Читать книгу The Billionaire's Baby Plan / Marrying the Northbridge Nanny: The Billionaire's Baby Plan - Allison Leigh - Страница 12

“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.

Olivia looked touched. “Well. Don’t make my mascara run now, when it’s time for us to leave for the ceremony. I hope that Jamison hasn’t let Kevin lose the rings.” She turned to retrieve the orchid bouquets that had been delivered to Lisa’s suite earlier. “He’s so excited about being the ring bearer but I think a lot of it may have to do with getting to walk beside Chance’s stepdaughter, Annie. He’s fascinated with her red hair.”

Panic rippled through Lisa’s stomach, and it had nothing to do with either Kevin or little Annie. With Olivia’s attention elsewhere, she quickly swallowed down the last of her champagne. Courage, even in liquid form, seemed definitely called for.

Then she hefted up her trailing gown and took her bouquet from her sister. Like it or not, it was showtime.

Rourke pulled back his cuff and looked at his watch.

“Don’t worry.” Ted clapped him on the back. “The Plaza is only minutes away. She’ll be here.”

“I know. I just want to get it over with.”

Ted smiled. “And get on with the wedding night?”

Rourke didn’t deny it. He hadn’t told his old friend any of the details behind the sudden marriage; leaving intact Ted’s assumption that Rourke’s interest in Lisa had carried them away.

The pretense wasn’t entirely a pretense, anyway. Since that night with Lisa at her parents’ home, he hadn’t seen her again until the previous day when they’d both put their signatures on his prenup before joining the rest of their families and friends for the rehearsal and the dinner following.

Holding her in his arms, dropping kisses on her lips. None of it had been a hardship and if anything, he was more than a little preoccupied with thoughts of what was to come after the “I do’s” were said.

“Gentlemen?” The woman in charge of keeping them on time poked her head into the room where Ted and Rourke were waiting. “We’re ready for you.”

Ted grinned and gave him a thumbs-up before preceding him to the chapel. The organist was already playing when he and Ted lined up in front of the priest.

He was surprised to feel a jolt of nervousness when he turned to wait for his bride. It wasn’t a common sensation. His mother sat in the front pew, beaming her pleasure at him. Behind her were his sisters and their husbands and broods. Tanya was bouncing in her seat, alternating between pouts and smiles. She’d given him hell the evening before for stooping to marry someone else before she became available.

Young Kevin Jamison appeared, his focus much more squarely on the pillow he was carrying which bore the wedding rings, than it was on where he was walking. Fortunately, his sidekick, Annie Labeaux—who was practically preening in her ruffled yellow dress—knew her marks perfectly, and kept Kevin coming in a forward motion.

Then Lisa’s sister appeared, gliding up the aisle like the dancer he knew she’d once been. Tanya bounced again and, despite her mother’s grasping hands, managed to stand up on her pew to wave both hands at him.

He waved back, earning a soft chuckle from most of the guests. But he wasn’t really listening because Lisa had appeared at the rear of the chapel.

Rourke was vaguely aware of Gerald accompanying her in his wheelchair along the aisle toward him. Vaguely aware of the change in the organ music. Vaguely aware that he was still breathing.

She was beautiful.

Draped in some airy fabric that cinched her narrow waist in bits of lace, managing to look painfully innocent and wrenchingly sexy at the same time.

Her eyes didn’t meet his when she reached the end of the aisle. She kissed her father’s cheek and his motorized chair silently left her side.

Leaving Lisa to him.

He could see her pulse beating at the base of her slender neck. See a similar beat in the smooth flesh between the modest V of her neckline. And he could feel it beneath his fingers in her hands after she handed off her bouquet to her sister and placed them, cool and slightly shaking, in his.

Later, he knew they’d both repeated the vows. Knew he’d pushed his platinum band on her finger and had donned the wider version of it for himself. He knew that she’d lifted her lips for his brief kiss when the priest called for it, and knew that she’d tucked her hand through his arm as they’d walked back down the chapel aisle.

He knew it, because the license was duly signed afterward, they blinked against the flash of a dozen cameras as they left the cathedral behind, and then they were inside his limousine, which was bearing them, right on schedule, back to his Park Avenue apartment. The rest of the wedding party and guests were following in a raft of identical stretches.

“So that’s it,” she said, as they left the cathedral behind. She was looking at her hands that were splayed flat on her lap, surrounded by the cloud of her long gown.

Probably looking at the wedding rings.

