The Inconvenient Bride Read online

  “Sit down,” Sierra said. She asked him to pour the wine.

  He poured it, then handed her a glass. He was reminded of the last time they’d drunk together—at dinner with his father and Viveca and Tommy Hargrove. He remembered the toasts. Looking at Sierra he thought she did, too. She was looking at him with a bright, eager look in her eyes.

  “To you,” Dominic said after a moment and touched his glass to hers.

  “To us,” Sierra replied with a smile. Then she drank.

  Dominic drank, too. Then he dug into the lasagne and the salad and the bread. It was excellent. Simple, but delicious. And even though he’d have happily forgone it and headed straight upstairs with her, he ate now with gusto. “Really, really good,” he told her, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

  She hadn’t eaten nearly as much as he had. She seemed to be watching him, waiting. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad. I’m not much of a cook. But I’m willing to learn.”

  “You don’t have to cook every night,” Dominic said.

  “That’s a relief. But I intend to do plenty. If it’s okay with you. I was wondering what kind of foods you like.”

  “Most anything. I’m not picky.”

  “Italian? You like lasagne. Have you been to Italy? I always thought Italy would be a lovely place to go. I never got there, even when I was in France, can you believe it?” She was talking rapidly. Even more rapidly than Sierra usually did.

  “You’ve never been to Italy?”

  She shook her head. “There’s a lot of places I haven’t been. Jamaica. Cancún. Niagara Falls. The Poconos.”

  Dominic blinked, trying to follow that, wondering what those places had in common. Maybe they were the only places Sierra had never been.

  “What about Alaska?” he asked. “Have you been there?”

  Her eyes widened. “Alaska? No, never. It sounds…great! Amazing.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Dominic agreed. “Rhys and I have gone fishing there several times.”

  “Oh.” She looked a little puzzled, but then she smiled again. “Alaska’s great,” she said again.

  Dominic frowned slightly. Was she angling to go along when he went fishing with Rhys again? He’d never taken a woman along on a fishing trip before. It was a time to be gnarly and grubby and unshaven. But the thought of having Sierra there to share a sleeping bag with made him consider rethinking his decision.

  “Maybe we could do that in the summer,” he said.

  She brightened. “Summer! Oh, yes, that’d be terrific.” She plied herself to the lasagne then. When she leaned forward slightly, his shirt gapped at her neck and he could see right down into it. He could watch the shadowed rise and fall of her creamy breasts.

  He shifted in his chair, trying to adjust the fit of his slacks. One of his feet connected with Sierra’s. Her toes slid up his ankle and rubbed against his shin. She smiled at him over her wineglass.

  Dominic raised his and took a hasty gulp of wine, finishing his glass.

  Sierra held out the bottle. “More?” Her toes slid slightly higher.

  “Not…right now,” Dominic said.

  “Whenever you want any, then,” Sierra said. She wet her lips. “Just help yourself.”

  “Do you want to finish this meal or not?” Dominic growled.

  She giggled. “I’m getting pretty full. I think I might be ready for the next course.”

  He didn’t think she meant food. “About time.” His urgency whistled through his teeth. He shoved back his chair and stood.

  Sierra stood, too. He saw light and hunger and happiness in her eyes.

  “I thought you’d be ticked,” he said.

  A tiny line appeared between her brows. “Ticked? At what? Why should I be?”

  “You shouldn’t. But I forgot last night to tell you I’d called your agent and canceled your work.”

  “Well, I admit it was high-handed of you,” Sierra said. “But under the circumstances, I decided to forgive you.” She came around the table and lifted her arms and looped them around his neck. She kissed his chin, then his lips.

  And he kissed hers, tasting wine and tomato and a hint of something totally Sierra. It sent his blood pumping through his veins. “Circumstances?”

  “The honeymoon,” Sierra said, looking up into his eyes. “Where are we going? Obviously not Alaska. So where?”

