ick turned to look at his sleeping bride. Her head rested against the door of the limousine. Her headpiece had been ripped off, and crumbled white lace lay at his feet. Raven curls shot off in all directions and hid her bare shoulders from view. The glass of champagne in the cup holder lay untouched, the bubbles gone flat. A sparkling two-carat diamond bound her finger and exploded sparks of light from the last rays of the dying sun. Plump, ruby lips parted to allow breath in and out. A delicate snore steadily rose in the air during each exhalation.

Alexandria Maria McKenzie was now his wife.

Nick reached for his own champagne glass and silently toasted to success. He now fully owned Dreamscape Enterprises. He was about to go after the opportunity of a lifetime and he didn’t need anyone’s permission. The day had gone off without a hitch.

He took a healthy swig of Dom Perignon and wondered why he felt like crap. His mind flashed back to the moment the priest made them man and wife. Sapphire eyes filled with pure fear and panic as he leaned down to give her the necessary kiss. Pale and shaken, her lips trembled under his. He knew it wasn’t with passion. At least not this time.

He reminded himself she only wanted the money. Her ability to pretend she was an innocent was dangerous. He mocked his own thoughts by raising his glass again and downing the last of the champagne.

The limo driver lowered the smoked window by a degree. “Sir, we’ve arrived at our destination.”

“Thank you. You can pull up front.”

As the limo climbed the long, narrow drive, Nick gently shook his bride awake. She stirred, snorted, and collapsed back into sleep. Nick fought a smile and started to whisper. Then stopped. He slipped back into his old role as tormentor with comfortable ease—he leaned over and yelled her name.

She shot straight up. Eyes wide with shock, she pushed her heavy mane of hair out of her ears and looked down at all the white lace like she was Alice in Wonderland down the rabbit hole. “Oh, my God, we did it.”

He handed over her shoes and headpiece. “Not yet, but it is our honeymoon. I’ll be happy to oblige if you’re in the mood.”

She glared at him. “You didn’t do anything for this wedding but show up. Try scheduling every last detail within seven days and I’ll sit back and watch you collapse.”

“I told you to get a Justice of the Peace.”

Alexa snorted. “Typical male. You don’t lift a finger to help and cry innocent when challenged.”

“You snore.”

Her mouth gaped. “I do not snore!”

“Do too.”

“Do not. Someone would have told me.”

“I’m sure your lovers didn’t want to be kicked out of bed. You’re cranky.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

The door swung open and the chauffeur offered his arm to help her. She stuck out her tongue and left the limo with the haughtiness of Queen Elizabeth. He smothered another laugh and followed. Alexa stopped short at the curb. He watched her take in the arching lines of the mansion, which resembled a Tuscan villa. Sandstone terra cotta created an image of casual elegance, and its high walls and large windows lent an aura of history. A lush green lawn hugged the drive and led up to the house, then sprawled out for acres in cheery abandon. Colorful geraniums spilled from each window-box to mimic old age Italy. The top of the house opened up to a wrought iron balcony which held tables, chairs, and a hot tub sunk amidst leafy trees. She opened her mouth as if to comment, then shut it with a snap.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “It’s stunning,” she said. “The most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.”

Pleasure shot through him at her obvious delight. “Thank you. I designed it myself.”

“It looks old.”

“That was my goal. I promise I have all the necessary indoor plumbing.”

She shook her head and followed him inside. Marble floors shone to high polish and cathedral ceilings created an illusion of space and elegance. Large, airy rooms set off the center spiral staircase. Nick tipped the driver and closed the door behind him. “Come on, I’ll show you around. Unless you want to get undressed first.”

She grabbed handfuls of gauzy material and lifted her train. Her stocking feet peeked out from underneath. “Lead on.”

He took her on the grand tour. The fully equipped kitchen boasted a gleaming center of stainless steel and chrome, but Nick had made sure the room retained the warmth an Italian grandmother would be proud of. A heavily cut wooden island held baskets filled with fresh fruit and cloves of garlic, herbs sunk in bottles brimmed with olive oil, dry pastas, and red, ripe tomatoes. The table was thick oak with sturdy, comfortable chairs. An array of wines peeked out from an extensive wrought iron rack. Glass doors led from the kitchen to the sunroom, complete with wicker furniture, bookcases, and vases of daisies spilling through the room. Instead of colorful paintings, black and white photographs took up wall space, and displayed an array of architecture from around the world. Nick enjoyed her expressions as she took in every inch of his space. He led her up the staircase to the bedrooms.

