Читать книгу The Marriage Contract - Anna Adams - Страница 9

CLAIR HAD BEEN WORKING with Paul every day for a week when she stood at his shoulder as he tossed a quarter into the air.

“Heads, you aerate, tails, I go across the street and try to sell our services to Mrs. Velasco,” he said.

Clair clamped her hand around one of the aerator’s handles. “You think I don’t notice you’re sticking me with this bone-shaker either way?” She turned it toward the front of the lawn. “How do you know Mrs. Velasco’s name?”

“I read her mailbox.” Paul’s sheepish grin was infectious. Friendly and open, he lacked Nick Dylan’s intensity. He shrugged. “I can’t afford mailing lists, but she’ll see you over here, giving me your all, and she’ll beg us to help her.”

“Giving you my what?” Clair asked.

“Your all to make a more beautiful lawn for her neighbors.”

At his prim spiel, Clair had to smile. “I guess her leaves need mulching.”

“I’ll promise her the industrious young lady across the street will do the job.”

He moseyed over, and Clair fired up the aerator. At the end of her first row across the lawn she peeked at her employer in his salesman persona.

“Mrs. Velasco” turned out to be a man of dignified years. His white hair floated in the cool breeze. He looked frail enough to rustle like the leaves that glided across his yard. He lifted a hand to Clair, joining Paul in a wave. She waved back, but then latched onto the aerator before it took off without her.

Its tendency to act independently forced her to keep her mind on her task, but when she finished, she turned to find Paul leaning against his truck, his feet crossed at the ankles. Silence echoed in her ears after the aerator’s roar. She worked her way around Paul to hoist the equipment back onto the trailer.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“You’re a strong woman. You remind me of my wife before she told me she couldn’t work with me anymore.”

“Thanks.” She tied the machine down with safety straps, guessing she could offer insight into Mrs. Sayers’s reasoning. “But what I meant was, am I safe to work on my own, or are you afraid I’ll single-handedly bring down the Fairlove Lovelies empire if you turn your back on me?”

“Every time you say our name I think you’re making fun of my business.” Paul jabbed at her forearm. “Don’t mock the company that feeds you.”

“Have you decided it’s going to feed me?”

“You have some real authority issues, Clair, but you work hard.” He held out his hand. “Congratulations. You’re official. Probation’s over.”

“Thank you.” She shook his hand and walked around him again to open the passenger door. “I can use the paycheck.”

“How do you feel about Mr. Velasco?”

“You promised me to him?” Paul didn’t care whose soul he sold to lock down new work.

“You closed the deal when you tossed that branch. No man can resist a woman who can whip him in a wrestling match.”

“Get in the truck, Paul.”

“Could you come back and work up a design for him?”

She let honesty get in the way of her ambition again. “I’d work like crazy at it, but remember, I’m not professionally trained to draft a plan.”

“I don’t care about this college degree that seems to be sticking in your craw. Can you do the work?”

His confidence pleased her. “You bet I can. Will you go over it with me before I show it to Mr. Velasco?”

Instead of answering, Paul took a tape measure from his pocket. “I told him we’d look over the yard before we left. He’s especially interested in reclaiming the back from nature.”

Clair fell into step beside Paul. “I’d better warn you, I tend to be on nature’s side.”

“I figured that out already.”

She enjoyed working with him. He’d quickly sized up her skills, and she’d learned from him during her probation period. They thought alike, and their working association had quickly become a friendship Clair valued. That afternoon, when they returned to the office, the others had gone home for the day. Clair took over Paul’s drawing table and lost herself in her work.

BY PLANTING FLOWERS in her old yard, Clair had shown Nick a way out of his problems. Maybe he could offer her what she wanted and persuade her to help him. He’d just have to make her forget who he was. For a year.

He’d hired a detective to find out where and how she’d spent the past twelve years. Two weeks later, he’d come home from his volunteer shift at the Staunton clinic and found the detective’s report in his mail.

The number of foster homes she’d gone through surprised him, and they’d all been in the suburbs outside Washington, D.C. How had she felt, living within a couple of hours of the town she’d left after her parents died?

After high school, Clair had won a scholarship to Wellesley, which she lost after the first year. The detective reported rumors of an affair with one of her professors. Nick dropped the report, frowning at the list of jobs she’d held before she settled down to work at landscaping.

She’d been troubled. Maybe she still was. Even if she wasn’t still changing jobs, she’d left her home in New England to make her way back here. How stable was she?

