The Inconvenient Bride Page 9

  So he’d reached over and shut off her alarm. There was no sense in her waking up and going in to work when she didn’t have to. She would doubtless call Finn’s when she woke up, and they could tell her they’d got someone else.

  She might be annoyed at finding out that way, but Dominic was confident she’d see the sense in it when he explained.

  He shot back his cuff and glanced at his watch. It was now three minutes later than the last time he’d looked at it.

  He wanted to go home to Sierra. It was ten minutes after six. He could certainly leave now. Shyla had left twenty minutes ago. Most everyone else had gone before that.

  “You aren’t going to keep the bride waiting, are you?” Shyla had said when she’d stuck her head in to say good-night.

  Dominic had looked up from the papers he had spread all over his desk. “Not for long,” he’d assured her.

  But he would have stayed to work if she hadn’t been home waiting. And he wasn’t going to disrupt his whole life for her. It would be letting her matter far too much, implying that he cared more than he did.

  He had no intention of doing that.

  “I’ll head home shortly,” he said. “There are things that I want to finish up first.” He wasn’t admitting he’d been aching to leave since lunchtime—or before.

  So he made himself focus on the papers on his desk. He read all the specs on the Harker deal, and then he read them over again. He had a fine steel-trap mind and a reputation for attention to meticulous detail. He never went into a business deal unless he understood exactly what he was getting into. He wasn’t afraid to take risks, but they were calculated to the nth degree.

  Usually such detail consumed him. The more he learned, the more he wanted to learn.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight his mind kept wandering to Sierra. What had she done all day? Was she eager for him to come home? As eager as he was to be there?

  Damn it!

  He shoved her out of his head and made himself read the pages aloud. Made himself dwell on every single word. And every few minutes he checked his watch.

  Finally at quarter to seven he decided he’d exercised his willpower long enough.

  Neatly he put all the papers back into the folder. Then, lining it up with the edge he set it on the corner of his desk. He checked his e-mail one last time, recorded his thoughts for Kent in case his assistant checked his mail tonight. Then, satisfied that he was once more in control of his life—and his libido—he locked up and made his way home.

  She didn’t fix peanut butter and jelly for Dominic.

  Sierra wasn’t a terrific cook, but under the circumstances, she wanted to do her best. So she called her sister Mariah and asked for help.

  “What sort of help?” Mariah said warily. Sierra knew her sister loved her dearly, but they were not always on the same wavelength. And considering what she hadn’t told Mariah, this was going to be a little tricky.

  “I need a recipe or two,” she said airily.

  “Recipes? What kind? I thought you believed in takeout. Wasn’t that your idea of the world’s best cookbook? The one filled with phone numbers of take-away joints?”

  “Most of the time it is,” Sierra admitted. “But I want to do something a little special tonight.”

  “Who is he?”

  Trust Mariah to get right to the point. And trust Mariah not to have heard. How could a woman who made her living interviewing people and doing stunningly perceptive personality pieces miss seeing who made her own sister’s heart pound?

  Of course that meant that Sierra had camouflaged her feelings incredibly well. She certainly hadn’t wanted anyone to know she had a thing for Dominic Wolfe. Unrequited passion wasn’t something she had any desire to admit to.

  Now she was wishing she’d been a little more transparent.

  “It’s Dominic,” she said.

  “Dominic who?” Mariah asked.

  Jeez. “Dominic! Your brother-in-law.”

  “What! No! You’re joking! Sierra, that’s not even funny. You and Dominic? God, Rhys would bust a gut laughing. Who is it really? I mean, I’m glad you’ve finally found someone who can keep you interested for more than a week and a half. But…” Her sister’s voice trailed off when Sierra didn’t say anything.

  The silence grew. And grew. And grew.

  “You aren’t joking.” The words fell like stones into still water. Mariah sighed heavily. “Oh, for God’s sake, Sierra. He’s handsome and clever and smarter than Einstein. But he’s made of granite. He’s all business—24/7. He probably sleeps in his suit and tie.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “He never— What did you say?”

