To Chaz’s private amusement, the bells decorating
his mystery woman’s mask clattered together in discordant protest. "Take
off—"
"Your mask. Yes." He lifted an eyebrow. "Problem?"
"I’d rather not," she admitted.
Something about such devastating honesty had him
regarding her with acute suspicion. "And why’s that?"
"What does it matter what I look like?" It was her
turn to clench the coffee mug with white-knuckled desperation. "I don’t
recall your mentioning that as part of your requirements. You wanted someone
who’d turn your house into a home, who’d be willing to live with you in
Colorado, who’d—"
"Sleep with me."
It was a wonder the cup didn’t shatter in her hands.
Did she find the idea of being intimate with him so overwhelming? He’d soon
ease her past that particular concern.
"Yes," she acknowledged. "And to sleep with you."
He stood and approached her side of the table.
"Don’t you think we should have a peek under the masks to make sure we can
face each other over the breakfast table every morning?" he asked.
She held him with inky dark eyes, eyes that stirred
memories he’d sooner forget. "And if my looks don’t appeal, we go our
separate ways?"
Dammit! Did she think him so heartless? "I didn’t
say that."
"So it’s not whether or not I can make a home for
you that’s important. It’s whether or not I’m attractive enough to have in
your bed?"
He stooped beside her, taking her hands in his.
"Honey, in case you didn’t know... It doesn’t much matter what your partner
looks like once the lights are out, so long as part A fits pleasurably into
slot B."
He’d insulted her. It hadn’t been intentional, he
just had an unfortunate knack for brutal frankness. Hell, he wanted a wife.
Or rather, he needed one. If he were perfectly honest, he didn’t care how
plain-faced the woman he married, so long as she could satisfy his
requirements.
He’d had beautiful. If he was forced to take a wife,
then his time around he wanted practical.
Chaz studied his prospective bride. He could see her
intention to walk away as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud. But something
held her back. Something he couldn’t quite understand. Still, he saw it in
the slight softening of her chin and the gentling of the anger darkening her
passionate brown eyes. A smile flirted with her mouth, a smile as feminine
and appealing as any he’d ever seen. Warmth pooled in his gut, stirring a
reaction he hadn’t felt in far too many years.
"If it doesn’t matter, then the mask stays," she
said. "You decide. Are you willing to marry, sight unseen?"
Aw, hell. He carefully disengaged their fingers.
"You’re asking me to take a lot on faith."
"You’re not a man with a lot of faith, are you?"
"Not a scrap."
"What happened?" she asked with the sort of kindness
he couldn’t handle, the sort of kindness he didn’t deserve.
"I lost it long ago."
"Perhaps someday you’ll find it again."
"If that’s what you’re holding out for, you’re going
to be sorely disappointed." He straightened, towering over her, and thumped
his index finger on the linen-covered surface for emphasis. "I’m offering
you a house. I’m offering you a warm bed. The closest you’ll get to faith is
that I’ll remain true to our marriage vows for as long as they legally last.
And I’ll see that you don’t want for anything it’s within my power to give.
Take it or leave it."
"Just don’t expect love?"
"Not a chance in hell."
Her mouth drew together as she weighed his
statement, gathering into an unconscious half-kiss that proved a
gut-tightening temptation. If she hadn’t chosen that moment to speak, he’d
have leaned down again and sampled those rosy lips to see if they tasted as
luscious as they appeared. "Why should I agree to that sort of a marriage?"
"Frankly, I can’t think of a single damned reason."
He picked up his coffee cup and downed the contents. Studying the dregs, he
considered his words. "Look... I came here to find a wife." He set the mug
on the table with a finality she couldn’t mistake. "I’ve given you my
reasons and I’ve been honest about what I can offer in return. Brutally
honest. If what I’m selling doesn’t coincide with what you’re buying, tell
me now. There’s still time to find new partners."
She stood, as well. "I’m not interested in finding
someone else."
"You sure?" Chaz regarded her with unflinching
deliberation, allowing just a hint of his annoyance to spill into his gaze.
She’d pushed him as far as he intended to be pushed. If she didn’t back off
soon, he’d take a walk and scout the area for an alternate bride. "I’m not
in the mood for games."
