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“There’s nothing natural about any of this.” The magnitude of what she’d agreed to overwhelmed her all over again. As did the needlessness of it all. She stepped farther outside, nearly pulling the door closed entirely. “Why me?” she asked. “If you want a child—within the bounds of wedlock,” she added quickly before he could interrupt, “why not just marry one of your other women?”
He smiled a little. “And what women would those be?”
The evening air was decidedly cool, but her limbs felt decidedly not. “The women you date. Obviously.” He was a seriously eligible bachelor. There was no question that the man had women in his life.
“Dating gets…messy.”
Wasn’t that what she believed, herself?
“This feels pretty messy to me,” she countered.
“This is business. The terms are already outlined.”
“A child is not a business.”
“So says the woman whose entire life revolves around an institute that creates them.”
“We’re not cloning people, for heaven’s sake! We’re helping infertile couples achieve fertility.” She went stock-still when his hand suddenly lifted toward her.
“This strand of hair keeps working loose of that knot you keep it in.” His knuckles brushed the underside of her jaw as he ran his thumb and forefinger down the long, wavy lock.
It didn’t seem to matter that he was wreaking havoc on her life. Just that faint touch made her bones feel like gel. “Wh-what are you doing here? For that matter, how’d you even know where I was?”
He wound the strands of hair around his finger. “Your assistant told me.”
She jerked back, and he let her hair loose though he still left her feeling crowded on what was supposed to be a very spacious porticoed entrance. “What were you doing calling Ella?”
“Finding out your schedule, obviously.”
“You should have contacted me.”
He smiled faintly. “Somehow, I think Ella was more forthcoming than you would have been.”
The truth of that stuck in her throat. “You said we…we would work out the details of our—” She couldn’t even manage an appropriate word and just waved her hand instead. “Later.”
“And now it’s later. You’re meeting with your family this evening. I figured it’d be logical for me to be here when you tell them we’re getting married.”
“Maybe I didn’t plan to tell them this evening,” she bluffed. Badly.
“I’d think you’d rather they hear it from you than from somewhere else.”
“What’d you do? Issue a press release?” She hadn’t really taken him seriously on that score.
“I’ve arranged for the ceremony to be held in New York at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”
“What?” The cathedral was famous. It was Catholic. “I’m not Catholic.” She hadn’t even been to church in years. And he was a divorced man.
“I am.”
She folded her arms tightly. “Aren’t there…requirements to be met there? Marriage classes or something?”
“Ordinarily.”
How simply he glossed over what she knew had to be an encyclopedia of protocols, and it was just another example that he wasn’t any ordinary man. Not even an ordinary, wealthy man.
So she squashed the multitude of questions that her detail-oriented mind wanted answers for, and settled for just one. “Why do you want a church ceremony when you’ve already promised that our…union…has an expiration date?”
“That’s a promise known only between you and me, remember? As far as anyone else is concerned, this is the real deal. Unless you’re already chickening out.”
She made a face. “I’m not chickening out.” Not because she didn’t want to back out. She did. But she wanted to ensure the institute’s security even more.
“Good.” He slid his hand inside the pocket of his coat and he pulled out a small, square jeweler’s box. Without ceremony, he thumbed it open and pulled out a diamond ring. “Put this on.”
She eyed the simple, emerald-cut solitaire. If this were a real engagement—if she were head over heels in love with the man—she would have been bowled over by its exquisite beauty. Something she would have chosen for herself—albeit a more modest-size stone—if she were given the opportunity.
But in that sense, there was nothing real about any of this.
She took the ring and slid it onto her left ring finger. The narrow band fit a little loosely and she nudged it with her thumb, pushing the weighty diamond to the center.
Beautiful or not, the ring felt more like a noose around her neck.
“I suppose you’ve already decided what date, too?”
“Next week.”
She nearly reeled. “So soon?”
“I can fit it into my schedule now. And yours, as it happens, since you’ll be able to cancel all of those meetings you have lined up next week with potential investors.”
“H-how did you arrange the cathedral on such short notice?”
“I asked.”
Panic bloomed inside her head. How could she ever be a match against him?
“Everything is already arranged,” he continued. “The ceremony will be at four. We’ll have a small reception afterward at my penthouse. It’s easier than finding another suitable venue, and Raoul will provide the catering. All you have to do is find a gown. We’ll issue a few official photographs for the press, so keep that in mind.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t take care of the gown, then, too.”