“That was just the start.”

He watched her fingers curl into the airy gown until neither her fingers nor the rings were visible. She looked straight ahead at the smoked privacy window separating them from the driver, then turned her head to look out the window. Her veil was pulled to one side, exposing her pale nape and the small, lone freckle that graced the tender skin.

He would kiss that freckle soon enough. And every inch of creamy flesh that stretched down her spine. He wondered how long it would take to undo the dozens of tiny diamondlike buttons that stretched down the back of her gown. Wondered, too, what she would be wearing beneath it.

She looked at him suddenly, her eyes narrowed, as if she’d been reading his mind. But she quickly disabused him of that notion. “There’s not going to be any photographers at your apartment, are there?”

“At the reception?” He shook his head. “No. Outside the building, though? Likely.” There had been a few camped out there for the past several days, clearly documenting the somewhat surprising fact that Rourke Devlin’s fiancée wasn’t yet in residence. “Don’t worry. You’re the picture of a princess bride. Just look up at me adoringly as we go inside and everyone’ll be happy.”

She grimaced and looked back out the window again. “Everyone but us,” she muttered. “Even my best friend doesn’t know what a lie this all is. I hope you’re planning on going to confession someday or that farce of a wedding ceremony will haunt us to hell.”

He touched his finger to her arm, feeling her start, before he dragged it slowly down to her wrist. “That’s how you saw it?”

She shifted, crossing her arms. “How could I not? It was a pretense. Love, honor and cherish?” She shook her head, the corner of her lips turned downward.

“You’ll be my wife with all the respect that deserves. I’ll honor you.” And he’d cherish her body the second he had the chance. No question.

The line of her jaw was like a finely chiseled masterpiece. “You won’t love me.”

Love had never gotten him anywhere. “And you won’t love me.”

She slid him an icy look. “That’s right. The sooner we get what we want out of this deal, the happier I’ll be.”

“Then we’re in agreement.” He held her gaze with his, even after the limo sighed to a stop in front of his building. “Now, are you ready to get on with this?” His driver opened the door next to him.

Lisa’s gaze slipped away. She picked up her bouquet that had been lying on the seat between them and nodded.

He stepped out of the car, and turned to help her out. She stuck out one slender foot, shod in delicate straps, and then the dress seemed to follow as she slid out of the vehicle.

It was like watching flower petals unfurl and he knew the photographers that—as predicted—were still camped out nearby would be snapping away.

The moment Lisa was standing beside him, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close. His mouth covered hers.

Her lips parted; he could taste her quick word of protest, but he ignored it. And then he could taste the faint hint of champagne on her tongue and then deeper, the taste of her as she was kissing him back.

“Time enough for that later.” Ted’s laughing voice barely penetrated the fog that was gathering in Rourke’s head. The hand his friend clamped on his shoulder was more intrusive.

Rourke slowly pulled away.

Lisa’s eyes were wide. Her cheeks were flushed.

Sara Beth danced around next to Lisa, sliding a short little capelike thing around her shoulders that matched Lisa’s dress before scurrying her toward the building, chattering a mile a minute about God only knew what. Crushed orchids rained down from Lisa’s bouquet onto the sidewalk as they went.

He forced a smile for Ted and the others who were rapidly disgorging from the stream of limousines but the only thing he really saw was the panicked glance Lisa tossed back at him the moment before she disappeared into the building.

Yeah, he’d given the photographers their money shot, but just then he wasn’t certain who was paying the price.

Lisa leaned back against the elevator wall and stared at her hands. She hadn’t even had time to get used to the weight of the engagement ring during the past week, and now there was another band there to add to the unsettling unfamiliarity.

“Some kiss.”

She glanced up at Sara Beth, who was not doing even a credible job of sounding, or looking, casual.

Lisa pressed her lips together for a moment. She could still taste him. “Yes.” She kept her voice low. The elevator doors were still open. There was no point in pushing the button for Rourke’s floor, because that particular one required a key.

Sara Beth’s voice was just as low. “Considering the steam radiating off the two of you, I would’ve expected you to look a little more…glowing.” She plucked Lisa’s somewhat smashed bouquet out of her hands and gently stroked her hand over the blooms. “Rourke’s obviously crazy about you. But are you really okay with this marriage thing? It’s awfully sudden.”

“I told you back at the hotel that I was.”

