Million Dollar Marriage (8 page)

Oh, hell. Above that was a snug white T-shirt. Not a loose-fitting one like he might
wear himself, but a tiny one that hugged her so close he could see a strip of tanned
midriff between it and her jeans. And he could also see that she was braless underneath
it. Her gleaming black hair brushed the shoulders of that white shirt in stark contrast,
and the white she wore made her dark eyes even darker.

She was one incredible hunk of woman.

“Holden?”

“Hmm?” He lifted his head, to look up into her eyes.

“You, um, waiting to be knighted or something?”

He was practically kneeling at her feet. And knight-hood was the last thing on his
mind. Knights were honorable and noble and all of that. Hell, he’d have been drummed
right out of his armor for the sultry thoughts in his head. He got to his feet, avoiding
her eyes so she wouldn’t see the raw hunger in his, and turned to the sink to wash
the tongs.

“Steak smells good,” she said, moving toward the grill and picking up a fork to poke
the thick cuts of meat as they sizzled.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he rasped. He was back at his salad bowl, adding chopped tomatoes
and tossing it again.

“Starved,” she said. “And I think my steak is done enough. I like ’em rare.” She reached
for one of the plates he had sitting out at the same time he did, and they collided,
chest to chest. Holden looked down at her. She let his eyes probe hers, and left her
body right where it was, pressed up tight. Her breasts mashed against his chest, her
face only a couple of inches away.

She was supposed to pull back. She was supposed to be embarrassed. Okay, maybe she
was embarrassed, if the color staining her cheeks was anything to go by. But she was
not
pulling away.

Holden finally managed to do that himself. “Um…sorry.”

“Don’t be silly, Holden. You didn’t hurt me. And we are married.”

“Yeah, but…”

She sent him a sidelong glance, even while stabbing her steak and dropping it onto
her plate. “But what?”

“Nothing.”

Shrugging, she set her plate aside. “Want me to get yours off?” she asked, reaching
for the second plate, a question in her eyes.

“Uh, no. I like mine cooked.” He glanced at her steak. “At least enough so they don’t
moo when I stick the fork in them.”

“You’ll cook all the flavor out.”

“I just don’t happen to like biting down on things that wiggle.”

She lifted her brows. “That’s not the way I heard it.”

Holden almost gaped. But he managed to hide his surprise and return his attention
to the salad. His throat was dry, though, and the skin on the back of his neck tingling.
His belly was tight, his temperature, he thought, heading upward.

If he ever got through this night it would be a miracle.

“So, um, what kind of dressing do you want on your salad?” he asked. Safe subject.
Salad dressing.

Her reply was to turn to the refrigerator and open it, scanning the bottles inside.
“Oh, hey. This looks good.”

He turned, expecting to see her holding a bottle of Italian or Ranch. Instead, she
was lifting a bottle of wine. Her hand curled around its slender neck while the fingers
of the other one slid down over the label. He’d told the local grocer he always ordered
from to stock the place with the usual things. Forgetting that
the usual things included wine. Because any self-respecting womanizer would always
have some on hand to help things along. Only in this case, he didn’t want to help
things along.

But she was already rummaging in a cupboard for wineglasses, setting a pair of them
on the counter, pulling open a drawer in search of a corkscrew. Holden took the bottle
from her. “Here, I’ll get it.”

She found the corkscrew and put it into his hand. Holden opened the wine, and had
to move closer to her to pour it. When he stopped with the glass half full, she put
her hand over his on the bottle, and pressed downward until he filled it the rest
of the way. She did the same when he filled the second glass. He met her eyes. “Trying
to get me drunk, Lucy?”

She looked away. “I think it would take more than that to get you drunk, Holden. You
forget, I’ve seen you drink before.”

“As I recall, you didn’t like it much.”

She lifted her brows, and her glass, taking a deep sip while his gaze riveted itself
to her lips. “Now, what makes you say that?”

“You pretty much ignored me after that night at the Valentine’s Day dance,” he said.
Then he shook his head. “I’ve always assumed I must have acted like an idiot when
you drove me home that night.”

“No,” she said. “Actually, that was the next day.”

“What was?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Get your steak, Holden, before it burns.”

