Gorgeous Grooms: Her Stand-In Groom / Her Wish-List Bridegroom / Ordinary Girl, Society Groom. Jackie Braun
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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.
“Nothing. It’s not important.”
He stopped at the top of the stairs. “Tell me.”
“I just realized that it’s a good thing I sold most of my furniture before my wed—in July. I don’t have much to move now.”
“Whatever you want to bring to my house I’ll make room for. I’ll hire movers first thing tomorrow.”
Brisk, efficient, impersonal. They were discussing their living arrangements, and yet they might as well have been discussing the weather.
He turned to the right. The upstairs, she realized, was broken into two wings, separated by a long hall that offered a view of the great room below.
“I think you’ll find this room acceptable. If you need more closet space, the room next to it also has a walk-in.”
He opened the door, and all Catherine saw was the queen-sized bed. Liberace’s words came back. This was their wedding night. Or it had been. Now, it was after midnight and they were back to being two strangers, albeit two strangers who shared a last name.
“Goodnight, Catherine.”
“It’s morning,” she pointed out, and then smiled as a thought occurred to her. “And it’s your birthday. Happy birthday, Stephen.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand, but when she would have let go he held on, using it to draw her closer.
“You looked beautiful today, by the way.”
Her heart fluttered ridiculously at the compliment.
“It wasn’t a designer original this time.”
“It didn’t need to be.”
He leaned down, hovered for a moment as if in indecision. Finally, he kissed her cheek.
“Should you need anything, my room is the first one to the left of the stairs.”
“See you in the morning,” she said.
She closed the door and then stood there with her hand on the knob, wondering about the man she had just married. Wondering if they would be friends when their year ended and they went their separate ways. Wondering how she was going to explain her hasty nuptials to her family, and what the press would have to say. Wondering if she’d just made the mistake of a lifetime.
And wondering why, despite all of her concerns, she felt an undeniable shimmer of excitement.
Stephen was not home when Catherine awoke the following morning. It was barely half past nine, and yet when she followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen she found only a note.
I’ll contact the movers today. Coffee might be a little strong for your taste. There’s cream in the fridge and sugar in the cupboard next to the stove. S.
Hardly a love letter, she thought, bemused.
After her first eye-opening sip of coffee, she decided to take him up on the offer of cream. Then, leaning back against the cupboard, she glanced around the kitchen. It was a generously proportioned room, with state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, dark cherry cabinets, and a built-in nook with bench seating. A large window over the sink looked out into a beautifully landscaped yard. The room was functional and yet somehow looked cozy. She decided she liked it best of any room in the house.
“You must be Catherine.”
Startled, she turned and found a woman of about sixty standing in the doorway. She wore a dark uniform dress that zipped up the front, and she held a couple of grocery bags, which she now set on the butcher-block island. Catherine had detected a lyrical cadence to her voice when she spoke and, based on her dark coloring, she decided the