Not the Marrying Kind Page 7

  “You never considered them for Party Hard?”

  “No freaking way.” Sara paused, sniffled. “Not after Wayne left…”

  Ah hell, just what she needed, Sara to lament her lousy husband at length.

  “Could be the way to go once yours is final. Put the past behind—”

  “I still love him,” Sara whispered, and Poppy’s heart turned over in sympathy. Little wonder Sara was having a hard time dealing with depression when she was still mooning over The Pain.

  “Know what I think? Never say never. Divorce parties are the latest rage, they’d rake in a fortune for Party Hard—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Uh, okay.” Now more than ever she needed to preserve the anonymity of Divorce Diva Daily. Last thing her sis needed was to learn of Party Hard’s offshoot. “I’ve got some news.”

  “Yeah?” Sara didn’t look at her, closing her eyes and resting her head against the back of the sofa like the simple act of holding up her body was too much.

  “I’m getting married.”

  “What?” Sara’s eyelids snapped open and she sat bolt upright. The incredulous look Sara shot her? The same one she’d used to great effect when Poppy had made the mistake of divulging her desire for a tattoo of a boy band under her navel at sixteen.

  “Tomorrow. In Vegas.”

  “You’re pregnant?” Sara glared at her belly like she expected alien spawn to suddenly explode out of it.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Then why?” When Sara’s gaze met hers, the unexpected anguish hit her hard. She’d expected her sister to be shocked. She hadn’t expected the pain.

  Well aware lying to her sister would be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do, Poppy took a deep breath and blew it out. “Because the time is right.”

  Boy, was it ever. Save the business, save her sister’s sanity.

  “But who is this guy? Why Vegas? Why now?” Confusion added to the hurt in Sara’s eyes. “You know I can’t come.”

  “I thought maybe it’ll be easier this way.”

  “All weddings don’t make me depressed, only mine.”

  Poppy smiled, impressed at her sister’s acerbic wit and ability to make a joke out of something so obviously painful. “We’ve known each other a while, didn’t see any point in waiting.” She hoped lightning wouldn’t strike her down. “He’s the old-fashioned type and kept badgering me to get hitched, so I finally said yes.”

  “But who is he and why haven’t you mentioned him?”

  Great time for her sis to gain clarity.

  “Beck Blackwood. He’s CEO of a big construction company based in Vegas.” She glanced skyward, expecting to see a stray bolt at any time. “I haven’t mentioned him because you’ve been dealing with a lot of stuff. And I didn’t want to gush about how great he is while you’ve been coming to terms with Wayne’s departure.”

  “But you’ve always been anti-marriage.” Sara’s eyes narrowed. “What makes this guy so special?”

  Hmm…Poppy would have to make this sound convincing and get the hell out of there, because she had a feeling the longer she stayed, the harder it’d be to skirt around Sara’s increasingly probing questions.

  “He’s amazing. Thoughtful”—to the extent he’d thought she’d want to marry him for money—“kind”—he’d better be or she’d neuter him—“and absolutely gorgeous.” One truth out of three ain’t bad. “He’d do anything for me.” Including blackmail and flinging five hundred big ones her way to get her to jump to his tune. “And I want to be with him, so why wait?”

  For some inexplicable reason, her last reason brought a lump to her throat.

  What would it be like to have a guy like Beck propose marriage for real? Not for altruism, but because he had to be with her? She’d never experience it, not in this lifetime. And while she had turned her back on love and all it entailed by choice, that didn’t mean she didn’t have a heart.

  “Wow.” Some of the accusatory gleam faded from Sara’s suspicious stare. “This guy must be something to get you to fall this hard.”

  “He’s something, all right.” At last, one hundred percent truth. “Can’t wait for you to meet him.” Sometime next century.

  Sara’s wobbly smile made her heart ache. “Be happy, Pops, because divorce is a bitch.”

  Didn’t she know it.

