Just Married! (3 page)

Well, where else was Amanda going to go? She had given up her own apartment in anticipation of spending the rest of her life with Charlie, starting tonight.

“Well, this is home.”

“This is
your
business?”

She turned at the surprised note in his voice. “Yes. I live in the apartment above it.”

He put his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “That’s a strange coincidence. I looked at it today.”

“To buy it?” she asked, not succeeding at keeping the waver of fear out of her voice. So far, because of the economy, there had been very little interest in the building.

He shrugged, watching her closely. “I’d only pick it up if I bought the other property, as well. The price is reasonable, probably because the building needs a lot of work. Cape Cod is always a good investment.”

“Oh.” She tried to sound unconcerned, but knew she failed miserably. “What would you do with it, if you bought it?”

“Probably do some much needed maintenance on it, and then rent it out. Just think,” he teased, “I could be your landlord.”

“I doubt that. The rent is a song right now. Once the roof didn’t leak and the hot water tap actually dispensed hot water, it would probably be a different story. I can’t pay any higher. Once the building sells, I’ll probably be looking for a new home. I was counting my lucky stars that there hasn’t been much interest in it since it went on the market.”

She wished she hadn’t admitted that. The Hall
family was notorious for keeping their business to themselves, but she knew Ethan had registered the slight waver in her voice. She pointed her chin proudly to make up for it.

She wished she could afford to buy the building, but she couldn’t. Her brothers would probably help her if she asked them, but she knew the lobster business was a tough one. The Hall brothers had invested in a new vessel recently, and she hated to think of putting more stress on their finances.

Her future, and the future of Groom to Grow, were clearly up in the air.

“Hmm,” Ethan said easily, teasingly, “maybe I’ve found just the lure to get you to agree to be my wife.”

As if he wasn’t lure enough, damn him!

She wasn’t in the mood to kid about Groom to Grow and her future. She had parlayed her love of animals into this business and if it wasn’t
exactly
what she had planned for her life, at least it allowed her to live in the town she loved, surrounded by the people she cared about.

“Tell me the details of your
proposal,
” she said reluctantly.

“When my lawyer made some initial inquiries about the property for sale up the coast, the couple informed him they were
interviewing
potential buyers. They’re old people. They have a sentimental attachment to the place. They want to see another
family in there. They’ve been
interviewing
buyers and turning them down for two years.”

“That’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?”

He groaned. “Sweet? It’s sentimental hogwash. What does that have to do with business?

“They could sell it to what they think is the perfect family, and that family could turn around and sell it in a year or two, disillusioned with life at Cape Cod.”

He was being very convincing, and she knew that happened all the time. The
sumpies
were fickle in their love of Cape Cod.

They came and bought cottages and properties here during those perfect months of summer. Then they discovered they hated the commute. Or that outfitting and running two households was not very relaxing. That there were really only two or three true months of summer to enjoy their expensive real estate. Spring and fall were generally cold and blustery; winter in St. John’s Cove was not for the faint of heart.

“So,” Sam said uneasily, “you want me to pretend to be your wife for one day. To go dupe those old people out of their property.”

He didn’t just play with money—he played with people.

“I don’t see it like that,” he said evenly. “It’s business. It’s unrealistic of them to think they’re going to control what happens to the property after they sell it.”

He was right in a pragmatic way. If she could be
as businesslike as he was maybe the future of Groom to Grow wouldn’t be so uncertain. She made a decent living at what she did, she loved it and it allowed her to stay in St. John’s Cove. But it had never taken off to the point where she could sock away enough money to buy her own property.

“I said I’d make it worth your while.”

So, here was the truth about him. She should have known it the first time she had looked into those devil-dark eyes. Ethan Ballard was Lucifer, about to hold out the one temptation she couldn’t refuse, the future of Groom to Grow. Though her eyes slid to his lips when she thought that, and she realized he might have two temptations she would have trouble walking away from.

“If the deal goes the way I want it to, I’ll buy this building, and you can rent the space from me. I’ll guarantee you the same terms you have now for at least a year, since you’d be putting up with some noisy and inconvenient repairs.”