The detective reported she’d known several men besides the professor. Nick assumed the “known” was a euphemism. He tightened his mouth. Had she tried to replace the love she’d lost because of his father’s need to hurt a former lover?

He’d like to know more about how Clair’s father had lost their house. He hardly remembered David Atherton. Older than Sylvie by more than twenty years, his very existence had been an insult to Jeff Dylan. Jeff saw him as a less-virile man who’d stolen the one woman Jeff truly loved. Jeff liked to forget he’d told Sylvie she wasn’t good enough to marry.

After she’d moved on, Jeff’s second thoughts had nearly destroyed two families. Jeff had searched for revenge against David and Sylvie, who’d truly loved each other, until he wound up with the Atherton mortgage. And then he’d foreclosed.

Twenty at the time, preoccupied with premed, Nick had never asked for details. To Nick, Jeff’s anger at the woman he’d thrown away had been an insult to Leota and an emotional counterbalance to Jeff’s disappointment with the son he’d fathered on the rebound.

Clair had found the healthier response—contempt for his father’s “love.” But the past still held her as tightly as it did Nick. Like sought like when pain struck this deep, and he’d recognized how hurt she must still feel.

He pictured her, lithe muscles straining as she’d planted those flowers at her house. Humming a song as she reclaimed a small piece of her past.

Maybe he was crazy, but he thought Clair might be the perfect wife. She certainly wouldn’t want the position permanently, but she longed for the house only he could give her.

At a knock on his door he shoved the letter, report and envelope into a drawer before he opened the door to Hunter.

“Dr. Dylan, I’m just on my way to tell Mrs. Dylan dinner is ready. I was concerned you might forget to come down again.”

Nick felt a surge of warmth for the man who still treated him as the neglected child in a rich man’s house. “Making sure I eat isn’t your job.” Gratitude roughened his voice.

“I’m concerned about your mother, as well.” Hunter shrugged uneasily and pointed at the door. “May I come in?”

Nick stood aside. Frightened for Leota, he’d flushed the pills, poured out the brandy and told his mother he’d invite a therapist to live with them if she renewed her supplies. “What else has happened?”

“I don’t know whether I should talk to you about Mrs. Dylan. Telling you what I think is going on with her might be inappropriate, but you know my loyalty.”

“What is wrong, Hunter?”

“She stays in her rooms until lunch. She’s never hungry. I find this most difficult to say, but her maid suspects she’s begun to cry herself to sleep at night. Mrs. Dylan’s pillowcase is still damp when she makes the bed.”

Cold dread grabbed Nick low in the gut. He’d been reason enough for his parents to marry. He hadn’t made Jeff love Leota, and Leota always seemed to wish her son would try a little harder to make Jeff’s love possible.

But Hunter had been family to him when his own mother and father couldn’t help reminding him he’d failed as a son. Time he took the load off Hunter’s shoulders. And time he found out if he could be the son his mother needed.

“Thank you, Hunter, for telling me. I’ll bring Leota down for dinner.” But doubt hounded him as he went to his mother’s room. He could talk her into dinner, but could he persuade her to get help? Maybe—if he managed to keep their home.

ALONE IN THE OFFICE, Clair was working on her design when Paul came in to lock the company’s cell phones away. “You still here?” he asked. “Don’t stay any longer. Your idea’s almost ready to present.”

“I want to finish it tonight before I go.”

“What are you trying to prove? I know you can do the work.”

“I need to polish.” She pointed her pen toward the dark outside the windows. “It’s too late to work in Selina’s garden tonight and—” A tall, dark-suited man walked into the light shining through the windows onto the sidewalk, and Clair’s throat dried out instantly. “What’s he doing here?”

“Who cares? Whatever he wants, we’ll do it for him.” Paul hurried to open the door for Nick. “Dr. Dylan, come in.”

“I’d like to speak to Clair, if she has time.”

Both men looked at her. No sprang to mind. She’d avoided Nick since he’d offered to let her tour her house. Tending her pansies later, she’d thought hard about him and his family. She didn’t want to owe him for even the smallest pleasure, but Paul’s pleading gaze told her he didn’t share her lack of enthusiasm for Dylan business.

Paul, she owed.

“Go ahead.” She shooed her employer toward the door. “I’ll lock up.”

“Don’t stay too much longer.” He slipped out. He’d “Velasco’d” her again.

“Can I offer you coffee, Dr. Dylan?”

Nick tugged at his tie. “I’d rather have a Scotch. Want to join me?”

