I Don't Want to be Married Page 10

  “You chose Allan for a reason . . .” He raised both hands to stop her from interrupting. “Even if they were the wrong ones. Someone must be looking out for you. Mr. Smith could’ve sued your ass, but he didn’t. He offered you a compromise. I don’t agree with him. He made a good point, however.”

  “A compromise? You call having a one-night stand a compromise? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Now, calm down, he’s your husband after all. Who knows, you might find him to your liken’. Your grandfather’s wish was for you to find someone to love. I want you to experience real love, too.”

  She met Sam’s eyes. “You’re the only one left who I love. Loving someone means you can get hurt. I loved my parents and they died. I loved Grandpa Rodney and he’s gone too. You’re gonna live forever.”

  “Rosalind, Allan isn’t like Tom. I know a gentleman when I see one, city boy or cowboy. He might not want a commitment, but all men are womanizers to a point. They love women, then either leave or stay. They don’t get their reputation for nothing. Believe it or not, I’ve left behind my fair share of women. Never wanted to be tied down either,” he said and laid his hand on her arm.

  As Rosalind considered Sam’s admission, a new plan formed.

  “I’ll agree to your terms. After the deed is done I can send Mr. Prick home with his taste of sugar. I can’t let the horses suffer any longer than I’m capable of allowing.”

  She smiled and angled her hat back further on her head. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have to have sex with Allan, it was the marriage thing. She’d been thinking a lot about Allan’s kisses since Las Vegas. It didn’t mean she’d give in to him easily. Two could play the sexual game. She could make his life a living hell of unsatisfied lust.

  “Good, it’s settled. Let’s go inside.” Sam wheezed and hacked, covering his mouth.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to see the doctor?”

  “Yeah, I still have cough medicine from the last time. I’ll take it after dinner.”

  “All right, but if it’s not any better in a day, I’ll make the appointment for you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You have a husband to think about.”

  I sure do and he’s going to regret it.

  Together they walked from Dawn’s stall. Sam shut and bolted the door, and held out his hand.

  “To reiterate our deal. Mr. Smith has one year to convince you to consummate the marriage. If it doesn’t happen, you’ll deed the land to me to pay off the amount of money you illegally obtained. I’ll hold on to the land until you reach your thirtieth birthday. At that time, I’ll deed it back to you.”

  “Deal.”

  She shook his hand with an ear-to-ear smile. She was going to enjoy teasing Mr. Smith, the good-looking, heart-stopping kisser with a gorgeous body. And the best part, putting him to work as a ranch hand. She’d be the winner both ways and he’d become the loser.

  Chapter 14

  A pungent, spicy aroma drifted into Allan’s room, engulfing him in the mouthwatering smell. He stretched, realizing he’d fallen asleep waiting for Rosalind and Sam to return after their desertion. A loud grumbling noise emitted from his stomach. He checked his watch, startled to see it was past five-thirty.

  No wonder I’m famished.

  Checking his phone revealed no bars. He moved toward the window and got one bar, plus three missed calls and voicemails. Sliding the bar across the screen, the No Service reappeared. He held the phone higher. Still nothing.

  Frustrated, he slipped his phone into his pocket and opened the bedroom door. His nose led him to the kitchen where he paused at the display of unbound spontaneity from Rosalind, at the stove and singing.

  Shit. She’s beautiful. Nice ass.

  He blinked and adjusted his jeans. The country western song complemented the tone of her voice. As the chorus started, Rosalind turned and stopped in mid-word. Their eyes met.

  Allan swallowed. His appetite changed from food to an undeniable desire to pull her close. An apron decorated with roosters was tied around her small waist. Her long, rich brown hair framed her face, pushed behind her ears. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove.

  Had he walked into a Hallmark movie? How could this woman get him all heated up whenever he looked at her?

  He cleared his throat.

  “Do you have enough for company?”

  Rosalind clicked off the radio and hastily smoothed her hair. “Oh yeah, I was about to come get you.” She took in his changed appearance. “I see you packed jeans.”

  “These are Balmain. I wear them on casual days at the office.”

  An easy smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, designer jeans, not Wranglers.”

  “Wrangler jeans? Do they still make them?”

  “You’re not a Gap kind of guy, I take it.”

  His shocked look expressed it all. She couldn’t keep the grin from widening. He still sported his white oxford shirt with only the top button open and tucked into his jeans.

  “The smell is wonderful.” He inhaled and placed his hand over his stomach. “What are you cooking?”

  “It’s chili night,” Rosalind replied.

  A beeping sound interrupted any further conservation. With an oven mitt, she removed a tray of cornbread from the oven.

  “Let me help.”

  Allan quickly moved two potholders that were on the countertop closer together. She placed the hot tray on them. His body brushed hers, sending sparks of excitement through her. Rosalind deliberately moved to the sink. He followed and to stop him, she opened the silverware drawer.

  “I’m sorry for slapping you. It was wrong of me.”

  “You have a powerful swing.”

