, even though she must have known that no teacher or other adult in town would come to his defense. “And while we’re getting this straightened out, I’ll be there for you...just like we vowed.”

When he could muster the courage to look at her, he tried to steel himself to her beauty and sweetness. He knew with certainty that she would do as she promised—she’d stick, by him through better or worse, through thick or thin—but what kind of louse would he be to make her endure such a hell? She deserved more than that, and one day he would find a way to give her the kind of life that was worthy of her. And he’d make himself worthy of her, no matter how long it took.

“I’m not going to drag you down with me.”

“It’s okay,” she said as her father approached the car. Her earnestness was sincere. “I’ll wait for you. And I’ll come see you every day.”

He had no doubt about that, but such an environment was not for the likes of someone as pure and sweet as Christina. With a stabbing pain in his heart, he knew the only way to protect her from it was to release her from her vows.

Someday he’d come back for her—when he was good enough for her. When she could be proud to introduce him as her husband. In the meantime, though, he had to let her go.

“I don’t want you there,” he said, his voice hard and strained. “There’s nothing left for us. Forget about me, and get on with your life.”

In his life, Greg had done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of, but he would never forgive himself for making Christina cry.


CHAPTER ONE

YOU make one foolish mistake in your entire life and, sure enough, ten years later he shows up on your doorstep, looking sexier than any man has a right to look. Her body mutinied, urging her to fling herself into his arms and pick up where they’d left off. Wisely, and with great effort, she resisted the urge, and it was just as well that she did.

Greg Primo was not a happy camper.

An official-looking packet of papers dangled from between his large fingers.

She glanced over her shoulder into the living room to see if Donald was aware of what was going on. Fortunately he had his nose buried in the business section of the newspaper.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

All those years apart, and no how-do-you-do or my-how-you’ve-changed. Nevertheless, he still had the power to make her drop everything and turn her full attention to him. It seemed as though her entire body was focused on him. It wasn’t just his physical presence Although, heaven knows, Greg’s musclethickened body, almost-black hair and penetrating brown eyes were enough to make any warm-blooded woman from puberty to rocking chair stop and give him her undivided attention.

And right then it would have taken a dynamite blast to divert her gaze from the magnificent human specimen that seemed to fill her front porch. A moth circled crazily as if it, too, were caught in the mesmerizing spell of the man.

As a teenager, Greg had been big for his age. But now... now his shoulders seemed to swell out of the dark suit jacket that was, for him, quite uncharacteristic. In contrast to his torso, his hips seemed narrow in the tailored slacks that hugged his long legs.

No, this was no teenager anymore. And if she weren’t convinced by his nearly brutal masculinity, the firm set of his angular jaw told her he was used to getting what he wanted...no matter what it took.

His dark hair fell in casual disarray across furrowed brows. His eyes were deep-set, and his scowling made them appear more so.

He shook the papers at her as if to snap her from her slack-jawed stare back into the present. “Do you have any idea how much trouble this is going to cause me?”

A droplet of perspiration that couldn’t be blamed on the late-April weather trickled between her breasts. Christina’s gaze traveled down the neatly typed heading on the paper that was now crumpled in Greg’s big fist: Christina Cline vs. Gregorio Primo.

A movement behind her distracted her from Greg’s fury, and when Donald touched her elbow Christina was grateful for the interruption.

“Is something wrong, dear?” He lowered his voice and spoke into her ear. “Want me to get rid of him for you?”

He was being unusually possessive tonight, acting for Greg’s benefit as if he lived here rather than just visited after work and on weekends. And as if their relationship were more than a convenient arrangement to satisfy their respective needs.

The idea of her fiancé taking on Greg was enough to jolt her out of her stupor. She was touched by his unnatural display of machismo, especially since their promises to each other would be in name only.

The two men were as opposite as if they’d come from different planets. Donald was as fair as Greg was dark. At thirty-five, his wispy blond hair was thinning prematurely, whereas Greg’s thick brownish-black locks shone under the incandescent porch light. And Greg’s tanned six-foot frame dwarfed Donald’s medium, deskbound build. Even their attitudes were oppositas. Greg’s reputation around Morrison Heights was, to put it mildly, less than sterling. And he was full of barely controlled energy, a condition that gave him the appearance of leaning forward even though his posture was perfectly erect. Serious-minded Donald, on the other hand, would someday run for a local political office—with Christina and the children he promised her by his side—and with no fear of any past indiscretions being exposed. His hands hanging awkwardly at his sides, he looked as though he’d rather be reading the stock report than dealing with this unexpected intruder.