"Neither am I."
"I think this might be a good time to take our
discussion someplace more private. There’s a small balcony on one side of
the garden. It’s probably off-limits, but I’m willing to risk it, if you
are." He held out his hand, palm up—a hand that mirrored its owner,
work-roughened and callused into painful hardness. "Would you mind if we go
there?"
Shayne stilled. She remembered that balcony all too
well. That’s where she’d first met Chaz. He’d appeared in the garden beneath
and, spying her, had done a very poor imitation of Romeo, spouting an
amusing "cowboy" version of Shakespeare. And then he’d come after her,
scoffing at the circular staircase hidden behind the bushes and instead
climbing the trellis adjacent to the balcony. One look into laughter-filled
blue eyes set above a cocky grin and she’d been lost. He’d vaulted over the
wrought-iron railing and captured her heart the same instant he’d captured
her lips. They’d talked for hours, planning a dream-life that on the stroke
of midnight they’d turned into a reality by speaking vows she’d kept to this
day.
She inclined her head, ignoring the clamor of
protest issued from silver-voiced bells. "The balcony sounds perfect."
He led the way into the garden, finding the steps
concealed behind the shrubbery with unerring accuracy. She preceded him
without a word, afraid if she spoke, she’d give herself away. Did he even
realize that behind the French doors at the top of the stairway he’d find
the bedroom she’d used whenever she and Rafe visited the Montagues on
business? Of course, the bed and furniture were now draped in dust covers,
the room as asleep as she’d been all these years.
"Okay, honey. I’m willing to take you sight-unseen.
But there’s one important aspect of our relationship we have to explore
before we make a final commitment."
"Is that why you brought me here?"
"Yes."
"So we’d have some privacy?"
"Yes."
She refused to be coy. "Privacy to make love."
He didn’t back down beneath her direct gaze. "We
need to know for sure. It’s an important aspect of a marriage."
The sex had to be good, but wasn’t to involve
emotions. Didn’t he see how wrong that was? "And if we’re not compatible?"
"We reconsider."
The bells on her mask issued a quick, urgent
warning. "I’m nervous, Chaz," she confessed. "Is that so surprising?"
His eyes were black in the darkness of the night,
the distant fairy lights strung through the garden not enough to touch them
with color. He turned and leaned against the railing, folding his hands
along the top and stared out at the starlit night. She saw his gaze drift
past the fanciful gardens and outward toward the stark, uncompromising
landscape of the desert. The full moon washed down, blessing it with
softness. But the night’s shadows cut across the silvery light in hard,
harsh strokes, giving lie to the pastoral gentleness. It was a fitting match
for the man at her side.
"I noticed you when you first arrived," he said
after a bit. "You didn’t know that, did you?"
Alarm filled her. Had he seen her unmasked? "When I
first arrived?"
"A few minutes before you danced with Sotherland.
You came down the steps into the ballroom. Your mask hides a lot, but it
didn’t hide your eagerness, your impatience to join the party."
To find him, she almost corrected. "And?"
"Before you could reach your goal, a rather elderly
man stopped you."
She remembered. "He’d twisted his ankle and needed
help."
"You helped him."
"That impressed you?" she asked in disbelief.
"Anyone would have done the same. It’s common decency."
"No one had helped him until you arrived." He
glanced at her over his shoulder. "He wasn’t the only one, either. There was
a young girl sitting by herself, practically in tears. You must have talked
to her for ten whole minutes."
"She reminded me of someone I once knew," Shayne
admitted.
"You sent her home, didn’t you?"
"She didn’t belong. She’d only come because she
wanted to escape her home life. I suggested some alternate ways she could
accomplish that without marrying a perfect stranger."
"Unlike you?"
The question hit home. "I’m not eighteen, nor am I
trying to escape an unhappy home life."
"What are you trying to escape?"
"Nothing." She took a deep breath, struggling to
open herself to him. Once upon a time, she’d have shared her innermost
thoughts and feelings with ease. But over the years, she’d become more
cautious. "I’m not trying to escape anything, Chaz. I’m trying to find
something."
Tension built along his shoulders and tautened his
spine. "Find what?"
Respite from the past. A love she’d lost long ago.
"My future."
