Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom

“You can take that one.” He pointed to the doorway nearest her. He hesitated at the threshold of the other bedroom, carry-on bag in hand. “Thank you, Catherine.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Try to get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.”

As Catherine settled between the cool sheets of the king-sized bed, she knew “big” was an understatement.

Early the next morning they picked a chapel within walking distance from their hotel, opting for what passed for understated in Las Vegas. Plastic blood-red roses dripped from a white trellis just outside the door, and inside the lobby guests could put a buck in a vending machine to buy a packet of birdseed to toss at the bride and groom.

Of course there were no guests: only Catherine, wearing a simple white A-line dress that flowed nearly to her ankles, and Stephen, dressed in a charcoal suit. She supposed it was silly to wear white for this farce of a wedding, but she believed in tradition.

A Vegas wedding, she soon realized, had traditions of its own, quirkiness being at the top of the list. They managed to bypass the Elvis impersonator, but to Catherine’s horrified amusement, the I Do Chapel’s minister bore a striking resemblance to Liberace.

“The standard wedding package includes your choice of song, a bouquet of white carnations for the bride and a snapshot to remember the happy occasion,” Liberace droned. “For just a little more you can upgrade to the deluxe package and get the pretty little lady a bouquet of roses, three snapshots and these matching T-shirts.”

He pointed to the wall where the shirts were displayed. Emblazoned on the front of each were the words “We did it in Vegas at the I Do Chapel.”

“Oh, my God,” Catherine gasped, swallowing a bubble of hysterical laughter.

To her surprise, Stephen said dryly, “The deluxe package, by all means. We wouldn’t want to miss out on those shirts.”

The entire affair seemed so out of character for both of them, she supposed they would need the T-shirts to convince themselves they’d actually gone through with it. Of course, the marriage certificate would be real enough. That thought was sobering.

After filling out the necessary paperwork, they followed Liberace into the main room of the chapel.

“Are you expecting any guests?”

“No,” Stephen said.

“Then I guess we’ll get down to it.”

Before Catherine could catch a breath, a woman shoved a bouquet of plastic white roses into her hands and snapped a hasty shot of her and Stephen as they stood before a makeshift altar. Liberace nodded to another woman, who cued up the music. “Green-sleeves” filled the room.

“Dearly beloved,” Liberace began, speaking to a room occupied by only five people, including the bride and groom. “We are gathered here today to unite this woman and this man in matrimony. Do you…?” He glanced at the paper before him and then back at Stephen. “I’m sorry. Could you pronounce your name for me, please?”

Stephen nodded, but his gaze never left Catherine’s face as he replied, “Stefano Anastasio Danbury.”

The name rolled from his tongue, a perfect complement to the dark hair and eyes—eyes that now stared in challenge, as if daring her to comment, and so she did.

“I wondered what the A stood for.”

Something like surprise flickered briefly in his expression. Clearly this was not the comment he was expecting.

“My grandparents—paternal grandparents—preferred it that way.”

Catherine had never met the elder Danburys, but she thought she understood what he was saying. Stefano would have been easy enough to Anglicize, but a name like Anastasio would have no English equivalent. She wasn’t one to pay attention to the gossip, but she now recalled that she’d heard her mother talking to a friend once about a scandal of some sort, involving Stephen’s father and the woman he’d married.

“Your mother was from Puerto Rico,” she said, pleased with herself for finally remembering. It made sense to her now that he would have learned her native tongue.

“My mother was a maid,” he said flatly. “No other comment?”

“Your initials spell SAD.”

His brows tugged together.

“May I continue?” the minister asked.

“That’s up to the lady,” Stephen replied.

Did he expect her to call it off just because his name confirmed the heritage his looks hinted at?

“Is there suddenly a reason I shouldn’t want to?” She lobbed the ball neatly back into his court. If he thought her a bigot, let him spell it out.

“You have every reason in the world not to want to.”

“Those reasons were the same back in Chicago. Exactly the same,” she enunciated. “I haven’t changed my mind. Have you?”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve lost my mind, but, no, I haven’t changed it.” He nodded to Liberace. “Proceed.”