  “Well, I am a cowgirl.” She inhaled, held her breath for a moment, and then exhaled. “Maybe we should start over. If I want to keep my inheritance to buy the land, I have to be nice to you. But you’ll have to give me time and space. I’m not . . . not the kind of woman . . . I mean . . . I don’t sleep around.”

  Lost in the depth of the blueness of his eyes, Rosalind leaned in, like a moth drawn to a flame, willing his lips to smoother hers. He shoved the drawer shut, laid his hand on her waist, drawing her to him, and her eyes closed in anticipation.

  “Is dinner ready? I’m hungry enough to eat my shirt.”

  At Sam’s abrupt intrusion, Rosalind stepped away from Allan, opening the cabinet door to use as a shield.

  “Yup, setting the table.”

  Allan put as much space as possible between himself and Rosalind while she positioned herself next to the refrigerator. Sexual tension filled the air as Sam took a seat at the table.

  Fuck. The old man’s timing is bad. Twice he’s ruined my advances.

  “Good evening, Mr. Smith. I see you’ve found your way to the kitchen. Rosalind is a damn good cook.” Sam sighed and patted his protruding belly. “Her chili has won first place the last five years at the county fair.”

  “I can hardly wait to sample it.” Allan glanced at Rosalind, who gave him the cold shoulder as she efficiently moved around the kitchen.

  “I’m not a betting man, but I’ll place a wager you’ll have to be getting new clothes before ya leave. You’ll be adding on pounds for sure,” Sam chuckled. “Come sit next to me.”

  Allan joined Sam in a quiet laugh and took the empty chair. Rosalind placed the pot of chili on the table along with the cornbread. She chose the seat across from him.

  Sam carried on a lively conversation throughout dinner. Allan listened with mixed interest as Sam reminisced about a young Rosalind, her trials of barrel racing, and days spent at the rodeos. He caught her staring at him. She looked away first. The more he learned about his wife, the more he felt like a total cad and wished he hadn’t instructed Tiffany to buy the la
nd Rosalind wanted so ardently.

  He should’ve unconditionally signed the goddamn divorce papers. Simply mailed them to her. How do I back out gracefully?

  He tapped his fingers on the table in exasperation. When he hadn’t known anything about her, he’d simply wanted to bed the Rodeo Queen and leave. She would’ve been a night of sex in the dark. A one-night stand, but now it wouldn’t be right.

  How had his plan fallen apart in the last few hours? For Christ’s sake, he felt like a heel. Tiffany was right again.

  “Excuse me, I’m gonna take my coffee to my room. The two of you need time alone.” Sam’s chortle caused him to hack and wheeze on his way out.

  “Goodnight, sir.”

  “Night,” Rosalind grumbled.

  Allan followed her lead and cleared the table.

  “I’ll help with the dishes. I’m not a very good cook. But I do know my way around a kitchen.”

  “I can handle it on my own.” She kept her eyes averted from his.

  “No, I insist, as repayment for dinner. It was the best chili I’ve ever tasted.”

  “There is no dishwasher.”

  “By hand it is, then.” He turned on the water, filled the sink, and rolled up his sleeves.

  While they worked together neither said anything, but the friction thickened. Running water and the clatter of dishes were the only sounds. All of a sudden, Rosalind wiped her hands on a towel, put her hands on her hips, and faced him.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I got you into this mess. Will you be able to take time off from work? ‘Cause I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be honoring our wedding night festivities.”

  “I own the company,” Allan pointed out. “I have as much time as I need. Do you have Wi-Fi? The 4G on my phone is slow.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you the code.”

  He drained the sink and dried his hands, then walked to the cleaned table and took a seat. “Rosalind, sit down. We have to discuss the mess we’re in. Our only solution is to have sex. We are adults. We should be able to enjoy our encounter.”

  “Don’t you get it? I will not have sex with you. Sleep with you. Or have you touch me.”

  Allan took no heed to her outburst. “Sam’s trumped us both. You’re in a no-win scenario. If we don’t, you’ll have a houseguest until our anniversary. And if I ask for an annulment, you’re screwed either way.” Unable to hide his amusement, he rocked the chair on two legs.

  “Funny guy. I suggest you keep your day job.”

  She poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of him. He sobered for a moment. None of his past girlfriends, including Katherine, would’ve brought him coffee, but it was Rosalind’s way of life to be thoughtful. Something he’d never been accustomed to.

  “I talked myself into sleeping with you, but I can’t. We’re strangers. I told Sam I’d return the money, plus the line of credit the bank offered to me. You won’t have to stay around for our anniversary.” Rosalind sank into her chair, twisting the towel she held on her lap.

  Contemplating her request, Allan weighed the options and outcomes. The pie chart in his mind was heavy on one side. She’d offered him a simple solution.

  Get out quick when the going is good, as I do with stock.

  “Nice offer . . .” He stopped as he caught the slight upward turn of her lips.

  Damn. She was playing him at his own game.

  “It’s settled then, right? You can leave in the morning,” she murmured.

  He drummed his fingers on the table. He’d almost handed everything to her on a silver platter. No way, honey, I’m sticking around. No one got away with making Allan Smith look like a fool twice even if that person was a woman with a tempting mouth. Yet he couldn’t resist.

