Читать книгу Married To The Maverick Millionaire - Joss Wood - Страница 11

Three

Three weeks later...

Cal, yawning, stumbled up the stairs, her eyes half closed and her brain still in sleep mode. A cool wind from an open door whirled around her and she rubbed her hands over her arms, thinking that she should’ve pulled a robe over her skimpy camisole and boy shorts. Coffee time, she decided.

Cal looked to her right, her attention caught by the silver-pink sheen as the sun danced on the sea. Maybe she wouldn’t go back to bed. Maybe she’d go up onto the deck and watch the sun wake up and a new day bloom.

“Morning.”

Cal screeched, whirled around and slapped her hand on her chest. Quinn stood in the galley kitchen, a pair of low-slung boxers hanging off his slim hips, long hair pulled into a tail at the back of his neck. Oh, God, he was practically naked and her eyes skimmed over the acre of male muscles. His shoulders seemed broader this morning, his arms bigger, that six-pack more defined. She—slowly, it had to be said—lifted her eyes to his face. Her heart bounced off her rib cage when she realized his eyes were on her bare legs and were moving, ever so slowly, north. She felt her internal temperature rocket up and her nipples pucker when his eyes lingered on her chest. When their eyes met, she thought she saw desire—hot and hard—flicker in his eyes and across his face. But it came and went so quickly that she doubted herself; after all, it wasn’t like she’d had a lot of experience with men and attraction lately. Lately, as in the past five years.

Her libido had picked a fine time to get with the program, she decided, deeply disgusted. It was a special type of hell being attracted to your fake husband.

“Do you want coffee?” Quinn said as he turned his back to her. Cal heard an extra rasp in his voice that raised goosebumps on her skin. His back view was almost as good as the front view—an amazing butt, defined and muscular shoulders, a straight spine. There was also a solid inch of white skin between his tanned back and the band of his plain black boxers.

Cal placed her hand on her forehead as she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t attracted to him, that she was being ridiculous. She forced herself to remember that she’d seen him eat week-old pizza, that he was revolting when he was hungover and he sounded like he was killing a cat when he sang. She told herself that she’d never felt even marginally attracted to him so whatever she was feeling was flu or pneumonia or typhoid.

Her libido just laughed at her.

“Red, coffee?”

Quinn’s question jolted her back and she managed to push a yes through her lips. Cal crossed her arms over her chest and felt her hard nipples pressing into her fisted hands. Dammit, she needed to cover up. She couldn’t walk around half-dressed. Cal looked toward the salon and saw a light throw lying across the back of one couch. She quickly walked across the room to wrap it around her shoulders and instantly felt calmer, more in control.

Less likely to strip and jump him in the kitchen...

“Here you go.”

Cal turned and smiled her thanks as Quinn placed a coffee mug on the island counter. Keeping the ends of the throw gathered at her chest, she walked toward him and pushed her other hand through the opening to pick up her cup. She took a grateful sip and sighed. Great coffee.

“I’m surprised to see you up and about so early,” Quinn said, turning away to fix his own cup.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Cal replied.

Quinn lifted his mug to his mouth and gestured to the short flight of stairs that led to the upper deck. “Let’s go up. It’s a nice place to start the day.”

On the deck Cal sat down on the closest blocky settee, placed her coffee cup on the wooden deck and wrapped her arms around her bent legs. She turned and watched as Quinn walked up the stairs, cup and an apple in his hands. He’d pulled on a black hooded sweatshirt and disappointment warred with relief.

Quinn sat down next to her, put his mug next to hers and took a big bite from his apple. They didn’t speak for a while, happy to watch the sun strengthen, bouncing off the tip of the mountains on one side and the skyscrapers on the other.

She’d forgotten how truly beautiful Vancouver could be. And sitting here, feeling the heat radiating off Quinn’s big body, she enjoyed the quiet. When they decided to marry, they’d stepped into a whirlwind of their own creation. Between dealing with the press, her responsibilities to the foundation and the beginning of the new hockey season for him, they had barely touched base since their quick Vegas wedding. And, despite her moving into the guest cabin downstairs, she hardly saw him.

That could be because he was already gone when she woke up and the nights when she knew he was in, she made a concerted effort to be somewhere else.