  “I said, he doesn’t sleep in his suit. The tie is—” Sierra giggled “—optional.”

  “Oh. My. God.” There was a long silence. “Can I just tell you to cut your losses?” Mariah said. “Can I tell you to get out while the getting is good, before you get serious? Because, believe me, sweetie, Dominic is not going to get serious. He’s not going to get involved. He’s a 100% confirmed bachelor.”

  “He married me on Tuesday.”

  She knew she shouldn’t just blurt it out like that. She knew she should pussyfoot around, come at it obliquely, maybe try to soften the news a little, prepare her sister. She knew Mariah wasn’t keen on surprises.

  But it was four o’clock. Dominic would be home in less than two hours. And she wanted to make him dinner—a nice dinner—to celebrate their marriage—and the surprise honeymoon.

  She didn’t have a lot of time.

  “I’m sorry. I must have heard you wrong. I thought you said he married you?” Mariah sounded oddly breathless.

  “You heard right. We got married. On Tuesday afternoon,” Sierra thought that grounding it down to a day might help.

  “On Tuesday afternoon. Just like that. You don’t even know each other! You don’t even like each other! You threatened him with his tie when you busted into his…” Once more Mariah’s words died. There was a bit more silence, then a slightly thready, just a little bit hysterical laugh. “And that’s when it began, huh?”

  “Not really,” Sierra said quickly. “We really stayed well away from each other after that. I mean, he thought I was really going to rip off his family jewels. He wasn’t exactly enamored. But he was…”

  “Curious?”

  “I guess you could say that. And, well, so was I. We ran into each other a few times. At your shower. And then at the hospital after Steve and Lizzie were born. We were just sort of…aware. But nothing happened—until your wedding. We had a little too much champagne at the wedding. And we were on our own after the reception. We had to go back to Kansas City to catch a flight out in the morning and—”

  “I get the picture,” Mariah said. There was a pause. Then she said, “Why didn’t you say anything? If you’ve been seeing him—”

  “I haven’t been! It was, like, a one-night-get-it-out-of-our-system event. But it didn’t,” Sierra said. “I hadn’t seen him since.”

  “Until Tuesday,” Mariah said dryly.

  “Until Tuesday,” Sierra agreed. “And he showed up at Finn’s studio and asked me to marry him.”

  “Why?” Then, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” Mariah backed off at once. “I didn’t mean that. But—wait a minute. Maybe I did. Three months? Sierra, are you—?”

  “No! I am damned well not! You’re the one who got pregnant, ‘Riah,” Sierra said sharply. “Not me.”

  “Right,” Mariah said. “Right.” This last was a sigh. “You love him.”

  Sierra wet her lips and took a breath. “Yes.”

  Mariah didn’t say anything for a moment. She was clearly trying to rethink everything she knew about her conservative, businesslike brother-in-law—and her purple-haired impulsive sister.

  “Does he love you?” she asked finally, apparently having decided that given everything else she had misjudged, that might be possible, too.

  “No,” Sierra admitted.
“He doesn’t. He married me because we’re dynamite in bed together. And because—” she sucked in a breath and plunged on, making a full breast of it, “because Douglas kept shoving suitable women down his throat.”

  “Oh, surely not!” Mariah protested at once.

  “He was,” Sierra insisted. “Every few weeks he’d have another candidate for Dominic to look over. All marvelous, eminently suitable women. Not like me.”

  “But that can’t be why he married you,” Mariah countered. “He couldn’t be so dumb.”

  “Thank you very much!”

  “I don’t mean that you’re unsuitable, but that he wouldn’t marry just to spike Douglas’s guns!”

  “Yes,” Sierra said. “He would. He did.”

  “But—”

  “And now we have to make something of it. Something that will work. That will last. I want it to last, ‘Riah,” Sierra said urgently.

  “What does Dominic want?”

