Bargaining with the Bride Page 5

  "Don't you think it'll come up?"

  "Maybe not. If it does, I'll handle it." She sucked hard on her straw, and then nearly choked. Apparently all the alcohol in her drink had gone straight to the bottom.

  "Let's be serious, okay? No judgment. If it's, you know,” he leaned in and whispered, “kinky or something, you can tell me.”

  Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if her head was spinning because of her too-strong drink or because her normally stodgy boss had just said the word ‘kinky.’ Or maybe it was because the way the word sounded in his deep voice felt…

  "Please. Stop.” She pinched her nose between thumb and forefinger. “How do you think proposals happen?"

  “I don't know, but I also don't know why it would be a secret unless it involved gold anal beads along with your ring." He laughed, but her cheeks burned at the implication.

  "Definitely not.” She slurped on her straw. He clearly wasn’t going to let up. Maybe if she said it quickly, like pulling off a Band-Aid, the mortification wouldn’t sear her as deeply. With a deep breath, she said, “I’m just embarrassed because he didn't propose. I did."

  Go ahead and make fun of me. I don't care. My parents already laughed hysterically when I told them.

  "You proposed?" He raised his eyebrows, finally taking a sip of his own drink.

  The waitress stopped off, momentarily interrupting their conversation so that they could place their orders. Perfect, just enough time to let Rachael stew in her own, pitiful juices.

  When the old woman finally plodded away, Rachael said, “Yeah. I popped the question.”

  "Why? Because he was sick? Did you want the insurance money or something?" There wasn't judgment in his tone. That was a first. Even her own parents had asked if she was trying to get something out of it. Maybe that’s what had made the irony of the situation that much more bitter.

  "I was sort of…” She paused, sipped what she now realized was the dregs of her cocktail. “Trapped. I couldn't leave him, sick and alone, and if I didn’t commit, then I was stuck with a mountain of medical bills he couldn’t pay because he couldn’t work. His parents had cut him off. I thought that getting married would at least save me financially if it couldn’t save me emotionally."

  God, she must have sounded like some kind of Oprah special to him. It wasn't like her, really, to get all strung out about life. She'd been dealt a lot of short straws already; this whole thing was just another pothole in the road.

  "That's really admirable."

  "It's stupid. I know that now. But, ugh, it was awful. The proposal, I mean. I cooked Lance his favorite dinner and we talked about it the night after I'd spent the last of my savings fund. I don't really know why he said yes. Probably because he had it so good." She shrugged.

  "How would you have liked to have been proposed to?" His voice was soft, thoughtful. Still, the fact that his pen was poised over that stupid notebook did something to dampen the spirit behind what he was asking.

  "Oh, I don't know. I always like the guys who stage proposals where they first met their wives, you know? Parks and stuff. Proposals where people went on their first date.”

  "Interesting," Garret's pen was scribbling away, and it took all of Rachael's effort not to roll her eyes into the back of her head.

  “I guess so.” She swirled her straw in her empty glass and smiled at the waitress who motioned to offer her another. Hell, if they were going to talk about Lance much longer, she should just keep those suckers coming.

  After a moment, Garret looked up from his scrawling and asked, “I was wondering on the way here. What are you going to do about Lance's family?"

  "He doesn't have family. His parents disowned him after they cut him off. No brothers or sisters. Plus, he didn't really want to be involved in the wedding much. He thought of it as more of a favor to me than a commitment."

  "Wow, I can't believe I never got to meet your big catch."

  "Yeah. He was...he was something."

  “A piece of shit from the sounds of it.” The words were clipped, the same way Garret sounded when someone cut him off in a meeting. In this context, though, she found herself taken aback by the command in his voice. And there was something else there, too. Something she couldn’t quite name.

  “I think you were right. Talking about him is a waste of our time,” he sipped on his whiskey, then cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, you’ll call your mother and tell her that you’ve fallen madly in love and you’re marrying someone else.”

  “Who would believe that?”

  “Trust me, once your family meets me, they’ll understand how someone could fall in love so easily.” He grinned at her over the rim of his cup and she fought the urge to smile back at him.

  “I’m glad you’re confident,” Rachael rolled her eyes.

  “You’re not?” He said lazily, and then flipped to the first page of his Nancy Drew journal. “I find your lack of faith disturbing. Regardless, I spent the afternoon devising these questions in order to ensure our believability as a couple. They’re designed to prepare us for a lifetime of knowing each other.”

  “And you set us up for this lifetime of love in one afternoon?” Fat chance. Still, he looked so earnest. She didn’t have it in her to tell him no. “Well, shoot.” She held in her sigh as she spun her engagement ring around her finger, staring down at her cocktail as if willing it to be magically refilled.

  “What was your reputation in college?” he asked.

  “Studious.”

  “What is your favorite meal?”

  “Meatloaf,” she answered again.

  “I refuse to believe that,” he said dryly.

  “It’s true.”

  “A likely story. Anyway, who is your celebrity crush?”

  “Stephen Colbert.”

  He paused for a moment, staring at her, “The fake newscaster?”

  “I think smart is sexy,” she shrugged.