Cal had the sneaking suspicion that he was also avoiding her and wondered why. She knew what her reasons were—she’d prefer that he didn’t realize that she lusted after him, that she spent many nights in her cabin imagining what making love with him would be like. She didn’t want to complicate this situation, make it any more uncomfortable than it already was and, man, it was complicated enough already.

Cal lifted her cup to her mouth, the diamond in her engagement ring flashing despite the still-low light. Then again, at ten carats, the ring could be seen from space.

“How are things?” Cal asked Quinn, noting his tired eyes. “I haven’t seen you since we attended that art exhibition two nights ago.”

“Where we spoke to the press more than we spoke to each other,” Quinn said, his expression enigmatic.

Cal shook her head, disgusted. “I expected some interest around my return, but this is ridiculous. And, if I’m out alone, they’re always asking where you are.”

“How do you answer?”

“I say that you’re at home, naked, waiting for me to ravish you,” Cal joked, but, instead of laughing something indefinable flashed in his eyes. Cal felt her mouth dry up. She waved her coffee cup and brushed the flash of whatever that was away. “I tell them that we both have very busy lives, that you’re working.”

“Well, that’s the truth. I do little else but work. It’s the start of the season and I have a young team who need extra practice.”

“I saw that you have some new players on board. They any good?”

“If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be there,” Quinn replied. “I might not take much seriously, but I don’t mess around with the team.”

Cal lifted her eyebrows at his touchy tone. Quinn was normally easygoing, tolerant and charming. Hearing him snap was always a surprise. She understood his frustration. Quinn didn’t function well when he was bound by rules, when he felt like he had clipped wings. Wren, the Mavericks’ PR whiz, had carefully choreographed every aspect of their fake marriage, from the leaked photographs of their quickie wedding to their appearances on the social scene. Someone having that much control of his personal life would rub Quinn raw.

Their marriage grounded him, but Quinn desperately needed to fly. Unfortunately, he’d been flying too close to the sun for far too long. “It’s not forever, Quinn. You’ll be rid of me before you know it.”

Beneath his beard, Quinn’s white teeth flashed. “Honey, I saw more of you via Skype when you were halfway across the world than I do now and you’re living on my damn yacht. Though, in some ways, that’s not a bad thing.”

Okay, she was not touching that cryptic statement with a barge pole. “Maybe you and I need to reconnect, as friends. We need to remember that before we were caught up in this craziness, we enjoyed each other’s company. Let’s make some time try to be who we always were.”

And if they managed to reconnect as friends, maybe this ridiculous need to touch him, to taste him would disappear. God, she could only hope. “When are you free?”

Quinn frowned, thinking. “Tonight I have plans. Tomorrow night I’m having drinks with some potential sponsors. Thursday is poker night.”

Once-a-month poker night with Kade and Mac was sacrosanct. Even Brodie, Kade’s fiancée, was under strict instructions to not go into labor until Friday morning.

Boys.

“Friday?” Quinn asked, lifting his startling eyes back to her face. God, she loved his eyes.

Friday? Really? “That would work except for one little thing.”

“What?”

“Friday is the Adam Foundation Masked Ball. It’s only the most important social event on the city’s calendar.”

Quinn pulled a face. “And I suppose I have to be there?”

“Q, I’m the official host and you’re my husband!”

“I’ll be masked. How will they even know that I’m there? I could be anyone,” Quinn protested.

“Yeah, there will be so many six-foot-three ripped men there with long blond hair and beards. C’mon, Quinn, you knew about this. I sent you an email about it last week.”

“Ugh.”

“Have you got a mask yet?”

Quinn sent her a get-real look and Cal sighed. Of course he hadn’t; he’d heard the words mask and ball and tuned out. “Leave it to me.”

“Plain black, as small as possible,” Quinn growled. “Do not make me look like an idiot.”

“The point of the masked ball is to be masked, as much as possible. Not knowing who is behind the mask is part of the fun,” Cal protested. Knowing that choosing a mask would be pure torture for him, she’d already purchased a plain black affair that covered three quarters of his face. It was, she and Wren agreed, as fussy as Quinn would tolerate. “Relax. Plain black tuxedo, black tie and the mask. That’s it.”

