Not the Marrying Kind (Destiny Bay Romances - Forever Yours) (10 page)

“You're doing great,” he whispered back, ignoring her complaint. “Just keep it up for another hour or so. That's all I ask.” He hugged her close for a quick kiss on the cheek as the other couple turned to face them.

“Really, honey,” he said more loudly, “I've missed you so much. Just ask the Weekses. Why, I haven't been able to stop talking about you.”

Shelley wondered if this was what it would be like to be Michael Hudson's wife. It felt rather warm and wonderful so far. But then she realized her mistake. She wasn't playing Michael's wife at all. She was Mrs. Mike Daniels.

The Weekses' table was out on the glass-enclosed balcony that afforded a stunning view of the bay in twilight as the yachts were coming in to their moorings. The setting sun turned the sea to molten gold while the sky was stained with glowing amber.

Mr. Weeks was smiling at her as they sat down at the round booth-like table. Michael slid in beside her, the length of his hard thigh pressed tightly against hers. Despite the strangeness of this encounter, she felt an exotic excitement at his touch, at the sense of the maleness in him. She found herself smiling at him almost shyly, enjoying the sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Mrs. Daniels—do you mind if I call you Julie?” Clayton Weeks asked. “Julie, we're so glad you could make it out here to the coast. We've been telling your husband here for days that we wanted you to see the property too. We always like to get the wife in on the deal right from the beginning.”

Shelley tried to smile, hoping they would take her discomfort for the natural reserve of a stranger unused to the setting and the company and not the total confusion of an impostor. She sat silently while the others ordered wine and talked about the property Michael seemed to be thinking of buying from the Weekses.

Not five minutes before she'd been sitting all alone at a table, vaguely hoping to catch a glimpse of Michael, but planning to get up to her room and go to bed with a good book within the hour. Now here she was, playing the part of Michael's wife. She still hadn't got her bearings. Just what did Michael expect her to do here anyway?

Suddenly her eyes connected with Robin's. Her friend was standing a few tables away behind the Weekses' backs. As Shelley looked up she saw Robin grin and flash her an okay sign with thumb to forefinger. She'd obviously seen Michael and thought Shelley had caught herself a willing victim at last. Just as obviously, she approved.
 

There was no way to send a distress signal. And anyway, Shelley wasn't sure she would have if she could. Watching Robin stroll away, she knew she was stranded for the duration.

Margery Weeks was gazing at her with a studied air. “I'm so glad you could leave the children. How many did Mike say you have?”

Margery's eyes were guileless, but Shelley had a sudden intuition that she was being tested nonetheless. She hesitated, hoping Michael would answer for her, but instead, she suddenly felt his hand on her leg, just above the knee, and his fingers were tapping out the number—one, two, three.

“The children?” Margery asked a little more sharply.

“Oh.” Shelley laughed nervously to cover her pause. “Three, of course. You'll have to excuse me. I think I've got jet lag.”

She smiled at Michael, then put a dagger in it to let him know it was now time for him to take his hand back off her leg, but he merely grinned back.

His warmth penetrated the thin chiffon in no time, and she felt it spreading across her skin, teasing the tiny hairs and sending chills up her thigh. This had to stop. He had no right to hold her there. She tried to move her leg, but his grip was too strong.

She picked up her wineglass as soon as the wine steward filled it and held it up to the light, watching the glow of the candlelight filter through the golden liquid, but sensitive only to the hand that was still resting on her flesh.
 

Michael was walking a thin edge and he must know that. She was getting angry, and she was quite capable of blowing his whole operation right here and now. She threw him another glance that said exactly that and he read it clearly, but his fingers tightened on her leg, moving softly, his palm caressing her through the flimsy material.

She dropped one hand as though to hold the napkin in her lap, but instead, it went right to the intruder and began to try to pry his fingers off, one by one, while she smiled inanely at the other couple.

“Three children,” Margery went on as the wine steward left them. “They must keep you busy. Did Michael tell us they were all boys?”

“Yes,” was on the top of her tongue, but a sudden fierce grip on her leg stopped her.

