The One-Night Wife

But, he'd told himself, it made sense, didn't it, to own property here? He'd been investing in expensive real estate for a long time. Nobody in his family knew it—why spoil their conviction that he was as impractical as he was foot­loose?—but the fact was, he could give up gambling at the drop of a hat and still live as comfortably as any of the rest of the O'Connells.

There just wasn't any reason to give up gambling. He loved the risk, the emotional highs, had never found any­thing to give him that same thrill.

Until now.

That thought, unbidden, unwanted and terrifying, had al­most sent him into the bedroom to wake Savannah, pay her the half-mil and tell her sorry, sweets, the deal is off.

But it was too late for that. He'd come this far; he'd see his scheme through. And yes, buying a place made sense considering one of the reasons he'd given himself two weeks with Savannah before his mother's birthday party was so they could get to know each other well enough to be convincing as lovers.

Sorry. As husband and wife.

How could they manage that in the sterile environment of a hotel? You weren't really yourself in a hotel, no matter how elegant. Maybe because it was so elegant. They'd get acquainted better if they were alone.

So he'd phoned the Realtor, told her exactly the kind of property he wanted and set up the appointment.

He'd felt good after that call. He'd buy a place on the beach. Hire someone to come in and pick up the place, maybe cook, but that was it. There'd be nothing to intrude on the private little world he and Savannah were about to create.

Whoa, he'd thought. What was that all about? He didn't need a private world with anybody, he only needed the right setting to make this stunt work.

He'd reached for the phone to cancel the appointment. He could buy a house anytime, and really, how much of a bother would it be to have maids or clerks or other guests around? He and Savannah could still set the groundwork for their make-believe marriage.

That was when he'd heard her stirring. He'd gone into the bedroom to be sure she understood that what had hap­pened the previous night wouldn't happen again.

Instead, his heart had turned over at the sight of her, look­ing early-morning beautiful and vulnerable as she did her best, like him, to pretend the night hadn't meant a thing.

For the first time in his life, Sean had known he was tired of taking risks that put nothing but money on the line. He'd wanted to take Savannah in his arms, and he had. He'd even told her part of what he was feeling, how he'd always been a loner, but there was more. He knew that. He just didn't know, exactly, what else he wanted to say...

"Is that the house?"

Sean dragged his attention back to the road. A handsome wrought-iron fence rose ahead, a discreet For Sale sign on a stake beside it. A small TV camera, high in a tree just beyond the gate, angled toward them as he slowed the car. The gates swung open, revealing a crushed oyster-shell drive shaded by thickets of sea grape, bougainvillea and prickly-pear cactus.

The Realtor was waiting for them on the wide marble steps of an enormous, elegant house.

Sean bent his head toward Savannah's as he helped her from the car. "Do you like it?" he said softly.

She hesitated, then smiled. "It's beautiful."

Yes, he thought, it was, but it reminded him of a hotel. A hotel for two, perhaps, but a hotel just the same. He put his arm around her and when they reached the steps, he shook the Realtor's hand.

"Mr. O'Connell," the woman said pleasantly. "I'm de­lighted to meet you."

Sean nodded. "My pleasure." His arm tightened around Savannah. "This is Miss McRae. My fiancee."

He felt Savannah's muscles jerk, felt the sudden tension radiate through his body at his use of the word. The Real­tor's smile broadened.

"How nice! And where are you folks staying right now?"

"At the Petite Fleur," Sean said pleasantly, "but we're hoping to move as soon as we find a house to buy." Sa­vannah damn near jumped. He drew her closer. ' 'Right, Sa­vannah?"

She looked stunned but she managed a quick "yes." It troubled him that she didn't really seem all that thrilled. Should he have told her his plans ahead of time instead of keeping them as a surprise? Why had he wanted to surprise her, anyway?

Could it have been because he was still surprising him­self?

"The people who built this house were very well-known on the international scene." The Realtor leaned closer. "I'm sure you'll recognize the name. They were very happy here. They did lots of entertaining. Well, you can see it's a perfect place for that. The former owners had a staff of six—"

"Six?"

"But you'd need extra help for big parties, of course."