Not even for Paul. “As you can see, I’m working. What can we do for you?”

He shook his head, his dark blue eyes serious. “I didn’t come to ask you to work for me.”

She declined to feel alarmed. “Then why are you here?”

“After we talked the other night, I expected you’d come ask for the key to your old house.”

“Why look at decay I can’t clean out?” An unaccustomed blush warmed her skin. She sounded melodramatic, but it was the truth.

“How would you change the house if you could?”

“Paint.” Plans she’d never consciously made spilled out of her without warning. “After twelve years, I’d probably have to rehang doors, take down wallpaper, redo the floors—” She interrupted herself, appalled. “But I don’t think about it.”

One corner of his wide mouth tilted, and he looked human. “Maybe you should think.”

“Want to explain what you mean?”

“What if I could make the house yours?”

Pain streaked through her body. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Are you saying you’d sell my family’s house back to me? I can’t afford to make an offer you wouldn’t laugh at.”

“I’m not asking for money.”

“What do you mean?” Either money or power fed the Dylans.

“Let’s get a drink and talk seriously.” He opened the door and reached for the light switch, but stopped. “Think how you’d feel if I could give your house back to you.”

She didn’t know she’d backed away from him until she bumped into the table. “Why would you?”

“Have you heard the terms of my father’s will?”

She shook her head. His words, “give your house back,” repeated over and over in her head, the rasp of his tone burrowing deeper into her mind.

“Jeff left everything to me,” he said absently, as if he’d forgotten she was listening. “Land, investments, bank accounts, your house.” He switched off the light. “But he made stipulations.”

“Please turn the light back on.”

“He said I have to marry. Fall in love and marry within twelve months, and stay married for a year.”

Only Jeff Dylan would be arrogant enough to believe he could regulate love. She shook her head to chase the thought away, feeling too close to Nick in the darkness. They both knew too much about the effects of his father’s illogical resentment. A sense of intimacy with Nick Dylan was the last thing she wanted. “Turn on the light.”

“Every time you look at me I know you despise me, but your voice—when I can’t see your face—your voice hates me more.”

“What do you want?”

“Clair, I want you to marry me. If you pretend to be my loving wife for twelve months, I’ll sign your house over to you, and no one will ever take it from you again.”

A gust of wind rattled the glass behind him.

“Do you think you’re funny? I’m not laughing.”

“I saw that as a good sign. I’m serious. Give me what I need, and I’ll give you your house.”

“I want it.”

“I knew you did when I found you planting pansies.”

Suddenly safe in the dark with her own disjointed emotions, she was glad he hadn’t listened to her about the light. “You must know other women. What’s wrong with you?”

He laughed without joy or happiness. “I know other women, but I don’t want to marry any of them. I’m not seeing anyone right now, and I don’t want to start a marriage with someone who’d expect it to last. Can you imagine you’ll want to stay married to me?”

Her stomach knotted. “No.”

“Then you’re the wife I want.”

The light switch clicked, and Clair blinked in the startling brightness.

“Want to come for that drink now?” he asked, weariness in his voice.

“Someone might see us together and misunderstand.”

“We may need people to see us together. If you want your house back, everyone will have to believe we want to be married to each other.”

“Stop using my house against me. You’re trying to buy me.”

“I’ll do what I have to,” he admitted.

Silence lay between them. Why pretend she felt any differently? “If I said yes,” she ventured, “I’d want our agreement in writing.”

“Wilford Thomas is my attorney. You won’t want me to suggest someone for you, but I believe you know Judge Franklin?”

“I’m staying with him and Selina.”

“He’ll suggest someone you can trust.”

Clair hugged herself more tightly. “How did you choose me?”

“I have to marry someone. No one else wants something I have as badly as you do.”

Clair thought of the Dylan mansion, the stables, the pools and tennis courts. The offshore bank accounts. “Use your imagination.”

He had a way of smiling that made him seem as if he saw his own failings. Clair looked away from him.

“I need to think,” she said. “I never expected a chance to take my home back.”

“I’m trying as hard as I can to give you a chance.”

He broke off as another man stepped out of the darkness into the light from the windows on the sidewalk. Clair couldn’t place his rugged, weather-lined features. He stared from the pediment over the door to the interior of the shop. Nodding at them both, he opened the door and came inside, looking at them with a curious frown.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“What do you mean, Fosdyke?” Nick eyed the other man with surprise.

