Out of Her Dreams

Chapter Eight

They took the guys to the airport the following morning and David handed each of them a thick envelope jammed full of stills and candids from the two days in Chicago, along with his e-mail address and signed copies of Sam’s latest book.

Sam gave Joe her cell phone number and told him to keep in touch. She had really enjoyed his company.

David watched her as she hugged the young man and kissed his cheek and gave him the paper with her number on it. When she turned back to him and sighed, he noted the sad look in her eyes. “You still have the hots for that kid?” he asked softly.

Her eyes widened and she lifted her chin a little as she replied coolly, “That kid is a sweet guy. And I never had the hots for him.”

“You gave him your number.”

“You gave him your e-mail address. Have you got the hots for him?” She glowered up into his face as his frown changed to a slow grin.

“Maybe. He’s sort of a hunk in a gangly, skinny sort of way.” He mimicked her tone.

“I always thought you guys liked rolling around the mat with other guys for some darker reason.”

Her frown was adorable and he chucked her under the chin as he bent close to her face. “Come on now. We have an appointment to keep and we have to get all the way downtown.”

“Downtown?”

“That’s where the papers are that we’re gonna sign. Unless you’ve changed your mind.” His dark gaze pinned hers.

Sam shook her head. “No. I haven’t changed my mind. I was just hoping you’d changed yours.”

“Not a chance, Ms. Hastings.”

“I was afraid you would say that.” She climbed back into the limo and David told the driver to take them to an address in the heart of Chicago’s business district.

“How would you like to spend the next three weeks in Barbados?” he asked softly, lifting her hand to kiss it slowly as his thumb massaged her palm.

“Barbados? What’s in Barbados?”

“Beautiful beaches, gorgeous water, warm sun and the Presidential Suite at the Hilton Barbados.” His voice was quiet. His eyes searched her face.

“Sounds more like a honeymoon than a wrestling tour.”

“Exactly.”

She thought she’d heard him right but that last word made her blink and turn to look up into his face with a confused frown. “Excuse me? What do you mean by ‘exactly’?”

David cleared his throat and seemed suddenly nervous. When he spoke again, he said quietly, “This is just a legal agreement, Sam. I had my attorney draw it up. I want to be certain you don’t fly off and leave me high and dry again.”

She wet her lips and gazed at him, almost afraid to ask what he meant. “Enlighten me, David. I hate nasty surprises.”

His lips curved wickedly. “I would hope this surprise wouldn’t be considered ‘nasty’. I…had my attorney draw up a Memorandum of Understanding.”

“A Memorandum of Understanding? Like a legal contract? About me being your sex slave for six months?” Her eyes widened then narrowed.

David coughed and shook his head. “I don’t think that that would hold much water in a court of law, Sam. It has to be a proper Memorandum of Understanding between us.”

One hour later, Sam sat staring numbly at her copy of the agreement that she had just signed in front of a notary at the attorney’s office.

Her mind spun and her heart clenched to think that she had just legally agreed to live with him “for a period not to exceed six months”, at the end of which time either or both parties could decide to end the arrangement without any legal encumbrances or remuneration from the other etc., etc.

In effect, a trial marriage.

The lump that sat in the pit of her stomach should have been a bubble of joy. This agreement insured that neither she nor Phyllis would be liable to a lawsuit at the end of the agreement, no matter how it turned out.

Was she legally married? Hardly. She had agreed to live with David Chance until he grew weary of the arrangement and freed her by signing a release that guaranteed he would allow Samantha Hastings and her publisher the use of his face, body, name and so on and so forth insofar as the six books that were already completed were concerned. The catch was, if she wanted out before the six months were up, he could hit her and her publisher and business manager with the promised lawsuits.

She hadn’t said “I do”, and neither had David. But in effect, it would be damn near the same as being married. David had made the “honeymoon” reservations in Barbados under the names “Mr. and Mrs. David Chance”. As if he owned her. He was behaving like a small boy who’d snagged the last chocolate chip cookie from the jar, and was relishing that first bite.

The problem was, she couldn’t help but feel a little excited as well.