“Are you crazy? You don’t get married just because you’ve had sex.”
Carly had once been naive enough to believe otherwise. She’d lost her heart, her virginity and her baby in the process of learning that painful lesson.
She scrambled off the desk, snatched up her shirt and scanned the room for her bra. She didn’t see a hint of lace anywhere. Forget it. She stuffed her arms inside her sleeves and towed the fabric over her head.
Mitch’s hard, direct stare pinned her in place. “You want to ensure Rhett’s future is secure. So do I. This is the best way to do it. We’ll marry and adopt him.”
Rhett would be her son.
Too good to be true.
Holding her jeans and panties in front of her like a shield, she searched Mitch’s face, looking for something—anything—to clue her in to his emotional state.
Nada.
And yet she was tempted by his proposal. She liked Mitch more with each exposure and was only a nudge away from falling for him. This evening, watching him verbally spar with his brother had reminded her of what she’d never have with Marlene again. That empty, aching void, one very similar to the one left by giving up her daughter, seemed impossible to fill.
Rebound romance, the voice in her head screamed a now familiar warning.
“Why would you want to marry me?”
Mitch finished tucking in his shirt and then fastened his leather belt with much more dexterity than she’d fumbled it open earlier. “We’re good together. Explosive.”
Amen. She’d never had sex like that before. Wild. Unrestrained. And oh so wonderful. All right, maybe she and Mitch had some pretty powerful chemistry between them.
But marriage?
She couldn’t ignore the caution lights illuminating her brain like the Vegas strip. “We’ve known each other less than three weeks. I don’t think it’s a good idea, Mitch.”
“Besides the timing, give me one good reason why we shouldn’t.”
Feeling exposed in more ways than one, she stepped into her pants and fastened them.
“Love?” Or lack thereof.
“You’ve been in love before. How’d that work for you?”
She grimaced. “Not so well.”
All three of the men she’d loved had let her down, betrayed her in one way or another and left her. Was it better to go into a relationship with something less fragile than love as the glue to hold it together? With her track record, it was beginning to look that way.
And with the way she felt, wasn’t love right around the corner? But she didn’t want a one-sided affair. She wanted to be loved back. Was Mitch Kincaid capable?
He might have started out as a jerk, but she and he shared a strong sense of family. If not, they wouldn’t be butting heads over a determination to do the right thing by Rhett. And if she lived here as Mitch’s wife and a permanent part of Rhett’s up-bringing, she could do her best to ensure her sister’s precious son wouldn’t be exposed to the world of nannies or turn into some spoiled, rich brat who snorted his life away.
“I like and respect you, Carly, and I admire your dedication to your nephew. It’s enough to build on.”
Nephew. A reminder that Rhett wasn’t hers.
But he could be.
“You said earlier today that you couldn’t promise forever,” she reminded him.
“I said I couldn’t guarantee it. How many marriages starting with that pledge actually last ’til death do us part?”
Less than fifty percent.
We could be a family.
And Carly could give Rhett what her sister had so desperately wanted for him but hadn’t been able to achieve—the right to grow up in Kincaid Manor, his father’s home.
She was tempted. Very tempted. And not just for Rhett’s sake.
Marlene hated Mitch. She’d called him a conniving rat bastard.
But Marlene had called everyone who gave her a hard time names, Carly reminded herself. Her twin had been hot-tempered…and devious, if the notebook was to be believed.
Mitch tried to convince Marlene to abort.
But he’d done so on his father’s orders.
Mitch cupped her shoulders, interrupting her private debate. “We could have this—” a nod indicated the desk “—every day for as long as the passion lasts.”
Need twisted through her abdomen, wreaking havoc with her reservations. But Mitch had a thing about women having a price. “I’m not looking for a sugar daddy.”
“I don’t intend to be one.”
“I would never abandon Rhett.”
“I won’t force you to.”
Indecision rocked her like a buoy in a tropical storm. “We’d always discuss what’s best for him?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about brothers and sisters for him sometime in the future? I’d—I’d really like to have a…a baby one day.”
Mitch’s nostrils flared. “One child at a time. Let’s get through the adoption first.”
“But you like children?”
He expelled a slow breath. “I like kids.”
“And you’d—we’d—be…exclusive?”
“When I make a commitment, I see it through.”
Her heart pounded so hard she could barely think. Her resistance wavered.
Do what’s best for Rhett.
All she had to do was say yes and Rhett would have a home, family and security, and she’d have the possibility of another baby in her future.
It wouldn’t be a storybook marriage, and she wasn’t deluded enough to believe she could ever fill the hole in her heart left from relinquishing her daughter. But she wanted a baby and another chance to be the mother she’d always dreamed she could have been. And despite being burned three times, she still wanted a chance at love.
