When Lightning Strikes (14 page)

“No.” He chuckled as if his meaning was obvious, but she
couldn’t imagine what he was trying to convey. She’d never had anyone call her
innocent. It wasn’t a word most people associated with a business professional,
especially one over thirty.

“Then what?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You’re so tough and inflexible that—”

She held up a hand. “You’ve mentioned my lack of better
qualities before.”

Ignoring the interruption, he moved closer to her. “That I keep
expecting you to be jaded and self-serving. But you’re not. You’re not that
person at all.”

Shifting in the giant but soft leather chair, she studied the
polish on her nails to avoid looking up—but ended up looking at him anyway.
“I’ll probably kick myself for asking, but…according to you, who am I?”

“Someone who’s honest, sincere and too tenderhearted for her
own good.” He frowned as if these things were terrible, the latest blow in the
long series of blows he’d recently been dealt. “As I said, innocent.”

“And you don’t like innocent any more than you like tough and
inflexible, is that it?”

He did what he could to loosen his tie with one hand. “That’s
where you’re wrong. I
crave
innocent. It’s so rare
in my world that I’m immediately drawn to it. Which is why I think we might have
an unexpected problem.”

“Admiring some of my positive traits is a problem?”

“It could be, for you. So I’ll add my voice to all the others
who’ve tried to warn you away. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk out
of here right now and petition for an annulment.”

He was serious. “I can see you’re feeling confident in our
success. That’s encouraging.”

“I’m feeling guilty,” he clarified.

“For taking vows you don’t mean?”

“For knowing I’ll probably end up destroying your
innocence.”

“And how do you think you’ll do that?”

“You haven’t been through what I’ve been through, haven’t lost
the ability to fall in love.” He jerked his head toward the door. “So get out
while you can. I’ll still be your client, do whatever you need to help get your
business back on solid ground.”

And what would
he
do? Continue to
battle his demons with alcohol? He’d certainly made a mess of his life. She
wasn’t sure he deserved the second chance she’d constructed for him, but she
wanted to see him take it.

“You’re reading too much into one kiss. It was nothing. I was
embarrassed to have an audience, that’s why I reacted the way I did.”

He said nothing. But his skeptical expression goaded her
on.

“Come on, you’re not
that
irresistible.” She merely had to remind herself of the dangers involved in
falling for him and she’d be fine. It wasn’t as if she was going into this with
her eyes closed. Even
he’d
been up front with her
about his limitations.

His gaze lingered on her body. “I give it a week.”

“A week for what?”

“That’s how long I think you’ll last with your no-sex
rule.”

The awareness that had slammed into her when she was in his
arms returned with a vengeance. She wanted him and he knew it. She’d wanted him
ever since she’d first seen him on the silver screen.

But most women did. She wasn’t stupid enough to act on it.

“Quit trying to scare me off. We’ve already come this far.
We’re going to see it through.” She got to her feet. “I’m heading home to pack.
I suggest you pack, too. We leave for Whiskey Creek in the morning.”

“You’re staying somewhere else tonight?”

“Yes.”

He laughed softly. “See?”

That proved nothing. “See what?”

“You felt it.”

“I felt nothing. I just have a lot to do,” she said, but she
had to sleep sometime, and the fact that she’d decided to stay in her own bed
said something, even to her.

He stiffened as she brushed past him but didn’t stop her.
Neither did he try to talk her into coming back.

“We’ll be taking my Lexus to Whiskey Creek, so be ready when I
come by in the morning,” she said, and left.

15

S
imon’s introduction to Gail’s hometown
started with a sign posted on the meandering highway they’d been traveling since
leaving Interstate 5: Welcome to Whiskey Creek, the Heart of the Gold Country.
They’d passed through other places, similar in size and architecture. Jackson
and Sutter Creek also dated from the Gold Rush–era of the 1800s and looked it.
But there was something different about Whiskey Creek. Subtle though it was,
Simon noticed it right off. There was a definable unity here, a certain pride
evident in the way the buildings were maintained and cared for that made him
believe it should’ve been named Happy Valley.

