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“Okay…” The increasingly frustrated voice plowed through her thoughts. For the first time since she’d started this nightmare, Eleanor relaxed. For a second, she thought she could hear the man grinding his teeth. She smiled.
“Ryan. Come sit down,” Dillon whispered to his son, amazed at how hard it was to hide his frustration with Eleanor’s answers. He didn’t really care what they were, and he certainly wasn’t planning to choose her for his “pretend” wife, but the woman could at least make some attempt at being interested in the game; for the audience’s sake if nothing else.
Pushing away the image of whiskey-colored eyes and a body that promised to be a perfect match to his in the intricate dance of love, he helped Ryan climb back into his seat. He wasn’t interested in love, and it was with irritating effort that he finally wiped the seductive image from his mind.
“Okay. Bachelor junior. You get to ask the last question.” Jake’s booming voice broke into Dillon’s annoyance.
“James Bond,” Dillon reminded his son softly.
“Bachelor three. Do you like kids?” At the small quiver in Ryan’s voice, Dillon placed his arm around his son’s shoulders.
Eleanor heard the loneliness in the child’s voice and understood it completely. She couldn’t stop herself from remembering how his grown-up study had changed so quickly to a child’s curiosity with one beautiful smile. Without further thought, she answered truthfully, from her heart, unable to cause more hurt to the little person who’d silently reached out to her.
“I think…kids are cool…especially little boys,” she said hesitantly, but simply.
Surprised at the sudden warmth in Eleanor’s voice, Dillon watched a smile spread over his son’s face. He didn’t really listen to the other two bachelorette’s responses, although chatty number two had the three of them at Chuck E. Cheese’s long before she was done.
How could the woman who’d answered so warmly to Ryan be the same woman who had been evasive, impersonal and dismissive with him all evening?
As a slow anger began to burn in his throat, Dillon flicked his finger at a piece of lint on his jacket sleeve. Even though he considered himself an average sort of guy, he wasn’t used to being treated like a pariah by women. Dillon reluctantly admitted he didn’t like it. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t planning on picking Eleanor. It was just that she could at least play nice.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen. It’s time for our bachelors to choose their bachelorette.” Jake’s voice floated over the audio system, reminding Dillon that fortunately this whole nonsense would soon be over.
“Okay, Ryan. Which one do we want? Bachelorette number one or number two?” Dillon whispered to his son as if asking the boy to help him pick between his two least favorite desserts.
“We want Bachelorette three.” Ryan’s excited answer caused blaring alarms to clang loudly in Dillon’s head.
“No, Ryan. We need to pick either one or two.” There was no way he was going to pick Eleanor Rose after her obvious lack of interest throughout the whole game. It was only a benefit dinner, for God’s sake. The woman could have at least tried to pretend she wanted to participate.
“But I want Bachelorette three.” Ryan’s hands were balling into fists, his voice changing from a whisper to sharp demand.
“Ryan,” Dillon insisted firmly, pulling the resisting boy against his chest.
“But I want her to be my new mom.” The shake in Ryan’s voice and the tears flooding his eyes was more than Dillon had the strength to fight, but he tried, anyway.
“This is just pretend, son. And only for tonight. Okay?”
“Okay. But, I still want Bachelorette three.”
At that moment Jake rounded the corner into the cubicle and caught the tail end of their discussion. Dillon groaned inwardly at his buddy’s apparent amusement at his predicament.
“It appears our bachelors are having a difference of opinion over which bachelorette they want,” Jake said, playing to the expectant audience for all he was worth.
A burst of chatter erupted, forcing Dillon’s hand. Resigned to his fate, he stood, taking Ryan up in his arms, anchoring his son’s light weight on his hip. As he faced the excited audience, a breathless hush replaced the noisy chatter.
“We’ll take Bachelorette number…three,” he said on a reluctant sigh.
Thank God it was just pretend and just for the night, he told himself. He was a big boy. He could put up with Eleanor Rose for one night. The smile that spread across his son’s face and his little hands clapping gleefully amid thundering applause from the audience was all the confirmation he needed that he’d made the right choice…for his son.
