The Inconvenient Bride (4 page)

Flaubert's jaw sagged as Dominic had been sure it would.

Stepping around him, Dominic handed over the box to the woman behind at the cloak room. Then, pocketing the token she gave him, he steered Sierra into the dining room.

His father, Tommy Hargrove and a sleek blond woman were no longer sitting at the table his father regularly claimed. Instead they were sitting behind a potted palm, looking discomfitted and annoyed as a waiter finished laying an extra place setting and stepped away.

A sound something akin to a smothered snigger emanated from Sierra.

Dominic looked down at her. “Something funny?”

She flashed a grin. “The palm tree. I knew they'd have a palm tree.”

And that they'd put you behind it,
he finished for her. A corner of his own mouth twisted and his fingers tightened on her arm. “Screw 'em,” he muttered and was instantly rewarded when Sierra grinned again.

Just then Douglas spotted them, and Dominic had the pleasure of seeing the old man's jaw rival Flaubert's. Almost instantly, though, it snapped shut again and Douglas took a deep breath as he rose to his feet. His gaze fixed on Dominic and his hard blue eyes glittered. It was belied by his smooth tone.

“How nice that you've brought a guest to join us. I don't believe we've met?” He, at least, was facing Sierra head-on. In fact he stared straight into the magenta and the Day-Glo peeking out from behind the denim and didn't even blink. Dominic was impressed.

“We have, actually,” Sierra said cheerfully, offering her
hand. “I'm Sierra Kelly. Mariah's sister. My hair was blonde for the wedding,” she added, presumably by way of explaining why he might not have recognized her.

“Oh!” Douglas's relief was palpable as he took her hand and shook it heartily. “Yes! Oh my, yes. Of course. I do recognize you now. The, um, purple threw me for a moment. My son Rhys's wife's little sister!” he explained to Tommy and the blonde who had to be Viveca.

Dominic smiled and corrected this misconception. “Mariah's little sister,” he agreed. “And my wife.”

 

He had to give his father credit.

By barely more than a flicker of a muscle in his jaw and a sudden paleness around his mouth, did Douglas betray that Dominic's arrival with a wife in tow was even unexpected, much less a shock.

Instead he kissed Sierra's cheek and introduced them both to Viveca Moore.

She was exactly as his father described her—blonde, brilliant, and sophisticated. The perfect accessory.

A far cry from the woman whom an hour ago he'd made his wife.

Dominic never knew if Viveca had any idea she was supposed to be
his
date this evening. Douglas took hold of her hand and said smoothly that he was sorry they hadn't been able to make the wedding, and then called for a bottle of champagne.

“To toast you both,” he said, the glitter in his hard blue eyes the only sign that he was less than pleased.

Champagne, Dominic remembered with a qualm, had been his and Sierra's downfall at Rhys and Mariah's wedding.

It was the champagne that had made them reckless, that had fanned the flames of desire that had been raging between them since the day they'd met. It was the champagne that had made them challenge each other, that had tipped them
over the edge and sent them to that hotel room to slake their desperate desire.

“I don't know—” he began.

But Sierra said brightly, “What a lovely idea.” Then she explained, “We've been in such a hurry all day, we didn't have time to toast our marriage earlier with our friends.” She turned her gaze on Dominic and he saw the challenge in her eyes.

“Then we must do it now,” Douglas said firmly. He gave Dominic a hard smile and, when the waiter arrived, poured and passed out glasses of champagne. Then he raised his own, first to Sierra, then to Dominic.

“To my son,” he said, “and his new wife. May you share a long, long, long life together.”

If he'd said one more “long” Dominic would have throttled him. As it was, he noted there was no wish for happiness. He wondered if Sierra noticed.

Her eyes were laughing as she touched her glass to his. “And a happy one,” she said.

Their glasses clinked.

“Hear, hear!” cried Tommy Hargrove.

“We wish you great happiness,” Viveca said with etiquette book politeness. “Don't we, Douglas?”

“Yes, of course,” Douglas said hastily. “Indeed we do.” He poured more champagne, then looked at his son. “Dominic, don't you have a toast for your bride?”