“What do you think?” Gail adjusted her seat belt so she could
turn toward him.

“It’s…interesting.” He’d insisted on driving, even though he
wasn’t familiar with the route. He had to retain
some
semblance of control, and she hadn’t fought him on that. She
seemed happy enough to play the role of navigator.

“You don’t like it?”

Resting his left hand over the steering wheel, he used his
injured right to slide his sunglasses down and take a better look. “The
surrounding countryside is gorgeous. I’ve just never lived in a small town. I’m
not sure how I’ll adapt.”

She lowered the passenger window and stuck her head out as if
she couldn’t wait to smell the air. “There’s nowhere like the foothills,
especially in the fall.”

That she loved the area so much surprised him. Although they’d
never really socialized when he was her client, they had spent significant time
together. Other than an occasional mention of where she came from she’d never
talked about Whiskey Creek. But then…she’d always been straight-up business.
This was the first glimpse he’d had into her past. He’d never had any reason to
take an interest before.

“Why’d you leave here?” he asked.

She lowered the volume on the radio. “For the same reasons I
keep coming back. My family lives here. And I know everyone.”

“Those are bad things?”

“My father can be…a bit overbearing and opinionated.”

He’d already gotten that impression.

“And when you know everyone, there’s no chance to break out and
be anything other than what people expect,” she added. “It can be…confining.”
She rolled her eyes. “Then there’s the inevitable gossip.”

“I can’t imagine
you’ve
ever been
gossiped about. You always play by the rules.” He glanced over to see if she’d
refute that statement.

“I’ve had my less-than-stellar moments.”

“Name one.”

“No, thanks. Those incidents were painful enough when they
happened. No need to relive them.” She rummaged through her purse and came up
with a pack of gum. “Now that we’re married, there will, of course, be more
gossip.”

“Unlike you, I’m used to being gossiped about.” He shook his
head when she offered him a piece. “I don’t think I could feel at home anywhere
I wasn’t the center of attention,” he teased.

“Then you’ll feel right at home here.” She tossed him a grin.
“Anyway, I had to leave. There’s not much opportunity in Whiskey Creek for a PR
firm.”

“What about in Sacramento? According to the signs I’ve seen, it
isn’t far.”

“It’s still an hour, which makes for a long commute. Unless you
want to run one of the stores around here, or maybe a B and B, and we already
have two, you’re pretty much out of luck in the business world.”

He nodded toward A Room with a View Bed and Breakfast, a quaint
Victorian perched prominently on Main Street, where the road made a
ninety-degree turn. “Tell me we can stay there,” he said, but he knew it wasn’t
likely that she’d change her mind. She’d told him they’d be staying with her
father until they could find a rental. He’d heard her confirm it on the phone
earlier. He was going to be Martin DeMarco’s guest even though he wasn’t
particularly welcome.

“We have to stay at my dad’s, at least for a day or two, or
he’ll never forgive us,” she explained.

“
Us?
He doesn’t want me there.”

“I can’t let him reject you. We’re married. We’re a
package.”

“I’m being rescued by a girl.” He sighed. “I can’t believe my
life has come down to this.”

If he thought she’d give him a bit of sympathy, he was
mistaken. “I hope it’s as humbling as it should be,” she said.

“Good thing my ego is all but indestructible.” He let his gaze
stray to the V of her tan dress, which had distracted him all day. As much as he
didn’t want to find his new “wife” too appealing—they both knew their
relationship would best be handled as simply a business transaction—he was
intrigued on a number of levels. Mostly, he liked her mind. He’d always admired
her quick thinking and no-nonsense, honest approach to life, or he wouldn’t have
hired her as his PR agent. But there was something more, something about her
that just felt…right. She inspired him.

