Sweet Child of Mine (7 page)

As he closed the door behind him, he heard her
speak but couldn’t make out the words. With a silent groan, he pulled it back open a crack. “What?”

“I said, you’re a good man, Michael Longstreet. An honorable man. If you want, we can share the bed and just make a bolster between us.”

“Great.” Michael closed the door and leaned back against it. He was supposed to sleep in a bed with her like some damn eunuch? He’d sleep in the car first. His blood could use some cooling.

Honor was a real pain in the behind sometimes. And it did absolutely nothing to satisfy an ache that seemed likely to only get worse with every day they were locked inside this sham marriage.

But at least back in Prosperino they could give each other wide berth. He would concentrate on that and do his best to get through the endless night ahead of them.

M
ichael woke up and checked the clock. Four o’clock in the morning. Somehow they’d made it through the evening, thanks to a channel that played old movies. He’d had no idea Suzanne was a black-and-white film buff.
The Maltese Falcon
had been showing, and she’d regaled him with everything she knew about the story behind the production. With every minute that had passed without touching, they’d relaxed a little more. They’d wound up eating the whole pizza, but he’d put the champagne away, fearing to light the powder keg again.

Now something warm on his chest moved, shocking him out of the dream state. He glanced down to
where he lay on the covers, fully dressed for safety’s sake, and realized it was Suzanne’s hand reaching across the bolster he’d decided was an excellent idea, after all. In her sleep, she clutched loosely at his shirt. Heat rippled through his body like lightning.

He closed his eyes again, squeezed them tightly. Breathed through pinched nostrils until he could beat the craving back.

Then he studied the hand, striving for the eyes of an indifferent observer. Yeah, indifferent. Sure thing.

Her hand was so slender, her fingers long and graceful, his ring a gleaming circle that suited her hand well, though he was sure she didn’t think so. Short and unpainted, her nails were beautiful but not pampered, much like Suzanne herself. She worked hard, pouring her energies into others rather than herself. She dressed in simple, clean lines, no obvious jewelry, no self-indulgence at all that he’d ever seen.

Too bad. With her stunning coloring, she was more suited to designer frocks than the brown wren clothes she chose. Maybe, while they were together, he could indulge her a little in ways she never would.

But right now he needed distance from her, from the hand that lay so trustingly on his chest. Carefully, he slipped out of the bed. He was resisting her for the moment, but he didn’t want to press his luck. He could remember only too easily how craving had dug in its claws before they’d found the blessed distraction of the movie.

He’d discovered, during those hours of enforced civility, that he liked Suzanne. Liked her a lot. If she hadn’t been a woman—and so damn beautiful—she could have been a great running buddy.

Liking her helped him gain perspective. Her mind was so agile, her sense of humor unexpected and quirky. She worked hard at a difficult job. She was a generous, caring woman totally focused on trying to regain something she needed badly: her son.

She was passionate, yes, and he knew that sex between them would be explosive. But he’d been right when he said she led with her heart. If he seduced her into bed with him as he badly ached to do, he doubted that she would be able to consider it just sex—and he had nothing more to offer.

He’d walked into this arrangement so blithely, thinking only on the surface. She needed a temporary husband; he needed a temporary wife. Logical. Practical. A simple solution for both of them. She was a big girl; he was a grown man. They’d play their parts in the game for a while and walk away clean, he’d thought.

But he hadn’t counted on wanting her like this. Hadn’t expected to find the tender underbelly on a woman who’d been such a sharp-tongued adversary. His conscience balked at taking advantage of her passionate nature, no matter how much he wanted to sink in to the luxury of that fine body.

So they would be friends and nothing more. Her
ground rules were smart, and he would follow them to the letter. In time he would get used to her, would be able to ignore the attraction.

And then, one day not far down the road, it would be over. He would be able to walk away easily, knowing he had done the right thing.

For now he would take each step as it came. Carefully, he slipped out the door of the suite to call the airfield, hoping to high heaven that now that the skies were clear he could get them back to the world they knew, back to normal life. Back where he could keep his distance from a woman who appealed to him too much—before he did something foolish that would wreck this precarious peace.

Suzanne stepped down from the plane, noting that Michael kept a careful distance this time as he helped her to the ground. The flight back had been accomplished in virtual silence, punctuated only by an occasional remark on what lay below or how the weather had improved.

