Читать книгу His Chosen Wife: Antonides' Forbidden Wife / The Ruthless Italian's Inexperienced Wife / The Millionaire's Chosen Bride - Susanne James, Anne McAllister - Страница 10

“NO!” THE door had barely shut behind Cristina and Mark before Ally had the word out of her mouth. “I am not going to your parents’ house.”

“Al—”

“No!” She whirled away from where she’d been standing beside him near the door, stalking across the room, needing to put as much space between them as possible.

Only when she was as far as she could get did she turn and glare at him. “You did this on purpose!”

“Did what?” How could he look so innocent? So completely guileless.

“You set me up! You invited your sister here so she would jump to all the wrong conclusions and then back me into a corner where you think I’ll be forced to go to your parents’ house with you! Well, I won’t!”

“I didn’t invite my sister here.”

Ally snorted. “Then how did she know to come? She knew I was here.”

“They invited me for dinner tonight. I had to decline.”

“And you just happened to mention—”

“I didn’t even talk to her. I asked Rosie to call her.”

“And Rosie just happened to mention—”

He shrugged. “If she did, you can blame yourself as much as me. Who came in and announced she was my wife?”

Ally’s teeth came together with a snap. “In my office we prize confidentiality.”

“In mine we prize people,” he said mildly, putting her back up even further. At the same time she knew he was right. She’d told his assistant who she was. She’d used the relationship first.

“Besides, it doesn’t make any difference. You weren’t a complete surprise. They knew about you.”

Ally couldn’t even imagine how that conversation must have gone. “So it seems. And what did you say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m married, but I seem to have mislaid my wife’?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “The first part, yes. The second didn’t come into it. It just … happened. When I came back and decided to stick around, Dad and Mom started throwing women my way. I said I wasn’t interested. They said, ‘Oh, God, he’s gay.’” His mouth twisted. “I suppose I could have let them think that, but it seemed smarter to tell them the truth. So I said, ‘No, I’m married.’”

“And they didn’t say, ‘Show us your wife’?”

“Of course they did. But I couldn’t, could I?”

“So what did you do?”

“Told them a shortened version of what happened. Said I’d met you in Hawaii. That we were friends. That you needed to get married. That I married you.”

“You said I needed to get married? Oh, for God’s sake, do they think I was pregnant?”

“It did occur to my mother,” he admitted. “She asked, rather hopefully, as I recall, if she was going to have another grandchild. Cristina had just had Alex. I said no. I said you needed to stop your father meddling in your life, and marrying me was how you’d done it. No big deal.”

Ally’s eyes widened. “And they were okay with that?”

“Well, it wasn’t their idea of a best-case scenario. They like their children to marry people they can meet and who will have loads of little Antonides babies.” He gave her a wry smile and a shrug. “That’s the way they are. But what were they going to say?”

Ally couldn’t imagine. She knew what her father would have said. It wouldn’t have been pretty. She shook her head. She prowled restlessly around PJ’s living room, feeling off balanced. Awkward. Guilty.

She’d never really considered how their whole marriage scene would play out for PJ. It had always been about her. Her needs. Her hopes.

“Of course they wanted to meet you,” PJ went on. “They wanted to know where you were. What you were doing. When we were going to get back together.”

Ally cocked her head. “And you said …?”

“I said I didn’t know.” He lifted his shoulders, spread his hands. “I didn’t, did I? The truth.”

Ally grimaced. The truth was supposed to set you free, wasn’t it? She didn’t feel free at all. She felt trapped, hemmed in.

She picked up the softball on the bookcase and slapped it against her palm. “And now Cristina assumes I’m going to the family reunion with you.”

“It’s a natural assumption.”

“And what will they think when we get a divorce? They’ll have expectations,” Ally went on. “Cristina certainly has expectations!”

“She likes you.” He still sounded almost surprised at that.

Unaccountably, the thought made Ally bristle. “You thought she wouldn’t?”

“Nothing Cristina does surprises me. But I didn’t know if she’d shut up long enough to find out anything about you. Cristina generally goes into every situation with both guns firing. My sister shoots first and asks questions later. I figured she would like you a lot if she gave you a chance. And apparently she did.” He paused. “What did you tell her?”

“The truth.”