Dillon thanked Bachelorettes number one and two, speculatively watching number two leave the stage. Her backward look was full of promise, if he’d only take her up on the offer. Mary Towers was her name. She was definitely the Suzie Homemaker type he was looking for and appeared to like kids just fine. Maybe he would add her to his list of possibilities.
She’s just what I’m looking for. She’d make a great mother for Ryan, he was thinking when his gaze collided with angry, storm-filled, whiskey eyes that reminded him of…
Then it was just the four of them left on the stage. Ryan, his smile big, his eyes bright with excitement. Jake, grinning with smug satisfaction. Eleanor, her face white, her lips pressed into a thin, painful-looking line, her expressive eyes swimming with an emotion he couldn’t put a name to. And himself.
Dillon didn’t like the laughter that tinted Jake’s voice when he turned to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen. May I introduce Portland’s hottest new couple, Dillon Stone and Eleanor Rose.”
Flicking his gaze from his son’s excited grin to Jake’s triumphant laughter, then to Eleanor Rose’s disbelieving stillness, Dillon couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that instead of being almost over, this night’s high jinks were only just beginning.
Chapter Three
“Ladies and gentlemen. We’re going to have a short intermission while we set up the wedding scene. Don’t forget to take a look at the silent auction at the back of the room.”
Eleanor wanted to scream at the top of her lungs at the turn Jake’s so-called “dating game” had taken. Hastily she tugged her foster brother away from Dillon’s frown and the excitement dancing in his little boy’s eyes.
“Jake. I am not going to marry that…man,” she whispered fiercely, turning her back on the tantalizing promise Dillon Stone represented.
“Of course you are. It’s perfectly safe, all make-believe. For charity, remember?”
Eleanor shook off Jake’s arm when he tried to wrap her in a smothering hug.
“He should have picked one of the others. Why didn’t he?” Eleanor didn’t like the feeling that she was losing it.
“Because you’re so sweet and wonderful? And, he couldn’t resist you?” Humor played across Jake’s face, only inching her irritation higher.
“You’re dead meat.”
“Thanks, El. I love you, too. Look out, here come the wedding props.”
Intent on getting as far away from Dillon Stone and his sweet little boy as she possibly could, Eleanor scowled her worst at Jake before moving out of the way of the stage workers who were exchanging the cubicles for an elaborate garden wedding scene.
“This isn’t going to work, you know,” Dillon told his friend evenly, while Jake fixed the bridal boutonniere in his jacket lapel. Covertly, he watched Eleanor across the stage, fidgeting tensely while a woman, presumably one of Jake’s assistants, placed a long, trailing, lacy veil over her flowing blond hair.
God, she was beautiful. She certainly wasn’t a shy tomboy anymore. Gone was the young girl he remembered. In her place was a gorgeous woman, but one who still lacked all the female graces.
“Sure, it’s going to work. The crowd loves this stuff.” Jake indicated the wedding arch that was being placed center stage.
“No. I mean Eleanor and me.” Dillon didn’t believe the picture that was being created of Eleanor as the perfect bride. Unexpectedly, a painful knot formed in his stomach at the fleeting, wistful look she cast at him. A look that was concealed behind indifference before it was ever fully formed.
Damn. Why was he even thinking about this? He wanted more children. Maybe, lots of them. And in his experience, career women did not want children. At least not right away. Anyone could see that Eleanor Rose was a dedicated career woman.
Even now, she was dressed in a gray pin-striped skirt and jacket as if she couldn’t wait to get back to the office. Surprisingly, the top button of her blouse was open, exposing a generous amount of her slender throat, slightly spoiling her perfect corporate image. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d met her type before.
“What about you and Eleanor?” Jake’s pseudo-innocent inquiry made the hairs stand at alert on the back of Dillon’s neck.
“We have absolutely nothing in common. After tonight we’ll probably never see each other again.” The ping that poked his heart at the thought of never seeing Eleanor again didn’t mean a thing. Suspiciously, Dillon watched his friend’s unchanging expression. Mary Towers was the more obvious choice for his list of possible wife candidates.
“Hey. No problem. But it wouldn’t hurt if you and El got together after this.”
