The Best Bride (61 page)

“Do I have to worry about this person joyriding in my car?” she asked, opening her eyes and looking at him. “It wasn't used in a drive-by shooting or anything, was it?”

He touched his hand to his chest. “I'm wounded. You talk as if I'm a thug. Hannah, I'm in real estate. I'm willing to admit a few of my employees are a little…” He paused.

“Creative in their dealings with the law?” she offered.

“Exactly. But my record is clean. You've seen that for yourself.”

“Right.”

She'd also seen him in the station bailing his associates out of jail. Only a madwoman would take Nick Archer to meet her mother. A really desperate madwoman.

“You're not having second thoughts, are you?” he asked.

“Oh, no.” That was true. She was up to fifth or sixth thoughts. She opened her mouth to tell him that and to let him know that this was never going to work, but instead, she motioned to her luggage. “I'm packed.”

In her weakened condition, she was willing to admit she wanted to spend a few hours in his company and discover the man behind the smooth facade. Crazy, certainly. He was a criminal and she was cop. She should loathe and despise him. And she did. Sort of. She also had to admit—if only
to herself—that Nick's charm was hard as hell to resist. The way he made her laugh felt nice.

He moved toward her luggage.
I'm doing this for you, Mom,
she thought and hoped it was the right thing to do. A dying old woman expected Hannah to have a husband. Was it so very wrong to allow her to think one really existed?

Nick grabbed two of the suitcases. “This is a lot for a weekend.”

“I'm not going for a weekend.”

“You said a couple of days.”

“That's right. You're staying with me for a couple of days, but I'll be staying for two weeks.”

He raised his eyebrows and managed a hurt expression. “You're going on vacation and didn't tell me? Hannah, that's so insensitive.”

She wanted to laugh, but he looked amazingly sincere. Yet he couldn't be. This was a game of some kind. She was too befuddled to figure it out right now, but when her hangover wore off, she was sure everything would make sense.

“Nice place,” he said, nodding toward the living room on his left.

She glanced at the floral-print sofa, the white brick fireplace and the pale pine coffee table. What did her place look like to him? Everything was tidy. The colors were bright, definitely feminine. He probably sensed a man had never spent the night under her roof. The thought embarrassed her, although she wasn't sure why. It was none of his business. So what if she chose not to sleep around? In this day and age, anything but caution was foolish.

He headed out the front door. She picked up the remaining suitcase and followed him. After carefully turning off
the lights and securing the lock, she moved down the two steps to his Mercedes parked at the curb.

Thankfully, the convertible top was up. She wouldn't have been able to face all that fresh air. Just the thought made her head ache more. Intellectually, she knew the car had been paid for with illegally obtained funds. It might even have been stolen, although Nick was probably smarter than that. It was more than she could ever afford and it was stunning. Even knowing where it had come from, she couldn't help admiring the beautiful lines.

She remembered the interior smelled of fine leather and the seats were a luxurious combination of softness and support. The car was going to make the nine-hour drive seem like four.

She set her suitcase on the sidewalk beside the open trunk. Nick moved his garment bag to make room for the last piece of luggage. She watched to make sure everything was stowed in the car, then moved to the passenger door. It was locked and she had to wait for him to open it.

He did so, then paused. “You look pale.”

“Gee, thanks.” Her headache had increased until the throbbing sounded like drums beating in time with her heart.

“It was that second shot. You would have been fine if you hadn't had it.”

She wanted to yell at him that it was all his fault. If he hadn't made her order the drink… But she couldn't. He hadn't made her do anything. She'd been nervous and had acted stupidly all on her own. Still, it would have been satisfying to get all huffy at Nick.

When she slid into the seat, he crouched beside her and made sure she was comfortable, with the seat belt adjusted correctly. She bore his attention for about twenty seconds,
then slapped his hands away. “I'm not an invalid. I can do this on my own.”

He was close enough that she could inhale the masculine scent of his aftershave and see the clean, smooth line of his jaw. Damn him for looking so good and damn herself for being so nasty for no good reason.

“I know you're not an invalid,” he said quietly. “You don't feel well. I'm trying to make you comfortable. It's going to be a long drive.”

Hannah prided herself on her control. She was a cop and she knew how to act in a crisis. Unfortunately, her hard-won skills seemed to have deserted her for the moment. She opened her mouth, couldn't think of anything to say, then clamped her lips together as a blush crawled up her cheeks.

She ducked her head and stared at her lap. “Sorry. I'm not myself this morning.”

“Then who are you?”

His teasing made her smile. She glanced at him. He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. She rubbed her cheek, trying to brush off a smudge, then checked for loose strands floating free of her braid. Everything was in place.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

But he never said what he was thinking. Right there, with her sitting in the passenger seat of his car and him crouched next to her, in front of whichever of her neighbors might be home and watching, in front of God and the whole world, he kissed her.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers. Shock kept her in place for the first three seconds. She couldn't think, she couldn't move. She could only let her
eyes flutter closed as she absorbed the heat and scent of him.

His lips were warm and firm, yielding, yet strong. He didn't try to move much, or deepen the kiss. They touched nowhere else, at least not at first.

Then she felt his fingers on the back of her hand. A sweet, gentle stroking that sent fire racing up her arm. The pounding of her headache receded, as did the rest of the world.

He released her, raising his head slightly. She nearly moaned in disappointment. She told herself to get all upset and complain, to unfasten the seat belt, slide out of the car and slap him until his head bobbed like one of those toy dogs in the back of cars. She told herself a lot of things, all the while waiting for him to kiss her again, or worse, to mock her.

What he did was even more devastating. He cupped her cheek with his free hand and murmured, “Sweet Hannah.” As if she really meant something to him. As if this wasn't a joke.