“That you came for a divorce?” The edge was back in his voice, but he looked perplexed as he said it. “But she didn’t—”

“I told her the truth about why we got married. About my meddling father. About needing to find myself. About not marrying Ken. About the legacy. I told her why you married me. She thinks you’re a hero.”

A grin lit PJ’s face. “She said that? I wish you’d got it on tape. It won’t happen again in my lifetime.”

“She’s very devoted. And far fonder of you than you might imagine. She was definitely protective.”

“Bossy,” PJ corrected.

“She loves you.” Ally envied him that familial closeness. She’d never had it. “What you did—she thinks it’s the most romantic thing she’s ever heard.”

PJ laughed. “You put a spell on her!”

“No. She put one on herself. I told her the truth—and she embroidered it to fit her view of the world.”

“That’s pretty much Cristina in a nutshell. Still, you apparently handled her very well.”

“If I had, she wouldn’t have assumed I was staying.”

“Why didn’t you tell her that you weren’t?”

“I thought it was your place to do that.”

“Mine?”

“Because you said we were married. I felt you should be the one to tell them we’re getting a divorce.”

“I’m not. You are.”

And they were back to that again, damn it. “All right, fine. That I’m getting a divorce! Anyway, I didn’t think you’d appreciate me announcing first thing that I’d come to get a divorce. And Cristina didn’t ask why I was there. She just assumed … and then she assumed some more. And more. And finally she just leaped to the conclusion that I’d be coming with you on the weekend.”

“Imagine that,” PJ murmured.

“You could have told her I wasn’t!”

“But I want you to come.”

“What?” She stared at him. “Oh, come on, PJ.”

“Why not? It’s a family reunion among other things. You’re family.”

“I am not!”

“Legally, you are. And of course you should come. Let my folks meet you. See that you’re real. That I didn’t make you up.” He grinned.

“Raise their expectations,” Ally muttered.

The grin widened. “Save me from the clutches of Connie Cristopolous.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “You can save yourself.”

“I did you a favor once.”

The words dropped quietly between them. An observation. A statement of fact. A reproach. All of the above.

Ally wanted to rake her hands through her hair. Her fingers tightened on the ball, as if she would squeeze it to death.

PJ didn’t say a word, just stood there, watched her. Looked expectant.

Ally ground her teeth. “Damn you. I never should have come. I should have mailed you the damn papers.” She spun away and paced around the room, furious at having been trapped, knowing she had no choice.

She sighed and tried one last time. “It’s a bad idea. Going out to your folks’ place will just make things worse.”

“For who?”

“For you! If I show up with you, they’ll expect us to be a couple after that. And they’ll be appalled when you tell them we’re getting a divorce.”

He propped an arm on the mantel of the fireplace. “Why would I tell them that?”

“Because we are! I am!” she said before he could correct her pronoun.

“But I don’t want a divorce.”

“Damn it!” She wanted to wring his neck. “Why not? And don’t tell me you’re so afraid of Connie Cristopolous that you want to stay married so your parents don’t try shoving her down your throat.”

“Well, it is a consideration.”

“I’m sure it is,” Ally said bitterly. “You’re just trying to be difficult.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Not really.”

“Yes, you are! I shouldn’t have come here. Not to New York. Not to dinner! And now I need to leave.” She grabbed her purse off the bookcase and headed for the door.

PJ stepped in front of it. “Don’t be in such a hurry.”

“What point is there in staying? We’re not getting anywhere.”

“We might be.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’re getting to know each other again.”

“Just what we want,” Ally said acerbically. “PJ, enough! I realize I’ve handled things badly. I know I should have got the divorce out of the way before I ever let things go so far with Jon. But I had no idea where you were. And I didn’t realize things were going so fast. My dad’s illness just sort of … accelerated things, and it just seemed like it was meant to be—between Jon and me.”

“Jon and me. Jon and me.” His tone was mocking. “If he’s your dear true love, where is he? Why didn’t he come with you?”

“Because he’s busy. He’s a doctor, for heaven’s sake! He doesn’t have time to run around chasing down my soon-to-be-ex-husband.”

“Does he have time for you?”

“Of course he does! He takes time when I’m there. I give him a reason to take time,” she said. And that was the truth. Without her Jon was consumed only by his work. “He loves me. I love him. And we want to get married, have a family, give my dad a grandchild. He wants a chance to meet his grandchild. And his health is poor. Time is of the essence.”

