Everything but the Baby (Harlequin Superromance) (15 page)

“Mark! It worked!” She realized belatedly that he wasn't alone, and stopped, midstep, with her hands outstretched. She opened her mouth. “Oh. Hi, everyone.”

Her grandparents didn't answer, clearly confused. Maybe they wondered who Mark was, but more likely they were trying to figure out who this noisy intruder could be. She didn't look at all like the prim young granddaughter they'd taken in last week. She looked more like a naughty, high-spirited teenager who'd partied too long at the beach.

Her sunburned cheeks glowed as red as apples. Her
hair was all flyaway tangles, a halo of cherry-flavored cotton candy. Under her yellow T-shirt—which looked suspiciously like the one Lincoln had been wearing earlier—her cover-up peeked out just one flirty inch.

And her green eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Hi, Stephen. Kate.” She had her hands behind her back, and was apparently wringing them together. Then she elaborately scratched under the neckline of her T-shirt. He frowned, wondering whether she'd just slipped something into the bra top of her bikini.

She turned to Mark, raised her eyebrows and smiled at him innocently. “Hi, Matt. Sorry to interrupt.”

Stephen recovered first. “Sure and you're not interrupting, darlin'. We've just been talking to Matt here about his public relations business. We're thinking he might be able to help us with the launch of the new hotel.”

“You're opening a new hotel?” Allison looked surprised. “Where?”

“Palm Beach.” Kate shook her finger at her husband. “And we haven't decided anything yet. I'm not sure we need any public relations. If we've got a good hotel, it'll sell itself. If we don't…well, you know what they say. Put silk on a goat, and it's still a goat.”

“You're absolutely right, Mrs. O'Hara.” Mark smiled. “That's why I never take any goats as clients.”

Kate's answering laugh was a pleasant sound without rancor. Mark didn't mind her skepticism, which wasn't rude, just honest. Besides, he thought it would be far better if he didn't take the O'Haras on anyhow. They knew him under an alias and would probably never trust him again, once they found out the truth.

“Katie, don't be foolish.” Stephen waved his bony hand in the air. “We wouldn't be hiring him to cover up our sins. Smart people can get the word out about a good hotel, but no man ever existed who could smother the truth about a bad hotel.”

Mark thought perhaps that was the best definition of public relations he'd ever heard. But he saw that Allison was bursting with news, and he didn't know how long she could keep it from exploding out of her.

“How about if we talk more tomorrow? Kate may be right. You may not need any professional help. The Hideaway has an excellent reputation. You'll get plenty of press when you branch out.”

Stephen wasn't ready to let it go. “We should talk now,” he said. “I'd like to hear what you—”

But Kate was more perceptive and she sensed that something else was going on. She glanced curiously at Allison, then at Mark, before turning toward her husband.

“Tomorrow is soon enough,” she said firmly. “I want to sleep on it. I've had a long day, so give it up, you stubborn old man. Let's go to bed.”

Stephen took his scolding with the good nature of a happy husband who knew he was loved. He rose with a heavy, completely artificial sigh. “I don't dare disobey. You'll learn as soon as you're married, my boy, that the old saying is right. Better fifty enemies outside your house than one within.”

Mark didn't mention that he'd learned that years ago. “Good night,” he said, accepting the hand Stephen held out and then a hug from Kate.

They both hugged Allison, too, though she yelped softly when they touched her sunburned back.

“Lord, girl, you're burnt to a crisp!” Stephen seemed ready to launch into a lecture, but Kate hustled him out the door. “But, Katie,” they heard him say as he disappeared, “that Boston snob clearly never taught her the first thing about Irish skin.”

Finally alone, Mark and Allison exchanged smiles. “You do rather glow in the dark,” he observed, scanning her from red cheeks to pink knees. “That's going to hurt something terrible tomorrow.”

“It was worth it.” She sat on the chair her grandfather had vacated, pushed away his empty cup and grabbed Mark's hands in hers. “It worked, Mark. As soon as you left, Lincoln—”

“Oh. Sorry.” A low, surly voice spoke suddenly from the doorway. “I didn't know anyone was down here.”

