I Don't Want to be Married Read online

  “Baby, the only way to close our so called business deal is for you to give me our wedding night.”

  “I have an appointment, so you’ll be on your own until I get back. Now if you will please move out of my way.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Oh, and don’t forget the condoms. You’ll note I used the plural form of the word.”

  She pushed against his shoulder, slipped past him, and dashed down the hallway.

  “No way,” she muttered furiously.

  Chapter 10

  “You can run, Rodeo queen, but you can’t hide from me.” Allan followed Rosalind into the hall, intrigued by the sway of her hips in her tight jeans.

  Nice.

  “Um, I did for six plus weeks.”

  Disliking the satisfaction he heard in her voice, he sneered as she disappeared from sight. A burning hunger to bed Rosalind intensified. The undeniable ache left him unsatisfied. The door slamming brought him rudely back to the problem at hand as his ardor cooled.

  The change of emotions he’d seen on Rosalind’s face, annoyance, stress—then something else when he accidently brushed against her—was puzzling. His immediate reaction to her had been unexpected, as a vague memory of their bodies pressed against each other ebbed and flowed, teasing him.

  Man. If an Ice Queen can make me as hard as a stick, I do need to get laid.

  Taking his cell phone from his pocket, he called his office.

  “Mrs. Parker, I’ve reached my destination.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Smith, it’s so nice of you to call. You already owe me big time.”

  “Yes, I know. I need you to find out what Miss Dunne, I mean Mrs. Smith, is looking to buy. And get me her financial statements,” he demanded.

  “Do you want a full credit history?”

  “No—on second thought, yes. I want to know everything about my bride.”

  “I have some leads in regards to the leak of the photograph and information.”

  “Good. One other thing, there’s an older man staying in the house. Find out who he is. His name is Sam,” Allan said.

  “Will this get me a two-month vacation? My husband is very agitated about having his honeymoon cut short,” Tiffany stated.

  “Mrs. Parker, I’ll give you a two month all-expense paid belated honeymoon. Call me with any info the minute you get it.”

  He heard her colorful laughter and then the click as she disconnected. He didn’t know what he’d do without her. She’d become more than his assistant in the past years. She was the person he trusted the most. When he needed something taken care of, whether it be some woman he wanted to date, or a woman he wanted out of his life, he knew without a doubt she’d take care of it. No questions asked. Problem gone. Quickly and efficiently.

  Their relationship hadn’t always been professional. She’d been Paul’s secretary before she became his, and so fair game in his book. On their first date, they’d kissed, and it lacked the passion of a lover, more like kissing a sister. With mutual agreement they ended their dating, realizing the chemistry wasn’t meant to be. Their relationship took on a different tone at that point. He became the brother she never had and she the sister he’d wished for all those lonely nights when he was younger.

  A surge of wind rattled the windows and reminded him his luggage was still in the car. With his coat on once more, he headed out the front door. The bone chilling air slapped at him.

  As he reentered the house and stepped on the wood floor, his feet slipped out from under him. The weight of the suitcases threw him off balance and his shoulder hit the wall. He fell backward and landed on the hardwood floor with a thunderous boom followed by a clunk as one of the bags fell inches from his head.

  He slowly moved each part of his body. Inching higher on his elbows, he observed a trail of melted snow from the front door to the guest bedroom. Attempting to stand, he heard heavy footfalls from above. Next the bark of a voice broke through the quiet.

  “What in God’s name is going on down there?”

  Deliberating his plight from a half-sitting position, Allan met Sam’s gaze.

  Does the man ever stop smiling? Why doesn’t he leave me alone? I’m in enough misery as it is.

  Looking away, he tried standing, but almost lost his balance again.

  “Er, damn.” Refusing to look at Sam, he stood.

  As Allan collected his suitcases he heard the man’s loud, jovial laughter.

  “Apparently you find another man’s misfortune funny,” he berated, glaring at Sam who approached him, still tittering.

  “When it suits me. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

  “Fun? This isn’t fun in my domain.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, boy. But be assured, I’ll watch from the sideline as long as I believe she doesn’t need me. She got herself into this mess.” Sam paused to cough. “She is gonna have to get out by herself. I’m warning you, if you hurt Rosalind in any way, no amount of money will get you out of trouble with me.”

  Allan’s brows shot up as his anger escalated. “I am not one to—”

  “Do I make myself clear, boy?”

  Sam’s tone was demanding. They stared at each other.

  “Yes. But your Little Ice Princess will have to work hard for me to sign the papers. I don’t want or need her money. I want compensation for ruining my life,” Allan warned. As he lifted his suitcases, he noted a smile still plastered on Sam’s face. Turning sharply, Allan headed toward the dungeon bedroom, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the room.

  Inside his self-made prison, Allan sat on the edge of the bed. He rubbed the lump on the back of his head and lifted his leg to the bed to ease his throbbing knee. Reaching for his briefcase to get a pain pill, he hesitated.

  I want to be sharp and fully awake when Miss Attitude returns.

