Til Death Do Us Part (24 page)

Cleo couldn't understand how a man could father a child and then desert it, never wanting anything to do with it. But for her sake and the child's, she was glad Simon Roarke wasn't the sentimental type. She had wondered how she'd handle the situation if he asked for visitation rights. Obviously, that wouldn't be a problem.

“You never want to see the child?” she asked. “Never want to be a part of his or her life?”

“That's right.” Roarke clenched his jaw; the pulse in his neck bulged and throbbed. “The child will not be mine. It will be yours—completely yours.”

“Very well. We have a deal.” She pulled her hand free, squared her shoulders and turned away from him.

Roarke watched while Dane escorted the McNamara ladies out of the office. The moment the door closed behind them, he turned toward the window, took a deep breath and thought,
Good Lord, am I making the biggest mistake of my life?

For a good thirty minutes, he stood looking out the window. His thoughts raced backward in time. To another marriage. To a twenty-one-year-old soldier madly in love with the prettiest girl in the world.

The pain rose inside him, a deep, twisting knot of agony that started in his belly and spread through him like an insidious poison. With unsteady hands, Roarke removed his wallet from his pocket and slipped out a frayed photograph. Blue eyes identical to his own stared back at him from the face of a golden-haired angel. His little Laurie. The picture had been taken only a few weeks after her third birthday. Her last birthday. Roarke had been halfway around the world in an insect-infested jungle when his daughter had died. If his military career hadn't been more important to him than his child, Laurie would still be alive. And Hope might not be vegetating in a mental hospital.

 

C
LEO LAY IN
the double bed in Atlanta's Doubletree Hotel, listening to Aunt Beatrice's wispy breathing as she slept peacefully. Cleo could not imagine life without her aunt, who actually was her father's first cousin. Beatrice, whom she'd referred to as
aunt
all her life, had been the nearest thing to a mother Cleo had ever known. When she was three, her father had been killed in Vietnam and her mother, young, beautiful and a bit wild, had deserted Cleo.

She had grown up on the McNamara estate in River Bend, a sleepy little Alabama town in northwest Alabama, near the Tennessee River. Aunt Beatrice had adored her and taken over her upbringing. And because she not only looked like the McNamaras but Uncle George believed she had the McNamara brains and grit, she soon became his favorite. “You're your father's daughter,” he'd told
her often. Uncle George had thought the world of young Jimmy McNamara Jr., his only brother's son.

Cleo couldn't ever remember wanting for anything money could buy. If she wanted it, needed it or asked for it, it was hers. But she would never forget the nights she had prayed her mother would return for her and love her the way mothers should love their daughters. But the beautiful, wild Arabelle had never returned. And when Cleo was nineteen, they received word that her mother had died accidentally of an overdose of drugs and alcohol.

She supposed one of the reasons she'd fallen in love with Paine Emerson and had agreed to marry him at twenty was that she'd longed for the kind of family life she'd been denied. She'd seen herself as a happy homemaker and the mother of half a dozen little Emersons. She'd been such a young fool. More in love with love than with Paine. And totally infatuated with the dream of being the kind of mother she'd never had.

She had thrown herself into their relationship with total abandon, giving Paine her virginity as well as her heart. She didn't know which she regretted losing the most. But in the long run, it didn't matter. She had retrieved her broken heart and mended it quite well. And her lost virginity was of little importance, since, for all intents and purposes, she was still what some would call a semi virgin, a woman with very little sexual experience.

She had hated Daphne for quite some time after her cousin had seduced Paine into eloping. But when Paine had left Daphne for another woman only four years into their turbulent marriage, Cleo had actually felt sorry for her cousin. She had welcomed Daphne home, if not with open arms, at least with civility.

