Million Dollar Marriage Read online

  She sucked in a sharp little gasp, looking up quickly.

  “Oh, yeah, I can see how open-minded you are about sex. You’re shocked by the very suggestion, aren’t you?”

  She said nothing, just glared at him.

  “That’s the deal. If you can’t live with it, then we’ll get this thing annulled tomorrow morning. If you can, then you’ll get your money. But keep it clear in your mind, Lucy, I’m paying for a business arrangement, not for sex.”

  “You’re a bastard, Holden.”

  “That’s right. That’s the point. Now that I’ve reminded you of it, this ought to be a little easier.” He got to his feet. The wind whipped at his shirt, and he thought he heard thunder rumble in the distance. “Come on inside now. It’s going to storm.”

  “I’ll come inside when I’m damned good and ready.”

  “You’ll come inside now. You’re drunk, it’s dark, and you’re sitting on the edge of a lake with a hundred-foot drop-off.” And besides that, he thought, he couldn’t pull off this act much longer. He wanted her. He cared for her, and he damn well didn’t want to admit to either of those things.

  “I want to stay out here.”

  “Damn.” He bent down, put his hands underneath her arms, and pulled her to her feet. She didn’t fight, didn’t pull away. Just went stiff and looked murderous. “Please come inside,” he said.

  Lightning flashed and he saw her tears. Realized that must be why she didn’t want to come in, she didn’t want him to see that she’d been crying. “Lucy—”

  Another flash, an earsplitting crack, and then a roar as a tree crashed to the ground a few yards away. Lucy jumped in surprise, losing her balance, and even as Holden saw what was happening, he couldn’t stop it. The sky split open, rain pummeled the earth, and Lucy splashed into the cold, black water.

  Eight

  The water seemed to close in around her, and it was so unexpected that she swallowed some, choked, and swallowed some more, as she flailed her arms and kicked her legs, striving for the surface.

  Then Holden was there. She felt his strong arms around her, pulling her upward. She broke surface, gasping, choking, water running over her face, her hair in her eyes. But his hands pushed it away, palms smooth on her wet skin.

  “Are you okay?” He shouted the question, making her aware of the now roaring wind, the pounding rain, the crashing thunder growing louder all the time. Blinking her eyes open, she was immediately blinded by strobelike flashes of lightning, and Holden’s face seemed to flicker before her.

  Then he was pulling her, and she could only assume they were heading toward the dock. No, that was wrong, the shore itself. No sooner did her feet touch the bottom in the shallower waters than she felt herself lifted off them. And Holden carried her the rest of the way, up out of the water, sloshing through it to the shore beyond. Once on dry land, he ran, still carrying her. Only seconds seemed to pass before he was kicking the door closed behind him, and carrying her to the sofa, lowering her onto it. He pulled his arms from beneath her, but she closed hers around him and clung, shivering.

  “All right,” he said softly. “All right, it’s okay.” His arms came back around her, and he held her close for a long moment. “You’re okay, now, all right? Hmm?”

  Nodding hard against his shoulder, she said, “I’m f-freezing.”

  “I know. Hold on, okay?”

  Again she nodded, and this time when he pulled away, she let him go. She hugged herself, shaking, watching Holden in the firelight. He didn’t walk. He ran, first to the fireplace to jam several more chunks of wood into the flames, then up the stairs. She couldn’t stop shivering. The fire’s warmth barely seemed to be touching her here. Getting off the sofa, she moved closer to the fireplace, and sank to the floor right in front of it, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them.

  Only moments later Holden was back again, his arms loaded down. He set the stack of towels and things down on the floor, and knelt beside her. “Loosen up your arms for me,” he said, and when she did, he peeled her dripping wet T-shirt off over her head.

  Wearing no bra, she automatically crossed her arms in front of her chest. But Holden only paused for a second, his gaze lingering on her breasts for an instant before he jerked it away as if by force, and reached for a towel. Gently, he rubbed her down. Her back, her arms. Her shoulders and neck. Her belly. Then he draped the towel around her, and snatched up another to rub at her wet hair. When he finished, he said, “Stand up, let’s get you out of those jeans.”