  Ironic. In her case, it was the part of the marriage she was looking forward to the most.

  …

  When Beck had a goal in sight, he wanted to achieve it ASAP.

  No stalling, no delays. He wanted to get this over with as he caught sight of Poppy strolling toward him in a stunning wedding dress. Classy. Elegant. Sexy.

  The satin hugged her curves and ended mid-calf while the tops of her breasts peeped enticingly over the strapless crystal-beaded bodice. Her hair tumbled in loose spiral curls to her shoulder, held back from her face with a mini diamante tiara, a gossamer-thin veil trailing to the floor behind her.

  That’s when he noticed her shoes. Crimson. Sparkly. Impossibly high. The same memorable color as the shirt she’d worn to her pitch, the color he couldn’t get out of his head, the color he’d forever associate with her.

  Poppy.

  She didn’t stroll down the makeshift aisle, she strutted, her gaze locked on his, daring and defiant.

  And he’d never been so turned on in all his life.

  Damn it, marrying this woman was part of a well-thought-out, precisely executed business plan, and he couldn’t afford to screw it up. Which was exactly what would happen if he started thinking about consummation.

  He could do sex without strings, but in his experience, women equated the bedroom with emotion and romance. No way in hell would he mess this up by complicating their arrangement with sex. Despite the raging desire to do just that.

  “Nice tux.” She stopped a foot away and smoothed his lapels, close enough he could smell her intoxicating floral fragrance.

  “Nice shoes,” he said, unable to resist ducking down to place a kiss just shy of her ruby-slicked lips.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I always wear a splash of red.” Her strangely lopsided smile told him she wasn’t quite as confident as she made out. “Corny namesake.”

  “I think it’s sexy.” He touched her cheek, a fleeting gesture that rattled him as much as it did her, if the sudden widening of her eyes was any indication.

  He had no idea how long they stood there, gazes locked, his hand caressing her cheek, and if it hadn’t been for the minister clearing his throat he would’ve swept her into his arms and kissed her silly. To eradicate her doubts, of course. Nothing at all to do with the burning, relentless desire to taste her again.

  “Shall we begin?”

  “You ready?” He grasped her hand and squeezed.

  Wild-eyed, she darted a look over her shoulder and for a horrifying second he thought she’d bolt.

  “We need to do this.” He felt like a jerk for badgering her. How desperate must she be to save her sister’s business to marry a stranger? Her devotion impressed him and if she could bring one tenth of that loyalty to this marriage, enough to impress the investors this sham was real, he’d be happy.

  She dragged in a few deep breaths and he saw the moment her resolution hardened. Her head tilted up and she nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  The vows passed in a blur of echoed verses, agreeing to love, honor, and obey. Empty words, empty promises, and how far he’d go to achieve his goal hit home when he looked into her eyes and said, “I do.”

  For in that moment, everything faded: the minister, their witnesses Lou and Ashlee, and the stunning backdrop of the red rocks he called home.

  He’d just pledged himself to a woman he barely knew. A smart business choice, one that would gain him the national recognition he craved. Then why the soul-deep niggle he was getting in over his head?

  “You may kiss the bride.” The minister beamed as he snapped his ceremony book shut.


  “Well, hotshot, what are you waiting for?” Her lips curved in a saucy smile, her sass too late in covering the sheen he’d glimpsed in her eyes. Hell, he couldn’t handle waterworks. So he did the one thing he’d been desperate to do since he first laid eyes on her strutting up the aisle.

  He swept her into his arms and kissed her.

  Chapter Eight

  Divorce Diva Daily recommends:

  Playlist: “White Wedding” by Billy Idol

  Movie: Love Actually

  Cocktail: Bride’s Cuss

  Poppy knew she shouldn’t play with fire.

  Taunting a guy like Beck would only ever have one outcome. With him on top.

  Guys like him never lost. Whatever they gambled on, they won. Every time. Success bred success and while she’d been happy with her life, it wasn’t until the moment the minister had pronounced them husband and wife that reality hit.