She couldn't remember a time in her life when Daphne
hadn't wanted what she had. If Cleo got a pony, Daphne wanted a horse. If Cleo got a new dress, Daphne had to have two new dresses. When Cleo became engaged to Paine Emerson, Daphne promptly seduced him into eloping with her. So why had Cleo been surprised that, less than six months after she started dating Hugh Winfield, she found him in bed with Daphne?

Cleo supposed Uncle George had known that the only reason she dated Hugh was to please him. He'd made it perfectly clear how much he wanted to see her married. One of his greatest regrets had been that his only child, Beatrice, had remained single and childless. Understanding his reasoning and his assumption that she'd marry Hugh, Cleo could almost forgive her great-uncle for placing her in such an awkward predicament.

Tomorrow she and Simon Roarke would sign the documents that sealed their fate and doomed them both to a temporary marriage. She had weighed the pros and cons of this situation again and again. She didn't want to get married. And she certainly didn't want to bring a baby into this world with only one parent. Her actions would be unfair to her child. But she and Aunt Beatrice would surround the child with love, and she was wealthy enough to afford to raise a child alone. When she had considered taking Aunt Beatrice's advice to hire a husband who could father her baby, she'd thought the man would want to be a part of the child's life after the divorce.

What sort of person could walk away from his own flesh and blood?
A person like Arabelle McNamara,
she told herself. Was Simon Roarke as callous and unfeeling as her own mother had been?

Cleo wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she'd met Mr. Roarke. She knew a great deal about him, but only superficial information. His age, birthday, weight,
height, schooling, occupational background, financial situation, medical history. But she knew absolutely nothing about the man himself. About Simon. She supposed, considering their marriage was a business arrangement and would be of short duration, that she really didn't need to know the things a woman usually wanted to know about her husband.

But their child was bound to ask about him someday. What would she tell her son or daughter? The only reason I had you was so that I could save McNamara Industries. Your father and I were strangers who married each other for strictly business reasons, and he wanted no part in your life.

Dear God in heaven, am I making a terrible mistake? Should I sell the company? That would make the rest of the family happy and no doubt end the threats on my life. Then there would be no need to marry a man I don't even know and conceive a child who would be born out of necessity and not out of love.

Reaching to the foot of the bed, Cleo grabbed her yellow cotton robe and slipped into it. She got up and walked quietly across the room, hoping not to disturb her aunt. Opening the drapes enough to allow the moonlight to filter through the sheer curtains beneath, Cleo then pulled a chair over to the window and sat down, placing her feet on the bottom cushion as she hugged her knees to her chest.

No, she hadn't known what to expect when she'd met Mr. Roarke today, but she certainly hadn't anticipated her reaction to him. She had long since passed the age of being a silly romantic and she'd never considered herself a very sexual creature. So why had every feminine instinct within her come to full alert the moment he'd touched her? Falling for the man she married wasn't part of her plan.
But how on earth could any woman be immune to a man like Simon Roarke?

“I don't know,” she answered herself aloud, her voice a whisper. “But, Cleo, my girl, if you want to come out of this marriage with your heart intact, you'd better find a way.”

 

“D
O YOU
, Simon Alloway Roarke, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Simon listened to the Alabama judge's words, reciting the marriage vows and making the appropriate responses when called upon to speak. Not long after he'd taken Cleo McNamara's hand in his, a soothing numbness had claimed him. Thankfully the event, being a civil ceremony, wouldn't last very long. He didn't think he could have endured anything elaborate. Lucky for him, Cleo was a sensible woman, not one for turning their wedding into a major production.

Of course, once they arrived at her home, they would have to begin acting the parts of madly-in-love newlyweds.

“My family may suspect the truth—that I bought and paid for you,” Cleo said. “But I will not give them the satisfaction of knowing for sure. Whenever we're around others, I expect you to pretend to be in love with me. Aunt Beatrice has told the family that you used to date a college friend of mine, that you and I were acquainted years ago. And when we met again, by chance, while Aunt Beatrice and I were on our Atlanta shopping trip, you and I found ourselves attracted to each other. You simply swept me off my feet in a whirlwind courtship.”

