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Authors: Sandra Marton

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BOOK: The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée
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The door swung open and Stephanie looked out. “You're sure?”
“Positive. The coast is clear. Mr. Chambers left.”
“You saw him go?”
“With my very own eyes, Stephanie. He gave us the third degree and when we'd convinced him you'd left, he did, too.”
“I'm terribly sorry to have put you through all this, Mrs. Crowder.”
“Honoria.”
“Honoria.” Stephanie hesitated. “I know my behavior must seem—it must seem…” Odd? Bizarre? Strange? “Unusual,” she said. “And I'm afraid I really can't explain it.”
“No need,” Honoria said politely.
It was a lie. Honoria Crowder would have sold her soul for an explanation. She'd felt like a voyeur, watching the sparks bounce between the Chambers man and this woman. She'd said as much to Hayden, even added that anybody standing too close could almost have gotten singed. Hayden had given one of his prissy little smiles as if he had no idea what she was talking about—but Bobbi Blum, who'd turned out to be lots more perceptive than she'd looked, had leaned over as she'd danced by in her husband's arms and whispered that what Honoria had just said was God's honest truth.
“I'm not sure if those two are going to haul off and slug each other senseless, or if they're going to grab hold of each other and just…” She'd blushed. “Just, you know…”
Honoria knew. She wouldn't have put it quite so bluntly, but yes, that about summed things up. The Willingham woman and that man had turned out to be the entertainment of the day.
“It isn't as if I was afraid of him, you understand.”
Honoria blinked. “Beg pardon?”
“That man. David Chambers.” Stephanie cleared her throat. “I, uh, I wouldn't want anyone to think he'd, you know, threatened me or anything.”
“Oh. Well, no, no, actually I didn't—”
“It's just that he…that I…that I felt it was best if…if…”
If what, Stephanie? Why are you acting like such an idiot? Why are you hiding in the ladies' room, as if this were prom night and you'd just discovered that your slip was showing?
Stephanie grabbed for the doorknob. “Thanks again.”
The door swung shut, and that was it. Honoria Crowder sighed, washed her hands, and headed back to table seven.
“Fascinating,” Bobbi Blum said when Honoria told her the latest details over decaf and wedding cake.
“Interesting,” Honoria corrected.
Bobbi leaned closer. “Wasn't he just drop-dead gorgeous?”
Honoria opened her mouth and started to correct her there, as well. Drop-dead gorgeous was such a New York kind of phrase. It was overblown. Overdone. Over-dramatic…
But my goodness, it was accurate.
That build. Those eyes. The hair. The face… Honoria's inborn New England sense of reticence deserted her, and she sighed.
“Drop-dead gorgeous, indeed,” she murmured.
David Chambers surely was.
The wonder of it was that Stephanie Willingham hadn't seemed to notice.

* * *

Stephanie got into her rented Ford, snapped the door locks, and turned on the engine. She checked the traffic in both directions, then pulled out of the parking lot.
She felt badly, leaving this way, never even saying goodbye or thank-you to Annie, but if she'd done either, Annie would have wanted to know why she was leaving so early, and what could she possibly have said?
I'm leaving because there's a man here who's been coming on to me.
Oh, yeah. That would have gone over big, considering that Annie had clearly hoped for exactly that to happen.
Stephanie frowned as she approached the on-ramp to the highway. She slowed the car, checked right, then left, and carefully accelerated.
If Annie only knew. If she only had an idea of what had gone on. The way David Chambers had looked at her, as if he wanted to—to—
He'd even said as much! Oh, if Annie only knew. If she knew that he'd told her he wanted to make love to her, that it was what she wanted, too.
Stephanie's heart did a quick flip-flop.
How dare he?
“How
dare
he?” she muttered.
She hadn't wanted any such thing. Never. Not with this—this self-satisfied, smug cowboy or with any other man. She shuddered. Not since Avery—not since her husband had…
Was that the airport exit? Had she missed it? There was a sign, but she'd gone by too fast to read it.
Too fast?
She frowned, looked down at the speedometer. Sixty. She was doing sixty? The speed limit in this state was fifty-five—she' d made a point of asking at the car rental counter at the airport. She never drove above the limit. Never. Not when she was back home in Georgia; not when she was on vacation.
Stephanie eased her foot from the pedal and the speedometer needle dropped back to a safe and sane fifty. Not that she'd been on many vacations. Actually, there'd been just the one, to Cape Cod. She really hadn't much wanted to go. It had been her attorney's idea.
“You need to get away,” he'd said firmly, making it sound as if he were concerned for her welfare when really he'd just wanted her out of the way. But she'd been too naive to figure that out, so she'd agreed that, yes, a change of scene would do her good.
Of course, she hadn't wanted to be away from Paul for any great length of time. Not that her brother minded. He never seemed to notice anymore if she was there or not, but what did that matter? She would be there for him, always.
Always.
Just thinking about Paul drove all the idiocy about David Chambers from her head. She had more important things to worry about than her irrational response to a man with a sexy smile, knowing eyes and softly seductive words.
There! Straight ahead. The sign for the airport. And, beyond it, the exit ramp.
Stephanie slowed the car and put on her turn signal indicator. Carefully, she made her way toward Bradley and an earlier flight than she'd planned.
Surely, there would be one.
And after that… after that, there'd be Clare and the mess waiting for her at home, but what was the point in thinking about it now?
Things would work out. They just had to.

