Читать книгу Marrying Mr. Right - Carolyn Greene, Carolyn Greene - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

YOU make one foolish mistake in your entire life and, sure enough, ten years later he shows up on your doorstep, looking sexier than any man has a right to look. Her body mutinied, urging her to fling herself into his arms and pick up where they’d left off. Wisely, and with great effort, she resisted the urge, and it was just as well that she did.

Greg Primo was not a happy camper.

An official-looking packet of papers dangled from between his large fingers.

She glanced over her shoulder into the living room to see if Donald was aware of what was going on. Fortunately he had his nose buried in the business section of the newspaper.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

All those years apart, and no how-do-you-do or my-how-you’ve-changed. Nevertheless, he still had the power to make her drop everything and turn her full attention to him. It seemed as though her entire body was focused on him. It wasn’t just his physical presence Although, heaven knows, Greg’s musclethickened body, almost-black hair and penetrating brown eyes were enough to make any warm-blooded woman from puberty to rocking chair stop and give him her undivided attention.

And right then it would have taken a dynamite blast to divert her gaze from the magnificent human specimen that seemed to fill her front porch. A moth circled crazily as if it, too, were caught in the mesmerizing spell of the man.

As a teenager, Greg had been big for his age. But now... now his shoulders seemed to swell out of the dark suit jacket that was, for him, quite uncharacteristic. In contrast to his torso, his hips seemed narrow in the tailored slacks that hugged his long legs.

No, this was no teenager anymore. And if she weren’t convinced by his nearly brutal masculinity, the firm set of his angular jaw told her he was used to getting what he wanted...no matter what it took.

His dark hair fell in casual disarray across furrowed brows. His eyes were deep-set, and his scowling made them appear more so.

He shook the papers at her as if to snap her from her slack-jawed stare back into the present. “Do you have any idea how much trouble this is going to cause me?”

A droplet of perspiration that couldn’t be blamed on the late-April weather trickled between her breasts. Christina’s gaze traveled down the neatly typed heading on the paper that was now crumpled in Greg’s big fist: Christina Cline vs. Gregorio Primo.

A movement behind her distracted her from Greg’s fury, and when Donald touched her elbow Christina was grateful for the interruption.

“Is something wrong, dear?” He lowered his voice and spoke into her ear. “Want me to get rid of him for you?”

He was being unusually possessive tonight, acting for Greg’s benefit as if he lived here rather than just visited after work and on weekends. And as if their relationship were more than a convenient arrangement to satisfy their respective needs.

The idea of her fiancé taking on Greg was enough to jolt her out of her stupor. She was touched by his unnatural display of machismo, especially since their promises to each other would be in name only.

The two men were as opposite as if they’d come from different planets. Donald was as fair as Greg was dark. At thirty-five, his wispy blond hair was thinning prematurely, whereas Greg’s thick brownish-black locks shone under the incandescent porch light. And Greg’s tanned six-foot frame dwarfed Donald’s medium, deskbound build. Even their attitudes were oppositas. Greg’s reputation around Morrison Heights was, to put it mildly, less than sterling. And he was full of barely controlled energy, a condition that gave him the appearance of leaning forward even though his posture was perfectly erect. Serious-minded Donald, on the other hand, would someday run for a local political office—with Christina and the children he promised her by his side—and with no fear of any past indiscretions being exposed. His hands hanging awkwardly at his sides, he looked as though he’d rather be reading the stock report than dealing with this unexpected intruder.

“Uh, no, this is...” Her voice trailed off as she lifted the latch on the screen door and pushed it open. Where was Miss Manners when you needed her? For the life of her, Christina had no idea how one should introduce her fiancé to her husband.

Current husband, that is.

Greg stepped inside, filling the foyer with his massive bulk. How was it that, after all these years, he could still make her heart go flip-flop? Christina stepped back in a futile attempt to put distance between them. She would have to broach the subject of their relationship very carefully.

“Donald, I’d like you to meet Greg Primo...an old friend from high school. Greg, this is Donald Winkler, my fiancé.”

Greg raised one dark eyebrow. Christina mentally cringed as she waited for something unpleasant to hit the fan. He had just opened his mouth to speak when a rapping sounded at the screen door.

“Greggie, what’s taking so long? The mosquitoes are eating me alive out here.”

Even in the dark, the woman’s platinum-blond hair glowed like a defective nuclear reactor. Christina noticed the barely suppressed sigh Greg gave before he opened the screen door to her. As his companion stepped inside, it was easy to see why the mosquitoes considered her a fieast.

She was tall; Christina guessed her height at close to six feet, even without the three-inch heels. But it was the elastic tube top, filled to overflowing and suspended by two narrow shoulder straps, that riveted her attention. The image brought to mind a life-size Hollywood Heather doll gone amok. Christina tried not to stare in amazement.