Roarke wasn't too sure how sharp his acting skills were, but he'd give it his best shot. After all, Cleo was paying him for his services, and it wouldn't exactly be a hardship to fake affection for a woman as appealing as Cleo.

“And do you, Cleopatra Arabelle McNamara, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the judge asked.

“I do,” she said clearly in her deep, raspy voice that Roarke thought was very sexy.

Cleo and Roarke exchanged the simple gold bands she had purchased at the local jewelry store in River Bend earlier that day. He made sure he didn't hold her hand longer than was necessary.

Remembering a first wedding on the day of a second wedding might be only natural, but Roarke refused to allow himself to remember anything about his first wedding. It would be unfair to Cleo to compare her with Hope. And it would be unfair to him to have to recall the circumstances that had led to the demise of his former marriage.

Simon didn't look at his new bride. He hadn't made eye contact with her at all. What was the point? They both knew why they were there and what they had to do. This was a business arrangement, one that would benefit them both.

All the legal documents had been signed beforehand. The equivalent of one year's salary plus a nice bonus had been deposited in a bank account in Simon's name and Cleo had agreed to a million-dollar divorce settlement once he had successfully fulfilled his part of their bargain.

And that was the reason he was going through with this farce—for the money. If he was ever going to free himself from a life of danger and violence and still continue to meet his obligations to Hope, he needed money. A lot of money.

Cleo McNamara had offered him a small fortune to marry her—and to keep her safe. In the weeks, possibly months, ahead he would be not only her husband, but her bodyguard. Being her bodyguard, no matter how diffi
cult, would be the easy part. Being her husband would be a complicated situation. But he could handle it. He could handle just about anything if it meant making sure Hope would be taken care of for the rest of her life. The most difficult part of the bargain would be dealing with Cleo's pregnancy. No matter how painful it would be for him, he could force himself to father Cleo's child—as long as he never saw the child, never became a part of its life, never allowed himself to love it.

He and Cleo were virtual strangers, having met only three days ago. But now they were man and wife. Legally bound in an unholy alliance. He had married her for money. She had married him for control of her family's business. No matter what the mitigating circumstances, no matter who else would benefit from their marriage, they had gone into this most sacred union without an ounce of love or commitment between them.

He kept reminding himself that Cleo wasn't his type, but he couldn't deny that she was attractive. Slender. Elegant. Cool. Controlled. Bossy and independent. It hadn't taken him long to size her up and decide that he liked her. But there wasn't much chance of her stealing his heart. Hell, he wasn't sure he even had a heart anymore.

His lips twitched slightly, but he didn't smile. He was no longer very susceptible to women in general. Once, he had preferred his women soft, warm, sweet and needy. Hope had been like that. But he had learned his lesson—learned it the hard way. Now he steered clear of emotional entanglements.

He didn't love anyone, and he never would love anyone. Not ever again.

But he had to admit that a part of him was intrigued by the challenge of melting the ice princess, of finding out if there was any fire inside Cleo.

“You may kiss your bride,” the judge said.

Roarke looked at Cleo then, and for just a split second her expression was soft, almost tender. He noticed a damp glaze covering her moss-green eyes. Tears? Surely this steel magnolia wasn't crying.

“Well, Boss Lady, do you want a kiss?” Roarke asked, looking down, staring directly at her and determined to start this marriage off on the right foot. He reminded himself that this was strictly a business arrangement and she was his employer.

Cleo's expression hardened instantly. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, then opened them to face him with a chilly glare.

“That won't be necessary.” She pulled her hand out of his loose hold. “There are only three things this job requires of you, Roarke, and kissing me isn't a mandatory part of any of them.”

“Well, I can see where marrying you and protecting you don't necessarily require kissing, but I'm afraid playing the part of your lovesick husband
will
require a few kisses. And getting you pregnant is definitely going to require more than a handshake.”