He set the bottle down, rescued the steak, and dropped it onto the remaining plate.
And before he turned back around, Lucy was heading out of the
kitchen, through those bat-wing doors and into the dining area with her plate, her
glass, and the rest of the bottle tucked under one arm. Holden sighed, watching her
go. The view from behind made him take a deep drink of wine from his glass and square
his shoulders, before he gathered up his own plate and went in there to join her.

S
he’d never been more nervous in her life. So she drank a bit too much wine with dinner,
and by the time they finished eating, she no longer had any idea how much of the wine
Holden had ingested, and how much she had. She only knew the bottle was empty, and
her lips were tingly. She’d intended to keep track of how much he drank. Maybe it
would mellow him out a little.

Hell, it had worked last time.

Holden got up and started gathering up the empty dishes. She got up too, and covered
his hand with hers. “Let me get those.”

He shook his head. “Why? ’Cause you’re the female?”

“No. Because I would rather you be doing something else just now.” She saw the wariness
come into his eyes.

“What?” His voice was slightly hoarse.

“Building a fire.”

He glanced in toward the fireplace, then back at her. “It’s June, Lucy.”

“Yes, but it’s not too hot here. And I really would like a fire.”

Sighing, he lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay. I’ll build a fire.”

He headed into the front room. Lucinda quickly cleared their plates from the table,
carried them into the kitchen, and washed them up. It took all of five minutes. While
she was out there, she located another bottle of wine. But she was already feeling
pretty unsteady on her feet; she wasn’t used to drinking much. Maybe she’d better
not have any more. She needed to keep her head tonight. She’d hate like hell to wake
up in the morning and not remember whether he’d capitulated or not. Still, it wouldn’t
hurt to get a bit more down him.

When she went back into the living room, with freshly filled glasses, vowing that
she wasn’t going to touch hers, Holden was already adding larger logs to the fire.
She paused by the big kerosene lamp on the end table, and bent to blow it out.

Holden spun around. “What did you do that for?”

“The fire is plenty of light. Besides, it has to be dark to get the full effect.”

“I’ve used that line a time or two myself,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Shrugging, she went forward, set the glasses on the tree slab coffee table, and sank
onto the incredibly soft sofa.

Holden stood between her and the fire for a long moment. “I’m, uh…pretty tired,” he
began.

“Oh, come on, Holden. Sit with me. Tell me some of those family stories about Kingston
up there. I’m dying to hear them. And you did say they made perfect fireside tales.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

With a sigh, he came to the sofa and lowered himself onto it. “All right. If a bedtime
story is what you want, I’ll play.”

If he’d play, she thought, she wouldn’t need to ask for a bedtime story. But at least
it would keep him here longer at her side. And there might be a chance…

“My great-grandmother didn’t give birth to Kingston. She found him on the doorstep
of her home in Iowa, and even though she and her husband had children of their own,
and few resources, they decided to keep him and raise him as one of the family. He
had a birthmark on his lower back, a three-pronged crown. So they named him Kingston,
called him King for short.”

She leaned back on the sofa, finding herself interested in the tale, even though she’d
only asked to hear it as a ploy to keep him close. “Did they ever find out where he
really came from?”

“No. They never did. I wonder sometimes, though. It’s odd, not knowing.”

Turning toward him, pulling her legs beneath her, Lucinda studied his face, and Kingston’s.
“You…you’re clearly Anglo-Saxon.” Moving her hands, she ran one finger over the bridge
of his nose. “You have King’s nose. Strong. And his chin,” she touched it as she spoke.
“I’ll bet there’s some Scot in your blood.”

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Yes. I do.” Holden closed his hand around hers and moved it gently away from
his face. Sighing in defeat, Lucinda settled down beside him, much closer than before.
So close, her side was touching his,
and though she leaned her head back against the cushion, she could easily tilt it
to the side and rest it on his shoulder if she wanted to. He wasn’t moving away from
her, and that was encouraging. “Tell me more.”

“I think you’ve had too much wine,” he said.

“I don’t remember there being anything in our agreement about not drinking wine.”

“There wasn’t.”

“I didn’t think so. Tell me more about your grandfather.”

