Marriage by Mistake (23 page)

"Ah, yes, this is the place," Felicia
murmured. She could see Troy, leaning against the side of the
building with his hands stuck in the pockets of a pair of crisp
gray chinos. He straightened when he saw her in the slowing
cab.

Drawing in a breath, Felicia gathered both
her purse and her self-possession. When Troy reached the cab and
opened the door for her, she gave him her most proper, garden party
smile. He didn't smile back. He held out his hand. The arm that
supported her out of the cab was very strong. All that tennis, no
doubt. Felicia lowered her lashes to conceal the way his touch made
her shiver.

Once out of the cab, she let go of Troy's
hand, and took a few steps toward the restaurant. She pretended to
find the façade just fascinating while Troy paid the cab driver
behind her. Meanwhile, she did her best to recover.

A few seconds, that was all it had taken for
Felicia to become aware all over again of Troy's animal sensuality,
and to feel intimidated by it.

"Okay." He'd come to her side. Felicia forced
herself to look over and smile. He smiled back, just as falsely.
Yes, they were equally miserable. "Shall we go in?" he asked.

"Certainly." Felicia preceded Troy into the
sunny, upscale restaurant. She had been there once or twice, but on
neither occasion had she felt gawky as she navigated the array of
small linen-covered tables. She was acutely conscious of Troy
behind her.

The hair on her arms lifted electrically as
he pulled out one of the high-backed chairs for her. But she smiled
and accepted the seat as if there were nothing out of order. As if
she went out to lunch, tête-à-tête, with nasty Troy Singleton every
day of the week.

"Uh...have any trouble getting into town?"
Troy seated himself opposite her.

"Not at all. Traffic was light today."
Felicia delivered the social lie as she folded her hands in her
lap. She wondered if it was a good or a bad thing that the
restaurant, crowded at dinnertime, was completely empty now at
lunch.

"Good," Troy replied, about the traffic.
"That's really good."

Felicia's gaze hit Troy then slanted off to
regard the trompe l'oeil mural on the wall behind him. He began
tapping a thumb on the linen tablecloth. Thankfully for both of
them, the waiter arrived with a well-trained smile and a pair of
menus.

Felicia took her menu and opened it as if it
were a rope thrown to a drowning woman. Thank God, something to
talk about. "I've tried the scrod here, but not the sirloin," she
told Troy. "What do you recommend?"

Troy frowned into his menu. "I've never been
here before."

"Oh." Felicia bit her lip. Goodness, the man
could
help
. Or was she supposed to stave off the horrible
silence all by herself?

"Ahem. You think the pasta bolognese is any
good?" Dark eyes glanced over the menu at her.

"Ah." So he
was
trying to help. "That
sounds delicious. I think I'll get...the Nicoise salad." She closed
her menu and smiled brightly. Her poor mouth was going to be very
sore by the end of this meal.

"Right." Troy closed his menu as well. Their
eyes chanced to meet. Felicia stiffened with her habitual response
to him, the readiness to parry whatever he might throw her way. But
he didn't throw anything. He merely flicked his gaze past her left
shoulder and focused on whatever was back there. Restraining
himself.

But Felicia couldn't relax her state of
readiness. It was too weird.

Fortunately, the waiter returned before the
awful silence could descend again. He took their orders, flashed
the well-trained smile, and walked away.

Troy cleared his throat. Felicia watched,
mesmerized, as the long fingers of his hand folded over a corner of
his linen napkin. Never, she realized, had she observed Troy
nervous. Nor had she taken a good look at his hands. They were
rather...artistic.

"I guess we might as well get down to
business," he said.

Felicia couldn't take her eyes off Troy's
hand, folding and pressing the corner of the napkin. Business, her
mind thought. He was taking care of the wretched apology. Thank
goodness.

Troy cleared his throat again. "I wanted to
say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was deliberately cruel to you at
the tennis courts the other day. I, uh, expect there was a better
way I could have told you about Dean's marriage    if I
had to be the one to tell you at all."

Felicia raised her eyes from his hand at
that.
Oh, but you'd wanted to be the one to tell me. You were
looking
forward
to it
! Polite as Troy was being today,
she knew he basically loathed her.

