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Her mouth dropped open.
“As for my not letting Simon know I was coming, I consider that a good thing,” he told her, meeting those hard green eyes with a cold look that should have frozen her on the spot. “Hard to catch a liar and a cheat if she knows you’re coming.”
“I am not a—you’re really a very irritating man, did you know that?” She cocked her head to one side, and her wet hair hung in a curtain behind her. “No one in town ever mentioned that part of your personality. But then,” she added, “you’re scarcely here, so they’ve probably forgotten.”
“I’m here now,” he pointed out, ignoring the slight twinge of something uncomfortable. No, he didn’t get back to Springville very often. He spent most of his time on base or being shipped out for various highly secret operations. Was he supposed to take a rare weekend off and drive all the way upstate only to turn around and drive back down again? He didn’t think so. Besides, how he lived his life was none of this woman’s business.
“This isn’t about me, babe.” He used the word deliberately and enjoyed watching her cringe at it. “Let’s get to the real questions. What the hell are you up to? Why are you here? In my suite? Why are you telling everyone in town that we’re married, and how the hell did you fool my grandfather into believing you?”
“Your suite,” she muttered, inhaling so sharply she loosened the towel enough that it opened wide and swished silently down her body.
Hunter got one more good, long look at full, high breasts, perky pink nipples and soft brown curls at the apex of her thighs. His own body sat up and howled. Then she muttered a curse, grabbed the towel and wrapped herself up again.
“Your suite? That’s a good one. I’ve been living in this suite for a year now, and, funny,” she added with a touch of sarcasm, “but I don’t remember seeing you.”
Screw her snide tone. He was concentrating on the words. “A year? You’ve been pretending to be my wife, living in my house for a year?”
Had it really been that long since he’d been home? Damn, guess it had been. But he’d talked to Simon every couple of weeks over the last year, and the old man had never once mentioned the woman masquerading as Hunter’s wife. Not one syllable. Not a noun. Nothing. What the hell was going on around here?
Had she done something to his grandfather? Threatened him in some way? Hard to believe. Simon Cabot was as tough as three old boots. But he was older now. Maybe…
Hunter moved in even closer, riding a tide of fury that had the edges of his vision blurring. He looked down at her and had to admire the fact that she didn’t back up. She didn’t cower, even though she was far smaller than he, not to mention naked and all kinds of vulnerable. Her eyes flashed at him as if daring him to try to hurt her. It was almost like watching a toy poodle transform into a pitbull.
But admiration aside, he had to know what she was up to. “Play time’s over, honey. Whatever scam you’ve been running, you’re done. And if I find out you’ve stolen so much as twenty bucks from my grandfather, your cute little ass is going to wind up behind bars.”
Steam was slowly sifting out of the room, and the air was chill enough to bring goose bumps to her still-damp skin. If she was feeling the cold, though, she ignored it. Lifting her chin, she said, “I’m not going to continue this conversation naked.”
“Well, you’re not leaving this room till I get some answers.”
“I should have known you were a bully.”
“Excuse me?” He actually felt his glower darken.
“Is this a military thing? You barking orders and expecting us poor civilians to jump into line? Well, I don’t take orders from you. And you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Ashamed of myself? You might want to back off, babe,” he said, and it came out as more of a growl, “I’m not the one pretending to be something I’m not. I’m not the one living in someone else’s home under false pretenses. I’m not the one—”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, I’m not going to stand here and be insulted.” She pushed past Hunter, giving him a straight-armed shove that caught him so off guard he actually stepped aside. He could have stood his ground, but then, he’d never been the kind of man to use his muscle against women.
His quick movement brought a twinge of discomfort from the still-healing wound in his side, and he automatically lifted one hand to it. Then he watched her storm out of the bathroom, somehow managing to look regal while wrapped in a towel. She left damp footprints on the thick, soft green carpet, which muffled the sound of her passage, and headed directly to his chest of drawers.
Wryly, he asked, “Going to be wearing some of my old boxers and T-shirts, are you?”
She shot him a surly look over her shoulder. “I moved your ratty old clothes to the bottom drawer a long time ago.”
“Ratty?”
“What would you call T-shirts with more holes than fabric?”
“Mine.”
She ignored him now, digging into an open drawer. Pulling out a pale blue lacy bra and a pair of panties to match, she hurried over to the huge walk-in closet, stepped inside it and closed the door behind her.
So he wasn’t going to be watching her dress. Not that he wanted to. Fine. That was a lie. He wouldn’t have minded another look at her figure. After all, he was human, wasn’t he? And male, with an appreciation for a nicely rounded woman. And whoever the hell she was, he already knew she had some great curves.
Instantly, his mind filled with that last glimpse he’d had of her. Pale flesh, rigid pink nipples and a bottom that made a man want to grab hold and squeeze.
Scowling at the thoughts crowding his fevered mind, he shut them down resolutely. A Navy SEAL was nothing if not disciplined.
“Why are you here, anyway?” Her voice came from the depths of the closet.