He leaned forward. She held her breath in anticipation. He covered her mouth with his and this time he moved. Back and forth, slow and sweet. As if they had all the time in the world. As if his legs weren't cramping, which she knew they had to be. As if she was a delicate and precious person in his life.

Maybe it was the unexpected tenderness, or the hangover, or some weird placement of the moon and the planet Pluto. She didn't have an explanation for her reaction, or for the fact that she leaned into the kiss and parted her mouth slightly in response.

Instead of deepening the kiss, he placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. For the first time in her life, she felt small and fragile. Delicate. Feminine.

Then the heat overwhelmed her, and all she could think about was how she wanted to keep kissing him forever. She could die happy right this moment.

At last he straightened. Hannah stared at him dumbfounded. Questions formed, everything from why had he kissed her to had he liked it as much as she had. But she didn't ask any of them. Instead, she swallowed hard and tried to summon up some fury. Barring that, she wouldn't mind going with a little righteous indignation. If Nick started teasing her, she would need something for protection. Right now, she felt very exposed.

He started to close the passenger door, then paused and leaned toward her again.

“Ten bucks,” he said.

“Huh?”

He winked. “The kiss. It was worth ten bucks.”

“I don't understand.” He wanted money for kissing her?

“We agreed on four hundred dollars for the weekend. The kiss was worth ten bucks to me, so now you only owe me three hundred and ninety.” He started to close the door, then paused again. “In cash…or trade.”

Before she could say anything, he slammed the door shut and came around to the driver's side. Hannah couldn't bring herself to look at him. She stared straight ahead and wondered what on earth she'd gotten herself into.

Nick didn't say anything as he started the engine. He selected a classical station on the radio, then pulled out and headed for the freeway.

She leaned back in the seat. Her lips still tingled. Ten bucks. The kiss was worth that and more. Originally, Nick had wanted a night of hot sex in exchange for helping her out. She'd been the one to insist on cash. Maybe, just maybe, she'd been a bit hasty in her decision.

* * *

By nine, they'd reached the northern outskirts of Los Angeles County. Nick pulled off Interstate 5 in the bedroom community of Valencia and they got coffee at a drive-through fast-food place. When they returned to the freeway, Hannah sipped the steaming hot liquid and wondered for the four thousandth time what on earth she'd been thinking. Was she crazy?

To make matters worse, Nick could read her mind. Just as she was starting up another litany berating herself, he asked, “Why are you doing this? What's so important that you have to pretend to be married?”

She took another sip and pondered the question. Easy enough—except she didn't really want to have to tell him the truth.

He glanced at her and quirked up one eyebrow. “You probably think I'm just being nosy, but the truth is I need some background information so I can get into my role. I'm more of a method actor. You know, feel the part and all that.”

Despite her apprehension, she smiled. “That makes sense. Okay, I'll fill you in, but I have to warn you. It's a long, boring story.”

“No problem. This is a long, boring drive.”

He'd always had a good sense of humor. That's one of the things she liked about him. Not that she really liked him or anything. Oh, yeah, she thought, wondering if lightning would strike the sleek car. She didn't like him and she wasn't attracted to him. That's why she'd invited him to be a part of her life for the next three days and why she'd kissed him back.

At the station, he'd been a lot easier to ignore, but now no one else was around to see. She could lighten up a little. It wasn't as if she was getting involved with Nick. She
knew exactly who and what he was. No matter how charming and funny, he still lived on the wrong side of the law.

“My birth mother gave me up for adoption,” she said and glanced out at the low mountains around them. They were climbing out of the Santa Clarita Valley, heading north toward Glenwood. “A few months ago, I received a letter from her.”

“Your real mom?”

“Yeah.”

He glanced at her. “Without warning? That must have kicked up your heart rate.”

“I'll admit I walked around in a fog for days. I couldn't believe it. She'd hired a private detective to find me.”

“Are you angry about it?”

Hannah was surprised at his perception. She shrugged. “I don't know. Sometimes. I seem to go through stages of curiosity, longing and rage. Right now I'm curious. I want answers. I guess most children who are given up for adoption have a lot of questions. What were the circumstances in my biological mother's life? Did she give me up right away, or did she keep me around for a while? Did she…” Did she love me?

Hannah didn't voice that, although it was always deep in her mind. That was the one question that plagued her the most. Had her birth mother cared about her at all? Had this been a callous gesture, the quick and easy way to get rid of a problem? Or had there been overriding forces at work, ripping an innocent child from her caring mother?

“Did she have second thoughts?” she said, completing the statement so Nick wouldn't get any ideas. She already regretted confiding in him.

“Had you tried to get in touch with her yourself?” he asked.

“No. I thought about it from time to time, but I never
knew what I was going to say if I found her. I figured if she'd wanted me in the first place, she would have kept me around.”

“What do your adoptive folks say about this?”

“They died a long time ago.” Hannah clutched the foam coffee cup in her hands. Twenty-three years ago. She'd been so young, she barely remembered them. She did remember being happy, though. Not just the occasional glad moment, but happy all the time.

“Any other family?” he asked.

“That's really none of your business.”

“Right. I'm just the husband. Sorry, I forgot.”

“It's not necessary for you to know every detail about my private life. I'm not trying to be difficult. I would simply prefer that you didn't pry.”

“I'm sort of surprised you can walk as well as you do,” he said.

She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“It must be difficult, what with that giant chip on your shoulder. Most people would have to drag a leg behind them or something, just to keep balanced.”

She didn't know whether to burst out laughing or slap him. “I do not have a chip on my shoulder.”

“Yeah, right. You also don't keep the rest of the world away by pretending not to need anyone, either. Go on. You got this letter from your real mother. Then what happened?”