“My room is down the hallway. I have a private office but there’s a spare computer in the library you can use. I can order anything else you need.” He pushed open one of the doors. “I’ve given you a room with a private bath. I wasn’t sure of your taste so feel free to redecorate.”

He watched her take in the neutral, pale tones of the king-sized poster bed and matching furniture.

“This will be fine. Thank you,” she said.

He stared at her for a moment as the formality pulsed between them. “You know we’re stuck here for at least two days, right? We used work as an excuse not to go on a honeymoon, but I can’t show up at the office until Monday. People will gossip.”

She nodded. “I can use the computer to keep up. And Maggie said she’d help out.”

He turned. “Get comfortable and meet me down in the kitchen. I’ll cook something for dinner.”

“You cook?”

“I don’t like strange people in my kitchen—I had enough of that growing up. So, I learned.”

“Are you good?”

He snorted. “I’m the best.”

Then he shut the door behind him.

…

Arrogant man.

Alexa turned and studied her new room. She knew Nick was comfortable living with grand wealth, but the tour had made her feel like Audrey Hepburn’s character in My Fair Lady—hopelessly common beside the sophistication of her tutor.

The heck with it. She needed to keep her life as normal as possible, marriage or not. Nick was not her real husband, and she didn’t intend to get sucked into any domestic ruse and find herself lost at the end of the year. She probably wouldn’t even see him often. She assumed he also worked late hours, and besides the occasional party they’d need to attend, they’d lead separate lives.

Her mental pep talk helped, so she ripped off her dress and spent the next hour in a bubble bath in the luxurious spa tub attached to her room. She glanced just once at the sheer black nightie her sisters had thrown in her overnight bag, then shoved it to the back of a drawer. She threw on a pair of leggings and cropped fleece sweatshirt, clipped up her hair, and made her way down to the kitchen. Alexa followed the sounds of crackling and slipped into one of the heavy carved chairs in the kitchen. She drew her bare feet up to the edge of her seat, wrapped her arms around her knees, and watched her new husband.

He hadn’t changed out of his tuxedo. He’d taken off his jacket, and rolled crisp white shirt sleeves up past his elbows. The onyx pearl buttons had been undone to mid-chest, and revealed a mat of golden hair sprinkled across carved muscles. His shoulders were broad, and demanded the fabric stretch to accommodate. His black pants covered him like a lover and emphasized the long lean length of his legs and hips. Alexa had a hell of a time ignoring the hard curve of his butt. The man had a great ass. Too bad she’d never see it naked. She didn’t think seeing his bathing suit pulled down as a teenager counted. Besides, she’d been too busy staring at his front.

“Want to help?”

She dug her nails into her palm to give herself a reality boost. “Sure. What are we having?”

“Fettuccini Alfredo with shrimp, garlic bread, and a salad.”

A distressed moan escaped her lips. “Oh God, you’re mean.”

“You don’t like the menu?”

“I like it too much. I’ll just have the salad.”

He shot her a disgusted look over his shoulder. “I’m tired of females who order a salad, then look as if they deserve a medal. A good meal is a gift.”

She clenched her fingers harder. “Well, thanks so much for that smug viewpoint of the female population. For your information, I can appreciate good food better than you. Did you see the appetizers I ordered for our wedding? Didn’t you see how much I ate? Dammit, it’s just like a man to put a rich, fattening meal in front of a woman and get offended when she won’t eat. Then you seem shocked in the bedroom when you’re looking at her hips and wondering how she put on ten extra pounds!”

“Nothing wrong with curves on a woman.”

She bolted out of her chair and grabbed the ingredients for salad. “I’ve heard that one before. Let’s put this to the test, shall we? How much does Gabriella weigh?”

He didn’t answer.

She threw a red pepper on the table next to the Romaine lettuce and snorted. “Oh, are we tongue-tied now? Is she one hundred pounds or is that considered fat nowadays?”

When he spoke, his tone was less cocky. “She’s a model. She has to retain a lighter weight.”

“And does she order salads when she goes out to dinner?”

More silence.

