Читать книгу Secrets In Texas - Carrie Weaver - Страница 10

ANGEL GLANCED AT her watch. They’d been standing near the front of the chapel for what seemed like ages but in reality had only been twenty minutes.

Tucking her hand in the crook of Matthew’s arm, she gazed up into his face with adoration. Fortunately Pastor Elvis wasn’t close enough to hear the content of their conversation. “What’s the holdup?” Angel asked through her fixed smile.

“Only a tiny delay. I asked the pastor’s mother to retrieve something for me.”

“This was supposed to be a quickie wedding,” she whispered.

Shrugging, he placed his hand over hers. “I know this is difficult for you. But please humor me.”

He was extraordinarily calm for a man who had never been married. Even a fake wedding was enough to make most bachelors a little psychotic. Or maybe she was just remembering another man who’d made the leap from bachelorhood to craziness so quickly.

Angel was spared further wedding-day reminiscences as Elvis’s mother bustled in carrying a florist’s box as if it were the Holy Grail. She handed it to Matthew, along with a wad of bills. He accepted the box but pressed the bills into the woman’s pudgy hand.

“That’s too much,” she murmured, and appeared humbled. And this was Vegas, a town where large tips were as prevalent as silicone implants.

“No. It’s just right.” Matthew’s smile was warm. “Would you mind presenting it to my bride? I’m a little nervous and clumsy today.”

“Certainly, dear.” She removed the lid and drew back layers of tissue paper. Sighing, she presented Angel with a single white rose so perfect it brought tears to Angel’s eyes.

The pastor’s mother nodded and blinked. “He’s such a lovely man. You two will be very happy.”

Her words made Angel want to sit down on the floor and cry. Because once upon a time she had believed in happily ever after. Before Kent had twisted their love into a living nightmare.

“It’s time, sweetheart,” Matthew murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Would you stop being so damn nice.”

The pastor’s mother clucked in disappointment and Angel’s mother stepped closer.

She grasped Angel’s chin. “Are you okay with this, mija?”

For a split second, Angel was tempted to call it off. But her mother had raised her to have courage. Angel wouldn’t turn her back on the women and children at Zion’s Gate.

“Yes, Mama. Very sure.”

“Remember, if you need us, all you have to do is call.”

“Yes, Mama. I will.”

She turned to Matthew. “Take good care of her, Matthew.”

Matthew’s eyes widened a fraction. He had to realize there was a threat in her words. Whether their marriage was real or not, Isabella expected much from her son-in-law.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her mother patted his cheek as she walked by. “Good. We are of like minds, I think.”

“Yes, we are.” Matthew nodded to the pastor. “We’re ready to begin.”

Those had to be the scariest words Angel had ever heard. Because his voice held a timbre of finality that told her she was in way over her head.

Pastor Elvis stepped forward and cleared his throat, which had his mother scurrying to the boom box to start “Love Me Tender.”

But there was no need for a bridal march. The bride was already in position. Her father wouldn’t walk her down the aisle. He had guilt-ridden memories of giving her away to Kent. Instead Angel’s mother took her husband’s arm and led him to the first row of chairs.

The awkward three-plus minutes of Elvis’s croon gave Angel too much time to think about her assignment. She’d come a long way from her days as a terrified battered wife, but this assignment still made her uneasy. What if she fell into old ways of thinking?

The song ended with a sudden click and Elvis cleared his throat. Matthew looked composed.

But Angel couldn’t seem to keep the damn rose still. It trembled in her hands like a terrified kitten. Or maybe it was Angel herself who felt like a terrified kitten.

Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to be strong. She was a professional. And she knew how to kill a man in at least eighteen different ways. Without a weapon.

The absolute absurdity of being married by an Elvis impersonator should have reassured her. But glancing at Matthew’s solemn face, she started to sweat. The men in his family took “till death do us part” seriously. No one seemed to know how Matthew’s mother had managed to leave the man and live to tell about it. Angel figured Abigail Stone held some incriminating evidence against good old Jonathon, though she’d never revealed it.

“Do you have your own vows?” Elvis glanced from Matthew to Angel.

Angel opened her mouth to say no but heard yes being spoken in a very definitive baritone.