“No, no,” Michael said cheerfully. “All girls. I call them my little harem.”

Shelley winced.

“And the oldest is seven?”

This time his fingers tightened once, twice, in a clear signal. “Yes,” he answered. “And the others are three and four, aren't they darling?” The double signal came again.

Ah-hah, she thought, suddenly realizing his purpose. Once means no, twice means yes. She stopped prying and let her hand rest on her napkin instead. His hand began to move caressingly again, as though to erase the harshness of his grip. The chiffon seemed to melt away, leaving pretty much nothing at all between his hands and the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

“That's right,” she said, meeting Michael's blue eyes with a look that was half defiant, half pleading. “And every one is spoiled rotten by her daddy.”
 

All of a sudden she began to enjoy her role. As long as she was in this thing, why not play it to the hilt? If only Michael's hand on her leg didn't destroy her ability to cope.

“You and Mike seem like a loving couple,” Margery said approvingly. “You could almost pass for honeymooners.”

“Oh, yes,” Shelley answered quickly, remembering to soften the edges of her speech just a touch in hopes of mimicking the Oklahoma drawl in passable fashion. She'd noticed Michael was doing just that from the first.
 

''Why, Mike and I are so lovey-dovey, we embarrass the neighbors back home in Tulsa. I've had ladies on our block ask if we couldn't please keep the shades down. They told me it was making them downright jealous. You see, none of them have husbands with as much”— she poked Michael with an exaggerated elbow thrust—“get up and go as Mike. If you know what I mean.”

The Weekses looked as though someone had just poured dirty dishwater in their soup bowls, and Michael's smile was strained. His fingers were drumming an irritated beat on the inside of her leg. Shelley sat grinning ingenuously while the others picked up their huge menus and held them before their faces.

“Don't overdo it,” Michael whispered to her behind his.

“Why not?” she whispered back. “It's so much fun.” She leaned close as though to kiss his cheek. “And you deserve it,” she told him sweetly.

Suddenly his face had turned and his mouth was on hers, kissing her for real. “I've missed you, Julie,” he said in a loud whisper meant to be heard by all. “Let's get this dinner over with and get back to the room.”

She drew back, shocked, then had to laugh as she saw the devil in his eyes. What was he doing, after all, but filling out the character she'd set for him?

But she knew it couldn't go on. If they weren't careful, they'd sabotage Michael's operation with their own little battle. She settled back and determined to be more of a team player.

Watching Michael at work was an education in itself. He was every bit the hearty, good-natured Midwestern man, lovable and seemingly all gullibility. No one could help but like him, and yet he was making himself out to be a first-rate victim.

She could fairly see the Weekses' eyes gleam as he spoke of all the money he'd supposedly made on his cousin's oil venture in Oklahoma, and how he wanted to find just the right thing to invest it in.

At first she'd found it hard to believe such cultured people could be crooks, but as she watched and listened, she began to see it. They thought they had a prime pigeon here, fat and ready for plucking, no doubt about it. She enjoyed knowing they were busy digging their own graves.

Michael's hand stayed on her leg, signaling whenever questions put her on the spot. She had to admit it felt perfectly marvelous there, close and warm and thrilling. The sensation it created made her want to cuddle in against him and reach inside his shirt to find a piece of his warmth for her own. If it sometimes seemed to be moving a little too high, his thumb stroking a little too close, that only added another element of excitement.

She almost groaned aloud when the main course was served. She'd tried to order the lightest thing on the menu, poached salmon, but when it came drizzled with dill cucumber sauce and ensconced in decorative swirls of duchess potatoes, she knew she was in trouble.

The chocolate-covered strawberries were haunting her as she stared the salmon down. How could she possibly take a bite? Maybe she could push it around on her plate until the others would finish and no one would notice. ...

“Come on, Julie,” Michael said with hearty spirit. “Eat up. You're going to need your strength tonight.”

Throwing him a baleful glance, she took one bite, then another. It became an automatic thing, and not too painful as long as she kept her mind off what she was doing. By the time the waiter served the demitasse cups, she felt rather like a salmon herself, one that had been tossed up on the deck and was gasping for air.

