I Don't Want to be Married Read online

“You’re right. I’ll call you later once I’ve talked to Mrs. Smith. I’ll return Tuesday.”

  “Take my advice, sign the papers. You don’t want to provoke her. Remember the saying about a woman scorned.”

  Allan sneered. He’d been the wrong person at the wrong place. A quick and short marriage wouldn’t have been a problem to a plain Joe, except he wasn’t a plain Joe. She had no idea who she’d royally screwed with.

  “I wouldn’t be here, Tiffany, if you’d been able to make the actual marriage cease to exist. The damage’s been done. I can’t reverse time. I have to live with the consequences. Got to go. Talk to you later.”

  He pushed disconnect. The GPS announced forty miles to reach his destination.

  Rosalind Smith, aka Dunne, was about to be taught a lesson. Not to meddle with Allan Smith.

  Time to even the score. How can I make her life miserable?

  “Turn left in one mile,” GPS announced.

  All his life, he’d been one step ahead of the other guy until this chick trounced him at his own game of using people. The more he thought about it, the more furious he became. A woman had gotten the best of him.

  Would she turn the tables once she discovered his net worth? Fuck. I don’t want to be married.

  How would she react when he arrived at her doorstep with the unsigned divorce papers? If she refused to have sex, he’d stay for a while in this frozen tundra and force her to live together as man and wife.

  Childish? Yes, but I don’t care. Retribution is a bitch.

  “Your destination is ahead on the left in two miles.”

  It was a sound plan. He excelled at making people regret crossing him. He could provide Rosalind with a resume full of statements from past girlfriends, clients, and employees. In New York and around the financial industries, he proudly wore the ‘Terminator Ass’ title.

  Allan mindlessly tapped his finger—which sported the shiny ring—on the steering wheel as he drove closer to his own hell.

  Chapter 8

  Rosalind halted the brush on Dawn’s neck in mid-stroke. The hum of an engine from outside the barn caught her attention. She strained to hear voices. Her arm finished its downward motion when the sound of a door slamming made her pause. Her eyebrows drew together. She wasn’t expecting anyone other than the FedEx truck, which had a loud engine.

  She waited another moment. No one came into the barn, so she continued to move the brush over Dawn’s girth and down her haunch in easy strokes. Sam’s voice, and another she didn’t recognize, drifted into the barn. In the middle of an upward brush stroke, the great barn door opened. Rosalind straightened and turned.

  “Sorry, girl.” She patted Dawn, opened the stall door, and stepped into the middle of the barn.

  Who had Sam allowed into her private domain?

  The sun obscured her vision, and she used her hand as a shield. A tall figure in a black coat, driving gloves, and sunglasses advanced toward her.

  “Good morning, Rosalind honey. I brought the papers to you personally.”

  She almost tossed her cookies when the man spoke.

  Allan Smith? Here?

  Pulling off her work gloves, she swiped at her bangs. She ventured closer, out of the offending sun, to scrutinize the man whose voice could make her knees go weak. He looked better than a wild stallion, in his expensive overcoat in the middle of the dusty and putrid barn, standing out like a can of red paint in a white room.

  “Mr. Smith, coming here wasn’t necessary. FedEx would have worked.” She widened her stance challengingly.

  An uncomfortable silence lingered inside the barn as they stared at each other. She saw he held the brown envelope she’d mailed to him. Her false confidence faded. Rosalind shifted from one foot to the other, not sure what to do or say.

  From the corner of her eye she spotted movement. Sam leaned against the wall with his arms folded, wearing a knowing smirk.

  Well, he’d warned her not to mess with Mother Nature.

  She switched her gaze from Sam to Allan as he closed the space between them. He held out the envelope with a smile etched on his handsome face. Suspicious something wasn’t right, she took it, tore open the seal, and scanned the papers.

  Nothing was signed.

  “What the heck?”

  “Rosalind, love of my life, I’m home. I’ve decided being married has its advantages. Most women call me a Don Juan. I’ve come to claim my husbandly rights. It will be a joy to have a woman around twenty-four-seven to tell what to do. Night and day. Day and night.”

  “No way, City Boy. You said you’d sign them,” she declared and held the papers out to him.

  “I changed my mind. If you want those papers signed, you’ll do what I want. Or there’s this thing called an annulment. If we never had our night of bliss, you’ll have to return your inheritance, now won’t you?”

  “When pigs fly!” Rosalind yelled, threw her gloves down, and stomped her booted foot.

  Dirt, hay, and other barn floor detritus flew onto his shiny black shoes.

  “Maybe I should say, checkmate instead.”

  She shook the papers in his face. “Checkmate? This isn’t a game, you piece of scum. I need the money, damn it!”

  The man was crazy. The horses needed her. People were counting on her.

  “You left me no choice. Clearly you don’t—”

  “Asshole. Sign the papers. I don’t want to be married!”

  “You should have thought about that before you signed the marriage certificate. I’m all yours. You have me now. You know, for better and worse, in sickness and health,” Allan stated.

  She noted his thin-lipped smile was without humor. A dangerous gleam had formed in his eyes. Tossing her braid over her shoulder in defiance, she boldly met his glare.

