The girls disappeared. They simply melted into the landscape of parked cars. No one stayed to back Kelly up, no one remained to lend support. And there was no one left to take that blasted candle but herself.
Kelly stared in dismay at the pink wax held out in Dean's long, tanned fingers. "Uh, thanks," she said, and plucked it from his grip. She was sure her face had turned as red as Dean's. But that was nothing compared to the rapid-fire beating of her heart. He was here. Why was he here?
Worse, why was she so excited to see him?
"I have, you know," he said.
With no idea what he was talking about, Kelly fumbled the candle into the front pocket of her sweat jacket. "What?" she asked.
"Come to apologize," he repeated.
At that Kelly had to look at him again. His gaze was dark, focused entirely on her.
God, Kelly thought, whatever his sins, he was still the handsomest devil she'd ever seen. And he was also — still — so different. For half a second that bothered her, how different he was, not that she believed his story of hypnosis for one second. Frantically, she reached for some level of sanity. "You can't exactly apologize for walking out on me."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "No, I can't make up for that."
Ha! Kelly thought.
"But I am sorry I didn't believe you when you came to my office the other day." His gaze sharpened on her. "I shouldn't have called you a phony. I shouldn't have assumed you were anything but exactly what you claimed to be." He paused. A different muscle twitched in his jaw. "My wife."
"Uh huh." Kelly shook her head, trying to digest it all. He was here. He'd flown all the way across the country to tell her...this? "So you're still saying you don't remember me," she declared, just to make it clear to both of them.
His lips thinned. "I'm not 'saying it.' It's true."
Their eyes met, and locked. Never had Kelly met a crumb who could look so sincere. Sincere? He looked positively annoyed.
"Uh huh," she said, confused. Why was he annoyed?
His next remark answered that. "Believe me or not, Miss Williams, but we are legally wed. That gives us matters to discuss." He looked at her, implacable.
Kelly stared back at him, uncomprehending. Then it hit her. The divorce. "Oh," she said. He was sincere, all right. Sincere in his desire to get rid of her. She squelched a ridiculous little pang beneath her breastbone. This fellow wasn't the man she'd once believed him to be, not the sweet and tender love of her life. It was okay, it was good, to put an end to this.
"Matters," she said. "Fine. Wonderful."
His gaze averted. "I have a place we can be private."
###
Kelly had to admit herself impressed. He was all prepared. In the hotel, he'd reserved a conference room for their little meeting, with scattered sofas, end tables, and lamps. Formal, impersonal, and the message clear: neutral territory.
She strode in ahead of him, reassured. Neither emotions nor passion would get involved here. This was, indeed, simply business. And simply business was all Kelly wanted it to be. Handsome as he was, the man still wasn't admitting he even knew her. A crumb to the end.
"Please," he said, indicating a pink-striped sofa. "Have a seat."
Kelly glanced at him. His expression was cool, calm, even pleasant. A crumb with impeccable manners. With her fists clenched in her jacket pockets, she sat.
Dean moved with easy grace to a red floral chair to one side. He picked up a briefcase and set it on the coffee table between them.
So, Kelly thought, he already had the papers drawn up. Quite...foresightful. And quite unlike the man she'd known. That, apparently, had been one big, fat masquerade.
But whatever. All she had to do was sign. She did not lean back against the sofa cushions. Why, she'd be out of here, done with the whole humiliating episode in minutes.
Dean set one hand atop the leather briefcase. "I understand you don't believe me about the hypnosis, or about forgetting everything that happened during the ensuing two days. But I wonder if you wouldn't mind...humoring me for a few minutes."
"Um. What?"
He opened the clasps of the briefcase with a simultaneous click. "I'd like to know what I did for two days. You could help with the answers to a few simple questions."
Kelly chewed the inside of her cheek. She was supposed to humor him? To what end? "Well, I don't — What's that?" He'd drawn some sheets of double-folded paper from his case.
"This is my credit card report, starting with the plane tickets I bought Friday evening." He shook it open. "The first item I don't understand is a place called 'Nat's.'" He looked over at her.
Kelly looked back. Did he really think she wanted to play this game? And why? She wasn't going to fight a divorce.