  His hasty decision now became apparent. He’d entered a hostile place. He could be home in his luxurious apartment or on his way to his beachfront villa in Florida.

  The ringtone he’d assigned to his office broke into his reverie. Allan pulled the phone from his pocket. “Hello.”

  “Mr. Smith, I have some news for you.”

  “Go ahead, Tiffany.”

  He wandered to the window, hoping for an enhanced signal, and for the first time saw a fenced corral surrounded by empty land.

  “Mrs. Smith has a bid on the adjacent property. It’s about seven hundred acres. The sellers have been waiting for the down payment. Her bank account shows a rather large transfer recently.”

  Allan paced around the room. “Was I blackmailed? I thought those earlier emails requesting money were spam. Could the money have been a payoff?”

  Shit. If my Little Ice Queen is involved in a plot against me, heads will roll.

  “No, the money received came from an investment company. I did some research and found an old newspaper article. She hadn’t lied when she said she needed to get married to acquire her inheritance.”

  “Have my bankers make the sellers an offer they can’t refuse for the land. Tiffany, I want the land in my name by tomorrow. Also, see if you find a piece of property in town to establish an office there.” He could hear the harshness in his own tone.

  “Are you having second thoughts? Your plane is still waiting in Minneapolis.” Tiffany laughed.

  “Very funny. This adds spice to my plans. Make sure the bankers use the Portfolio Management Firm as the buyers. I don’t want Miss Dunne—Mrs. Smith to know it’s me who’s outwitting her.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Allan? All the reports I’ve received indicate your wife is a nobody. Sign the papers and come home. She didn’t know who you were,” Tiffany pleaded.

  He knew the moment she used his first name that Tiffany was up to something. It was
her way of being the concerned sister. Allan wasn’t sure why he wanted to stay on course or why he felt compelled to remain here longer.

  Could it be because he didn’t recall the night he’d gotten married? Other than a pair of lips belonging to a body that left him wanting more.

  Shit.

  A vivid image of them in an embrace, kissing her, her body pressed against him, came to mind. Her lips had parted and he’d taken control of the kiss, knowing she was his for the taking.

  There had to have been a night of sex. He always finished what he initiated.

  She had a body to make a man salivate, and her eyes—how they intrigued him. You could get lost in them, and he did.

  Allan felt a tightening in his pants and the desire to bed her became urgent.

  “Allan, are you still there? Did I lose you? Allan?”

  “Sorry, Tiff. Yes, I’m here. I need to do this. Send me a text, the cell service sucks. I want to know immediately when everything is completed.”

  Silence.

  “Tiffany, did you hear me? Tiffany?”

  Allan stared at his phone. No bars. Damn. He’d lost the signal.

  He wasn’t ready to throw in the towel on the game and would leave on his terms, not a minute before. It was essential to solve why he had a burning ache to see the Ice Queen again.

  Chapter 11

  A mixture of gravel and snow hurled from behind the spinning tires as Rosalind drove away. Her gloved hands tightly gripped the steering wheel as the truck swerved toward a snowbank. Madder than a charging bull, the truck was her victim. She yanked the wheel to the right and then to the left. Straightening out, she counted to ten for the hundredth time since leaving the house.

  Why hadn’t City Boy signed the papers? What could he possibly want from her? He had everything. It wasn’t her fault the newspapers printed something on their marriage.

  She didn’t have time for all this nonsense. Today had started out like any other. She’d worked Dawn hard and had been rewarded with a new best time. Every second and one one-hundredth of a second counted. They had to be in top form for the Barrel Futurities World Championship scheduled the week before Christmas. It was less than two months away. She needed to improve their time to win and prove she was a skilled trainer.

  The day had gotten even better. During Dawn’s cooldown walk she’d spotted and marked an evergreen to cut for her Christmas tree.

  Memories of her father planting the baby trees brought tears to her eyes. He’d said it was to make sure they’d have a tree for years and years to come.

  The hunt for a perfect Christmas tree had been a family tradition and one of the happiest times she remembered. When they found the finest one, Mom would head home, leaving them to cut it down. A wonderful smell of hot chocolate and cookies greeted them when they returned home with their prize.

  After her parents’ unexpected deaths, she’d made sure to take care of the trees. She and Grandpa Rodney followed her dad’s example by planting a new tree the next spring to replace the one they’d cut.

  Sam’s reminder that it wasn’t wise to take things from the land without giving something back in return for its bounty rang true. If you were good to the land, the land would be good to you.

  The single traffic light in town turned red. She let up on the gas to hit the brake, and skidded to the intersection. Rosalind slapped the steering wheel, wishing it was Mr. Allan Smith.

  A blaring car horn broke through her moment of daydreaming. Rosalind blinked. The light went green as she waved to the car behind her, crossed the intersection, and made a left turn into the Farmer’s Bank and Trust parking lot. Finding a plowed space big enough for the truck, she parked and hurried inside the bank.

