A Proper Wife
“Try me.”
He hesitated. “My grandfather is dying.”
“Oh.” Devon chewed on her lower lip. “That’s...that’s too bad.” Her brows drew together. “But making human sacrifices out of us isn’t going to change that, now is it?”
Ryan sighed and turned toward her. “Sit down, Devon,” he said quietly. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
“If I were you, the only person I’d discuss anything with is a good shrink. And I’d climb onto his couch as soon as I could manage it.”
She started toward the door, her walk brisk, but she hadn’t gotten very far before Ryan reached out and clapped a hand on her shoulder.
“Sit down, Devon.”
“What for?”
“I told you, we have things to talk about.”
Devon shook free of his hand. “We have nothing to talk about,” she said coldly.
“My grandfather’s going to set up a trust fund in your name.”
“Thrilling news. Unfortunately, I don’t want a trust fund. I don’t want anything but to go back to California and forget I ever laid eyes on you or him.”
“I’ve decided to match it with a second lump sum payment, one that comes due after an appropriate length of time.”
“Even more thrilling. Dammit, Ryan—”
“That’s the good news,” Ryan said smoothly, as if she hadn’t spoken. “The bad news is that you also get a wedding ring.”
“I don’t want a wedding ring. I don’t want you. And I won’t have you. The very thought of marrying you is...is—”
“Believe me, there’s nothing you can say about the idea that I wouldn’t agree with.”
“You’re wasting your breath, telling that to me. Tell it to your grandfather.”
“I did.” Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “He disagrees.”
“Dammit all, how can you stand there and say that so calmly?”
“What I really want to do,” Ryan said with icy precision, “is punch my fist straight through the wall. It sure as hell might make me feel better—but it wouldn’t change a damned thing.” His hands closed on her shoulders and he shoved her, none too gently, into a chair. “Now take a couple of deep breaths so you can think straight, and maybe between us, we can come up with something to get us out of this mess.”
Devon watched as he began pacing back and forth. She could see that he wasn’t anywhere near as calm as she’d thought. Well, that was so
mething. At least she wasn’t standing out on the edge of this cliff alone.
“Is your grandfather senile?” she asked.
Ryan laughed. “He’s about as senile as a fox.”
She nodded. “Is he bored, then? Maybe if you...if you could arrange for him to do something to occupy his time—”
“He is not senile. He is not bored. He’s just decided to meddle in my life, dammit.” Ryan paused, his back to her. She saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took several deep breaths. “I have to keep telling myself that he means well.”
“He means well?” Devon echoed hysterically and shot to her feet. “What good does that do me? He means well, indeed! So did the guy who tied Joan of Arc to the stake!” She took a deep breath and turned toward the door. “Goodbye, Ryan. You’re in a fix, but it’s got nothing to do with me.”
Ryan got to the door just as she did. He slapped his hands on either side of her, imprisoning her between his arms.
Trapped, she swung around to face him.