Sam, of all people, knew life didn’t have guarantees, but a reprieve from that For Sale sign almost made her weak in the knees.

“You want that place badly,” she said, trying not to act as shocked as she felt.

“Maybe. The initial assessments look very promising.”

“Enough for you to throw in a
building?
” she asked cynically.

He shrugged. “So, I end up with the beachfront house
and
some of St. John’s Cove Main Street. The price on this building was very fair. Sounds win-win to me.”

“And if the deal doesn’t go the way you want?”

“How could it not?” he said smoothly. “With you as my wife?”

In other words, if she played the role well, things would go exactly as he wanted them to. She had a feeling things in Ethan Ballard’s life went his way.

“If, despite my best efforts to play your devoted wife, they don’t sell you their property?” she pressed. “What then?”

“The deal is off. I’d be heading up a development team to work on the other property—carpenters, plumbers, electricians, roofers—so it would be no big deal to send them over to do some work on this building while we’re here. But it wouldn’t make good business sense to send them in for this building alone. I’m hands-on. If I can’t be here to supervise, I’m not doing it.”

“Oh.”

“Take a chance,” he said in his best charm-of-thedevil voice. “You won’t be any further behind if things don’t work out. Besides, it might be fun.”

Oh, sure. Of course it was fun to dance with the devil, but there was always a price to be paid.

“I have to think about it,” she said, deducing he was a man far too accustomed to getting his own way.

She certainly didn’t want him to see how easily she was swayed by his charm, or how much she wanted what he was offering. He didn’t have to know she was already ninety percent at yes.

Though in truth more than fifty percent of that
yes
was that she was reluctantly intrigued by him, even if she was uneasy about the deal.

A light turned on in her apartment.

They both turned and looked up at the lighted window. Amanda, still in her bridal gown, was pacing in front of the window.

I’m getting a stomachache
, Sam noted to herself. Out loud, she said coolly, “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for walking me home.”

“I’ll drop by in the morning, around nine. I’ll pick you up right here, outside, so it’s not awkward if you decide against it. If you’re here, great, and if you’re not, I’ll assume you didn’t want to come. No problem.” He looked at her for a long moment, and she could feel herself holding her breath. He was debating kissing her! She knew it. And she didn’t know if she was relieved or regretful when he walked away!

By nine the next morning, the other ten percent had swung over to Ethan Ballard’s side. The truth was, Sam would have thrown in with Genghis Khan to get away from the intensity of emotion that had swept into her life with the runaway bride. Sam had spent most of the night trying to console her friend,
who was inconsolable, but who wouldn’t tell her what horrible crime Charlie had committed this time.

Despite her cynicism about love and marriage, Sam would have done anything to make Charlie and Amanda’s relationship work, to see her friends happy. Her sense of powerlessness in the face of Amanda’s distress made her eager to escape.

Still, even though she was waiting at the curb for Ethan Ballard, Sam was determined he wasn’t going to have it all his way.

No, the girl Ethan had proposed to last night was banished. Gone was the makeup and the hair, gone was the suggestive dress.

Sam’s face was scrubbed clean, her hair loose but covered with her favorite ball cap. She was wearing an old pair of faded khakis, and a T-shirt that belonged to her brother Bryce. She had an uglier one that belonged to Mitch, but Amanda was shuffling around the apartment in it this morning since everything Amanda owned was at Charlie’s house.

Still, Sam was satisfied that she certainly would not be what anyone would picture as the wife of Mr. Ethan Ballard.

And she had the new dog, Waldo, with her, too. People dropped off strays with her, counting on her to work her magic with them and then to find them good homes. Sam had never said no to a dog who needed a place to go.

This dog was particularly sensitive to emotion,
and when Amanda had become so overwrought that she was puking, he had started sympathy-puking right along with her.

Sam and the dog were actually sitting on the curb when Ethan drove up the street slowly in a gorgeous newer-model luxury car. Waldo, half Chinese pug and half mystery, was dressed in an army camo hoodie since the morning fog had not quite lifted, and the breeze coming off the ocean was sharp. Sam could not stop herself from spoiling the dogs and cats that had temporary refuge with her.