“We're going to have to call it a night early,” Michael told the Weekses. “You can see how tired Julie is.”

Shelley looked at him gratefully. “Yes, I am that,” she agreed. “I need a good night's sleep.”

“That's fine with us,” Clayton Weeks piped in. “We like to turn in early ourselves. And we'll want to get an early start to take you out to that property tomorrow.”

“Oh ...” Shelley thought fast. “I'm afraid that will be impossible. You see, I only ran out here on the spur of the moment to see my little Mikey.” She reached up and pinched his cheek. “I have to go back first thing in the morning.”

“What time is your flight?”

“Early,” she answered hastily. “Very, very early.”

“No problem,” Margery told her. “I'm always up at four myself. I do calisthenics for an hour, then yoga for another hour and a half. I'll drop by your room and pick you up. We can stop by the property on the way to the airport.”

Shelley looked questioningly at Michael, sure that he would come up with a way out of this. Surely he didn't expect her to rejoin this group in the morning! But Michael was smiling witlessly at them all, as though he hadn't a care in the world.

They rose and left the dining room, Michael holding firmly to her shoulders. The Weeks escorted them up to Michael's room, and Shelley began to wonder if they had suspicions. What were they planning to do, come right into the room to watch the Daniels get ready for bed? This could go right beyond embarrassing on into humiliation. But helpless as she was to do anything else, she followed along feeling comfortable, yet wary, in the curve of Michael's arm.

“Good night, you two,” Margery Weeks told them at the doorway, bringing a sigh of relief to Shelley's lips. “Now, don't forget, first thing in the morning. I'll give you a little knock like this.” She demonstrated, while Michael and Shelley stood in the open door, smiling and waiting to be left alone.

“Good night!”

“Good night!”

The older couple turned the corner, and the two of them collapsed back into the room, rolling with laughter.

Michael held her to him as they laughed, and she let him, totally consumed with mirth over the events of the evening.

“I can't believe that you put me through this,” she gasped, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I've never spent such an absolutely nerve-racking night before in my life.”

He chuckled, holding her away a bit so that he could look down into her eyes. “But you enjoyed every minute, didn't you?” he accused.

To her surprise she realized he was right. “Yes,” she admitted. “I guess I did.” She grinned. “What a tacky couple we Daniels are.”

The shadow of a frown passed over his face. “In retrospect that might have been a bit unfortunate,” he said slowly. “The real Daniels are great people. I hate to do that to their reputations.”

She blinked up at him. “Do you mean to tell me there really is a Daniels family from Tulsa?”

He nodded. “Mike and Julie. Absolutely. People like the Weeks check these things out.”

She began to notice the setting around them. They were in Michael's hotel room. The bed was huge, dominating the area, and suddenly the adventure fantasy they'd been living in for the last two hours faded, leaving only stark reality.
 

She pulled out of his arms, embarrassed to be clinging to him still, and backed toward the door.

“Nice room you have here,” she said, trying to keep her tone light and breezy. “Much swankier than the one I'm sharing with Robin—my roommate,” she added in quick explanation.

She licked her lips as she watched Michael turn back the downy covers of the huge bed.

“Look comfortable enough to you?” he asked, humor glinting in his blue eyes.

“Uh ... I think ...” She looked over her shoulder for the doorway, then looked back to find Michael shrugging out of his jacket and reaching for the knot in his tie.

“You don't want to go,” he said quietly. “What will the Weeks think?”

The tie came off and landed on top of the jacket, which he'd slung across a handy chair. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and started on the third, taking another step toward her with each button he released.

“They must be out of range by now,” she said, her voice low with wary unease. “I'll get on back to my own room.”

He shook his head, his eyes narrowed as he came closer, steadily, smoothly, like a panther stalking his prey. “No, you don't, Shelley,” he said softly. “You're staying here tonight.”

Her hand went unconsciously to her throat as she found herself backed against the door. “I'm not either,” she said unsteadily. “No way.”

He came up against her, leaning against the door with one hand on either side of her head, trapping her. “Oh, yes, you are,” he said huskily. “We have some unfinished business, you and I.”