“Yes, and you were two glasses into a bottle of champagne before you managed to say that.” Sara Beth lifted her chin and smiled a little stiffly when Emily and Ramona stepped onto the elevator followed soon by Gerald, whose chair was being pushed by Paul.

“I still don’t know why Derek wasn’t at the ceremony,” Emily was complaining. “I’ve left him a half-dozen messages but he hasn’t called me back.”

“Maybe he had something else he couldn’t get out of,” Paul said, his voice even.

“Not even for his sister’s wedding?” Emily shook her head, looking upset.

“It was short notice for everyone, Mother,” Lisa reminded, hoping that would be the end of it.

She had made it a point not to invite Derek and, considering the number of phone messages he’d been leaving for her, had been half afraid he’d show up anyway. Unless he was living under a rock, he couldn’t fail to have read or heard that she was marrying the handsome billionaire.

Then Ted arrived, holding up a key that he used to unlock the button for the penthouse floor. “Rourke’s talking to security. They were supposed to have the elevators unlocked by the time we got here.”

“No detail left unturned,” Lisa muttered.

Her mother leaned over to pinch Lisa’s cheeks and she jerked back. “Hey.”

“You need some color in your cheeks,” Emily defended. “You’re almost as white as your dress.”

“I think she looks perfect,” Ramona inserted, giving Lisa a quick wink when Emily turned to fuss over Gerald.

The elevator let them off in a spacious, marble-floored hallway that possessed two grand doors at opposite ends. The door belonging to Rourke was obvious; it was opened and a sedately uniformed beauty stood beside it, bearing a silver tray of crystal champagne flutes.

It took only a moment for Lisa to recognize the girl as the hostess from Raoul’s restaurant. “For the new Mrs. Devlin,” she greeted her, holding out her tray.

Mrs. Devlin.

Lisa’s hand shook as she took one of the exquisitely cut stems. “Thank you.”

“For heaven’s sake, Lisa, we’re not going to stand out here.” Emily glided past, taking a glass of champagne for herself and Gerald, and entered the apartment with none of the reluctance that Lisa was trying to hide.

The second elevator arrived with a soft chime and, half afraid it would be bearing Rourke, she gathered her dress and went inside.

Even though she had been prepped by Sara Beth, who had seen the place when Ted had brought her here for a romantic getaway, Lisa still wasn’t prepared for her first sight of Rourke’s city home.

In its way it was as grand as his Greenwich estate. But where that mansion looked to have been steeped in tradition, his penthouse dripped modernism from its bank of unadorned windows to the gleaming dark wood floor, and minimalist ivory-colored furnishings.

The only color of note came exclusively from the chest-high glass vases flanking every window that were filled with immense bouquets of purple irises that seemed to reach for the high, coffered ceiling. The flowers were repeated in squat glass bowls all around the spacious living area.

She didn’t know what surprised her more. The sleek, urban decor, or the profusion of flowers that he’d clearly arranged just for the purpose of their so-called reception.

“I told you it was beautiful,” Sara Beth whispered beside her. She tucked her arm through Lisa’s and drew her through the living area that was long enough to encompass Lisa’s entire town house, toward the terrace beyond the windows where the flowers were even more resplendent.

Stunned, Lisa slowly stepped outside. There were several tables set there arranged end to end and looking as if they’d come straight out of a photo shoot from a high-end wedding. Situated in the corner, there was even a harpist whose dulcet sounds trickled in the air. “Amazing,” she murmured.

“Thanks.” Rourke’s sister Tricia crossed to the nearest table and needlessly adjusted the position of a gleaming silver dessert fork against the pristine white linen cloth covering the table. “I’m afraid my brother didn’t give me much time to pull things together.”

Lisa started. “You did all of this?” She assumed that Rourke had simply thrown enough money at the situation to make things turn around on his dime-size schedule.

Tricia nodded. “Do you like? I wasn’t sure about the color, but Rourkey said you were wearing purple the first night he saw you.”

Lisa’s capacity for speech deserted her. Whether because of hearing him called Rourkey, or that he’d remembered what she was wearing that night in Shots all those months ago.

Seeming to notice her muteness, Sara Beth squeezed her hand. “It’s all so beautiful,” she answered into the silence.

Tricia smiled, obviously pleased. “Wait until you see the cake that Raoul’s wife made. It’s a thing of beauty.” She leaned forward suddenly and gave Lisa a quick hug. “And before everything gets too crazy, welcome to the family.”