“This is my home, babe. I belong here.”
She snorted. That came through loud and clear. He also heard clothes hangers rattling and a hard thud followed by her muffled yelp.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded.
“Breaking my toe,” she snapped.
Hunter glowered at the closed door; then while he half listened to the sounds she made, he let his gaze slide around the room he’d grown up in. He’d been so distracted by the whole “wife” thing earlier that he hadn’t really noticed how different the room was.
The walls were green, not beige. The carpet was green, not brown. There was a lacy quilt covering the king-sized bed he’d picked out himself at seventeen and a mountain of frilly pillows stacked against the headboard. Filmy white curtains fluttered at the windows that overlooked the garden at the rear of the mansion, and the French doors leading to the balcony boasted the same girly curtains as the windows.
How had he not noticed? He, whose very survival often depended on his observational skills? “What the hell have you done to this place?”
She stepped out of the closet then, and he whipped around to look at her. She wore a yellow T-shirt over a pair of worn, faded jeans that hugged every luscious inch of her and a pair of sandals that added about three inches to her measly height. Her green eyes were narrowed, her full mouth grim, and she’d somehow managed to fluff her wild mane of curly hair into a damp jumble of softness. When she folded her arms across her chest, his gaze locked on the wide, gold band on her ring finger.
Damn it.
Margie stared right back at him while she tried to ignore the rush of something hot and tempting inside her. His blue eyes were filled with suspicion he didn’t bother to hide, and tension practically rippled off him in waves. Hunter Cabot was a lot…bigger than she’d expected. Not just tall. Big. His shoulders were wide, his chest and arms looked as though he spent most of his time lifting weights and even his long legs were thick and muscled beneath the black jeans he wore.
Impressive. And a little—no, a lot—daunting. But she wasn’t about to let him know how nervous he made her. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Well?” He glared at her again. He really was very good at that. “Who the hell told you that you could move into my room and turn it into some female lair?”
The best defense, Margie had always believed, was a good offense. A lawyer she’d once worked for had taught her that, and she’d always found it to work.
“Your grandfather did,” she answered with plenty of heat of her own. “You remember, the lonely old man you never visit?”
“Don’t you start on me about my grandfather. You don’t have the right.”
“Really?” She marched right up to him, every step fueled by the anger she’d harbored for Hunter ever since she first came to work for his grandfather. “Well, let me tell you something, Captain Hunter Cabot, I earned the right to defend your grandfather the night he had his heart attack and I was the only one at his bedside.”
He flushed. Anger? Or shame?
“Why were you at his bedside, anyway?”
Margie huffed out an impatient breath. She shouldn’t be having to explain any of this. Simon had promised her that he would talk to Hunter before he came home. But this surprise arrival had thrown everything off.
“I’m Simon’s executive assistant.”
“His secretary?”
“Assistant,” she corrected. “I was here. With him, when he had the heart attack. We tried to find you, but, big surprise, you were nowhere to be found.”
“Just a damn minute…”
“No,” she countered, stabbing her index finger at him, “you had your say; now it’s my turn. You’re never here. You hardly call. Your grandfather misses you, blast it. Why, I can’t imagine—”
“That’s none of your—”
“Not finished,” she snapped, interrupting his interruption. “You’re so busy running around saving the world you don’t have time to be with your grandfather when he might have died? Like I said before. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Chapter Two
There, Margie told herself as Hunter’s mouth snapped shut and his blue eyes flashed. He might have had the upper hand since the moment he’d found her naked—oh, dear God—in the bathroom. But now, it was as it should be: him having to defend himself.
The room was so suddenly quiet that she could hear them both breathing. Sunlight streamed in through the open French doors and lay in a golden slash across the spring-green carpet. A slight breeze ruffled the curtains and carried with it the scents of roses and columbine from the garden just below her bedroom. Normally, she loved this room, found it peaceful, relaxing. Today, not so much.
“I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” he said tightly. “I’m off doing my job, serving my country. I’m not the one here taking advantage of a lonely old man.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was stiff and so was her spine.
“I don’t know,” he mused. “Seems pretty clear to me. You were his secretary and somehow convinced him that we got married. How you did it I don’t have any idea, but I’m going to find out.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” she said. “I just threw a ring on my finger, said, ‘Guess what, I’m married to your idiot grandson,’ and Simon believed me. Tell me, do you think your grandfather is really that foolish? You must, which means you’re not letting logic get in your way at all.”
“Logic?”
“Never mind, it’s probably something you’re unfamiliar with.”
A long minute ticked silently past as they stared at each other, but Margie was determined not to be the one to speak first. Her patience finally paid off.
His mouth worked and his features tightened until he looked as uncomfortable as any man could be before he said grudgingly, “About Simon’s heart attack. I suppose I should…thank you, for being with him that night.”
“You think?”
“I was on a mission,” he added as if she hadn’t spoken, “I didn’t find out about his heart attack until I returned. Then the crisis was over. I called him, if you’ll remember.”