A cucumber rolled over the counter and stopped at the edge. “Ah, I guess that means yes. But I’m sure you appreciate her discipline when you rip her clothes off.”

He shifted his feet and kept his attention on the pan sizzling with shrimp. “Gabriella is a bad example.” He definitely sounded uncomfortable.

“I have another puzzle. Maggie said you tend to date only models. Seems you like skinny women and accept them eating a salad.” She rinsed the vegetables, grabbed a knife, and started hacking. “But if it’s someone you’re not thinking of sleeping with, I guess you don’t care how fat she gets as long as she keeps you company at meals.”

“I happen to detest going out to dinner with most of my dates. I understand they’re in the business, but I enjoy a woman who likes good food and isn’t afraid to eat it. You’re not fat. You never were fat so I don’t know where this obsession comes from.”

“You called me fat once.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. When I was fourteen, you told me I was filling out in all the wrong places.”

“Hell, woman, I meant your breasts. I was a snotty teenager who wanted to torture you. You were always beautiful.”

Silence descended.

She looked up from her task and her mouth gaped open. In all the years she’d known Nick Ryan, he had teased, tortured, and insulted her.

He had never called her beautiful.

Nick busied himself with whisking the cream and kept his tone casual. “You know what I mean. Beautiful in the sense of sisterly. I watched you and Maggie go through puberty, and grow into women. Neither of you are ugly. Or fat. I think you’re being hard on yourself.”

Alexa understood what he meant. He didn’t think of her as a beautiful woman, more like as an annoying younger sister who grew up to be attractive. The difference was monumental, and she ignored the sharp sting of hurt. “Well, I’m going to eat this salad and I don’t want to hear any more comments about women.”

“Fine. Would you open a bottle of wine? There’s one chilling in the fridge.”

She uncorked an expensive chardonnay and watched him sip it. The citrusy scents of wood and fruit rose to her nostrils. She battled for one minute, then surrendered. One glass. After all, she deserved it.

She poured herself a glass and took a sip. The liquid slid down the back of her throat, the taste both tingly and dry. She uttered a low moan of pleasure. Her tongue licked the edges of her lips and her eyes closed as the flavor pulsed through her body.

…

Nick started to say something, then stopped cold. The sight of her sipping and enjoying her wine put every muscle in his body in a lock. The blood pounded through his veins and his groin shot to full alert. Her tongue licked her lips with such delicate strokes, he wished she tasted something other than the wine. He wondered if she made those throaty sounds when a man was buried deep inside her wet, clinging heat. He wondered if she’d be as tight and hot as her mouth, closing around him like a silky fist, milking every last drop of his reserve and still demanding more. Those stretchy pants revealed every curve of her body, from her sweet butt to the luscious length of her legs. Her sweatshirt had ridden up and flashed him with a strip of bare skin. And obviously she’d ripped off her bra, not thinking of him as a man who wanted her, but more like an annoying older brother without male urges.

Damn her for starting to make things complicated. He dropped the bowl of pasta on the table and quickly arranged the place settings.

“Stop drinking the wine like that. You’re not in a porno flick.”

She gasped. “Hey, don’t take things out on me just ’cause you’re cranky. I can’t help it if business was more important to you than a real marriage.”

“Yeah, but as soon as I gave a price you jumped. I bought you just as much as you bought me.”

She grabbed the pasta bowl and filled her plate. “Who are you to judge me? You’ve had everything given to you your whole life. You got a Mitsubishi Eclipse for your sixteenth birthday. I got a Chevette.”

He stiffened at the memory. “You got a family. I got shit.”

She paused, then grabbed a piece of hot garlic bread dripping with mozzarella. “You got Maggie.”

“I know.”

“What happened to you guys? You used to be close.”

He shrugged. “She changed in high school. Suddenly, she wouldn’t talk to me. She stopped letting me in her room for our talks, then shut me out completely. So, I let her go and concentrated on having a life of my own. You lost touch with her for a while back then, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I always thought something happened, but she never talks about it. Anyway, my own family was screwed up for a while, so you weren’t alone.”

“But now it’s like the Waltons in there.”

She laughed and crammed a mouthful of pasta into her mouth. “My father has a lot to make up for, but I think we’ve managed to heal the cycle.”

“Cycle?”

