Wicked As He Comes (Tiger in Her Bed)

“A painter?”

“A starving artist, actually.”

John’s eyes seemed to sparkle with intrigue. “You’ll absolutely have to show me—but there’s no time for that just yet. Once we get back to New York, I can’t wait to learn everything about you.”

She was so transfixed by his eyes that she didn’t realize he’d taken both of her hands in his, stepping forward to look down on her with a grin dancing across those handsome features of his.

“I…” she started, then gave her head a little shake, looking around the room.

“That one catches your eye?” John said without missing a beat. He’d followed her gaze to one particularly elegant dress, one of the more expensive ones on display. It seemed minimalist, but the lace that hugged the mannequin’s form was intricate and delicate, and Jane knew it would show off her curves. There was nothing particularly fancy or frilly about it, but that was just the way she liked her clothing.

Her mother would have hated it. Then again, her mother would have hated everything about this arrangement, if she was still around to hear about it.

John didn’t need any more confirmation than the look in her eyes, brief as it was, before she averted them. He gave a sharp nod to the shopkeeper.

“She’d like to try this one on, if you don’t mind.”

Moments later, John was helping her into the dress in a private dressing room.

“I never expected to find a gem like this in a little shop in Vegas!” he remarked with a laugh. “You’ll have to hang onto this one for the real wedding.”

She nearly tripped over the dress at the remark. “R-real wedding? What are you talking about?”

John’s eyebrows raised, seemingly confused, even if he obviously knew exactly what he was doing. “Well, we may be eloping, but my family has to meet you. We’re tight knit bunch; you know? Mom would kill me and rake my corpse over hot charcoal if we skipped out on a posh wedding. It’s a family tradition. All of her sons get big ass, over-the-top wedding celebrations.” He set to fitting her sleeves just right, tugging here and loosening there from behind her.

Real wedding? Meeting his family? Jane hadn’t figured on that at all. All she could think of was getting the marriage license, then picking up Harry and George from the motel, and finally settling their business with that evil old man back in New York.

Seeing that she was silent, John continued his teasing. “You’re brave, bright, and I hope someone’s told you how ravishing your body is, Jane.” He let his hands slip down to her hips, resting on them gently as he turned her to let her look at herself in the mirror.

It really was a lovely dress, she had to admit. It was just strange that she was going to get married under these circumstances.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

“It’s sounding more and more like you’re the one who’s trying to convince me to marry you,” she remarked.

“What’s the matter?” he said with a half laugh, “isn’t this what you want?”

Jane was quiet for a few moments, narrowing her eyes at him through the mirror, glaring at that stupid, perfect grin of his. He really was dragging this out for his own amusement, wasn’t he? The thought made her a little worried. What would happen if he tired of this game? Was he planning to turn her out the moment she let her guard down? Was it all some kind of trick?

Damn it. She needed that marriage license.

More terrifying yet, what if he was genuinely as into this as he seemed?

The thought sent a ripple of mixed emotions through Jane—anxiety, fear, yet more titillated excitement than she dared admit.

“But that brings us to the real question of the hour,” said John, his tone becoming a touch more serious. Just a touch, though. “Why is it you’re going through all this trouble, Jane Eyre Sinclair, if that your real name?”

She lifted her gaze to him. “Unfortunately, Jane Eyre Sinclair is my real name. My mom was a diehard Bronte fan. So I was named after the novel.”

“Hmm, I prefer Austen if I say so myself.”

“I hate both. I got teased a lot when I growing up because of my name.”

“I think the name Jane Eyre is beautiful. Although, once we get married, you will take my last name. You’ll become one of us. The Alexanders. Now, tell me, what is your real reason for doing this?”

Jane’s face faltered, reality crashing back and blowing away the fleeting fantasy, even as it held her shoulders with its strong, firm grip. “Does the name Rob Benedict sound familiar to you? Maybe you’d know my father’s name better. After all, he was your father’s closest friend.”

She turned and looked John in the eye, but the look there told her he was already starting to guess the rest of the story. “I’m just Rob Benedict’s little bastard daughter. He didn’t want to be part of our lives when I was born, so I was given my mom’s maiden name. She was Rob’s secretary and longtime mistress.”