“I saw the lights go off and on. Thought you might be having a problem over here.” He studied Clair. “I know you.”

Nick moved closer to her. “I forgot you might not recognize each other. Ernest Fosdyke, this is Clair Atherton.”

“I knew your mother,” he said. “I’m the fire chief. You certainly look like Sylvie.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t want to talk about her mom in front of Nick.

“I heard you were working for Paul Sayers.”

She used her job to head off gossip about Nick’s visit. “Dr. Dylan and I were discussing some work on his house.”

“No problems, then? You know these old buildings and their electricity. I guess I’ll move on. I was on my way home. Night, Clair. Nice to see you back in town.”

“I’m glad to be home.”

“Good night, Dr. Dylan.”

Clair glanced at Nick. Ernest Fosdyke had all but made a subservient bow.

“Wait, Ernest. I’ll come with you. I want to talk to you about the clinic in Staunton.” Nick opened the door, but looked back at Clair. “I can’t wait long. I need a decision.”

Clair lifted her hand in answer to Fosdyke’s brief wave, and both men disappeared.

She shivered. What better revenge could she ever hope to take against Jeff Dylan? It was just that she’d decided before she came back home not to look for revenge. No one like the senator would ever take advantage of her again, but she didn’t intend to let anger turn her into a version of him.

She’d like to understand Nick before she thought about his idea. Marriage, an idea? A plan? Why didn’t he contest the will? She’d have dragged a worthless piece of paper like that through the legal system front-ward, backward and sideways.

Just went to show how different people could be. She fought back when someone tried to hurt her. Nick Dylan was willing to contort himself into a knot to come up with a compromise.

She laughed shortly. If she was willing to seriously consider his proposal, they weren’t so different after all.

LEOTA WAS CRYING. Nick heard her that night as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He followed the sound to the hall outside his father’s door. He’d tended to see his mother as the softer-hearted of his parents, but he’d never heard her cry.

He knocked, but he knew she wouldn’t ask him in, so he opened the door. Leota sprang up from his father’s bed. Gold and silver bracelets jangled on her wrist as she brushed her smooth blond hair from her face. Lying down had wrinkled her silk blouse and dark green trousers.

Baffled, Nick met her wild gaze. “Are you all right? Can I help you?”

“Are you here this time as my son or as a doctor?”

“Why not both? I’m concerned about you.”

“I don’t need a keeper. If you don’t like seeing me this way, go back to your house.”

“And leave you alone? Even if I weren’t your son, I couldn’t.”

“I don’t need your interference. I need time.”

“You’re suffering from pretty severe mood swings.”

“My husband has been dead for a month.”

“But you won’t talk about your feelings, and you aren’t in control of them. At least trust me. Talk to me.”

“How can I talk to you when you’ve always pushed us away?”

“I’ve pushed you?” She and Jeff had sent him to boarding school when he was eight. They’d disapproved of every major decision he’d ever made. Discussion had led to recrimination and finally, to silence. He rejected his own thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to air his grievances. Whether or not she would admit it, Leota needed help. At least he could offer a watchful eye. “I’m not pushing,” he said. “I’m asking you to put the past behind us and trust me to help you.”

“You think getting me to see a therapist will help,” she said sarcastically. “I need you to do what your father wanted. If you don’t get married, we’ll lose everything that matters to me.”

Nick hesitated. His marrying Clair would drive her crazy, but at least he’d decided to comply with the will. “You’re right. I have to get married, but you’ll have to trust me to choose the right woman.”

Leota wiped her eyes. “Thank God. Who are you thinking of? Someone I know?”

“You can’t choose a wife for me.” His parents’ choices had been part of his reasons for avoiding marriage so far.

He didn’t want to hurt his mother, but he couldn’t settle for one of the women she and Jeff had paraded past him since college, all beautiful, with bloodlines Jeff approved of. Prepared to love him for his name and the wealth he’d inherit. Clair suited him better.

“I’ve met someone.” Taking Leota’s arm, he led her toward the door. He turned off the light as they went into the hall. “I’ll introduce you to her before I make a decision.”

“You have to look at the rest of her family, too, if you want your marriage to last. What kind of people are they?”

Distaste chipped at Nick’s patience. Had she always been this way, or was she taking Jeff’s stand? “You don’t have to worry yet. Will you let me make an appointment for you with the therapist I told you about?”

“I’m all right now that I know we’ll be able to keep what belongs to us.”