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to buy calm and time and to gather her courage.
It’s the right thing to do.
She met Mitch’s gaze. “I’ll marry you.”
Mitch’s fingers contracted, and then he released her. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up a prenup. As soon as it’s done and yours has looked it over, we’ll do this.”
The caution lights flashed. “A prenup?”
“Standard protocol when there’s so much inequity in each partner’s net worth.”
Understandable. If she were him, she’d want one, too. But a small nagging part of her wished he trusted her without legal backup. “You’re in a hurry to do this?”
“Why wait?”
“I’d, um…like my parents to be here.”
“I’ll charter a jet.”
“I’ll need to see how soon we can reserve the church.”
“I’d prefer a private ceremony here.”
She’d always dreamed of a church wedding. “But—”
“Your sister has been dead three months, my father just over one. An elaborate ceremony would be inappropriate.”
He had a point. “Okay. But I want my preacher to preside.”
“A judge will work just as well.”
“Not negotiable, Mitch. I want the church’s blessing.”
His jaw shifted into the stubborn angle with which she’d become so familiar. “If he can do it by the end of the week. I’ll make it worth his while to be available.”
Her head spun at the speed with which he made life-changing decisions. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow after the service. He’s not going to be happy about the rush. He usually requires some kind of premarital counseling. Perhaps you’d like to come with me and persuade him to skip that part.”
His shoulders stiffened. Mitch’s green eyes darkened and drilled into hers. “I’ll be there.”
Even her preacher had his price.
Carly would become Mrs. Mitch Kincaid Friday evening.
Shocked and a little disillusioned by how easily money had trumped faith and principle this morning, Carly followed Mitch toward the hundred-foot-long yacht docked at the back of the Kincaid property after church. All it had taken was a generous donation and her pastor had fallen all over himself to accommodate Mitch’s wishes. If he’d had other plans for Friday evening, he hadn’t mentioned them.
“It’s Rhett’s nap time. Can’t we go boating later?”
“He can sleep on board. I had a nursery set up in one of the cabins while we were out this morning. We have a two o’clock appointment.”
“With?”
He paused and turned on the sidewalk. The brisk breeze blowing off the water ruffled his nearly black hair and fluttered the lapels of the navy suit he’d worn to church. She couldn’t see his eyes because of his dark sunglasses. “The jeweler.”
Her mind shrieked and her feet skidded to a stop. Rings. She hadn’t even thought about rings. He was moving too fast. “Can’t we drive there?”
“Yes, if we want our engagement to be front-page news tomorrow. I’m trying to avoid having cameras shoved in our faces each time we leave the house.”
Front-page news? A shiver racked her despite the ninety-degree heat. She hugged Rhett closer. “That’s going to happen?”
“Our marriage will make news. But the attention will pass. Eventually. Lunch is waiting on board.”
Carlos, the gardener, and Tomas, a general handyman who helped wherever needed, waited on the dock. Mitch greeted them, stepped on board and turned to offer Carly a hand across the gangplank. The hot seal of their palms quickened her pulse. They’d made love four times in the past twenty-six hours, the most recent just before church this morning, and yet her heart still tripped when he touched her.
From the moment she stepped into the main cabin, she realized the Kincaids took luxury with them wherever they went. She’d been on boats before, but never one as opulent as this. This floating living room with its hardwood floors, white leather sofas and beveled glass and teak tables could have been in anyone’s home. China, crystal and a silver ice bucket holding a bottle of something waited on a full-size dining-room table beneath a sparkling chandelier. The plastic high chair looked as out of place as Carly felt.
The engines rumbled to life beneath her feet, but the boat barely rocked as Carlos and Tomas cast off. Mitch led her to the table, took Rhett from her and competently strapped him into the high chair. Mitch had come a long way and no longer froze when Rhett touched him. In fact, he often initiated contact and this morning he’d had Rhett dressed and fed before Carly emerged from the shower. He’d be a good father.
Mitch pulled out her chair. Carly sat. His fingertips dragged along her neckline as he lifted her hair away from the high back of her chair, and she shivered. He bent down and pressed a kiss in the curve of her neck and shoulder and then his teeth grazed her skin. Her breath hitched and heat blossomed in her abdomen.
He straightened, circled to the opposite side of the table and sat directly across from her. She couldn’t look away from his handsome face, his tanned skin and his intensely green eyes.
Hers. The possessive statement echoed through her as she briefly shifted her gaze to his mouth. The contrast between his hard jaw and soft lips sent arousal prickling through her. The things he’d done with those lips last night had devastated her inhibitions.