  Dominic pulled back and stared at her. “What honeymoon?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  SIERRA stepped back and stared at him. “What do you mean, what honeymoon? You told Bruce we were going on a honeymoon!”

  Dominic looked, for one brief instant, discomfitted. Then resolutely he shook his head. “Perhaps he misunderstood.”

  “Bruce doesn’t misunderstand things like that. He’s paid to note details. That’s his job. Did you or did you not tell him we were going on a honeymoon?”

  “I said you were on your honeymoon!” Dominic bit out.

  “Just me?” Sierra said after a moment’s silent regrouping. “Not you?”

  “When in the hell would I have time to go on a honeymoon? I’ve got work to do! Demands. Meetings. Mergers. I have a job!”

  “I have a job, too.”

  “You don’t need it now.”

  “I want it.”

  He looked surprised. Then he smiled and gave a small laugh. “You want to stand on your feet all day fiddling with peoples’ hair? You want to listen to idiots yell at you and tell you what to do and then change their minds five minutes later?”

  “Yes,” she said fiercely.

  He looked incredulous. Then he wiped a hand down his face and stared at her some more. “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head, wrapping her arms across her chest. “No, I’m not.”

  “You jumped at the chance to not be there today!”

  “Because I thought we were going on a honeymoon!”

  He sighed. “You know I can’t get away.”

  “I didn’t know that,” she said stubbornly.

  “Well, I can’t.”

  “You don’t want to.” That was what it came down to. She was no more than a plaything, a good-time girl. Someone to have fun with in bed, but not to have a relationship with.

  He was silent. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “I notice you’re not denying it,” she said acidly.

  “I’d love to go on a honeymoon with you, Sierra, but—”

  “I’d love for you to go to hell all by yourself, Dominic!” And, terrified that she might actually cry, Sierra spun away and snatched up the plates, heading for the kitchen.

  Dominic came after her, grabbed them out of her hands, dumped them on the counter, and turned her in his arms. “Don’t,” he said.

  She gaped at him. “Don’t? Don’t get mad? Don’t care that you just ripped my work out of my life for no good reason?”

  “I was trying to make your life easier. To give you a break. To make you happy.”

  “Sure you were.” She lifted her hands and shoved his off her arms. “You want to make me happy? Let’s go somewhere. Let’s learn what makes each other tick. Let’s find more we have in common than sex.”

  His jaw grew tight and his expression became shuttered. Watching it happen, Sierra felt as if she were being punched in the gut. There was a physical pain somewhere in her midsection—because she knew he didn’t want her.

  Not the way she wanted him to want her.

  Not all of her.

  He only wanted the physical Sierra Kelly—Wolfe, she corrected herself. Damn it to hell!—that made him feel good.

  “No? We aren’t going to go? Imagine that. Fine. We’ll stay here. But I’m going back to work. Tomorrow. And I’m working every damn day I want, and you’re not going to stop me.”

  “Sierra, it’s not necessary.”

  “I’ll decide what’s necessary!” She grabbed the lasagne pan, slapped some foil on it, then stuck it in the refrigerator. She did the same with the salad, her movements jerky and furiou
s. She banged the dishes into the sink and began to scrub them hard enough to rub the pattern right off.

  “I have a dishwasher,” Dominic said over the sound of the water.

  “And now you have two.” Sierra thumped the pasta pot down into the sink and set to work on it, too.

  “Sierra.” He sounded patient and long-suffering and totally in control.

  She wanted to punch him in the nose. Instead she took her rage out on the pot.

  “I don’t need you to be a dishwasher.” He came up behind her and slid his arms around her. She could feel the heat and hardness of his body against her back, and it took all her control not to melt right back against him. Her traitorous body wanted to.

  But not her mind. Her mind was furious, and angriest of all was her heart.

  “No,” she said bitterly, “you just need me in your bed.”

  “I like you in my bed,” he corrected.

