An Officer And A Millionaire

Four

“I’m not sleeping on the floor,” Hunter told Margie.

“Well,” Margie said from inside the closet, where she was changing into her nightgown, “you’re not sleeping with me.”

Good heavens, how could she possibly share a bed with the man who’d kissed her senseless only hours ago? If he kissed her again, she might just give into the fiery feelings he engendered in her and then where would she be?

“Don’t flatter yourself, babe,” he said, loud enough to carry through the heavy wooden door separating them. “It’s not your body I’m after. It’s the mattress. Damned if I’m sleeping on the floor in my own damn room.”

She frowned at the closed door and the man beyond it. Apparently, she didn’t have anything to worry about. He had clearly not felt anything that she had during that kiss. Was she insulted? Or pleased? “Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Help yourself,” he countered.

Margie stopped in the process of tugging her nightgown over her head. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d let me sleep on the floor rather than do it yourself like a gentleman.”

“Never said I was a gentleman,” he told her.

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor.” This was her room now. Had been for over a year. Why should she be the one to be uncomfortable? And if he wasn’t interested in her sexually, she should be perfectly safe. Right?

“Up to you.”

“Just don’t you try anything,” she warned, telling herself to pay attention.

He actually laughed. “Trust me when I say you’re safe.”

Bastard. How easily he dismissed her. That kiss he’d given her clearly hadn’t touched him at all. Even though her own lips were still humming with remnants of sensation. Of course it hadn’t meant anything to him. Why would it? She’d known most of her life that she simply wasn’t the kind of woman men like him noticed.

She was too short, too…round. He probably went for the six-foot-tall, ninety-pound type who thought a single M &M was a party. His kind of woman never had the last cookie in the box; she didn’t buy cookies. His kind of woman didn’t wear T-shirts; she wore silk. And her clothes hung on her as if she were a coat hanger. No bulges, no curves, no lines. His kind of woman didn’t have to marry a man by proxy; she had men lining up at her door. And his kind of woman wouldn’t have melted at a simple kiss.

“Oh God, how did I get myself into this?”

Being married to Hunter when he wasn’t there had been so easy. So perfect. She’d made him into the ideal husband. Thoughtful, caring, loving. How was she supposed to have known that the real man was lightyears away from the image in her mind?

And yet, this Hunter stirred something inside her that made her yearn for things to be different. Which was just a one-way ticket to misery and she knew it. The only way she would ever have a husband like Hunter was this way. A lie.

Still grumbling to herself, she stepped out of the closet to find her “husband” already ensconced in the bed. On her side.

“Move over,” she commanded, waving one hand for emphasis.

“It’s a king-size bed,” he reminded her. “Plenty of room for both of us.”

Oh, she thought, there probably wouldn’t be enough room for her to lie down comfortably beside him if the bed were the size of the county. But she wouldn’t let him know that she was feeling decidedly uneasy about this situation. Besides, she was going to have enough trouble falling asleep tonight, let alone having to sleep on the wrong side of the bed.

“You’re on my side.”

He looked around, then shrugged broad, bare shoulders. “Since I’m the only one lying on it, I figure it’s my side.”

His eyes shone with amusement in the pale wash of light from the bedside lamp. His bare chest gleamed like old gold, and when he shifted higher onto the pillows, the quilt covering him dipped, pooling at his hips.

Margie sucked in a gulp of air but couldn’t quite stop herself from admiring the view. The soft, dark hair on his chest narrowed into a strip that snaked across his abdomen, then disappeared beneath the quilt.

He was naked.

Oh, God. She was never going to get to sleep tonight. Her stomach did a slow roll and pitch, and her mouth went dry. “Don’t you have pajamas?”

He chuckled and she couldn’t help noticing the dimple in his left cheek. Why did he have to have a dimple?

“No,” he said, “I don’t.” Then his gaze swept over her, taking in her knee-length, long-sleeved cotton gown decorated with pale blue flowers. His eyes widened as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Don’t you have something less…”

Margie felt his disapproval plainly, plopped both hands on her hips and dared him to finish that sentence. “Less what?”