  She’d married a virtual stranger.

  Now that she’d done the deed, a million doubts assailed her. How could she pretend to play the adoring wife in front of his business colleagues? Play the adoring wife in front of his business colleagues? Remain immune to his charms?

  Therein lay her real concern—that the moment she’d seen him at the end of the makeshift aisle, mouthwateringly, wickedly gorgeous in a tux, silhouetted against the stark beauty of Red Rock Canyon, her heart had given an uncomfortable squirm and she recognized it for what it was. A reminder that despite the fact she should hate him for blackmailing her into this farce, she could fall into bed with this guy given half a chance.

  So daring him to kiss her? Probably not a great idea.

  “Wow.” Ashlee snagged her arm and dragged her a safe distance from where Beck and Lou were in deep conversation. “You sure you’re faking it? Because from where I was standing, you two look seriously into each other.”

  “Pheromones.”

  As Beck glanced her way with a crooked half smile that elicited an answering twang deep within, some of those damn hormones set up a party in regions best left ignored for now.

  “Just be careful, hon.”

  “Of?”

  Ashlee hesitated. “The Hottie isn’t a keeper. He’ll break your heart.”

  “No danger of that happening. This is business, remember?”

  As Beck strolled toward her, jacket slung over his shoulder, bow tie askance, top button of his ivory dress shirt unbuttoned, piercing green eyes with a wicked glint, she knew without a doubt she’d be the one having to remember this marriage was all business.

  “Whatever you say, sweetie.” Ashlee lowered her voice to a whisper. “But anything involving that guy’s gonna be monkey business.”

  Wishful thinking.

  When Beck reached Poppy’s side, he slipped an arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sure, they had to keep up appearances—and he wasn’t aware Ashlee knew the truth—but it made her feel more like a fraud than she already was, the pretense in front of her friend.

  “Nice to meet you, Ashlee, and thanks for coming. Lou will take you back to town in the limo and we’ll see you at the reception later.”

  “Sure thing.” Ashlee practically simpered as she shook Beck’s hand and moved away, mouthing Hottie over his shoulder at Poppy.

  “What’s with the grin?”

  “Just so darned happy to be your wife,” Poppy said, batting her eyelashes at him.

  He laughed and tightened his grip around her waist. “You know that smart mouth of yours will get you into trouble one day?”

  “Today if I’m lucky.”

  What was it with this guy that had her wanting to spar and parry and play word games? She shouldn’t flirt with him unless people who needed convincing of the validity of this marriage surrounded them. It would only give him the wrong idea.

  Which was what? The fact she had the hots for her husband big time?

  Flustered, she rushed on. “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  She didn’t understand the reservation in his voice. She’d already dumped her stuff in his penthouse suite in Blackwood Towers. Wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen it. “Good. It’ll give us time to chill before the reception.”

  “Yeah.” Tension pinched the corners of his mouth, his fingers inadvertently digging into her waist. “You know how important the reception is, right?”

  Ah, so that’s what his funk was about. Making sure she played her part in front of his precious investors.

  “I was the number one drama queen in high school.”

  He grimaced. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “That came out wrong.” She patted his cheek. “I was a fabulous actress. Best Juliet ever.”

  “Wish you hadn’t used the star-crossed lovers as an example.”

  “Don’t be such a worrywart. Your investors will love me.”

  He eased away and she immediately missed his touch. Crazy.

  His gaze traveled from her shoes upward in a slow, sensual sweep that left her skin tingling like he’d just caressed her. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

  She resisted the urge to squirm under his praise. “I found it in a boutique—”

  “I’m not talking about the dress.”

  For the first time since they’d met, the powerful aura he wore like a protective cloak fell away and she glimpsed a hint of genuine emotion beneath the tough-guy exterior. It undermined her more than his compliment.