  “I think he wants it to last, too. He booked me out today. I went to Finn’s and I’d been replaced.”

  “What?” Mariah was somewhere between outrage and astonishment.

  “I was furious at first, too,” Sierra said, “but then I talked to Bruce. Dominic had called yesterday and booked me out—so we could go on a honeymoon!”

  Her sister was silent for a moment. Regrouping. Sorting things out. Thinking. That was Mariah, all over. Steady. Dependable. Insightful.

  “So he must want it to work, too,” Sierra went on. “Don’t you think?”

  She didn’t realize how badly she wanted Mariah to agree until she asked. It was, she realized, why she’d called her sister in the first place. The recipes had been the excuse, the catalyst that would allow her to tell her sister news she should have told her as soon as it had happened.

  But she’d been afraid to then.

  She’d been afraid that Mariah would tell her she was an idiot, that there was no way on earth Dominic and she could ever make a successful marriage, that impulsive trips to the city hall, based on no more than lust and a desire to annoy someone else, were destined for divorce court before the month was out.

  And she’d had no reason to believe that Mariah would have been wrong.

  But now they were going on a honeymoon.

  Now it was more than lust and irritation at his father. He was taking time for her. He wanted to be with her, to get to know her. Perhaps to learn to love her.

  “Don’t you think?” she repeated.

  “It’s a start,” Mariah said. “Yeah, it’s a start.”

  She gave Sierra a couple of good family recipes that she said any idiot could manage. “Do the lasagne,” she said. “Rhys loves lasagne. Dominic will, too. Fix a salad. Make garlic bread. Easy. The least of your worries,” she said with considerable accuracy. Then she wished Sierra luck.

  “Thanks.”

  “If you need anything—ever—you let me know,” Mariah said, her protective big sister determination showing its face. “Rhys will kick his butt for you anytime you want.”

  Sierra forbore saying that she thought Dominic was a match for his youngest brother.

  Even though Rhys was a fireman and worked hard at a physical job much of the time, Sierra had seen enough of Dominic recently to know he had muscles. Plenty of muscles.

  And she didn’t think he would suffer much interference in his life.

  “We’ll be fine,” she said. “I hope.”

  “I hope so, too, kid,” Mariah said. “Good luck.”

  Sierra went shopping for the few things she needed that Dominic didn’t have. Then she lugged all the grocery bags home. The doorman had apparently accepted her right to be there for he helped her get them into the elevator.

  “You know,” he said, “you can have them delivered.”

  “Really?” It was amazing the things she had no idea about. “Thanks.”

  She boiled the noodles, browned the meat and grated the cheese. Then she put the lasagne together, made a salad of mixed greens, mushrooms, red onion, black olives and Parmesan-flavored croutons, and made a garlic butter paste for the loaf of fresh bakery French bread she’d bought.

  She set the table in the dining el where they could sit and eat, looking out over the park. It was considerably more civilized than the picnic she’d made for Frankie and Pam earlier that day, but it still felt very warm and cozy and tree-house-like. She put wineglasses on the table, dimmed the light slightly, then lit candles instead and shut the light off.

  “Yes,” she said. It was perfect. Romance in a tree house.

  And she would make sure they ate before they adjourned to the bedroom.

  Where were they going on their honeymoon? she wondered. Jamaica? Italy? Greece? Cancún?

  She had known people who’d gone to all those places. Probably Dominic knew somewhere even better.

  She wished he had told her. But then she didn’t blame him for keeping it a surprise. The anticipation was lovely.

  Even lovelier was the realization that he cared enough to want a honeymoon with her—that he, too, wanted their marriage to work.

  It was six-fifteen. She thought he would be home any minute. She put the lasagne in to bake and opened the wine to let it breathe. She checked his stereo system and discovered that if she put on music in the den, the speakers were rigged so that she could hear it in any room in the house. She put on some soft romantic stuff, hoping that it wasn’t music Dominic associated with seducing another woman.

  And then she waited for him to walk in the door.