Her gaze was drawn upward to the woman’s face. It was difficult to tell her age, what with all the makeup she wore, but her bright red smile seemed genuine and friendly.

“It’s okay, hon. I get those kinds of looks all the time,” the woman informed her.

Christina snapped her mouth closed, certain that her reaction had prompted the announcement.

“Some people think it’s too much,” the stranger babbled happily on, “but when you’re aiming for a stage career, you have to go with the theatrical look.” She peered at Christina through her spider-leg lashes. “Maybe we could get together sometime and I’ll give you a makeover.”

Suddenly Christina felt frump. Was that why Greg had changed his mind about staying married to her? Had he been disappointed with what he saw on their wedding day?

No, such a thought was ridiculous. Even so, she self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest. Then, in a burst of nervousness, she uncrossed her arms, captured a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and tucked it behind her ear. Mindful of the grass stains on her knees, she mentally chided herself for not paying more attention to her own appearance tonight. She felt certain her female visitor meant well, but it stung to have it pointed out that she could use some work.

The woman looked up and, apparently noticing Donald’s openmouthed fascination, smiled broadly.

“Pardon my manners,” she said to Christina, but her attention swiveled to Donald. “I’m Katrina Humboldt, but you can call me Trina. That’s my stage name.” As she thrust her hand forward, the movement caused her breasts to bobble like overfilled helium balloons.

The action didn’t go unnoticed by Donald. He licked his lips and blinked twice. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, taking her hand in his.

Considering the circumstances of Donald’s and her unusual marriage arrangement, his enthusiastic response to the bombshell didn’t stir any jealousy. But it did make her feel invisible in comparison.

This was getting out of control. She needed to get rid of Greg, and quick. Otherwise, she ran the risk of having her secret exposed, and possibly in a way that would hurt an innocent person. Because her marriage to Greg was over before it had a chance to begin, it had never seemed fully real to Christina, so she had pushed it to the back of her mind. She hadn’t purposely withheld the information from Donald. Rather, she had put off telling him since she still felt foolish about having done something so impulsive and uncharacteristic. Now she wished she’d had the foresight to mention it sooner.

Greg cleared his throat. “I hate to break up this touching introduction, but I need to speak to Christina...in private. Excuse us.”

At that, he took Christina’s elbow in one hand and placed his other hand at the small of her waist and guided her into the living room where Donald had been reading earlier. Greg’s touch was matter-of-fact, but Christina hated how her skin tingled beneath the gentle pressure of his fingers. As if unaware of the conflicting feelings that battled within her, he paused briefly to stare at the watercolor painting of an enormous sunflower that hung over the fireplace. His mouth twisted in distaste. “I hope you didn’t pay money for that.”

Before she could respond to his slur on her home decor, he pushed past the multitude of houseplants, hesitating only a second to gather his bearings before aiming her toward the kitchen.

Willing a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Christina pulled her elbow from his grasp, but he easily maneuvered her into the brightly lit room. It was happening again. He had decided what they should do, and he expected her to go along willingly—to bend to his will—just as she had in the past.

Well, she wasn’t a dreamy-eyed teenager anymore, and now was as good a time as any to clue him in. And her traitorous body, too, while she was at it.

As the door swung shut behind them, Christina stepped away and turned to face him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove by barging in here and pushing me around, but I don’t appreciate it one bit.”

He took the papers out of his back pocket and slapped them against the palm of his hand. “Just as I didn’t appreciate getting this little surprise today. Ten years you haven’t worried about getting an annulment, and you have to pick now of all times to finally go through with it. What have you been doing all this time?”

“I was...”

She caught herself before blurting out the truth. She’d almost said waiting for you, which was what she’d subconsciously been doing until recently, when she’d finally given up her childish dream and chosen a more mature arrangement with Donald.

The years had slipped by in a blur, first as she had finished high school and earned her college degree, and then while she’d lived with her parents to save for a down payment on this house. In those early years, she’d been so busy with her goals that she seldom had time to feel the empty ache that had begun with Greg’s arrest. But, living on her own the past three years, the loneliness had threatened to engulf her, even as she began spending more time with Donald. Eventually she came to the realization that it was children she needed—caring for them, listening to their laughter, and hugging their cuddly little bodies—to fill the void.

When Donald had offered to give her the children and family life she wanted in exchange for playing the role of a politician’s wife, she had readily accepted. In her estimation, it was foolish to be guided into marriage by raging hormones. She’d already made that mistake once. This time she would have a future to look forward to. With Donald.

But she wasn’t about to tell all that to Greg. Instead she softly concluded her statement.

