Suiteheart Of A Deal: Suiteheart Of A Deal / My Place Or Yours?

Beck sauntered into the kitchen and looked around for the kettle. Dammit, where had Rainey put the stupid thing? If they couldn’t manage a pot of tea, how were they going to manage a marriage and a renovation?

After a tedious search, he finally found it, along with the tea bags. Standing at the sink, he overheard the women chatting amiably about the weather, and Rainey’s dress—so flattering!—and her new responsibilities. And, of course, the Women of the Wapiti. Rainey simply would have to join the club as soon as possible. They needed some young blood.

Leaning against the counter, Beck took a deep breath. Good Lord, how were they going to broach the subject of the marriage? And how about that five-day engagement, huh? Hell, in Flo’s day, two years were considered scandalous. No doubt about it, the old girl was going to be appalled. Not to mention highly suspicious. After all, she was the trustee. She controlled the cash—and Beck along with it.

As the kettle began to whistle, his conscience finally kicked in. Man alive, how could he lie to his own grandmother? What kind of cad did that? Of course, he rationalized, he wasn’t really lying. Not totally, anyway. He was attracted to Rainey and he did, for whatever warped reason, want to marry her.

Summoning all the courage he could muster, he went into the living room, sat down across from the women, and cleared his throat. They stopped chattering and stared expectantly at him.

“Ah, Grandma,” he began, his throat suddenly dry, his palms sweating, “Rainey and I have something to tell you. We’ve, ah, we’ve…” Desperate, he glanced at Rainey for help, but she looked away and nervously licked her lips. “We’ve—we’re—we’ve decided to marry!” He braced himself for the explosion.

It didn’t come.

Instead, before his very eyes, Florence Mahoney’s funny little face lit up like a neon sign and she gasped—with sheer delight. “Oh, my, now isn’t that just the best news I have ever heard! Let me be the first to congratulate both of you.”

“Wh-whaaat…?” Beck stammered.

“Thank you.” Rainey’s green eyes widened in disbelief. From behind Flo’s back she locked eyes with Beck, shook her head slightly and silently mouthed words he couldn’t decipher. He had warned her to expect the worst. Now she was just as baffled as he was.

“Um, as you know,” Beck blundered on, “we met just a few days ago….”

“Oh, don’t bother to explain,” Flo urged with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It must have been love at first sight. How wonderfully, delightfully romantic!”

Okay, Beck was thunderstruck now. How many times had she warned him that there was no such thing as love at first sight? About a million times, that’s how many.

Flo made a big show of checking her watch. “Oh, my, would you just look at the time.” In defiance of her advanced years, she sprang to her feet like an athlete and sprinted for the door. “I have to run along now, children. The club is meeting tonight to plan the winter festival.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Rainey called out to her retreating back.

“It was lovely to meet you, too, dear,” Flo replied.

The moment he closed the door behind her, Beck spun around and whispered harshly, “I don’t get it! Something funny is going on here.”

“I know,” Rainey said. “You’re bleeding.”

6

“WHO HAS THE RINGS?”

The marriage of Rainey Ann Miller, only child of Laura and Jonathan Miller of Toronto, to Beckett Lee Mahoney, youngest child of Martha and Earl Mahoney of Edmonton, took place at 4:00 p.m. on the third Saturday in September, in Rainey’s apartment. The bride wore beige silk. The groom wore gray flannel. There were no flowers and no bridesmaids. There would be no babies, and definitely no minivan.

Charles T. Longhorn, chief commissioner of the town of Bragg Creek, officiated. Freda Norman and Hollis Harriman, also of Bragg Creek, served as witnesses. When Mr. Longhorn asked if anyone present could say why this young couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, Rainey and Beck simultaneously spun around and glared at the witnesses.

Withering under their collective heat, Mrs. Norman and her twitching sidekick struggled to maintain straight faces. Hollis quickly lost the battle and collapsed into a fit of giggles. Scowling, Mrs. Norman jabbed him in the ribs. “Get a grip there, Holly!” As he doubled over in pain, a little smile tugged at the corner of her own lips.

