The One-Night Wife

She believed him. He was a man of zero principles. Maybe Alain had lied about him cheating in that card game. Maybe he hadn't. A man who'd accept a woman in payment and carry her off was capable of anything.

"Alain lied," she said desperately, as he dropped her into a seat in the tender. "He keeps a lot of money in his safe."

Sean folded his arms and spread his feet apart.

"And you'd know all about his money."

"A million, at least," she said, refusing to be drawn away from the topic. ' 'You could tell him you changed your mind. That you want money, not—not—"

Sean smiled coldly. "But I haven't changed my mind. I have exactly what I came for."

Her face flooded with color. "Is that the kind of man you are, O'Connell? Do you buy your women?"

"You're the one who put yourself up for sale, sugar."

"That's not true! You were the one who suggested I make that wager that night."

"And you leaped at it like a dog at a bone. Besides, what would Beaumont say if I told him I was bringing you back because you were uncooperative? According to you, I came back for more of what I already got." He smiled thinly. "I don't think he'd be very happy but hey, what do I know? Maybe I don't understand the complexity of the relation­ship."

The threat seemed to work. He could almost see the fight going out of her. Her head drooped forward; her hair tum­bled around her face. Seeing her like this, her posture one of defeat, put a hollow feeling in Sean's belly. She was a liar. A cheat. A better con artist than any he'd ever met, and that was saying a lot.

But he could make things easier. All he had to do was tell her the truth, that Beaumont had triggered an idea and it had nothing to do with sex.

"Whit's wrong, sugar? It's just another slice off the loaf."

Savannah's head came up. She opened her mouth, on the verge of telling him she had never slept with Alain or any­one else, but why bother? He wouldn't believe her. More to the point, why defend herself to a man like this?

He was right. She really didn't have any choice. She'd cost Alain a fortune. Worse, she'd cost him his pride. He was demanding payback and he held her sister's well-being in the palm of his hand. If she refused to do his bidding, Missy would pay for it.

"You're right," she said wearily. "What does it matter which of you I'm with? You're both snakes in the same pit."

Her words jolted Sean. It wasn't true. Beaumont had used this woman in a scheme of revenge, but he...he—

Her head was down again, her face made invisible by her hair. When she raised a hand and brushed at her eyes, he knew she was crying.

Hell. The truth was, he was going to use her, too, and he suspected that even an ethicist would have a tough time making it sound as if his using her to live a lie was better than Beaumont using her in a petty game of get-even.

But he wasn't Beaumont, damn it. Not that it mattered what she thought of him, but he wanted her to know that.

"Maybe it's true," he said gruffly. "Maybe there isn't a lot of difference between him and me—except for one thing."

Savannah looked up. He'd judged correctly. Tears glit­tered on her lashes and he fought the desire to take her in his arms and brush them away, until he recalled how she'd pulled that same stunt the last time.

"I don't believe in owning people, Savannah."

She gave a watery laugh. Sean stood straighter.

"You behave yourself, do as you're told, give the kind of performance I expect, and I'll pay you."

Her face turned white at the word "performance." He was about to explain what he'd meant but before he could, she drew a deep breath and expelled it. When she looked at him again, her eyes were flat.

"How much?"

Her voice was lowi So low that he had to lean forward to make sure he'd heard the question. It staggered him. Was it that simple? Mention money, and she turned docile as a lamb?

It shouldn't have come as a surprise. He knew exactly what she was. The tears, tonight's sweetly girlish looks didn't mean a thing. They were window dressing laid over the skeleton of what Savannah McRae really was.

"How much?" she said again, her voice a little stronger.

Sean clenched his jaw. "Don't you want to know what you're going to be required to do first?"

Color swept into her cheeks. "I'm not stupid, O'Connell. You don't have to spell it out."

He thought of telling her she was wrong, but he'd be damned if he was going to tell her anything more than he had to. What she did didn't matter to her. Only money was important.

