Читать книгу Sweet Child of Mine - Jean Brashear - Страница 10

Warm rays of sunlight on his face awakened Michael. He levered himself up from the bed, not happy that he’d overslept. A glance at the clock told him he’d have to hurry to squeeze in his morning run. He scrubbed his face with both hands, then slid them upward through his hair.

And then it hit him.

He fell back on the mattress, arms outspread. The night—and his impulsive gesture—came flooding back.

He was going to get married. To Suzanne Jorgenson.

Jerking upright, he pulled on a pair of ancient sweats and shoved his feet into his running shoes. He barely spared a glance for the treasured panorama from his bedroom but as he crossed to the hallway door, his gaze fell on the connecting door that led from his bedroom to an old-fashioned dressing room…and then to the bedroom Suzanne would have. The house had been built by a San Francisco shipping magnate in the last century and it had four bedrooms, two large and two small, all on the second floor. He used one of the smaller ones for an office, and the boy would need the other, which left only the room originally designed for the magnate’s wife.

Separate bedrooms had seemed perfectly reasonable last night, but that was before that last kiss. Now he wondered if maybe these weren’t separate enough.

Michael began his warm-up stretches, his mind lost in thought.

He should have expected it, he guessed, that swift punch of need. It was an understandable reaction to the wealth of passion he’d already seen in Suzanne’s devotion to her causes. He had to admit that he’d wondered, sitting there on the dais watching her eyes spark as she argued fervently over one thing or another, if that fervor would translate to the physical.

He’d underestimated how much. And seriously underestimated his own reaction to it. The woman would strip a man of every rational thought and leave him happily witless.

Suzanne might be small, but she packed a punch.

But that wasn’t the part that worried him most. For all that she could make a man want, it was the new vulnerability he’d seen in her that gave Michael pause. This was a dangerous game they would play—assuming she wasn’t having second thoughts as huge as his.

He’d have to track her down this morning and take a good look in her eyes. Given how badly she wanted her son, he suspected she’d go ahead, no matter her doubts. And he’d given his word, so he wouldn’t retract his offer.

He finished his last stretch and cast one more look at that connecting door.

Shaking his head, he pounded down the stairs. He’d hate to drill into the antique doors, but locks were made to control temptation, if he needed them. Kissing Suzanne last night had been an impulse but a very good lesson. Having her close would be a constant physical temptation, but he had his warning.

He’d have to be very careful. A woman like that could make a man lose his head. Good thing he wasn’t a man who let his body rule his mind.

But that kiss, that feel of her pressed against him—

No. Suzanne needed his help, and he was a man of his word. If she still wanted to go through with it, he would not let her down nor let physical attraction complicate an already thorny situation.

He raced out the front door and let the cold air slap sense into him.

Suzanne slipped out of the last room housing one of her charges and walked down the hallway of Emily’s House, already thinking about Monday’s move of the kids to Hacienda de Alegria, the Colton ranch. Mentally compiling her to-do list, she was lost in thought when she heard his voice. Her gaze arrowed toward the man who’d made last night a very bad one for sleep.

Michael stood with a couple of staff members and Dr. Jason Colton, patiently answering questions about the water crisis. He hadn’t seen her yet, so Suzanne was free to look her fill. She needed to do it, to put him into some perspective. To remember that he was merely extending a helping hand in return for her help in solving his own problem. That was all this was, nothing else. A simple, bloodless, temporary marriage that each of them needed for different reasons.

If only he didn’t look so good. Dressed in his usual jeans and boots and wearing a long-sleeved forest-green shirt, he held his leather jacket over his shoulder with two fingers. Tall and so at ease in his skin, he smiled and laughed easily as he talked with the trio.

She wondered if anyone else in Prosperino knew he was a fraud. That Mr. Romeo Rich Guy had a heart that had never healed after a loss he refused to discuss.

She wanted to know what had happened, but he’d made it very clear that the topic was off limits. And maybe it was better that way, she thought as she watched his dimples flash around a smiling mouth.