“...busy.”

The curl of Greg’s lip told her the excuse sounded as lame to him as it did to her own ears. He stepped closer, the very proximity of him bringing back the sense of adventure and danger he had instilled in her as a teen. She stood her ground and felt the air fairly prickle with the charge that surged between them.

He had been forbidden to her. He was the dark-haired, dark-souled rebel from the wrong side of the tracks, while she was the fair-haired daughter of the sheriff. She had known then that he was considered wrong for her, but there was something about him that had compelled her to be near him.

Considering the power Greg had held over her at the time—and even now—she conceded their separation had been for the best.

“The lawyer said that since the relationship wasn’t...um...oonsummated, we can get a quick annulment rather than go through a lengthy divorce,” she said, trying to get her errant thoughts back on track. “All you need to do is sign the last page.”

“No!”

The ferocity of his statement made Christina jump. What was he suggesting? That he wanted to stay married to her? That he still had feelings for her? Against her better judgment, she felt inordinately flattened.

But the flattery was short-lived.

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to do this.”

Greg yanked a chair out from the table, clattering the wooden legs together in the process, and lowered himself onto the seat. He sat with thighs apart, one knee thrust aside as if in invitation for her to sit on his lap. Christina jerked her gaze upward, forcing herself to focus on the vertical lines between his scowling eyebrows.

“If anyone finds out about this,” he continued, “it’ll mess up my plans. You’re going to have to wait a few months until I have everything in order.”

It was bad enough that he’d given her ego a beating, but now he was telling her what to do, trying to bend her to his will as if she were a malleable child.

Although he was seated and she remained standing, he managed to give the impression of power and authority over her. He acted as though, just because he spoke, she must do as he bade. Well, there was no time like the present to show him how much she’d changed since she last saw him. She would refuse to jump at the snap of his fingers...no matter how much she wanted to obey.

She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “Can’t do it. I’m getting married in two months, and our annulment needs to be final before then.”

Christina hoped she sounded more assertive than she felt at the moment. Since they’d been apart so long, and he’d made no attempt to contact her, she had assumed he’d be agreeable to putting an end to their mistake of a marriage. Under the circumstances, his resistance struck her as unreasonable.

She was about to tell him so when the kitchen door swung open and Donald burst into the room. Like a curious puppy, Trina tripped on his heel, catching herself with a hand on his waist

“All right, what’s going on in here?” Donald asked.

He was staring straight at Christina, looking to her for an answer to this relationship mess, so there was no way Greg could field the question for her. Not that she’d want him to.

“Well,” she began hesitantly, “it’s a long story.”

“Oh, goody. I love stories,” said Trina, making herself comfortable at the table with Greg.

Everyone waited for Christina to finish her explanation. She turned to Donald, aware that Greg had risen to his feet. She tried to put her husband out of her mind and concentrate on how best to tell her fiancé what she had put off breaking to him long ago.

How would she break the news to him without damaging—or even breaking—their relationship? Would the knowledge effect the agreed-upon terms of their engagement? Tension gripped her until it felt as though she couldn’t breathe, and their “audience” wasn’t making matters any easier. She could practically feel Greg’s gaze holding her in his grip.

“Maybe we should talk about this in private,” she suggested, attempting to steer Donald out of the kitchen and away from earshot.

“No, you don’t have to whitewash anything for me,” her fiancé said, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a physical punch. “Give it to me straight.”

Donald was a good man...a little intense at times, but his heart was in the right place. And he’d always treated her with gentleness and respect, not even complaining when she’d insisted on remaining a virgin until their wedding night. In fact, he had admitted to a similar lack of experience and suggested they make a pact to abstain until they were locked in holy matrimony.

Not that doing so was a sacrifice for either of them. In fact, it helped delay what would eventually be—for both of than—a potentially awkward situation.

More importantly, she was still technically married. And since Christina was a woman of her word, she could never bring herself to sleep with a man while married to another... even if it was a marriage on paper only.

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Why don’t you start by telling your fiancé that you’re already married to me?” Greg intervened. His gaze bore into her, and he seemed to be standing much too close, even though they were a respectable distance apart.

“Oh my gosh, this is just like that soap opera, ‘A Million Tomorrows,’” Trina piped in. “Only Deiter Hawkins forgot to tell his fiancée about the baby he had by the nun who nursed him through his amnesia.” She paused to take a breath. “You two don’t have a child, do you?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What?” Donald started to pace, an action generally reserved for times of high stress and low stock reports.

“Not exactly.” By now Christina’s stomach was knotted with tension. She leaned a hip against the sink and turned a shoulder to Greg in an attempt to discourage him from participating any further in their conversation. But she knew from experience that a simple act of body language would not be enough to silence him if he had something to say.