* * *

David smiled at the ticket clerk.
“Excellent,” he said, and whipped his platinum charge card from his wallet.
“Which was it, sir? Window or aisle?”
“Aisle. Definitely. Even in first class, I can use the legroom.”
The clerk smiled and batted her lashes at him. “Here you are, Mr. Chambers. Have a pleasant flight.”

* * *

At the far end of the airport, Stephanie smiled and walked straight up to the ticket counter.
Seconds later her smile was gone. The only direct flight to Atlanta was the one she was ticketed on. It didn't leave for another four hours.
“I'm really sorry, Mrs. Willingham,” the clerk said. “Unless…” The woman's fingers flew over the keyboard of her computer. “Let me just check something.” She looked up, beaming happily. “I've got one seat on a flight to Washington, where I can put you on a connecting flight to Atlanta. It's a window seat—”
“That's fine.”
“And it's in first class.”
Stephanie hesitated, thinking of the cost, thinking, too, of how Avery would have laughed at her for hesitating, but you didn't change the habits of a lifetime that easily.
“Mrs. Willingham?” The clerk looked at the wall clock. “The plane's about to board.”
Stephanie nodded. “I'll take it.”

* * *

The flight was leaving from the opposite end of the terminal. It wasn't easy, rushing to get to it with high heels on.
Fortunately, she only had a garment bag to carry. That made things easier. Still, by the time she reached the gate, the lounge area was empty, and the attendant was just starting to shut the door that led to the boarding ramp.
“Wait,” Stephanie cried.
The man turned, saw her hurrying toward him, and swung the door wide.
“Almost missed it,” he sang out cheerfully as she shoved her boarding pass at him.
Stephanie ran down the ramp. The flight attendant smiled when she saw her coming.
“Almost missed it,” she said as Stephanie stepped into the cabin and showed her her ticket stub. “Seat 3-A. Right over here, Mrs. Willingham. Why don't you give me your luggage and I'll tuck it away for you?”
Stephanie smiled her thanks, collapsed into her seat, and puffed out her breath.
Maybe it was just as well she'd had to go with such last-minute arrangements. She sighed, kicked off her shoes and stretched out her legs. She'd almost forgotten the luxury of first class. The soft, wide seat. The legroom. She turned her face to the window and shut her eyes. Mmm. This was exactly what she needed. Peace. Quiet. The opportunity to purge the arrogant, overbearing, disgustingly macho David Chambers from her mind…
The handsome, vital, sexy David Chambers from her mind.
She felt someone sit down in the seat beside her, heard the faint clink of a seat belt—heard a sharply indrawn breath.
“I don't believe it,” a man's husky voice growled softly. “I leave my seat for two minutes, and I come back to this? Great God Almighty, I don't care how small the world is, I can't be this unlucky twice in one day.”
Stephanie shot upright. It couldn't be… But it was. David was sitting in the aisle seat, looking at her with the same horrified disbelief she knew must be stamped across her face.
A sob of desperation burst from her throat, and she fumbled for the buckle of her seat belt.
“Stop the plane,” she yelped, but it was too late.
Even as the words left her lips, the sleek jet lifted into the late afternoon sky and headed toward Washington, D.C.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I
S THERE a problem, madam?”
David dragged his gaze from Stephanie's flushed face. The flight attendant stood over them, brows lifted, a concerned smile stapled to her lips.
Yes, he thought, reading her look, you're damned right there's a problem.
“Madam?”
“No,” David said before Stephanie could answer. “There's no problem.” He smiled, too, though it felt as if the attempt might crack his skin. “We're fine.”
“We?
We?
” Stephanie fumbled madly with her seat belt. “There is no
we
, there's only me and this—this—” She glared at the attendant. “I want out of here!”
“Madam, if you would just calm down—”
“Either that or I want you to stop this plane. Take it back to—”
She gasped as David's hand clamped hard around her wrist. “You'll have to forgive my, ah, my wife's outburst.”
“Your wife? Your
wife?
I am not—”
“She's taken all the courses. Fearless Flyers, Flight Without Fright…all of them.” His tone was the embodiment of compassion and tolerance. “None of it's worked. She's still terrified of flying.”
“That's a lie! It's all lies. I am not terrified of flying, and you are not my—”
“Darling.” David turned his smile, feral and sharp with warning, in Stephanie's direction. “If you don't calm down, this charming young lady is going to have to tell the pilot that he's got a disturbed passenger on board and they'll call to have an ambulance waiting at the gate, just the same as last time. Isn't that right, miss?”
“Another lie! I am not—”
The breath hissed from Stephanie's lungs as David's fingers tightened around her wrist.
“You wouldn't want that to happen again, would you, darling?”
“I am not disturbed.” Stephanie glared at the flight attendant. “Do I look disturbed? Do I?”