Today was one of the rare clear days in Prosperino, not a remnant of fog, only buttery yellow sunshine. Dewdrops still glistened on the trees and grass, and the crisp air held only a slight chill. Suzanne’s worry lifted as she looked around.

They would do all right. The turbulence of yesterday had given way to a careful truce between them. This was how it would be, from this day on. She
would do everything in her power to keep this fragile peace between them. No matter how he made her heart race.

“Michael?”

He was several steps ahead of her, carrying his suit bag and the sacks from his shopping trip, now filled with her dress and heels. She was wearing the wool pants and sweater he’d bought her, warm boots on her feet, every bit of the clothing far more costly than anything she’d ever bought herself, the quality of workmanship something she’d only dreamed of owning. Perhaps Meredith Colton could help her figure out what value she should put down in the book of expenses she was keeping, despite what Michael had said.

“What?” He barely turned toward her. All morning she’d felt invisible.

“How soon do you think we could go see Bobby?”

He turned, his face impassable. “You don’t need to wait for me.”

“He needs to meet you. He’s going to be living with you, Michael. As your son.”

One quick dart of pain flared in his darkening green eyes. A muscle in his jaw ticked, but then he let out a breath and his shoulders settled, though he didn’t look happy. “Let’s get you moved in first, Suzanne. Let’s give ourselves a few days to get used to all these changes.”

Oh, no. He didn’t want Bobby here. This wasn’t
going to work, she knew it in her bones. She should never have done this.

He continued, “It would be dangerous for the pup to roam loose at my place. I’ll have to get a fence built, but if I get someone on it right away, maybe we can bring both of them over next weekend.”

Relief rushed over her. “You’d do that?”

“The boy’s got some rough times ahead of him. Seems to me he’ll need his furry friend.”

“Yes. He will.” She stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm, to express her gratitude.

He stiffened and started to step away, then glanced back at the building behind him. “Zeb will be inside the terminal. He’ll be our first audience. Guess we’d better start making our case for a love match.” The reluctance in his voice made it seem impossible.

Yesterday had been a roller coaster, but last night she’d thought they had a shot at becoming friends, at getting through this charade with only minor scratches. But today he was so remote. Not at all the easygoing Michael everyone knew.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

He frowned. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry that we have to do this. Maybe we should call it quits right now before—”

“No.” His jaw went hard as steel. “It’s too late for that. You’ve told Bobby and Jim. I’ve told my parents. For better or for worse, we’re stuck with this.”

Stuck. It was foolish, but the word stung. She’d never wanted to make any man feel that way about being with her. Humiliation swept over her.

“Suzanne—”

“Don’t.” She swallowed hard, fury rushing to her rescue. “Don’t you dare pity me. I’ve made a life for myself without anyone’s help, and I won’t be a millstone around anyone’s neck.”

Michael swore harshly. “Come here,” he muttered, leading her around the corner of the building, away from the windows.

She jerked her arm away from his grip. “Don’t order me around, Michael Longstreet. You’re used to getting your way, but your money doesn’t buy you any leverage with me.”

“Dammit, Suzanne, I don’t pity you.” Sparks of temper shot from his gaze.

“The devil you don’t.” Her voice rose. “I’m not poor Suzanne. Get that straight.” She poked her finger in his chest. “I’m just as stuck with you as you are with me, and you’re no bargain, pretty boy, no matter what your parents may have told you all your life. You’re hardheaded and used to getting your own way. You like bossing people around and you think that smile of yours fools everyone, but I’m telling you—” she poked him again “—it doesn’t fool me.”

He dropped the sacks in one hand and grabbed her hand. “That finger ought to need a permit. It’s a lethal weapon.”

But he was grinning at her, curse him. Grinning! The sight of it shot her temper out of orbit. “Don’t you laugh at me, Rich Boy. Don’t you dare.” Her voice almost a growl, she struggled to pull her hand from his.

When he laughed, she shoved at his chest.

He dropped his suit bag and pulled her into his arms with breathless speed.

“I said, stop laughing.” Her attempts at battle were futile as his strong arms patiently held her.

Furious embarrassment kept her struggling a moment longer, but his arms were too strong. His body too warm. Then his mouth lowered to hers.

Too hot. Too tempting. He angled her head to taste her more deeply.

And then there was only this. Only the kiss. Tiny embers of temper flared in one last futile attempt at resistance, but the power of Michael’s kiss turned temper into something dark and sweet.