His brows rose. "Bar?"
Kelly's breath rushed out. She didn't go out to bars with men she met after the show!
He tilted his head. "You're just humoring me, remember? Not admitting my story's true or anything."
"It's a diner," Kelly blurted, as if he didn't know that perfectly well himself. They'd sat over the same pair of free refill coffees for three hours. He'd smiled at her as they'd talked and talked, a smile all slow and tender. She'd begun to melt, thinking he really cared. Yeah, right. Just showed how much she knew.
Dean's eyes went back down to his sheet. "A diner. That sounds pedestrian enough. But what about this sailboat? I rented a sailboat in Las Vegas?"
"No, that was Lake Mead." Kelly snapped her mouth shut. What was she doing? He had to know they'd spent the day on the lake, just lazing and looking up at the blue, blue sky. He had to remember they'd shared their first kiss in the shadow of a narrow river canyon. The boat had rocked beneath them. And so, she'd thought, had her world.
"Pardon me. Lake Mead. That should have shown up on the printout." He frowned down at the paper. "We got there awfully early."
"We drove through the night."
He shot her a penetrating look. "I...see."
Kelly felt her eyes widen. "We drove," she said firmly. "Besides, we weren't married yet." But she supposed he'd 'forgotten' that, too. Forgotten her stammered explanation of her no-sex-without-marriage policy, forgotten his serene acceptance of her restriction, followed by his own, incredible proposal.
Apparently so, for his gaze went back down to his paper printout and his voice went dry. "Oh, yes. Our wedding, held at the Little Chapel of the Dawn. My investigator confirms: all perfectly legal. I even bought you a ring and — " His implacable face suddenly reddened. "Party favors."
Kelly found herself blushing, too. On the way out of the chapel, laughing, he'd bought a pair of handcuffs. "It was no big deal," she now claimed. They'd been fur-lined and hadn't even had real locks — nor had they ended up getting used.
His face resumed its normal color as he set his printout to the side. "You're right. Not much of a big deal, compared to what is conspicuously missing. Miss Williams — " Slowly, he clasped his hands and set them around one knee. His dark lashes lowered. "Miss Williams, nowhere on this credit report is there a record that I bought protection. Condoms. Anything of that nature."
Kelly stared at him.
"I assume we had sexual relations and so I need to ask." He lifted his lashes enough to give her an amazingly direct look. "I have to ask: were such relations unprotected?"
Kelly continued to stare. His eyes were steady, his mouth flat. "We didn't use protection," she heard herself admit.
His stare went into laser-mode. "Then you could be — "
"No."
"But — "
"I'm not pregnant." Her gaze averted and she found herself blushing all over again. "I already know."
"Oh," he said a moment later, and released a deep breath.
"God." Kelly jumped from the sofa, stalked to the nearest wall, and crossed her arms tightly. She glared at a painting of a beach. "What a thing to have to tell a rank stranger."
They both stopped. A heavy silence descended on the room. As she stared at the beach, Kelly felt a prickling all over her skin. Slowly, she turned.
He was watching her, very alert. Waiting.
Kelly's heart started pounding. Was it possible — ? Could he actually — ? That is, she'd considered the scenario for half an instant here and there, but could it actually be true? Was he a rank stranger, someone who didn't remember meeting her...or anything?
Kelly swallowed. She didn't want to believe it. It was too outrageous. It smelled like getting bamboozled again. She cleared her throat, intending to tell him she wasn't fooled when, even as she looked at him, he transformed.
Not physically. No, physically he was the Dean she remembered; dark hair, wavy, left a little too long, blue eyes like a midnight sea, body like a panther. But behind the eyes —
Behind the eyes was someone she'd never met before, herself.
Kelly had to think in order to breathe. Her knees felt shaky. "Oh," she said. "Oh."
The new man, the stranger, got to his feet. "There is one other document. Would you, please?" He indicated the sofa with his hand.
Kelly shifted her gaze to the sofa but didn't dare move. She tried to go back to skeptical mode, but it wouldn't work. He wouldn't be the other man again, the one she knew. He was...somebody else. Somebody who'd been hypnotized, who didn't even remember meeting her, let alone remember falling in love.