“Uh, no, this is...” Her voice trailed off as she lifted the latch on the screen door and pushed it open. Where was Miss Manners when you needed her? For the life of her, Christina had no idea how one should introduce her fiancé to her husband.

Current husband, that is.

Greg stepped inside, filling the foyer with his massive bulk. How was it that, after all these years, he could still make her heart go flip-flop? Christina stepped back in a futile attempt to put distance between them. She would have to broach the subject of their relationship very carefully.

“Donald, I’d like you to meet Greg Primo...an old friend from high school. Greg, this is Donald Winkler, my fiancé.”

Greg raised one dark eyebrow. Christina mentally cringed as she waited for something unpleasant to hit the fan. He had just opened his mouth to speak when a rapping sounded at the screen door.

“Greggie, what’s taking so long? The mosquitoes are eating me alive out here.”

Even in the dark, the woman’s platinum-blond hair glowed like a defective nuclear reactor. Christina noticed the barely suppressed sigh Greg gave before he opened the screen door to her. As his companion stepped inside, it was easy to see why the mosquitoes considered her a fieast.

She was tall; Christina guessed her height at close to six feet, even without the three-inch heels. But it was the elastic tube top, filled to overflowing and suspended by two narrow shoulder straps, that riveted her attention. The image brought to mind a life-size Hollywood Heather doll gone amok. Christina tried not to stare in amazement.

Her gaze was drawn upward to the woman’s face. It was difficult to tell her age, what with all the makeup she wore, but her bright red smile seemed genuine and friendly.

“It’s okay, hon. I get those kinds of looks all the time,” the woman informed her.

Christina snapped her mouth closed, certain that her reaction had prompted the announcement.

“Some people think it’s too much,” the stranger babbled happily on, “but when you’re aiming for a stage career, you have to go with the theatrical look.” She peered at Christina through her spider-leg lashes. “Maybe we could get together sometime and I’ll give you a makeover.”

Suddenly Christina felt frump. Was that why Greg had changed his mind about staying married to her? Had he been disappointed with what he saw on their wedding day?

No, such a thought was ridiculous. Even so, she self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest. Then, in a burst of nervousness, she uncrossed her arms, captured a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and tucked it behind her ear. Mindful of the grass stains on her knees, she mentally chided herself for not paying more attention to her own appearance tonight. She felt certain her female visitor meant well, but it stung to have it pointed out that she could use some work.

The woman looked up and, apparently noticing Donald’s openmouthed fascination, smiled broadly.

“Pardon my manners,” she said to Christina, but her attention swiveled to Donald. “I’m Katrina Humboldt, but you can call me Trina. That’s my stage name.” As she thrust her hand forward, the movement caused her breasts to bobble like overfilled helium balloons.

The action didn’t go unnoticed by Donald. He licked his lips and blinked twice. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, taking her hand in his.

Considering the circumstances of Donald’s and her unusual marriage arrangement, his enthusiastic response to the bombshell didn’t stir any jealousy. But it did make her feel invisible in comparison.

This was getting out of control. She needed to get rid of Greg, and quick. Otherwise, she ran the risk of having her secret exposed, and possibly in a way that would hurt an innocent person. Because her marriage to Greg was over before it had a chance to begin, it had never seemed fully real to Christina, so she had pushed it to the back of her mind. She hadn’t purposely withheld the information from Donald. Rather, she had put off telling him since she still felt foolish about having done something so impulsive and uncharacteristic. Now she wished she’d had the foresight to mention it sooner.

Greg cleared his throat. “I hate to break up this touching introduction, but I need to speak to Christina...in private. Excuse us.”

At that, he took Christina’s elbow in one hand and placed his other hand at the small of her waist and guided her into the living room where Donald had been reading earlier. Greg’s touch was matter-of-fact, but Christina hated how her skin tingled beneath the gentle pressure of his fingers. As if unaware of the conflicting feelings that battled within her, he paused briefly to stare at the watercolor painting of an enormous sunflower that hung over the fireplace. His mouth twisted in distaste. “I hope you didn’t pay money for that.”