Because that mouth was a problem. Suzanne lifted one hand and pressed her lips, still able to feel the touch of his.

No wonder he had hot and cold running women. The man could kiss…oh, how he could kiss. She’d have to add one more item to the list. Separate bedrooms weren’t enough.

No kissing. No touching. Only her son could matter, and her plans were clear. She needed this sham of a marriage only until she could make Bobby hers again. Michael had promised to keep his distance, but she could already feel how keeping her own could become a problem.

Just then he looked up and saw her. Quickly she dropped her hand, but she couldn’t seem to move.

He said something to the group and shook hands with Dr. Colton, but he hardly took his eyes off her. With that long ambling stride of his, he headed in her direction, his gaze holding her in place.

“Good morning,” he said, the smooth baritone voice sliding easily over her jangled nerves.

She slid one finger beneath her hair and tucked it behind her right ear, gripping the strap of her purse tightly with her other hand. “Good morning.”

He studied her. “You didn’t sleep. You need to rest, Suzanne. You’re worn out.”

Why was it he could make her temper kick up so easily? “I’m perfectly fine. You needn’t worry about me.” She subjected him to the same perusal. “How did you sleep?”

The broad shoulders shrugged. “I slept great. Overslept, in fact.”

Damn him. He did look rested, at least more so than she felt.

A long pause ensued.

Michael broke it. “Have you had breakfast?”

She shook her head. “I’m not much on eating first thing in the morning.”

“Well, I’m starved. I only had an apple after my run.” He held out a hand. “Come have breakfast with me and we’ll make plans.”

Carefully, she avoided touching him. Taking his hand last night was where the problem started. “I’m not really hungry, but I suppose we do need to talk.”

Michael’s smile was too perceptive. He walked beside her down the hall and leaned closer. “So you’re not chickening out?”

Suzanne turned to look at him. “Are you?”

He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Not if it’s still what you want.”

What she wanted? Did she want this? She wanted her son, yes, but if there were any other way…

“Calculating your options?”

She saw his knowing smile. Why did he have to be so big, so thoroughly male? Feeling the heat of his big body beside her, she was thrown back into last night, into how safe she’d felt tucked against him.

Safety was seductive, a luxury she couldn’t afford. The last time she’d felt safe, she’d been fifteen and wildly in love. It had been her last fling with innocence, with wholehearted abandon. The price had been high. Too high.

She settled for honesty. “I wish I could see an option, but I can’t. Only giving up Bobby, and I won’t do that again. What about you? Surely you’ve come to your senses and know how insane this is.”

“I gave you my word, Suzanne. I don’t welsh on commitments.” Her hair had swung out from behind her ear as she turned. With one long finger, he tucked it back.

Her breathing deepened. Everything stood still.

Then someone opened the door beside them. With a jolt, she blinked as if awakening from a dream.

Michael broke the contact, putting out one hand to hold the door open for her.

Suzanne brushed past him, very, very careful not to touch.

They were back in Ruby’s. Back in the same booth. But not the same people they were last night.

Michael sipped his coffee and studied the woman across from him. She was no longer in despair, but she was nervous. Really nervous. Her napkin was twisted and shredded on the ends.

“Suzanne, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I promise I’m not an ogre.”

Her head jerked upward. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Look, we don’t have to do this, you know. It’s going to be tough enough if we cooperate. Being at odds will only make things harder.”

She dropped her napkin and exhaled. “I know. I’m sorry. I just—” She stopped, stared behind him. Her face underwent a major change into horror, and she leaned forward, whispering. “Oh, no. Here comes Homer Wentworth’s wife.”

Michael leaned toward her. “Then I’d say we’d better put on a good show for the town gossip if we want to sell that we were overcome by passion and couldn’t wait.” He picked up her hand and kissed her fingertips. When she sucked in a quick breath, he reminded himself that this was all for show.

“Is she still looking?”

“Hmm?” Suzanne stiffened and looked behind him. “Oh. Yes.”

“Then you might want to smile as though you like it.”

“Right.” Quickly she treated him to a blinding smile.