  “I like people who are straightforward. I also like my women to be willing when I make love to them. You see, I’m a breast and thigh man.” The chair screeched as he moved to face her. Testing her, he placed his hand on her thigh. The heat of her body encouraged him to slide his hand around to the inside of her leg. “I love to feel that smooth skin beneath my fingers.”

  “Take your hands off me, you sleazy snake,” Rosalind growled.

  In the blink of an eye she’d reached across the table, grabbed the butter knife, and pressed it against his exposed throat. Allan stretched his neck to move away from the threatening cold metal.

  She moved it closer.

  Through gritted teeth, Rosalind repeated, “Take your hand off me. Now. Do it or you’ll regret ever touching me.”

  “I’ve never used butter in foreplay before.”

  She pushed the knife against his skin. He removed his hand. She studied his facial expression, forcing herself not to react with anything he could identify as desire.

  “I’m not into bondage, but if you insist . . .” Allan began.

  To her shock, he gripped her wrist and pushed away the knife. He stood, seized her other hand. The knife fell to the table. She craned her neck to stare at him.

  “This could’ve been easy. One night. Take it or leave it. I won’t force you. You’ll come willingly, which is one wager I’ll easily make. I’m ready for the long haul. Even if I have to live in this two by four you call a house. I have the time. Do you, Ice Queen?”

  She heard his voice change from sternness to desire. Her arms now behind her back, she was nestled against his body. Before she knew it his face was inches from hers.

  Oh, my.

  He was going to kiss her.

  Her arms imprisoned, Rosalind couldn’t do anything. She thought of turning away, but didn’t. Her lips met his surprisingly soft kiss. She willed herself not to react. He applied more pressure. Her insides flopped like a bunch of tumbleweed, twisting and turning.

  Any thoughts of what was right or wrong faded. She relaxed and enjoyed his kiss. Rosalind closed her eyes to block out the desire she could see in his face.

  Allan knew the signs of a woman letting down her defenses. He took advantage and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Their tongues now battled a different kind of fight. Releasing one of her arms, he slid his hand into her hair, pulling her closer. The kiss went on and on.

  A sudden jarring noise from upstairs broke them apart. He freed her other arm and tenderly placed his hand on her cheek. He brushed his thumb across her swollen lips.

  “Spend the night with me. I know you want to. I’ll be gentle.”

  “Please move away from me,” she panted.

  With much regret, Allan did.

  “I can’t do what you want. I’m not that type of girl.”

  “Okay, we’ll take it slow. Tomorrow is another day.” He sank back into the chair and linked his hands together behind his head.

  “I have an early appointment tomorrow,” she announced in a low voice and folded her hands on her lap. “Everything’s gotten way out of hand. I don’t know what to think anymore. My plan sounded so simple. I never imagined it wouldn’t work. I never thought anyone would get hurt.” Tears formed in her eyes.

  He hadn’t expected tears from her, but for some reason seeing them in her eyes struck a chord of protectiveness in him. He stroked her arm. “You’ve made my astuteness problematical. Done damage to my firm. Nevertheless, both will survive at a cost. What we need to do is conclude our dealings so we can get on with our lives. I’m ready to go to Florida so I can thaw out. This godforsaken state is damned cold.”

  She laughed. “Thanks for your practicality. I can’t make you wait for the annulment. I don’t think I could handle you around twenty-four-seven for any length of time, City Boy. The sooner you leave, the better.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  What she said made sense. They’d both win. He’d be able to manage the press she couldn’t.

  “We can talk to Sam tomorrow.
Maybe he’ll agree to the annulment early,” Rosalind mused.

  Allan stood and held out his hand to her. Shaking her head, she stood, pushing her hair from her face, shoving her hand in her back pocket.

  They stared at each other. Mentally he tried to figure out why she had a hold on him. His gut feeling told him this was bad business from the beginning, but he’d almost given her everything. Unheard of in his book, a woman saying no.

  The quicker he left, the better.

  “Good enough, we’ll talk to him in the morning.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  In slow motion he followed, telling himself not to stare at the movement of her hips.

  Neither said a word. She headed to the stairs, and he went down the hall to his room, lost in his own private realm of inner turmoil.

  Chapter 15

  Voices and the smell of recently brewed coffee lured Rosalind toward the kitchen as she entered the house. Unzipping her parka, she hung it on the coat rack. Her nine o’clock meeting with Mr. Kennedy and his explosive announcement echoed in her mind. She found an old napkin in her coat pocket and wiped her eyes.

  Can’t show defeat. Be strong.

  From the kitchen doorway, she saw Sam and Allan at the table. They looked like best friends, talking and enjoying coffee. About to turn away, she spotted her file of abused horses between them. Suppressed fury surfaced. “I’ve been calling the landline and your cell phone, Sam.”

  Both men peered over their shoulders and stared at her.

  “It hasn’t rung, and I don’t have my cell phone on since I’m at home,” Sam said.

  She took the cordless phone from the counter. Dead silence. Shaking her head, Rosalind placed the handset in its cradle and watched until the red light indictor came on.