Before she could respond to his slur on her home decor, he pushed past the multitude of houseplants, hesitating only a second to gather his bearings before aiming her toward the kitchen.

Willing a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Christina pulled her elbow from his grasp, but he easily maneuvered her into the brightly lit room. It was happening again. He had decided what they should do, and he expected her to go along willingly—to bend to his will—just as she had in the past.

Well, she wasn’t a dreamy-eyed teenager anymore, and now was as good a time as any to clue him in. And her traitorous body, too, while she was at it.

As the door swung shut behind them, Christina stepped away and turned to face him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove by barging in here and pushing me around, but I don’t appreciate it one bit.”

He took the papers out of his back pocket and slapped them against the palm of his hand. “Just as I didn’t appreciate getting this little surprise today. Ten years you haven’t worried about getting an annulment, and you have to pick now of all times to finally go through with it. What have you been doing all this time?”

“I was...”

She caught herself before blurting out the truth. She’d almost said waiting for you, which was what she’d subconsciously been doing until recently, when she’d finally given up her childish dream and chosen a more mature arrangement with Donald.

The years had slipped by in a blur, first as she had finished high school and earned her college degree, and then while she’d lived with her parents to save for a down payment on this house. In those early years, she’d been so busy with her goals that she seldom had time to feel the empty ache that had begun with Greg’s arrest. But, living on her own the past three years, the loneliness had threatened to engulf her, even as she began spending more time with Donald. Eventually she came to the realization that it was children she needed—caring for them, listening to their laughter, and hugging their cuddly little bodies—to fill the void.

When Donald had offered to give her the children and family life she wanted in exchange for playing the role of a politician’s wife, she had readily accepted. In her estimation, it was foolish to be guided into marriage by raging hormones. She’d already made that mistake once. This time she would have a future to look forward to. With Donald.

But she wasn’t about to tell all that to Greg. Instead she softly concluded her statement.

“...busy.”

The curl of Greg’s lip told her the excuse sounded as lame to him as it did to her own ears. He stepped closer, the very proximity of him bringing back the sense of adventure and danger he had instilled in her as a teen. She stood her ground and felt the air fairly prickle with the charge that surged between them.

He had been forbidden to her. He was the dark-haired, dark-souled rebel from the wrong side of the tracks, while she was the fair-haired daughter of the sheriff. She had known then that he was considered wrong for her, but there was something about him that had compelled her to be near him.

Considering the power Greg had held over her at the time—and even now—she conceded their separation had been for the best.

“The lawyer said that since the relationship wasn’t...um...oonsummated, we can get a quick annulment rather than go through a lengthy divorce,” she said, trying to get her errant thoughts back on track. “All you need to do is sign the last page.”

“No!”

The ferocity of his statement made Christina jump. What was he suggesting? That he wanted to stay married to her? That he still had feelings for her? Against her better judgment, she felt inordinately flattened.

But the flattery was short-lived.

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to do this.”

Greg yanked a chair out from the table, clattering the wooden legs together in the process, and lowered himself onto the seat. He sat with thighs apart, one knee thrust aside as if in invitation for her to sit on his lap. Christina jerked her gaze upward, forcing herself to focus on the vertical lines between his scowling eyebrows.

“If anyone finds out about this,” he continued, “it’ll mess up my plans. You’re going to have to wait a few months until I have everything in order.”

It was bad enough that he’d given her ego a beating, but now he was telling her what to do, trying to bend her to his will as if she were a malleable child.

Although he was seated and she remained standing, he managed to give the impression of power and authority over her. He acted as though, just because he spoke, she must do as he bade. Well, there was no time like the present to show him how much she’d changed since she last saw him. She would refuse to jump at the snap of his fingers...no matter how much she wanted to obey.

She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “Can’t do it. I’m getting married in two months, and our annulment needs to be final before then.”

Christina hoped she sounded more assertive than she felt at the moment. Since they’d been apart so long, and he’d made no attempt to contact her, she had assumed he’d be agreeable to putting an end to their mistake of a marriage. Under the circumstances, his resistance struck her as unreasonable.

She was about to tell him so when the kitchen door swung open and Donald burst into the room. Like a curious puppy, Trina tripped on his heel, catching herself with a hand on his waist

“All right, what’s going on in here?” Donald asked.