He drew a deep breath, sighed. “He worked for a local farmer when he was a young man,
fell in love with the man’s daughter. But the old farmer was a bible-thumping sort
who didn’t think King was good enough. So the two ran away to St. Louis and got married,
never telling him where they’d gone. For a little while they were happy. Had a baby
boy named Teddy. He’s one of the many family mysteries. No one knows whatever became
of poor Teddy Fortune.”

“Why not?”

Holden looked down at her, and he seemed more relaxed now that he was involved with
the retelling of the family history. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed
with satisfaction when his arm came around hers.

“World War Two happened. It was around forty-two, when King had to go and serve. While
he was away, his wife got sick and died. Someone contacted her father, and the old
bastard showed up to take Teddy away. That was the last anyone ever heard of him.”

“But…Teddy would be your uncle. Surely Kingston searched for him when he returned?”

“It was two years before he could make his way home. His ship went down, he was wounded,
spent several days stranded on an island with a comrade. King saved a lot of lives
when the ship went down, collected a few medals. But this buddy of his saved his life
on that island. In the end, King made it back, and Judd didn’t. But before he died,
Judd Hobbs gave King a locket with a lock of golden-blond hair inside, and asked King
to make sure he was buried with it.

“When King got back, his first priority was trying to find his son, Teddy. When every
attempt failed, time and time again, he moved on with his life. Decided to pay Hobbs’s
widow a visit, out of respect for his fallen comrade. He’d been given a hefty compensation
check for his injury…it was his leg, as I recall. So he figured he ought to make sure
the widow of the man who saved his life was being taken care of. He also thought he’d
give the locket to her, since he had no idea where Hobbs was buried. He thought it
would mean something to her to know how much her husband thought of her.”

“Honorable. Is that how he wound up in Texas?”

“That’s how he wound up in Texas. Hobbs’s widow was my grandmother, Selena.”

“Selena,” she repeated. “Mexican?”

“Half. Granddad found her living on the ranch left to her by her father, running it
single-handedly as best she could. So King stayed on to help.”

“And gave her the locket?”

“Not exactly. See, when he met Selena, he was pretty surprised to see that she had
very dark hair. Nowhere near blond like what was in the locket.”

Lifting her head and her brows at once, Lucy said, “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, uh-oh. Turns out Hobbs only married Selena to get his hands on her ranch. He
was actually in love with her sister.”

“The blonde?”

“Right. Anyway, Hobbs had a brother still living, Malcolm. And Malcolm had it in his
head that he wanted that ranch. Eventually, he tried to murder my grandmother to get
it, but King got the best of him, and in the end, he married Selena, and the two of
them built the ranch into what it is today.”

“And had two sons. Your father, Cameron, and your uncle Ryan.”

“And a daughter, my aunt Miranda.”

Lucinda frowned, tilting her head to one side, but the room tilted slightly with it.
“I’ve never met her, have I?”

“No. She ran off…I think it was the year Logan was born. I was about five or so. They
say she headed for Hollywood, with her heart set on becoming a big star. But she didn’t
leave on very good terms with the family, and I don’t think anyone’s heard from her
since. Gosh, she was only seventeen when she left. She’d be forty-six now.”

“You remember her?”

Holden nodded. “Yeah. I loved her. She was a teenage rebel, outspoken, disagreed with
her parents over everything. And gorgeous, too. A real blond bombshell. She always
said she’d be as big as Marilyn was someday. But I guess we’d have heard about it
if she’d made it.” He sighed. “I wonder what happened to her.”

“Maybe someday you’ll find out.”

“I hope so.” He gazed into the fire for a long moment. Lucinda followed that gaze,
watched the flames dancing, smelled the resin burning.

“This is nice,” she said.

“Yeah, well, it’s getting late.”

She sighed, but didn’t get up. She only tipped her face up to his, knowing her moment
was slipping away, and wondering why she wasn’t as disappointed as she’d expected
to be. She’d enjoyed spending this time with him. Just…talking.

“So, do I know all the family secrets now?”

“What’re you, kidding? We have volumes.”

She smiled. “Gives me something to look forward to, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. You tell a hell of a bedtime story, you know.”

He smiled at her, seeming to get lost in her eyes for a long moment. But then he finally
dragged his gaze away and got to his feet. “I’m going to turn in.”