  He scanned the paper, and then continued, “When is your birthday?”

  “You don’t know my birthday?”

  “I’m your boss, not your party planner.”

  She answered on a sigh. “April 19th. And yours is February 6th. I know that. Because I care.”

  He continued on for what felt like hours. All through dinner. Through three refills of her drink. On and on and on. The place was basically a ghost town by the time she’d hit the bottom of her fourth cocktail, her throat dry from answering all of his questions. And still he went on.

  “How old are you?” He was as bright and bushy as when he’d started, but she swayed where she sat, ready to give out from the mental exhaustion of his inane inquisition.

  “Rude,” she mumbled, sucking on her drink until it made an awful suckling noise.

  “Just answer.”

  “Twenty-six.” She yawned.

  “What’s your favorite movie?”

  “Dirty Dancing.” It took her a minute to realize what she’d said. In fact, she might not have realized it at all if his eyes hadn't lit up when he’d heard her answer.

  “I knew it. Get your coat.” He tossed money on top of their check. He couldn’t be bothered to hide his smug grin.

  “Well, it’s only one of my favorite movies. I have many,” she argued as she followed him out into the parking lot.

  “Tell yourself whatever you like. In the end, we both will know that you’re a filthy liar. I won that contest.” He opened the door for her again, but she was too distracted by her mistake to notice.

  “You did not. You lied too, I could tell.” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited from him to climb into the car with her.

  After he joined her, he turned and asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, please. I was totally right about your favorite food being fillet mignon. You always do this thing where you clear your throat then get all alpha dog on somebody when you lie. I’ve seen you do it in meetings hundreds of times. You have a serious tell.”

  “You have no proof.” Even
as he said it, she could hear that alpha tone grating on the edge of his words.

  She smirked. “I don’t need it. I have the victory in my heart.”

  They sat in silence for a little while as Garret wound around the quiet country streets on the way back to Rachael’s house.

  She reached for the radio, but everything looked so shiny and newfangled that she was worried she’d accidentally press a self-destruct button.

  When they’d rounded the corner to her street, he cleared his throat and said, “You know, there are other questions we need to discuss—”

  “You asked for a complete lineage of my family and for my complete medical history. What on earth could we still need to go over?”

  He ignored her question and stared ahead at the road. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to rush into the unpleasantness, but I don’t really see any other way around it.”

  “Unpleasantness?”

  He parked his car in the middle of her driveway and unfastened his seatbelt, turning to look her full in the face, “We’ll have to know about each other. You know, sexually.”

  “My family doesn’t do medieval bedding ceremonies. I think we’ll be okay.” She tried to brush the question off, but inside a knife twisted at his words. Knowing each other sexually equated to “unpleasantness” for him?

  Sure, it might be a little weird, considering their relationship, but unpleasant seemed so…harsh. It certainly the worst thing they could be doing. In fact, the more she thought about it, the less “unpleasant” it seemed.

  When he spoke again, she found herself focusing on his chiseled lips, suddenly hyper-aware of his every movement.

  “People aren’t shy,” he said. “We’ll have to touch. We’ll have to act like we’re used to touching. You can’t cringe away from me every time I reach for you.” He rested a hand on her forearm and the last thing she wanted to do was flinch away. His skin was hot, and rough, and gentle.

  Could he feel the way gooseflesh rose when he’d touched her? Could he tell the way her heart already sped up in her chest?

  Garret leaned back in his seat, staring up through the sunroof for a moment before turning to her again. He was handsome, really. Much more handsome than she’d noticed before. And there was something else. His smile was sort of crooked. Not even in that practiced way that some guys had. It was genuine, and oh-so-charming.

  But most of all, it was hot.

  She blinked up at him, knowing that he was surprised that she hadn’t shrunk from his touch. Then again, maybe it was time someone tested the great scientist’s hypotheses.

  Maybe that will show him how unpleasant I can be.

  She shook the thought away, grateful she hadn’t said it aloud. Somehow, she didn’t think that would have come out right. Still, he did deserve a little baiting, and she was right here…

  “Well, why don’t we just try it, then? Just to get a head start. I should warn you, though. I prefer to run before I walk,” she said.

  “Are you propositioning me?” He looked surprised, but not horrified. That was something at least.

  “No, don’t be stupid. I meant we could try kissing.” She was just drunk enough for her mind to feel like it was the greatest idea she’d had all night long. And his mouth did look full. And warm. And very kissable.

  I’ll show him unpleasant.

  She shook her head. There had to be a way of getting that idea to make sense…

  “Okay. Sure.” He shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact as ever. Her heartbeat jumped to an alarming pace as he leaned closer and closer, his lips only inches from her own. She could feel the heat of him; smell the spicy muskiness of his cologne.

  She closed her eyes, but just as their noses brushed together and they tilted in opposite directions to connect their mouths, her elbow triggered a button and opened the secret compartment between them in the center console.

  “Maybe we should try inside,” she stepped from the car before he could help her, but he still held the door to her house open for her as she crossed the threshold. It was awkward and kind of exciting having him there. He was a fake husband and already he was more real than her real fiancé had been. Go freaking figure.