Suzanne fell headlong into the kiss, pressing her breasts against his muscled chest, her thighs against his. Need swept through her like a brushfire, and reason deserted her utterly.

She heard Michael groan and felt him grip her more tightly, felt him hard and ready against her. She slid her hands into his hair and grabbed on for the ride.

“Well, boy, exactly what do we have here?” a ragged voice cackled.

Suzanne and Michael jumped apart instantly, and she turned around to see the wizened old caretaker who kept Prosperino’s tiny airfield running.

Face flaming, trying to adjust to the quick dive from arousal to shame, she tried to step away, but Michael slid one arm around her waist and held her close.

Her heart was pounding and she seemed to have lost the power of speech.

Michael’s voice was steady, though, and she tried not to resent it. For Romeo Rich Boy, she supposed this was nothing new, but she felt the bite of disappointment when he grinned so casually and looked so unmoved. “We have a couple on their honeymoon, Zeb. Why don’t you just go back where you came from?”

The tiny old man scratched his chin, watery blue eyes bright. “Honeymoon? You? And her?” He pointed to Suzanne. “Ain’t she the one who’s always yellin’ at you at the meetin’s?”

When Michael grinned again and winked, she wanted to kick him. “She’s a passionate woman, Zeb. What can I say?”

Zeb frowned. “You married her?”

She stiffened and pulled away, but Michael’s arm was a steel band around her. “Look at her, Zeb. You get a shot at a filly this prime, wouldn’t you want to brand her as your own?” His voice was easy, but he cast a glance of warning at her.

Brand? She’d kill him for sure. Find something heavy and knock him on that thick, arrogant head.

Zeb cackled again and looked over her, then nodded. “’spect I would, boy. ’spect I would.”

“If you two Neanderthals would excuse this little filly to go to the ladies’ room?” She didn’t try to keep the acid from her voice or the sparks from her eyes.

But Michael didn’t just let her go. He leaned down and kissed her hard, then whispered against her lips. “Play nice.”

She whispered back. “In your dreams.” When he chuckled, his arm relaxed and she pulled free. Without a backward glance, she stalked away from them both.

But not quickly enough to miss their next exchange.

“Spirited, isn’t she, Zeb?” And damn him, Michael chuckled again.

“Yep. B’lieve you got your hands full, boy, but she’s a looker. You’d best keep tight reins on that one.”

Spirited. Tight reins. Just wait until she got Michael alone. She’d read him the riot act. Sure they had to pretend, but there were limits to this charade. He made her so mad sometimes, so mad she forgot herself, so mad—

That last kiss flashed into her mind, and she knew the cost of losing her temper. That devastating, curl-
your-toes kiss had happened after she’d let fury grab hold.

Her temper had always been fiery and easily aroused. Around Michael, it was lethal. He was easygoing to a point, but he would not be pushed around. And touching him, even in aggravation, could spark the fire between them that never seemed to cool.

For the sake of everyone involved, she’d better keep a much tighter rein on herself. Prime, spirited filly that she was.

As she walked away, she tried in vain to stifle a smile. She didn’t want to like Michael Longstreet so much, curse his charming soul.

But it didn’t seem to matter.

As they drove into Prosperino, Michael finally spoke. Up till now they’d maintained another careful silence. “How about if I take you to my place first so you can see the surroundings and figure out what you’d like to bring over for tonight?”

“Tonight?” She’d been thinking about climbing into her own bed and pulling the covers over her head.

He cast her one quick glance, then continued in a dry tone. “I’m pretty sure newlyweds who elope in the heat of passion are expected to start spending their nights together right away. Would you rather do it at your place?”

She thought about Michael filling up all the space
in her small apartment and decided then and there to keep it for another month, at least, as a refuge. In that case, the less he was there, the better a bolt-hole it would make. “No. You’re right. I—I just wasn’t thinking.” She tried to stem the butterflies suddenly loose in her stomach.

He noticed. “It’s not a bad house, I promise.” But there was an odd note in his voice.

Maybe he had butterflies, too?

She glanced out the window, mentally shaking her head. Romeo Rich Boy? Hardly.

Soon they were climbing the slope to the mountaintop retreat she’d heard about but never seen. She looked around her, memorizing the route, noticing how the road disappeared around curves into dense forest.