However. They were here to take care of a
social duty. Felicia didn't want to start an argument or create any
obstacle to concluding this obligation. So she retrieved her
bright, well-mannered smile and claimed, "Really, there is no need
to apologize. I    "

She nearly claimed she had no interest in
whether or not Dean was married but    again   
that would only provoke an argument, and a stupid one at that. Troy
had, in fact, guessed Felicia's fantasies regarding Dean. Her smile
twisted as she instead admitted, "I doubt there was any good way to
do it."

Troy's dark eyes flicked her way. He was
clearly surprised by her admission. "Maybe not a good way." His own
words were careful. "But definitely a better one."

Felicia shrugged. "I never had a claim on
Dean. Do you know I saw them, Dean and Kelly, at the opera?" She
smiled at Troy, desperate to get the focus of attention off
herself. "They seemed well-suited, and quite happy."

"You think?" Troy's brows curled. "Because
actually that's another reason I should apologize. I'm not even
sure this marriage is going to last."

Felicia's eyebrows jumped. She thought of the
couple she'd seen at the opera, of the glow of excitement in
Kelly's eyes, and the intense attention in Dean's. Felicia gave a
little cough. "It's going to last."

There was more surprise, and some
bewilderment in the look Troy threw her. "You sound pretty sure of
that."

"Not sure." Felicia lifted her shoulders.
"That's just how it looked to me."

The bewilderment in Troy's gaze hardened into
disquiet. "Do I have this straight? You're going to sit back and
simply accept this?"

Felicia laughed. "Is there something else I'm
supposed to do?"

Troy looked dark. "Not be so all-fired
cheerful about it, for one thing."

"Oh, why shouldn't I be cheerful?" He was
clawing through her forbearance, turning the focus back on her.
Worse, he was claiming she had to be fading away! She was not
fading away, or if she was, he'd be the last person to whom she'd
admit it. She waved a dismissive hand. "Life is full of little
disappointments."

Troy's gaze was deriding. "I wouldn't call
having the man you love marry somebody else a
little
disappointment."

Felicia's teeth crushed together. But she
didn't lose her smile. She wouldn't. "I'm not in love with
Dean."

Troy just looked at her.

"I'm not!" It was all Felicia could do not to
hiss the words through her wretched smile. How
dare
Troy try
to tell her how she felt!

But Troy not only dared, he started to smile.
It was a slow, knowing...and somehow sexual, smile. "Not in love
with him, huh? But your nose is getting red. How much do you want
to bet that means you're lying?"

Felicia felt the blood rush to all parts of
her body, her nose included. She wasn't lying. She was furious. How
dare he? How dare he sit there and tease her! When she spoke, it
was in a mere purr, with her lips curving into her own knowing
smile. "Maybe you would like to hear what I would be willing to bet
about
you
?"

Troy's smug smile faltered.

That made Felicia's smile grow. "I would bet
there is a reason you are so morbidly interested in your cousin,
Dean, and the women in his life. I would bet it's because you are
jealous of him. In fact, you feel quite inadequate in comparison to
him, all around."

Troy's big smile was fading faster than the
sun before a thunderstorm.

Feeling a surge of satisfaction, Felicia went
on. "That's why you wouldn't even consider taking the fundraising
job I offered you. Why you won't take any job. You're afraid of
paling next to Dean."

Pale was exactly what was happening to Troy's
face. He looked so stricken that Felicia almost    almost
   felt bad.

But the idea that she was actually getting
the better of him spurred her on. "You've spent your entire life
trying to make sure nobody would compare the two of you, but here's
a news flash. I do compare you. And I know you're selling yourself
short, Troy. I know you could do more and you could be more
   if you weren't such a yellow-bellied coward."

Nothing moved in Troy's face except for his
eyes. His eyes glittered dangerously at Felicia.

She felt a frisson of mixed excitement and
fear. Immensely satisfying as that had been, she'd done the
equivalent of cornering a big alley cat. Probably not her most
intelligent move.

Very slowly, Troy straightened from his
casual slouch. Slowly, he leaned over the little table. And slowly,
oh so slowly, he smiled. His eyes glittered more dangerously than
ever. "You," he said, very softly, "shouldn't throw stones...seeing
as how you live in a glass house, yourself."