Get together? With Eleanor Rose? The poster lady of corporate womanhood? No way.
“It’s not going to happen, Jake,” Dillon firmly informed his friend.
“All I’m saying—”
“Dad, how come she’s standing way over there?” Ryan pulled insistently on his hand, effectively derailing Dillon’s conversation with Jake—a conversation that had been going nowhere, anyway.
“Because the bride and groom are not supposed to see each other before the wedding ceremony, pal.” Jake answered for him, dropping on one knee to fix a matching boutonniere on Ryan’s lapel. “Everything seems to be ready. Why don’t we get your dad and El in place?”
Eleanor turned to face the man she’d worked so hard to keep out of her dreams. She couldn’t go through with this. She wasn’t going to pretend to marry the one man who had once had the power to rock her to her very soul.
“El, come stand over here.”
Jake’s instruction set her teeth on edge. Forcing stiff limbs to move, Eleanor slowly walked to the spot her foster brother indicated.
Why was she doing this? Because it was a fake ceremony…and for charity. Eleanor squared her shoulders. She had a fulfilling career and was just fine living on her own. She was not feeling sorry for herself or wishing for the impossible just because as a young woman she’d once wished she could be bound to this man for life.
A small hand nestled into hers. Unable to stop the feelings suddenly warming her, Eleanor looked down into shining green eyes and the biggest smile she’d ever seen on a child’s face.
“You’re going to be my new mom,” Ryan said, eyes twinkling at her. Eleanor’s heart sank. She didn’t need any new cracks to form in her armor.
“Remember, son, this is just make-believe.” Dillon’s determined words sealed those cracks shut with a lonely clang.
“Where’s the judge? Is there a judge in the house?” Jake demanded playfully of the audience.
In unison the audience began to loudly chant. “Judge…judge…judge…”
Keep your sense of humor. Don’t break your heart over this, Eleanor admonished herself as a sprinkle of laughter drifted through the room. Nervously, she adjusted her glasses on her nose. This mockery of a marriage was for charity. It didn’t mean anything more than that.
Taking a deep breath to settle the skittish alarm clanging in her stomach, Eleanor looked up as a new disturbance erupted at the door. Now what?
Causing the minor commotion was an elderly man in a western-style black frock and flat-brimmed black hat. Haphazardly, he was making his way toward the stage, patting his pockets as if he’d lost something. Finally, out of one deep side pocket, he pulled out wire-rimmed spectacles and pushed them onto his bulbous nose.
“So sorry I’m late,” the old man wheezed, out of breath as he stopped opposite Dillon.
Eleanor couldn’t believe her eyes. Jake couldn’t have gotten a more disreputable-looking judge if he’d tried, which he probably had, she decided, disgusted. The man looked as if he’d been pulled right out of an old-time western.
“Are you two young folks ready? I’m Jed Banta. This is my third wedding for the day and I’d like to get started,” the old man muttered as Jake attached a microphone to his once starched collar.
“Okay, young fella, what’s your name?”
Dillon couldn’t help smiling at the old man’s appearance. Where in the world had Jake found this decrepit old gent? He was perfect for the part of an old boomtown judge. Even down to the unkempt white hair poking out from beneath the wide brim of his felt hat and the thick white mustache that generously covered his lips.
“Uh…I’m Dillon Stone.” Dillon choked back a chuckle as the old man licked the end of a stubby pencil, then wrote his name on a slip of paper he’d pulled from the inside pocket of his coat.
The man’s act was perfect, Dillon realized, as the audience openly responded to his antics.
“Miss? What’s your name?”
For a moment Dillon thought Eleanor wouldn’t go along. Her face was as white as the paper the judge was poised over, and he was sure she was about to faint. What was she afraid of? Because from where he stood, Eleanor Rose was definitely afraid.
When he’d been a criminal lawyer, he’d seen the same look of sick fear on many a defendant’s face just before the verdict came down. Slowly, he laced his fingers with hers and was shocked by the bolt of electricity that raced from their touching hands clear down to curl his toes.
“Eleanor?” he prodded. Had she felt that electric zing, too?