  I’m in a pickle.

  “Go to hell, Mr. City Boy.”

  “Calm down, Rosalind,” Sam ordered. “You’re upsetting Dawn.” He moved to stand between her and Allan. “You need to take this inside. There’s no need to let others hear. We can discuss what you’re gonna do, young lady.”

  Dawn’s nickering and kicking the wall prompted Rosalind to rein in her fury. She tucked the papers under her arm and stomped to the stall.

  “Hey, girl. You’re fine,” Rosalind said soothingly, rubbing the horse’s nose as she withdrew a sugar lump from her pocket.

  Once Dawn was settled, she collected her gloves, whacked them against her leg, and strode past the man who was attempting to ruin her life. Clutching the papers when she shoved at the barn door, it swung fast and hard, hitting the side of the building with a deafening smack.

  Allan glanced at the older man. With a shrug, he gestured and they both followed Rosalind. The barn door missed hitting him in the face on the backswing only because the old man’s arm stopped it. Allan had one last glimpse of her retreating figure before the house door slammed shut, too.

  His mouth curved in a smile and he rubbed his gloved hands together, not for warmth but in enjoyment. When Rosalind’s chin had lifted, he’d seen her eyes tighten in hatred, her expression priceless. So worth the long-ass drive.

  “Is the Rodeo Queen always this rude?” Allan left white puffs in the air as he spoke.

  “To men trying to take away her freedoms.”

  No friend or ally there.

  The old man’s reply had been laced in sarcasm. Allan didn’t care. Being on his own for so long in his youth had forced him to be strong. He followed the shoveled narrow path to the house and walked inside.

  Examining the rustic interior, he noted most of the furniture was mismatched. Definitely not Fifth Avenue quality. Not sure which way to turn, Allan waited. The older man pushed past him and led the way down a narrow hallway.

  It opened into a large k
itchen decorated in ugly reds, yellows, and of all things, roosters. A lingering smell of coffee greeted him. Allan stared at his wife, leaning against the counter with a mug in her hands. She’d shed her nanook coat and wore a plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and a western belt.

  The newspaper picture hadn’t been very clear. Now that he saw Rosalind in person, he vaguely remembered her face. However, it was her body that triggered memories of them in an embrace.

  Oh, my God. Long legs. Mmm, mmm. A dream come true.

  She wasn’t wearing any makeup and yet was drop-dead gorgeous. As he studied her pretty face, he found she had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.

  “Mr. Smith, I’m Sam, Rosalind’s guardian. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  The old man’s question broke the imprudent standoff.

  “I could use one. It’s rather chilly in here.”

  Rosalind pushed off the counter and made herself as tall as possible. Legs parted, she set her mug down and placed her hands on her hips.

  “You don’t want to be married. I don’t want to either. We have something in common. Why did you come all this way to hand deliver unsigned papers?”

  Allan accepted a cup of coffee from Sam and pulled out a chair. Ignoring her question, he took a sip. And almost spewed.

  “You call this coffee?” he choked. “Are you trying to poison me? This is the most awful tasting shi—stuff I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Well, City Boy, you might call that stuff those fancy coffee shops serve coffee. This is the real stuff. Sign the papers and you can get a cappuccino on your way home.”

  Allan wiped his mouth. She was tougher than he’d anticipated. Damn. I can’t give in this soon and sell the stock.

  He had to teach her a lesson. “Do you read the newspapers or tabloid papers?”

  “No, I don’t have time to read trash. What does that have to do with why you won’t sign the divorce papers?”

  “Once upon a time a Rodeo Queen married a Stock Market Prince. Somehow the press got wind of our storybook marriage. They plastered our precious wedding photo all over the New York City papers and other no-nonsense gossip magazines. I didn’t find out the ‘good news’ until after we concluded our conversation.”

  He put on a half-smile, reached for the cup of coffee, and took another sip. This time his taste buds might have been prepared, but he wasn’t, as the bitter taste hit him once again. Swallowing, Allan grimaced and observed Sam propped against the doorframe, laughing.

  “If everyone is done laughing and bellowing, I’ll finish. I’ve been bombarded with requests for exclusive interviews. My company is losing clients right and left. They’re afraid of nasty divorce issues which could hinder my ability to work for them. All in a single day’s time. So you see, it would be in my best interest for us to stay married.”

  Why did he say that? One night of hot sex was all he wanted.

  “Stay married? No way. I want the divorce now. You can’t stay in this house with me!” Rosalind roared.

  He decided to play along, enjoying her anger. “You know, it will be to your advantage to have our honeymoon, since we never had a wedding night.”

  “I will not have sex with you.”

  “You have no desire to sleep with one of the world’s most eligible males? You’re hurting my feelings. Is there something wrong with me?”

  He stood, shrugged off his overcoat and held his arms out, making sure she could feast her eyes on everything he had to offer a woman.

  ”Mr. Smith, you surely don’t have anything I would want. To me, you look like a prissy City Boy, who wouldn’t know the difference between a mare and a stallion. Sign the damn papers, and I’ll give you an extra twenty thousand dollars for your trouble.”

  Who does she think she is? No woman turns me down.

