Justin

“Isn’t this a nice wedding?” Calhoun asked Ty, joining the small group with his arm around a laughing Abby. “Doesn’t it give you any ideas?”

Ty smiled at Abby. “It does that, all right. It makes me want to get an inoculation, quick,” he murmured drily.

“You’ll outgrow that attitude one day,” Calhoun assured him. “We all get chopped down at the ankles eventually,” he added, and ducked when Abby hit his chest. “Sorry, honey.” He chuckled, brushing a lazy kiss against her forehead. “You know I didn’t mean it.”

“Can we give you a lift to the airport, or did you rent a car?” Abby asked Ty.

“I rented a car, but thanks all the same. Why don’t you two walk me out to it?” He kissed Shelby again. “Be happy,” he said gently.

“I expect to,” she said, and smiled in Justin’s direction.

Ty nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. When he followed Abby and Calhoun out of the fellowship hall, he was preoccupied and frowning thoughtfully.

The reception seemed to go on forever, and Shelby was grateful when it was finally time to go home. Justin had sent Lopez to fetch Shelby’s things from Mrs. Simpson’s house early that morning. The guest room had been prepared for Shelby. Maria had questioned that, but only once, because Justin’s cold eyes had silenced her. Maria understood more than he realized, anyway. She, like everyone else on the property, knew that despite his bitterness, Justin still had a soft spot for Shelby. She was alone and impoverished, and it didn’t surprise anybody that Justin had married her. If he felt the need for a little vengeance in the process, that wasn’t unexpected, either.

“Thank God that’s over,” Justin said wearily when they were alone in the house. He’d tugged off his tie and jacket and unbuttoned the neck of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. He looked ten years older than he was.

Shelby put her purse on the hall table and took off her high heels, smoothing her stockinged feet on the soft pile of the carpet. It felt good not to be two inches taller.

Justin glanced at her and smiled to himself, but he turned away before she could see it. “Do you want to go out for supper or have it here?”

“I don’t care.”

“I suppose it would look odd if we went to a restaurant on our wedding night, wouldn’t it?” he added, turning to give her a mocking smile.

She glared at him. “Go ahead,” she invited. “Spoil the rest of it, too. God forbid that I should enjoy my own wedding day.”

He frowned as she turned and started up the staircase. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She didn’t look at him. She held onto the railing and stared up at the landing. “You couldn’t have made your feelings plainer if you’d worn a sign with all your grievances painted on it in blood. I know you hate me, Justin. You married me out of pity, but part of you still wants to make me pay for what I did to you.”

He’d lit a cigarette and he was smoking it, propped against the doorjamb, his face quiet, his black eyes curious. “Dreams die hard, honey, didn’t you know?” he asked coldly.

She turned around, her green eyes steady on his. “You weren’t the only one who dreamed, Justin,” she said. “I cared about you!”

His jaw tautened. “Sure you did. That’s why you sold me out for that boy millionaire.”

She stroked the banister absently. “Odd that I didn’t marry him, isn’t it?” she asked casually. “Very odd, wouldn’t you say, when I wanted his money badly enough to jilt you.”

He lifted the cigarette to his mouth. “He threw you over, I guess, when he found out you wanted the money more than you wanted him.”

“I never wanted him, or his money,” she said honestly. “I had enough of my own.”

He smiled at her. “Did you?” Surely she didn’t expect him to believe she was unaware of how much financial trouble her father had been in.

“You won’t listen,” she muttered. “You never would. I tried to tell you why I broke off the engagement—”

“You told me, all right! You couldn’t stand for me to touch you, but I knew that already.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “You pushed me away the night we got engaged,” he added huskily. “You were shaking like a leaf and your eyes were as big as saucers. You couldn’t get away from me quick enough.”

Her lips parted on a slow breath. “And you thought it was revulsion, of course?” she asked miserably.

“What else could it have been?” he shot back, his eyes glaring. “I didn’t come down in the last rain shower.” He turned. “Change your clothes and we’ll have supper. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

She wished she could tell him the truth. She wanted to, but he was so remote and his detached attitude intimidated her. With a sigh, she turned and went up the staircase numbly, wondering how she was going to live with a man she couldn’t even talk to about intimacy.