  Still shaking with cold, she let him help her to her feet, and stood there, amazed and mesmerized as he undid her jeans and shoved the wet denim down over her hips, panties and all. As he pushed the jeans down, he bent, as well, and when he knelt at her feet, his eyes were on her body. His gaze sliding up and down her, until he closed his eyes tight.

  “Hold on to my shoulders and pull your feet out,” he instructed in a voice that seemed too choked to speak above a harsh whisper.

  She braced her hands on Holden’s shoulders and pulled first one foot, then the other, free of the wet, clinging denim. He reached for another towel, his eyes open again, and so attentive that she almost burned with embarrassment. There was no part of her that was hidden to those eyes as he began running the towel up and down her legs. Her thighs.

  She wasn’t shivering anymore. His hands went still, and Lucy looked down at him, saw the raw hunger dancing with the firelight in his eyes.

  “Holden…”

  “Here.” He pressed the towel into her hand and got to his feet. Still, his gaze roamed her flesh until he forcibly turned his back to her. He picked up a plush terry robe from the stack of things he’d carried down. “Put this on. Wrap up in a blanket, and sit by the fire until you’re warm.”

  She took the robe from him. “Thank you.”

  “De nada,” he muttered. “I’m, uh, gonna go get changed myself.”

  “All right.”

  He waited a moment, a long, tense moment, that made her wonder if he were battling the urge to turn around again and strip the towel off her. She wasn’t sure if she hoped he would or feared he would. But then he snatched up the remaining pile of towels, and the second robe she saw resting atop them, and headed into the nearest bathroom.

  Holden closed the bathroom door behind him, and stood in the darkness, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. He was dripping wet, freezing cold, and burning up inside all at once, and the physical chaos of all of it was only a dim reflection of what was going on in his mind.

  “St. Francis of Assisi couldn’t have survived this kind of temptation,” he muttered to himself in the darkness. And immediately, he felt like a fool. So he desired her. So what? He’d desired a great number of women. He’d had most of them.

  That was all this was, then, he decided. He wanted her, and he’d decided he couldn’t have her, and that was the reason the wanting seemed to be growing larger by the second. That was the reason that it was taking over his mind and his soul and his body. That was the only reason. He’d deemed her forbidden fruit, and that made her seem twice as sweet.

  God, she seemed sweet. When he stripped her clothes away…when he knelt in front of her and just looked his fill…. Her skin, bronze and satin-smooth, gleaming with water and firelight. Her breasts, round and high. Proud, dark centers and small rigid nipples. Her belly, so flat and tight, and the darkness of her navel like a shadow of sin, calling to him. The curls between her legs were raven, gleaming, soft. Her thighs were—

  “Enough!”

  Holden braced his hands against the wall, let his head hang down between his arms. “Enough,” he whispered. “Just stop thinking about her. Just stop.”

  Impossible. Man, his father must be having a hell of a laugh at him now. A hell of a laugh. The old bastard…it was as if he’d been determined to make sure Holden was destined to turn out just like him. Oh, yeah, the rest of the family thought this final act of Cameron’s—the changing of his will—had been
to protect Holden from becoming like his father. But in fact, it had only forced him to do just that. He’d married a good woman. And dammit, he was going to ruin her life.

  No. No, he wouldn’t. He would not make Lucy’s life the hell his mother’s had been. He refused.

  And that was that.

  Slowly, he stood straight again, and began peeling off his freezing, wet clothes. He took his time changing. A long, hot shower to chase the chill out of his bones would have been nice. He might have wished for a cold one, but if that dip in the frigid lake hadn’t helped dampen his desire for his wife then a cold shower wasn’t going to help, either. Anyway, it didn’t matter because he didn’t dare leave her alone for that long. So he settled for toweling himself dry, and donning the warm robe he’d brought with him, all in utter darkness, because he hadn’t bothered to bring a lamp in here. Didn’t matter, he told himself. He may be losing his mind, but he still knew where everything was.