“The karmic cycle, when someone screws up really bad and hurts you. Our first instinct is to hurt back, or refuse to forgive.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Ah, but now the cycle of hurt and abuse continues. When he came back, I decided I only had one father, and I’d accept whatever he could give. Eventually, he gave up the booze and tried to make up for the past.”

Nick made a rude sound. “He took off when you were young and left his family behind for the bottle. Abandoned your twin sisters. Then he shows up asking for forgiveness? Why would you even want him in your life?”

She forked another shrimp and let it hover right before her lips. “I made a choice,” she said. “I’ll never forget, but if my own mother learned to forgive him, how can I refuse? Family sticks together no matter what happens.”

The simplicity of her ability to forgive shook him to the core. He poured more wine. “Better to walk away with your head held high and your pride intact. Let them suffer for all the pain they caused.”

She seemed to think his words over. “I almost did. But I realized besides being my father, he’s just a human being who screwed up. I’d have my pride, but I wouldn’t have a father. When I made my decision I broke the cycle. He ended up getting sober and rebuilt our relationship. Have you ever thought of contacting your father?”

His emotions slammed into hyper-speed. Nick fought past the old bitterness and managed a shrug. “Jed Ryan doesn’t exist in my eyes. That was my decision.” He prepared for pity but her face only reflected a deep empathy that soothed him. How many times had he craved an actual beating or a punishment from his father instead of neglect? Somehow, the not caring burned deeper and festered.

“What about your mom?”

He concentrated on his plate. “She’s shacked up with another actor. She likes when they’re in show business. It makes her feel important.”

“Do you see her often?”

“The idea of an adult son reminds her of age. She likes to pretend I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words were simple but straight from the heart. Nick looked up from his plate. For one second, awareness and energy and understanding pulsed in the air between them, then slid away as if it had never occurred. His lopsided smile mocked his own confession. “Poor little rich boy. But you’re right about one thing—that was a hell of a Mitsubishi.”

She laughed and changed the subject. “Tell me about the deal you’re working on. Must be something big in order to remain celibate for a year.”

He let the smart-mouthed comment slide, but shot her a warning look. “I want to involve Dreamscape in a bid to build down by the waterfront.”

One brow arched. “I heard they want to build a spa, along with a few restaurants. Everyone’s buzzing about it. People used to be afraid to go near the river.”

He leaned forward with eagerness. “The area’s changing. They’ve beefed up security, and the few bars and shops already there are doing well. This will break the area wide open to both residents and tourism. Can you picture lit pathways along the water, with outside lounges? How about a huge spa that overlooks the mountains while you get a massage? It’s the future.”

“I also heard they only want the biggest companies in Manhattan to bid on the job.”

His body clenched in an almost physical need. His dream was right before him and he’d let nothing stand in his way. His drilled out the words out like a mantra. “I’m going to get that contract.”

She blinked, then slowly nodded as if his own belief secured hers. “Can Dreamscape handle such a job?”

He took a sip of wine. “The board thinks it’s too ambitious, but I’m going to prove them wrong. If I succeed, Dreamscape will rise to the top.”

“Is it about the money?”

He shook his head. “I don’t care about the money. I want to make my mark, and I know how I want to approach it. Nothing too citified. Nothing to compete with the mountains, but a structure that bows to nature and blends, rather than fighting back.”

“It sounds like you’ve thought about this for a long time.”

He sopped up the last piece of bread in the remaining sauce, then popped it into his mouth. “I knew the city would make this decision soon, and I wanted to be prepared. I’ve been thinking about designs by the river for years. Now I’m ready.”

“How are you going to get it?”

Nick concentrated on his plate. Funny, she seemed able to tell when he lied. Had from childhood. “I already have one of the partners on board. Richard Drysell is building the spa, and we share the same vision. He’s having a dinner party next Saturday. The final two men I need to convince will be there, so I’m hoping to make an impression.” He didn’t share how Alexa fit into the mix. He looked upon his new wife as a way close the deal, but it would be better explained the night of the party.

Nick lifted his head and spotted her cleaned plate.

The full salad bowl remained on the table between them, untouched. The pasta and bread and wine were depleted. She looked like she was on the verge of exploding. “Well, the salad looks awfully good. Aren’t you going to eat it?”

She forced a bright smile and forked up a leafy piece. “Of course. I adore salads.”

He grinned. “Any dessert?”