He was staring straight at Christina, looking to her for an answer to this relationship mess, so there was no way Greg could field the question for her. Not that she’d want him to.

“Well,” she began hesitantly, “it’s a long story.”

“Oh, goody. I love stories,” said Trina, making herself comfortable at the table with Greg.

Everyone waited for Christina to finish her explanation. She turned to Donald, aware that Greg had risen to his feet. She tried to put her husband out of her mind and concentrate on how best to tell her fiancé what she had put off breaking to him long ago.

How would she break the news to him without damaging—or even breaking—their relationship? Would the knowledge effect the agreed-upon terms of their engagement? Tension gripped her until it felt as though she couldn’t breathe, and their “audience” wasn’t making matters any easier. She could practically feel Greg’s gaze holding her in his grip.

“Maybe we should talk about this in private,” she suggested, attempting to steer Donald out of the kitchen and away from earshot.

“No, you don’t have to whitewash anything for me,” her fiancé said, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a physical punch. “Give it to me straight.”

Donald was a good man...a little intense at times, but his heart was in the right place. And he’d always treated her with gentleness and respect, not even complaining when she’d insisted on remaining a virgin until their wedding night. In fact, he had admitted to a similar lack of experience and suggested they make a pact to abstain until they were locked in holy matrimony.

Not that doing so was a sacrifice for either of them. In fact, it helped delay what would eventually be—for both of than—a potentially awkward situation.

More importantly, she was still technically married. And since Christina was a woman of her word, she could never bring herself to sleep with a man while married to another... even if it was a marriage on paper only.

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Why don’t you start by telling your fiancé that you’re already married to me?” Greg intervened. His gaze bore into her, and he seemed to be standing much too close, even though they were a respectable distance apart.

“Oh my gosh, this is just like that soap opera, ‘A Million Tomorrows,’” Trina piped in. “Only Deiter Hawkins forgot to tell his fiancée about the baby he had by the nun who nursed him through his amnesia.” She paused to take a breath. “You two don’t have a child, do you?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What?” Donald started to pace, an action generally reserved for times of high stress and low stock reports.

“Not exactly.” By now Christina’s stomach was knotted with tension. She leaned a hip against the sink and turned a shoulder to Greg in an attempt to discourage him from participating any further in their conversation. But she knew from experience that a simple act of body language would not be enough to silence him if he had something to say.

“A son, Murdock,” Greg said over her shoulder. Then, in a wistful tone, he added, “and we had such fun making him.”

Christina spun to face her tormentor. “You’re not—hic!—helping matters!”

“Hiccups again? Why don’t you sit down,” Donald suggested, “and I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“Water doesn’t help,” Greg said. “It’s better if you make her laugh.”

In all the time she’d known him, Christina couldn’t remember hearing her fiancé laugh. Odd that she hadn’t thought of that before now.

“No, water’s best,” Donald insisted, pushing the glass toward her. “We’ve dealt with her hiccups every day since we announced our engagement, so I ought to know what works best.”

“Hic!” Christina sat in the chair Greg had vacated a moment earlier. To distract herself from the memory of his open-legged sprawl in that very chair, she started chugging the glass of water.

“And I’ve seen her through at least a dozen high school book reports and oral essays, so I ought to know that laughter works best for Christina.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Christina said with a slam of the empty glass on the table. Now that she had their attention, she would attempt once again to tell Donald about her past. Their past. “Now do you want to hear—hic!—this or not?”

Trina raised her hand and bounced in her seat. “I want to hear it. You go, girlfriend!”

Christina took a deep breath. “Greg and I were assigned to be make-believe husband and wife in our Family Life course.”

“They must’ve started that course after my time,” Donald said. “I never did anything like that.” Thirty-five years old, he had graduated seven years before her.

“They did. The course was our principal’s attempt to teach students about life in the real world. During our role-playing as married couples, we learned to take care of a child, keep a budget, clean house and prepare meals.”

“We took our roles very seriously,” Greg interrupted with a grin.

He wasn’t helping matters at all! “Actually it was something of an impulse to get married for real.”

Donald said nothing, just taking it all in, but his lack of response made her feel as if she should do a better job of justifying their impetuous decision.

“We were young and foolish.”