If that was the extent of it, the next two years should
progress uneventfully. But in the past few days he’d actually been wondering why
he’d never noticed how flawless her skin was. Or how her lips quirked
endearingly to one side when she was trying to tell him he was full of
bullshit.

“Stop it,” she said, nudging his shoulder.

“What?” he asked innocently.

“Just because you’re wearing sunglasses, don’t think I can’t
tell what you’re looking at.”

It was their wedding kiss, he decided. Ever since she’d drawn
back almost as soon as their lips touched, he’d been preoccupied with kissing
her again. But that wasn’t a welcome realization. If he wasn’t careful, he’d
drag her down before she could pull him up.

“I’m happy to hang out on my own at the B and B, if I’m
bothering you,” he said.

“Nice try, but I’m not going to my father’s without you.”

The reminder of what they would soon face quashed his libido.
“How difficult
is
Mr. DeMarco?” he asked, slowing
for a traffic signal.

“What do you mean?”

The light turned green before he had to stop. “He’s never been
abusive with you....”

“No. I hope I didn’t give you that impression. He’s a good man,
a
really
good man. It’s just that he expects so much
of me, and is so easily disappointed. The…force of his personality can be hard
to take.”

Simon considered that and grimaced. “I don’t do well with
authority figures.”

She didn’t attempt to convince him otherwise. That was another
thing that made her different. If she said something he could believe it. “No
kidding.”

He adjusted his seat to give himself more legroom. “So…how do
you think this is going to work?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “At the very least it’ll be
interesting.”

Besides the B and B, they passed an antiques store called
Eureka Treasures, Black Gold Coffee, Whiskey Creek Five and Dime, 49er Sweets
and a smattering of mom-and-pop-style restaurants, including a diner called Just
Like Mom’s that could’ve come right out of the 1960s. There wasn’t one fast-food
joint or chain grocery store that Simon could see, which made this town and
others in the area different from most.

Farther down the street there was a post office, a bike store
named Crank It Up and a barbershop, complete with the traditional pole.

“When do we get our own house?” He came to the second stoplight
and glanced over to see some flyers taped in the window of Harvey’s Hardware.
One advertised a tour of a nearby gold mine. Another enticed visitors to go
spelunking at a place called Moaning Caverns. The display behind these flyers
featured Halloween decorations.

“As soon as Kathy Carmichael, down at KC’s Gold Country Realty,
is able to find us something suitable.”

The hill to the right sported several century-old homes.
Others—those along Sutter Street—had been turned into gift shops or art
galleries. “Doesn’t look like there’s a big housing market around here. Will
there be anything to choose from?”

“Not much but—” she gave him a pirate’s smile “—thanks to you,
money’s no object, so we’ll just take the best one we can get. Picking our lot
and getting started on the house you’ll build will take more time.”

Not if he could help it. He needed to stay busy or he’d revert
to his old ways before she could raise a disapproving eyebrow. She’d removed all
his coping mechanisms. They hadn’t been working particularly well, but they had
always provided an escape. “You realize I can’t build a house by myself. I’ve
never taken on a project quite that big.”

“I have a good friend who’s a general contractor. I’m sure
he’ll be happy to provide any support and guidance you need—for a fee.”

“And you think we can build a house in the time we plan to stay
here?”

“Probably not, but you can always have Riley take over when we
go back to L.A. Then we’ll have somewhere to stay when we visit.” She conjured
up an expression of mock innocence. “Unless you’d like to stay with my father
whenever we return.”

“Point taken,” he grumbled.

Her attention shifted back to her hometown as if she was making
note of any subtle changes, but he broke the silence again. “So…you were serious
about three months, right? I have to last here for three months and then our
Whiskey Creek days are over, except for an occasional visit?”

She touched his arm. “Give it a chance, okay?” She gestured at
a small side street jutting off to the right. “Turn here.”