She let out a groan. “Funny.” They cleaned up quickly, stacked everything in the dishwasher, and then she stretched out on the camel-colored sofa in the living room. Nick figured she was hoping for a faster way to digest.

“Are you going to work tonight?” she asked.

“No, it’s late. What about you?”

“Nah, too tired.” The room filled with a short silence. “So, what do you want to do?”

Her shirt snaked up a precious inch. The smooth, tanned skin of her stomach wreaked havoc with his concentration. He had some very clear images of what they could do. They involved slowly lifting her shirt. Then licking her nipples until they tightened under his tongue. The rest centered on stripping off those sweat pants and testing how fast he could make her burn up in his arms. Since none of those options were possible, he gave a shrug. “Don’t know. TV? Movie?”

She shook her head. “Poker.”

“Excuse me?”

Her eyes lit up. “Poker. I have a deck of cards in my suitcase.”

“You carry your own cards?”

“You never know when you’ll need them.”

“What do we play for?”

She jumped up from the sofa and headed toward the stairs. “Money, of course. Unless you’re too chicken.”

“Fine. But we’ll use my cards.”

She stopped mid-flight and looked at him. “Okay. I deal.”

He hit the remote and strains of Madame Butterfly echoed from the Bose speakers. He topped off their glasses and settled by the coffee table. She sat beside him, legs crossed. Her fingers flew through the cards with the ease of an expert, shuffling with lightning speed. Nick had a flash of her in a low-cut dress, dealing cards in a saloon while she sat on a cowboy’s lap. He shook off the image and concentrated on his hand.

“Dealer’s choice. Five card stud. Ante up.”

He frowned. “With what?” he asked.

“I told you we’re playing for money.”

“Should I have my butler unlock the safe? Or maybe we’ll just play for the family jewels?”

“Very funny. Don’t you have any singles lying around?”

His lip quirked. “Sorry. Only hundreds.”

“Oh.”

She seemed so disappointed he lost the battle and chuckled. “How about we play for something more interesting?”

“I don’t play strip poker.”

“I meant favors.”

His statement caught her attention. Her teeth caught her bottom lip. He watched the action with pure pleasure.

“What kind of favors?” she asked.

“The first one to win three full hands gets a free favor from the other. It can be used any time, like a voucher.”

Her face lit up with interest. “You can use the favor toward anything? No rules?”

“No rules.”

The challenge drew her in like a pure-blooded gambler on the scent of a long shot. He sensed his victory even before she agreed. Nick practically licked his lips as she consented, and knew for the next few months he’d finally have the control he needed in this marriage.

She dealt. He almost laughed at the obvious outcome, but he refused to be merciful. She threw one card out and scooped up a replacement.

He laid down his cards. “Full house.”

“Two jacks. Your deal.”

Nick gave her credit—she refused to buckle. Kept her emotions firmly hidden. He bet her father taught her, and if not for Nick’s past experience, she’d be a hell of a player to beat. She tossed down a pair of aces and surrendered gracefully to his three fours.

“One more hand,” he said.

“I can count. My deal.” Her fingers flew over the cards. “So, where’d you learn poker?”

He viewed his hand nonchalantly. “Buddy of mine kept a weekly game. It was a good excuse to do some serious drinking and hanging out.”

“Always thought you were more the chess type.”

He tossed in a card and replaced it. “I’m good at that, too.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “Show.” She displayed her straight and triumph gleamed in her eyes.

He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“Good hand.” He offered her a cocky grin. “But not good enough.” He threw down four aces. Then stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back. “Nice try, though.”

She gaped in astonishment at his cards. “The odds on four aces in five card stud are…oh my God, you cheated!”

He shook his head and made a tsking sound. “Come on, Al, I thought you were a better competitor. Are you still a sore loser? Now about my favor…”

Nick wondered if actual steam leaked from her pores. “Nobody can get four aces unless he palmed the cards. Don’t lie to me, because I was thinking of doing it myself!”

“Don’t accuse me of something you can’t prove.”

“You cheated.” Her tone held a twist of wonderment and horror. “You lied to me on our wedding night.”

He snorted. “If you don’t want to pay your debt, say so. Just like a woman to be a bad loser.”

She squirmed with hot-blooded emotion. “You’re a swindler, Nick Ryan.”

“Prove it.”

“I will.”

