The Commitment (2 page)

He was going to use her for a selfish act of revenge. Better yet, revenge against Lucy, who happened to be Miranda's sister as well as his ex-wife. His heart beat faster with anticipation.

He looked at the headboard of the decadent bed. Good, the special camera he'd hidden was still there. He was afraid she'd knocked it loose.

All he needed was one well-developed picture of Miranda in a compromising position with him and part one of his self-prescribed mission would be complete.

Once again, conscience stabbed at him. It was Lucy and her new boy toy he wanted to hurt, not Miranda. Sure, Miranda had stuck up for her sister all through the brief time of their marriage. Her loyalty must have been severely strained between family and Millennium Tech, his company, during the messy divorce. That he employed her must rankle. He admired loyalty, even when misplaced. Still, Miranda remained his best shot to ensure that Lucy got just what she deserved. Lucy wanted the spotlight; he was about to aim it directly at her.

He spied Miranda's clothing in a heap on the seat of a red velvet fainting couch. With a swift move, he wadded the jeans and shirt into a ball then stuffed the ball between the headboard and the wall.

By the time the bathroom door jerked open, Drake was back in his chair sipping a third cup of coffee. He was glad he was sitting down. The purple robe she wore hit her at mid thigh. Nice thighs. Cinched in at the waist, the soft fabric both hid and accentuated curves her regular workday clothes mocked by their utilitarian drabness. With her hair slicked back from her delicate features and no make up to cover the soft sprinkling of freckles, she looked like a water sprite just emerging from a pool deep in a dark forest.

A familiar throbbing pulled at his groin. He stifled a groan. This, he admitted to himself in a brief moment of clarity, could be a mistake.

Something innocent surrounded Miranda, something he'd never quite noticed before. A quality of vulnerability that she never revealed around the bustling office in which they worked showed itself now. They often had a "take no prisoners" attitude in the business. Miranda had never shown an ounce of emotion when heatedly debating a prospect or sale. The ultimate corporate player, focused and cutthroat.

Her current hesitation threw Drake off balance. He forced himself to hide it. He'd reassess this side of Miranda later.

"Sit down before you fall down," he barked louder than he intended.

She flushed and moved on unsteady feet to the table. He didn't dare hold her chair for her this time. The evidence of his physical response to her would fall out from between the folds of the robe as soon as he stood.

Wickedly he wondered how she'd react to that surprise.

Miranda nibbled a wedge of toast. "Let's get this farce over with. I want to go home."

"Farce?" Drake was determined to follow through with his original plan, even though his desire had just shifted.

"This marriage." She waved a ringed hand.

The dull gleam on the fourth finger had him biting back a grimace. The least he could have done was buy a proper wedding ring.

"But Sweetheart, you promised to love, honor, and all that other stuff. I always thought you were a woman of your word."

He sipped at his coffee as he fought with conflicting emotions. The quest for revenge had faded into an urge to protect this woman from ... himself.

Miranda shot a glare in his direction. He held the newspaper up as if to deflect a hit. Never forget, he reminded himself, she's the best contract breaker in the business.

"I refuse to compromise either my personal or professional reputation by going along with this sham. I want an annulment now." She slammed the flat of her hand against the table making the china rattle.

Enough. Drake folded the newspaper and set it down. "No annulment. We are man and wife. Besides, I wouldn't want my child born to a single mother."

Miranda paled and sank back in her chair. Her eyes opened wide, saucer like. "We didn't ... I mean, I don't remember ..."

She turned her head from side to side. Drake nodded in counterpoint.

"But," Miranda sputtered, "I was dressed when I woke. I'd know, surely I would, if you and I had had sex."

Drake leaned across the table and took one of her limp hands. "We did more than have sex, dear wife. I made love to you until you begged for more."

She jerked her hand away. "I do not believe you." Each word was enunciated through clenched lips.

"Your choice," Drake shot back. "One way or another, I'm keeping my side of the arrangement, at least until we know one way or the other." He felt himself growing hard again, wishing they had spent the night making love.

He needed another cold shower.

A fine seashell pink color replaced Miranda's pallor. "A month, six weeks tops. No one, absolutely nobody, must know."