  “Well, that’s just too damn bad, because I’m not going to be there anymore!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Sierra! Stop being melodramatic. You can’t tell me you don’t like being there, too.”

  She thumped the pot down and whirled around, shoving him back with wet hands that left an imprint on his suit coat. “Of course I like being there. And once that was dandy. But now we’re married. There’s more to marriage than that!”

  “I can’t give more than that.”

  Once the words were out of his mouth, he looked as if he wanted to call them back. His lips pressed into a tight line and he glared at her. Like it was her fault!

  “Why?” She didn’t shout the question. She asked it very calmly, quietly almost. But it didn’t mean she didn’t want to know.

  “I won’t give more than that,” he corrected himself.

  “Oh, thank you very much!”

  “Christ, Sierra. It’s not that I don’t like you. I do. It’s just…I don’t want to get involved!”

  She stared at him, openmouthed. “You don’t want to get involved? Then why the hell did you marry me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  And that was answer enough.

  “For the sex,” she said bitterly. She rubbed her palms dry on the sides of his shirt that she wore. It had seemed like such a good idea when she’d put it on. It had made him seem so close—as if they were a part of each other.

  And now he was telling her he didn’t want that.

  He didn’t want her.

  Except in bed.

  She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I can’t do that.”

  He looked halfway between furious and astonished. “What do you mean you can’t do it? We’ve done it!”

  “It isn’t enough. Not now. Not anymore.”

  “So what do you want to do, back out? Run away downtown again? Get a divorce? Give me back my half million?”

  Oh, damn.

  Because she’d managed to think, yes, yes, and yes to his first three questions. Her fingernails dug into her arms.

  “I can’t do that,” she muttered.

  His eyes widened. “You spent it?”

  She stared out the window across the park and saw nothing. “I gave it away.”

  “What?”

  Her gaze snapped back to meet his incredulous one. “I gave it away,” she repeated stonily.

  “To the homeless? To the starving poor of the Lower East Side?

  “To a friend of mine whose son needs a kidney transplant!”

  He blinked, then shook his head. “What? What friend? Who?”

  “My friend Pammie who lives in my building. Her son Frankie needs one and they fell through the cracks insurance-wise. She needed a quarter of a million to get him on the list. I can give you back half of it now. I’ll figure out some way to—”

  “The hell you will!” He was shaking his head, pacing the confines of the kitchen like some furious jungle cat, raking his hand through his hair. “Keep the damn money! It’s not important!”

  “To you—”

  “To me!” he shouted, then whirled and glared at her, spitting the words, “Do. You. Want. A. Divorce?”

  “Do you?” Sierra asked quietly.

  He went stone still. A muscle ticked in his temple and beneath hooded lids his blue eyes were almost midnight. He let out a harsh breath. “I don’t know.” He slammed a fist into his other palm.

  At least, Sierra thought, he was being honest. She supposed she ought to be glad of that. “When you do know,” she said politely, “I’d appreciate your telling me.”

  He snorted. “You’ll be the first to know.” The words hissed through his teeth.

  “Thank you.” Her voice sounded frosty, her heart was more so. She felt like ice, brittle and cold, about to crack.

  “If you want one…” Dominic began, then stopped.

  She shook her head. “I won’t be leaving until I can pay my debts.”

  “I told you—”

  “No,” she said fiercely. “When I make a deal, Wolfe, I make a deal. I intend to keep it. I married you. For better or worse,” she said bitterly.

  “But you won’t just sleep with me.”

  They stared at each other, Dominic challenging, Sierra despairing.

  “At the present time,” she said in a quiet voice that she hoped to God didn’t sound as desperate as she felt, “I don’t think that would be advisable.”

  She didn’t think it would be “advisable”!

  Dominic swore and slammed his fist on the mattress as he stared up at the ceiling above his bed. His very wide, very empty bed.

