Looking up at him, she gave a shocked laugh.
Then she blinked fast. She gave a sudden tearful sniff.
“Don’t start that again,” he said in exasperation. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the justice of the peace’s office and into the sunshine. The sky was a brilliant blue against the soaring skyscrapers of downtown Honolulu. Holding Josie’s hand, Kasimir led her to the Rolls-Royce waiting for them at the curb.
“Kiss her!” Some rowdy tourists shouted from a nearby bus, spotting him in a black suit and Josie with her white dress and bouquet, standing beside a chauffeured black Rolls-Royce.
Kasimir looked back at her. “They want me to kiss you.”
Josie looked back at him breathlessly, her eyes huge with fear. “It’s all right,” she said awkwardly. “I know you don’t want to. It’s okay.”
“Since this is my only wedding—” his hand tightened over hers as he pulled her closer “—this is my only chance to properly fulfill the traditions.”
He felt her tremble in his arms, saw her lips part as she looked up at him, ripe for plunder. And he knew it would be easy, so easy, to possess her. Not just her lips, but her body. Her heart. Her soul.
“Josie,” he said hoarsely, looking at her lips.
“Yes?”
He lifted his gaze. “You’ll remember that our marriage is in name only. You know that. Don’t you?”
Her cheeks went pale, and she dropped his hand with an awkward laugh. “Of course I know that. You think I don’t know that? I know that.”
“Good,” he said, exhaling. Now he just had to keep on reminding himself. Turning away, he opened the door of the Rolls-Royce.
“I’m know I’m not your type,” she chattered, climbing into the backseat of the car. “Of course I’m not your type.”
“No,” he growled. He climbed in beside her as his chauffeur closed the door. “You’re absolutely not.”
Her lips tugged downward, and she abruptly fell silent. But as the Rolls-Royce drew away from the curb, she turned to him suddenly in the backseat with pleading eyes. “So what is your type?”
His type. Kasimir’s jaw clenched. It was time to draw a line in the sand. To end the strange emotional connection that had leapt up between them since he’d told her about Nina. He’d never told anyone about that. But Josie had looked so sad, so vulnerable, he’d wanted to comfort her.
He’d overshot the mark. Because for the last hour she’d been looking at him as if he were some kind of damned hero just for some flowers and cake and sharing a story from his past. Enough. The way his body was fighting him now, he needed Josie to be on her guard against him. To remind them both that he was exactly what the world thought he was—a heartless playboy—he opened his mouth to tell her frankly about Véronique, Oksana and all the rest.
Taking her hand, Kasimir looked straight into her eyes.
Then he heard himself say huskily, “My usual type isn’t half as beautiful as you.”
He sucked in his breath. Why had he said that? How had it slipped past his guard? Was he picking up the habit from Josie—randomly blurting things out? He risked a glance at her.
Josie’s jaw had dropped. Her hand trembled in his own. Her eyes were shining.
He pulled his hand away. “But I’m heartless, Josie. You should know I’m not the good man you think.”
“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “I can tell—”
He turned away, clawing back his hair as he stared out the window at the passing city. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said in a low voice. “But I’m afraid I will.”
The truth was, he was starting to like the glow of admiration in her eyes. Josie had a good heart. He saw that clearly. But oddly, she seemed to think he had a good heart, as well—which was an opinion that no one on earth shared, not even Kasimir himself. But some part of him didn’t want to see that glow in her eyes fade.
Although it would. Once she found out the truth about him, no amount of cake or diamonds or flowers would ever convince Josie to forgive the man who’d blackmailed her sister.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself harshly. He was glad she admired him. That delusion would keep her close. She would have no reason to try to leave. Not that she could. Turning to her, he asked abruptly, “Why did you use your passport as ID for the wedding license? Don’t you drive?”
She shook her head with a sigh. “Bree is too afraid I’ll get distracted by a sunset and crash, or forget where I parked, or maybe even give the car away to some beggar on the street. Not that we have a car,” she said wistfully. “Our clunker that we drove south from Alaska died when we crossed the Nevada border.”
“How can you not know how to drive?”