There was a sharp, sinking sensation in
Felicia's stomach.

"Let's talk about being a coward." Troy's
eyes held hers. "Let's talk about staying inside your safe, little
shell. About never daring to set foot outside. I'll bet you would
have a lot to say on that subject, wouldn't you?"

Felicia knew she was staring at him. Not only
because he seemed to be speaking her most private, carefully hidden
thoughts, but because his masculinity was pouring off of him in
waves. She could practically smell it; the power, the drive...the
near violence. Like a mouse before a cat, all she could do was sit
there, barely able to breathe.

"Nicoise salad." The voice came from above
the tension-shimmering air. A sleeve-clad arm descended in front of
Felicia, bearing a china plate heaped with crisp vegetables. "And
pasta bolognese," the waiter continued. A plate of angel hair
noodles came to a landing in front of Troy. "Enjoy your meal," the
waiter said brightly.

Felicia supposed the waiter walked away. She
didn't know. She couldn't tear her gaze from Troy's. His eyes were
like firebrands, searing through her. Who would have guessed dark
brown eyes could be so piercing? She felt as if he was seeing right
through her. Everything. She felt as if she couldn't continue to
exist if she sat there one more minute impaled by those eyes.

She stood up, clutching the purse she'd laid
in her lap. Whirling, she managed to wrench her gaze from his, and
then she walked. She walked fast, desperately navigating the tight
array of empty tables and chairs, making for the door out of the
place.

One couldn't have asked for a more beautiful
spring day. Felicia dimly registered that fact as she walked,
straight and swift, out of the restaurant and down the
sidewalk.

"Felicia!" It was Troy's voice, and not very
far behind her. Felicia's eyes widened and she stepped up her pace,
though she wasn't going to add to her humiliation by running.

Troy had no such compunction. He ran. She
could hear his footsteps rushing up to her. And then her shoulder
was roughly caught in his hand. She gritted her teeth as he stopped
her and turned her around.

"Please, Felicia," he groaned. "I'm sorry,
okay? I don't know what got into me    Okay, maybe I do,
but I'm very, very sorry." And then he uttered a word that Felicia
didn't think a man who truly had reparation on his mind would say
to a woman. On top of that, his hand, so very strong on her
shoulder, was making her tremble. All she could do was stand there
and stare at the buttons of his Cashmere cardigan.

"Felicia." It sounded like a warning. And
then as if things weren't bad enough, he grasped her other
shoulder. "Look at me," he ground out.

Quaking, she looked up. Maybe that would make
him let her go. But he only looked back at her with eyes that were
almost black.

"You...do something to me," Troy claimed.
"You get under my skin. The way you walk, the way you talk...how
you look down your nose at me. It all makes me...crazy."

Every bone Felicia owned was still shaking,
but she was staring at Troy now. What was he talking about? Her
stomach began to curl in a very strange way.

Troy went on, his voice sounding like gravel
rubbing together. "Your eyes say 'touch-me-not,' and that just
makes me want to...touch you."

Felicia's curling stomach now dropped,
abruptly. Had he just said that? That he wanted to...
touch
her
. Like he was...attracted to her? No! Impossible. Troy
wasn't attracted to her. He made fun of her. He thought she was
comical.

Yes, yes, all of that was true. But it was
also true that his eyes were blazing dark fire. It was true that he
was leaning her up against the side of the building. She could feel
his hard, taut muscles up and down the length of her abdomen and
thighs. She could feel    Good God, was that his
   ? Her eyes briefly lowered, then flashed back up to
his. Her lips parted in shock.

"I know I treat you rotten," Troy growled. "I
have to, because if I didn't treat you rotten I'd be doing...this."
And his mouth came down on hers.

There was an instant of shock at the first
touch of his lips to hers, and then it was like nothing Felicia
could have predicted. She felt no revulsion, no squirming desire to
wiggle away. She didn't have time. As Troy's mouth took firm
possession of hers, a sensation of incredible heat swept through
her. Her purse dropped to the ground. Felicia grabbed Troy's
shoulders. Her knees melted into butter. This was    this
was