“Who has the rings?” Mr. Longhorn asked again. Beck fished in his pocket for the plain gold bands they had hastily purchased that morning at the local jewelry shop. Fumbling slightly, they managed to get them on.

When Mr. Longhorn announced, “You may now kiss the bride,” Rainey turned nervously toward Beck. Make it good, her eyes told him. People are watching. In truth, she didn’t care who was present. If ever she had an excuse to kiss Beck, this was definitely it.

All too happy to oblige, he put his arms around her and drew her close. She followed suit. While the others smiled benevolently, they joined lips, gently at first, then insistently. Beck’s right hand came up to cup the back of her head, and his tongue snaked into her mouth. Rainey moaned softly. Oblivious of their bug-eyed audience, they let the kiss go on for a very long time.

At one point, Beck actually pulled back for air, then, moaning and whispering gibberish, kissed her again, even more deeply than the first time.

Out of patience, the commissioner cleared his throat and solemnly intoned, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

The bride and groom ignored him. They were drowning in the depths of something so strong, so powerful, that when they finally did pull away, it left them both panting and trembling.

“Wow!” Beck exclaimed. “Maybe we should get married again tomorrow!”

In the front of her mind, Rainey thought, Hmm, now that’s a kiss. In the back, she thought: Take that, Trevor! You rat!

After the ceremony, Mr. Longhorn offered best wishes for a long and happy life together, which prompted another round of giggles, then showed himself out. Mrs. Norman and a still-twittering Hollis went back to work. Alone with Beck, Rainey suddenly grew self-conscious.

“Well,” she stammered, avoiding his eyes, “I guess it’s time to clear out of here.” She walked into the bedroom and began to gather her loose things. As she was dropping them into the biggest of her two suitcases, Beck leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms.

“So,” he said, utterly, predictably, true to form, “we’re on our honeymoon.”

Rainey looked up sharply. She had been expecting this little scene—though not quite this soon. “Oh, no, we’re not, Beck Mahoney. This is strictly a business arrangement. You know that.”

“Hmmm.” He went on watching her, his eyes sliding provocatively over every inch of her. Rainey could feel them undressing her, even from across the room. Goose bumps formed on her skin.

“You know, I’m not opposed to mixing business with pleasure,” he said quietly.

Okay, that was enough. “Look Beck, we made a deal. Separate bedrooms. You agreed.”

He snorted. “Well, I don’t know, Rainey. I mean, agreed is a pretty strong word. I went along with it. I’ll give you that.”

“Uh-huh, and you’re going to continue to go along with it.”

“Tell me you’re not attracted to me,” he teased.

With an exasperated sigh, Rainey closed the suitcase, picked it up and walked toward him. “Beck, there isn’t a woman alive who isn’t attracted to you.”

He wagged a finger at her. “That’s not an answer.” He took the suitcase from her and set it down behind him, barricading both of them into the room.

Hands on hips, she stared him down. “Okay, then, I’m not attracted to you.”

“Liar.” He grinned.

“I am not lying!” Actually, as much as Rainey resisted the idea, she was attracted to him. Hopelessly. But so were nine-tenths of the women around here. And, attraction could be a deadly thing. Nobody knew that better than she did.

He nodded toward the living room. “We generated a little heat in there, Rainey. You felt it, too. I know you did.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Was there no limit to his arrogance? Maybe they shouldn’t have just plunged into this thing. Maybe, in addition to the prenuptial agreement Nate Frome had drafted, they should have drawn up another contract. One that spelled out the guidelines. Defined the parameters. Laid down the rules. Of course, how could they? As far as Nate and everyone else was concerned, there were no rules.

More importantly, hadn’t she asked Beck to play easy with her heart?

Fighting tears, she said, “I’m lonely, Beck. I’m in a new town and I don’t have any friends here. I’ve got a new job, and I don’t even know if I can do it. And I got married today, to a man I hardly know.”