Everything But Perfect (8 page)

Chapter Nine

Cheyanne walked down the stairs,
a smile on her face; her heart at her knees. It was a beautiful day, the
perfect summer afternoon. Only thing was, what she was about to do was anything
but perfect.

She made her way out to the open
patio doors on her father’s arm, one hundred guests filling the gardens in
distinct rows on white chairs.

She moved forward, dazed. How
could she do this? How could she pretend life was great, when all she saw
before her was four months of dread?

As the holy man said the words,
she stared at Mitch. He seemed about as happy with this as she was.

“Dearly beloved,” the man said,
smiling at both.

As the man finished the
ceremonial farce, Mitch placed the wedding band alongside her huge diamond.
She, in turn, did the same to him.

She’d never felt such a heavy
weight reach into her soul than while lying to God she would cherish this man
next to her, all the days of her life.

“You may kiss your bride, Mitch,”
the minister said.

Cheyanne smiled, the appropriate
thing to do, but she did not feel an emotional attachment to the proceedings.

He leaned forward…and God help
her, the world exploded. His lips were warmer than before, gentle. A sweet
morsel to a starving woman, she almost fell for the ploy.

She allowed the kiss to linger,
even though it went against every grain of her soul. Mitch was so handsome, his
mocha eyes drilling into her and locking on.

Cheyanne shook free of the
fantasy as quick as she could. He wasn’t her husband; he was a man she had to
marry. Four months, no more. How hard could that be?

Convincing others of the farce
had been easy. Convincing herself this was going to be a walk in the park was
looking to be unachievable.

They went from marriage to
reception within minutes. She never expected the farce to continue, but it
did—right down to Mitch shoving wedding cake into her mouth, then giving her a
lingering kiss to seal the deal.

Inner misgivings as to what else
he expected of her started creeping into her mind. There was an undeniable
response to his kiss, but if strong and determined, she should be able to get
through this.

Should.

His mouth found hers again,
toasting the marriage with champagne. Cheyanne’s knees went weak, her body
tingled, and her hands went to his chest by free will. She splayed her fingers
over the warmth of muscle, over a man she could not get out of her system. Had he
given her a moment’s notice she would not have reacted in this way. A volatile
man kissing her, holding her close, he might be a danger too hot to handle
without practice.

His grip tightened as the kiss continued.
He then drew back and whispered in her ear, “You can save your false passion
for later, my dear. It’ll give me something to look forward to on our
honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon?” she choked out, eyes
wide.

“Yes, honeymoon. You did not
think this was it, did you?”

She glanced up into his thickly
hooded gaze, unable to believe he would force a honeymoon onto her. Such a
thing was for two people who loved each other, and they were far from it.

Damn. She must stay wary of this
man—give him an inch, he takes a mile; allow him freedom, he’ll destroy hers.

“What makes you think I do
anything falsely?” she counteracted.

“Yes, Cheyanne…what could
possibly make me think you do anything falsely?” A fixed, glittering gaze then
proved she would again have to work out an escape hatch to this marriage if she
expected to survive the next four months.

The demons of desire easily
persuaded to surface, how one learned to control that desire would serve best
the one with the most to lose.

****

Hours later, her head against the
cool interior of Mitch’s Mercedes, Cheyanne tried to relax. Impossibility when
near this man. Her eyes shifted to his profile. He was certainly an
accomplished driver. Not once had he turned her way or spoken a word.

“Is something bothering you?” he
said, suddenly smiling at her.

She whipped her face forward,
determined not to let him get her goat. “No. Why, should it be?”

“You tell me.”

Her heavy sigh reached all the
way to her toes. “Why a honeymoon? No one would even know if we just went back
to your apartment and hid out for a few days. Then I can leave, you can have
the company, and everyone’s happy.”

“I would know,” he muttered, turning
the sleek vehicle down a small driveway. “And it isn’t how this is going to
work for others to believe our lie.”

Cheyanne felt the blood loss in
her cheeks. “Is this it?” Ahead, loomed a quaint bed and breakfast inn, right
in the middle of nowhere.

“Yep.” He drove the car up to the
house, and then shut off the engine. His aloof awareness was making her blood
boil. In silent horror, the corners of his mouth tilted.

Tearing her gaze away, she
willfully chose not to say another word. She could not trust that any of them
would not come out as four-lettered explicative.

“Satisfied?” he suddenly asked.

Cheyanne turned, wondering what
brought on the question.

“I asked if you are satisfied,”
he repeated.

“Hardly, but then I never know
what you’re really asking most days.”

He would not even try to hide his
smile. “If you want to look at who you married, go ahead. No one is stopping
you.”

“Look at…
what
? I—I wasn’t
trying to…” She stopped at that point, knowing he was only teasing her as his
grin widened.

“You really are a bastard,” she
snapped at him.

“That could well be, but I know I
had parents and I did think to have married a lady.” His gaze went up and down
her length, stopping at her breasts. “Yet if she keeps having these low
opinions of my character, I might have to do something about it.”

Cheyanne crossed her arms over
her chest, defiant of his words. Whether to protect her virtue, or just to ward
off the blow of his smile, she wasn’t sure. It did make her feel better. That’s
all that mattered.