  “Well, you let me know when you think it is,” he’d said with his best sarcastic sneer as they’d faced each other in the kitchen hours before. And then he’d stalked out. He’d grabbed his briefcase and holed up in his study, trying to do the work he’d brought home so he wouldn’t obsess over Sierra every minute he was with her.

  Yeah, sure.

  He hadn’t got a damn thing done. He’d spent the rest of the evening staring at meaningless drivel on paper while his mind played and replayed everything that had happened that evening over again.

  And while he played it over he heard her crashing dishes and pots and pans around in his kitchen. Slamming cupboards. Banging drawers.

  Like she had a right to be angry because he didn’t want to go on a honeymoon. Because he didn’t want them to spend every minute in each other’s pocket. Because he didn’t want what she wanted in this marriage!

  If she’d wanted that sort of marriage, damn it all, she shouldn’t have married him!

  Why would she do anything so stupid as say yes to a man she’d only spent one glorious night with—if she wanted a traditional marriage?

  It didn’t make a bloody bit of sense.

  Nor did it make sense that she was sleeping down the hall and he was here alone in his bed!

  But that’s where she was. She’d come upstairs while he was working in the bedroom he used as a study, and when he went past the room where he’d had the movers put her stuff, the door was closed and locked.

  He knew it was locked because he’d tried the handle. Lightly. Carefully. So she wouldn’t even notice. It hadn’t moved.

  He’d debated just walking on by and ignoring it, but finally, annoyed, he’d said loudly, “You’re being juvenile, Sierra.”

  She didn’t reply.

  He rattled the door handle.

  No response.

  “Childish,” he said loudly.

  Still nothing.

  Damn her! How could she do this? He’d waited all day for her!

  Well, fine, if that was the way she was going to be, she could just lie in there by herself all night. He didn’t need her.

  He didn’t need anyone!

  Five hours later he was still telling himself the same thing.

  And pretty well convinced that Sierra was stubborn enough not to think going to bed with him was going to be “advisable” tonight.

  He rolled over onto his side, pounded the pillow and thumped his he
ad down onto it. Then he stared across the expanse of bed that, last night, he had shared with Sierra. One night and she had infiltrated his bedroom as if she’d been there forever.

  He rolled over again, turning his back on the side where she’d slept—and remembered how she’d snuggled up behind him and slid her arms around him, how her hand had—

  Cripes! He had to stop this!

  His body remembered even better than his mind. And certain parts of his body were not happy at all.

  And lying there thinking about what he wasn’t getting wasn’t making them any happier. He threw off the covers, threw a T-shirt on over his boxers, and went out into the hall. Not a sound emanated from behind Sierra’s locked door.

  He wondered if she was asleep.

  He hoped she wasn’t.

  He wanted her suffering as much as he was. That would show her how “advisable” sleeping alone was!

  “Well, that was the shortest honeymoon on record,” Bruce said when she called him about working the next morning.

  “We decided it would be better to wait,” Sierra said, which was about the kindest thing you could say about what had happened between her and Dominic the night before.

  Bruce grunted. “I’ll let Finn and Gib know you’re working again. I’m sure Finn will want you tomorrow. He was grumbling last night when I told him you were going to be gone. So count on him. I’ll be in touch, and I’ll put you back on the books for everyone else.”

  Which left her today to get through. Yesterday had been easy. She’d been dancing on air yesterday, delighted with life and with the prospect of her marriage.

  Today it was harder to be sanguine. Today it was damned difficult even to muster a Sierra Kelly trademark smile.

  Of course she wasn’t Sierra Kelly anymore. Technically.

  But in every other way, apparently, she was. Dominic certainly didn’t want to make a real marriage out of what they had. He only wanted a live-in bed partner.

  The very thought made Sierra want to spit.

  Well, really, she chided herself. What did she expect?

  Love.

  It was as stupid and simple as that.

  She was such a foolish optimist, such a ridiculous Pollyanna, that she’d expected he’d fall in love with her the way she was falling in love with him.