Besides, she'd never believe him. What would he say? / want you to pretend to be my fiancee? He was having a bad enough time believing it himself. What had ever possessed him to come up with such an impossible scheme? Why hadn't he taken the time to think it over?

Then again, why would he? Life on the edge had always been his thing.

He swung away, snapped "Shove off" to the crewman. The engine started and the tender leaped forward. The roar of the motor and the slap of the sea against the hull provided enough of a sound block so the guy driving the boat wouldn't hear what he said next.

"What's the most you've ever won in a poker game?"

She gave him a chilly smile. "Women and cards. Yours is a simple world, O'Connell."

"Sleeping with Beaumont and scamming strangers," Sean said coldly. ' 'Anybody can see that your world is far more intricate than mine."

Her eyes filled with heat. She wanted to fly at him as she had earlier; he saw it in her face. Hell, he wanted her to. Wanted to hold her against him, subdue her, kiss her until she moaned...

"Answer the question," he snapped, his anger at himself almost as great as his anger at her.

"Four hundred thousand," she said, lifting her chin in defiance. "That was my record. I'd have topped it by a hundred thou if I'd won the night I played you."

"But you didn't."

"I came close."

"Only because I let you."

"Am I supposed to apologize for that? Poker's as much a game of tactics as it is chance."

The lady gave as good as she got. That was probably her only redeeming quality.

"What you mean is, it helps to be a good actor." The wind ruffled Sean's hair. He pushed it back from his fore­head. "It's why I wanted you."

Color filled her face again. Sean almost laughed.

"Forget that. I don't want you for anything kinky."

Nothing kinky, but he wanted her to act when he made love to her? She hated him. Despised him almost as much as she despised Alain.

"Five hundred thousand, Savannah. Exactly the amount I won from you." Sean smiled with his teeth. "That's what I'll pay you, if I'm satisfied with the job you do."

Her mouth fell open. For a second, she looked as if she were going to leap up and dance him in wild circles. His gut knotted with distaste. Half a million bucks could go a long way toward making a woman like this happy.

Then she seemed to get herself under control. "Those terms are acceptable."

She spoke without emotion. For the second time in minutes, he wanted to take her in his arms, not to comfort her but to shake her.

I just bought you, he wanted to snarl. / can use you any­way I want. Doesn't that bother you?

Evidently not.

"Done," he said, and held out his hand as the tender bumped against the dock.

O'Connell herded her into his car. Then he took out his cell phone. She didn't pay much attention to his conversa­tion, which seemed to consist mostly of commands. He had a command for her, too. "Buckle up."

She'd already done that. The memory of his hand slipping across her breasts was still vivid. He'd touch her soon enough, but she wasn't going to offer up an opportunity.

Savannah shuddered. Think about something else, she told herself. Fortunately, O'Connell made it easy to do.

The man drove like a maniac.

He was in a hurry to get to his hotel. Things had not gone as he'd hoped the last time he'd brought her to

his bedroom. This time would be different.

She'd given her promise.

It was too late for regrets. Agreeing to O'Connell's offer had been her only choice. Now, all she could do was hope. That he wouldn't hurt her. That he wouldn't force things on her.

She knew some of what could happen when a rich, pow­erful man thought he owned a woman. The men who played cards on the yacht sometimes brought women with then. She'd overhead things.

Savannah shuddered again. Two weeks, that was all. Surely, she could endure whatever he did to her for that long. He was handsome. Not that it mattered but at least she wouldn't have to gag whenever he came near her.

She knew that there were woman who'd envy her.

A woman wouldn't have to act if this man took her to bed. She'd go willingly. Eagerly. She'd sigh when he put his hands on her, moan when he teased her lips apart with his.

She shut her eyes and thought back to that first time he'd taken her to his hotel. He could have done anything he wanted. And he'd wanted, all right. There'd been no mis­taking the hardness of his arousal when he'd gathered her into his arms, but she'd wept and he'd sent her away. Yes, he'd been furious and, yes, he'd humiliated her by tossing money at her feet, but he hadn't done what he'd been en­titled to do.