  The receptionist greeted her. “Good morning, Mrs. Smith. I’ll let Mr. Fergussen know you are here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rosalind frowned. The woman hadn’t called her by her first name as usual.

  “You may go in now.”

  She entered Mr. Fergussen’s office. He stood fidgeting with a newspaper he held.

  “Morning, Mr. Fergussen.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Smith. I’m glad you were able to come in. The snow we received last night was unexpected.”

  “Mr. Fergussen, what’s going on? Why are you calling me Mrs. Smith?”

  “We here at Farmer’s Bank and Trust, pride ourselves in knowing everything we can about our customers. We recently learned of your marriage. Congratulations. Your grandpa would’ve been very proud.”

  “Thank you,” she said. When he continued to fold and unfold the newspaper in his hands, she shifted impatiently. “Can you get to the point?”

  “Yes, sorry. Based on your marital status, we’re able to grant you a generous line of credit based on your husband’s financial position. Good news, you won’t have to have a mortgage on the new property you wish to purchase. We can deposit the funds into your checking account in a matter of minutes. How does a line of credit for one million sound to you?”

  Dumbfounded for a moment and riveted by Mr. Fergussen’s remarks, she managed to mutter, “One million dollars.”

  “Yes, isn’t that enough? Would you prefer two million?”

  What in heaven’s name was going on? The bank could give her two million dollars?

  “There’s been a mistake, Mr. Fergussen. Yes, I did get married. I’m filing for a . . .” Rosalind paused and thought hard, then smiled prettily at the bank manager.

  City Boy, I’m evening the score. Mr. New York is about to regret not signing the papers.

  “A million will do—for now. Thank you.”

  “Great. Sign here.”

  She signed “Rosalind Smith” by the X.

  “I understand you already have clients for your business venture,” Mr. Fergussen stated.

  “I do. Thank you. Can I get a letter to show the realtor?”

  “Yes, yes of course. I’ll be right back.”

  Unable to sit, she stood and noted some commotion at the bank entrance. People with cameras were in the lobby and three security guards were holding them back and directing customers out the doors.

  Curious, Rosalind stepped outside Mr. Fergussen’s office . . . just as all hell broke loose and a few cameramen thrust a guard away.

  “There she is!” someone in the crowd screeched, and the entire mob rushed toward her.

  A reporter jammed a microphone in her face. “Can we have a word with you, Mrs. Smith?”

  “Mrs. Smith, how did you and Mr. Smith meet?”

  “How did you snag the world’s most wanted bachelor?”

  Another newshound interrupted. “Did you marry Mr. Smith for his money?”

  Frightened, Rosalind stumbled backward until a desk stopped her. She watched wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the crowd of people pressed forward and flashes popped.

  Out of nowhere, Mr. Fergussen and another guard emerged from the crowd. They pushed and shoved their way through. The two men reached her and slammed the office door shut.

  “I’m sorry, Rosalind—er, Mrs. Smith. I don’t know where all these people came from. The police are on their way. Sit. You’ll be safe in here.”

  Rosalind continued to stand, unable to move or form words. She could feel her mouth hanging open. But she accepted Mr. Fergussen’s hand on her arm and let him guide her to a leather chair.

  As the crowd’s chants grew louder outside the office, she raised her hands to her ears to block the noise.

  This wasn’t happening. What was going on? Who were those people? What did they want from her?

  “May I get you some water?” Mr. Fergussen eyed her. “You’re looking pale.”

  She didn’t know what to say. With nausea threatening her stomach, she accepted a bottle of w
ater. The glass window kept out some of the rumble as it became less intense. The sound of police sirens interrupted the silence as Rosalind held on dearly to the water. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Fergussen spoke over the shrieking noise.

  “Please stay in my office until I come back for you. I’m sorry this happened in my bank.” He rested his hand on her shoulder and then stepped to the guard, whispering something to him. Together they exited. Thankfully, two uniformed men outside of the office blocked her from any prying eyes.

  The guards moved aside, revealing the police had arrived. People crammed into the bank lobby and a ton more were outside. Camera flashes went off amid excited shouting.

  “Mrs. Smith, you need to stay in my office,” Mr. Fergussen said as he returned.

  “What’s going on? Why is everyone here?”

  “They’re here to see you.”

  “Me? What for?”

  The two guards glanced at each other, then smiled but remained silent.

  “It seems your husband is someone of importance. Since word of your marriage became public, the townspeople are keenly interested in a multi-millionaire.” Mr. Fergussen sat on the corner of his desk.

  “For real? I don’t have millions.”

  “You do. What’s your husband’s is now yours.”

  Shit. The damn town’s gone loco.

  They’d known her since birth; she was one of them. This was ridiculous.

  A knock sounded. Rosalind, Mr. Fergussen, and the guards turned. A police officer opened the door a crack.

  “We’re moving Mrs. Smith’s vehicle to the employees’ entrance. We’ll be able to control the mob and protect her better using the side door.”

  Rosalind stared at the guards and officer. Control the mob? Protect? “Everyone’s gone crazy,” she muttered.