Mark bit back a groan. Were they never to get any privacy?

This time it was Daniel. Though it was only about ten o'clock, the teen looked sleepy-eyed and his red hair was tousled almost as badly as Allison's. He wore a pair of sweat pants and an armless sweatshirt that probably said O'Hara's Hideaway, although it had seen so many washes the
H
had faded and it seemed to say “O'Hara's idea way.”

Mark stood. “No problem. We were just leaving anyhow.” He cocked his head, indicating to Allison that she should follow him. She did so without any guilty hesitation, though she paused a moment to smile at her cousin. That was a waste of time, as Mark could have
told her. The boy's face was as closed-in and unfriendly as if they were a pair of mice he'd found raiding the pantry.

“Good night,” she said politely.

The kid mumbled something that might have been “g'night” or “yeah, right.” Or something even worse. He didn't meet Allison's eyes.

Mark and Allison didn't talk again until they reached Mark's room, aware that the place was literally crawling with O'Haras. But the minute he shut the door and latched it behind them, she spun around gaily and let out a crow of triumph.

“We did it! Or rather,
you
did it!” She put her hands on his shoulder and bounced once. “You should have seen him, Mark. He was so jealous he couldn't think straight.”

Mark forced himself to smile. This grinning cutie with her crazy hair and her squealing laughter was a million miles away from the tightly furious young bride he'd met throwing knives at a fruit man just a few weeks ago. She was clearly a much happier woman. Why, then, wasn't he a happier man?

“That's good,” he said. “But did he go all the way? Did he mention marriage?”

“
Mention
it?” She dug around under her shirt, finally emerging with a big, sparkling diamond ring. She waved it slowly back and forth over her head, like a captured enemy flag.

He raised one eyebrow. “Is that where you stash all your valuables?”

“I had to take it off in the kitchen,” she said, giggling,
as if she were a little drunk on the day's victory. “I wasn't ready to explain it to Stephen and Kate, although I guess I'll have to tell them pretty soon. He said he's not ready to set a date yet, but I'm planning to push for something quick. I'm sure he'll see that sooner is safer, right?”

He knew she was waiting for him to celebrate with her, but he felt strangely pinched, unable to share the joy. He'd felt this way all night, ever since she'd come to him on that island and, with a wink and a grin, asked him to go away.

It was the plan.
His
plan. And yet he hadn't wanted to leave. It was that simple and that stupid. Like a fool, he had wanted to stay there, eating apples and grapes with her under the palm trees, in the glow of the setting sun. He'd wanted to ride home over the waves with her behind him, her breasts against his back, her warm hands around his hips.

Knowing how dumb that was made him sour and it made him angry. At himself, mostly. But also, irrationally, at her. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't brilliant. She wasn't anything irresistible.

So why the hell couldn't he resist her?

She was studying him now, a small frown between her eyes. “Is everything okay, Mark? Aren't you pleased?”

He rallied the best he could. “Of course. It's a showy ring. Is this the same one you used before? Or did the cheapskate spring for a new one?”

She slipped it on her finger and wiggled it, making the colors dance under the overhead lights. “Nope,
same one. I brought it with me, just in case. Although technically it's not fair to call him cheap, you know,” she added with a teasing smile. “He's poor. He hasn't got a penny of his own. That's why he is always looking for rich wives.”

Mark was surprised to discover how much it annoyed him to see that ring on her finger. It was just a fake engagement, a fake marriage. And what did he care, anyhow? What the hell was wrong with him tonight?

“If he's poor, I'd like to know where my sister's money went. It's only been six months since Lincoln absconded with a tidy three hundred grand, not to mention the Travers Peacock.”

Her playful excitement disappeared instantly, as if it had been no more substantial than a soap bubble, and his sharp words were a barrage of needles.

“I—I honestly don't know,” she stammered. “You're right. He probably bought this ring with Tracy's money. But…I know! When we finally nail him, you can take it. Give it to your sister.”