She launched herself over the coffee table and into his arms. The breath whooshed out of him as she tumbled him back on the carpet and stuck her hand up his shirt sleeves for the suspected planted cards. Nick grunted as a full female figure pressed flush against every muscle, intent only on finding evidence of foul play. He tried to push her off but she switched her attention to his shirt pockets and he laughed. The sound started deep in his chest and he realized this woman had made him laugh more in the past week than he had since childhood. When her fingers slipped into his pants pocket he realized if she delved any deeper she wouldn’t come up empty-handed. The laughter eased into a hard twist deep in his gut and with one quick motion he flipped her onto her back, lay on top of her, and pinned both hands beside her head.

Her hair clip had come out during the scuffle. Coal black curls tumbled over her face and covered one side. Snapping blue eyes peeked between the strands, filled with a haughty contempt only she could pull off after tackling him to the ground for a wrestling match. Her breasts rose against her fleece top, unbound. Her legs entwined with his, her thighs slightly parted.

Nick was in deep trouble.

“I know you have the cards planted. Just admit it and we’ll forget this whole thing happened.”

“You’re crazy, you know,” he muttered. “Don’t you ever think about consequences of your actions?”

She stuck her bottom lip out and blew a hard breath. The curls obediently slid away from her eyes. “I didn’t cheat.”

Her mouth pouted. He smothered a curse, and his fingers tightened around her wrists. Damn her for making him want. Damn her for not seeing it.

“We’re not kids anymore, Alexa. Next time you go tackling a man to the ground, be prepared to take the heat.”

“Who are you, Clint Eastwood? Is your next line going to be, ‘Go ahead, make my day’?”

The heat in his groin rose to his head like a swarming fog, until he could only think about the wet heat of her mouth and the soft body beneath him. He wanted to be naked with her in a tangle of sheets, and instead she treated him like an annoying older brother. But that wasn’t even the worst part. She was his wife. The thought tortured him. Some buried, caveman instinct flared to life and pushed him to make his claim. By law, she already belonged to him.

And tonight was their wedding night.

She challenged him to turn anger to desire, to feel her lips slick and trembling under his, all sweetness and surrender and passion. The normal logic of his list and his plan and his need for a business marriage flew out the window.

He decided to claim his wife.

…

Alexa felt the man on top of her hold his body in a tight muscle lock. She’d been so intent on their argument she’d forgotten he pinned her to the carpet. She opened her mouth to make another smart remark about bondage, then stopped. Met his eyes. And sucked in her breath.

Oh, God.

Primitive sexual energy swirled between them like a tornado gaining speed and power. His eyes burned with a sheen of fire, half need, half anger as he stared down at her. She realized he lay between her open thighs, his hips angled over hers, his chest propped up as he gripped at her fingers. This was no longer the teasing indulgence of a brother. This was no old friend or business partner. This was the simple want of a man to a woman, and Alexa felt herself dragged down into the storm with her body’s own cry.

“Nick?”

Her voice was raspy. Hesitant. Her nipples pushed against the soft fleece with demand. His gaze raked over her face, her breasts, her exposed stomach. The tension pulled taut between them. He lowered his head. The rush of his breath caressed her lips as he spoke right against her mouth.

“This means nothing.”

His body contradicted his words as he claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss. With one quick thrust, his tongue pushed through the seam of her lips to travel beyond. Her mind fogged, caught between the dull pain of his statement and the pleasure pounding through her in waves. She gripped his hands and hung on, reveling in the dark taste of hunger and expensive chardonnay, rocking her hips upward to meet the hard length of his body, and rubbing her nipples against his chest. She lost control in those few moments, the ageless empty void for the past years temporarily filled with the taste and feel and smell of him.

Her tongue matched every thrust as a low guttural groan escaped her throat. He ripped his fingers away from hers and slid his palms up over her belly and cupped her breasts. Her nipples tightened, and he pushed the cloth up higher. He stared at her naked breasts, and the heat in his eyes nearly burned her alive. One thumb tweaked her nipple and she cried out. His head lowered. Alexa realized this was the moment of truth. If he kissed her again, she’d surrender. Her body ached for his and she couldn’t come up with one damn good reason to stop.

The doorbell rang.