Christina had no idea why Greg had been attracted to her or asked to be her class partner. All she knew was that most girls with a normal level of hormones surging in their veins would have given their driver’s license for a date with the school hunk who was admired for the “six-pack” of muscled ridges that graced his firm abdomen and his ability to crack walnuts between his biceps and forearms. And yet she had married him.

And almost made love to him. She gave an involuntary sigh.

“We were as different as two people could be,” she continued.

“You can say that again.” Greg addressed Donald as he filled in the rest. “Our teacher, Mrs. Murdock, had agreed to let us pair up for our class assignment. She must have thought Christina’s good behavior would rub off on me and keep me out of detention hall.”

What would their teacher have thought if she’d seen how Greg’s sense of adventure had rubbed off on her?

“You still haven’t told me about your son.”

Donald looked disappointed, as he had every right to be. Surely he must think she had lied when she told him she was a virgin and wanted to remain so until a wedding ring—a real wedding ring—graced her finger.

“We had a pact,” he reminded her solemnly.

“It’s not what you think.” She would explain the details of their nonconsummated marriage later, but for now it was more important to set the record straight on the bigger issue. She hiccuped again. “Our so-called son was a rag doll and we were graded on how well we took care of it.”

“Okay, that issue is settled,” Greg said in an obvious attempt to change the subject. He tapped the papers impatiently against the palm of his hand. “Now let’s get back to the divorce.”

“Of course,” said Christina. “I’ll get you a pen.” Even though she had consciously known it would someday come to this, the finality of a divorce hadn’t hit until now. She handed him the pen, trying not to notice the hard calluses on his fingers or imagine what it might have felt like if he’d been given the opportunity to trace those calluses over the rest of her body so long ago.

“I’m not signing.”

“What?”

“I said I’m not signing.”

“I heard what you said. And I believe you also heard me say that Donald and I are getting married in two months.” She tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the panic out of her voice. “You have to sign those papers.”

“That would present a problem,” Greg said, shaking his head. “You see, I need you to perform a few wifely duties first.”

Stunned, Christina at first met his comment with openmouthed silence. She had seen that determined expression before, and it was obvious he was dead serious about his demand. A sudden urge to flee came over her. She could only assume this was fate’s payback for her having indulged in the fantasy of completing their wedding union each night as she drifted off to sleep. Christina backed away from the man who was threatening to wreck her life, stopping only when she collided with Donald.

Her fiancé put his arm protectively around her.

As she recovered from the shock of Greg’s demand, her emotions surged into anger. How dare he insult her with such a suggestion...and in front of her fiancé and his own girlfriend, no less!

“Oh, don’t worry,” Greg assured her as casually as if he were suggesting a walk through the park. “It’s not like you have to put your heart in it. All I need is for you to go through the motions.”


CHAPTER TWO

IN AN uncharacteristic response, Donald closed the space between them and grabbed a fistful of Greg’s white shirt and tie. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.” He enunciated the words carefully, as if he were Clint Eastwood in a Dirty Harry movie.

“You’re upsetting my fiancée.”

When Greg simply stood there and glowered down at him, Donald grabbed him by the arm and attempted to haul him to the door.

Christina couldn’t believe her eyes. “Donald, what are you doing?”

To her surprise, Greg disengaged himself from Donald’s grasp. Quickly. In a flash, he had the smaller man pinned against the wall.

“Greg, stop it now! You’re hurting him.”

“Oh, you lucky girl!” Trina squealed from behind her. “You have two handsome men fighting over you!”

Her comment seemed to make Donald squirm harder, which caused Greg to tighten his hold. “Hey, take it easy on my right hand,” Donald protested. “Those are my calculator fingers.”

Christina looked around for something to use against the man who had crashed back into her life. There was the crystal wine decanter on the counter, but it had been in her family for years and she didn’t want to risk breaking it. Her gaze swept across the kitchen table and fell on the tall wooden pepper mill Trina had been toying with earlier.

She picked it up and, holding it by the top, stepped closer to the two men. She waved it near Greg’s face, knowing full well she could never bring herself to hit him, no matter how much he infuriated her. “I’m serious about using this.”

He relaxed his hold slightly on Donald and turned an amused grin on her. “What are you going to do...pepper me with blows?”