Her relief wouldn’t survive the mention of Clair’s name. So Nick didn’t tell her. She needed to rest. “Try to get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

“I’ll be fine now.”

No matter what he did, he’d hurt someone. He couldn’t marry a woman he didn’t love and pretend he cared for her, and Clair was the only woman he knew he could trust to stick to such a ludicrous bargain.

CLAIR FOUND Nick’s office down a side alley on the opposite end of Main Street from Paul’s shop. No one sat behind the receptionist’s counter or in the waiting room. She knocked on the glass that separated the reception area from the back office.

Nick appeared in a corridor to the left of the desk. When he saw her, his mouth thinned, but he opened the door for her.

“I didn’t expect you.”

“You don’t have a receptionist?”

“She works part-time.”

A muscle in Clair’s cheek twitched. “I spoke to Angus Campbell yesterday.”

“Angus is a good attorney.” Nick led her down the corridor to a small, forest-green-painted office. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Soda?”

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t sure she could swallow. “Angus suggested you and I should discuss specific terms.”

He sat on the edge of his desk. She declined the chair he offered, because she didn’t want to sit at a lower level than he. It put her at a disadvantage. As if he understood the political byplay in her mind, he sat in the chair next to her. Recognizing they were finessing each other—and getting nowhere—she gave in and sank into soft, tufted leather.

“Two terms,” he said. “Marry me, and pretend you want to.”

She tried to picture him as a husband. A woman couldn’t glance his way once and forget him, even if his attraction had more to do with the passion that simmered just barely beneath the surface control. Tall and lean, he had a maleness that distracted her. She couldn’t think of him as the man he was and go through with the marriage he needed. “How much do I have to pretend?”

His smile emphasized his strong jaw. Clair pushed her fingers down the arms of the chair. She ought to put more distance between them.

“In front of other people we’ll touch each other. Occasionally.” He swallowed. Talking about touching obviously bothered him, too.

“Selina told me you’ve moved back into your family home.” Clair had assumed he still lived there, so she was already as accustomed as she’d ever be to the idea of living on Dylan property.

“We’ll share a door,” he said. “I’ll make sure we have adjoining rooms.”

She threaded her fingers together. Her turn to demand. “I want to start repairing my house now. If I leave before our…before the time’s up, I wouldn’t expect you to repay me for any work I do.”

“If you leave?” He leaned forward. “What would make you leave? I don’t want to marry you and have to start over again in a few months.”

She tried to take his lead and think of marriage as a business deal. “I’m just saying if. I don’t know why I’d leave. Some emergency, maybe, but I don’t plan to leave.”

“Do you need time to think? I can’t make a mistake.”

She took a deep breath and held it. If she thought too long, she’d realize a house and land couldn’t be worth marrying the son of her family’s enemy. She wasn’t making dramas. She shouldn’t eat lunch with Nick Dylan, much less marry him.

“I can’t help it.” She met his gaze evenly. “I want my home and my past. I want my memories back.”

“You can’t remember your childhood without living in the house?”

His interest startled her, but again she should follow his example. She had to find a way to live with Nick Dylan for the next year.

“I’d rather not talk about my past or your father.”

Sitting back, Nick stretched his long legs in front of him. “I guess we have a few more terms to iron out before we meet with our attorneys.”

She curled her legs under her and pulled her skirt over them. “I’d like to move home as soon as we sign the prenuptial agreement.”

“But you’ll move into my house after the wedding?”

“Yes. I can sand all the floors downstairs before we put a wedding together.” Her skirt hid the way her knees shook every time she thought about marrying him.

This was the only way she’d ever get her home back.

“LISTEN, CLAIR, I wanted to talk to you alone because I have to assign you to a job at the Dylans’.”

She blinked. When Paul had asked her to his office, she thought she might have done something wrong on an assignment. “What kind of a job?”

“You’re the only person I have who has experience installing fountains, and Mrs. Dylan wants one. I gave her a catalog, and she’s supposed to put in her order this week.”

“You want me to work for her?”

Paul picked at the chipped top button on his shirt. “I have to ask you to do the job. I’m afraid I’ve heard the story about your family and the Dylans, but their business is important to me. I don’t want to risk an untrained person making a mistake.”

Clair knew her responsibility. “When do you want me to install the fountain?”

“Depends on when it arrives, but I need to warn you, Leota Dylan makes certain rules for people who work in her house.”

Big surprise. “Like what?”