Thoroughly discomfited, Lisa hugged her back. “Thank you.” But as she straightened, she spotted Rourke, who’d arrived, seeming to bring up the tail end of their modest gathering of guests.

Fortunately for Lisa, Tricia immediately slid into general mode at the sight of her brother, and she simply went where she was directed—namely to one of the chairs at the center of the long tables.

It was easier than having to think, particularly when she was already consumed with the effort of maintaining a smiling facade in the face of all the good wishes that heaped upon her head.

Hardest, though, was when Nina Devlin—clearly fighting tears—was the last to offer a toast to their marriage. “It just took falling for the right girl to get my son properly down the aisle. I couldn’t be happier to have such a beautiful girl as a new daughter.” She sniffed and lifted her glass, her damp eyes looking right into Lisa’s. “To you and my son. Take care of the love you have found. Take care of each other.” She grinned suddenly. “And take care of the grandbabies I’m hoping you’re not going to wait too long to give me!”

Laughter rounded the table as glasses softly clinked yet again and the breeze whispered around their heads, making the purple flowers marching down the centers of the tables dance.

It would all have been perfect.

If it had been real.

Rourke leaned close to her, his lips grazing her cheek. “Drink, for God’s sake.” His voice was soft, for her ears alone.

She smiled brightly and drank.

She turned her lips toward him for a glancing kiss whenever one of his sister’s mischievous kids tapped their water glasses with a spoon. She pushed a few bites of Raoul’s excellent food into her mouth when it seemed expected. She stood in front of the beautiful confection of a cake that Raoul wheeled out to cut the first slice to share with Rourke. She went through the motions with a smile on her face until she wanted to scream. But she didn’t drop that smile until hours later, when the last guest had finally departed and even Raoul and his son, Tonio, and daughter, Maria, had left through a separate entrance off the kitchen that Lisa had yet to even see.

Only then, when it was just Rourke and Lisa left in that high-ceilinged living room scented by irises and filled with the soft sounds of a low guitar, did she finally, finally let the smile fade.

Her cheeks actually hurt.

She pulled off the fine shrug that matched her gown and dropped it on the end of one of the couches before sitting down to peel her feet out of the strappy designer torture devices otherwise known as sandals and wriggled her toes.

“Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.” Rourke slid off his jacket and tossed it next to her.

She automatically reached for it, her fingers smoothing out the finely pinstriped charcoal over the back of the couch so it wouldn’t wrinkle. “Everyone but us.”

His smile was faint. He pulled on his tie. “I wouldn’t have minded everyone leaving an hour sooner than they did, but I thought it was okay. Food was good.”

She realized she was staring at his strong throat where his fingers were loosening the collar of his shirt and quickly looked away. “Raoul doesn’t disappoint.” Though she would have been hard-pressed to remember what the menu had been.

She pushed to her feet only to nearly trip over her gown when she walked toward the windows. She lifted her skirts. “This is quite a view you have here. The skyline. The park.”

“It’s a place to sleep.”

She made a soft sound. How easily he dismissed the million-dollar view. “Right.” Her fingers toyed nervously with the diamond hanging just below her throat. The necklace had been a gift from her father when she’d graduated from college. Aside from Rourke’s rings, it was the only other piece of jewelry that she was wearing. From the corner of her eye she saw him toss his tie aside as cavalierly as he had his jacket.

It made her even more acutely aware of how alone they were.

“That was, um, nice news Chance shared before they left,” she said, feeling a little desperate. “About him adopting Jenny’s daughter, Annie.” Not until she’d seen Rourke slapping Chance on the back and kissing Jenny’s face had she realized he was almost as good a friend with Chance as he was with Ted. She was still wearing her veil and the whisper-light silk tulle tickled her back. She reached back to unfasten it. “She’s a sweetie.”

“Yeah, she is. Chance’ll be a good dad. He and Jenny are great together. Here. Let me.”

A sharp wave of unease rolled through her. She sternly dismissed it. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. It didn’t involve sex. Just because she couldn’t get her mind off it didn’t mean a thing.

She swallowed and turned her back toward him. “It’s got more pins in it than you’d think,” she warned.

“I’ll find them.” His fingers grazed against her head.

She closed her eyes, trying not to jump like some virgin on her wedding night.

It was almost laughable.

She wasn’t a virgin, though she might as well have been for all of the experience she didn’t really have.

And it was her wedding night.

But for them, those two things were not even relevant. It wasn’t as if they’d need to sleep together to make a baby. They had the institute for that.

