The One-Night Wife

* 'Right. I did. But..." He paused, then let out a long sigh.

"You're right, I did. Okay. I'll introduce you as my wife. I'll say—I'll say we met, went crazy for each other, eloped... Now what?"

"I told you, I don't want to do it."

His smile was quick and unpleasant. ' 'Remember what I said about not having a choice? Well, neither do you... unless you're not interested in earning that money."

"It's an impossible plan."

In his heart, he was starting to think so, too. The last thing he needed was to hear those words from her lips.

"It'll be a cinch. We'll buy a ring. Rings. Engagement, wedding bands—one for you, one for me."

"Only a man would think that's all there is to marriage!" Savannah threw out her hands. "Has it occurred to you that we don't know the first thing about each other?"

"I thought of that. It's why I need you for two weeks. It'll give us time to get acquainted, so to speak, before my mother's birthday, and...Savannah?"

She shook her head, turned her back to him, but not be­fore he'd seen the tears in her eyes. He went to her quickly, stepped in front of her and clasped her shoulders.

"Savannah," he said softly, "what is it?"

What, indeed? He wanted her to play a game. It was a lot better than the games she'd expected he wanted, or Alain's obscene plans. Two weeks of acting and a half-million dollar payoff. How come her heart felt as if it might break?

"Listen to me," she said desperately. "What you want us to do is a mistake."

"Then you'll do it?"

Her chin came up. "You said it yourself. I don't have much choice, do I?"

Sean looked at her. Her eyes were smudged with ex­haustion; the night breeze had turned her hair into a tangle of curls and her sweatshirt bore a smattering of potato chip crumbs.

She was, in other words, even more beautiful. How could a woman be a mess and still be beautiful? No way could he figure it out.

"Why don't you have a choice?" he said, after a minute.

"That's a dumb question."

"It's the first intelligent question I've asked you." His hands cupped her shoulders. "I'm not talking about our ar­rangement, I'm talking about your—your relationship with Beaumont." She tried to pull away; he held her fast before him. ' 'Why do you let him run your life? Why are you with him?"

She stared at him. Could she tell him? About herself, and her childhood. About Missy. About everything?

God, was she losing her mind? This man had all but bought her. He'd bought her. What could she possibly tell him that would mean a damn?

"I can't—1 can't explain."

"Maybe I can help. If he has something on you—"

"Has something?"

"Yeah. You know. If you've ever done something you don't want anyone to know about. Been arrested. Been charged with—"

"You think I'm a criminal?"

"No. I don't think that. I just think there must be a reason you're with a man like that."

"I'm with him," she said flatly. "That's all."

"You despise him. And he treats you as if—as if—"

"O'Connell, I'm tired. We made a deal and I'm prepared to go through with it. You want a fiancee? You'll have one."

Her voice had turned hard. So had her eyes. Who was the real Savannah? Was she someone who didn't think it was nice to lie, or someone who'd do anything for money?

"I want a fiancee for two weeks," he said. "Then a wife for a one-time, show-stopping performance."

"A one-night wife," she said, with a bitter smile.

"Yes. Can you manage that?"

"I can manage anything for five hundred thousand dol­lars," Savannah pulled away from him. "Where do I sleep?"

He looked at her for a long minute. Then he smiled, though the smile never reached his eyes.

"What if I said you sleep in my bed?"

She felt her pulse quicken, but she kept her eyes locked to his. "I thought you said—"

"Maybe I changed my mind."

Again, the seconds ticked by. She couldn't read his face at all. Did he mean it? Would he demand she sleep with him? She wouldn't do it, not for all the money in the world. She wouldn't let him undress her, caress her, take her on that journey she'd never experienced. It would be terrible. It would be...

It would be ecstasy. She'd dreamed of his hands on her breasts. His mouth on her thighs. His body, pressing her down into the softness of the bed.

Savannah raised her chin. "Maybe you want too much for the money, O'Connell."

He laughed softly. "Maybe," he said, and before she could do anything to stop him, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a kiss given without mercy, hard and demanding and, heaven help her, it was everything she wanted.

She stopped thinking, stopped wondering, stopped doing anything but feeling. She wound her arms around Sean's neck and met his explosive passion, matched it, opened her mouth to the sharp nip of his teeth. He groaned, lifted her into his erection, slid his hand under her sweatshirt, under her T-shirt and cupped her breast.

"Yes," she sobbed as he bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth. A flame seemed to shoot from her breasts straight down into her belly. She dug her hands into his hair, needing his kisses against her breast, needing them on her mouth, needing him as she had never permitted her­self to need anyone.

"Sean," she whispered. "Sean, please..."

"What?" His voice was thick. "Please, what? Tell me."

"I want—I want—"

All at once, he stopped. He raised his head and looked at her through cold eyes.

"I know exactly what you want," he said. "That's good, sugar. It's very good. Thanks for letting me see you'll be as terrific in this role as you were the night we met."

"No. Sean—"

"Relax." He spoke calmly, as if they hadn't just been in each other's arms. "You won't have to take your act on the road. Hell, if you can be this convincing after a couple of kisses, why would I want you to do anything more?"

Savannah's heart seemed to stop beating. She wanted to die. She wanted him to die. What he'd done...

"You can have the bedroom." He looked her up and down, a satisfied little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Hell, McRae, nothing's too good for a performer like you."

The smile, the cutting words, brought her back to life.

"You," she sputtered, "you—you—you—"

She grabbed a vase, flung it, watched it shatter into a million pieces as it hit the door that swung shut behind him.

"I hate you," she screamed. "I hate you, Sean O'Connell!"

Savannah buried her face in her hands and sank to the floor. What a lie! She hated him, yes, but the person she hated most was herself.

CHAPTER TEN

Sean was up well before six o'clock the next morning.

He tried phoning down for coffee. Room service, it seemed, wouldn't be able to accommodate him for another half hour.

"We do have coffee at the reception desk for our early-rising guests," the clerk told him.

Grumbling, Sean headed to the lobby, poured himself a cup of the stuff from a silver pot and glugged it down.

On the way back to the elevator, he made a pit stop in the men's room. Bad idea. The face that greeted him in the mirror wasn't pretty. He needed a shave, a shower and a way to stop scowling, but everything connected to those necessities was behind his closed bedroom door.

He went back to the desk, took the silver pot and a cup, offered a terse "You don't mind, do you?" to a clerk who looked as if he'd sooner argue with one of the crocs that inhabited the island's swampy north shore, and headed back to his suite.

Half an hour later, he was going crazy. He paced, he drank coffee, he paced some more. The coffee was his sec­ond bad idea of the morning. He could damn near feel the caffeine hightailing it through his system.

As if his nerves weren't jangling enough already.

He'd had a miserable night. The living-room sofa was

too short, too soft, too everything but comfortable. He'd slept in his jeans and T-shirt, and he normally slept in his skin. Not that he'd actually slept.

How could he, considering the mess he'd created? Man, he wanted out! First the stupid pledge to Mary Elizabeth, then the even stupider determination to make good on it, and now this—this thing with Savannah...

"Hell," he muttered, running his hands through his hair.

Why had he ever imagined that he could take a stranger and pass her off as his wife? That he could make a woman like Savannah seem sweet, soft .and innocent?