style="font-size:15px;"> “We already did.” He didn’t look at her. “About a week before Christmas last year, we messed things up pretty thoroughly.”
“Oh, that!” Her breezy voice dismissed it. “That was a mistake, of course. A mutual mistake. We were both a little tipsy, a little emotional. But we’re adults, so we admitted we’d been a pair of prize idiots and put it behind us.”
No, he thought. They hadn’t put it behind them. They’d pretended it never happened. That was how she’d wanted to play it—how she still wanted to play it, obviously, and if he had some ideas about changing that, they could wait. “You’re right,” he said mildly. “We’re friends. I don’t want to lose that.”
“Okay, then.” She beamed at him like a teacher whose slowest student has finally given the correct answer. “We don’t want to risk our friendship on something as—as uncertain as marriage. Even a businesslike marriage can get sticky.”
She said the right things, said them with such matter-of-fact good humor that he might have believed her…if her hands hadn’t stretched the hem of her T-shirt all out of shape with their nervous pleating and unpleating. Or if he hadn’t remembered all too well the look in her eyes when he’d climbed out of her bed, given her a kiss and walked out the door.
She would probably try to climb out of the truck right here on the Interstate if he let on that he knew he’d hurt her. “I can’t argue with you about marriage being an uncertain business.”
“Exactly.”
“But it’s uncertain because people go into it with a lot of unrealistic expectations. We’ll make sure we’re both clear on what we want and expect from our deal. No emotions, no complications.”
“Luke…I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you.”
“But you do want Fine Dandy. And you want to continue to compete. I know you’d rather have a marriage based on the good stuff,” he said gently. “You deserve it—flowers and pretty words, moonlight and promises. Romance.”
“Romance? Good grief. You know me. Practical as a pair of old boots.”
He had his work cut out for him, all right. “Well, this would be a very practical way to meet both our needs.” Needs might have been the wrong word to use. It conjured vague, heated memories he couldn’t afford to indulge. “Think of it as a business arrangement.”
The stubby arcs of her eyelashes blinked once, slowly. “Like a marriage of convenience?”
“I guess.” He hadn’t heard the term before, and wasn’t sure what she meant. “If it were anyone else, I’d have to get a prenuptial agreement first. But I trust you. If we can agree to terms, I know you’ll honor them.”
She was thoughtful now, her fingers rubbing at her cast as if the wrist beneath it ached. “The problem is, I don’t trust you.”
“Ouch. I guess we can set our agreement down in writing. I’m thinking a million would be about right, once the trust has been dissolved.”
“I don’t—it isn’t—good grief, a million dollars? You can’t seriously propose to give me that kind of money!”
“Sure I can. I don’t know exactly what my share of the trust will come to, but a million won’t make that much of a dent in it.”
“You know what? You’re going to be a very rich man, Luke. I think you’ll need a bodyguard more than a wife to protect you from all the women who will be scaling fences and swimming rivers to get to you.” She chuckled.
Damn, he wished she wouldn’t do that. Her voice was whiskey and sex; her chuckle was worse. “A bodyguard would cramp my style.”
“And a wife wouldn’t?”
Best not to touch that. “So, do you want to run by the lawyer’s office and see how fast he can draw up some kind of prenuptial agreement?”
“I trust you about the money.” Her hands started fiddling again, this time with the zipper on her jacket. Up, down. Up, down.
“If you trust me about the money, then where’s the problem?”
“Sex.”
The truck swerved slightly in the lane.
“How long will this marriage have to last to get the trust dissolved once you’re all married? Two months? Six?”
“Maybe four months.” He had control of the truck, and himself, again. “Maybe more. I’m not the financial whiz in the family, but Jacob’s best guess is between four and eight months.”
“Well, I’m not crazy about getting a lot of pitying looks for the next four months or more because my husband has been seeing other women.”
His jaw tightened. “You think I’d embarrass you that way?”
She shrugged and went back to toying with the zipper. “I think you’d try to be discreet. The thing is, I do know you, Luke. Are you planning to swear off sex for the next four to eight months?”
He shot her an incredulous look.
She grinned. “For once, I can read your mind.”
No, she couldn’t. Or she’d be trying to climb out of the truck right now. Fortunately she hadn’t a clue what kind of images had popped into his head when she’d said “sex.”
But she’d been on target with the rest of it. Not that he’d actually thought it out. About all he’d taken the time to plan was how to get the two of them to Vegas as quickly as possible. But in the back of his mind, he’d assumed he’d find what he needed elsewhere…because no way was he going to hurt Maggie again. And sure as God made little green apples, if he took her to bed, she’d end up hurting.
But he hadn’t thought it through. Maggie talked tough. She was tough, strong as old leather—in some ways. In others, she was as soft and easily damaged as a rose petal. Fragile. If he married her and then fooled around on her—never mind the reason for the marriage—he’d bruise that petal. Again.
Guilt rose, thick and grim. “I think they include something about fidelity in the marriage vows, even in Las Vegas. You don’t think you could trust me to live up to any promises I make?”
“Luke.” Her sigh was small, husky, impatient. “They include something about ‘till death do us part’ in those vows, too. But we wouldn’t either one of us mean that part, would we?”
He couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.
“I take it this means that the marriage is off.” She shook her head. “Do you think we set any records for the shortest engagement ever? We’re nearly to the airport, I see. I can call someone from there to come get me.”
The hell of it was, he knew he could change her mind. Maggie wanted him. She didn’t like it, tried to hide it, but the simmer and spark were there between them. Always had been. If he could get his hands on her, he could persuade her to marry him…among other things.
Hell, she was right not