Sam saw the look on Ethan Ballard’s face when he saw her sitting by the curb with her mutt. She thought about the mission they were about to embark on and had the uncharitable hope that the dog would puke in his luxurious car.

If Ethan even stopped to pick them up! Maybe he would take one look at the real Samantha Hall and drive right on by!

E
THAN
B
ALLARD
drove down Main Street of St. John’s Cove, enjoying the Sunday morning quiet of it, but aware that despite his words last night—
If you’re here, great, and if you’re not, I’ll assume you didn’t want to come
—he hadn’t meant the
no problem
follow-up. For some reason, he
wanted
her to come with him.

And not necessarily because of the Finkles, either. Last night, after he had left Samantha Hall and walked back down the beach alone, he had thought of her comment about
duping those old people out of their property
, and not liked that very much.

Usually Ethan regarded business as a large chess game. He liked
winning.
He had turned his competitive nature to that and found it far more fulfilling and less full of pitfalls than relationships. But when had he become so focused on the win that he was willing to
dupe
people?

Maybe it would be just as well if Samantha didn’t
show up this morning. He’d drive up the coast, present the Finkles with a very good offer, take it or leave it, no games, no
duping.

So, if it would be just as well if she didn’t show up, and if he was a man who avoided the pitfalls of relationships and had made business, pragmatic and predictable, a safe harbor from
emotion
, then it was probably not a good thing that he felt dismayed that Samantha was not waiting for him.

A little boy in a ball cap and a scruffy dog sat on the curb. Ethan slowed, looked past them, to see if Samantha was coming down her staircase. She wasn’t, and aware of a sharp pang of disappointment, he debated going and knocking on her door.

But that hadn’t been the agreement, and if the yellow convertible was any indication, his cousin, Amanda, was still there. His brow furrowed as he thought of his young, lovely cousin starting the day yesterday so full of hope, and now being so distressed. Should he go say something to her? Or would his own discomfort with all things emotional just make everything worse?

While he mulled over his options, the little boy stood up, and the dog yapped its dislike. Ethan glanced at the pair again.

And slammed on the brakes. His eyes widened.

That was Samantha Hall?
Oh, it was her all right, those wide-set gray-green eyes in the shadow of the ball cap, the delicate features, the sensuous curve of
her mouth. But all those delectable curves that dress had shown off last night were disguised this morning.

Ethan leaned over and opened the door for her, surprised by how he felt. Intrigued. And he had the same feeling he’d had last night after talking to her brother. That what Samantha needed more than anything else was for someone to see right past the ball cap, and the men’s T-shirt, to the woman in her.

The woman he had tasted when his lips had brushed hers so briefly.

The woman he had touched when she had stumbled putting on her shoe, felt the pure and feminine sensuous energy of her.

“Good morning,” he said as she slid into the seat beside him. “I nearly drove by. I didn’t recognize you.”

“This is the
real
me,” she said defensively, settling the dog on her lap.

Is it?
he wondered. Her dog glared at him and growled. She appeared to have taken more time dressing the dog than herself.

“I thought maybe that was how you felt Mrs. Ethan Ballard would look,” he said mildly, and glancing up at the apartment window asked, “Do you think I should go say something to Amanda?”

“She’s finally sleeping.”

He heard the concern in Samantha’s voice, and felt, ridiculously, as if he was the white knight riding in, not to rescue his cousin, but Samantha.

“You look a little the worse for wear this
morning,” he said, checking over his shoulder as he pulled away from the curb.

“I don’t have the wardrobe to look like Mrs. Ethan Ballard,” she said proudly. “Unless I wore the dress from last night and it didn’t seem appropriate for daywear.”

“I wasn’t referring to your clothes,” he said dryly. “You just look tired.”

“Oh.”

“What do you think Mrs. Ethan Ballard’s wardrobe would look like?”

She slid him a sideways look. “I guess that depends what kind of woman you go for. I wonder. Trashy? Or classy. I’m going to guess classy.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “I think.”

