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

It seemed like such an outrageous thing to do just after getting married that she couldn’t help but smile. “Once, at a Vegas night a literacy program held to raise money for supplies. Five-card stud, or something like that.”

“Well, your money wouldn’t go for a good cause this time.”

“How do you know I’ll lose?” she asked, fascinated by the gold flecks the sun had teased out of his otherwise dark eyes.

“Odds favor the house.”

“I don’t like those odds.”

He shrugged. “Every now and then someone hits it big. That’s gambling’s allure, the potential for winning the jackpot. That’s why some people bet their life savings and then some.”

“It makes sense that we’re here, then.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You just bet on me, gambled with your legacy.”

“No, I’d already lost my legacy. I had nothing to lose. That’s the first rule of gambling, by the way: don’t bet more than you can afford to lose.”

“I guess Derek doesn’t know that rule.”

“No. But then Derek doesn’t care about his legacy either. He’s about to lose. Big time.”

Catherine couldn’t help but wonder if they had won or if they, too, would find themselves paying once everything was said and done.

Their flight home was the flight from hell. Delayed nearly two hours, and then rocked by turbulence, it seemed to last an eternity. A superstitious woman would have considered it a bad omen. White-knuckled and terrified, Catherine merely endured it as best she could. Beside her, Stephen slept like a baby.

To keep her mind off her nerves, she studied his features: the sensual line of his lips; the square jaw that was now shadowed and in need of a shave; the thick, dark hair that had fallen over his brow. In sleep he looked oddly vulnerable, and incredibly sexy. She recalled their kiss and felt her face grow warm. People called her an ice princess. She pressed her head back, stared at the “fasten seatbelt” sign and sucked in several calming breaths before closing her eyes. What would they say if they could read her mind just now?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Her eyelids snapped open. Turning her head she found herself nearly nose to nose with Stephen.

They both straightened in their seats.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wondered what you were thinking. You looked so…intense.”

She forced a laugh. “I don’t care to fly.”

“Do the deep-breathing exercises help?” he asked.

She met his dark gaze, felt her heart tremble, and said with conviction, “Not one bit.”

It was well past midnight when they finally touched down at O’Hare. Glitzy Vegas had cocooned them in illusion. Gritty Chicago doused them in reality. They were husband and wife on what could still be called their wedding night, and yet they were stuck in all of the awkwardness of a first date.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, as if they had just gone to dinner and caught a movie.

“I can grab a cab,” Catherine replied. “It’s out of your way.”

“I’ll take you home. You can get your things.”

“My things?”

“You’re my wife, Catherine. You will live with me.”

His tone offered no room for negotiation, let alone contradiction. Still, she heard herself say, “But I thought…” And then her voice trailed away.

Actually, she had not thought about their living arrangements at all. There simply hadn’t been time during their mad dash to the altar.

“You’ll have your own room, if that’s your concern. I don’t expect a physical relationship.”

“I’ll have my own room,” she repeated, still feeling dazed. But Stephen must have taken her words to mean she was questioning his sincerity.

“I don’t expect you to sleep with me, Catherine. We needn’t consummate our marriage to make it look real to others. Living together should accomplish that.”

Despite his assurances, her mind conjured up a vivid mental picture of them locked together in passion. She couldn’t imagine where this inappropriate visual had come from, but at the moment the only question on her mind was: what kind of lover would Stephen be? That kiss made her wonder. Still waters, she thought. He’d be one to pay attention to detail. To dot every i and cross every t. She licked her dry lips.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” he said. “Despite my hot Latin blood, I can be a perfect gentleman when it is required.”

His words were mocking, but she thought he sounded insulted as well.

“I’m not nervous, Stephen. I trust you.”

He took the carry-on bag from her hand and started toward the exits. And she would have sworn she heard him reply, “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

The dog offered up a loud and enthusiastic greeting, his tail slicing through the air like a pirate’s sword, when Stephen pushed open the door that led from the garage into the house. Stephen had asked a neighbor to come by to see to the dog’s needs while he was away, but the Lab acted as if he’d been in solitary confinement for months.

“That’s enough, Degas.” He patted the dog’s wide head. “Let’s show some manners, shall we? There’s someone I want you to meet. Sit.”

The hound obediently plopped his hind end down on the floor, his tongue lolling out.

Turning to Catherine, Stephen said, “This is Degas. He’s harmless enough, but he sheds a lot, so you might want to keep your distance. Or not,” he added when Catherine, unmindful of her black linen pantsuit, bent down on one knee to give the dog an affectionate pat. Degas presented her with his paw, which she shook.

“We met the other day.” When his eager tongue washed her face, she added, “I think he likes me.”

She sounded as excited as a kid, and unbothered by the fact she’d just been slobbered on by a dog. What’s not to like? he thought, and felt the same unmistakable surge of attraction he’d felt when he’d kissed her. Had that really only been mere hours ago? It seemed as if a lifetime had passed.

Need made his voice gruff when he said, “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

She followed him through the darkened house, wondering why he suddenly seemed so remote. Even the dog was more subdued as he walked beside her, as if he too sensed his master’s sudden mood shift.

He flipped on a couple of lights as he walked, but their glow appeared to do nothing to brighten his mood. When he reached the staircase, he turned to take her carry-on case, even though he already had her suitcase. Then, without a word, he started up.

Their footsteps were muffled by a dark tapestry runner, and she wondered who had done his decorating. He’d hired it out, she was sure of it. It was certainly tasteful, with shades of navy and taupe carried throughout, but it seemed staid and lacking in warmth, just like the man himself at the moment.

Catherine missed the bright French country décor with which she’d decorated her apartment. When she and Derek had become engaged he’d persuaded her that they should live in his penthouse after their marriage and keep his modern furnishings, which complemented the high walls of windows and steeply angled ceilings. So she’d donated her sofa, chairs, coffee table, lamps, even her lovely Duncan Fife dining room set, to a charity auction. She’d come home on her non-wedding night to little more than a mattress on the floor, the sleigh bed having been disposed of as well.

“Is anything wrong?” Stephen asked.