He squeezed her hand and tried to ignore the jolt that accompanied every time he touched her. “That’s good. Maybe a little contrived, but—”

Suddenly she leaned across the table and put her mouth on his.

Just as quickly, she sat back on her seat, her violet eyes wide and a little too bright.

He knew how she felt. Maybe if they kissed a lot, it would get ordinary.

Yeah, right.

She arched one raven eyebrow. “Was that more convincing?”

Michael had to chuckle. Damned if he’d let her know that the punch landed straight to the gut. Whimpering might have been tempting, but it wouldn’t do for the mayor to howl at the moon. Especially on a bright Wednesday morning. “Yeah.” He exhaled forcefully. “That should work.”

“So,” she said with the faintest quiver in her voice. “How shall we do this?”

“I think Tahoe is our best bet. This weekend. We spend the rest of the week showing people that the sparks they’ve seen flying at council meetings have turned to something new, so it seems in character. Scales falling from the eyes, that sort of thing. We got under each other’s skin and one day we realized why.”

Her eyes were huge and uncertain as she studied him, but after a moment she nodded and looked down at her coffee cup. “I suppose that’s the best angle, some sort of physical reaction that got out of control. We can pretend that it’s true, that we got swept away. Then when it’s over, we’ll just say that we were too hasty. Didn’t take enough time to know the other as a person.”

Pretend that it’s true? There was too much truth in it for comfort. She was lying to herself if she said otherwise. The body doesn’t lie, and he’d felt her respond to him. She couldn’t have missed his response to her.

But let her lie to herself all she wanted. It would make it easier for him to keep his hands to himself except in public.

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely and resisted a smile. “So how about if I make arrangements in Tahoe for Saturday? We can leave that morning and be back that afternoon.”

“It’s close to a five hour drive. We’d need to leave early.”

“We’ll be there in less than an hour. We’ll take my plane.”

She blinked, then her eyes widened. “You have your own plane?”

He shrugged. “It has its uses.”

Her voice cooled noticeably. “Right. Useful.”

“What?” He didn’t like her look.

“Nothing.” She glanced away.

“What, Suzanne? Remember Mrs. Wentworth behind us. It doesn’t look good for you to be scowling at me. That’s the old routine, remember?”

She glanced past him and pasted on a smile.

“That’s better. Now tell me what the problem is. Are you afraid to fly?”

She shook her head.

“Afraid to fly with me? I’m a good pilot. Not one accident, and I’ve been flying since I was sixteen. I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? What’s the problem?”

She dropped the smile and leaned closer. “You’re really rich, aren’t you? Not just well-off but honestly rich.”

He shrugged. “I’m not Bill Gates, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing. It’s just that people will think I’m marrying you because you’re rich.”

He leaned closer. “Suzanne, I have a news flash for you. You are marrying me because I’m rich.” With a chuckle, he slid one hand into her hair and kissed her quickly, then let her go and tried to dodge the punch to his senses. “I guess it’s up to you to convince people it’s my body you’re truly after.”

He grinned, but it wasn’t funny, the corner they’d painted themselves into.

But laughing seemed the only solution.

On Saturday, Suzanne heard the knock on the door of the tiny garage apartment where she lived. She glanced in the mirror one last time and saw her bloodless cheeks.

Was she crazy? She was about to marry a man she barely knew, a man with whom she had nothing in common but a need to appear to be happily married. It certainly wasn’t her girlish dream of her wedding day. She’d imagined the long white dress, the orange blossoms, the tall, handsome groom who was crazy in love with her.

Michael Longstreet was tall and handsome, but that was the only similarity she could find.

He knocked again, and she snapped shut her lipstick and left the tiny bathroom, not even stopping to check her appearance in the mirror. If she let herself reflect on the difference in this deep purple wool dress and the long white gown of her dreams, she was afraid she would break down.

Today was for Bobby’s sake. That was all that could matter. Even as she thought of his name, his dear face leaped into her mind, the black hair like her own, the blue eyes of his father. The precious sprinkle of freckles over his nose. He would be taller than her, thank goodness. Already his head came up to her shoulder.