“Less…Little House on the Prairie?”

She smoothed one hand over her comfy nightgown. Didn’t she feel pretty? He couldn’t make it any clearer that he wasn’t experiencing the slightest bit of attraction for her. “There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing. It’s very cute.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “If you say so.”

“And comfortable.”

“Okay.”

Margie huffed out a breath, finished doing up the buttons on the front of her perfectly sweet nightgown, then glared at him again. No doubt he was used to going to bed with women who were either naked or wearing bits of lace and silk. “Are you going to move over or not?”

“Not.”

“You are the most insensitive, arrogant-”

He deliberately closed his eyes and snuggled his head into her pillow. “We’ve been over this already. How about we just put off the insult exchange until morning?”

“Fine.”

“Fine. Now get into bed and go to sleep.”

Muttering darkly under her breath, Margie walked around the wide bed to the absolute wrong side. It didn’t bother him at all to share the bed with her. He’d already closed his eyes to dismiss her. He couldn’t have made it any clearer that he was in no way interested in her. So why was she shaking and nervous? This was so not fair.

He’d tossed all of her decorative throw pillows to the floor, and she had to kick them out of her way as she moved. Before she could get into bed, Hunter reached over and flung the quilt back for her, incidentally providing her with yet another look at his long, tanned form just barely hidden by the strategically placed quilt.

And when she was finished admiring his leanly muscled body, she finally noticed the stark white bandage affixed to his left side, just above the hip. Somehow, she’d managed to forget during their argument that he’d been wounded recently, and for some reason she felt bad for harassing him in his condition.

“Are you-do you-” She stopped, blew out a breath and looked into his eyes. “Is your wound all right? I mean, are you all right?”

“I’m touched by your concern,” he said, clearly untouched. “Yes, I’m fine, though not quite up to sexcapades just yet. So like I said, you’re safe.” His gaze dropped over her nightgown again and he shook his head. “Though even if I wasn’t laid up, I’d have to say that your choice of nightgown is the best male-repellant I’ve ever seen.”

Instantly, Margie regretted worrying about him at all. He was insulting, rude and arrogant, and she hoped his side ached like an abscessed tooth. And if she ever again felt those stirrings inside her, she’d squash them like a bug. “You’re-”

“Insults in the morning, remember?”

“Fine.” She swallowed back everything she wanted to say to the completely irritating, totally sexy man in her bed and turned instead to pick up the pillows he’d so carelessly tossed to the floor.

“What’re you doing now?”

She didn’t even look at him, just continued picking up the pillows and stacking them in a line down the center of the bed. When they were all in place, she smiled at a job well done. “I’m building a wall between us,” she said. “As you pointed out, it’s a king-size bed. Plenty of room for us and a wall.”

“You don’t need a wall, babe; you’ve got the nightgown.”

“Maybe you need it,” she told him, sliding onto the sheets and drawing the quilt up to her chin.

“Yeah?” he asked as he turned out the light and plunged the room into darkness. “Afraid you’ll ravish me in your sleep?”

She closed her eyes and turned onto her side, giving him her back. “Afraid I’ll murder you. Sleep tight.”

The next morning Margie was back in the closet getting dressed when Hunter stepped out of the shower. Rummaging through his duffle bag, he pulled out a worn, faded pair of jeans and a dark blue T-shirt with the words Navy SEAL emblazoned across the front.

“I have to go into town this morning, see to a few details about the dinner dance,” Margie called out from what had become her own private dressing room.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re in charge of that, too.”

From what he’d been able to tell, Margie “Cabot” had insinuated herself into everything she could. What was the plan, here? Why would she be bothering with getting involved with the doings in Springville if she was married to him only for the five million dollars Simon had promised her?

Shaking his head, he ruefully admitted that he had even more questions about her than he had the day before. Starting with, why was he so attracted to a woman he probably wouldn’t have noticed under normal circumstances?

“Why is it so hard for you to understand that some people actually like being a part of the community?”