He flicked a cold glance at her hand. “I don't think it will exactly lift her spirits, do you? To be presented with the diamond her bigamist husband bought for his second wife?”

It was impossible to see, under that sunburn, but he suspected she flushed. He felt like a heel, but he couldn't seem to make himself behave. The whole damned situation stunk, from beginning to end. He found himself wondering how many strokes and kisses Lincoln had required as a reward for finally mentioning marriage.

Had he required sex? Was that why Allison had come home so late? The Jet Ski ride had been finished by dark. Two hours ago.

“I'm sorry,” she said meekly. “That was a dumb idea, about the ring. I was just trying to—”

“No, I'm sorry,” Mark said. He walked to the sliding glass doors and unlatched them. He dragged one open, letting the humid night air into the room. Mostly, he just needed to put some distance between himself and Allison.

“I know what you meant,” he said. “I just— I guess I just hate having to spend time with that bastard and not be able to choke him till he's blue.”

She joined him at the open door. Below them, the courtyard was empty, the only sound the rustle of the wind in the palms and the sandy hiss of the incoming tide. He heard her sigh, an echo of the summer breeze.

“I know,” she said. “Me, too. Maybe you'll feel better when he's behind bars. I know I will.”

He nodded. “Maybe.”

She was silent a moment.

“Mark, there's something else I wanted to tell you.” She touched his arm, and he felt her warmth seep into his skin. “I know we said we weren't going to talk about this anymore, but I…I haven't been able to stop thinking about this afternoon. Being together like that, in the water, and…”

He waited. He deliberately didn't turn around. He stared at the moon-white tide, but he saw her anyhow. He saw her wild hair and her worried eyes, and those full lips he wanted, in spite of everything, to kiss.

“It felt good.” She spoke softly. “And it felt real.”

He stiffened. “It was supposed to feel real. That was the point, remember?”

“Yes, I remember. But—” She slid her hand up his arm, tentatively, just under the sleeve of his T-shirt. She rounded her warm palm against the curve of his shoulder and an electric shiver streaked across his chest. “It was more than that, wasn't it? There is something between us, and I don't know if I can—”

“We're not going to do this, Allison.” He didn't shove her hand away. That would have signaled weakness. Instead he forced himself not to feel it, to go numb where her fingers stroked him. “We agreed that it was a mistake.”

“But why? Why is it a mistake?” She shifted closer, so that the curve of her breast came warm against his upper arm. “If we both want—”

“We
don't
both want the same thing.” He turned toward her slightly, just enough so that he could grab hold of her arm and pull it away. “We've already talked about this. I want sex. You want a relationship. You want a husband, a happily-eve-after with two perfect babies whose names you've already picked out.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. You want those babies so much you were willing to blind yourself to what a bastard Lincoln Gray was. You're not looking for a romp in the sheets, Allison. You're looking for a husband. You're looking for a
daddy
.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I've already admitted that I want all that.
Someday
. But I know I made a big mistake
with Lincoln. I know that from now on I have to go slowly. I have to start at the beginning.”

“Damn it.”
He gripped her by the shoulders. “I'm telling you but you're not hearing me. If we have sex, it won't be the beginning of anything. It will just be sex. End of story. Nothing more.”

She still refused to flinch. “How can you be so sure? You don't know what the future holds any more than I do. The chemistry between us is real. Why couldn't it become something more someday? Surely it has just as much chance as any relationship—”

“No, it doesn't.”

“Why not?”

He did a quick battle with bitterness. If he could go back in time, if he could find the cocky teenager he used to be and warn him, he would. If he could keep that stupid, terrible accident from happening, he would.

But he couldn't. The high school senior he used to be had jumped at the chance to go snowboarding in Vermont. He'd always remember that last day of normalcy. The daredevil tricks, his friends egging him on, the adrenaline high. All that, then the slip, the crash, that final second of consciousness in which he'd learned that he wasn't so cool. He wasn't so brilliant. And he wasn't, after all, immortal.