The sound ricocheted off the walls. Nick jerked upward and rolled off her like a politician caught in the middle of a sex scandal, muttering some nasty words she hadn’t known existed.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She blinked at the reserved demeanor of a man who two seconds ago had ripped at her clothes. He calmly buttoned his shirt and waited for her response. Except for the bulge in his black pants, he looked entirely unaffected by the episode. Just as he had when he’d kissed her at her parents’ house.

The heavy meal lurched in her stomach and Alexa fought past the nausea. She took a deep yoga breath and sat up, pulling down her top. “Sure. Answer the door.”

He stared at her for a few moments, as if checking to see if he believed her facade, then nodded and walked out of the room.

She mashed her fingers against her lips and tried to hold it together. She’d made a monumental mistake. Obviously, her recent celibacy had caused her hormones to go insane, until any man who touched her set her off like a firecracker. His last statement flashed in her mind with a mocking finality.

This means nothing.

She heard conversation in the hallway. A tall, leggy brunette entered the room with the ease of someone who knew the house well. Alexa stared at one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen—obviously Nick’s ex.

Chorus girl legs started with black platform heels and disappeared under a pair of silk trousers. Her slim hips were encircled with a silver chain belt, and a metallic stretchy top molded to her small breasts, dipping at the neckline and exposing the top of her shoulders. Her long raven hair fell down her back in a mass of perfect waves. Not a frizzy curl in sight. Her eyes were a startling emerald color, with long, black lashes. Her full lips set off high cheekbones and she radiated an air of relaxed elegance. She looked around the room, then focused on Alexa.

Alexa knew then she was going to throw up.

The goddess turned to Nick with an air of apology. Even her voice was a husky reminder of sex. “I just had to meet her.”

With horror, she realized Gabriella not only slept with Nick, but actually cared about him. The obvious hurt shimmering in those eyes accused her woman to woman for stealing her man. Part of Alexa watched the scene from above with actual humor. It was like an episode of The Real Housewives of New York gone horribly wrong. At least it wasn’t Jersey Shore. Her crazy thoughts rocketed and she grabbed at the tendrils of her sanity.

Alexa rose and looked up at the skinny goddess who towered over her. She dug deep for composure and pretended she wore real clothes and not a gym outfit. “I understand,” she said formally.

“Gabby, how did you get past security?”

Artfully tousled curls slid over one shoulder. Gabriella reached out and pressed something in Nick’s hand. “I still had my key and the security code. After you told me you were going to marry, well, things got a bit intense.”

The words pummeled Alexa’s sensitive skin like wasp stings. To hell with this. She refused to allow Nick to continue a relationship on the side when they had signed a contract. Therefore, she needed to pretend to be the possessive wife. She swallowed hard and forced herself to smile calmly at her adversary.

“Gabriella, I’m sorry if you were hurt by our decision. It came rather fast for both of us, you know.” She laughed and positioned herself between the two. “We knew each other from years ago and when we met again, we got caught up in a whirlwind.” She pretended to look up with adoration at her current husband, though her fists ached to get one good punch in. He slipped his arms around her and his body heat burned through the thin material of her yoga pants. “I have to ask you to leave. It’s our honeymoon night.”

Gabriella studied them with an assessing air. “Odd you wouldn’t be taking a trip somewhere more…romantic.”

Nick saved her. “I have work obligations so we delayed our island getaway.”

Gabriella spoke in a clipped manner. “Fine. I’ll leave. I needed to see for myself who he chose over me.” Her expression informed Alexa she didn’t understand Nick’s decision. “I’ll be out of town for a bit. I committed to help in Haiti with some of the rebuilding.”

Oh. My. God. She was a humanitarian. The woman looked perfect, had money, and actually helped people. Alexa’s heart sank. Gabriella turned and focused on the deck of cards. “Hmmm, I always loved cards. Just not for a wedding night.”

Gabriella didn’t give them a chance to reply. With the gracefulness of a cobra, she slithered out the door without a backward glance.

Alexa jumped away from Nick at the sound of the click. An awkward silence settled over the room as her thoughts spun.

“I’m sorry, Alexa. I never expected her to show up at my house.”

The question rose from deep within. She swore she wouldn’t ask, but the short and bloody battle ended before it had even begun. The words sprung from her lips. “Why did you marry me and not her?”