Her pale face flushed with a pretty blush as she turned to look at him. The surprised look darkening her remarkable eyes heated the sizzle that was still blistering his fingertips.
“My name…” Finally she looked away, leaving Dillon with an uneasy feeling there was something important he was missing.
“Eleanor Rose Silks. My name is Eleanor Silks Rose.”
That brief moment of vulnerable emotion caused strange feelings of protectiveness to quicken Dillon’s heartbeat. The woman was so filled with contradictions. It didn’t make sense that he didn’t want to let her go when she pulled away from their connecting touch.
“Well, let’s get started,” the old man said. “We are gathered here…”
Eleanor was still trying to catch her breath from that moment when Dillon had held her hand. She’d been feeling so chilled, thinking about pretending to do something she would have given her right arm to do for real when she was nineteen.
But, of course, she didn’t want to marry Dillon Stone now. She’d made a perfect life for herself, resigned that her knight on a white charger had already been taken and his twin was not to be found anywhere. Then he’d intertwined his fingers with hers and consuming heat and hunger had licked at a loneliness she hadn’t known she’d lived with for too long.
Still reeling from the warm embers that scorched her, Eleanor looked up into her foster brother’s sympathetic smile. Before she could throw the tantrum she was thinking of and stick out her tongue at him, mischief-filled eyes dared her to go through with this farce of a pretend marriage.
Eleanor swallowed the fear crowding her throat. Her gaze moved from Jake’s satisfied expression to little Ryan’s equally excited face. Something long buried stirred near her bruised heart. How could she protect herself when such a sweet little boy persisted in staring at her with stars in his eyes? Eyes that exactly matched the older, more experienced ones of his father.
“Do you, Dillon Stone, take Eleanor Rose to be your wife, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?”
Dillon’s deep “I do” made a pair of excited shivers somersault up Eleanor’s spine as she locked gazes with the man standing so calmly at her side. What was he thinking? Frantically, she fought a bubble of hysteria.
“Do you, Eleanor Rose, take Dillon Stone to be your husband, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?” Unbidden, a very secret part of her heart surprised her with the wish that she could love and cherish Dillon, and that he would love and cherish her, for longer than the rest of their lives.
“I…” Eleanor cleared her throat. This is for charity. She tried again. “I do,” she whispered.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Young man, you may kiss your bride.” The judge’s pronouncement stretched Eleanor’s sense of the unreal.
“No,” she objected in a croaked whisper, earning a frown from Dillon that stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t like the sudden glint of determination that lit his searching green eyes.
Realizing his intent, Eleanor turned her head at the last minute so that his warm lips landed on the corner of hers. Instead of quickly kissing, then releasing her immediately, he tantalizingly stayed there a second too long…lingering…testing…nibbling…seducing.
Stunned by the feeling of his lips exploring her sensitive skin, Eleanor forced herself to push against the hard landscape of his chest. Somehow, she had to resist the feelings tumbling through her stomach and the heat attempting to warm her skin. Closing her heart off to any more temptation, she stepped back from Dillon, only to find his hands firmly clamped at her waist, preventing her escape.
“Here. If you young people will sign this, we’ll be all done.” Amid cheers from the audience, Eleanor watched Dillon sign the phony license, then added her name below his bold scrawl.
“How about a big round of applause for our winners.” Jake was at the microphone again. “Let’s see if we can get our newest couple to lead us in a dance. Come on, everyone. Let’s give them some encouragement.”
Dillon glanced at Eleanor, surprised by the panicked look that spread over her classic features, as the swell of goodwill and rhythmic clapping grew around them. Still stunned by the raw feelings racing through him from the brief brush of his lips across hers and the firm feel of her waist between his hands, he wondered what was going on in the woman’s head.
He thought about the vulnerability that occasionally flickered across Eleanor’s lovely face, the loneliness she tried so hard to hide. The unmistakably sensual way she moved pulled at Dillon despite his best efforts to ignore the alarming fireworks that went off every time he got too close to the woman. The way he was now.
As the demand of the dinner guests grew, he watched Eleanor struggle to recapture the cool reserve that pricked his normally nonexistent temper. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t relax and just go with the flow for the evening?