So much for privacy but then, if Savannah liked it... "Yeah," Sean said, "of course."

"Let me show you through the house. I'm sure you'll both love it."

Savannah didn't. Sean could tell, even though she said all the right things. He was coming to know his pretend-fiancee's expressions. Right now, she wore a smile like a mask.

What didn't she like? He had no opinion, one way or the other. Okay, maybe he did. Truth was, growing up in over-blown Las Vegas, he might have preferred something smaller. Simpler. A place where he could be himself, and she could be...

His gut tightened. Savannah would only spend the next couple of weeks here. She didn't have to love the place. It just made him wonder, was all, why she didn't.

Was it because she was accustomed to the Lorelei? Did she want gold cupids, dark wainscoting and crimson velvet? No. He'd watched her reaction to the things the clerk showed her at the shop in Bijou. The simpler, the more classic, the better.

What was it, then? Was it the prospect of the two of them rattling around alone here? The house was isolated on acres of property with nothing but shore and seabirds for com­pany. There'd be servants—that cast of six—but well-trained servants would know how to be unobtrusive.

The more he thought about it, the more likely that seemed. Why kid himself? Alone, what would they do? What would they talk about? It wasn't as if he couldn't clue her in on things that would make them seem a real couple in the comfort of the hotel.

As good as last night had been, it was only sex. Being in bed would only get them so far. There were two weeks ahead of mornings, afternoons and evenings. Two weeks of empty hours to fill.

Why had he figured they'd be better off living alone than in the hotel?

Sean interrupted the Realtor midway through a spiel about the joys of the restaurant-size kitchen range.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll be in touch."

The look on her face mirrored Savannah's. He was lying and all of them knew it.

"Of course," the woman said, sounding disappointed.

Hey, he thought coolly, she would be, losing a six-figure commission.

Savannah looked relieved.

It made him angry as hell. She should have told him she didn't want to be alone with him right away, he thought grimly as he hustled her to the car.

"If you didn't want to move out of the hotel," he growled, "you should have said so."

She shot him a surprised look. ' 'How could I? You said you were buying a house. You never mentioned you ex­pected us to live in it."

"Well, you can stop worrying. We won't."

"Good." Savannah folded her arms and glared straight ahead. Why was he so ticked off? She was the one who had the right to be angry. He'd decided to buy a house. Well, that was his affair. That he'd decided to move her into it was hers. Why hadn't he told her? To spring something like that, to let the Realtor think they were a pair of starstruck lovers... "Living together here wasn't part of our deal."

"You're right. It wasn't." The tires squealed as Sean turned onto the main road at a speed that made trees blur as they sped past them. "I had an idea we'd find it easier to get to know each other away from the hotel. It was dumb."

"You should have asked me."

"I said, it was a dumb plan."

Seconds pas

sed. Savannah shifted in her seat. "I can see where you'd think it made sense."

He looked at her. She was sitting as stiff as a ramrod, her profile as stern as that of the sixth-grade teacher who'd sent him to the principal's office when she'd discovered him teaching a couple of his buddies how to play craps.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. I mean, if we were actually engaged, we'd want to spend time alone."

Sean nodded. ' 'That was my thinking but, like I said, it was—"

"Did you really like that house?"

Sean looked at her again. She'd turned toward him, eyes filled with defiance.

"Why?"

"For heaven's sake, O'Connell, just answer the question. Did you like it?"

"No," he said bluntly. "It was—"

"Too big."

"Well, yes."

"Too formal."

"Right again."

"If we were a couple, if we really—if we really were lovers, would we want to live in a place so huge we'd need to leave trails of bread crumbs to find each other?"

Sean grinned. "My sentiments exactly."

She nodded and looked straight ahead again. "See? If you hadn't sprung this on me, if you'd said, 'Savannah, I think we should live someplace away from the artificial climate of a hotel so we can get to know each other better, and how would you feel living in a house the size of the Taj Mahal,' we wouldn't be having this quarrel now."

She was trying her best to sound pragmatic but what she sounded was quintessentially female. Sean's grin widened.

"Is that what we're doing? Having a quarrel?"

Something in his voice made her look at him. "Aren't we?"