  “I told you, I’m not signing any papers unless they are annulment papers.”

  “Annulment?”

  “You wanted a husband. You now have one.”

  “This isn’t what we agreed to. You said on the phone you’d sign them,” she replied, this time quietly.

  “Sometimes life’s a damn surprise, Mrs. Smith.”

  Rosalind uttered a string of unladylike words for the second time in a matter of minutes.

  He let it roll off his back, lifting his chin with a smile. “Now will you please show me to the master bedroom? I need to prepare for our long-overdue wedding night. Our marriage has to be consummated or it’ll be annulled. I would’ve remembered making love to an ice queen.”

  Rosalind’s tight lipped, stunned expression gave him the added fuel to continue. “I see you comprehend my terms.”

  It was true. Rosalind looked cornered. Eyes narrowed, she peered at Sam, who smiled, unfolded his arms, and ambled out of the kitchen without a word.

  Allan settled his coat over his arm and waited.

  Checkmate.

  Chapter 9

  Too rattled to talk, Rosalind stole a glance at Allan. His hungry coyote eyes traveled the length of her body. A lurch of excitement coursed through her, weakening her knees.

  He can’t stay. I don’t trust my body around him. And I paid him for his time. Had he discovered how much her ranch and its adjacent land was worth? Did he want to cash in on it?

  She was fed up with this cat and mouse game. It was time to find out what he wanted.

  “If you intend to stay, you can sleep in the barn.”

  His low laugh quickened her pulse and then he stepped toward her. Breathing deep to calm herself proved to be the wrong thing, because she inhaled his musky cologne.

  Saved by the landline phone, she ran from the kitchen.

  “Hello. Yes, Mr. Kennedy—no, I’d like to have a mortgage on the land. The cash will come in handy to nudge the ball rolling for other projects. Yes, I have an appointment with the Farmer’s Bank and Trust today. I’ve been pre-approved for the purchase price.”

  The floor creaked next to her, and that wonderful, heady smell invaded her space again. She turned. Allan stood inches from her. A tingling spread to places it shouldn’t and she stared at him, forgetting time, the phone to her ear, or the fact she wasn’t supposed to want him close.

  She blinked. “Sorry, I’m still here. I’ll bring the paperwork with me. Thanks for calling. See you tomorrow. Goodbye.”

  Rosalind hung up the phone. With narrowed eyes she tilted her head and slapped her hands on her hips. It was her “don’t mess with me” look. It should’ve turned him into a frozen icicle, however it didn’t work. He smiled and showed his perfect white teeth.

  Urrrrg, Mr. GQ has to leave.

  “Mr. Smith, we have unfinished business but I don’t have time to argue with you right now. You can spend one night here. This way to the guest room.”

  “I knew you’d see it my way.”

  She ignored his smart-ass comment.

  “You know where the kitchen is. If you need anything, you can get it yourself. My home isn’t a resort.”

  “I can tell. I hope you have clean sheets.”

  “If you find my home offensive, there’s a motel in town.”

  “I’ll survive without the comforts. How can we have a night of hot sex if we’re not in the same room?”

  “One night. Then you will leave in the morning. Do you understand?”

  “That depends on you. I’m ready to do it now.”

  She stopped and spun with a gasp. “Over my dead body.”

  “Let me warn you, we will be sharing the same bed. If it’s not tonight, I guess I’ll be here for more than a night.”

  Who does he think he is? God’s gift to women? No way.

  Rosalind turned from her very attractive husband. Her heart raced. Since Las Vegas, she hadn’t been able to forget the salacious me
mories of his body. She knew firsthand what lay beneath his suit and his boxers. His body had muscles in all the right places. A hairy chest, long muscular calves . . . and his manhood had come to attention when she’d touched him.

  She’d lain awake for hours craving his mouth on hers. With him a step behind, all she’d have to do was stop and his body would press against hers.

  No. I can’t give into him.

  When she stopped at the guest room door, her wish almost became reality.

  “Is this our room? The honeymoon suite?”

  He stood inches from her. She smelled coffee on his breath. About to reach for the door handle, she touched his hand which was already on the knob.

  “This is the guest room. Yes, the sheets are clean. Don’t get too comfortable because you won’t be staying long. I would however suggest changing into some jeans. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you ruining your suit.”

  What’s wrong with me? I want him out of my life and here I’m succumbing to his damn charm.

  Rosalind attempted to step to the side, to put open space between them, but couldn’t. Allan’s other arm trapped her. He leaned in. She turned her head away.

  “Thank you, honey. Are you sure you want me this far away from you on our first night together?”

  Allan’s whisper close to her ear left her motionless. She tightened her jaw and waited for him to move away. “There will be no first night together. Ever. Period.”

  “I’ll leave the door open in case you want me to show you why I’m called a ‘Don Juan.’”

  “Don’t you get it? I don’t care. Our wedding is a business deal. The extras weren’t included. All I need is for you to sign the papers and be on your way.”

  Rosalind remained still, with her hands fisted behind her. She closed her eyes and silently counted. His body brushed hers as he stepped into the bedroom. She moved forward and found herself facing him when she opened her eyes again.