Apparently giving up on the idea she would sit, he plucked up something from his briefcase. It was a tiny piece of paper, only about an inch square and soiled, as by kitchen oil. He held it out to her.
The insistence in his gaze finally made Kelly move. She took a step, close enough to see he was holding a receipt. "Duncan's Donuts," she read aloud. The prickling sensation returned, sweeping over her tenfold.
"Does that mean anything to you?"
Kelly could feel a bubble of hysteria inside. "You got the donuts."
"I was holding a bag of them when I 'woke up.' For you, I presume. I never eat such things, myself."
The bubble of hysteria inside Kelly expanded. She started to laugh. "But you were the one who noticed the store, who wanted them — " She stopped. Biting her lip, she looked at him, looked at the man behind the eyes. "No," she corrected. "That wasn't you." Kelly felt a chill replace her hysteria. "Was it?"
He turned. Delicately, he returned the little piece of paper to his briefcase. "Miss Williams, I can only repeat my heartfelt apology that you got mixed up in this...little accident of mine. The hypnosis — well, I never actually expected to go under, and then my cousin Troy had to get in on the act with his amusing 'suggestions.'"
"Suggestions." Kelly's chill grew. She'd seen men, dignified, elderly men, bark like dogs under the suggestion of a stage hypnotist. She could make the logical deduction. "In real life you wouldn't have done any of it, what we did together. You wouldn't have given me the time of day to begin with."
He didn't say a word. He just looked at her, looked at her with cool, unfamiliar eyes.
Kelly whirled. A part of her wanted to laugh. Here it was, the magical explanation she'd been hoping for. Dean hadn't abandoned her, after all. He'd even bought the donuts.
Yes, he'd bought them, and then vanished into thin air. Her easy-going, sweet and charming Dean Singleton didn't even exist!
"Miss Williams."
Kelly clenched her fingers on her upper arms. Inside she was reeling. This wasn't the man she'd met Friday night. Of course, she'd already seen as much in Boston. Her Dean was blue jeans and tee shirts. This man was English wool and silk. Her Dean smiled. This man looked like he hadn't cracked a grin in the past ten years.
She'd seen it, she just hadn't wanted to believe it.
"Miss Williams," he asked. "Are you all right?"
The question was both ludicrous, and valid. She gave a soft laugh. "Sure, sure. I'm all right." She was just peachy. It was no big deal to discover the man she'd fallen in love with didn't even exist in real life.
Instead he was an illusion, a dream, 'suggested' into being by this no-good cousin Troy.
Her fingertips dug into her sweat jacket sleeves. She was used to falling in love with an illusion, the pretty picture of the guy she'd paint in her mind, but this was ridiculous.
She sensed the other man, the real one, take a step in her direction. Grimacing, Kelly turned. Their eyes met. A funny quiver went through Kelly's stomach. He still had those amazing blue eyes, the elegantly chiseled features, the whole aura of vital, healthy male.
But on a stranger. The man she'd known — even the man she'd loathed — was nowhere.
She tried a smile. "I guess it's my turn to owe you an apology."
His brows knit.
"I didn't believe you when you said you'd been hypnotized."
He grunted. "Under the circumstances, understandable."
Kelly sighed. "Yeah, well, it did sound pretty incredible. Add to that, the tendency of the male to slink off once he's got what he wanted. That's why I — " She stopped and waved a hand.
His gaze was steady. "That's why you made sure I married you first."
Kelly looked away. She nodded. Neither of them said anything then. There was a peculiar tension in the air. They were strangers — but not quite. They'd been physically intimate. He understood that by logical deduction, but Kelly actually remembered. Lord help her, but she remembered far too well.
While Kelly felt the air in the room stretch tight, he cleared his throat. "Well I guess we should finish our business, if that's all right with you?"
"Business?" Kelly's voice came out too high. "Oh yes, right, of course." She nodded vigorously. "The divorce. You've more than convinced me. I'll sign on whatever dotted line you say." She wanted to get out of there. The situation was even more humiliating than she'd imagined. That whole, dramatic scene in Boston — God.
His chin jerked. "Yes, well, thank you very — But that isn't the business I mean."