"Too late," Drake murmured as the sounds of running feet and muffled voices carried through the door.

"What on earth do you mean?"

The door burst open. Miranda's sister pushed her way past a harassed looking man in a rumpled shirt and ugly green and pink tie. Drake allowed himself a small smile.

"I took the liberty of spreading the happy news of our nuptials while you slept."

Miranda groaned and grabbed her head with both hands.

Drake eyed his ex-wife. "Good morning, Lucy. Coffee?"

Chapter Two

Lucy glared at Drake, and then her gaze pierced Miranda. One elegant foot tapped rapidly against the carpet. Her sculpted lips curled into a snarl. Miranda's otherwise calm, cool sister reminded her of nothing less dangerous than a rattlesnake poised to spring.

"I'm … I'm sorry, Mr. McLain," the sweating manager stammered. He wrung his hands. "She insisted, I mean, she said …"

"Be quiet, idiot. Leave." Lucy dismissed him with a flick of her wrist.

He turned and barreled into Jack Langfeld, a.k.a. Jack the Jerk, Miranda's most recent intended. The two collided in the narrow doorway, looking like they were auditioning for a Broadway vaudeville show. Miranda chanced a look at Drake. A dimple danced on his cheek. He was enjoying this, she realized. She was biting her lower lip, trying to figure out what to do, when Lucy reached into the thrashing bodies in the doorway and extricated Jack.

Miranda covered her mouth and tried in vain to hold in a snicker. Drake waggled his eyebrows at her. That did it. She exploded into laughter. Drake joined her. Through the tears streaming down her face she saw the trio in the doorway stiffen and turn towards her. Finally free, the manager fled; the door slammed shut.

Jack and Lucy stood with arms crossed identically, inciting more howls of laughter from Miranda. Twin frowns graced their faces, making her think of the phrase "monkey see, monkey do."

I'm hysterical, she thought as more giggles poured out. She gave in to them. They were better than the crying jag she'd fought off earlier.

At last her mirth wore out. Twice in one morning was too much.

Drake's laughter subsided into a final chuckle. He pulled two additional cups from the lower shelf of the service unit. "Coffee?" he offered Lucy and Jack again.

Somehow his cultured voice incited another short burst of laughter from Miranda. He winked at her. The intimate act checked her giggles. Pulling herself together, she sipped the tepid coffee left in her own cup.

Electric silence filled the room.

Jack cleared his throat. Miranda lifted her head and stared at him. He had a weak chin, she realized. What had she seen in him? The blue eyes she'd found compelling just yesterday now appeared watery and vapid. A thin line marked where his lips should be.

"Miranda," Jack said. "I demand an explanation."

Anger stirred in her. "Tough luck. I don't owe you anything."

He took a step back. "But just yesterday you told me you'd always love me. Now I find you here with … McLain." His voice deepened on the last word making it sound as if the name itself conjured doom.

Miranda raised an eyebrow and allowed herself a cold grin. "Yesterday you broke off our engagement. I don't know why you think you have any say in how I conduct my affairs."

She chanced a glance at Drake. His face was smooth and non-committal. On the other hand Jack’s face was beaded with sweat. Lucy wore her "about to explode" look.

Jack crept forward. "Maybe I made a mistake."

Miranda threw up her hands. "What do you expect me to do?"

Jack strode to Miranda. He knelt beside her. She held herself under strict control as he grasped her hand in his pale, moist one.

"Come back to Colorado with me," he cooed. "We'll get married as soon as you want. I promise."

Miranda stood and pushed her index finger into Jack's chest. "Forget it. I'm tired of being told what to do. I’m tired of being manipulated. From now on I'm making my own decisions."

"But, Miranda." Jack lurched to his feet.

"Besides," she wiggled her left ring finger in front of his nose. "I'm already married."

Lucy pushed forward. She spoke to Miranda, but her gaze was glued on Drake. "A ring on your finger doesn't make you married, whatever you may think. I'm more than a little surprised. I never took you for the romantic type."

"Maybe it's time everyone stopped putting me into a little box marked 'Miranda's type' and started realizing that I have wants and needs of my own that go far beyond the board room."
Drake's soft, deep voice cut through the tension. "What do you want, Miranda?"

