Not the Marrying Kind Page 9

  It was more than that and he knew it.

  The house was the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else. None of his Vegas crowd had been there—not even Lou—and he liked it that way. He may have escaped Checkerville and his dreary past, but there was one thing he could thank his no-good folks for: helping to instill in him a love of the desert.

  Pa had fostered his love for the arid landscape surrounding their trailer, had taken him on long hikes, pointing out the Joshua trees, the Mohave yucca, the Apache plume, while warning him of the dangers of scorpions, tarantulas, and Mohave green rattlers.

  Beck had spent countless hours watching his favorite desert tortoise, coyote, and gila monster, chasing jackrabbits and studying roadrunner habits.

  He loved the heat, the dust, the colors.

  Something Poppy had homed in on immediately.

  He’d seen the light in her eyes as she’d toured his home and it made him like her all the more. Which was why he’d shut down and put some serious emotional distance between them. He didn’t want to feel anything for his wife, and that was a distinct possibility if they spent too much time together.

  Poppy was nothing like the women he usually dated. She was warm and spontaneous and bold. She didn’t defer to him; she didn’t play games. Hell, this marriage farce was testament to that. Poppy was blunt and genuine and far too appealing. The less time he spent with her, the better.

  “There you are.” She slipped her arms around his waist from behind and rested her cheek on his back, playing the doting wife for their reception guests. “Slipped off the ball and chain already?”

  “I’m taking a breather.” He turned around, secretly pleased when she didn’t release him.

  “Low stamina, huh?”

  He ducked his head to whisper in her ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Not really.” She laughed up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and right then, snug in the circle of her arms, he’d never been more convinced he’d done the right thing in offering her the Red Rock Canyon house to stay in.

  He thought he’d made a smart business move marrying this woman for convenience. But right now, enjoying the way she made him feel way too much? Dumb.

  She stood on tiptoes to murmur in his ear. “Are we pulling this off?”

  He sure as hell hoped so. Everyone had turned up: the investors, the work crew, a few A-listers. People he mingled with on a regular basis, people whose opinions shouldn’t matter. But they did. He needed the investors to trust him, to trust Blackwood Enterprises enough to help take them national.

  This marriage had to do that. It had to.

  “We’re doing okay.”

  “One thing’s for certain, you sure know how to throw a party.” Poppy released him to step back and take in the crowd. “But you know I’ll top this for Lou’s divorce party, right?”

  “Shhh.” He held a finger up to her lips, immediately regretting it when her eyes heated to molten chocolate and her lips parted on a soft sigh. “Don’t say the D-word around here. People might question the validity of this marriage.”

  “You don’t need to remind me about the importance of anonymity.” The fire in her eyes faded. “Sara would have a coronary if she knew I was the divorce diva.” She gestured at the crowd. “As for them questioning our marriage, people are going to do that anyway, considering how it happened out of the blue.”

  “Have you been interrogated by anyone?” Concern poked holes in his carefully constructed plan.

  “Try everyone.” She snorted. “Don’t worry, I gave them the spiel we rehearsed. Your need for privacy, the long-distance thing, unable to be apart any longer.”

  “Did they buy it?”

  Pensive, she glanced at the investors, a bunch of Scotch-swilling, backslapping suits who clung together like an old-boys club. “They seemed impressed, especially when I played up my Provost angle.”

  Some of the residual tension tightening his shoulders eased. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” She kissed him on the cheek, a strangely sweet gesture that made his chest burn. “Better get back to mingling.”

  “Later.” He snagged her hand and led her to the dance floor. “You were such a stickler for tradition with the threshold and all, it’s only fair we have a bridal waltz.”

  Her smile faltered and for a mortifying moment he thought she’d bolt. He had no idea why dancing terrified her but with people already turning their way, they couldn’t back out now. “Two left feet, huh?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s…” She shook her head. “Nothing. Let’s do this.”