“A son, Murdock,” Greg said over her shoulder. Then, in a wistful tone, he added, “and we had such fun making him.”

Christina spun to face her tormentor. “You’re not—hic!—helping matters!”

“Hiccups again? Why don’t you sit down,” Donald suggested, “and I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“Water doesn’t help,” Greg said. “It’s better if you make her laugh.”

In all the time she’d known him, Christina couldn’t remember hearing her fiancé laugh. Odd that she hadn’t thought of that before now.

“No, water’s best,” Donald insisted, pushing the glass toward her. “We’ve dealt with her hiccups every day since we announced our engagement, so I ought to know what works best.”

“Hic!” Christina sat in the chair Greg had vacated a moment earlier. To distract herself from the memory of his open-legged sprawl in that very chair, she started chugging the glass of water.

“And I’ve seen her through at least a dozen high school book reports and oral essays, so I ought to know that laughter works best for Christina.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Christina said with a slam of the empty glass on the table. Now that she had their attention, she would attempt once again to tell Donald about her past. Their past. “Now do you want to hear—hic!—this or not?”

Trina raised her hand and bounced in her seat. “I want to hear it. You go, girlfriend!”

Christina took a deep breath. “Greg and I were assigned to be make-believe husband and wife in our Family Life course.”

“They must’ve started that course after my time,” Donald said. “I never did anything like that.” Thirty-five years old, he had graduated seven years before her.

“They did. The course was our principal’s attempt to teach students about life in the real world. During our role-playing as married couples, we learned to take care of a child, keep a budget, clean house and prepare meals.”

“We took our roles very seriously,” Greg interrupted with a grin.

He wasn’t helping matters at all! “Actually it was something of an impulse to get married for real.”

Donald said nothing, just taking it all in, but his lack of response made her feel as if she should do a better job of justifying their impetuous decision.

“We were young and foolish.”

Christina had no idea why Greg had been attracted to her or asked to be her class partner. All she knew was that most girls with a normal level of hormones surging in their veins would have given their driver’s license for a date with the school hunk who was admired for the “six-pack” of muscled ridges that graced his firm abdomen and his ability to crack walnuts between his biceps and forearms. And yet she had married him.

And almost made love to him. She gave an involuntary sigh.

“We were as different as two people could be,” she continued.

“You can say that again.” Greg addressed Donald as he filled in the rest. “Our teacher, Mrs. Murdock, had agreed to let us pair up for our class assignment. She must have thought Christina’s good behavior would rub off on me and keep me out of detention hall.”

What would their teacher have thought if she’d seen how Greg’s sense of adventure had rubbed off on her?

“You still haven’t told me about your son.”

Donald looked disappointed, as he had every right to be. Surely he must think she had lied when she told him she was a virgin and wanted to remain so until a wedding ring—a real wedding ring—graced her finger.

“We had a pact,” he reminded her solemnly.

“It’s not what you think.” She would explain the details of their nonconsummated marriage later, but for now it was more important to set the record straight on the bigger issue. She hiccuped again. “Our so-called son was a rag doll and we were graded on how well we took care of it.”

“Okay, that issue is settled,” Greg said in an obvious attempt to change the subject. He tapped the papers impatiently against the palm of his hand. “Now let’s get back to the divorce.”

“Of course,” said Christina. “I’ll get you a pen.” Even though she had consciously known it would someday come to this, the finality of a divorce hadn’t hit until now. She handed him the pen, trying not to notice the hard calluses on his fingers or imagine what it might have felt like if he’d been given the opportunity to trace those calluses over the rest of her body so long ago.

“I’m not signing.”

“What?”

“I said I’m not signing.”

“I heard what you said. And I believe you also heard me say that Donald and I are getting married in two months.” She tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the panic out of her voice. “You have to sign those papers.”

“That would present a problem,” Greg said, shaking his head. “You see, I need you to perform a few wifely duties first.”

Stunned, Christina at first met his comment with openmouthed silence. She had seen that determined expression before, and it was obvious he was dead serious about his demand. A sudden urge to flee came over her. She could only assume this was fate’s payback for her having indulged in the fantasy of completing their wedding union each night as she drifted off to sleep. Christina backed away from the man who was threatening to wreck her life, stopping only when she collided with Donald.

Her fiancé put his arm protectively around her.

As she recovered from the shock of Greg’s demand, her emotions surged into anger. How dare he insult her with such a suggestion...and in front of her fiancé and his own girlfriend, no less!

“Oh, don’t worry,” Greg assured her as casually as if he were suggesting a walk through the park. “It’s not like you have to put your heart in it. All I need is for you to go through the motions.”