Matthew grasped her hand, turning her to face him. “Angelina, you are beautiful and courageous. I will love you, honor you, cherish you, protect you till death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”

Oh, God, he was laying it on too thick.

Mother Elvis sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

Angel opened her mouth. This time she was relieved to hear her own alto. “Um, yeah, what he said.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Pastor Elvis intoned. “You may kiss the bride.”

“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered under her breath.

But Matthew took her in his arms and kissed her anyway.

After that it was all a blur. The wedding license was signed, her mother and father left and Elvis and his mother hustled them to the door, stammering something about a lovely honeymoon.

ANGEL’S EYES WIDENED as she entered the Venetian with Matthew, barely noticing the cabdriver leave their bags with the bellman.

The lobby was huge, with crystal chandeliers and a high ceiling. While the wedding chapel had been pure camp, this was close enough to the real deal for her to wish her honeymoon were, too. Wishes that should have died the first time Kent had raised his hand to her.

Angel vowed to remain strong and independent in her heart despite the stupid cover that required her to play a woman disillusioned enough with the outside world to embrace Zion’s Gate and all it entailed.

Matthew eyed her intently, as if he could read her thoughts. “Ready?”

She raised her chin. “Yes.”

As they approached the registration desk, Matthew wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight to his side.

She suppressed the knee-jerk reaction that would have had her delivering a crushing blow to her hubby’s groin. Although if she’d started her first marriage that way, things might have turned out very differently.

“Relax,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re supposed to look like you worship the ground I walk on.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Remember, my uncle has eyes and ears everywhere.”

He wanted an act? He’d sure get one.

Angel threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Matthew, this is so wonderful.” She stopped mid-lobby, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to lay a passionate lip-lock on him.

Pleasure shot through her. Not from the kiss but from Matthew’s groan of submission.

Then he nipped her lower lip.

Angel drew back, smiling. She was pleased to note several people were staring.

Matthew leaned close and whispered, “You’re acting too aggressive for a Zion’s Gate bride. Even for a woman unaccustomed to their ways. You leave me no choice.”

He stiffened and his face became stern. “Angelina, darling, you will need to learn your place before we arrive at my uncle’s house.” He grasped her shoulders, rotated her toward the reception desk and swatted her on the rear end.

Angel yelped and turned, ready to do battle.

“Remember, sweetheart, I am the man and you are the woman. My lessons will be gentle as long as you show a willingness to learn.”

This was what he’d meant by “no choice.” He felt the need to publicly chastise her. Too damn bad.

“Screw you.”

Matthew’s eyes flashed. He stepped close, grasping her chin. “Oh, I intend to, darling. I intend to.” Then he leaned down and ground his mouth to hers, possessiveness evident in every aggressive thrust of his tongue.

Angel felt trapped and small. She broke free. Very deliberately she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Stopping short, she suppressed a desire to spit at her new husband. “You sicken me.”

“I don’t think so, Angelina. Just the opposite. But we’ll see. Now go tidy yourself in the ladies’ room while I get our key. Then you will show me the proper respect a woman shows her husband.”

Angel turned and fled, just as Matthew had instructed.

Once inside, she pressed her back to the door. Her hands trembled violently. Her heart raced.

Oh, Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

MEMORY OF ANGEL’S stricken expression haunted Matthew while he registered at the front desk. His peripheral vision was trained on the ladies’ room door, and he saw Angel approach a few minutes later, her manner subdued as she took her place next to him.

Glancing at his bride, he was surprised to see a slightly green tinge to her olive complexion. Was her anguish an act, simply part of her cover? He hoped Perez knew what he was doing.

Matthew accepted the key card from the front desk manager. In turn, he pressed several large bills into the man’s palm. “My bride and I expect privacy. We might not set foot out of the room for the five days we’re here.”

The manager nodded and pocketed the money. “Certainly, sir. I’ll see that you aren’t disturbed. The bellman will show you to your suite.”

Angel stiffened when Matthew grasped her hand.

Sighing, he could have kicked himself for letting her aversion bother him. It didn’t matter what she thought as long as they could carry off this charade.