“Very touching,” she snapped, remembering the pleased look on Simon’s face when his grandson had finally called to check on him. “A deeply personal phone call. Yet, you still didn’t bother to come and see him.”
“He was fine,” Hunter argued. “Besides, my team shipped out again almost immediately and—”
“Oh, I’m not the one who needs to hear your explanation,” she told him, “It’s Simon you should be talking to. Besides, I didn’t stay with Simon during his illness for your sake.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” It felt…odd, to be standing in the same room with the man she’d been legally married to for a year. Hunter Cabot had for so long lived in her mind only that having him here in person was more like a dream than the reality she’d been living with.
Strange, but in all the times she’d imagined her first meeting with Hunter Cabot, she’d never once thought they’d be embroiled in a huge argument right off the bat. But he’d started it, calling her a thief! So she didn’t regret any of the things she’d said to him. His features were still tight, but there was something else in his eyes besides anger now. Something she couldn’t quite read, and that was a little unsettling.
“Where is my grandfather now?”
“Probably in his study,” she muttered. “He spends most afternoons there.”
He nodded and left without another word to her.
Margie’s breath whooshed out in a rush as soon as he was gone and she hurriedly walked to the bed to plop down on the edge of the mattress. Staring down at her hands, she looked first at the wedding ring she’d picked out herself, then noticed her hands were shaking. Not surprising, really. Not every day she had a huge, gorgeous, furious man walk in on her in the shower.
“Naked. He saw me naked.” That really wasn’t the way she’d wanted to meet her husband for the first time. Especially because she still hadn’t found a way to lose those ten pounds she didn’t need, and her hair looked hideous, and she didn’t have any makeup on and—she groaned and slapped one hand over her eyes.
“For pity’s sake, Margie, it’s not like makeup would have transformed you into supermodel territory anyway.” She knew exactly what she looked like. Her mouth was too wide, her nose was too small and the freckles spattered across her cheeks defied all known foundations. She was not the kind of woman a man like Hunter Cabot would ever notice. “But then, it doesn’t matter what you look like, now, does it? It’s not as though you’re really married to the man.” Legally, yes. Really, no.
She flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the cool green ceiling. She hadn’t planned to meet her husband for the first time until after his grandfather had explained the whole situation. And it would’ve worked out just like it was supposed to have done if Hunter hadn’t shown up two weeks early, for pity’s sake.
So if you thought about it, this was all his fault.
But as Margie blindly stared at the ceiling, she had to admit that that knowledge didn’t make her feel any better.
Hunter moved through the familiar halls with a long, determined step, but no matter how fast he walked, he couldn’t leave that woman behind him. Her voice kept time with the hard thumps of his boot heels against the floor.
Lonely old man. Almost died. Ashamed.
Muttering curses under his breath, Hunter silenced that voice and hit the bottom of the stairs. Slapping one hand to the newel post, he made a sharp right turn and continued down the carpeted hall toward the last door on the left.
He opened the door without knocking and stepped inside. This room at least remained the same. Unchanged. Dark paneling on the walls, polished to a high gloss, gleamed in the sunlight pouring through the windows. Dark brown leather armchairs and sofas were sprinkled throughout the room, and behind the wide, mahogany desk where his grandfather sat, floor-to-ceiling bookcases displayed everything from the classics to fictional thrillers.
But Hunter’s gaze locked on the smiling old man slowly pushing himself to his feet. “Grandfather.”
“Hunter, boy! Good to see you! You’re early,” he added, coming around the edge of the desk with careful steps. “Didn’t expect you for a couple of weeks yet.”
Hunter walked to meet the man who had always been the one constant in his life. When he was twelve years old, Hunter’s parents died in a car accident and he’d come to live with his paternal grandfather. Simon had stepped into the void in his grandson’s life and had always seemed to Hunter to be larger than life. Strong, sure, confident.
Now, though, Hunter noticed for the first time that the years were finally catching up with his grandfather. Something cold and hard fisted around Hunter’s heart as he hugged the older man and actually felt a new frailty about Simon. He swallowed back the questions crowding his throat and demanding release, and he forced himself to be patient.
Stepping back, the old man waved one hand at a chair and said, “Sit, sit. Are you sure you should be walking around with that wound in your side?”
“I’m fine, Grandfather,” Hunter said, reassuring Simon as he took a seat in the chair opposite him. He could wait for answers about the woman upstairs. For a moment or two, anyway. “Wasn’t more than a scratch, really.”
“They don’t put you in the hospital for four days with a scratch, boy.”
True, but he didn’t want Simon worrying anymore than he could help. Hunter had caught a bullet on his last mission, but it had been more painful than life-threatening. Now all that remained was an ache if he moved too fast and a scar from the hastily maneuvered field surgery he’d had to perform on himself, since he’d gotten separated from his team members.
Smiling, he said only, “They don’t let you out of the hospital after only four days if it’s serious.”
“That’s good, then. You had me worried, boy.”
“I know. Sorry.”