Quinn made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a rhino going into labor. She patted his shoulder and smiled. “Quinn, it’s a masked ball, not a root canal.”

Quinn reached out and tugged her ponytail. “So what are you wearing?”

Cal looked down into her empty coffee cup, wondering if she should tell him about the dress she’d found in a tiny boutique in Gastown. Maybe not, because she still wasn’t sure whether she’d have the guts to wear it. It was a kick-ass dress and not something her husband’s friends and acquaintances would expect her to wear.

It would make heads turn and tongues wag and probably not in a good way. But no one would mistake her message: Callahan Adam-Carter had died with her husband, but Cal Adam—or Cal Adam-Rayne to be precise—was back in town. “I’m not sure yet,” she hedged.

“Whatever you wear, I know you’ll look fantastic. You always do.”

Cal tipped her head and flushed at his words. It wasn’t an empty compliment or a line. Quinn said the words easily and with conviction. He genuinely believed them. God, it was such a silly thing, but such easy acceptance meant the world to her.

“So what time do you want to leave for the ball?” Quinn asked.

Cal lifted his wrist to look at the face of his high-tech watch. She was going to be late for her early meeting if she didn’t get cracking. “I’ll find you there, somewhere. I have to be there early to check on everything, so you can get there later. Or come with Mac and Kade. Anyway, I have to go,” Cal told him, leaning sideways to place a kiss on his cheek.

She inhaled his scent and instantly felt calmer, his arm under her fingers tight with muscle. God, her best friend—her fake husband—was all heat and harnessed power. Their eyes clashed and an emotion she didn’t recognize flashed between them. Quinn’s eyes dropped to her mouth and she touched her top lip with the tip of her tongue.

Quinn lifted his hand, bent his head and for one brief, red-hot second Cal thought that he would, finally, give her the kiss she was aching for. She waited, but Quinn just sucked in a harsh-sounding breath, pulled back and abruptly stood up.

Cal bent over to pick up both their cups, stood and walked to the stairs. “I’ll see you at the ball, okay?” she said, her voice wobbly as she tossed the words over her shoulder.

“Sure,” Quinn answered, sounding absolutely normal. So why did she sense—wish—that he was looking at her butt as she walked away?

* * *

It was later in the morning and Mac warbled a horrible version of the “Wedding March” tune as Quinn walked into the conference room at the Mavericks’ headquarters. He handed Mac a sour look and frowned at Kade.

“What?” Kade asked, looking confused. “What did I do?”

“You instituted the ban on getting physical anywhere other than the ice or the gym,” Quinn complained, dropping his helmet onto the seat of an empty chair. “If it wasn’t for you, then I could shut him up.”

“You really should see someone about those delusions, dude.” Mac smiled.

Standing opposite Mac, Quinn placed his hands flat on the table, leaned across it and got up in his face. “And I swear, if I hear that stupid song one more time, I will rip you a new one, Kade’s ban be damned.”

Mac just laughed at him. “You can try, bro, you can try. So how is married life?”

Quinn pulled back, blew out his breath and tried to hold onto his temper. He had this conversation at least once a day and he was thoroughly sick of it. What type of question was that anyway? he silently fumed. What he and Cal got up to behind closed doors—which was nothing that would make a nun blush—was nobody’s business but their own. Yet their marriage fascinated everybody, from his friends to the general public.

And why was Mac asking? He knew that their marriage was as fake as the tooth fairy. Quinn sent Mac an assessing look and decided to play him at his own game. “Actually, Cal and I had hot sex on the deck in the moonlight.”

“Seriously?” Mac’s face lit up with amusement.

“No, butthead, we didn’t.” Quinn looked at his helmet and wondered if he could use it to bash some sense into Mac’s thick skull. He dropped into a chair, placed his elbows on the table and shoveled his hands into his hair. “Dude,” he moaned, feeling a headache brewing, “I don’t know how else to explain this to you... Cal and I have been friends since we were in kindergarten. We are not going to sleep together. This is a sham marriage, one we entered to achieve a very specific objective. Remember?”

“What’s the point of being hitched if you don’t, at the very least, get some fun out of it? And by fun I mean sex.”