The ceremony was over in short order. A couple of “I dos,” the exchange of two hastily purchased gold bands from chapel’s display case—guaranteed not to tarnish for at least five years—and they were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Stefano Danbury.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Catherine hadn’t allowed herself to think ahead to this part of the ceremony, or, for that matter, to the physical side of marriage. Of course their marriage would be in name only, a marriage of convenience. Wasn’t that, to all intents and purposes, what her parents had? A useful and mutually beneficial union. They seemed content enough after twenty-nine years. Yoked together. Like a pair of oxen.

Of course she and Stephen were hardly in this for the long haul. They’d settled on a year, which seemed a reasonable enough length of time to silence the gossips and satisfy any lawyers Derek hired to fight the codicil or question their nuptials. Something told Catherine that her marriage to Derek would have ended much sooner and far less amicably than she predicted this one would.

Her gaze connected with Stephen’s. For better or worse, literally, he was her husband now. She offered a smile, leaned forward for the kiss, expecting something brief and perfunctory. Then she caught the clean scent of aftershave on his warm skin, noted the sexy line of his mouth. Reaching up, she laid a palm against the hard plain of one of his cheeks, and, for no reason she could fathom, she sighed.

Stephen saw her eyelids flutter shut as his mouth touched hers, but he kept his own eyes open, watching this woman he barely knew, watching his wife. He deepened the kiss out of curiosity, sliding his tongue inside the pliant seam of her lips. She’d always seemed so cool, so in control. Once, a few months back, he’d walked into Derek’s office and caught the pair of them kissing. Even with his cousin’s hand on her nicely curved bottom and her arms twined around his neck she’d managed to look untouched. She didn’t look untouched this time, though he’d so far managed to keep his hands to himself. And neither, he admitted, was he. Kissing Catherine was like sailing La Libertad in rough waters. He needed to hold on. He brought his hands up to frame her face, his fingers stretching into the soft gold of her hair.

“That’s more like it,” Liberace cracked. “Now, if you kids could just take this back to your hotel room, I’ve got another wedding to perform. Don’t forget to pick up your T-shirts on the way out.”

They sprung apart as if they had just been doused with a bucketful of freezing water. Her eyes, as big and blue as the deepest waters of Lake Michigan, reflected his own surprise and confusion. An electrical current of need had coursed through that kiss. It had carried with it a blast of heat that he hadn’t felt in…ever. And it had come from the Ice Princess, Catherine Canton. The discovery, however, was not welcome. Business. That was what this was, Stephen reminded himself. Hormones didn’t, couldn’t factor into it. Even as he told himself this was so, he couldn’t quite squelch the male satisfaction he felt when he noted the way her hand shook when she ran it through her hair. She’d worn her hair loose and long this day, a cascade of sunshine that haloed her face and flowed over her shoulders. He liked it this way the best, especially since the slightly mussed tendrils around her temples had been his doing.

The photographer handed Stephen the three Polaroids, which he stuffed into his pocket without bothering to look at them. They were nearly to the door, his equilibrium almost restored, when Liberace ruined it all by calling out, “Enjoy your wedding night.”

Chapter Four

IN THE glaring sun, Las Vegas didn’t have quite the high-voltage impact it did at night. But, sheened in a gaudy kind of glamour, it still throbbed with excitement.

Catherine wanted nothing more than a few minutes to herself, to try to put that searing kiss into perspective. She tried to be analytical about it. Could her reaction merely have been the desperate need for sexual validation by woman recently rejected? Perhaps, but that did little to cool her blood. This was the desert, but where had all that heat come from? She hadn’t known a simple kiss could be like that, shooting a million flaming arrows of need through her system, each one of them unerringly finding its mark.

“What now?”

She hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud, as it was more rhetorical than anything else, but Stephen answered.

“We can play tourist for a few hours, if you’d like. Our flight doesn’t leave till this evening. Ever play poker?”