“So stick with me. We’re further down the road.”

“What?” She stared at him.

He spread his hands. “We’re already married. We wouldn’t have to waste time. No waiting for a divorce. We could have a family,” PJ said. “Give him a grandchild. What do you say?”

She wanted to scream.

And worse—in some tiny deranged part of her brain—she wanted to say, Yes!

Because Ally knew that if PJ had said those words ten years ago, after one night in his arms, no matter that they had planned it to be purely a marriage of convenience, she would have flung good sense and caution to the winds and believed they could make a marriage work.

Because right then—on that one night—PJ had touched her with such a mixture of passion and reverence, eagerness and gentleness that she’d actually dared to think he might really love her.

But this PJ?

This PJ was toying with her.

Oh, she had no doubt he was perversely serious about wanting her to come to his parents’ place. It would doubtless suit him to make sure his father and Connie Whosits knew he really was married.

In fact, he might simply want to stay married to her as a way of avoiding all future entanglements.

But there was no love involved.

As for wanting a child, well, maybe he did. Cristina seemed to think he was ready to settle down and have children. And of course, to his mind she would be convenient for that, too.

“I have half a mind to come with you,” she snapped. “Then go back home to Hawaii and leave you to sort things out. It would serve you right. Your mother knows I’m here. Did you know that?”

PJ shook his head. “No. But I can’t say I’m surprised. Cristina never could keep a secret.”

“Did you expect her to?”

“Not really.”

It was the last straw. He’d planned this whole thing, had been manipulating her all evening.

He’d set her up to deal with Cristina, had known his sister would pressure her into coming. He’d fully expected his sister to tell his mother. She supposed she was lucky that Mrs. Antonides hadn’t turned up on the doorstep, as well.

Well, be careful what you wish for, buster, she thought grimly.

“Fine. I’ll do it! You want me to meet your parents, I’ll come with you and meet your parents. I’ll be your wife for the weekend. I’ll be sweet and charming and wonderful. But after that you are on your own. The scales are balanced. You did me a favor. I’m doing you one. We’ll be even. And then, damn it, PJ Antonides, I’m filing for divorce!”

That went well, PJ thought grimly with more than a little self-mockery.

He stood outside the hotel in midtown Manhattan where he’d just left Ally and stuffed his hands in his pockets, shaking his head.

She’d insisted on leaving once she’d agreed to come to his parents’ on Friday. He’d invited her to stay at his place.

“Why not? We might as well begin as we mean to go on,” he’d said.

And Ally’s black eyes had flashed. “We don’t mean to go on. At least I don’t. One weekend, PJ. That’s all.”

And he might not have seen Ally for ten years, but he knew her limits. And the look on her face said that he’d pushed her far enough. He’d shrugged.

“I’ll see you back to your hotel.”

She’d argued about that. But he wasn’t taking no for an answer when it came to seeing her safely back to her room. She might have taken care of herself for ten years, but it was his turn now. At least for tonight. So they’d taken a cab across the river to the big midtown Manhattan hotel where she was staying.

She’d thanked him politely for “the lovely evening” as the cab had drawn up outside the main entrance. He knew she didn’t mean it. He also knew she’d mean it less by the time he really said good-night.

“Put your money away,” he’d said sharply. “And don’t say good-night yet. I’m not leaving.”

He’d followed her out of the taxi, paid the driver, then hurried to catch up with her as she was already inside the lobby. It was all polished marble and crystal chandeliers.

“This is totally unnecessary,” Ally insisted. “You can go home now. You never felt compelled to see me to my door before.”

“That was then. This is now. That was Hawaii. This is New York City. Humor me.”

She just looked at him and shook her head. But when he persisted, she shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And she turned and marched to the elevator. “But don’t expect me to invite you in.”

He didn’t expect she would.

If there was one thing he’d learned from his years on the beach, it was how to bide his time. You couldn’t rush the ocean. When you went out on the water, surfing or windsurfing, success didn’t come from pushing or trying to control.

You got into position and you watched and you waited. You learned patience and awareness. And timing.

When the time was right—when you and the wave were in sync—then and only then did you move.