Dominic raised his glass to the challenge, first to his father, then to his wife. “To Sierra,” he said gravely, “who has made me the happiest of men.”

He meant it as a slap at his father. As a bit of veiled sarcasm. But as he drank, Dominic realized that, in some small way, it was the truth.

For one steamy night three months ago, Sierra had made him happier than he'd ever been in his life.

She'd made him silly and hungry and passionate. She'd made him forget mergers and balance sheets and the rat race
he called his life. She'd made him laugh and tease and wrestle and grow sweaty and desperate and, finally, fulfilled.

He hadn't forgotten.

It was, after all, why he'd asked her to marry him. But he wasn't fool enough to expect it to last.

Outside of bed, they had nothing in common. Inside it, for one night at least, they'd had bliss.

“To Sierra,” he said firmly. “My wife.”

They drank staring into each other's eyes. Hers were no longer laughing, he noticed. They were shiny, as if they held tears. But that was ridiculous. Sierra never cried! She wasn't the type. And she would certainly not get soppy about a marriage like theirs.

“I have a toast,” Tommy said suddenly.

Everyone turned to look at the snowy-haired old man as he raised his glass and looked at Dominic over the top of it. “This was a spur of the moment affair, I trust?”

Dominic stiffened, but Sierra laced her fingers through his and nodded. “Yes. Dominic swept me off my feet.”

“Ah.” Tommy beamed at her.

Douglas fixed Dominic with a glare. But Tommy didn't notice. He was nodding enthusiastically. “Thought so.” He raised his glass higher. “Just like Bernice and I. Sometimes,” he said with a sweet sad smile, “the best things happen on the spur of the moment. Bernice—God rest her soul—and I knew each other only a week when we eloped.” His voice wavered a little and he paused to collect himself. Then, eyes brimming, he murmured, “Fifty-three years. We were married fifty-three years. The best fifty-three years any man could have.” His hand shook briefly, but then he drew a breath and it steadied.

Dominic had known Tommy Hargrove his whole life. He'd known Bernice who'd died last year. He supposed he'd never thought about them as young and impetuous. Tommy was a tough-as-nails old man. Bernice had been his dutiful wife—always there with a smile or a gentle laugh. Now
Dominic remembered those smiles, remembered how often they'd been directed at Tommy. He looked at the old man with new and wondering eyes.

“To the surprises in life,” Tommy said with a smile. He touched each of their glasses.

“Thank you,” Sierra said to him. Then she turned to Dominic and clinked her glass against his. There was a stubborn tilt to her chin and a fierce gleam in those bright blue eyes.

“To us,” she said. “And the next fifty-three years.”

 

In high school Sierra had played Alice in
Alice in Wonderland.
She'd fallen down the rabbit hole, chatted with Humpty Dumpty, been spoken down to by a caterpillar, had tea with the Mad Hatter and the March Hare, and had been chased through the forest by a pack of cards while the red queen had screamed, “Off with her head!”

That all seemed downright normal compared to the dinner she'd just survived.

She sank into the back seat of the taxi, clutching her tackle box, and shut her eyes. She was dimly aware that Dominic had climbed in beside her and was speaking to the driver. As the car begin to move, she heard Dominic sigh as he settled back next to her. She kept her eyes shut and waited for him to speak. But he didn't say a word.

Maybe he was as tired as she was.

Acting did that to her. Drained her. Left her limp and exhausted. Playing Alice back in high school had wrung her out.

This had been harder. Lots harder. That she'd rehearsed for. This had been complete improvisation. And while she thought she'd acquitted herself well enough, she was still exhausted. She just wanted to go home and go to bed.

She didn't open her eyes until the taxi stopped.

“We're here,” Dominic said.

Sierra hauled herself up and blinked as she looked around.
Then she jerked upright and her eyes went wide. “Where? This isn't my place!”

“Of course not. It's mine.' Dominic was handing the driver some money and opening the door. “Come on.”

But Sierra couldn't. She stayed right where she was. “I'm not going to your place!”