“No,” the girl said in a way that clearly meant just the opposite. “But, ah, perhaps it would be best if I went up front and spoke with the captain.”
“I'm certain that won't be necessary, miss.” David looked at Stephanie again. “Darling,” he said through his teeth, “I'm sure if you just calm down, you'll feel better. You don't want them to turn this plane around and take us back to Hartford, do you?”
Stephanie glared at him. He was right, and she knew it. She pulled her hand from his, turned away sharply and stared out the window.
“That's my girl.”
Stephanie swung toward him. “I am most definitely not your…”
Her eyes met those of the flight attendant's. The only time Stephanie had seen a person look at another in quite the same fashion was the Fourth of July when Johnny Bullard had gotten drunk on White Lightning, pulled off all his clothes in the middle of the town square and announced to the gathering crowd that he was a rocket and he was going to blast off.
Oh, hell!
“Never mind,” she said glumly, and turned her face to the window again.
“She'll be fine now,” David said.
“Are you sure, sir? Because if there's going to be a problem—”
“There won't be, will there, dearest?”
Not until I figure out a way to get even, there won't be…
“Darling?” David said. “Will there be a problem?”
“No,” Stephanie said coldly.
The attendant produced another thousand-watt smile. “Thank you, ma'am. Now, if you'd just buckle your seat belt? I'm afraid we've been told to expect some bumpy weather ahead.”
“For the rest of the passengers, or just for the man sitting next to me?” Stephanie said sweetly.
“I'm sure this young lady doesn't want to get in the middle of our private little spat, darling.” David leaned toward her, a warning light glinting in his eyes. “Would you like me to buckle your belt for you?”
“Not unless you want to lose both your hands,” she said through her teeth as she snapped the edges of the seat belt together.
David looked up at the flight attendant. “Thank you for your concern. You can see that we're fine now, Miss—” He peered at her badge, then gave her a dazzling smite. “Miss Edgecomb.”
Stephanie watched bitterly as the girl's knees almost buckled under the sexy force of that smile. Oh, if she only knew what a no-good, scheming rat David Chambers really was.
“Yes, sir,” Miss Edgecomb said. “And if I can be of any further help…”
“Of course. I'll be sure and let you know.”
She bent down and whispered something. Stephanie couldn't hear it and didn't much want to, but David's easy laughter set her teeth on edge. She swung toward him, glaring, once they were alone.
“That was certainly a charming scene you orchestrated.”
David put his seat back. “I'd love to take credit for it,” he said, shutting his eyes, “but you're the one deserves all the applause.”
“You have her convinced I'm crazy!”
“Sorry, but you get full credit for that, too.”
“What did she say to you just now? Did she offer her sympathy?”
“She said that it might be a good idea to tank you up to the eyeballs with medication next time we fly.”
“How generous of her.”
“I said I hadn't known you'd intended to fly with me this time, that your presence had come as a delightful surprise.”
“Oh, yeah. I'll just bet it did!”
“Meaning?”
“Do me a favor, Mr. Chambers. Don't try and play me for a fool. Do you really think I'm so naive I wouldn't realize you'd followed me?”
David blinked open his eyes. “Maybe she's right. Maybe you
are
nuts. Either that, or you're the most conceited broad I ever met.”
“I am neither crazy nor conceited. And I no more appreciate being called a ‘broad' than I appreciate having you follow me!”
“You really believe that?”
“No,” she purred, “of course not. You just happened to turn up at the same airport, at the same time, and got yourself ticketed on the very same flight and, oh, yes, what an extra little coincidence, you ended up sitting right beside me.” Stephanie sniffed. “I repeat, sir, I am neither naive, nor am I a fool.”
David sighed. Her accent was back, that faint softening of vowels along with the way she had of addressing him as “sir” when the truth was the name she really had in mind was a lot less polite. She'd blushed the last time he'd commented on her drawl, which certainly made it worth commenting on again.
But he wasn't about to encourage this conversation. It had been a long day, he was tired, his disposition was so frazzled it was damn near nonexistent. The last thing he felt like doing was stepping into the ring and going another round with Stephanie Willingham, no matter how intriguing the possibility.
“The very idea,” she muttered, “thinking you could pull off something so downright crass!”
“Mrs. Willingham,” he said wearily, “I suggest again, calm down.”
“What did you do, sir? Tail me from the country club?”
“Tail you?” He laughed in a way that sent the color sweeping back into Stephanie's face. “I think you've seen one bad detective movie too many.”
“I do not watch detective movies, sir, bad or otherwise.”
“Listen, Mrs. Willingham—”
“Dammit! Stop calling me that!”
