Made For Each Other (6 page)

“Do you have a better suggestion?” he
asked, fully aware she had heard him correctly the first
time.

“Of all the arrogant, conceited, self-
centered—” Her hand lashed out, and Nick caught it in midflight
before it reached its target. “You’re hurting me,” she
gasped.

“Then listen to me—quietly.
We can cross over the border at El Paso and be married at Judrez
before the night is over. A few dollars given to the
alcalde
—the justice of
the peace,” he translated for her—“and our marriage certificate
will be dated the night of your accident.”

“What makes you think I’d want to be
married to—to you?” Her voice grew louder the angrier she got.
“Marriage with you is the last thing I’d want! I’d rather be known
as a call girl than married to you!”

“Mark my words—you will be known as
one if you don’t marry me.” Her hand went limp, and Nick continued.
“You don’t have long to consider my offer. ”

She stood there, trying to sort out
her feelings. She hated Nicholas Raffer and all he stood for; not
just some of his political views, but his arrogance, his wealth,
his free- swinging life style that gave no consideration to the
female sex.

Yet she had to admit she was strongly
attracted to him. “It’d never work,” she whis-pered. “The way we
detest each other. My idea of a marriage is like my parents’—a
marriage of trusting, of love,” she said slowly, trying to
formulate her thoughts into words. “Our marriage would be a
disaster. We’d both be miserable.”

“I didn’t say we had to stay married
the rest of our lives.”

She tried to make out in the light of
the fire what lay behind Nick’s dispassionate expres-sion. “For six
months or so, you mean?”

“Something like that—until this
incident blows over.”

“What do you get out of all this?” she
asked suspiciously. “I can’t believe you’re generous enough to
sacrifice yourself on the marriage altar with what Santa Fe society
would call a nobody!”

Nick’s hand crept out to run its
fingers through her feathery curls. She tensed at his touch,
waiting. After a moment he said casually, “Protection. If I hope to
be reelected to my senate seat next year I can’t be worried about
the next edition of some tabloid. And in turn you would have the
protection of my good name in marriage. It would be a marriage of
mutual benefits.”

“Oh,” she murmured. And with that
utterance went all the fantasies of her youth . . . the beautiful
wedding in white, the adoring bridegroom, the happy-ever-after
fairy tale.

“Wow. I love all the romance and
flowers you come bearing. All right,” she said wearily. But the old
spark of high spirit reignited, and her head shot up defiantly.
“But there’s one condition.”

“Yes?”

“That I am to remain as chaste in body
as my good name which you profess to be protecting.”

Nick’s soft laughter sent shivers
along her spine. “And what’s to keep me from the marriage
privileges to which I am entitled?”

She smiled sweetly. “The same thing
that will keep me from tearing you into shreds in the press after
our divorce—or annulment. Our word of honor.”

“Word of honor?” he drawled. “I doubt
either of us possess that. “Now a prenuptial – ”

“No way. It’s all about trust – or
it’s nothing at all.”

“I didn’t give you enough credit for
being so scheming.”

“We’re well matched,” she
retorted.

Nick tugged lightly on the handful of
silken hair he still held in his grasp. “You can’t deny me your
soft lips . . . after all, without a husbandly kiss now and then
before our public, everyone will begin to suspect that we didn’t
marry for love to begin with. And that’s something we don’t want to
happen for at least several months, do we?”

Her full lips pouted. “As you say,
then, a kiss for the sake of appearances—but that’s
all!”

Nick released her hair abruptly. His
lips curled sardonically. “You still have to suffer my odious
touch—at least until your collarbone is well enough that you can
easily dress yourself.”

She steeled herself to withstand his
imper-sonal touch as he deftly buttoned her shirt. The brush of his
fingertips against her bare skin aroused her more than any kiss
from any of the other men she had dated, including her editor, Jim
Miller.

As if he could read her thoughts, Nick
said,

“And this other man—the man who holds
your heart—what about him?”

She looked up to find Nick closely
watching her, as though he might actually care that there was some
other man in her life. “He hasn’t asked me to marry him—and you
have,” she pointed out quietly.

“I see,” he said.

No, she thought, you don’t see. But
she said nothing as he turned away. “I’ll get ready,” he said over
his shoulder, “and we’ll leave.” He paused at the bedroom door. His
gaze raked down the length of her bare legs. “Shall I help you with
your jeans also?”

“No! I can manage myself, thank you,”
she replied stiltedly. And it was true: she could manage almost
anything, but not without some awkwardness and pain.

Nick grinned. “Modesty is no way to
start a marriage.” But he tossed her the jeans and disappeared into
the bathroom.

Twice She almost tripped trying to
pull the snug jeans over her hips. Her shoulder was already
beginning to throb again, and she knew she ought to take a pain
pill, but half drugged was the last thing she wanted to be on her
bridal night. When she had finished tying her tennis shoes, she
looked down at her ridiculous garb—the rumpled jeans and too- large
shirt—and recalled her mother’s white satin wedding dress that had
been stored away for her own wedding. She wanted to cry.

But that was something she would never
do again—at least, she would never let Nick see her do
it.

With the thought of Nick, she looked
toward the bathroom. “Nick?” she called softly. Had he already
regretted his offer?

He stepped out of the bathroom,
toweling off his face. One brown hand rubbed his jaws with a
self-derisive smile. “Every groom should be clean-shaven on his
wedding night.”

There was no chance that Julie could
mistake Nick’s identity now. The only hint of the rogue who had
rescued her that she could see was the still too longish hair – and
the wicked glitter of his eyes that gave the latent impression of
something dangerous lurking patiently. Without the beard, the
carved jawline and faint cleft in his chin were more pronounced,
along with the mocking grooves that flanked his long
lips.