  Beck nodded at the band, who struck up the song he’d specifically selected, U2’s One. Appropriate. He wanted to be number one, wanted every person who’d ever laughed or scoffed or teased him in the past to know it.

  Poppy stiffened in his arms as the lead singer did a great Bono impersonation, crooning about love being a temple and higher law, about one love, one life, one need in the night, the haunting lyrics effectively silencing the crowd. The hush was unnerving, but not as much as seeing the sheen of tears in Poppy’s expressive eyes.

  “You okay?” he mouthed.

  She clearly wasn’t, but she nodded, before burying her face in his chest.

  His arms tightened around her waist and hers around his neck as they swayed together, their bodies in tantalizing contact, their souls a world apart. He didn’t know what made his wife tick and for the first time since he’d devised this foolproof scheme, a sliver of remorse pricked his conscience.

  Maybe she wasn’t as ballsy and blasé as she pretended to be. What if, God forbid, Poppy had bought into all this romantic wedding crap?

  Yep, the sooner he packed her off to Red Rock Canyon, the better.

  “You two make quite the couple.” Stan Walkerville slapped Beck on the back and thrust a double malt into his hand.

  Beck should’ve been ecstatic the head of the investors’ conglomeration had sought him out. Instead, all he could think about was the way Poppy had reacted during that dance.

  “Thanks.” He raised his glass in Stan’s direction. “Poppy’s amazing.”

  “She sure is.” Stan’s beady stare followed Poppy as she slipped an arm through the crook of Ashlee’s elbow and dragged her toward the dessert table.

  Beck wanted to slug him.

  “Comes from a good family, too. Parents are plastic surgeons, apparently.”

  “Yeah.” Beck sipped his whiskey, taking the less-is-more approach. He’d memorized a whole bunch of facts about Poppy in case anyone quizzed him, but he didn’t want to discuss her with Stan. He wanted to talk business. He couldn’t be overt, though. Stan had to make the first move. Discussing the nationwide deal at his wedding reception would raise flags.

  “Good to see you settling down.” Stan appraised him, his glare calculating, and Beck could imagine he was being sized up. “Good for your company, too.”

  Bingo.

  “Yeah, I’d been dragging the chain in our relationship. About time I made an honest woman out of her.” He dredged up clichés, trying to make light of their discussion, when in fact his heart pounded at the thought of getting another chance to make this deal happen.

  “We should reconvene over that proposal of yours.” Stan took a long slug of whiskey before slamming the glass down on a nearby table. “See if we can readjust the figures and make the deal happen.”

  “Definitely doable.” If Beck sounded any more laid-back he’d be horizontal, when all he wanted to do was punch the air and yell a resounding “Yes!”

  “Set it up for end of next week.” With one last leer in Poppy’s direction that made Beck’s fingers curl into fists, Stan nodded and walked away.

  Beck should’ve been elated.

  He’d done it.

  Obtained the second chance he’d wanted, and this time he’d nail it.

  Instead, as he watched Poppy fork a piece of key lime pie into her mouth and laugh at something Ashlee said, all he could think
was the debt he owed her went beyond the money.

  Way beyond.

  And he had no clue how to repay her.

  …

  “Don’t look now, but The Hottie is making goo eyes at you again.” Ashlee elbowed Poppy, who risked a quick glance at Beck.

  Ashlee was right. Even across the room, Poppy could see his slightly stunned expression.

  Join the club. She’d been in shock ever since she set foot in this city and first laid eyes on him.

  She waved at him, forcing the same bright, perky smile she’d used all evening, the one that said “I’m a new bride and loving it.” As opposed to the one she should’ve been sporting, the petrified grimace that said, “What the freak am I doing?”

  With a taciturn nod, he turned away and joined a group of suits and their stick-thin dates.

  “That was weird.” Ashlee bit into a vanilla custard profiterole, her blissful expression making Poppy smile.

  “That’s my husband,” Poppy muttered, shoveling the last of her key lime pie into her mouth. She could’ve been eating cacti for all she cared, her favorite dessert barely registering as she mulled over what was going on in her husband’s head.