Quinn didn’t respond, knowing that Mac was just looking for a reaction. And they had the temerity to tell him that he needed to grow up?

“The point of their marriage was to rehab his reputation and that is going exceptionally well.” Wren’s cool voice brought a measure of intelligence to their conversation and Quinn could’ve kissed her.

“Really?” he asked.

Wren sent him a sympathetic smile. “Really. The press has definitely warmed up to you and Bayliss doesn’t think you are the spawn of Satan anymore.”

“Yay,” Quinn said, hiding his relief under sarcasm.

Once he agreed to sell his soul to the devil—aka Wren and her publicity machine—he’d placed his life into Wren’s very capable hands. She’d organized every detail of their wedding and made it look like a hasty, romantic, impulsive affair. The woman was damn good. No one suspected that it was a highly orchestrated con.

“And, despite some initial reservations about you and Cal, and how good you will be for her, the public sees your marriage as a positive thing.” Wren’s eyes left his face and dropped to the sheaf of papers on the table in front of her and Quinn knew there was more she wanted to say and she was debating whether she should or not.

Quinn rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “What, Wren?”

Wren lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “A good portion of the public is just waiting for you to mess it up.”

Quinn threw his hands up in the air. “What can I mess up? You’ve banned me from doing anything that might raise an eyebrow. I’m married so I can’t date.” Quinn shook his head and looked at the broad band on his left hand. “That sounds insane.”

“You do have a knack of complicating the hell out of your life, Rayne,” Kade agreed.

That was the thing. He really didn’t. His life, as he saw it, was uncomplicated: he went to work, coached the hell out of the Mavericks and got results that nobody expected from a young coach with little experience. So why couldn’t they keep their hands, and their opinions, off his personal life? He kept it simple there too: he did what he wanted, when he wanted.

Well, except for this episode of his life. He really hadn’t wanted to get married...

You’re temporarily hitched, temporarily grounded and for a damn good reason. When he remembered what was at risk, he would stay married and well-behaved forever if that was what was required of him.

He would not be the reason the deal with Widow Hasselback failed. He would not give Bayliss a reason to pull out of the deal. He’d protect his team, his players, the brand. He’d protect the Mavericks with everything he had.

Because this place, this team, these men were his home. Yeah, technically, he had a family, but he hadn’t spoken to any of them for years. A lack of understanding, communication and, okay, kindness had forced him to distance himself from them and it was a decision he did not regret. Kade and Mac, as annoying as they could be, were now his brothers and he would, at some point—soon!—go back to thinking of Cal as the sister he’d never had.

Cal, Mac and Kade were all the family he needed—the only family he’d ever have. He wasn’t going to risk Cal not being part of his clan, part of his life, by acting on what was a frequent and annoying fantasy of stripping her naked and making her scream.

Quinn scowled up at the ceiling. His simmering attraction to Cal was unexplainable and ludicrous and it would pass—he just had to keep avoiding her as much as possible until it did—and their friendship would survive. This craziness would pass. Everything always did.

Quinn rolled his shoulders and felt like the walls were closing in on him. He imagined himself on his bike, leaning into a corner, the wind blowing his restlessness away.

“Oh, crap, he has that faraway look in his eyes. The one he gets when he’s feeling caged in.”

Mac’s words penetrated Quinn’s fog and he snapped his head up to glare at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s one of your tells,” Mac informed him. “You get glassy-eyed and we know that you’re considering doing something crazy.”

“I’m not going to do anything.” Quinn pushed the words out. He wanted to. He wanted to burn some of this excess energy off. But he wouldn’t. Not today anyway.

“Don’t mess up, Rayne. Please don’t jeopardize our hard work.” Kade’s words felt like bullets from a machine gun.

Ben is studying, Quinn. Don’t disturb Jack.

Try to be more considerate, Quinn.

Why can’t you toe the line, Quinn? Be more like your brothers, Quinn? Why do you have to be so much trouble, Quinn?

It was stupid and crazy and childish, but statements like don’t rock the boat, Quinn and be good, Quinn just made him want to do the opposite. He loathed being told what to do. Quinn bit the inside of his lip and jammed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket so his friends couldn’t see his clenched fists.

He wasn’t in control of his own life and he despised it and, yes, Kade was right—he did want to run.