A Proper Wife

Ryan laughed softly. “I wouldn’t have to coerce you into my bed, Devon. We both know that.”

“You mean, you couldn’t coerce me into it.”

He shrugged. “Phrase it any way you like, lover. The bottom line is the same. I’ve never had to force a woman into my bed. And I’m sure as hell not about to start with you.”

“Good. Because there’s no other way you’d get me there.”

His arms slipped around her. She didn’t struggle, nor did she yield as he drew her closely against him.

“Is that a challenge, Devon?”

Was it? Devon’s heart began to race. She thought of how he’d kissed her a little while ago, of how it had felt to have his hands on her and his tongue in her mouth.

“No,” she said, just a little breathlessly. “It’s not a challenge, it’s a certainty.”

Ryan smiled. “In that case,” he said softly, “you might as well agree to this marriage. What have you got to lose?”

She didn’t answer but he could read her thoughts in the darkness of those huge violet eyes. He knew she was thinking that there was really no way out of this and suddenly he wondered what her eyes would look like if they were shining with happiness, if he were a man she loved and wanted, a man whose kisses she longed for.

His arms fell away from her. He turned, walked to his desk, and sat down.

“Well?” he said brusquely. “What’s it going to be, Devon? Are we on for Friday or aren’t we?”

He sounded as if he were talking about a golf date, she thought, and then she took a deep, deep breath and did the only logical thing.

She said yes.

CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS, as a wise man once said, déjà vu all over again.

Ryan was standing at the head of a flowe-rbedecked aisle with Frank just behind him. Music was playing softly in the background and a smiling justice of the peace was waiting patiently for events to begin.

“Frank?” Ryan whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Frank, what am I doing here?”

Frank lifted his second Scotch and soda to his lips. “A good question,” he said, “to which I have an even better answer. It’s your life, pal. Why ask me?”

Right, Ryan thought. It was his life. And, just about now, it was time for him to wake up and find out that this was all a bad dream.

&

nbsp; Except it wasn’t. It was all frighteningly real. He was about to be married, to a woman he didn’t know, didn’t trust, didn’t like...

“Ryan?”

Ryan blinked. Agnes Brimley, decked out in a flowered dress and tiny veiled hat, had sidled up beside him.

“Would you like me to go and see what’s keeping your lovely bride, dear?”

“Dear” was a word new to Miss Brimley’s vocabulary but everything about her today was new. Different, anyway. She was fairly bubbling with excitement, but then, she seemed to be the only person in the room who didn’t know this whole damned wedding was a farce.

The old witch had smiled more today than in all the years Ryan had known her.

He thought of how quickly that smile would vanish if she went searching for Devon and found her curled somewhere in a corner, refusing to let Bettina drag her out, and he sighed.

“Thanks,” he said, and forced a smile to his lips. “I’ll go and get her myself.”

“Are you sure, Ryan, dear?” Brimley’s lips twitched. “Some say it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony.”