  “That’s freaky.”

  “What?”

  “You calling him your husband.” Ashlee scooped the last of the custard from her plate and licked the spoon. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like it.”

  “You know why I’m doing this.” Poppy lowered her voice and darted a look around to make sure no one else was within hearing distance.

  “I know what you said at the start, but after today?” Ashlee cocked her head to one side, studying her. “I’m reassessing the situation.”

  Poppy knew what her BFF was implying. And she didn’t like it. “Think what you like, you’re talking out your—”

  “Ass-essing, that’s all I’m doing.”

  They laughed and Poppy sent a silent prayer heavenward in thanks that Ashlee knew the truth and she had someone to talk to. She would’ve gone nuts in this pretend marriage otherwise.

  “Your husband sure knows how to par-tay.”

  Poppy had to agree. She loved the rooftop fairyland, complete with miniscule lights strung across the ceiling between billowing chiffon, ecru-covered chairs tied with gold bows, and the shimmer of crystal and silver everywhere.

  Every table had elongated rectangular vases filled with sparkly stone bases and long-stemmed blood-red roses as centerpieces. The nametags were individually embossed gold on cream, and the exquisite food was laid out buffet style for people to help themselves.

  Flame-grilled garlic oysters, pan-seared scallops, shrimp tempura, soyed duck fillet, pork ribs in peppercorn sauce, poached fresh abalone, and wasabi beef fillet had kept the hordes fed, while the eight-piece band ensured the dance floor remained crowded…when they weren’t jostling for position at the dessert bar for amaretto crème caramel, vanilla bean panna cotta, sticky mandarin pudding, nougat parfait, cappuccino cheesecake, and Poppy’s favorite, key lime pie.

  The overall effect was an elegant party, relaxed enough for revelers to enjoy themselves, classy enough to make them feel special.

  Everyone except her.

  “Money can buy you anything.”

  “Including a wife, apparently.”

  Poppy knew Ashlee meant it as a joke, but the truth hurt. She had been bought. For a good cause, but bought nonetheless. And for a gal who hated rich folk flinging their money around to obtain anything, it irritated her. Hell, it bugged the crap out of her, but she owed Sara and finally, after all the years her sis had put into raising her, they were square.

  “You’re going to visit the office regularly, right?” Ashlee had the strained look of someone who’d only just realized what a monumental change had taken place and was trying to deal the best she could.

  “Sure,” Poppy said, knowing she’d miss her friend terribly, and frequent visits wouldn’t help. “I need to see Sara once a week and I’ll pop in then.”

  “It’s a fair commute for weekly.”

  “I’ll use the company jet. Beck won’t mind.” Especially since he’d banished her to his desert hideaway. He wouldn’t even notice she’d gone.

  “Listen to you, Miss La-di-da.” Ashlee mimicked drinking a cup of tea with her pinkie extended. “I’ll just pop in on the company jet.”

  Poppy laughed at her fake posh accent. “There have to be some benefits to this crazy marriage.”

  Benefits…

  Which conjured up other potential benefits of being married to Beck, the kind that made her blood warm and her face flush.

  “Apart from the obvious, you mean?” Ashlee snickered. “Try all you like, hon, but I see the way you two look at each other.” She fanned her face with a napkin. “Scorching.”

  “There may be a little something there—”

  “More like a whole hunka burning love.”

  Poppy groaned and Ashlee said, “What? You think I’d come to Vegas and not make an Elvis wisecrack?”

  “I’m going to miss you.” Poppy slung an arm around her shoulder and hugged her.

  “You won’t have time, what with tending to your wifely duties.”

  “Just keep Party Hard afloat on your end and I’ll do the rest from here.” Poppy bumped her with her hip.

  “The diva has spoken,” Ashlee said, with a dramatic eye roll. “Let’s see how long your divorce focus lasts when you’re making out with The Hottie.”