Then, as if to show how unconcerned he was about her supposed threat, he turned his attention back to the man pressed against the flowered wallpaper. “Your calculator fingers? Are you an accountant or something?”

“A lawyer. But I want to specialize in accounting,” Donald said as casually as if they were having a business lunch. “For now, though, I’m starting out in general practice.”

Before Christina could work up a steam about being dismissed so offhandedly, Greg released Donald, who rubbed the circulation back into his hand.

“Really?” said Greg. “I’m getting ready to open a new business here in town, and I could use some help setting up my books. Not only that, I have this problem about the lease for the building...”

Before she realized what was happening, Greg had hired Donald as his accountant and legal advisor. The two men shook hands to close the deaL

It was as if they were now the best of friends. Christina doubted she’d ever understand men or their bonding rituals. “Donald, why are you getting involved with him? Have you forgotten what he just suggested to me?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, scratching his head. “That’s going to be a problem.”

“Actually I only need her for a month or so.” Greg straightened his rumpled tie and then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Could be less if the old lady is cooperative.”

“Excuse me, but this is not just another business deal you two are closing!” She situated herself between the men, placed her hands on her hips and glared up at Greg. “The ‘old lady’ is standing right here, and she’s feeling anything but cooperative at the moment.”

Trina looked up from the paper napkin she was folding into a tiny triangle. “You tell ’em, sister!”

Greg actually had the nerve to laugh. “You thought I was referring to you?” He heightened the insult by patronizingly cupping her cheek in the palm of his big hand. “The old lady I spoke of is the ninety-threeyear-old widow who owns the warehouse I want to rent for my new business.”

Christina turned her face away from his warm hand, trying not to think about the last time he’d touched her like that. She needed to get him out of her house—and out of her life. And the sooner, the better. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“I have a chain of exercise gyms along the East Coast. When I recently moved back to Morrison Heights, I decided to open one here, too. Mrs. Odell’s warehouse is in the perfect location, and it’s the right size. The only thing holding up the contract is her need for proof that I’m ‘settled’ enough to suit her.” He gave her a charming smile that showed straight, white teeth and a hint of a dimple. “So I told her I was married. Now she wants to meet my wife. That’s you.”

“You own a chain of exercise gyms, and she wants proof that you’re settled?”

“Well, I am new back in town, and there’s that matter of my jail time...”

Donald’s eyes widened. “Hey, buddy, if you were involved in some kind of white collar crime, then you better find someone else to handle your business affairs.”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” Trina said, rising from the table and tugging at her jeans. “It was only robbery, and that must have been ten years ago.”

“I know you’re trying to help, but you’re making it sound worse than it was,” he told Trina. To Donald, he said, “It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and with the wrong people.”

Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “All I need you to do,” he said, turning back to Christina, “is come to Mrs. Odell’s town house with me, meet her for tea and look wholesome and settled.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “That ought not to be hard for you.”

Christina wasn’t sure whether to take that last part as a compliment or an insult.

“I’d offer to stand in for you,” Trina interjected, “but it would be hard for me to tone down my natural ‘glam.’ You, on the other hand, absolutely reek of reliability and stability.”

Greg caught Trina’s eye and made a slicing motion across his throat. She, in turn, mimed a locking gesture beside her mouth, then threw away the imaginary key.

Turning back to Christina, he added, “Oh, and you’ll have to hold off on the annulment until the lease is signed.”

“I can’t do that.” She stepped closer to Donald and reiterated what she’d said before. “We’re getting married, and the annulment needs to be finalized right away.”

“Legal notices are publicized in the newspaper. If word of the annulment gets out before the deal is done, Mrs. Odell will sign the warehouse over to someone else.”

Christina tilted her chin up. His reappearance had her emotions all topsy-turvy, but she couldn’t let him see the power he held over her. She would not bend to his will. “That’s not my concern.”

“Fine, then I won’t sign the papers.”

“Then I’ll just proceed without you. Donald, I can do that, can’t I?”

“Well, it depends—”

“It’s not like we ever lived together, and we certainly didn’t consummate the marriage.”

Donald and Trina spoke in unison. “You didn’t?”

Greg remained silent, leaving it to Christina to explain.

