Winning Back His Bride. Teresa Southwick
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felt the very first time he’d seen her and knew he had to have her. Her smile could drop a man’s IQ into the idiot range and he’d been no exception. Her sleeveless white dress caressed every luscious curve of the body he’d once caressed, the body that had held and lost his child. He still carried that pain; he always would.
He was used to success; Geneva had been his first failure. He hadn’t asked for the attraction that had turned him inside out, but a lot of things happened in his life that he hadn’t asked for. He’d slipped up by letting her become important. He hadn’t gotten where he was by making the same mistake twice.
If only she wasn’t so damn beautiful. If only she hadn’t walked out. If only he didn’t still want her with the same intensity as the first time he’d seen her. But he was working on that. The success of the Towers had forced him into keeping her around, but he intended to use the situation to his advantage. They would spend time together and when the dust settled, he would feel nothing for her.
The elevator doors opened, then closed again when he didn’t step inside. He watched Geneva stop and study the three-dimensional display of his residential tower project.
He crossed the lobby and stood beside her. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Here I am,” she said, glancing up at him. “Are you checking up on me?”
“Do I need to?”
“Only you can answer that.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I forgot to inform you that it was a working lunch.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I was looking at chapels.”
“And?”
“I made an executive decision and ruled out the drive-through Elvis chapel, the Liberace Museum, a houseboat on Lake Mead, or the hot air balloon over the Strip.”
Her sarcasm let him know what she thought of his micromanaging. He had a momentary flicker of admiration for her sassiness, then shut it down. “Good decision. The balloon would certainly pose some logistical challenges.”
“No kidding. My fear of heights for one.”
When her full lips curved into a tight smile that unleashed her dimples, he felt the blood drain from his brain and head for points south. Then her words sank in.
“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights.”
“Yeah.” She shuddered. “Anyway, I still have a list of places to check out. When I narrow it down, I’ll let Teri know. And you, of course.”
“Good.”
She stared at him for several moments, before her gaze skittered away. “Well, lunch is over,” she said, then started across the lobby.
He fell into step beside her as she walked to the elevators and pushed the up button.
She glanced at him. “You said you were looking for me.”
He nodded and slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Teri told me about you repaying the wedding costs.”
She looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”
“Dex just told her. He’s the money guy and he holds a grudge.”
“Is he the only one?”
“If you’re asking whether or not I have feelings of resentment, the answer is no.”
A flat-out lie. He knew because of the satisfaction and enjoyment he felt at keeping her guessing. And other feelings? Definitely he had feelings—resentment, revenge, regret—topping the list.
Geneva watched him carefully, as if she were searching for a sign of his sincerity. “Good,” she said, nodding. “No hard feelings.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors whispered open. Geneva stepped inside and Michael joined her. What was it about being alone with this woman in an elevator that made him want to pull her into his arms? And why still this woman? At the moment, lust trumped revenge.
He could smell her perfume and remembered the scent that always made him want to taste the hollow just below her ear. It was a dangerous thought and not exactly the way this plan of his was supposed to work.
“Why did you pay me back for the wedding? It didn’t happen.”
“That’s why.”
“Meaning?” he asked, irritated.
She sighed. “It was my fault, Michael. I had doubts and they didn’t just surface the day of the ceremony. I should have called everything off before—” She stopped and caught her top lip between her teeth. “Before I did. Before we lost more than just the deposits.”
“I don’t need the money.”
“But I needed to pay it back.”
“So it’s about you?”
“If that’s the way you want to look at it. Yes, I didn’t go through with the ceremony. Yes, there were a lot of people who saw me not go through with it. Yes, the reporters pestered us mercilessly to find out why. Definitely I’m sorry I put you through all of the above. But no way would I let you foot the bill for my mistake and somehow use it against me.”
He was stunned that she’d believe such a thing. “Did I ever give you reason to think I would do that?”
“We weren’t together all that long, Michael. I don’t know if you would. However, I do know some people would.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter.” When her purse strap slid down her arm, she settled it more firmly on her shoulder. “The point is, I chose to stop the wedding. And there was fallout from the decision.”
“Decisions have a way of biting you in the ass.”
“Yeah. Decisions.” She met his gaze and hers was filled with the hurt she struggled to hide with anger. “And I’ll tell you how you’ll know I won’t walk out on my responsibilities to you. I mortgaged my condo to pay you back. I need the job. And I don’t turn my back on the hard stuff.”
“Neither do I.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“Not in so many words, but the implication is there.”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything. No one knows better than me that you do the right thing.” The elevator stopped on the floor housing the executive suites and she stepped out. “But sometimes, Michael, the right thing can be a mistake.”
He watched her walk away, puzzled by what she’d said. How could doing the right thing ever be a mistake?
Wasn’t he working with her for the good of the project? So far that decision was biting him in the ass. Doing the right thing was pushing his desire into the danger zone.
CHAPTER THREE
GENEVA grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, then stepped into the outer office where her assistant was typing up notes.
“Chloe?”
“Yes, boss?” Chloe Milton was a blue-eyed redhead with a freckle-splashed nose and sass to spare.
“I’m going to be out of the office this afternoon.”
“I got your note. Too bad you’re not playing hooky. Or, better yet, playing with fire.”
That only happened when Michael was around, Geneva thought. And he wouldn’t be. She planned to sneak out before he could drop in and demand to know if the chapels had pews, chairs or picnic tables.
She hadn’t seen him for a week, not since she’d told him doing the right thing can be a mistake. An army of psychiatrists would have a field day figuring out that remark. Michael Sullivan?