“This way, Angelina,” he murmured.

“Yes, Matthew.” Though her tone was passive, she held her head high.

When they reached their room, he tipped the bellman. “Thank you. I can take it from here.”

Nodding, the bellman pulled their bags from the cart and retreated down the hall.

Matthew swallowed hard when they entered their suite. It was every woman’s wedding-night fantasy. At least that’s what the flash of longing in Angel’s eyes told him.

Too bad there would be no wedding-night, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other sex. Or slow, sweet sex, for that matter.

Angel took one look at the king-size bed and laughed. “Looks like I’ll be very comfortable.” She nodded toward the couch. “You, on the other hand, might be a bit cramped.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

She eyed him up and down. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

He set down the suitcases. “Look, Angel, get this straight. We’re here to make things look a certain way. If we succeed, my uncle will allow us into the compound and may invite us to stay. If we fail, one or both of us could end up dead.”

“You already made your point in the lobby. I know I’m supposed to portray some brainless Stepford wife.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I understand it’ll be hard. You shouldn’t have to disguise your wit and strength. But it’s necessary.”

She cleared her throat and glanced away.

He wondered if he’d revealed too much. He also wondered why compliments bothered her.

Matthew stepped back. “Fortunately my interest in you is something my uncle will understand, as well as the hasty marriage. As long as I appear to be training you in the ways of our people, chances are good he will accept this impulsive wedding.”

“I hope that sexist crap in the lobby was an act.”

He nodded, uncomfortable with the half-truth. A part of him wanted to make Angel his own. But not by resorting to trickery.

Angel placed her suitcase on the bed and opened it. “What is this?” she demanded.

Glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of sheer revulsion on her face.

Angel held the pastel long-sleeved cotton nightgown between her fingertips as if it were something poisonous.

“That’s your, um, nightwear.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. Those are the clothes a good Zion’s Gate wife wears. Very conservative and demure.”

“Demure, my ass.”

Matthew laughed. “No, your ass is anything but demure, Angel. The point is, nobody but me is to have a clue about your, um, attributes.”

Angel’s face grew pink.

He was intrigued. The tough-talking, independent policewoman was embarrassed by a relatively tame flirtation.

“Maybe this monstrosity is a good thing.” She glared at the offending garment. “At least you won’t get any ideas. It’d take a satellite GPS to find me in this sack. Where on earth did they get this horrible stuff?”

Matthew took a deep breath. “It’s my mother’s.”

Angel’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, Matt, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. I mean, I’m kind of nervous here and I get a smart mouth on me when I’m nervous and say stupid things and—”

Matthew’s hurt evaporated. He pressed his finger to her lips. “Shh. Apology accepted. You ought to know the rest of the clothes were my mother’s when she lived at the Zion’s Gate compound in Arizona. That was before Jonathon moved the group here. Besides being practical, one of the profiler types thought my mother’s clothes might strike a chord with Uncle Jonathon. My mother was the one who got away. He probably has a hot button or two where she’s concerned.”

Angel placed the nightgown on the bed, smoothing the fabric with her fingers. Her tenderness was almost his undoing. She might talk and act tough, but there was a sensitive core she couldn’t quite disguise.

Removing a dress from the suitcase, she tilted her head. “It, um, looks like it should fit. I assume it’s not supposed to be flattering, uh, show off my figure…um, well, you know what I mean?”

A smile tickled his mouth. There was something so charming about her.

“No, the intention is to avoid inciting impure thoughts.”

“It should work then.”

Matthew laughed, enjoying her immensely.

“Damn. I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Did what?”

“Stuck my foot in my mouth. Your mom was probably wearing these same clothes or something similar when your uncle Jonathon had the hots for her.”

“It didn’t occur to me exactly that way, but yes, you’re probably right. But then again, I’m not sure whether he was attracted to my mother because she was beautiful or because my father loved her with his whole heart.” Memories of the bond his parents had shared was one of the few things that had kept him sane in an insane time and place.

“As you said, your mother was the one who got away. But your uncle had something like twelve wives. How could he miss one or two?”

If only she knew. But he hoped like crazy Angel never experienced the depths of his uncle’s possessiveness.