"And you think that future’s with me?"
"I haven’t decided, yet," she admitted with perfect
candor.
"If you’re looking for some sort of fairy tale
romance, you’re talking to the wrong man. I’m not interested in love. I’m
after someone who’s interested in a practical relationship, who’s willing to
help create a home. A woman with a sense of humor and a generous spirit
who’ll stick by me when life gets tough." He turned and faced her. "Are you
that woman?"
"Let me get this straight. I can share a life with
you, but not love?"
"Not unless you want a world full of hurt."
"And that’s supposed to induce me to marry you?"
"No. That’s supposed to make you think long and
hard. Are you in the market for practical or are you Cinderella waiting for
the prince? Fantasy or reality?"
Didn’t Chaz realize? He was that prince, their
hearts and souls joined on a fateful night nine impossibly long years ago.
He might regret ever having met her, but what they’d shared had been
special. She refused to believe otherwise. Their joining had been a
delicious combination of fantasy and reality. Otherwise, the feelings would
have faded over time, only brought to mind on rare occasions, to be examined
unemotionally with a sigh of regret or a smile of distantly remembered
pleasure.
She faced him, feeling impossibly small and fragile
beside his indomitable strength. She had to win this battle of wills. There
was no other choice. She had to make him believe in dreams again. "Why don’t
you kiss me, Chaz, and we’ll see whether it’s fantasy or reality."
Something dark and powerful moved in his gaze. "All
right, sweetheart. Have it your way." His words were pragmatic enough, but
the tone told her something far different. It warned of a man fully roused,
a man who took what he wanted, no quarter given. "Let me prove that it isn’t
Prince Charming you’re kissing, but the real thing."
"Or perhaps it’ll be a little of both."
"Don’t fool yourself, darlin’." He captured her in
his arms, his hands strong and firm on her back. Then they slid to her hips,
settling on the gentle swell flaring beneath her narrow waist. "I intend to
see to it that you go into this marriage with your eyes wide open."
"They’re open."
"Keep them that way."
Reaching up, he ripped off his mask, revealing the
features that had haunted her memory all these years. The boyishness had
given way to leaner angles, emphasizing his blade-straight nose and
cheekbones set at an interesting slant. His mouth was broad, the lips wide
enough to be considered sensuous, yet decidedly masculine. And his chin
warned of a man set in his way. But his eyes... His eyes held her, drew her
in, denying the coldness of his words. Somewhere behind the barriers of
pain, buried beneath years of denial, lay a heart capable of a love so deep,
so indomitable, she’d do anything to find it again.
As though sensing the direction of her thoughts, he
reached for her mask. "Still intent on keeping this on?"
"Please, don’t!" She evaded his hand with a quick
twist that stirred her bells to life. She had no choice but to hide her
face. Any chance of establishing a relationship with him would end the
instant he saw who she was.
Chaz reacted without thought. She shouldn’t have
run. The primeval urge to hunt forced him to gave chase. He couldn’t explain
what ancient cravings drove him—whether it was the mystery of her features,
or the fleet grace of her movements, or the generous womanly curves set in a
dainty frame. Perhaps it was something far more basic, man scenting a
woman’s desire. All he knew was he had to have her. Now.
She paused mid-flight, trapped by the railing, and
spun to face him. Her gown belled out around her and he could hear the
nervous give and take of her breath. For a long moment, she stared at him.
And then her arms dropped to her sides in unconditional surrender. She was
his for the taking and they both knew it.
He offered his hand and she pleased him by slipping
willingly into his embrace. She was a contradiction that enticed, her pale
hair bound into repressive order at the nape of her neck, while her dark
eyes warned of an intensely passionate nature.
"Will you let me keep my mask on?" she asked.
"Keep it, if it’s important to you. But if I can’t
see you, at least let me taste you."
Her eyes fluttered closed, eyes that haunted him in
unsettling and unexpected ways. "Chaz..."
Her whisper was sheer temptation, a siren’s call
pitched to beguile even as it pleaded for his seduction. Her breath mingled
with his, the honeyed warmth pulling him closer, demanding that he sample
the lush flavor. He wanted to take her mouth, hot and fast. Instead, he
drove them both insane with slow and thorough.