Paul cleared his throat. “She doesn’t want us to mix with the servants or with her or Dr. Dylan.” He licked his lips. “I know you’ll dislike her caste system, and I’m afraid you’ll tell me you won’t do the job, but we’re welcome in the greenhouse and nowhere else.”

Clair had dreaded telling anyone about her upcoming wedding. If she didn’t tell Paul now, he’d wonder why later. She’d agreed to make her marriage look real, but her heart pounded as if she were pointing herself headfirst over the edge of a cliff. “I’m marrying Nick Dylan.”

Paul gaped at her, obviously trying to decide if her engagement helped his business or hurt it. “I guess Mrs. Dylan will have to modify her policy for you.”

HUSHED TONES filled the church. A sibilant “she,” repeated over and over, as the wedding guests spoke of Leota. “She’s not coming. Her own son’s wedding, and she’s not coming.”

Clair listened from the vestry. The undertones sounded almost like a laugh track from a bad TV sitcom. She didn’t care so much for herself. She didn’t embarrass easily, and she might have had to wrestle herself into the church if she were Leota. But Nick probably wanted his mother’s approval. According to the discussions they’d had during the prenuptial negotiations, Leota was one of the executors they had to convince.

The lace cap on Clair’s veil made her scalp itchy. She slid her fingers beneath and scratched, mindful that Leota Dylan didn’t suddenly show up and catch her being unladylike.

With each passing second, escape looked more attractive than marrying Nick. She’d give Leota five more minutes, and then she’d beg the judge to run her down the aisle before she sauntered out there and called the whole thing off.

“Clair, she’s finally here.” Selina fluttered into the vestry, plucking at Clair’s dress like a small bird trying to put its nest in order. “Are you ready?”

“Stop, stop.” Clair caught her hands. “I’m so nervous, Selina.”

“Brides are supposed to be nervous. Your wedding wouldn’t feel real if you weren’t. Can I tell the minister you’re ready?”

“The moment Leota takes her seat.”

“Let me peek outside and make sure the judge is ready to give you away. Oh, you look so lovely. I can’t help thinking of my own wedding.”

Clair slid a finger under her left eye, where a tear burned. Would she ever love a man enough to marry and mean it? Was she capable of real love?

Selina beckoned from the door. “Come on.”

“You’d have made a great matron of honor.”

“You don’t need me.”

“Not true.” Clair hugged her mother’s friend—her friend. “Thanks for your help. The church is beautiful.” She grinned. “The judge is beautiful.”

“Make him use his hanky if he cries.”

Selina slipped out. Clair and Nick had agreed to forgo attendants except for the judge. She waited for Selina to take her place in a pew before she stepped into the aisle and took the judge’s proudly offered arm. Clair returned his warm smile, but faltered as she looked at the man who waited for her at the altar. She hadn’t prepared herself for Nick in a tux and candlelight.

He looked gorgeous. No other word for it. His black hair gleamed. His suit embraced him, defined the lines of the tall, strong body to which she was about to pledge her troth. The determination in his gaze pulled her up the aisle.

The music she’d chosen, a piece from Massenet’s Thais, overwhelmed her. The traditional “Wedding March” hadn’t seemed appropriate, but she loved this music. It seemed to flow into her body, making her powerful and womanly. She should have gone for the traditional. It might have been another lie, but it wouldn’t have meant so much to her.

Nick came forward, and the judge pressed their hands together.

The minister spoke. Clair clung to Nick’s heat, wary of her own pounding pulse. During a small silence, she realized the minister had asked if anyone knew why she and Nick shouldn’t be married. She looked into Nick’s dark boundless eyes. No one answered, and the minister went on. Nick took her other hand.

A physical connection vibrated between them, startling Clair, increasing her uncomfortable awareness of him at her side. Dreading the kiss they had to share, she stole a glance at his full, firm mouth. In truth, she wanted to feel him against her, wanted to know how he tasted.

The minister gave his permission, and Nick slid his hands up her waist. As he grazed the swell of her left breast, Clair stopped breathing. He brushed his cool lips against hers. With a surprised breath that felt hot against her mouth, he pulled her closer.

“I give you Dr. and Mrs. Dylan.”

Amid more whispers, the church doors banged open, and two men rushed inside. “Fire!” one shouted. Everyone froze. “Fire!” he yelled again.

Men and women in their Sunday best began to pour toward the exits.

“Here?” someone demanded.

“Where?”

“Whose house?” a woman shouted.

The first man answered, just loudly enough to make everyone stop and listen. “The Atherton house.”