Rescued by a Wedding: Texas Wedding / A Marriage Between Friends. Kathleen O'Brien
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black hair falling over his forehead. At least, that was how many times she could scan it in her head—and each time it sounded more ridiculous, with all that fake legalese mimicking wills and contracts she’d seen over the years.
And each time it sounded more damning. More unfair, and insulting. More like the dishonest swindle it was.
His knuckles were white. So were hers.
Breathe… Though her lungs felt like rusty bellows, she had to remember she needed air. Her head swam, and her ears rang. But she refused to do anything as pathetic as fainting.
Thank God she’d sent Nikki away for the summer. Nikki didn’t like Trent and, with the judgmental absolutism of the young, she’d made it clear that she thought the whole marriage-of-convenience idea was disgusting. Knowing it would be impossible to fight on two fronts, Susannah had found the cash for a special art school, managed to wrangle permission to take Nikki out of school a bit early to attend, and, just yesterday, had packed her little sister off.
Barely in the nick of time! Nikki acted tough, especially when she locked horns with Susannah, but it was a facade. No sixteen-year-old was tough enough to handle the hell that might break loose at Everly tonight.
It seemed an eternity before Trent raised his eyes again. When he finally did, the look she saw in them terrified her.
“Tell me this is your idea of a joke.”
“Of course it’s not.” She knew a dignified silence would be more powerful, but she suddenly couldn’t seem to stop talking. “It’s just common sense. No matter how careful we are, everyone knows that birth control isn’t one hundred percent reliable. We can’t allow our lives to be tangled up forever, with custody battles and court cases, just because we bought a faulty condom, or because—”
“Don’t pretend you’re stupid.” He held the paper between two fingers, as if he meant to flick it away at any moment. “You know this…this juvenile chicken scratch would never hold up in court.”
She raised her chin. “I disagree.”
“No, you don’t. You know it’s absurd. They’d laugh you out of court. But it won’t come to that, will it? Because you know damned well I’d never sign any such ridiculous document. Never.”
“You have to.”
“The hell I do. You made your deal with the devil, Susannah. You can’t renegotiate now.”
“I can.” She met his glacial blue gaze, but it made her shudder inside, as if she’d swallowed a stomachful of chipped ice. “I am renegotiating. I have had second thoughts. If you don’t sign that document, there will be no…no consummation.”
For a minute, he just stared at her. And then, with a sudden oath, he did flick the paper away. He moved toward her, roughly, all six-foot-two-inches of hard, half-naked muscle bearing down.
Every primitive instinct told her to run, but he blocked the way. She backed up on clumsy legs, knocking against the dresser, sending her earrings and wristwatch clanking to the wood floor.
He didn’t even seem to hear it. He just kept coming. Finally, she ran out of room, and her shoulder blades met the wall. He slammed the heels of his hands onto the plaster, just inches from each side of her head. His face was so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek.
“This is what you’d planned all along, isn’t it? What a fool I was, to think even for a minute that…” He set his jaw into a right angle of fury. “Right from the start, this was just a nasty game of bait and switch.”
“No. No, I just realized this afternoon—”
“The hell you did. Don’t give me that crap, Susannah. You’re not a fool, and neither am I. You never intended to keep your end of the bargain.”
She tried to deny it. But she couldn’t. Consciously, she’d meant what she said. But somewhere, deep inside, she had always been praying that she wouldn’t have to do this.
“Right.” He loaded the syllable with disdain. “But did you ever consider the possibility that your game might just backfire on you?”
“No—it wasn’t a game—how could it—”
He lowered his lips to her neck and spoke his next words against her skin. “Did it ever occur to you that I might decide not to just slink away with my tail between my legs? That I might decide to claim what’s due me?”
“No, that never occurred to me,” she lied, swallowing hard. “I trust you to be sensible, and—”
“You trust me?” He threw his head back, laughing harshly. “That’s a good one, sweetheart. According to that prenup, you don’t trust me with the dinner forks. And obviously you didn’t trust me not to bring a bucket of STDs to the marriage bed, either.”
He bent his elbows slightly, and tilted his body toward her, just close enough that the heat and the pressure reminded her how powerful he was. He’d always been tall, even as a teen, with the promise of potency to come. But this was a man’s body, with all the promises fulfilled.
She tried to go numb. She didn’t want to feel the angles of his hips against hers. She didn’t want to be aware of the muscles in his legs, rippling with tension. She didn’t want to remember how this same body had once covered hers with tenderness.
“You obviously believe I’m an immoral bastard—and eleven years ago you told me I was a murderer, too.” His rough voice scraped her nerves. “What would stop a man like that from asserting his conjugal rights…with whatever force it required?”
“Nothing.” She pressed her head against the wall, struggling to create distance. “You’re obviously stronger than I am, Trent. Nothing can stop you except your own conscience.”
But did he have one? And what about her conscience? She had agreed to a sexual relationship, in exchange for this marriage. If she could anesthetize her conscience, perhaps he could do the same.
For a minute, she thought he might. He let his body press forward even farther, until the granite of his chest met her breasts. His heat scorched through her nightgown. Too fast for her to react, he thrust his knee between her legs and cocked it up, pressing it hard against the aching spot at the apex of her thighs.
She twisted against the wall, trying to escape both him and the hot desire that traitorously shot through her. Perhaps she wasn’t strong enough to prevent this, but she could fight. She didn’t have to make it easy for him. She pushed against his chest with her palms, but she might as well have been trying to move a mountain.
He let her squirm for a moment, just long enough for her to realize how helpless she truly was. And then, without warning, he stepped away.
If she hadn’t been propped up by the wall, she might have fallen. Her breath was coming so fast, it was as if she’d been running for hours.
He, on the other hand, looked as cool and contemptuous as ever. He picked up his shirt and began walking toward the door.
When he put his hand on the knob, he turned.
“It’s not my conscience stopping me,” he said, looking her over with a cool appraisal that somehow managed to be as insulting as if he’d spit in her face. “It’s my standards. I don’t much care for liars, or frigid, manipulative bitches. The truth is, sweetheart, you’re not worth it.”
CHAPTER TWO
YEARS AGO, Trent had learned that there’s no frustration, no pain or fury, no mental monster of any kind, that can’t be tamed by a treadmill—assuming you go fast enough and stay on it long enough.
This morning, with Susannah’s double cross less than twelve hours behind him, he’d logged about ten miles on the gym’s machine before he felt even seminormal. He started Mile One with his cell phone in his hand, fingers itching to call a lawyer,