David's mouth twisted. “Okay, Scarlett. Whatever you say. You want to think I came after you? Think it. Think whatever you like, so long as you shut up.”
“It was sheer good fortune that placed you in the seat beside me. Is that what you'd like me to believe?”
“No, I would not.”
She shot him a quick, mirthless smile. “That's something, anyway.”
David opened one eye and looked in Stephanie's direction. “Good fortune would have put me down in the cargo hatch. Strapped to the wing. If luck had anything to do with this, I'd be on a rocket to Mars. I'd be anywhere but here.”
“Ha.”
He stabbed impatiently at the button that returned his seat to an upright position. There was to be no rest for him, he could see that. Bad weather was closing in on all sides: from the woman beside him, who obviously wasn't going to shut up until they touched down in D.C., and from the oily gray clouds that surrounded the plane. They were headed into a storm. The plane was starting to buck like a horse with a burr under its saddle. It was, he thought grimly, an apt metaphor for how he felt.
“Try and get this into your head, Scarlett,” he growled, leaning toward her. “I'm just about as thrilled with our seating arrangements as you are, so here's my suggestion. Shut that pretty mouth of yours. That way, we can forget all about each other. How's that sound?”
“Like the first intelligent thing you've said,” Stephanie said, fixing him with a cold look.
She folded her hands and did her best to ignore him. But it wasn't easy. How could she ignore him when each time the plane took a bone-jarring bounce—something it was doing with unsettling frequency—his shoulder brushed against hers? The scent of his cologne was annoying, too, that clean, outdoorsy aroma of leather and pine forests. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His profile might have been sculpted in granite. That chiseled forehead. That straight nose. The firm, full mouth and the strong, square chin.
His chin had stubble on it. So did his jaw. Her fingers curled into her palms. She could almost imagine the feel of that stubble under the soft stroke of her hand…
Stephanie sat up straighter.
“There must be an empty seat somewhere on this plane,” she said angrily.
“No.”
“No? No? What do you mean, no?”
“I mean exactly what I said. The plane's as full as a can of sardines.”
“Wonderful.” Stephanie folded her arms.
“Look, we'll be in Washington soon. And then we'll never have to set eyes on each other again.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“rm not going to argue, Scarlett.” David shot her a quick look. “Frankly, I can hardly wait to be rid of you.”
“Oh, do be frank, sir,” Stephanie said coldly. “Considering that you've spent the afternoon being the soul of discretion, I imagine that a little frankness would be soothing.”
David gritted his teeth. What in hell had he done to deserve being saddled with such an impossible woman? She was gorgeous, yes, maybe even more now than before, where their surroundings demanded she at least try to maintain a civilized veneer. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks red, and her breathing had quickened so that her breasts rose and fell in a way a man couldn't possibly ignore. She was clever, too, and more than willing to stand up to him despite her look of fragility.
But she was impossible. Stephanie Willingham was a short-tempered, sharp-tongued, opinionated hellion. She wouldn't appreciate the comparison, but she reminded him of a wild mare he'd brought down from the high summer pastures a couple of years before.
The filly had been a beautiful animal, with fine bones, a soft, silky mane and tail—and the disposition of a wildcat. His men had tried everything to gentle her, but nothing had worked. They'd have to break her spirit, his foreman finally said…but David had refused to let that happen. He'd wanted the horse to accept the saddle, and him, not out of fear but out of desire.
So he'd taken up the challenge. He'd talked softly to the filly, offered her treats from his hand despite the sharp nips she'd given him. He'd stroked her neck, the rare occasions she'd permitted it. And at last, early one morning, instead of greeting him with wildly rolling eyes and bared teeth, the mare had come slowly to the fence, buried her velvet muzzle in the crook of his shoulder and trembled with pleasure as he touched her.
“Well?”
He looked up. Stephanie was glaring at him in defiance. Somewhere along the line, her dark hair had begun to escape its neat, nape-of-the-neck knot. Strands of it curled lightly against her ears and throat.
I could tame you, he thought, and he felt the swift surge of hot blood race through his veins.
“Well, what?” he said very softly.
Something in his voice, in the way his blue eyes were boring into her, made Stephanie's pulse beat quicken.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Come on, Miss Scarlett, don't chicken out now.” David smiled silkily. “You were going to tell me something, and I'd like to hear it.”
BOOK: The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée
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