“I just don’t get why you want to do it.” He shot a look at the partially opened door and tried not to think about what she was doing in there. But images of her wet, naked, lush body kept filling his head. Plus there was the memory of her kiss and the soft, open eagerness she’d met him with.

His body went stiff and hard as stone almost instantly and groaning, Hunter adjusted his jeans. It didn’t help much. Damn it, what he needed was a woman, not a wife. It had been a long two months since he’d been with a woman, and right now it felt more like two years.

Hell, it was a good thing he woke up early every morning, because that wall she’d built between them had come tumbling down sometime during the night. Hunter’d been surprised to find that he’d instinctively turned to her in the darkness, pushing those pillows aside and wrapping himself around her. Thankfully, she’d still been sleeping when he woke up and had the presence of mind to rebuild that stupid wall.

“Why wouldn’t I want to contribute where I can?” she demanded, stepping out of the closet to face him.

Hunter stared at her for a long minute. Morning sunlight slanted in through the lacy curtains on the windows and shone down on his wife in all her frumpy glory. She wore a shapeless box of a black suit, the hem of which hit her knees. The white blouse under her jacket was buttoned to her throat.

And even with all that, he felt a short zing of something hot and dangerous. How the hell was she able to do that to him? Even the gorgeous Gretchen hadn’t elicited a response like this.

Irritated that his own body was betraying him at every damn turn, he snapped, “Are you secretly a nun?”

“What?” She looked confused.

Hunter started for her and did a slow walk around, taking in the ugly suit from every side. “First your nightgown. Now, this thing.”

She folded her arms under her breasts, giving them definition enough that he had to pause to admire them. Instantly, a memory of hard, pink nipples caressed by drops of water filled his mind and tortured his body a lot farther south.

“There’s nothing wrong with this suit,” she argued.

Except for the fact that it was hiding an amazing body. But if he had any sense, he’d be grateful for that fact, not so resentful.

“Nothing that a good fire wouldn’t cure.”

She inhaled sharply and Hunter admired the view. His slow smile told her that too, so she dropped her arms to her sides, and instantly the shapelessness of her clothes hid her physical charms.

“Seriously,” he said. “Why do you hide that body?”

“Excuse me?” A faint flush of color filled her cheeks, and despite everything, Hunter was charmed. He hadn’t known women could blush anymore.

He tucked one finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. Those eyes of hers fascinated him even while he knew that he shouldn’t get even more involved with her. Wasn’t it enough, he thought, that he was married for a month? Wasn’t it more than enough that he was hot and hard and achy for her? But why shouldn’t she feel the same discomfort he was going through?

“You forget, babe. I’ve seen that body of yours. I know it’s got curves and valleys and some great…” He grinned and finished, “hills.”

She pulled away from his touch, and Hunter rubbed the tip of his finger as if he could still feel the cool silk of her skin on his. “So why are you hiding it?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” she argued, walking across the room to the dressing table. She took a seat on the padded stool, picked up a wide-toothed comb and dragged it through her long curls. “I just don’t draw attention to the fact that I need to lose ten pounds.”

Women. None of them were ever happy with their bodies, he thought wryly. Even Gretchen was constantly on a diet, and remembering her now, he realized that she was so damn skinny it was a wonder he hadn’t cut himself on her bones when he’d held her. Sex with Margie, on the other hand, would be a lush experience. All those curves. All that soft, smooth flesh to explore and enjoy.

He grimaced as his body went even harder and felt more uncomfortable than before. Shaking his head, Hunter walked up behind her and leaned down to plant his hands on the dressing table. He was so close behind her that his chin rested on top of her head as his gaze met hers in the mirror.

“Don’t you know covering up only makes a man wonder what’s under all that fabric?”

As her gaze locked with his, he watched her swallow hard before saying, “As you just reminded me, you already know what’s hidden.”

A slow smile curved one side of his mouth as he realized she was embarrassed. Would a liar and a thief be so easily discomforted? Interesting thought. “And that body deserves better.”

“Thanks for your opinion,” she said and slipped out from underneath him by ducking under one of his arms. Then she grabbed her purse and stationed herself by the door. “I’ve got to go, so I suppose I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“What? Why?”