As if he could read her mind, hunger flared in his eyes and arousal darkened his cheekbones. A corresponding flush swept over her. She broke his gaze and focused on Rhett, who was busy examining the dog stamped onto the back of his hand in the church nursery this morning. The church stamped parents and children with the same figure at drop-off time to keep anyone from taking home the wrong child. Both she and Mitch wore blue dogs to match Rhett’s.
Bonded by a blue dog. Marked as a family.
Mitch had surprised her by not only allowing himself to be stamped, but also by not washing away the ink as soon as possible.
He’d surprised her in a lot of ways this morning. First, he’d been so attentive at church that anyone watching them would believe this was a real romance. Second, he’d incited very impious thoughts each time his thumbnail grazed her palm or his thigh pressed hers during the sermon. And third, he’d played her preacher like the powerbroker she suspected Mitch Kincaid might be behind his KCL desk.
It bothered her that he believed money could buy anything. But in his experience, it probably had.
She wanted to trust that their marriage would work and wanted to have faith that mutual passion and concern for Rhett would be enough to sustain the relationship. And if she were lucky, love would grow. She was already heading down that path. How could she not? Mitch was tall, dark, handsome, confident, intelligent and fair. His employees respected and trusted him—much more than they had his father, apparently.
And he did nice things. She fingered the boy charm pendant.
Despite the haunting invasion of her sister’s warnings that kept seeping into her brain, Carly kept finding more to like about Mitch every day.
Elena, Carlos’s wife, entered with a tray. She served Carly and Mitch skewers of large grilled shrimp atop beds of rice and sautéed vegetables. Rhett’s plastic plate held his favorite diced foods. Elena left them.
Mitch reached for the bottle and corkscrew. The dark hairs on his wrist beneath his snowy shirt fascinated Carly as he worked the cork free. “After we finish with the jeweler, you need to call your parents. I’ve arranged for the jet to pick them up Thursday morning and carry them back Sunday. Since we can’t leave town until the end of the year unless it’s business-related, we won’t have a honeymoon.”
A honeymoon. Time devoted to nothing but discovering each other’s minds and bodies. She hadn’t given it a thought, but now that he’d planted the seed she realized she’d love a week of Mitch’s undivided attention. Desire made her shift in her seat. “That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to leave Rhett anyway.”
He popped the cork without spilling a drop—the sign of experience—and then filled the flutes with bubbly gold champagne. After wedging the bottle back in the ice, he lifted his flute. “To us. May our marriage be everything we expect it to be.”
“To us,” she echoed and tinked her rim against his.
The chilled liquid slid down her throat like nectar. “Mmm. You know your wines. I’ll grant you that.”
Carly found an appetite that had been AWOL since yesterday morning. She set down her glass and attacked her lunch. The shrimp and crisp veggies tasted divine. She’d been too nervous to eat breakfast today. She had no trouble replacing the calories they’d burned now.
“Rand will be my witness. You can invite one of your own or use your parents,” Mitch said fifteen minutes later after she’d practically inhaled her meal.
“Only one?”
“The fewer people who are a part of this, the less likely it’ll turn into a circus. And unless you intend to quit your job you’ll need to warn them at work that they might need to beef up security until the media storm blows over.”
“What? No, I’m not going to quit. I love my job.”
“Paparazzi enjoy exploiting the rich and famous.”
Paparazzi. A warning prickled her skin. “I’m neither.”
“You will be.”
She chewed over the disturbing news. It wouldn’t be the same as before. She wasn’t young and naive, and Mitch wasn’t going to hang her out to dry to save his own reputation.
Was she making a mistake to bring Rhett into a world where the media watched and waited for fodder?
No. She was giving him what Marlene had wanted—his birthright.
“We’ll apply for the marriage license first thing in the morning.”
“What about my clients?”
“Reschedule an hour or two. And while you’re at it, take Thursday and Friday off.”
“Mitch, I can’t. People are counting on me.”
“Your parents will be here and you have a wedding to plan.”
Right again. She mentally pictured her schedule, trying to guess who could be shuffled and who couldn’t. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Rhett finished his lunch and his eyes grew droopy. Carly was glad of the excuse to escape. Mitch showed her below deck to a stateroom as posh as the one in the manor. He’d taken care of every detail from diapers to Rhett’s favorite stuffed gator.
She changed Rhett and tucked him into the crib. He immediately went to sleep, taking away her excuse for hiding out. It was almost two o’clock, so she made her way back upstairs.
The engines quieted as she returned to the living area. “Why are we stopping?”
“We have company.”