  Poppy could’ve denied it, said she had no intention of making out with Beck, but she’d never lied to Ashlee and she wasn’t about to start now.

  It was all Poppy had been thinking about during the entire reception—not screwing up in front of his precious bloody investors—and how she’d keep him at arm’s length once this party was over. For as much as they pretended the attraction between them didn’t exist, it was there all the same: an underlying, potent simmer that grew exponentially the more she tried to deny it.

  “I better get back to the guests.”

  “Poppy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re happy, right?” Ashlee had lost the goofy grin, a groove of concern crinkling her brows. “What you’re doing for Sara? It goes above and beyond.”

  “I’m fine,” Poppy said, but deep down she knew she wasn’t.

  Not since Beck had asked her to dance. She could cope with whatever this fake marriage dished up. But not the dancing. She should’ve told him before the reception to skip the bridal waltz. She hadn’t, and she’d suffered the consequences.

  Not that anyone except him had noticed how freaked out she’d been. The crowd had sighed, assuming she was so blinded by love she’d cried.

  Beck wouldn’t have made that assumption and she hoped he wouldn’t ask her about it.

  “Just so you know, I’m always a text or phone call away.”

  “Thanks, Ash.”

  Who knew? Poppy might have to take Ashlee up on that offer before this marriage was through.

  When the last reveler had left, Poppy sagged in relief. “Boy, am I glad that’s over.”

  “You and me both.” Beck led her to the nearest chair and she sank gratefully onto it.

  “How’d I do?”

  He squatted in front of her and rested his forearms on her knees. A perfectly innocuous touch, but enough to send heat streaking up her legs. “You were magnificent.”

  “The bigwigs were impressed by your nuptial bliss?”

  “Apparently so.” His mouth twisted with a bitterness she didn’t understand. “I’ve been asked to schedule another meeting to revisit the deal.”

  “That’s great.” In her excitement, she shifted, and his forearms slid off her knees, making him tumble.

  “Trying to get rid of me already and the icing’s barely set on the wedding cake?” He stood and dusted himself off, his wry grin endearing.

  “Hardly.” She tapped her bottom lip, pretending to ponder. “Besides, if I wanted to get rid of you I’d come up
with more inventive ways.”

  “Such as?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  His grin faded. “You ever stop to think what the hell we’re doing?”

  Surprised at a rare display of doubt from the guy whose middle name had to be “Confidence,” she shrugged. “We’re smart people making decisions based on logic.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not like the billion dummies out there who jump into situations feet first based on emotions.”

  “How’d you get so wise?” Admiration sparked his eyes as he sat beside her.

  “Self-sufficiency breeds street smarts.”

  “Can’t disagree with you there.” He looked like he wanted to ask questions, but she didn’t want to answer any. This had been some day and now that she’d finally stopped moving, exhaustion blanketed her in a claustrophobic smother. She yawned.

  “Time for bed?”

  Another unasked question hovered in the silence between them as he studied her, waiting for her answer.

  Heck, what was wrong with her? She never second-guessed herself for having sex with a hot guy. Not like this.

  It was the damned ring snug on the third finger of her left hand that was causing all the problems.

  For all the signed documentation and straight talk about this marriage being strictly business, she was starting to like Beck a tad. And that didn’t bode well for an entanglement-free marriage.

  “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Now?”

  She nodded. “Need to clear my head.”

  “Marriage getting to you already?” He’d meant it as a joke but he’d pretty much homed in on what she was feeling, and she sprung up like a jack-in-the-box, eager to escape.

  She’d known what she was getting into with this marriage, but after a long stressful day—heck, a long stressful week—it was tough facing reality. They’d gone into this marriage for purely mercenary reasons and it saddened her. She may not believe in marriage, but all the ones she knew of at least started with starry-eyed love.

  Instead, she and Beck had reduced it to a cold, calculating business deal, and as she stared at the remnants of their red velvet wedding cake on its towering stand nearby, she had the distinct urge to sweep it onto the floor and trample it to crumbs.