And just like he couldn’t push a wave, PJ knew he couldn’t push Ally Maruyama.

So he simply accompanied her up in the elevator and down the corridor to her room. He waited silently until she opened the door of her room. He didn’t press. Didn’t invite himself in or suggest that she should.

“I’ll see you Friday at noon,” he said. “I’ll pick you up.”

“I still think this is insane, PJ. How are you going to explain later to your family? You don’t know what you’re asking.”

PJ knew exactly what he was asking. But he didn’t think she did. “If you get bored tomorrow, call me.”

“I won’t be bored,” Ally said. “I have an appointment with a gallery owner.”

He paused. “Who?”

“Gabriela del Castillo. She’s shown some of my work at her gallery in Santa Fe.”

PJ knew the name. His sister Martha had mentioned her. Said glowing things. “She going to show your stuff here?”

“I’ll know more tomorrow. Thank you again for dinner,” she said, once more sounding like the proper well-brought-up girl he remembered. “And for the introduction to your sister,” she added a bit grimly.

He grinned. “My pleasure.”

“Good night.”

“Good night,” he said equally politely. But then as she started to close the door, he stopped her. “Ally.”

She narrowed her gaze. “What? I told you I’m not inviting you in, PJ. I’ve got work to do, Jon to call, things to think about. What do you want?”

“Just—” he hesitated, but only for a split second “—this.”

And he took one step forward, swept his arms around her, hauled her close and set his lips on hers.

It wasn’t planned. PJ didn’t plan.

He was an “act now, revise later” sort of guy. He believed in a spur-of-the-moment, caution-be-damned, full-speed-ahead approach to life. Always had. Probably always would.

It had got him into some scrapes. It had got him into a marriage. It had got him where he was today—kissing Ally.

Dear God, yes, he was kissing Ally.

The quick peck he’d managed when she’d come out of the subway had barely given him a taste. But it had whetted his appetite, made him remember the last time he’d kissed Ally.

For ten years he’d wanted more.

And now he had it. Had her lips under his, warm and soft. Resisting at first, pressed together, unyielding. He touched them with his tongue, teased them, and rejoiced when they parted to draw a breath.

It came as a gasp almost. “P—”

But he didn’t let her speak. Didn’t want to hear what she’d say. So he pressed his advantage, moved in, took more.

And the more he took, the more he wanted. The more the memories crowded in, the more the woman in his arms seemed to melt against him. His body hardened in response. His heart pounded.

He wanted—! He needed—!

And he knew she did, too. He could feel her softening against him, could feel her whole body now, pressed against his, molding itself to his. Oh, yes! He deepened the kiss.

And the instant that he did, she jerked out of his embrace, pulled back, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, mouth a perfect O. He could see the pulse hammer at her throat. She gripped the door so tightly her knuckles were white.

“That,” she said icily, “was totally unnecessary.”

Slowly PJ shook his head. “Was it?” he said, his own heart hammering so hard he could barely talk. “I don’t think so.” He managed a lopsided grin. “Tell that to Jon when you talk to him.”

And he turned and walked away.

His body would much rather have been doing something else.

“The message you left on my machine was garbled,” Jon said. “It sounded like you said you were staying longer.”

Ally, who had grabbed her mobile phone when it rang, even though she was still asleep, barely made sense of what he was saying. She pushed herself up in bed and squinted at the clock—9:30 a.m.?

She never slept that late!

But then, as a rule, she didn’t lie awake half the night wondering if she’d lost her mind, either.

Last night clearly she had.

She’d shut the door on PJ, bolted it, then leaned against it, breathing as hard as if she’d run a marathon. A marathon would have made more sense!

She would have prepared herself, she would have trained for a marathon.

She hadn’t been prepared for PJ. Or for his refusal to sign the divorce papers. Or for his sister. Or for her agreement to go to his parents’ for the weekend.

Or most especially for his kiss.

Dear God, that kiss.

She’d just been congratulating herself on having made it back to her room, if not emotionally totally intact, at least unscathed.

And then he’d kissed her. And ten years of carefully paperedover need had come spilling out of her. Ten years of memories locked down and shut away had swamped her, and she had been powerless against the force of them.

Of course, she’d had only a split second’s warning.

