The Temporary Mrs King

“Yes.” She picked up her wineglass and took the last sip. When she’d finished, she asked, “Well. What do you say? Do we have a deal? Will you marry me?”

Those four words sent an instinctive chill down his spine, but Sean ignored it. Sure, he had vowed to never again make the mistake of getting married. But this was different.

The first time he had said “I do,” he got screwed, in more ways than one. This time, he would get something out of the deal beyond a quickie divorce. This time, he would be the one in charge. The one to say when it was over. The one to walk away.

And this time, his heart wouldn’t be involved.

Nodding, he held out one hand to her. “I think you’ve got a deal.”

That smile of hers widened and nearly took his breath away. She took his hand and, just like their first touch hours ago, the instant their palms met, there was a quick flash of heat that seemed to zing straight up his arm to bounce around his chest like a crazed ping-pong ball. Sean had been hoping to hell he had imagined that sizzle between them. But if anything, it was stronger this time around. Damn it. If she felt it, she didn’t show it, so neither did Sean. He willed his body into submission and fought against an attraction that was more powerful than he’d expected.

“There’s just one more thing,” she said as she pulled her hand free of his.

Sean laughed. “You’ve already swept me off my feet,” he said wryly. “What’s left?”

“No sex.”

Well, that got his attention. He stared at her for a long minute until she finally shifted her gaze from his nervously.

This was an entirely new experience for Sean. Most women were downright eager to get close to him. Hell, he usually had to fend off women trying to fling themselves into his bed. He’d turned down a lovely woman only an hour ago in the hotel bar. But her blond hair and brown eyes hadn’t done a thing for him since he had been too preoccupied with thoughts of Melinda Stanford.

The woman who wanted to marry him—just not sleep with him.

He stared her down and she didn’t flinch. That steady blue gaze never wavered.

What was going on? He wasn’t imagining the sizzle of heat that leapt between them whenever they touched. He hadn’t missed the flash of something interested in her eyes. And he for damn sure wasn’t wrong about his own desire for the woman who had turned this trip upside down inside of a few hours. If he’d met her somewhere else, he would have tried to seduce her into a long weekend—and he had no doubt he would have succeeded.

So what was the problem?

“No sex.”

“That’s right.” She took a long breath and looked back into his eyes. “Why complicate things? This is a business arrangement, after all. It’s not a real marriage, so I don’t see why we should …”

“Have sex,” he finished for her, astonishment clear in his voice.

“Exactly.”

“This just gets better and better,” he murmured.

“It’s only for two months,” she pointed out, managing to sound both impatient and pained all at the same time. “Surely that won’t kill you.”

“I think I can manage to hang on,” he said, though silently he admitted that it wouldn’t be a party. He already wanted her and he’d only known her for a few hours. Being married to her, with her all the time … how much worse was this going to get over two months?

Maybe he should just make a call to Rico and find out if he was willing to put his hotel somewhere else. A moment later, though, he dismissed the idea. It was Tesoro or not at all. The island was perfect for their needs, damn it.

The island had a mystique with people. The hotel was old-school deluxe, but it was small and couldn’t support many guests. Since the island was privately held, anyone wanting to do business on Tesoro had to go through Walter Stanford. And he was a man who liked his privacy.

Which would be perfect for the exclusive resort the Kings were planning. The mega-wealthy would come here to play on the beach and enjoy the high life away from throngs of tourists and, most especially, paparazzi.

It was all perfect.

Except for the whole marriage thing.

“And,” she said, dragging his attention back to her.

“There’s more?” he asked with a short laugh. “What else is there? Got a dungeon you want to shut me up in? Or maybe you want me living on bread and water for a couple months?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous.” He shook his head and gave her an almost admiring glance. “You want us to be married. Living together. Putting on a ‘colorful truth’ for your grandfather—but none of the fun stuff.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and he knew for a fact that she was feeling what he was. So just how long would she last with this little celibacy rule? As that thought wandered through his mind, Sean smiled to himself. This, he thought, could get very interesting.

“This isn’t about fun—”

“Clearly,” he agreed.

Her lips thinned and her mouth worked as if words were trying to get out, but she refused to let them. Finally, though, she took a breath and said patiently, “It’s a small island, Sean. So you won’t be able to sleep with anyone else, either. My grandfather would find out and this whole thing would be over before it began.”

Sean stiffened at the insinuation. Sitting up straight, he laid both hands on the tabletop and leaned in toward her. Even riding that quick whip of anger, he kept his voice down. His gaze bored into hers as he said, “I. Don’t. Cheat. When I give my word, I keep it.”

Their gazes locked for several long seconds before she finally nodded. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be clear about everything.”

He leaned back in his chair, gritting his teeth against the bubble of frustration inside him. “Fine. We’re clear.”

“And we still have a deal?”

He looked into those blue eyes of hers again and told himself this was surely a mistake. He felt it right down to his bones. But damned if Sean could see another way for him to get what he wanted.

“Yeah,” he said. “We have a deal.”

He couldn’t believe he was going to do this. Couldn’t believe he was going to get married. Again. And this one wouldn’t be any more real than the first one.

At least this time though, he’d know going in that the marriage would mean nothing.

Three

Walter Stanford was somewhere in his seventies, but his sharp blue eyes didn’t miss much. He was tall, with snowy white hair, a hard jaw and the bearing of a much younger man. He stood behind the wide desk in his library and looked at Sean with a cool, dispassionate eye.

Sean met the older man stare for stare, never blinking. He knew how to run a negotiation and knew all too well that the first man who spoke, lost power. So he kept quiet and waited for the older man to say something.

Walter Stanford’s suite took up half of the entire top floor of the hotel, with Melinda’s private quarters in the other half. It was old-world elegant, again with just a touch of shabbiness. As if the place had seen better times. Sean had to wonder if the old man was as wealthy as rumor suggested.

He had noticed a couple of telltale water marks on the ceiling, proof of a leaky roof that hadn’t been fixed in time. And there were other things too. Nothing over the top, he thought, just tiny warning flags. Scars on the wood floors, chipped molding, window casements where the plaster had crumbled.

Of course, none of that proved anything. All it might mean was that Walter Stanford was simply too busy or too uninterested to make the dozens of minor repairs buildings always required. Or, he thought, it could mean that the old man needed this hotel deal far more than he wanted the Kings to know.

Sean smiled to himself, but kept his expression carefully neutral.