  She waited. And waited.

  She checked the lasagne. She checked the bread. She fiddled with the salad. She sipped the wine.

  Six-thirty became six forty-five. Six forty-five became seven. Then it was seven-fifteen. Finally at almost seven-thirty, the front door opened.

  Sierra smoothed damp palms down the sides of Dominic’s shirt which she still wore. She’d hadn’t felt nervous in years. She’d felt less apprehensive when she’d married him!

  But that had just been an impulse.

  Now they were getting down to what really mattered.

  He wants this to work, too, she reminded herself. Then she drew a deep breath and went to greet her husband.

  Something smelled good. Better than good.

  Delicious.

  As Dominic let himself into the apartment, his stomach growled in anticipation, and his whole being responded with surprise.

  He’d assumed Sierra would be there waiting for him. But he’d expected a few threats and not a little annoyance as his reward for having booked her out of work.

  In fact, he’d been anticipating the pleasure of charming her out of her irritation. All the way home—all day, for that matter—he’d been looking forward to it. He fully expected to lose his tie and to feel her fingers digging into his ribs. And he’d imagined catching her hands in his hand holding them over her head while he kissed her senseless. He would be rewarded with a deep flush on her cheeks and a hungry look in her eyes—and all would be forgiven and forgotten as he bore her off to bed.

  But if he had to eat a delicious home-cooked meal instead, he supposed philosophically, he could probably manage that. Still, he was a little surprised she wasn’t upset.

  Maybe she was. He hadn’t seen her yet.

  “Sier—” Her name dried up on his tongue as she sashayed out of the kitchen.

  “Hi!” She gave him a cheery smile and a quick kiss before dancing away toward the dining area.

  No complaints? No arguments? No need to charm her into a different mood?

  Heck. But then, who cared?

  She looked good enough to eat.

  She was wearing one of his long-sleeved dress shirts, cinched at the waist with a belt. Dominic had never considered his shirts sexy in the slightest. But he’d never seen one on Sierra before!

  Her legs were bare and her knees and several inches of tanned thigh were visible below the tails of his shirt. Even more smooth thigh flashed into view when she
turned and he glimpsed the sides where the tails curved upward.

  “Hi,” he managed. It sounded like a frog’s croak.

  Enough buttons were undone at the neck and below that she didn’t appear to be wearing a bra.

  What else wasn’t she wearing?

  “You didn’t tell me you’d called Bruce.”

  It was what he expected her to say, but her tone wasn’t accusing. There seemed to be a soft, wondering, appreciative note in it.

  He shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I can’t afford to support you.”

  “I know, but I didn’t expect it. I’m so glad.”

  She was? Would wonders never cease? He reached for her, assuring himself that it was okay to do so now. He’d waited all day, after all.

  They kissed. It was a long kiss. Eager on both their parts. Deep and hungry. It should have led straight to the bedroom.

  But Sierra backed off. “First we eat. Food.” She smiled at him. “I got my mother’s recipe for lasagne. Mariah gave it to me.”

  Dominic did his best to tamp down his desire. “Right,” he said. “Food.”

  “I hope you’re hungry.” She was looking at him hopefully, her expression open and eager.

  “Sure,” he said. “Even for food.”

  She laughed as if he’d made a wonderful joke. “Good. Go wash up, then come and sit. It’s ready.”

  He was tempted to suggest they make a quick trip up to the bedroom first. But he didn’t. She’d obviously worked hard to make dinner special. The least he could do was enjoy it. Any other time, he was sure he would. It was just that he’d been waiting all day to go to bed with her.

  He dried his hands and went back to the dining room. She was serving the meal on his seldom-used dining table in front of the windows overlooking the park. She’d lit candles—tapers on the sideboard and at either side of the table. She’d put their plates directly across from each other. It looked cosy, intimate. A love nest.

  Dominic felt edgy, wary, then chided himself. What was he wary of? Being trapped into marriage? Hardly. He was already married to her.