With surprising gentleness, he worked the handful of pins free, then unfastened the jeweled clasp of the veil and handed it over her shoulder to her. His bare forearm brushed against her.

When had he rolled up his shirtsleeves?

Feeling treacherously close to the edge of hysteria, she took the veil and quickly stepped away. “Bath and a bed,” she blurted, only to feel her cheeks turn hot. “That’s, um, that’s what I think I need.” She waved her hand, which also managed to wave the floating, silky veil. “Just point the way. I’ll find it.”

He looked amused. “Bedroom’s down that hall.”

“Great.” She took a step only to tangle her bare foot in her skirt again. She hauled everything up in her arm. “Um… thanks.” Her cheeks went even hotter. She was acting like an absolute idiot and knew it and before she made a bigger spectacle out of herself, she nearly ran down the hall. She found the bedroom with no difficulty, and closed herself behind the door with relief.

The furnishings there were just as sleekly designed, with a mile-wide pedestal bed and nightstands that seemed to grow right out of the wall on either side of it. There were acres of unused space, yet the room didn’t feel stark or barren. Maybe because of the large fireplace that was opposite the bed, or the expanse of windows—again unadorned—that lined one wall.

Behind one of the doors the room possessed, she found her suitcase sitting on a luggage rack in the sizable closet. The closet then led to the en suite bathroom that, even in her exhausted state, was enough to make her swoon a little.

She flipped on the water over the massive tub and tossed in a generous measure of amber-colored salt from one of the heavy crystal containers decorating one corner of the stone ledge surrounding it. Immediately, lush, fragrant bubbles began to bloom beneath the rush of water and she reached for the buttons on the back of her dress only to realize with chagrin that there was no way that she would be able to undo enough of them on her own to even get the gown past her hips. Not even sliding her shoulders out of the narrow, fancily knotted chiffon that served as straps helped.

“Great.” She eyed herself in the reflection of the wood-framed mirror that hung above the rectangular-shaped vessel sink. Her eyes looked wild and, thanks to pulling the pins from her veil loose, her hair was falling down.

“Lisa?”

She jerked, staring at a second door that led into the bathroom as it slowly opened. “What?”

Rourke stuck his head through. “I figured you’d need help with the dress.”

She hated, absolutely hated, the fact that he’d realized that problem, too. But she walked over to him, presenting him with her back. “I do.”

“Not the first time you’ve said those words today.” His fingers grazed her back between her shoulder blades.

“Not the first time I didn’t want to say those words today, either,” she pointed out coolly. “Just get on with it.” She pressed her hand against the bodice of the dress to hold it in place against her breasts as, centimeter by centimeter, she felt it loosening at the back.

“You know that telling me something like that just makes me want to take my time, right?”

She ignored him. It wasn’t so easy, however, to ignore the feel of his fingers moving against her back. Even with the corset she wore beneath the gown, every grazing touch left her feeling branded.

She nearly laughed. Branded by his touch and shackled by his wedding ring.

He’d reached her waist. Another inch and she would be free of the dress, and of him. And, please God, the disturbing sensations roiling around inside her.

She held her breath, waiting. And the second she felt that bit of release, she started to step away.

But Rourke’s hand slid right beneath the fabric of her gown, circling her waist. His palm pressed flat against the satin covering her belly as he tugged her back against him. “I’ve been wondering what was under the gown.”

She could feel his shirt fabric against her shoulder blades. It was maddening. But what was more maddening was her weak longing to lean against the hard muscles she could feel beneath that shirt. “I beg your pardon?”

He laughed softly. “Let go of the dress.” He didn’t wait, but tugged the bodice out of her lamentably lax grip.

The gown slid to a fluffy cloud around her ankles, leaving her standing there wearing nothing but the white satin and lace corset and matching thong. And his hands.

Her frantic gaze landed on their reflection in the mirror, only to get caught in the snare of his gaze.

Never looking away from her, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck.

She swayed. His fingers splayed wider against her. Thumbs brushing against her corset-contained breasts. Little fingers sliding against the thin elastic of her insubstantial panties.

Desire wrenched through her, hot and wet and aching.

She drew in a hard, quick breath. She pushed away his hands and stepped out of the cloud to snatch it up against her. “This isn’t part of the deal. I’m not…I’m not h-having sex with you!”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “We’re married now, Lisa Devlin. So tell me. What the hell do you think is the deal?”