  Lucy had misunderstood everything he’d said to her, before all hell broke loose outside. She thought he didn’t want her, but he did. She thought he was so immune to her that there was no risk whatsoever of his coming to care anything about her. But he already cared. That was why he was so determined not to let her do the same. Not to hurt her. And he’d only blown up at her the way he had in some stupid, primitive, knee-jerk reaction to her threat—and yes, it had been precisely that—that she would find what she needed elsewhere.

  Still, maybe it was best she’d interpreted his clumsy words the way she had. Let her think him cold and callous, utterly incapable of feeling anything real for anyone except himself. Let her believe it. Because as long as she did, she’d be safe. Her heart would be safe. And she wouldn’t let him break it.

  That thought firm in his mind, he ventured back into the main room. The rain still pounded on the roof, smacked against the windowpanes. Thunder still sounded like some overzealous drummer in a heavy metal band. Lightning still flickered, turning the entire cabin into a faulty neon sign.

  Lucy was curled up on her side, sleeping near the fireplace. A heavy blanket wrapped tight around her, her knees drawn up, head pillowed by her hands. The firelight danced over her, and the lightning, when it flashed, made her glow like an angel. His temptation, right?

  Holden wandered to the door, checked the lock, glanced outside, but couldn’t make a good guess at the damage in the flickering light. It would have to wait until morning. He turned back again, walked slowly over to where Lucy lay on the floor. He didn’t suppose he ought to leave her there all night. He should scoop her up, carry her up the stairs, and tuck her into her bed.

  Or maybe he could just smash his head against the cobblestone hearth a few times. Either one would be equally painful.

  With a sigh, he bent and gathered her into his arms, his hands skimming across warm flesh. As soon as he straightened, her face turned toward the crook of his neck. Her lips nuzzled him there, and her arms linked around him. The faster he got her tucked in and got away from her, the better, he decided, and he turned to start toward the stairs. But when he did, the blanket fell away. And there was nothing else. She hadn’t donned the robe as he’d told her to. She’d just burrowed under the covers and fallen asleep.

  And now she was naked in his arms. Firelight painted her skin. The thunder rumbled and at first he thought the sound had come from within him. Her head came up off his shoulder and she looked up into his eyes; hers dark and gleaming in the fireglow. Flashing with the lightning. Then she pressed her mouth to his, and this time the rumble did come from him. A deep groan of anguished need that he couldn’t contain.

  He kissed her. He kissed her mouth, and when it parted, he went inside, pushing his tongue between her lips and rubbing hers with it. She tasted good. Warm, sweet, eager. He slid his mouth along her jaw, tasting her skin, and then her throat, her neck, flicking his tongue as he went. She made a soft sound, part sigh, part moan. He lifted her higher in his arms so that her back arched toward him and her head fell backward. Her breasts were presented to him, an offering he could not refuse. He bent his head to them, and then he held her to him as he caught a nipple in his mouth and began to suck at it. Lucy’s hands dove into his hair, and she pulled his head closer, harder against her, straining to press herself into his hungry mouth.

  “Please, Holden…” she whispered.

  He closed his teeth lightly on her nipple, and when she responded with a shivering whimper, he bit harder, tugging, pinching it between his teeth, and then releasing her again to lick and nurse the sting away. He pulled his arm from beneath her legs, lowering her feet to the floor, his mouth still clamped to her breast, his body bending over hers.

  Her hands pushed the robe from his shoulders, then ran over his flesh, kneading him, rubbing him, holding herself to him. And he was naked, and hard, and wanting her. He lifted his head from her breast, and straightening, stared hard into her eyes. “I hope you’re sure this is what you want.”

  Her answer was to tighten her arms around his neck and slowly lift her legs until they were wrapped around his middle. “It’s what we both want,” she whispered, rubbing herself against him.

