Last Resort: Marriage

But go where? Back to Edward and admit Aaron didn’t want to marry her?

She straightened her shoulders and faced him. “You were right. You’re my only viable option.”

He leaned over, flattened his palms on his desk, and focused his sea-green eyes on her. “A hundred thousand, which I know you can get your hands on, deposited in an account in my name and I’ll sign a prenup that says I walk away with my business and the money in my accounts.” His jaw stiffened. “If it doesn’t specify what I do get, I don’t sign.”

Charlotte let out her breath. She never thought she’d negotiate a marriage like a business contract. Who said she didn’t know how to manage relationships?

“Let’s make sure we understand each other. This is business.” She leaned into his face. “We get married and Edward returns to Boston. In six months, providing we can convince him that a) we’re blissfully in love and b) you’re trustworthy, he’ll sign the resort over to me. At that point, we file for divorce. And—” she paused for effect “—I have no intention of sharing your bed as part of the arrangement.”

That announcement slowed him down a pace or two.

“And it won’t kill you to take a couple months off from your playboy lifestyle.”

“Playboy?” He looked genuinely surprised. “Just because I’m no damn monk? Don’t tell me, you’re saving yourself for marriage. Oh, wait, you don’t want sex then, either.”

Sarcasm dripped from his words. Okay, so sexuality wasn’t her strong point, but still.

Aaron studied the top of his desk and took out his cigarettes. After a glance at her, he shoved the pack back in his pocket. “I’m not thrilled with sharing your bed, either, sweetheart, but you know as well as I do the old man won’t believe this farce unless we share accommodations.” He flashed a wicked grin. “Your place or mine, Charlie?”

The image of lying naked with this green-eyed macho maniac made her stop. She wasn’t the quivering, breathless type and getting naked didn’t figure into this.

He flashed another charming smile, and extended his hand. “Let me see your phone.”

The man didn’t even have a cell phone? She opened her purse and handed him the slim, silver device.

His grin was pure devilish amusement as he punched in a number. “And a good day to you, Sara. Is Johnny around?”

“What are you doing?” She narrowed her eyes.

He smoothed his knuckles slowly down her cheek. “I’m taking care of the church and the preacher for tomorrow, Charlie. Think you can handle the rest?”

AARON RAISED HIS SHOT GLASS and clinked it against Johnny’s. “To a hundred grand,” he repeated Johnny’s toast and then chugged down the whiskey.

Raul Mendez, bartender and owner of the little waterfront, open-air dive, The Green Gecko, shook his head and scowled. “You really gonna go through with this?”

With three ex-wives, Raul looked a little sick at the thought.

“And she’s not even going to sleep with you?” Raul sloshed more whiskey into his glass and guzzled the contents in one swig.

“That pretty much sums it up.” Aaron grimaced, removed the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and stabbed it into an ashtray. “The sacrifices a man will make for his business.” He reached across the polished wood bar, grabbed the bottle, and poured himself another shot. “By this time tomorrow night, I’ll be a married man.” He tossed back the golden glass of courage. “Sexless marriage and money to fix my boat. What more could a guy ask for?”

Johnny shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You’ve finally met a woman you don’t want to bed and she’s the one you’ve decided to marry?”

“You make me sound like some gigolo, for God’s sake. The name of the game is money, and Charlotte Harrington has the money I need.”

“You don’t see anything wrong with marrying for money?” Raul asked.

“Women have been doing it for centuries. This is the new age. Equal rights and all that.” Aaron stared at the bartender. “Need I remind you why Rosa left your ass?”

Raul rubbed one hand across his forehead. “Money.”

“The root of all relationships, one way or another.”

“Make sure your lawyer looks over that prenup before you sign it,” Johnny advised. “From what I hear, Charlotte Harrington’s a cold-blooded businesswoman. You know the type. All work and no play.”

“Well, then maybe she won’t bother me too much during this circus.”

“Sí, she runs a tight ship, but Rosa says she’s a good boss,” Raul chimed in. “She says Senorita Harrington pays more than the other resorts and has good benefits.” He grabbed a towel from behind the bar and wiped down the polished surface. “Rosa thinks Senorita Harrington is lonely.” His eyes widened and he halted in midswipe. “Dios! Maybe she will enjoy having a man around and won’t give you a divorce!”

“I don’t have to worry about that.” Aaron chuckled. “I’m not Miss Haughty Harrington’s type. She’s champagne and caviar. I’m pretty much beer and pretzels.”

“I can picture you now bouncing a son on one knee and coddling a wee little daughter on the other,” Johnny said.

Aaron winced. “You got the wrong guy. I have no intention of contributing my defective gene pool to any urchins. For now, I plan to fix the Free Wind and concentrate on building the most successful charter business in the Keys, courtesy of the Ice Queen.” He raised his glass. “To weddings, my friends.”

“To weddings,” Johnny echoed.

Raul looked like he’d swallowed a rotten egg. “You gonna get frostbite.”

Aaron paid his tab and made his way back to his boat on foot. The smoky little bar wasn’t far from the slip where he docked the Free Wind and he needed some fresh air. Who was he kidding? He’d never even owned a car.

The night was balmy for early March, but a cool salty breeze rustled through the palm trees and fanned the hair off his neck.

God, he loved the Keys. Unspoiled by overdevelopment, far from Miami, a few exclusive resorts. Dressing for dinner meant putting on a shirt with buttons. He was his own boss. Nobody riding his case. Between the charter business and scuba instructing, he got by okay. At least he had until the past few months when his twenty-year-old engine had decided to play out. He could only wire it together for so long.

If Charlotte Harrington hadn’t been so desperate, the business would’ve been history. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. The kicker was he didn’t know how to do anything else.

Aaron stooped and picked up a small conch shell. He’d never thought of Charlie sexually. The lady was a workaholic. That hotel of hers ran as smooth as a perfectly tuned pair of twin turbos, but she didn’t seem to relax. He’d never heard anybody mention dating her or running into her at a club. Besides, her family owned a whole damn chain of hotels. She was so far above his reach the air she breathed was in a separate hemisphere.

He reared back his arm and lobbed the shell into the rolling Atlantic. The scorching summer afternoon he’d first met Ms. Harrington, she’d been wearing a navy suit with a silk blouse buttoned up to her chin. She’d stood out like a virgin in a whorehouse on the sweltering dock surrounded by people in shorts or swimsuits. How did she breathe in this tropical heat? But in three years, he’d never seen her look anything but calm, cool and collected.

Until this morning.

Grinding out his cigarette with his sneaker, he grinned. Charlie had squirmed when he’d put his hands on her today, as if his touch would soil her impeccable silk suit. Yet, her warm response to his kiss had been pretty damn willing.

What would cool, calm, collected Charlotte be like if she let her hair down? He’d never seen her thick dishwater-blond hair flowing free, not once. She always wore it twisted up in some French knot, or French braid, or French something. Man, her hair. It had to be long, and…

What was he thinking? He’d had too much to drink—and not near enough sex in the past few months.

Stepping across the gangplank onto the Free Wind, he climbed down the companionway to his cramped cuddy below deck and punched the switch on the radio.

He wasn’t going to miss sleeping on this bucket of bolts. A soft bed instead of a lumpy berth, a real bathroom instead of a closet he had to back into just to sit on the head, and best of all, funds to fix the Free Wind.

The reality started to sink in.

Flopping down on the berth, he listened to the ropes clanging against the mast of the sailboat in the next slip and tried to forget that this time tomorrow he’d be married. He linked his fingers behind his neck. But all he could picture was Charlie, sprawled across satin sheets, those long legs wrapped around him.

Had he lost his ever-loving mind?