Bride Of Convenience

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“They’re very good with subtleties here. You might try doing this.” She discretely lifted a slender index finger then immediately put it down.

McClain grinned over at her and Stacey watched as he glanced away and went solemn. The momentary glitter that flashed in his dark eyes was as effective as a shout and immediately their waiter was at his side with a small silver tray.

McClain tossed a couple large denomination bills on the tray with a low, “Keep it,” that made the waiter murmur his thanks and vanish as quickly as he’d appeared.

Stacey realized she hadn’t seen McClain take out his wallet, and she wondered how long he’d been waiting for her to finish dessert. He’d declined one for himself, but she’d been too impolite to deny herself when he’d encouraged her to choose a dessert. Or rather, she’d been too selfish and greedy to pass up what was surely a last opportunity for a decadent treat.

Now he winked at her. “You’re right about these folks. They understand subtle.”

And then he stood up, and it wasn’t necessarily her imagination that his size and his masculine presence caused the murmurs at the tables nearby to pause a moment, as if a giant had suddenly stood up among them. Oren came around to her side of the table and casually pulled her chair back for her to rise.

And then he took her elbow with hard, strong fingers that were absolutely gentle and almost scorchingly hot. And magical.

Never had she felt the things Oren McClain made her feel. Every time he touched her, the tiny shocks and shivery tingles he set off rapidly gathered in places she’d not known could feel things like that.

It was part of what had overwhelmed her about him before. Every time he’d touched her and she’d felt like this, she’d gotten the very strong sense that if he ever did more than touch her a little or kiss her, she’d lose control of herself and somehow be lost. For someone who’d kept herself remote from all but a friend’s casual touch or occasional hug, the whole issue of physical intimacy was unknown territory.

Or maybe it was because Oren McClain was such a physical man with such a virile presence. A reserved woman like her had little enough experience, but with a man like him it was difficult to know what to expect when it came to delicate sexual matters.

She, of course, knew all about the mechanics of sex, but knowledge was worlds away from actual experience. And instinct warned that even if she’d had a bit of experience with sex, an intimate encounter Oren McClain would be completely unique. He was too elemental, too completely male, and too supremely confident in himself not to be dynamic and possibly quite primitive in bed.

Why had a man like him chosen her? Did he want a meek woman to dominate? He was a man who could naturally dominate anyone, including most men, but she sensed that was purely accidental because of his size and rugged looks. He’d been anything but overbearing when she’d been around him.

But then, he didn’t need to be. As with the waiter who’d responded to a mere gleam in a single, momentary look, McClain needed to do little more than show an inkling of his will to get his way.

Stacey thought about that as they stepped out of the restaurant and paused under the canopy at the end of the walk to wait for a taxi. The night was warmer tonight than it had been last night. Then again, heat was pouring off McClain and Stacey felt flushed with nerves and uncertainty.

And she had the absurd impulse to cry. She’d let herself down in so many ways that she couldn’t begin to keep track of them all. She was ashamed of being afraid to stand on her own two feet, but shame wasn’t enough to prompt her to overcome her fears. Not even the worry that she might grab the easy rescue McClain seemed to offer and unintentionally jump from the frying pan into the fire, was enough to put some starch in her spine.

She never should have come to this; she’d never in her life dreamed of coming to this. But here she was, after months of growing impotence as she’d made one shocking discovery after another, then had failed, time after time, to catch up with the thief or to prevent a single disaster.

The rarified life her grandfather had died believing he’d safeguarded for her was nearly gone, except for the trust fund she’d have at age thirty. Not only was her access to it six years away, but she didn’t truly believe it wouldn’t somehow disappear like all the rest, stolen by a financial sleight of hand by some other larcenous predator.

And considering her financial circumstances, six years might as well be twenty for all the good the trust fund would do her now. Her grandfather’s attorney had been so “sincerely regretful,” but there was nothing he could do.

As McClain opened a cab door and gently ushered her in, Stacey managed a brief smile of thanks. He slid in beside her and lifted his arm to rest it on the seat behind her, effectively distracting her from her unhappy thoughts.

Though he didn’t actually touch her anywhere, the heat from his big body seared her from shoulder to ankle, and she couldn’t seem to keep from melting a little. It took quite a lot to keep from leaning into the heat of him.

Why was it so natural to want to press close to him? This couldn’t be love, because love was a far more tender and delicate emotion. Wasn’t it? Love surely couldn’t be this craving for the feel of a hard, masculine body or the gentle touch of a callus-rough hand. A craving that had little or nothing to do with high-minded and hazy romantic sentiment but yet everything to do with bodily urges and lust.

Yes, that was it: lust. Something that could be powerfully and potently felt, but something too volatile and flesh-driven not to burn up quickly. Love was something pure and tender and sweet, something that occurred in the mind and in the heart, and endured.

Lust was primitive and indiscriminate, and involved only baser sensibilities. Lust was all around, but it certainly didn’t make for a better society, and it certainly was nothing to base a marriage on.

And neither was the desperate need for money. Stacey folded her hands together in her lap and resisted the impulse to introduce some harmless bit of conversation to help pass the time on the ride home. It was better that Oren McClain realized now how little they had in common.

Since many men relied on their women to take care of the social niceties of polite conversation, dropping the burden in his lap might make him realize that a little sooner and he’d lose interest.

There were better women in the world who were more suited to him and his rural way of life, and it would be a shame if he wasted any more time or thought on a frivolous ninny like her.

CHAPTER THREE

THEY rode the elevator in continued silence. It was almost as if the tension between them was building with each floor they passed until, all too soon, they’d reached her floor and were stepping out.

There’d be no stiffly polite “Good night, Mr. McClain,” at the door tonight. Something had happened in the cab on the ride back from supper, and Stacey couldn’t discern exactly what it was or how she’d known it. All she was sure of was that she’d sensed that a decision had been made, and that her companion had pledged himself to it.

Clinging to her poise, she unlocked her door and led the way into the large apartment. It seemed even more silent and tense here, as if her secrets were lurking, keeping still to avoid discovery and yet just as apt to suddenly spring out of hiding.

Of course, there was nothing lurking behind anything. Instead, it was her conscience that was nettling her and making itself sharply felt. And it needed to nettle her because cowardice was having a heyday, and she was all but crossing her fingers in the hope that Oren McClain would repeat his marriage proposal tonight.

Because she’d also made a decision in the taxi: to accept his proposal. But then they’d walked into her building and she’d decided to turn him down. When they’d reached her floor, she’d reversed her decision again and decided to marry him.

She’d have to keep her desperate financial troubles from him but she had enough money left to keep the true state of her situation a secret, at least for a time. And yet, wasn’t it wrong to hide the truth?

Secrets, particularly enormous ones like hers, couldn’t make for a successful marriage. A surreptitious glance at the big man told her she’d be an idiot to cross him. If he was unhappy with her, or she disappointed him too much, they’d have zero chance at anything livable together.

Though he was open and uncomplicated and straightforward, that didn’t necessarily translate to being long-suffering or self-sacrificing or easygoing. He’d have expectations of her. Big ones. But what would they be exactly?

Common sense told her that she’d disappointed herself too much not to also disappoint him. And marrying a man so different from her, particularly this soon, was asking for trouble. She’d had too much failure and trouble lately to risk landing herself in more, though at the moment she couldn’t think of anything worse than facing what she would by the end of the week. Or what would come after that.