She turned to him and caught her breath. For an instant as she stared into his silvery eyes, she thought he might even be sincere.

Lucy stepped behind Miranda and spoke rapidly into her ear. "Don't you remember anything? This man was a tyrant during our marriage. You don't have to do this to prove anything to me."

"I'm not you," Miranda said, gentling her voice. She took Lucy's hands in her own. The fact that her sister was trembling shook Miranda for an instant. Did Lucy still have feelings for Drake?

"I just want you to be happy," Lucy whispered.

"Thank you. Now, go home." She softened the words with a hug. "Take Jack with you."

"This has got to be the most stupid, irresponsible thing you've ever done," Jack sputtered at Miranda. Lucy took his arm and hauled him toward the door.

Drake stood. Miranda was sure he was the only man on earth with the ability to loom threateningly while wearing a purple satin bathrobe. Her heart clenched as she watched Drake stride to where Jack stood trapped between the door and the approaching groom. Or was it doom?

"Apologize," Drake drawled when he was nose to nose with Jack. Miranda held her breath.

With the door at his back, Jack had nowhere to run. "I'm sorry, Miranda. I was mistaken." His voice shook.

"Miranda McLain is my wife." The menace in Drake's voice was apparently sufficient. Jack nodded, reached for the doorknob and made his escape.

Lucy remained a moment longer. In that heartbeat of time, Miranda understood a truth she hadn't realized before, Lucy feared her ex-husband. Her elegant, sophisticated, beautiful, younger sister had left her marriage with Drake for reasons Miranda now questioned.

"Call me when you get home," was all Lucy said as she departed.

"You bet I will," Miranda muttered to the blank door.

A hand closed on her shoulder. She whirled around and stumbled, falling into Drake's arms.

His face was a breath from hers when he said, "Tell me, Miranda. What do you want?"

His arms tightened around her, bringing her barely clad body into intimate contact with his. The slippery material of their robes transferred heat from his chest to hers. She was aware of her heart beating a rapid staccato.

Desire flamed in his eyes. Unwanted echoes surged through Miranda.

When he dipped his mouth to take her lips, all she could do was whimper in confused delight.

The wonder of it was that Drake's kiss did not repulse her. She expected revulsion; instead liquid warmth streamed through her with the stroking of his tongue against her own. Pleasure warred with will.

She felt his hand trace fire along her back. They sank together to the floor. Something warm and firm pressed against her thigh as the robe she wore fluttered open. Drake left her mouth to nibble her earlobes, first one side then the other. His hands cupped and stroked her breasts until she moaned with the delight of it.

The sound was her undoing. Miranda Symons moaning? She froze. Drake murmured something at once gentling and titillating against her stomach.

Her stomach? How had she allowed him to get that far? A rush of panic replaced lust.

"Stop. We can't. I can't." She pushed with both hands at his shoulders. "Drake," she wailed.

Abruptly, he rolled off her and faced away. For an instant he sat very still, then he stood and strode into the bathroom without glancing at her. Miranda heard the shower start.

Tears pricked her eyelids. She didn't know whether she was madder at him for kissing her, at herself for enjoying it, at herself for stopping him, or at him for stopping. What a mess. She rubbed her face briskly and climbed to her feet. Her body tingled. The robe gaped open. She shivered and scanned the room for her clothing.

Sunlight glanced at a sharper angle through the draperies. It blinked off something shiny tucked into a small shelf in the bed's headboard. Miranda pulled the drapes open and took a closer look. The sight of her clothing stuck behind the headboard distracted her from her investigation. She grabbed the wrinkled clothes and pulled them on. With a bit of physical armor, she'd be better able to face Drake and whatever else he had up his sleeve.

Relief filled her as she felt the small bi-fold wallet in the back pocket of her jeans. It hadn't fallen out. With the contents, her driver’s license and a credit card, she was a free woman--if she wanted to be.

Her loafers stuck out from the lavender and red horror of a bed ruffle. With a small bounce, she sat on the edge of the bed to slide them on. Something fell from the headboard, hit the mattress beside her, and landed on the floor.