He wasn’t entirely sure himself. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready for her to leave just yet. She was watching him warily, and in that oversize suit, she looked…vulnerable, somehow. Hunter had the urge to somehow protect her. Which was completely unreasonable and he knew it. She didn’t need protection, he reminded himself sternly. She needed getting rid of. Which he would do at the end of a month. For now, though, she was his wife whether he wanted one or not, and they both might as well get used to it.

“I was going to go into town myself today. See some old friends.”

“Oh.”

“But I’ve changed my mind,” he told her as he studied the ugly black suit she wore. “I think we’ll go into the city instead.”

“San Francisco?”

“That’s the one,” he said and walked to the side of the bed. Sitting down, he pulled on one boot first, then the other, and stamped his feet into them. Standing up again, he looked down at her as she asked, “Why?”

“To get you some decent clothes.”

“I don’t need new clothes.”

“Now see, we’re arguing again,” he pointed out. “You won last night’s round, but I’ll win this one.”

“Hunter-” She stopped and frowned slightly as if saying his name had actually felt odd to her. “There’s no reason to buy me new clothes. What I have is perfectly serviceable.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He walked up to her, tipped her chin up again and smiled down into green eyes that flashed with irritation and suspicion. “See, babe, you’re my wife. And my wife doesn’t dress frumpy.”

She blinked at him. “Frumpy? This isn’t frumpy. This is a business suit.”

“If you say so.” He took her arm, turned her toward the door and started walking. What the hell did he care what she looked like? His brain was shouting at him, but apparently he wasn’t going to listen. He wanted to see her in clothes that fit her, that showcased not just her body but the woman inside, too.

And just who was that, he asked himself as he stared into her eyes. Liar? Cheat? Or was she simply what she claimed to be? A woman doing a kindness for an old man? Hunter already knew she was strong. She stood toe-to-toe with him and never gave an inch, and he had to admire that almost as much as he admired the way she could set his body on fire with merely a glance.

“I don’t want to shop.”

He stopped dead, gave her a quick grin and said, “That may be the first time I’ve ever heard a woman say those words.”

“You’re not going to charm me into this.”

“You think I’m charming now? Last night you threatened to kill me in my sleep.”

“I didn’t say you were charming,” she corrected primly. “I said you were trying to use charm. Badly.”

“Ah, there’s the wife I know and loathe.” The words were out before he could stop them. And the instant he said them, he wished he hadn’t.

She pulled free of his grasp, and he winced at the fury in her eyes. “I know you don’t like me, but you don’t have to be mean.”

Hunter studied her eyes and finally saw more than her anger. He saw hurt in those depths too and regretted causing it. He’d been so busy concentrating on his own feeling of entrapment, the constant state of arousal, which he blamed solely on her, he hadn’t really considered that she was as locked into their “performance” as he was. At least for the time being.

And he had the nagging feeling that maybe she wasn’t the liar and cheat he thought she was. Even a practiced con artist would have a hard time worming her way into Simon’s heart, which she had obviously done. Not to mention what she’d pulled last night.

Building that wall of pillows between them hadn’t been the act of an adept thief. She’d behaved more like a vestal virgin trying to protect her virtue from a marauding horde. So what the hell was really going on? Who was she, really?

What if he was wrong about her? Well, he told himself firmly, for one thing, he didn’t want to be wrong about her. It would make this so much easier if she was just what he suspected she was. In it for the money. But then, even if the five million dollars was her sole motivation, she was now faced with living the lie she’d built.

Couldn’t be comfortable for her, either.

So did he give her the benefit of the doubt? Or did he continue to make both of them miserable for a full month? Neither, he decided. He’d give her enough rope, then stand back to see if she actually hanged herself with it. He could be patient. Hell, his training, his job, his life usually demanded patience. So he’d back off on the verbal attacks and see how she reacted.

“You’re right,” he said at last and had the pleasure of seeing surprise flicker across her face. “I’m sorry.”