Classy.
He thought of Bethany, with her pedigree and her designer wardrobe, her tasteful jewelry, her exotic, expensive scents. Classy, but when he’d scraped the surface, challenged her, she’d been superficial as hell.

The woman beside him in her baseball cap and khakis, with her innate honesty and decency, seemed a lot more classy than Bethany. If classy meant
genuine.
Real. And somehow at this moment that is what it meant to him.

“Classy it is,” he said. The next town, Stone Harbor, was past the turnoff to the Finkles, but since it was just a few minutes away on the winding coast road, and it was bigger than St. John’s Cove, a few
of its Main Street stores would be open on Sunday. He pulled over in front of a boutique, Sunsational, that looked upscale and
classy.

Luckily the fog was persisting so it wasn’t yet hot enough to worry about leaving the dog in the car, though he rolled all the windows partly down.

He opened the door for Samantha, aware he was enjoying this, aware that his rendezvous with the Finkles was shimmering like an oasis he might never arrive at but he didn’t mind because the journey there was proving just as interesting. Make that more interesting.

“What are we doing?” Samantha asked, eyeing the boutique.

“Making you into Mrs. Ballard. The classy version.” He grinned. “Though trashy would be more fun.”

He saw she looked wounded, and that he had insulted her by insinuating she wouldn’t make a great Mrs. Ballard just the way she was.

But he felt he saw a truth about her that she might have been missing herself: that what she was wearing now was a disguise of sorts intended to hide who she really was.

“Look,” he said, hastily, “you look fine the way you are. But if I don’t end up buying your building, you’ve given me your time for nothing. Let me do something for you. Consider it a thank-you in advance.”

Pride played across her face, but he saw the
faintest wistfulness in the quick glance she cast at the door. He knew it! She had every woman’s delight in shopping!

Still, when he held open the door of the store for her and she marched by him, she was scowling.

He touched the place where her brow was knit. “Have fun!” he instructed her.

She looked at him, glanced around the store. He could clearly see she was struggling with a decision, and he was relieved when something in her relaxed.

“Okay,” she said, and gave him a small, careful smile. It occurred to him that that smile changed everything, changed far more than a dress ever could. He saw the radiance in her, and realized the sighting was precious, the part of herself, along with her femininity, that she kept hidden.

It was a treasure he felt drawn to find.

Still, her idea of
fun
turned out to be a menace, because she gave him the
trashy
version of Mrs. Ballard. She flounced out of the dressing room in a too short white leather skirt and a hot-pink halter top, flipped a dark wave of luscious hair over her naked shoulder and watched his reaction solemnly.

The truth was he was flummoxed. She looked
awful.
And yet his mouth went absolutely dry at the slender temptation of her perfect curves, her toned and tanned legs, the glimpse of her belly button where the top didn’t quite meet the skirt.

When he struggled for words, and all that came
out was an uncertain
Ah
, the solemn look faded from her face and she laughed. She was kidding him, paying him back.

But when she laughed her whole face lit up and her eyes danced with mischief, and he knew he’d glimpsed the treasure he’d been looking for. The real Samantha Hall, despite the costume she had put on.

A half hour later and a half dozen more sedate outfits later, she emerged from the dressing room and twirled in front of him. The defensiveness had left her, and he was delighted at how thoroughly she was enjoying herself. From the sassiness of her pose, she knew it was the perfect outfit, and so did he.

She wore a summer skirt, of light silk, an amazing blend of seaside colors, the turquoise of the sea and the pale blue of the sky. She had paired it with casual sandals that showed the delicate lines of her feet, and he remembered the white-hot feeling of holding that tiny foot in the palm of his hand last night.

When she twirled, her loose, glossy hair fanned out and the skirt flew around her, revealing, again, those amazing legs, and hinting at her gypsy spirit. She had on a cream linen jacket, that she hadn’t done up, and under it was a camisole so simple there should be no reason that it made his mouth go as dry as the more flamboyant pink halter top she had tried on first.

“What do you think?” she asked.

He thought she was the perfect Mrs. Ballard. He
thought he had dragged her in here to show her something of herself, and had seen something of himself instead. That he was vulnerable to her.