Kelly blinked. "No?"
For the first time, his steady gaze slipped. "I mean," he said, staring over her left shoulder, "we need to talk about your move to Boston. Closing your apartment. Quitting your job."
"Wha — ? Excuse me, what?"
His gaze drew back to her. "We are married, Miss Williams. Usually that involves living together."
Kelly stared at him. "What?" she asked again.
Dean raised a pair of haughty eyebrows. "I've come to take you home with me."
Kelly stood rooted to her spot.
He had no such mobility problem, turning and strolling toward the coffee table. "I'm afraid you will have to move to Boston." His voice was impossibly matter-of-fact. "There is no practical way I could relocate to Las Vegas."
Still staring in his direction, Kelly blinked. "You mean — you think we're married?"
He sat on the floral chair and looked up at her. "Aren't we?"
"No." She waved a finger between the two of them. "Didn't you just get through explaining that to me?"
"What I explained was that I do not remember the event. I am convinced, however, that it did indeed happen."
Kelly made herself breathe. "Well, yeah, it happened but — you weren't you."
"Oh? Who was I then?"
"You were hypnotized!"
His jaw tightened. "The hypnosis could not force me to do anything against my will."
"Please. Don't tell me those old men wanted to bark like dogs."
"Pardon?"
Kelly waved her hands. "You didn't want to marry me. You were under the influence of something — Troy's suggestions. You didn't intend to do it."
On the floral chair, he went still. "A part of me did," he said softly.
Kelly paused, digesting that. "A part of you?"
The tops of his cheeks went pink. "A part of my mind. I knew what I was doing. I knew I was making a promise, and now I intend to fulfill it."
He seemed utterly serious. But — he couldn't be. Shouldn't be. This whole thing was like the dog-barking. A joke.
He heaved a deep sigh. "I'm the man who married you. I am."
Kelly inhaled. "But — "
"No 'but's. I am the man you met five days ago in Las Vegas, the one who did...everything I did. I simply don't remember it."
Kelly frowned hard. "No."
His gaze was crystal blue. "Yes."
"No, no, no." She took a step back. "I know the man I met. He was — " She stopped and flapped a hand. "He wasn't you."
The Dean in front of her raised a pair of dubious brows.
Kelly huffed a breath. "He was...fun, mellow. Personable. And he wouldn't be...doing what you're trying to do."
Those supercilious brows dove downward. "He wouldn't be trying to honor his marriage vows?"
"No! I mean — " Kelly stopped, frustrated. In fact, she had suspected just such craven behavior of 'her' Dean.
The present Dean looked satisfied. "Consider that you knew me for less than forty-eight hours."
"But — "
"You were bound to discover I wasn't exactly the man you had imagined."
"Well yes, but this is something else — "
"The intensity of emotion that prompted us to the altar could not possibly have lasted." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Were you planning to give up on the marriage at that point?"
Kelly found she had to look away from his questioning gaze. "This isn't the same thing at all."
"Why not?"
Kelly felt her heart pick up speed even though she knew there was a difference. "You. Were. Hypnotized. You don't even remember me. It's like — an accident. You said so yourself!"
He paused, then spoke with careful enunciation. "I don't walk away from accidents."
Kelly's heart beat faster. This was a crazy argument. Of course they weren't married, except in the most technical sense. And yet he sounded grimly earnest. "Divorce wouldn't be walking away. It would be...taking care of the accident."
He gave a sharp shake of the head. "Divorce is a coward's way out. I've always thought so. Once a vow is made, it should be kept."
Kelly's heart beat now at the rhythm of panic. These were words she might have spoken herself, a bare week ago. "This is different," she insisted, her voice hoarse.
"A promise is a promise," he stated calmly.
"You weren't yourself." To put it mildly.
His lips thinned. "I wish I had the luxury of discussing this further but other matters press. I need to resolve this tonight."
"Tonight!"
He uncrossed his arms. "My flight home is at eight. You can be on it. My wife, with all the rights and privileges thereto."
Kelly's mouth opened and closed. She started to laugh. "Tonight."