* * *

Somewhere in his late fifties, Martin DeMarco was a
tall, grizzled redhead with erect posture, big shoulders and hands large enough
to palm a basketball. He treated Simon with cool reserve, wouldn’t address him
directly, but said nothing overtly unwelcoming. He didn’t say much at all. He
greeted his daughter with a stiff nod and suffered through a brief introduction.
Then he helped carry their luggage from the car to Gail’s old bedroom in his
home, which resembled a large cabin. After putting down her suitcase, he gave
Simon one long, assessing look, frowned as though he wasn’t happy with what he
saw and turned back to his daughter.

“Dinner’s in the fridge. Go ahead and heat it up if you’re
hungry.” He didn’t say it, but the intimation was there:
And feed him if you have to
. “I’ve got a problem at the station, but
it shouldn’t take long.”

“Anything serious?” she asked.

“No, just Robbie. He can’t figure out how to open the till to
give change—the little idiot.”

“Where’s his mother? I thought she was training him.”

“She’s been trying, but she’s not feeling well. This is his
first night on his own.”

“He’ll learn,” she said.

With a skeptical grunt, Mr. DeMarco left, but as far as Simon
was concerned his absence did little to improve the situation. Joe, Gail’s older
brother, was still at home, and he was just as tall, just as imposing and just
as unhappy with Gail’s choice of husband. He’d spent the whole time they were
coming in leaning against the counter, drinking a cup of coffee and sizing Simon
up.

When they returned to the kitchen, the disapproval rolling off
him was offensive, but Simon had expected to encounter disapproval. He did his
best to ignore it—until the sound of the older DeMarco’s engine disappeared and
Joe addressed him. “So. You’re the badass.”

“Joe! You don’t have to be rude,” Gail cried, but Simon talked
over her. He didn’t want her sticking up for him. He’d face these people down on
his own. Maybe he’d get his ass kicked by her Goliath of a brother, but he
wasn’t sure that would be entirely a bad thing. A bit of violence would provide
an outlet for the emotions he could no longer dull with sex and alcohol. His
temper had never been closer to the surface.

“That’s right.” He adopted the cocky air so effective in
pissing people off. “How’d you know?”

“I read the papers.”

Simon lowered his voice as if divulging a fact Joe should
already know but was too stupid to figure out. “Do you mean the tabloids?
Because in case you hadn’t heard, they’re quite often full of shit.” He spoke at
a normal volume again. “But don’t let that change your mind. I’m as badass as
they come.”

“Funny, too. I like that.” Lifting his coffee cup, Joe smiled,
looking perfectly comfortable—except for the muscle flexing in his cheek, which
said otherwise. “But the fact that you’re a big movie star doesn’t matter that
much to me.”

Simon felt his muscles tense. “Then why’d you bring it up?”

He set down his cup and straightened. “There’s one thing you
need to know.”

“Joe—” Gail tried to break in. She’d been glancing between
them, a worried expression on her face, but Simon pulled her behind him so she
couldn’t get in the way.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t care how rich or famous you are. All the shit you’re
used to getting away with? Won’t fly around here. You step on someone’s toes in
Whiskey Creek, they’re going to knock you down a peg. And if you cheat on my
sister, I’ll be handling that myself. Understood?”

He deserved the lack of faith, the censure, so Simon tried to
take it like a man. But that wasn’t easy when it came from someone who had no
clue what his life had been like with Bella. “I won’t embarrass you or your
family. You have my word.”

Joe turned to rinse his cup. “For what it’s worth,” he muttered
under his breath.

Had he not added that, Simon would’ve been able to let it go.
As it was, the angry words he’d been biting back rose to his tongue. “Now that
we’ve covered what went wrong in
my
marriage, what
happened to yours?”

The question took Joe off guard. No doubt thanks to his size,
he’d expected to swagger around and do the big-brother routine without any
backlash. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“None of your damn business.” He dried his hands and tossed the
towel aside.

“Simon,” Gail warned, but Simon ignored her.