“You look perfect,” he said gruffly, and then tried to short-circuit his own vulnerability, to make her stop looking at him like
that
, in a way that made his heart feel like it would swoop out of his chest and land in the palms of her hands. “Let’s go dupe the Finkles.”

The happy look faded from her face, and he was sorry even though he knew it was better for both of them if they didn’t forget what this was all about.

“This is the one,” she said, suddenly cool. “Let’s go.”

He mourned the loss of the magic of the moments they had just shared, even as he knew they made things way too complicated.

At the front desk, Samantha went outside while he paid. The clerk offered to package up the old clothes for him, but he just shook his head. Even if she was mad at him, he never wanted to see her in those clothes—that particular lie—again.

She didn’t ask about her clothes when he joined her. Her eyes were challenging him to back down, to say the subterfuge had gone far enough.

But the look of disdain in her eyes was so much safer for him than the look in her eyes when she had been twirling in front of him, filled with glorious certainty of herself, that he felt more committed than ever to his plan. They’d visit the Finkles, he’d take
her home. Leave her with the outfit to assuage some faint guilt he was feeling. If he did end up buying her building, he would keep it strictly business.

Though he wasn’t sure how, since he had utterly failed to keep things strictly business so far.

What if it could be real?

He didn’t even know her, he scoffed at himself. But when he looked at her, her eyes distant, her chin pointed upward with stubbornness and pride, he felt like he did know her. Or wanted to.

“What’s the plan now?” she said.

“We’ll go to the Finkles. Let’s just say we’re engaged instead of married,” he told her.

The stiff look of pride left her face and something crumpled in her eyes. “Even dressed up, I’m not good enough, am I?”

“No!” he said, stunned at her conclusion. “That’s not it at all. The problem is you are way too good for me. Duper of old people, remember?”

And then he hurriedly opened the car door and held it for her, before he gave into the temptation to take her in his arms and erase any thought she’d ever had about not being good enough, before he gave in to the temptation to kiss her until she had not a doubt left about who she really was, a
woman
, who deserved more than she had ever asked of the world.

He knew if he was smart, he would just pass the turnoff he was looking for and take her straight back to St. John’s Cove, cut his losses.

But now he felt he had to
prove
to her it was him that was unworthy, not her.

It was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done, to continue this charade.

But looking back over the events of the last day, since he had first seen Samantha Hall standing at the altar beside his cousin, it seemed to Ethan Ballard he had not made one smart decision. Not one.

He glanced at the woman sitting with her dog slobbering all over her new silk skirt, trying to read her expression.

“Look,” he said awkwardly, “any man would be lucky to call you his wife. And that was before we went shopping.” He was a little shocked by how much he meant that, but he had failed to convince her.

He wanted to just call this whole thing off, forget the Finkles and go home to the mess-free life he took such pride in.

“Humph,” she said skeptically.

If he did call it off now, was Samantha really going to think she had failed to measure up to his standard for a wife? He sighed at how complicated this innocent little deceit had become.

Here he was smack-dab in the middle of a mess of his own making.

Samantha Hall looked straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes, but the dog slid him a contemptuous look and growled low in its throat.

Ethan Ballard thought he had heard somewhere that dogs were excellent judges of character.

“I used to play baseball,” he said. It was a measure of his desperation that he was trying to
win
her respect back this way, when he hated it when people liked him for his former career. But the truth was, right about now, Ethan would take her liking any way he could get it.

He
wanted
that look back in her eyes, he wanted the radiance back, even though it was a very dangerous game he played.

“Didn’t we all?” she said.

“I meant professionally. I played first base for the Red Sox for a season.”

“And you are telling me this why?” Not the tiniest bit of awe in her voice.

“I’m trying to impress you,” he admitted sadly, “since I’ve managed to make such a hash of it so far.”

“Humph.”

“I’ll take that as a fail.”

“I grew up with three brothers,” she told him, and he could hear the sharp annoyance in her voice. “Every single special occasion of my entire life has been spoiled by their obsession with sports. You know where my brothers were the night I graduated from high school?”