Compared to Gabriella, Alexa lacked in every facet. Nick’s girlfriend was beautiful, elegant, and skinny. She spoke with intelligence, volunteered for worthy causes, and actually behaved with class for a woman scorned. She also cared about Nick. Why would he have hurt her?

Nick stepped back. “It doesn’t matter,” he said coldly.

“I need to know.”

Ice slithered down her spine as she caught the resolution on his face. The shutter slammed down, and suddenly she looked upon a man with absolutely no emotion or feeling. “Because she wanted more than I can give her. She wanted to settle down and raise a family.”

Alexa took a step back. “What’s so wrong about that?”

“I told Gabriella the truth from the beginning. I don’t do permanent. I never want children, and I will never be the type of man to settle down long-term. I promised myself years ago.” He paused. “So I married you instead.”

The room spun as the finality of his statement washed over her. Her husband may experience fits of passion. His touch may be warm, and his lips even warmer, but his heart was carved in stone. He’d never let a woman inside—he was too badly damaged to take a chance. Somehow, his parents had convinced him love does not exist. Even if a weak ray glimmered on the surface, he still believed there was no happy ending. Just children as casualties and a lifetime of hurt.

How could any woman fight such a hardcore belief with any hope of winning? His need for a business marriage suddenly made perfect sense.

“Are you okay?”

She decided to end the night with her finale. Nick Ryan could break her heart. Again. She needed to act cool and efficient in order to save her pride. And she must always keep her distance. Alexa schooled her features to give away nothing and pushed the pain deep inside her body until it was a tight ball in her stomach.

“Stop asking me if I’m okay. Of course I’m okay. Just don’t think you can sneak in a quickie with your ex. A deal is a deal.”

His face tightened. “I gave you my word, remember?”

“You also cheated at poker.”

The reminder of their poker game gone awry made humiliation burn through her. He shifted his feet and pushed his hand through his hair and Alexa knew the speech was coming. “About what happened—”

She gave an Academy Award-worthy laugh. “Oh, Lord, we’re not going to have a talk about that, are we?” She rolled her eyes. “Listen, Nick, I have to admit something. Sure, this marriage is a business arrangement, but I was wearing the dress, and it was technically our wedding night and…” She threw her hands up in surrender. “I got carried away with the whole idea. You just happened to be, well—”

“Available?”

“I was thinking more…handy. You were handy. It didn’t mean anything so let’s just blow the whole thing off, okay?”

He studied her with narrowed eyes, taking in every feature of her face. The clock ticked and she waited. A strange play of emotion flickered in his eyes, until she swore he stared at her with regret.

It must have been a trick of the light.

He finally nodded. “We’ll blame it on the wine and the full moon or something.”

She turned. “I’m going to bed. It’s late.”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She walked up the spiral staircase and slid beneath the covers, not wanting to brush her teeth or do her skin routine or change into her pajamas. She pulled the downy comforter up to her chin, buried her face in the pillow, and embraced sleep, a place she didn’t have to think or feel or hurt.

…

Nick looked at the deserted staircase. Emptiness pulsed inside him and he had no idea why. He poured the rest of the wine into his glass, adjusted the volume on the stereo, and settled onto the sofa. The opera music flowed over him and soothed his nerves.

His almost-mistake loomed before him. If Gabby hadn’t shown up, Alexa would’ve been in his bed. No more uncomplicated marriage.

Stupid.

When had his need for a woman ever caused havoc with his plans? Even when he’d courted Gabriella and they’d become intimate, he’d never been attached to the outcome. His goal was clear and necessary. But even that wasn’t enough to stop him once he’d gotten a taste of Alexa McKenzie. She wrecked his mind, made him laugh, and tempted him with the delights of her body without a single subtle manipulation. She was different from any other woman he’d ever known, and he wanted her to stay in the category of his friend. His sister’s best friend. He wanted to laugh at their past, live in harmony for one year, and say good-bye with ease.

The first lousy night he’d gone and ripped off her shirt.

He drained the glass of wine and switched the stereo off. He’d fix it. She already admitted she only wanted a warm body in her bed. Obviously, she wasn’t attracted to him, and she’d probably drunk too much wine and gotten caught up in the wedding fantasy. Just as she admitted. She wanted the money, and she missed the sex.

His stubborn mind screamed she couldn’t react so passionately to every man who touched her. He firmly ignored the warning, moved from the couch, and headed up the stairs to his own bed.