A Proper Wife

His gaze went to her hand. She’d placed it on the desk to anchor the papers. It was such a small hand. The fingers, though, were long and slender; there was a tiny red line across one knuckle, a paper cut, it looked like, and with dizzying swiftness,

Ryan was almost overwhelmed by the desire to take her hand in his, lift it to his lips, and soothe the tiny, angry cut with his tongue.

He pulled back, his frown deepening, and snatched up the papers.

“Here,” he said irritably, “all you have to really read is this last page.”

She read it. Then she looked at him, her eyes puzzled.

“According to this, you own a Porsche.”

“Dammit, I do not own the Porsche. That’s the whole point.” Ryan stabbed his finger at the document. “I lease it,” he said. “At the end of a year, the car goes back to the dealer. I never have to see it again, it never has to see me.”

Devon gave a little laugh. “I must be missing something here.”

Ryan sighed. He stood, drew the chair from the other side of his desk to where she stood, and motioned her into it.

“Let me try sketching out the details,” he said. He pulled a yellow legal pad and a pen toward him. “My attorney—and yours, if you wish—can flesh it out later, but maybe I can give you the general idea.”

Devon watched as he bent over the yellow pad, scrawling words across it in a wide, loose hand. Her mouth narrowed as she watched him. What an absolutely impossible human being he was. So smug. So self-confident. So damnably good-looking and sexy.

What would have happened before, if his secretary hadn’t come bursting in? Would she really have let Ryan make love to her?

It was crazy but she could still feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his arousal. She could still taste his kiss on her lips...

She jumped as he tossed down his pen.

“That’ll do it,” he said.

Devon licked her lips nervously. “That’ll do what?”

He smiled and pushed the yellow pad toward her.

“Take a look and you’ll see,” he said, but she couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, except Ryan’s closeness.

He had risen from his chair and now he was bending over her, his hands resting on the desk on either side of her, his cheek almost pressed against her hair.

Her breathing quickened. All she had to do was tilt her head back, turn her face just an inch toward his. His mouth would be a whisper from hers...

“Well?” he said, “what do you think?”

A little shudder went through her and she drew away from him, until her spine was tightly pressed against the back of the chair.

“I—I’m not very good at reading legalese, Ryan. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“It’s only pseudo-legalese,” he said with a little laugh. “It’ll take a couple of attorneys to change this into truly indecipherable jargon.”

Devon breathed a quick sigh of relief as he picked up the pad, turned and leaned back against the desk. It was easier to think without him close to her. She still couldn’t make sense of what he was saying, except to know that it was about trust funds and lump-sum settlements and deeds and tax payments.

“Tax payments?” she said, interrupting him.

Ryan looked up, his eyes cool. “All right, I’ll push it to three years. But not a day more than that. Bettina will have to find a way to maintain the place on her own by then.”

Devon stared at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dammit,” he said angrily, “haven’t you heard a word I said?” He tossed the legal pad on the desk and bent over her again. “I’m talking about a contract,” he said, slapping his hand against the pad. “One that leaves nothing to chance.”

“What kind of contract? And how would it prevent our... our—marriage from taking place?”