  She sat on the sofa and patted the space beside her, inviting him to join her.

  He sat down politely, and then turned to face her.

  “So, I guess we just…” She started, but his hand had already cupped her jawline, and she noticed what a deep, rich blue his eyes were as his face grew closer to her by the minute, his lips finally coming to rest upon her own.

  The current of his kiss, of his touch, was like a lightning bolt, traveling down her throat, coiling around her spine, and coursing between her thighs. Maybe he thought she’d back away, but the velvet of his lips was hardly something she planned on escaping any time soon.

  Instead, she pulled in his warm bottom lip, flicking her tongue over the space of his skin before deepening the kiss further, pushing into his mouth to taste him. God, where did he learn to kiss like this? Moreover, how did her intense, determined boss ever find the time to hone this kind of skill?

  She inched closer, draw in equal measures by the mystery and the touch and she wondered for the first time if she should be the one getting to know him better instead of the other way around.

  It was so good. Too good to stop. The best kiss of her entire life.

  And then it was over.

  His eyes opened, and her heart sunk as she felt his lips pulling away from hers, the taste of his sweet, minty breath still on her mouth.

  But then there was another surge of electricity as his lips parted against hers again, harder and more demandingly than he had before. The power of his kiss had her falling backward, onto her back as he continued to deepen the kiss, greeting her tongue with his own as they swirled around each other, the hard muscles of his body pinning her down. His chest pressed against hers, and the sound of their hearts melded together like primal drums.

  His fingers abandoned her jawline to weave between her locks, tugging gently on her curls until her bun was completely unraveled. But then, just as she fully surrendered herself to the kiss, it was all over.

  He pulled away, pushed to standing, and then strode quietly toward the door.

  “I have to go,” he said calmly, “I’m sorry.”

  “Garret?” She panted, and he turned, his face a half in shadow. His lips were red where she’d nibbled on them, and she was suddenly overcome by the urge to cross the room and pull him back toward the sofa.

  Before she could act on her instincts, he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then, he swung the door shut behind him without another word, and she listened to his car drive away into the night.

  5

  Garret sped the whole way home.

  He thought he'd laid his plans out so well, accounted for every variable and constant. But this...

  This was much more than he'd bargained for. He thought kissing her would be like any other kiss; warm and interesting, but fine. Nothing life-changing. Pleasant.

  He had been dead wrong.

  The second he touched her lips, pure electricity coursed through his body. Like lightning in a bottle. It had been nearly impossible to break away from her. The instant her pale, supple skin was flush with his own? The way her breasts crushed against his chest? He was lost to her.

  Which, if he was honest with himself, was as perplexing as it was intriguing. He’d been in countless relationships, but could never recall feeling this way before. Then again, no woman had ever sighed against his lips the way Rachael did. No one had felt as good as Rachael did in his arms…

  It was possible, likely even, that this was a huge breakthrough in his research. After all, there was a reason people said there was no such thing as platonic friendship between men and women. True, he’d noticed Rachael before tonight, whenever her skirts clung to her thighs or her blouse hugged her in just the right way. But tonight? It was like she’d been a different person all together.


  Out of her business attire, her soft blond curls cascaded around her face and whenever he looked at them he imagined wrapping one of those ringlets around his finger. Or weaving his hands between the locks and tugging gently…

  He rolled down the window, welcoming a blast of chilled evening air. Maybe this was a breakthrough, but somehow it felt a lot more like a serious, gaping flaw in his logic. Even worse, he was beginning to wonder if this entire bet had been one colossal mistake.

  He pulled into his driveway, locked the car, and then plodded into his town house. When he opened the door, he heard a dull thud and the tinkling of glass as the door connected with something that had been left in its path. He flicked on the light and found a brown moving box labeled “fragile” sitting in the foyer.

  Damn movers.

  He tapped out a message to Deanna, instructing her of the best time to pick up the rest of her things, then circled into the bedroom. As far as he could tell, she’d gotten everything else. Of course, the one thing he’d hoped she’d take with her, she’d left behind.

  On top of the polished oak dresser sat the letter she’d written two days before. Since then, he hadn’t seen her, but he’d probably read her note more times than he’d spoken with her in the last month. Slowly, he re-opened the letter and reads the words over again.

  Garret,

  I know that leaving a message with your secretary is probably a better way of getting in touch with you than this, but I couldn’t bear to say the words out loud. I have to go and I think you know that. I can’t live like this—not knowing if you’ll come home or getting messages from your personal assistant that she found you asleep at your desk again. Nobody could live like this.

  You deserve to be loved, but I deserve that too. I wish you the best, truly.

  Sincerely,

  Deanna

  He stared around the room. Yes, every last remnant of her was gone. Time to start fresh yet again. He glanced at the note, then crinkled it into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket in the corner of the room.

  After stripping off his clothes and changing into sweats, he lay on his bed, cell phone in hand, thinking. Someday someone would understand how much the company meant to him. What the research would do for humanity. Wasn’t that more important than one relationship in the grand scheme of things? Maybe if they’d had his research sooner, his parents might have…