Gone, too, were the worn jeans and
flannel shirt. There was nothing rough or disheveled about the
cream-colored silk shirt that molded his wide shoulders and chest
and the finely tailored slacks of pale blue that clung to the
narrow hips.

Nick tossed the towel onto the bed and
began rolling up the long shirt sleeves to reveal his tanned,
muscled forearms. “Sorry that I’ve nothing dressier for you to
wear,” he said, nodding at her crude clothing. “But that should be
easily remedied tomorrow when the stores open. After all, isn’t
that what every woman enjoys doing—shopping?”

“Not every woman,” she snapped,
thinking of her closets, filled with more jeans and tennis shorts
than skirts and gowns. And with that thought came the realization
that for the next six months she would have to dress the part of a
senator’s wife—worse, act the part. Could she sustain that sort of
vapid veneer she had witnessed at the political cocktail parties
she had attended?

The more she thought about her
approac¬ing marriage on the silent nocturnal trip to Ju&rez,
Mexico, the more she felt she had to be out of her mind. She barely
knew Nicholas Raffer—only his public image. And that she had often
quarreled with.

But the private Nick Raffer, the man
she had intimately shared two days and two nights with—this man had
the power to disturb her as no one else had, and she did not like
this unexpected trait of feminine weakness she had discovered in
herself. If Nick had accomplished that much in two days— her near
physical and moral subjugation— what could he not do in six
months?

Her gaze slid across the darkened car
to surreptitiously assess the man behind the wheel. He handled the
large four-wheel vehicle with a consummate skill that matched his
skill on the senate floor—the determined focus of mind and relaxed,
catlike movements that belied the watchful eyes. No wasted motion.
Even that dark face wore the same expression—betraying little,
while absorbing the most minute detail.

No wonder he was a skilled hunter—and
a powerful politician.

She shivered at the enormity of the
step she was taking in marrying this man, and Nick asked, “Cold?”
But something in the tone of his voice told her he was well aware
of her apprehensive thoughts.

“A little,” she replied, unwilling to
openly admit her fear.

Nick turned up the heat, and after a
moment she actually did feel less gloomy. Outside the car the world
was a winter wonderland of white against a black-velvet sky
sequined with glittering diamonds. Because of the late hour of the
night and the bad weather conditions, the Blazer did not pass
another car. It was as if the elements conspired to isolate the
supposed lovers in their own private world.

It would have—should have—been a
romantic journey . . . had Nick loved her. But she had never felt
so alone in her life.

It was nearly one in the morning
before the bright lights of El Paso illuminated their backdrop of
the Franklin Mountains and another hour before Nick drove over the
International Bridge to the old-world town of Juarez with its
slumbering stucco homes and ra¬cous cantinas that filled the night
with the trumpets and guitars of mariachi bands.

Three quarters of New
Mexico’s population spoke Spanish, so Nick, also bilingual, seemed
to have no trouble in locating among the winding maze of narrow
streets the
alcalde'
s house. Behind the simple whitewashed walls, the home was
more like a villa.

While the housekeeper
roused the
alcalde
from his bed, She looked around the sala, or living room. A
plaster statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe occupying a niche in one
wall hinted that a religious man would be performing the wedding,
something she wished were otherwise—why couldn’t the man be merely
a justice of the peace? She preferred to think the ceremony was
more or less a farce, one of those fly-by-night chapel affairs that
take place in Las Vegas, not something binding, reserved for people
who really loved each other.

“Won’t he be upset—your waking him at
this hour?” she asked Nick in a hushed whisper, perversely hoping
Nick would change his mind now.

Nick grinned down at her.
If he had any of her last-minute doubts, his cynical expression did
not indicate it. “Are you half hoping that the
alcalde
will refuse to marry us? If
so, your hopes are dashed, for I would only find some-one else. But
Guido Lopez won’t refuse. He’s been my guest at both the San Ramon
ranch and my hunting cabin several times.”

The portly middle-aged man
soon appeared, an expansive grin of welcome beneath his walrus
mustache. “
Amigo! Como
esta
?”

Nick shook the hand that
pumped his, replying in fluent Spanish, “
Muy bien, gracias, Guido. Quiero casarse.”

“You want to get married!” Guido
echoed in English. His protuberant eyes moved to the tiny waif in
the large masculine shirt. Only the delicate cast of the pixielike
features gave any hint of the gender. Guido raised an incredulous
brow. “You wish to marry”—he nodded disbelievingly at her—“this
gracious lady . . .’’he finished on an unsure note.

Nick laughed.
“
Si
, Guido.
Ahorrita
— immediately!”
When he added, “We’re too much in love to wait even one more
minute!” She glanced up to see Nicholas looking at her with what
had to be an expression of feigned adoration.

Guido hit the palm of his
hand against his forehead. “
Dios
mio,
such haste. Let’s begin!
Pronto
!”

Frantically she looked at Nick, but he
ignored her beseeching gaze. At Guido’s in-struction he took her
hand, and her frozen fingers welcomed Nick’s warmth. She could not
bring herself to meet the derisive lips that professed love and
fidelity.

The ceremony was quickly performed,
the vows exchanged, but when Guido asked for the ring, Nick, for
once, looked unprepared. Then he said lightly, “I’ll buy one in
Cozumel.”

Guido nodded agreeably, as
if buying a wedding ring on a tropical island were a most
reasonable thing to do. He wished Nick much happiness and bent to
plant a kiss on her cheeks, his great mustache tickling her skin.
“
Vaya con Dios
,”
he told them, ushering the newlyweds on their way.

When Nick switched on the car’s
engine, she turned to him with disbelief. “Were you serious about
flying to Cozumel just to buy a wedding ring?”