She studied him for a long second or two, obviously trying to decide if he meant it or not. But finally, she nodded. “It’s okay. It’s a weird situation. For both of us.”

“Just what I was thinking.” Interesting. Be a little more accommodating, and she was far less prickly.

“So. Truce?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll let you know when we’re finished shopping.”

“Hunter…”

He shook his head. He wasn’t going to let go of this one. “My wife doesn’t dress like that,” he said, waving one arm to indicate the hideous suit she seemed so attached to. “I’m not going to have everyone in town wondering why in the hell I won’t buy you new clothes. You want to play the part of Mrs. Cabot? You’ll do it looking a hell of a lot better than this.”

She lifted her chin and glared at him, but whatever she was going to say remained unuttered.

“Good choice,” he said with a brief nod. “You’re not going to win this one.”

Margie felt Hunter’s hand on the small of her back as clearly as if it were a live electrical wire. Spears of heat as wild and unpredictable as lightning bolts kept shooting through her system, and it was all she could do to walk and talk despite the distractions.

Main Street in Springville was waking up after a winter that had been cold and gray and bleak. Now in springtime, the sun shone out of a brilliantly blue sky, a cool wind danced down the street and bright bursts of flowers filled the planters at the feet of the street lamps. Colorful awnings stretched out over the sidewalk in front of the stores, and clusters of neighbors gathered together to chat.

She loved this town. Had from the moment she’d first arrived two years before. It was like a postcard of small-town American life. A flag waved in the center of town square, moms with strollers sat on benches, laughing at toddlers wobbling around on the grass, and the scent of fresh bread baking drifted through the bakery’s open door.

After growing up in Los Angeles, just one more face in an anonymous crowd, coming to Springville was like finding an old friend. She belonged here. She fit in. Or at least, she told herself with a sidelong glance at the man beside her, she used to.

Now, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stay once this month with Hunter was up. She’d have to leave this town, these people, even Simon, the grandfather she’d come to love. Because staying after the divorce would be impossible. She wouldn’t be able to stand the pitying looks from her friends. She wouldn’t be able to answer the questions everyone would have.

And mostly, she wouldn’t be able to stay in the place where all of her lovely fantasies had died.

“Still say we should have gone to the city,” Hunter murmured, then waved at someone across the street.

Margie shook her head. She’d agreed, finally, to shopping, but had insisted that they do their buying in town. “You’re a Cabot,” she said for the third time. “You should support the local businesses.”

“You make me sound like a king or something. What does being a Cabot have to do with where I shop?” His voice was low, but she had no trouble hearing him. In fact, Margie had the distinct feeling that she would always be able to concentrate easily on the deep rumble of his voice.

In just twenty-four hours, she’d already become attuned to him. Oh, God. What a mess.

She smiled and nodded at an older woman they passed on the sidewalk, then muttered, “Your family built this town. The headquarters of your business is here. You employ half the people who live here.”

“Not me,” he insisted, “Simon.”

“The Cabots,” she reminded him.

“Oh, for-”

“Hunter!”

“Now what?” he muttered, stopping and draping one arm around Margie’s shoulder.

They’d already been stopped countless times by people excited to see Hunter back home. The heavy weight of his arm on her felt both comforting and like a set of shackles, binding her to his side. And how was that possible? How could she feel desire for the very man who was making her life a misery?

A young couple, James and Annie Drake, holding hands as they hurried up the sidewalk, grinned at Hunter and Margie as they approached. The man had brown hair and thick glasses, and his grin was reflected in his eyes. “Hi Margie. Hunter, it’s good to see you back.”

“Good to be back, James,” he said, and the tone of his voice was almost convincing.

Except that Margie knew he didn’t really want to be here. So who, she wondered, was acting now?

“Annie, good to see you, too. How’re the kids?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” the tall blond woman said, smiling at Margie. “Just ask your wife. She helped me ride herd on them during the last council meeting.”

“It was no trouble,” Margie put in, remembering the three-year-old twins, who were like tiny tornadoes.

“Is that right?” Hunter asked.