“Your taste is excellent. But if you prefer, I can make a few calls to some designers I know.”
“Gosh. Thanks.” She shivered and her sarcasm was shaky.
“You’re cold.” He suddenly pulled her close to him, wrapping his overcoat around her.
It was like being engulfed by a blast furnace. And for the life of her, she couldn’t pull away.
“Better?” His voice dropped, whispering against her temple.
Her fingers curled against his shoulders, easily discerning the hard feel of him beneath the soft wool. No extra padding in that coat, at all. “Not really,” she admitted.
“It won’t all be bad. Have you seen the Mediterranean?”
She shook her head. She had to fight against the urge to lean against him. To just let him take her weight, and everything else on her plate…
But wasn’t that what he was doing, anyway?
“I’ve arranged a private villa in the French Riviera for the honeymoon.”
Honeymoon. She almost laughed. Or cried. Because he was covering all of his bases as far as appearances went. “I don’t want to be away from the office for even a week.”
“You will be, and it’ll be three weeks.”
Her gaze flew to his. “That’s impossible. I can’t just flit off for—” She broke off when the door behind them opened again.
“What on earth is taking so.” Emily’s voice trailed off at the sight that met her. “Long?” Her eyebrows lifted in silent demand.
Lisa tried to untangle herself from Rourke’s arms, but he wasn’t cooperating. Which left her to peer over his shoulder at her mother. But when she opened her mouth to explain, nothing came. “I…I—”
“Blame it on me, Mrs. Armstrong,” Rourke said smoothly. Without releasing Lisa, he tucked her against his side and turned to face Emily, his hand extended. “It’s good to meet you again.”
Again? Startled, Lisa looked from his face to her mother’s.
The insistent inquiry on Emily’s face was replaced by surprise. And no small amount of confusion. “Mr. Devlin. How nice to see you.”
“Your mother and I were on the same charitable board a few years ago,” he told Lisa. The smile he directed at Emily was both rueful and charming. “I’m afraid I forgot to mention it before.” He looked at Lisa, the very picture of devoted man. “We’ve been busy with…other matters.”
Her cheeks burned. She wondered if he’d studied the way Ted Bonner was always looking at Sara Beth, because he had the whole besotted thing down to an art. She glanced at her mother, who was now eyeing her with even more surprise.
“You are…seeing…Rourke Devlin?”
She would have had to have been a stone to miss her mother’s implication.
Her chin lifted. She smiled a little and let her left hand slide down to the center of Rourke’s chest. There was no way that her mother could miss the diamond on her finger. “Yes.”
Emily’s lips parted. She blinked a little. And Lisa knew that she probably should be ashamed of enjoying, just a little, the sight of her mother so obviously at a loss for words.
“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t speak to you and Dr. Armstrong before now,” Rourke smoothly stepped into the verbal void. “But your daughter has a way of making me forget all convention.”
Lisa nearly choked over that.
But Emily was recovering quickly. Her smile was still more than a little puzzled. Proof that she couldn’t understand what appeal Lisa might have for a man like him. But she stepped back in the doorway, extending her hand. “Of course we don’t mind,” she was saying. “Lisa is an adult. She makes her own decisions. Now come in out of the chill. We’ve got most of the family here,” she continued when Rourke let go of Lisa and nudged her back inside the house. “Though it would have been perfect if Derek and Olivia could have been here for such an announcement.” She gave Lisa a censorious look, as if Lisa had deliberately chosen the timing to annoy her.
But there was nothing but delighted pleasure again in Emily’s face when she pushed the door closed and tucked her arm through Rourke’s to lead him through her graciously decorated home.
Following behind them, Lisa blew out a silent breath.
At least now she didn’t have to figure out a way to break the unlikely news that she was going to marry the man.
In that, she supposed she ought to be grateful.
“Everyone, look who’s here.” Emily’s voice had taken on a cheerful slant by the time they entered the drawing room. “Darling.” She went first to Gerald. “You remember Rourke Devlin, don’t you?”
Rourke shook the older man’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Dr. Armstrong.”
Gerald waved that off. “Gerald,” he insisted. “And of course I remember the last time.” He sounded irritated that Emily might suggest he wouldn’t. “He was at the Founder’s Ball. Lisa, get the man a drink.” He gestured to the leather chair that until a few years ago, had been his own preferred perch. “You’ve met my eldest son, Paul, and his fiancée?”