Lucinda closed her eyes, lowered her head. “Are you…sure you want to?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, very softly, “Just what do you mean by that,
Lucy?”

Biting her lip, still not facing him, she forced the words to come. “It’s our wedding
night, Holden. And while you gave me your word you’d be faithful, I’ve been thinking
that maybe…a year of celibacy is a bit much to ask.”

His hand came to cup her chin, and he gently tipped her face up so he could search
it. She felt heat, embarrassment, fear he’d take her up on her offer, and
fear he’d throw it back in her face. “Are you offering, Lucy?”

She nodded in a quick, jerky motion.

Holden licked his lips, closed his eyes. She got to her feet, putting her hands on
his shoulders to steady herself. And the next thing she knew she was wrapped tight
in his arms and he was kissing her hard. She twined her arms around his neck, parted
her lips for him, let him in. Even moved her hips, rubbing against him in a way that
should let him know she meant what she said.

Eventually, Holden lifted his mouth from hers. “You taste…like wine,” he whispered.
Then, biting his lip, he let go of her so suddenly she fell down onto the sofa. “Damn,
Lucy, you’re drunk. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

“How do you know that?” she asked him. “How do you know I’m not perfectly aware of
what I’m doing?”

“Because if you did, you wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Don’t be so sure about that, Holden.”

He spun away, pushing a hand through his hair. “Lucy, listen to me. I don’t want this.
I don’t want to risk you starting to feel anything for me. I don’t want you to want
me, Lucy.”

“I do, though. I…always have,” she whispered.

“Then this was a mistake. Dammit, you can’t let yourself, because I’ll only hurt you
in the end.”

“You already hurt me,” she said as she stood. “I survived it once, I can handle it
again. I’m a big girl now. Hell, I was only seventeen then, and I got through it okay.”

Holden went very still, his back to her. Slowly, he
turned, clasping her shoulders, scanning her face and making her shamefully aware
of what she’d just revealed to him, and of the hot tears sliding slowly over her cheeks.

“You don’t want me,” she whispered. “You didn’t want me then, either. It was just
the booze, wasn’t it, Holden? It never meant a damn thing to you, did it?”

His eyes intense, he stared hard into hers. “Lucy, what are you talking about?”

She drew a breath. “I’m talking about the night you slept with me. The night I had
sex for the first time, Holden. I’m talking about you passing out on top of me, and
how ashamed I felt…and how hopeful. It didn’t matter to me how wrong it was…it was
all okay with me, because I thought it meant something. But it didn’t, did it, Holden?”

“My God,” he whispered. “Dammit, Lucy, I didn’t—”

“Oh, yes, you did. And you didn’t even remember it the next day. So the way I see
it, Holden, you owe me. And it’s my turn to collect. But all of a sudden, you’ve developed
some kind of aversion to casual sex with a woman who means nothing to you. When the
hell did that happen, huh? When, I’d like to know?”

“Lucy, stop. Wait. Lucy…”

She pressed her hands to her forehead. “God, you were right. I’ve had too much wine.”
She turned and walked fast toward the door. “I’m going for a walk.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He gripped her arm from behind. “I want to talk about
this.”

“Well, I don’t. I said way too much, Holden. Just let me get the hell out of your
sight for a while so I
can try to salvage some scrap of my pride here. Please…”

He held up both hands. Lucy wrenched the door open and stalked outside into the darkness.

Holden let her go. The night air might do her some good, he supposed. Certainly couldn’t
make matters any worse. So he’d just give her some time. Give himself some time.

My God, what the hell had happened to his simple plan? This was supposed to be a friendly
business arrangement. And he already knew where he’d gone wrong. He’d let himself
believe in her facade. The mask she’d been wearing—the one that said she had no feelings
whatsoever for him. The one that lied. She felt something. Anger, at him for having
forgotten that night. Pain at what she perceived as his rejection of her back then.

He closed his eyes, remembering. He’d seen her the next day. And he’d been with that
giggling blonde, whatever the hell her name was. He remembered Lucy’s surprised look
and the way she’d averted her eyes, spoken quickly and softly, and hurried away. She
must have been expecting… God, she must have been expecting so much.