She would walk over hot coals for her child. She would never, ever leave him again. She should count herself lucky that Michael Longstreet’s need for her help in his own masquerade dovetailed so nicely with hers.

That settled, she drew in a deep breath, crossed to the door and opened it.

With just one tiny hitch, her heart settled back into its normal beat. Yes, Michael looked wonderful in the camel sweater that brought out the rich brown of his hair, the bright streaks sunlight had left. Yes, his mossy green eyes and thick lashes tugged at her, pulled her toward the drowning pool of his appeal.

But today wasn’t about Michael’s sex appeal, potent as it was. It was about Bobby. Only Bobby. So Suzanne worked up a neutral smile. “I’m all ready.” She turned away to retrieve her purse and coat.

Michael snagged her arm and turned her back toward him. “You look really nice.” He glanced down at his jeans. “I’ve got a suit in the car, but it’s easier to pilot a plane in comfortable clothes.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” From behind his back, he retrieved a small, perfect nosegay of violets, delicate lace flaring out from the edge. “You’ve never been married before, right?”

Too shocked to speak, she took them from his hand and brought them to her face. She shook her head while she breathed in the delicate fragrance.

“You’ll have the wedding you want one day, but there’s no reason this day has to be stark and sterile.”

Suzanne glanced up and found golden flecks around the pupils of his mesmerizing green eyes. Her heart flooded with an unfamiliar emotion. She swallowed hard. “This is very kind.” She batted back the tide that would swamp her if she let it. It would be foolish to see this as more than the gesture of a man who had dealt well with many women. “This isn’t a real wedding day, but I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

He studied her for a long moment. She stood there under his perusal and fought the urge to shrink away. There was something very serious in those eyes, something that tugged deeper than she wanted to feel.

“You can still back out, Suzanne. No harm, no foul.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Do you want me to back out?”

His answer didn’t come quickly. Then he shook his head and exhaled loudly. “I don’t know what I want.” His grin was wry as he rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “I want to make my father happy. I want to help you with your son. But this feels so—”

“Calculated?” she supplied.

He dropped his hand and his eyes showed his appreciation. “Yeah. I never thought of myself as a romantic. Hell, I’m a lawyer. Logic is my life.” He grinned then, that slashing white smile that brought out those devastating dimples. “But I’m not big on taking vows I don’t intend to fulfill.”

She understood completely. His admission warmed the chill that had settled in her bones. “I know. I feel the same way.” She took another whiff of the violets to steady herself.

“How about if we look at it this way?” she said. “We’ll do our best to live up to the vows we can until it’s time for this pact to end. We don’t love each other, and we can’t pretend that we do. But we can honor and respect each other and do our best to deal well together, knowing that we’re really doing this for other people who need us.”

He gazed at her intently, but he didn’t speak.

She wasn’t sure why she needed to convince him; perhaps the argument was one she needed to hear. “We are doing a good thing, Michael. We’re trying to help people we love, and love demands sacrifices. I think I can live with the difference between this day and a real marriage if you can, knowing that it’s the only way I can do the right thing by my son. Is knowing how happy your dad will be enough reason for you?”

Michael smiled, and this time his eyes held a fondness she hadn’t seen before. “Yeah.” He exhaled and his shoulders settled. “I think it is.” He didn’t touch her, but his gaze was almost a caress. “Thanks, Suzanne. That helps. I wasn’t comfortable wondering if I was rushing you into something you’d regret.”

She smiled then. “We may both regret this heartily before we’re done, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s what we need to do, that we’re doing it for good reasons.”

The dimples flashed again. “The strain of not arguing may kill us.”

“I have no intention of not arguing with you. You’re wrong too often.”

Michael laughed. “That’s the Suzanne I know.” He walked past her and picked up her coat. “All right, Ms. Jorgenson. Your chariot awaits.”

The time for second thoughts was past. Suzanne picked up her purse, took one more sniff of the violets for courage and took her first steps into a future that was anybody’s guess.