"Don't worry about the time crunch." He shifted his attention to his briefcase, closing the lid. "You'll only need to pack for your immediate needs. With the exception of giving notice to your employer, my people can handle all the details at this end; closing your apartment, storing your things, et cetera, et cetera."
She laughed harder. "You've got to be kidding."
His gaze centered back on her. "Marriage. Fulfilling promises. That's my offer, Miss Williams. Take it or leave it."
Her laughter died as she met his unwavering gaze. He was absolutely serious. He actually meant to fly her home with him. He didn't know her, he couldn't possibly like her, yet he was that committed to keeping his word.
Kelly swallowed. She'd only met one man in her life as committed. Her father, the minister, who'd taught her from the cradle the importance of integrity.
Dean snicked closed the latches of his briefcase. "A call to me here at the hotel by seven will get you a ride to the airport in time."
Kelly licked her lips. She wouldn't do it. She wasn't married, not really.
"Think it over, Miss Williams. I'll be in room 814."
"No," she said, but her voice cracked.
"You need to think it through." He stood.
"No." What was there to think through? "You don't love me. You don't even know me. We're in Nevada, we should get a divorce."
"Room 814," he said. "Just in case."
###
Five hours later, Troy's lazy voice crackled over Dean's cell phone. "So, has she called you?"
Seated at the mini-office he'd created on the table in his posh Las Vegas hotel room, Dean turned another page in the quarterly report he was reviewing. "No, she hasn't called. Apparently neither my money nor my social position were sufficient incentives." He paused. "Lucky for you."
"Lucky for me?" Troy guffawed. "This was all your idea, Dean. I didn't tell you to go marry a showgirl. All I said was — "
"Yes," Dean interrupted. "I know what you said."
Troy barreled on anyway, gloating. "What I said was for you to do what you wanted for forty-eight hours, instead of what you should."
Dean closed his eyes. His stomach twisted, the way it did every time he recalled Troy's misbegotten hypnotic suggestion. Do what you want instead of what you should. Ridiculous. How could he have wanted to fly off to Las Vegas? How could he have wanted to strike up with some — some show dancer? And marry her!
Still, it had happened. It was fact. And Dean had had to deal with the consequences of his actions; soberly, responsibly, and completely. He'd had to offer her his name and his home.
"So you're coming back a single man, after all." Troy sighed. "I suppose that'll make Felicia happy."
"Felicia?" Dean frowned, unable to fathom what this young woman, a distant relative on his mother's side, had to do with anything.
"Never mind," said Troy, with a chuckle.
Dean decided to heed Troy's advice. He had enough problems without worrying about Felicia Thurgood, whatever might be wrong with her. She was blessedly not his responsibility.
So Dean turned his attention to the one person who might, at a stretch, be deemed his responsibility. "How's Robby?" he asked Troy.
"Better," Troy returned promptly. "Or at least your little half-brother will be better, now that I can tell him you aren't on the hook any more."
Dean's fingers worried the sheet of paper he'd been turning. "So he's still there."
"Where else would he be?"
Dean stifled a sigh. Robby, nine years old, really shouldn't be one of his responsibilities. Dean hadn't married a European rock star less than half his age and gotten her pregnant, despite the obvious inability of the woman to deal with real life, let alone a child. It was almost a mercy Robby's mother had killed herself by skiing drunk in the Alps a few months after his birth.
Now Dean frowned. "I thought Robby's father might have put in an appearance by now."
Troy made a scornful sound.
"I sent a telegram," Dean protested.
"To a yacht in the Mediterranean? Besides, even if he got it, your father isn't about to interrupt his pleasure for your convenience."
Dean rubbed his forehead. This was most certainly true. Kirk had never interrupted anything, ever, for Dean's convenience. "I'll send a personal messenger," he told Troy. "It's the third time Robby's been suspended from school this year, and it's almost summer vacation. Kirk is going to deal with this."
"Kirk is, huh?" said Troy.
Dean ignored the disbelief in his cousin's tone. "Keep an eye on the brat. I'll be home first thing in the morning."
"Not a problem." Troy sounded aggrieved. "Little pest dogs my every step."