  Holden’s hands slid lower, cupped her buttocks, lifted her a little, until her position was just right. And then slowly, he slid himself inside her. His eyes slammed closed, and his body went rigid with the feel of her wrapped so tight around him. She clung to him harder as he went deeper, harder still when he drew back. Holden found her mouth once again, and fed from it as he moved her body up and down upon his. He felt her muscles clenching in anticipation, tightening more and more as he drove harder, deeper, pushing her limits, taking her closer. He watched her face in between kisses. Saw the passion on it as the lightning flashed and the fire leaped. And just as she cried out his name in a hoarse, tortured voice, he, too, reached his climax and spilled himself into her as his head spun and his body sang.

  Spent, he fell to his knees, with Lucy still twined around him. She didn’t seem to want to let go. Her face was buried on his chest, and he thought he felt dampness there. God, was she crying?

  “Lucy?”

  A shuddery sigh. She eased up her grip, pulled away slightly, and looked up into his eyes. “I…didn’t realize it was…supposed to be…”

  Holden lifted a hand, fingered a strand of her hair. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s all right.” She lowered her chin, lifted it again. “So long as you don’t forget about it by morning.”

  “I won’t forget about it in a hundred years.”

  She offered a shaky smile. “You see, now, don’t you? You were worrying for nothing. We had sex. I feel much better now.” She averted her eyes. “And I didn’t do anything foolish like falling head over heels in love with you in the process.”

  Holden watched as she eased away, pulling her fallen blanket with her, and curling once more into her little nest on the floor near the fire, her back to him.

  And he thought he heard a little voice in his head whispering, That makes one of us.

  Yeah, right. That had to be the most ridiculous thought he’d ever had.

  Lucy woke up on the sofa, not on the floor where she’d gone to sleep, and she figured she had Holden to thank for that. He probably hadn’t dared risk carrying her up to her own bed. She might have stirred awake and made him—

  Lucy closed her eyes and groaned as she remembered what she’d done last night. Good Lord, where had all of that come from? The venomous way she’d spilled her guts about what had happened between them that night back in high school. The emotional reaction when he’d made it clear that he felt nothing for her now. The seduction later on. The…enthusiasm with which she’d made love to him.

  It wasn’t her. None of that was her. Or it didn’t used to be. Now…Lord, now everything seemed different. She seemed different. Like a stranger to herself.

  “Good morning.” His voice was low, wary, and coming from the other end of the room.

  She turned her head toward it, e
ven though she’d have rather buried it in her pillows.

  “You still speaking to me?” he asked.

  Squeezing her eyes tight, she nodded. “I should probably be the one asking you that question.”

  “No, you’re wrong there.” He sighed, and she opened her eyes to face him once more. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  Lucy shrugged while doing a quick self-analysis. “Slight headache. Not bad, though. And a bad case of cotton-mouth.”

  “A cup of coffee will fix that right up,” he said, and he ducked through the bat-wing doors, and emerged a second later with a filled cup. “Cream and one sugar, right?” Crossing the room, he set the cup on the big coffee table.

  “How’d you know?” God, it smelled heavenly. And there were other scents wafting her way now. Bacon. She could hear it sizzling, too.

  “I’ve seen you drink coffee a couple of times before. At the Double Crown, and the hospital cafeteria.”

  And remembered, she thought. Very odd thing for a man like him to do. She lifted the steaming cup to her lips, took a sip, and set it down again in its saucer. “You make good coffee.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a start.”

  Lucy looked at him. He seemed nervous, not at all his usual confident ladies’ man self. “Holden…”

  “Lucy…” he said at the same time.

  She managed a smile, though it was awkward. “You first,” she said.

  “Okay. I owe you an apology. Several apologies, in fact. I really don’t think there’s any way I can make all of this up to you. But I’m going to try.”

  She blinked. This was not what she had expected to hear from him this morning. “For what?” she finally asked.

  “Oh, come on. For everything. I took advantage of your crush on me when you were an innocent teenager. I took advantage of your condition last night when you had too much wine. I hurt you both times with my cavalier attitude, and I—I’m just sorry, Lucy. More sorry than I can say.”

  Licking her lips, lowering her gaze, she said, “As I recall, Holden, I’m the one who initiated…things. Both times.”