  “Not many women would put up with my blackmailing shit and go through all this for the sake of family.” He touched her hand, and before she could second-guess herself, she intertwined her fingers with his. “Loyalty’s important to me. And what you’ve demonstrated…” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, sending a shiver of longing through her. “Let’s just say I think we’re going to make a good team for however long this marriage lasts.”

  And just like that, he ripped apart the cocoon of intimacy surrounding them.

  He admired her loyalty. Whoop de-frikkin-do.

  He made it sound like she was one of his valued employees. And that more than anything rammed home, despite his murmured platitudes and hot kisses and frequent touches, that this was a simple business transaction.

  More of a concern? Why the hell did she care?

  “Vegas is that way.” Poppy pointed over her shoulder as Beck steered his Maserati in the opposite direction from which she’d arrived.

  “We’re not heading to Vegas.” He floored it, kicking up a plume of red dust in the car’s wake.

  “But you said we’re heading to your place.”

  “We are.”

  Ah…the mysterious desert home. She couldn’t fathom his enigmatic expression as he drove like he had a pack of creditors on his tail.

  “I’m surprised you own a place out here.” She didn’t mean to make it sound like he lived in the back of beyond, but that’s how it must’ve sounded, judging by his scowl.

  “The glitz of Vegas isn’t me.” He nodded at the majestic red rocks jutting skyward ahead of them. “This place is.”

  Poppy glanced around, trying to see the appeal. Grassy fields, various trees interspersed with desert, and those striking red rocks. She’d had no idea why he’d chosen Red Rock Canyon as the site to get married and hadn’t really cared. She didn’t believe in the institution, let alone worry about the location when there was nothing real about this marriage, bar the money.

  But now, seeing Beck’s tense expression, she wondered if there was more behind his location choice. “You like the desert?”

  “What’s not to like? Land forged under a shallow sea, buried for eons beneath sand dunes, then sculpted by rains and wind.”

  “I take it you were top of your class in geography.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched.

  “I come from a small desert town about a hundred miles from here. When I lobbed in Vegas and scored my first construction deal, I bought land in Red Rock Canyon. Thou
ght it’d be the perfect commute, less than twenty miles from the Strip. Then work took over…” He shrugged, as if it meant little, but she wondered how a desert guy really felt being cooped up in the city. “I don’t get out here very often.”

  “So why are we heading there when we need to get ready for the reception tonight?”

  His silence unnerved her almost as much as the bleak glance he shot her before refocusing on the road. “Thought you might need a place to get away to if the going gets tough.”

  Okay, so that was thoughtful. It would be hard, keeping up the pretense of being happily married, but she figured they’d barely see each other anyway, what with his booming business and her managing Party Hard online for Sara.

  Poppy could handle the odd occasion performing for his colleagues, but it would be wearing. She’d never been two-faced. What you saw was what you got with her, so playing Mrs. Blackwood would be a challenge. One she was certainly up for, for five hundred grand.

  “Thanks, that sounds good.”

  Considering the way he’d shut her down in the limo on the night they’d met when she’d brought up family, she probably shouldn’t go there. But he’d mentioned he’d grown up in the desert and surely she’d have to know stuff like his background for the sake of authenticity.

  “You were raised out here?”

  He grunted in response.

  “I’ll probably need to know a little about your family, in case I’m quizzed.”

  “My family is no secret. Tabloids did a spread on me when I first made it big. Mentioned my folks, how they died, that kind of thing.” His hands gripped the steering wheel, his frigid tone warning her to back off. “Irrelevant now.”

  “Not to your wife.”

  He shot her a quick glare. “Checkerville’s your typical small town. Rich folk, poor folk. We were the latter.”

  “We?”

  “My parents. Pa.”

  He jaw clenched, as if he didn’t want to say anything more, so she waited.

  “Nan died when Mom was young, so Pa raised her alone. He’s a mechanic, she was working at the grocer. Then Dad rode into town.”