“Circumstances intervened.” No need rehashing the arrest...or the fact that he had rebuffed her after the honeymoon was interrupted. She’d cried many tears over that, not only because he had rejected her when she’d been trying to live up to her marriage vow of sticking by him for better or worse, but also because she’d been forced to consider the possibility that his intent in proposing had not been for marriage itself, but for the wedding night. And once that possibility had been taken away, he no longer wanted her. She tried with limited success to keep the tremor out of her voice as she spoke. “In retrospect, it’s clear that our marriage wasn’t meant to be.”

“I still don’t understand how two healthy, normal human beings could pledge themselves to each other, and then not follow through on the best part,” Trina said. “It’s a mystery to me.”

Christina supposed it was fortunate she hadn’t sampled the “best part.” As it was now, Donald’s and her virginity pledge had kept them from being reckless as they headed toward a permanent partnership. In this relationship there was no crazy rushing into marriage, no frantic clinging to each other while yearning for bodily delights. No, this was a much more mature relationship, one that allowed them to exchange chaste kisses without the desperate urge for sexual release. This impending union was nothing at all like the first, and she took that as a good sign. When the time came—after the “I do’s” and when they were ready to start a family—they would proceed calmly and maturely to the marriage bed.

“So I don’t need Greg’s signature in order to proceed, do I?” she prompted.

“No, I don’t think so.” Frowning as he mulled over the particulars, Donald absently rubbed his Adam’s apple. “It may take slightly longer, getting witnesses to say that you’ve lived apart all these years and never slept together, but an annulment should be fairly quick and easy.”

“True,” Greg agreed, “but a divorce can be long and dragged out, especially if it’s contested.”

His deep voice rumbled seductively, and Christina had the feeling he practiced that tone often to get what he wanted. She suspected his success rate was high.

“But we don’t need to go through a divorce since the marriage was never consummated.”

“According to you, it was never consummated, but I might have something different to say about the matter.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Go along with me until the lease is signed,” he said with a smile, his voice deceptively light and coaxing, “and I won’t have to.”

“He’s like that in his business dealings, too,” Trina announced proudly. “He just won’t take no for an answer.”

That was certainly the truth. Christina had never known him to give in easily, especially if he wanted something badly enough. Why, look what measures he’d gone to after he had set his sights on her. Sure, lots of girls at school would have succumbed to his charms—and probably had—but Christina had wanted even then to take her virginity to the altar. After ten years of reflection, she could only guess that marriage had been merely an obstacle to overcome in his quest to bed her.

She turned to look at her fiancé. In light of his easygoing nature and relatively calm reaction to tonight’s turn of events, she guessed he would probably go along with Greg’s request...not that they had much choice. But it was only fair to offer him a say in the matter.

“Donald?”

He dropped his hands to his sides and stepped away from her as if he were already turning her over to Greg. “I suppose if it’s only to have a cup of tea with an old lady, there wouldn’t be any harm in that”

Donald was such a gentleman, and Christina felt lucky to be engaged to him, even if theirs was a rather odd arrangement. So why did she feel disappointed that he didn’t raise at least a little fuss?

“No, I suppose there wouldn’t,” she reluctantly agreed. But something in the back of her mind whispered that where Greg was concerned, there was always the potential for danger.

“Good, then it’s a deal.” Greg stretched out his hand to Christina. After a moment’s hesitation on her part and his joking reassurance that no buzzer lay hidden in his palm, she slipped her fingers into his.

Once again, Greg had managed to get her to bend to his will. Feeling manipulated and used, she clenched her teeth. She may have been railroaded into the deal, but she was determined to get it over with as soon as possible.

He held her hand in his grip for a mere second longer than necessary, gave a firm but meaningful squeeze, then abruptly let go as he turned to Donald and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, pal. I appreciate your understanding.”

“No problem,” Donald said.

Then, to Christina, Greg added, “I’ll pick you up at three-thirty on Sunday for tea at Mrs. Odell’s.” He looked her over, his gaze settling on the grass-stained, faded jeans and overlarge T-shirt. “And wear something nice.” Greg gave her a devilish wink. “Maybe a white sundress.”

Donald was wrong. This definitely would be a problem.

Christina had just stepped out of the bathtub and into a clean top and pair of jeans when the doorbell rang.

“Be right there,” she hollered.

With a prolonged sigh, she pulled a wide-toothed comb through her wet hair. It wasn’t like Donald to show up unannounced after work unless he’d had a bad day. During those times, he would spout off whatever difficulties he’d incurred at his struggling law practice and then spend the rest of the evening unwinding in front of her television.