Dean spent a pleasant moment imagining his half-brother dogging Troy's every footstep. It was precisely what his trust-fund cousin deserved. "My condolences," he said dryly, and rang off. Then he drew in a deep breath and, no longer diverted, let his gaze wander to the clock radio on his hotel nightstand.
Seven-thirty, the red numbers announced.
Seven thirty. Half an hour past the deadline. She hadn't called. She wasn't coming.
Dean felt a sinking in his gut. Guiltily, he realized the sensation was relief.
She hadn't called, she wasn't coming. He didn't have to be married to her. He didn't have to live with her. He didn't have to — to —
Dean leaned his head back on the chair and huffed a sigh. He didn't have to live with her tempting tail in front of him. He didn't have to resist her dangerous allure. He didn't have to be reminded, over and over, that he was more his father's son than he'd ever wanted to admit.
His eyes closed tight. It was a hard lesson to learn at thirty-eight years of age, that he was completely vulnerable to his hormones. The whole time he'd been alone with her in the conference room, he'd had to struggle to keep his mind on the matter at hand. He'd had to work like mad to keep her from guessing his true thoughts.
Was she as soft under that sweat suit as he imagined? Would her skin be as silky, her flesh as giving?
Dean opened his eyes and released a rough laugh. Oh, he liked sex as much as the next man, but on his terms, and under appropriate conditions. These were not his terms, nor were conditions the least bit appropriate. It was all too much like one of his father's tawdry misalliances. He and this Kelly had absolutely nothing in common. There was nothing on which to build a true and mutually respectful relationship. He didn't even know her, for God's sake. But that didn't matter. In the conference room with her he'd still wanted —
Dean jerked himself forward in the chair. All right, enough. He knew perfectly well what he'd wanted. He didn't have to dwell on the unexpectedly crude side of his nature. She hadn't called, she wasn't coming. He didn't like the idea of divorce. It was a sin Dean had promised himself he would never commit, but in this case it was for the best.
Quick and clean. Before things got too embarrassing.
Dean gathered the papers on the table. He'd waited until the last minute to leave for the airport, afraid his eagerness to escape his fate might interfere with his duty. Now he'd have to rush if he wanted to make his flight.
He stuffed his papers in his briefcase, jerked into his jacket, and hoisted his carry-on over his shoulder. Before he could reach the door, however, there was a knock.
Dean froze. No. It was just...room service, yes room service, with that coffee they'd never delivered. Breathing again, he put his hand on the knob and swung the door wide.
It was not room service. His wife stood in the hall, her nose in the air and an array of mismatched suitcases laid around her feet.
Dean's heart did a staggered double-beat.
"Two months," she said crisply. "We'll give it a two month trial period. I keep my apartment and take a leave of absence from my job. I can manage that — barely."
Dean could hardly hear her for the blood rushing through his ears. Black pants hugged her hips like a second skin. A stretchy top did the same for her ripe, perky breasts. "Two months," he croaked.
"You were right," she said. "A promise is a promise." She rolled her shoulders. "At least, it's a promise if you're the man I made it to."
The words brought Dean's gaze up from her body. "Who else would I be?"
"I don't know." She shrugged again. "That fellow loved me."
The blood, so hot, went cold in Dean's veins. "Pardon me?"
"You don't." Her eyes averted. "So I'll give it two months, two months to figure out who you are, to see if there could be love."
Dean felt a growl, low in his throat. "I never said I loved you."
She looked over at him, surprised. "Sure you did."
"When?" Dean challenged.
She looked down her lashes. "Well, for one time, right there in our wedding vows."
He stared at her.
"So what do you say?" She hitched her purse higher over her shoulder. "Two months, that's my offer. Take it or leave it."
Dean was still staring. She was right. He had uttered the words. He must have, but — he couldn't have meant them.
"So?" She narrowed her eyes. "Are you taking or leaving?"
Just looking at her, even now, Dean could feel the lust pull, low down in his gut. Lust, not love. It was never going to be love, not in a million years.
The fierceness of her expression began to wilt. "You could say something."
He looked at her. Yes, he could say something. I lied to you. I would have said anything to get you into bed. To get what I wanted.
"I'll call a bellhop." Dean turned. "We'll need help if we hope to make that flight."