Before she could ask who, she spotted another boat bumping alongside. But it wasn’t the harbor patrol, which often stopped boats to check for safety issues. The crew of the other yacht linked the boats, and a distinguished-looking older gentleman wearing a goatee and carrying a briefcase came aboard. Mitch greeted him at the door and gestured for him to enter.
“Carly, this is Mr. Belmonté, our jeweler. He has a selection of rings for you to look over.”
Surprised once again, she glanced out the windows on either side of the room. The closest landmass was at least a mile away. “We’re in the middle of the bay.”
“It’s the best way to ensure privacy,” Mitch said as if he shopped in such odd places on a regular basis.
She’d assumed they’d dock at the back door of the jewelry store…or something.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Corbin. I have chosen a number of designs based on Mr. Kincaid’s description, but if none of them pleases you I have more back at the shop.”
After shaking her hand, Belmonté placed his briefcase on the coffee table and flipped it open. Carly nearly fell over backward. The glittering display of fifty or more rings on black velvet had to be worth bazillions. She couldn’t catch her breath, and someone had glued her feet to the floor. Surreal.
Mitch slipped an arm around her waist and guided her to the sofa. Carly collapsed onto the cushion because her legs had started shaking. And then Mitch sat beside her, as close as a postage stamp. The heat of his body seeped into hers.
“Do you see anything you like, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart? Her head swiveled his way. Their gazes collided. “I—I—”
Mitch looked at her steadily. His hand covered the fist she’d curled on her thigh. He’s playing a part. He’d said everyone had a price. Did he think the jeweler did, too?
Play along. It will be better for Rhett in the long run.
“Which do you prefer? Yellow gold, white gold or platinum?”
Carly turned her attention back to the tray. “They’re all so beautiful…and so…” Huge. There couldn’t be anything in the tray that cost less than her car. She’d bet some of the pieces cost as much as her house.
She blinked and tried again. “I can’t wear anything too large. I work with my hands.”
“May I make a suggestion?” The jeweler selected a ring. “This is a flawless three-carat Asscher cut stone. When the platinum bands are added—” he paused to flank the ring with a pair of matching bands “—the stone is protected.”
The wedding bands cupped the stone’s edges in a swirl of gleaming metal. “It’s beautiful.”
“Try it on,” Mitch urged her. “Here. Let me.”
He took the rings from Belmonté, lifted her hand and slid the cool metal down her finger. Warm hands. Cold rings. The contrast overwhelmed her nervous system. But the rings fit as if made for her. A sign? Or a coincidence?
“Like it?” Mitch asked in that low rumble that made her skin tingle.
A knot formed halfway down her throat. Her fingers convulsed around Mitch’s. She nodded, and garbled, “Yes.”
“We’ll take it.”
“And your ring, sir?” The jeweler flipped a lever and another velvet layer dropped to cover the solitaires and display a selection of men’s rings. “You suggested something simple.”
She doubted she could afford anything in the tray, but tradition stated the bride buy the groom’s ring. “Mitch—”
“This one.” Quick and decisive, the Mitch she’d come to know, selected a wide band and slipped it on.
“Very good choice, sir. Also platinum and it complements Ms. Corbin’s ring nicely.”
She nudged Mitch’s thigh. “Could I speak to you a moment?”
“Certainly. Excuse us.” He rose and escorted her toward the bow of the ship. Carly glanced through a doorway and gaped. The kitchen or galley or whatever it was called was roomier than the one in her house. Mitch stopped in a stateroom that put her Kincaid Manor suite to shame.
“I’m not sure I can afford that ring.”
“I’m paying for it and the rest of the wedding.”
“But the bride is supposed—”
“Supposed to let the groom take care of her.”
“But, Mitch—”
His mouth covered hers. He parted her lips and swept the protests from her tongue with his. Leaning closer, he sandwiched her body between inflexible wall and immovable muscle. His strength and his weight held her captive, freeing his hands to caress her waist, her hips and the outsides of her breasts. Overwhelmed by his flavor, his possession, Carly’s senses rioted. The strength seeped from her frame until only the thigh he’d wedged between hers held her upright.
By the time he lifted his head, she couldn’t find her breath or gather her protests to argue her point. She now knew what kissed into submission meant. In a minute she’d work up a protest over such manhandling.
“Let’s get rid of Belmonté,” his rough voice scraped over her already heightened senses.
Protesting could wait. “Good idea.”
They returned to the salon. Within minutes, the deal was done and Belmonté had left on his boat. Carly stared numbly at the rings weighting her hand like concrete blocks.
She was doing the right thing.
She was certain of it. Almost.
Anxiety gnawed at her stomach, but then Mitch laced his fingers through hers and led her toward the stateroom.
She’d worry about worrying later. Because anything that felt this good had to be right.