Aware of the surprised looks that were passing between her brother and Ramona as the two greeted Rourke, Lisa went to the bar. She couldn’t very well ask Rourke what he preferred to drink—presumably that would be something a “normal” fiancée would know—so she poured him a glass of the same wine she was drinking.
Though, as she carried it over to him and he tugged her down onto the arm of the chair and held her there with his implacable hand around her hips, she was rather wishing that she’d chosen a much stronger drink for herself. Instead, she held her own glass with tight fingers and it was then—seemingly all at once—that the rest of them noticed the ring on her finger.
Ramona gasped.
Paul muttered an uncharacteristic oath.
And Gerald just slapped his hand on his thigh. “Well, my God, Lisa-girl. Aren’t you full of surprises!”
She smiled, hoping it didn’t look as weak as it felt, and avoided her brother’s eyes. Of all those present, he was the one least likely to be convinced about her and Rourke’s sudden match. “Wait until you hear Rourke’s plans for the wedding,” she said and smiled down at her intended bridegroom with a sudden hint of sadistic relish.
Let him be the one to tell Emily Stanton Armstrong that the wedding was already in the works.
And she’d have no say in the details, whatsoever.
“My pleasure,” he said smoothly. But instead of launching into the litany of wedding arrangements that he’d already, arrogantly made, he lifted her free hand and pressed his thumb unerringly against her erratic pulse.
Then he smiled a little and sent her brief little spurt of satisfaction packing when he pressed his mouth slowly, intentionally, against her palm.
She forgot about her mother and everyone else. Except Rourke. And the fact that he’d plucked all control right out of the hand he was kissing.
Chapter Five
“You look beautiful.” Lisa’s sister, Olivia, fussed for a moment with the lightweight veil that streamed down Lisa’s back from the small jeweled clasp where it fastened around her low chignon. “This has got to be one of the most romantic marriages I’ve ever heard of.” Her dark eyes met Lisa’s as she squeezed her hand. “This has been a remarkable year. I’m so happy for you and Rourke.”
“Thanks.” Lisa stared at herself in the long mirror of the luxurious hotel suite where she’d spent the night before her wedding. She’d traveled from Boston just yesterday morning and, in the thirty-six hours since, had been pinned and tucked into the wedding gown that she now wore, and her body from head to toe had been primped and fussed over by a crew of hairdressers, masseuses and aestheticians. And not two hours earlier, all buffed and polished, she’d stood in her perfectly fitted ivory gown on the terrace of her beautiful suite for the formal portrait that her mother had insisted upon. She’d been catered to and fussed over, and if she’d been given her fondest wish, she would have been miles and miles away from all of it.
There was something really wrong with surrounding herself with all the trappings of a fairy-tale wedding when the reason for it in the first place was anything but a fairy-tale romance. Lisa kept waiting for someone to stop and point them out as the counterfeit couple that they were, only nobody did.
Not Rourke’s family, who’d hosted the rehearsal dinner the evening before at an unexpectedly quaint, homey Italian restaurant that Lisa had learned had once belonged to his grandparents, but was now run by Lea, mother of the impish Tanya. And definitely not by Lisa’s parents. Emily might have been frustrated by her inability to run what she considered “her” territory—her daughter’s wedding—but she was nevertheless glorying in the fact that Lisa was making such an unexpectedly advantageous match.
Lisa dragged her thoughts together. “And, you know, thanks for being my matron of honor,” she offered to her sister. Olivia looked ethereal in her close-fitting royal-blue gown. Thanks to being Mrs. Jamison Mallory, she hadn’t needed to prevail upon any of Rourke’s connections to come up with an outfit befitting the occasion. “I know it was short notice.”
Olivia laughed a little. “I’m glad to do it, Lisa.” She swept a slender hand down her tea-length skirt. “Actually, I assumed you’d want Sara Beth to stand up with you. You’re so close.”
Lisa would have been glad for her best friend’s support even if Sara Beth didn’t know the full details of her and Rourke’s arrangement. But Sara Beth had already been with Lisa for much of the day. She’d arrived at the hotel that morning before the buffers and the polishers with a bottle of champagne and a determination to see Lisa through what she suspected wasn’t the “perfect romance” that had been touted in the news as soon as the media got a whiff of Rourke Devlin’s impending nuptials.
But now, Sara Beth was already at the cathedral, giving support to her husband who was serving as Rourke’s best man.
“I love Sara Beth, too. But you’re my sister,” Lisa said.
