Читать книгу Antonides' Forbidden Wife - Anne McAllister, Anne McAllister - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS not a date.

Ally had never been on a date with PJ Antonides in her life—unless you counted their date to meet at the courthouse where they got married, which she wasn’t, she thought irritably, jerking clothes out of her suitcase, trying to find something suitable to wear.

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t a date, despite what he had said. And they weren’t a couple!

She was annoyed. With PJ. But even more with herself. And even more that she was annoyed and had let him get to her.

She was kicking herself now for having done the polite thing and come to give him the papers in person. Jon was right. She hadn’t needed to. She could have sent them through the mail. And if he hadn’t signed them, oh, well. She’d have proceeded with the divorce anyway.

Of course, she still could. But it was worse now, having stirred the pot, so to speak. And she couldn’t understand why he was being obstinate. She’d thought her task would be simple.

She’d expected that PJ would be delighted to see her, that he would tease her a bit—as he always had done—then, still joking with her, he’d sign the papers, maybe buy her a cup of coffee, then give her a wink and a wave as she walked out the door.

Her only qualm about seeing him again had been wondering what her own reaction would be.

PJ had turned her world upside down the night he’d made love to her. He had made her want things she hadn’t suspected existed—things that she’d tried to put out of her mind ever since.

Worse, he had made her want him.

And, on a physical level, her body still did.

Which was why she was putting on a tailored black pantsuit and knotting her hair up on top of her head—tamping down and buttoning up—to remind herself that this was not about physical desire.

It was about commitment and family and eternity.

It was about ending their sham of a marriage so that she could move on and make a real one with Jon.

“Just remember that,” she told her reflection, staring intently into her dark eyes and willing herself to be strong. “PJ doesn’t love you. He’s just getting his own back.”

She was fairly sure that was what this reluctance was all about. He was making her pay, no doubt, for having been rude and distant the night he’d come to her opening.

“He doesn’t love you,” she repeated once more for good measure, then added severely, “and you don’t love him, either.”

The subway ride from her midtown Manhattan hotel to the Seventh Avenue stop in Brooklyn wilted her pantsuit. A straphanger’s charm bracelet snagged her hair. She was disheveled, unkempt and perspiring by the time she emerged onto the street. She wished he’d told her what restaurant they were going to so she could have gone there and repaired the damage before she met him again.

But he was already there waiting when she appeared. He was still wearing the trousers and shirt he’d worn at work. His jacket was slung over his shoulder. His tie was gone. The power was still there. It was like seeing the wild animal let out of his cage.

Ally caught her breath.

“Right on time,” he said approvingly. “No trouble getting here? You look great.”

That was so patently a lie that Ally laughed.

He grinned. “Ah, a real smile at last.”

“It’s just that I’m so delighted to be here,” she said sarcastically.

He laughed. And before she realized—or prepared, or dodged—he swooped around, ducked his head down and kissed her.

It was a quick kiss—a street-corner kiss. A smack of lips, an instant’s worth of the taste of enticing sexy male and nothing more. It was the sort of kiss that happened every day on thousands of street corners around the world. Nothing earth-shattering about it.

At least, no one else’s world shattered.

Only hers.

Because that one brief touch of PJ’s lips brought everything back. The memories she’d wallowed in at first, then spent years sublimating or suppressing, crashed back in on her as if the years of constructing defenses had never even happened.

That one instant, that one taste—his lips on hers, his scent filling her nostrils—and for a split second she was back in Hawaii, back in PJ’s apartment, back in his arms.

She swayed, stumbled.

He caught her before she could fall on her face. “Are you okay?”

Of course she was, but he kept his arm around her as she wobbled on knees of jelly. And she gripped his shirtfront as she righted herself, then let go as she straightened and pulled away. “I’m fine. It’s the heat. And…and I just t-tripped, that’s all.”

“You sure?” He was so close. She could see each individual eyelash. They were long and thick and wasted on a man. He bent close again, looking worried and solicitous.

Ally stepped back quickly, out of kissing range. Definitely out of kissing range!

“It was hot in the subway. The air-conditioning wasn’t working on the train. Where are we going? Is it far? I need to splash some water on my face.”

“Not far.” He still had his arm around her as he steered her along Flatbush Avenue and into a grocery store.

She frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Just have to get a few things. Come on.” He came back and snagged her wrist to take her with him. She pulled out of his grasp, but followed as he picked some steaks, salad vegetables, a loaf of country bread and fresh olives. Then he hesitated a moment, as if weighing his options, and grabbed a couple of ears of corn on the cob.

Suspicion began to dawn. “Why are you shopping now?”

“Because until an hour ago, I didn’t know I was having company for dinner.”

“We’re not…I mean…you’re cooking?”

“No end to my talents.” He slanted her a grin as he grabbed a fresh pineapple off the display and tossed it to her.

Instinctively Ally caught it but protested as she did so. “You don’t have to cook for me,” she said quickly. “Let’s go out. I’ll buy dinner.”

“No. You won’t. Come on. No trouble at all. I like to cook.”

“But—”

But he was already leading the way toward the checkout. “Hey, Manny. How’s it going?” he said to the teenager who began to ring up the groceries.

“Ain’t. Too hot,” the boy said. “Dyin’ in here. Better outside. Don’t forget. Softball tonight.”

“Not me. Other plans.”

The boy’s gaze lit on Ally and he looked her up and down assessingly. “Nice,” he said with an approving grin.

“My wife,” PJ said.

Ally stiffened beside him. He didn’t have to keep telling everyone.

The boy was clearly surprised. His eyes widened. “No joke?”

“Yep.”

“No,” Ally said at the same instant.

Manny blinked. PJ’s scowl was disapproving.

“Only officially,” she muttered.

PJ’s jaw tightened. “Officially counts.” He pulled out his wallet and paid for the groceries. “Hit a homer for me.”

Manny grinned and winked. “Hit one yourself.”

Ally’s cheeks burned as she followed PJ out of the store. “Why do you keep telling people I’m your wife?”

“Because it’s the truth?” he suggested.

“But not for long.” She practically had to lope to keep up with him.

“You’re here now.”

“Just for the night. I’m leaving Friday.”

“Stop thinking so damn far ahead, Al.” PJ shifted the grocery bag into his other arm and took her by the elbow as they turned the corner onto one of the side streets. His touch through the thin fabric of her jacket made her far too aware of him. And she jumped when his lips came close to her ear and said, “Interesting things can happen in a night if you let them.”