She had seen something in his eyes at that last second when she’d started to close the door, something that looked hard and dangerous and tempting. But she’d discounted it. Had thought she was safe. Home free.

Wrong.

Very very wrong.

Every time she’d closed her eyes all night long, she’d been swept back to that kiss. The way his mouth had awakened her, the way the press of his body had made her feel. She’d felt branded, possessed. And unthinking, she’d responded with a hunger of her own. It was a feeling she’d only experienced once before in her life. That night …

Their wedding night.

She had relived it all—that night and this for hours. It was no wonder she hadn’t slept much. It was a wonder she’d slept at all.

“Did you say that or was I hearing things?” Jon said, jerking her back to something else she wasn’t prepared for.

She had called him last night as she’d promised. She’d waited until she thought she could put together a coherent sentence or two, had hoped Jon would be there to say sensible things, to remind her about her father, about her life in Honolulu, and the world beyond PJ’s kiss.

But she’d only got his answering machine, so she’d left a message. Now she said, “Um, yes. That’s what I said. You got it right.”

She sat up straighter in the bed, pushed herself back against the headboard and willed herself to sound brisk and in control—not to mention “awake”—though God knew she wasn’t at all. She hadn’t fallen asleep until dawn. “I’m staying over the weekend,” she said.

“What about the hospital benefit on Saturday? You didn’t forget.”

She had actually. But she also remembered something else. “You said you couldn’t go to the benefit,” she reminded him. “When I was planning the trip I asked you about it, and you said it wasn’t a problem, that you couldn’t go, you were too busy.”

“I am busy. But I need to go. Fogarty says I’m expected to show my face.”

Fogarty was the head honcho in Jon’s practice, the senior doctor whose lead everyone else followed. “Then I guess you’ll have to show your face. But you’ll have to do it alone because I can’t be there.”

“Ally, what’s going on?”

“Something’s come up. Something important.”

“What could possibly be more important? The benefit is important, Alice.”

But it hadn’t been until Fogarty had decided it was. “I know. And I did ask,” she said again. “But I’ve made a commitment here now. I have some … unfinished business.”

“I know you want that Castillo woman to take you on, but really, Ally, you have plenty of exposure elsewhere. And when we’re married, how are you going to keep all the shops supplied? When we have kids …?”

They’d had this discussion before. And after they had children, Ally was certainly willing to put her career on hold and be a full-time mother. She had made up her mind some time ago that if she were ever fortunate enough to have children, she didn’t want someone else to raise them. If it were an economic necessity, she would certainly work to support them. But it wasn’t. Jon could provide the economic security for the family while the children were young.

Until then, however, she wanted to work, to draw, to paint, to design, to sew.

“When we have kids, I will put them first,” she said firmly. “But now I have to stay here until Monday.”

And she wasn’t entirely averse to taking advantage of the fact that he had assumed it had to do with her art. After all, if she told him why she was really staying, he would like it even less.

“Your dad is going to be disappointed. He was looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“I know.” Ally felt guilty, but she didn’t see any other option. “Well, I’ll see him Monday. And if you stop in to see him today, give him my love.”

“I doubt if I’ll have time to stop by. I have a full day.”

“I’ll give him a ring, then,” Ally said. “And I’ll call you as soon as I know what flight on Monday I’ll get in on.”

“Right. I’ll try to be there to pick you up. But I have to go now. I have surgery in less than an hour.”

“Right. Of course. Thanks for calling back. And I really am sorry about the weekend. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

But Jon had already hung up.

Ally sat there holding the phone in her hand, feeling sick.

She knew she was letting him down. She knew he counted on her. Depended on her. Loved her. And she knew he didn’t understand about PJ. Probably he never would. She wished she’d been able to talk to him. It would have helped so much to have felt able to confide in him about what had happened, to admit that PJ’s refusal to sign the papers had unnerved her, that the meal he’d cooked had baffled her, that his sister had charmed her, that going to meet his parents was seriously rattling her.

And then there was his kiss.

Her senses still spun, her brain still whirled every time she thought about that kiss. But of course Jon was the last person she could talk to about any of that.

Would PJ kiss her again this weekend?

Did she want him to?

If he did, how would she react a second time? Why was he doing it? What did he want? He didn’t love her.

Did she still, somewhere deep inside, love him?

And if she did, what then?