Well, she’d had a rough day, too, and tonight she just didn’t know if she could summon the encouragement and smiles he would need to put him back in his usual good mood.

It wasn’t so much the physical exhaustion that came with the job of landscape designer, though that certainly played a part in her frustration. Mostly it was her supervisor, Linda, who had the annoying habit of sending her out on jobs that any of the groundskeepers could have handled. The reason? Because “you have a knack for dealing with difficult customers,” Linda had said, expecting her to be so flattered she’d drop the argument. But today she hadn’t dropped it.

Maybe it was because of the run-in she’d had with Greg the night before, or perhaps a hormonal fluctuation, but today she’d eloquently and insistently pointed out that as the landscape designer, that’s what she intended to do hereafter... design. Routine lawn and plant maintenance would have to be left to the staff hired for that job, no matter how difficult the client might be.

Christina didn’t know if her adamant stance would have an effect on her supervisor, but it had certainly taken the other woman by surprise.

She crossed the living room and reached for the doorknob. Regardless of the result, she needed to do some decompressing and unwinding, herself. And she would start with a trip to the Salad Hut for dinner.

“Hi, I was just going to...” The rest of the sentence hung in her throat as she opened the door and saw not Donald, but Greg standing on her porch.

The image before her was closer to the memory she carried of her teenage groom than the man she’d seen a few nights before. The black jeans reminded her of the rebel he’d once been, and the close-fitting, pectoral-hugging pullover shirt reminded her of one reason she’d said yes to his impetuous proposal. The difference was that he was now bigger, older and more in control...not only of himself, but also of those around him. And the fading pink scar on his cheek hinted that he was still willing to do whatever was necessary to retain that control.

“You’re going to the warehouse with me,” he finished for her and then gave her a quick once-over. “You don’t have to change...you look fine.”

Despite their years apart, a compliment from Greg still unnerved her... made her self-conscious, yet eager to please. How was it that he held such power over her? She tried to make herself immune to his charms, which was about as likely as the tide making itself immune to the pull of the moon. Even so, she ought to at least appear invulnerable.

“Excuse me?” she said evenly.

“No need to apologize. It could happen to anyone,” he said with a devilish grin. “Cucumbers for lunch?”

“I didn’t—You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can. Mrs. Odell gave me the key for a final walk-through before we draw up the lease. Since we’re going to meet with her this weekend, I thought we’d be more believable as a married couple if you’d already seen the place and could make a few knowledgeable comments about it.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right...”

“Of course I’m right. Now grab your purse and we’ll be on our way.”

He was doing it again—bursting into her life and trying to turn it upside down with a smile and a snap of his fingers. She’d already blown up at her supervisor today, and she wasn’t about to let herself be manipulated by a husband—a soon to be exhusband—that she hadn’t seen in ten years. No matter how handsome he might be.

“Look, I haven’t even had dinner yet, and I was planning to—”

“Don’t worry about dinner. It’s on me.”

Dinner would indeed be on him if he persisted in being so pushy. But then she considered her options. She had been left with no choice in the matter of meeting with Mrs. Odell and playing the part of Greg’s devoted wife. Perhaps, as he had suggested, touring the warehouse with him would help pave the way to a quicker signing of the lease...and a quicker annulment. Even the mere thought of forever signing him out of her life made her breath catch in her throat. But she had to steel herself and do whatever it took. In the long run, it would be better for both of them.

She turned her attention back to the matter at hand. If they left the car window down, her hair would dry before they reached the restaurant. She left him at the door while she went to retrieve her purse.

“You still like veggies, right?” he asked upon her return. “I hear they have a great Wednesday night special at the Salad Hut.”

Whatever annoyance she’d felt toward him until now was diminished with that one observation. After all these years, he’d remembered her favorite food.

The warehouse sat in a formerly neglected pocket of town. Previously used to store furniture, the building had fallen into disrepair when Mrs. Odell’s husband became ill fourteen years ago. Then, after the furniture company tenants moved out, the structure languished as the elderly woman struggled to recover from her husband’s death. In recent years, however, many of the old homes around the building had been sold and renovated as offices or torn down to make room for restaurants and quaint retail shops.





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