Out of the car, he bent down to stare at her. “You're not—
Why not?
” He looked white-faced and furious.

“Because I'm not! I never agreed to—”

“You agreed to marry me. You did marry me.” His voice was icy.

“I know, but—”

“Marriage implies cohabitation,” he reminded her. He was gritting his teeth.

“Not…not necessarily.” It was one thing to have mad passionate sex with Dominic. It was entirely another to get sucked up into his apartment, his world, his life! She folded her arms across her chest. “I'm not getting out,” she told the taxi driver. “I need to go downtown.”

“The hell you do!” Dominic protested.

But Sierra ignored him and gave the driver her address.

“You can't—!”

The driver flipped on the meter, then glanced at Dominic. “Mister, you gotta shut the door.”

“No. I don't. She's not—!”

“Yes, I am. Now. Drive,” Sierra commanded the driver. “Go on!”

“No!” Dominic resolutely held the door open, not moving an inch.

The driver looked from one to the other of them, annoyed. “I got a business here.”

“So take me—”

“No!”

“D'youse two suppose youse could maybe settle this somewhere else?” the taxi driver said plaintively.

“Yes,” Dominic said.

“No,” Sierra said.

Their gazes locked. They glared.

“Please!” the taxi driver implored them.

Sierra clutched her box and didn't budge.

Finally Dominic flung himself back into the cab and slammed the door “Fine. Take us to her place.” He challenged Sierra to contradict him. “We'll stay there.”

 

“You can't stay here!” Sierra said for the umpteenth time as Dominic followed her up the narrow stairway to her flat.

“You refused to stay at my place,” he reminded her. It was getting hard to breathe, and not from the three-floor climb. Rather it was a result of being on eye level with Sierra's curvy bottom the whole way up. Her denim mini-skirt barely seemed to cover it. And it didn't matter that the rest of her was discreetly covered in black ribbed leggings, Dominic had a good imagination.

And a good memory.

At last Sierra stopped in front of a tall metal door. She fitted a key into a lock, undid it, moved on to another one, undid that, then unlocked a third, and pushed open the door. “It doesn't mean you had to come here.”

“Apparently it does, if I want to spend my wedding night with my bride.” He followed on her heels, suspecting that she would shut the door on him if he gave her half a chance.

Apparently the thought had occurred to her, because the color was high in her cheeks and she aimed a disgusted look in his direction when he shut the door himself and leaned against it, arms folded across his chest, smiling at her.

She set down her tackle box and stood glaring at him from the other end of the tiny room. “Well, you can't. Not here. It's not big enough.” She waved an arm and practically hit one of the walls. “There's no room.”

Dominic shrugged indifferently. “It was your choice.”

“It was not my choice! I didn't invite you here.”

“But you refused to come home with me,” he said reasonably.

“I don't need to come home with you! I went to dinner with you! I shocked your father for you. I stopped Viveca from marrying you. What more do you want?”

“Fifty-three years.”

“What!”

Dominic raked a hand through his hair. He shoved away from the wall, wanting to pace, to move, but there was no room. “Nothing!” he muttered. “Never mind. You're the one who said it.”

“Tommy's the one who said it.”

“And who raised her glass in toast?”

“Would you rather I'd said, ‘Oh, how about six months?' Your father would really have taken us seriously then.”

“How the hell is he going to take it seriously if you won't come home with me?”

She wrapped her arms across her breasts. “He doesn't have to know that.”

“Of course he'll know! He's probably got someone tailing after the cab right now, just watching. I'm surprised he didn't demand to see the license.”

Actually Douglas would never do any such thing—not in public anyway. He wouldn't want to admit that Dominic had bested him. “He expects us to be together. I'm staying.” He began to loosen his tie.

“Stop that!”

“What?”

“Undressing!”

“You've seen me with my tie undone,” Dominic reminded her mockingly as he yanked it off, tossed it on the chair, then undid the top button of his starched white shirt. “You did very creative things with my tie, as I recall.” Things that, remembered, could still send shivers straight to his groin.

Sierra turned bright red. “That was then!”