“Don’t know what this town did without her,” Annie said. “She’s helped everyone so much. And she has so many amazing ideas!”

Margie gave her friend a wan smile and wished Annie would be quiet. She could feel the tension in Hunter’s arm, and it was getting tighter.

“Oh, now that I believe,” Hunter said with a squeeze of her shoulders. “She’s just full of surprises.”

“Oh, yeah,” James added, “Margie’s a wonder.”

“So I keep hearing.”

Hunter’s arm around her shoulders tightened further, and Margie deliberately leaned into him, making his gesture seem more romantic than he meant it to be. The fact that the moment she was pressed to his side, heat spiraled through her system like an outof-control wildfire was just something she’d have to keep to herself.

“Well, we know you’re busy,” James was saying. “We just spotted you and wanted to thank you personally for everything you’re doing for the town. Folks really appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said thoughtfully. “About that…”

Was he going to admit to these nice people that he hadn’t had a thing to do with making their lives better? Would he tell them that Margie had been making up his involvement?

Annie interrupted him. “Just having the new day care center at Cabot headquarters has been a godsend,” she said, slapping one hand to the center of her chest as if taking an oath. “Margie told all of us how important you felt it was that the mothers who worked for you be able to leave their kids in a safe place. Somewhere close where the moms could work and still be close to their children.”

“Did she?”

Margie felt Hunter’s gaze on her but didn’t turn her head up to look at him, afraid she’d see anger or disgust or impatience in those cool blue eyes of his.

Tears swamped Annie’s eyes, but she blinked them away with a laugh. “God, look at me. Getting all teary over this! It just means a lot to all of us, Hunter. I mean, I need the job, but having the kids nearby makes working so much easier on me.”

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s real good, Annie, but the thing is…”

“See, honey,” Margie said quickly, determined to stop Hunter before he could disavow himself of everything these people were feeling. “I told you, everyone in town is so pleased that you’re taking an active interest in Springville.”

“She’s right about that,” James said. “Why, the newly redone Little League field and all of the flowers planted along Main Street…” He stopped and shook his head. “Well, it just means something to know that the Cabots are still attached to the town they built, that’s all.”

“Hunter’s happy to do it,” Margie told them, smiling and leaning even harder into her husband’s side.

“We just wanted to thank you in person,” James said, tugging his wife’s hand. “Now, we’ve got to run. Annie’s mom is watching our two little monsters, and she’s probably ready to tear her hair out by now.” Nodding, he said, “It really is good to see you, Hunter.”

“Right. Thanks.” Hunter stood stock-still on the sidewalk as the happy couple hurried off, and Margie felt the tension in him through the heavy arm he kept firmly around her shoulders.

“Well,” Margie said softly, trying-and failing-to peel herself off Hunter, “I suppose we’d better go on to Carla’s Dress Shop now.”

“In a minute,” Hunter said, tightening his arm around her until she could have sworn she could feel every one of his ribs, every ounce of muscle, every drop of heat pouring from his body into hers. “First, I want you to answer something for me.”

She swallowed hard, tipped her face up to his and found herself caught in his gaze. “What?”

“Why’d you do it?” he asked, features stony, eyes giving away nothing of what he was feeling. “Why’d you let everyone think that it was my idea to do all these things around town? Why didn’t you just do whatever it was you do without dragging me into it?”

“Because I’m your wife, Hunter,” she said. “It only made sense that you be a part of all of the decision making.”

“But I never asked for this,” he argued, his eyes going icy as he looked at her. “I didn’t-don’t-want to be responsible for this town.”

Margie shook her head and saw more than she guessed he would want her to. Whether he would admit it or not, he loved this place, too. She’d seen it in his face as they walked along the familiar street. She’d heard it in his voice when he greeted old friends. And she’d felt it from him as the Drakes offered their thanks for everything he’d done for them and everyone else.

“Don’t you see, Hunter,” she said softly and reached up to cup his cheek, voluntarily touching him for the first time. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what they need. The people in Springville need to feel that they’re important to the Cabots. And like it or not, you are the Cabots.”