She remained in her seat, facing
forward, and could have cared less what he wanted. He wasn’t going to get any
of her, touch any of her, or enjoy this farce of a honeymoon, that’s for damn
sure.

No sooner did this cross her
mind, the front door of the inn opened and out came a portly gentleman. He
scurried to their car. Mitch got out and greeted the man.

“Welcome. You two must be my honeymoon
lovebirds.”

Cheyanne just about choked on
this, still seated in the car.

“Come, I’ll show you to your
room. I know you’ve had a long drive from New York.”

Since they were now in Vermont,
yes, it was a long drive.

Mitch was already removing their
suitcases from the trunk. Refusing to pack one, darling Sara had taken the
liberty to throw together a wardrobe. Cheyanne could just imagine what her
sister stuck into a suitcase, something inappropriate and indecent, no doubt. It
wasn’t her sister’s fault she’d signed away her life, and then married the man
now standing next to the car, expecting her to get out of it. Sara thought this
a real honeymoon.

Mitch opened her door and held
out his hand. Cheyanne refused to take the bait, in fact, refused to touch him until
she could get control of her emotions.

“Name’s Charlie. I’m the owner,
greeter, bellhop, and all around everybody wants me at once guy. If you’ll
follow me, we can head inside and get you settled in. You’ll be the only two
here this week, so we’ll take good care of you.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Mitch said,
winking at Cheyanne’s face. “I know my wife is rather tired. Aren’t you dear?”

She turned and gave him a heated
glare behind Charlie’s back, but all he did to combat its wrath was smile more.

They stepped into the foyer and were
immediately bombarded by Charlie’s wife. “Welcome! I’m Laura. Whatever you
need, just ask. We want you to have a pleasant stay with us.”

Although the summer heat had been
in full force today, it was already late, and there was a warming fire glowing
in the fireplace, taking the chill out of the air. Two coffees in hand, Laura
handed one to each, then helped Charlie with the suitcases.

“Thank you for this,” Mitch said,
raising his coffee cup. “Just what I needed.”

He was being pleasant, which was
surprising, since she had yet to see this side of him in all the time knowing
him.

“Come this way,” Charlie said,
heading toward an open staircase.

Mitch set his hand to her elbow,
directing her. “Come, dear.”

“I can walk on my own,” she
muttered, trying to loosen his grip.

“I know you can.” His grin did
not quite reach his eyes as his firm grip tightened. He then bent to her ear.
“Save your hatred for later, sweetheart, when we are alone in our room.”

Thankfully, Charlie was missing
the nasty exchange.

“Breakfast is served at seven. If
you need anything, there is a bell in your room. Just ring and we’ll come
running. You’re welcome to start a fire in the fireplace in the room,” he said,
pushing open a door at the end of the upstairs hallway. “But I’m sure being
newlyweds, you won’t need one.”

Cheyanne’s eyes were glued to the
massive bed. She did not hear Mitch standing behind her, clearing his throat. How
long she’d been staring at the bed, she had no idea. She turned, gave Mitch a
watery smile, and then watched as he removed his shoes and tie. He sat on a
sofa, coffee in hand.

“This is nice,” he said, glancing
about.

Was she supposed to agree to this?
Something nice would be if she cared about the man she was now stuck with.

Dammit. She needed something to
do, something to take her mind off the fact there was a massive bed in this
room. She did not dare go anywhere near the sofa, or her
husband
. He
looked too deep in thought. Checking out the bathroom would only make her look foolish;
therefore, she headed to the window, glancing out. “Nice view,” she mumbled
offhandedly.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.

When she turned and looked his
way, he was staring at her, not at the window, his grin devilish.

She whipped back around, hoping
to avoid the odd feeling she was getting from his stare. She felt like a
lollipop, the wrapper still on but expecting to be licked quite soon.
Obviously, he meant to drag out the trepidation toward what to expect the rest
of the week.

Never hearing his approach, the
moment he touched her shoulder she jumped out of her skin. He then turned her
in his grip, drawing her close.

“It is a very nice view,” he
rasped out, lowering his head.

She waited with baited breath for
the kiss, closing her eyes, expecting it to be quick and painless.

“Open your eyes, Cheyanne,” he
said, just inches from her mouth.

She shook her head. No. She did
not want to watch his mocha eyes turning black. She did not want to witness his
hatred toward her.

“I’m not letting you go until you
do,” he warned.

Her eyes reopened swiftly, she
then witnessed the devil grin on his face, and he descended before she could
react. His mouth crushed hers, the kiss so full of masculinity and power it was
all she could do to keep her senses intact. Still, she could not take much more
torture—felt trapped with nowhere to run. One minute he hated her, the next he
was kissing her as if he had the right. Her head was spinning by these constant
mood swings.

Mitch probed her mouth with his
tongue, and dammit, if she did not respond exactly as he wanted. Weak in the
knees, palms sweaty, her heart was doing a little tap dance inside her chest.

Mitch’s strong muscles barely
flexed with the effort of holding her close.

Wishing she could yield to the
desire of his embrace, wishing this could be a real marriage with a man she
loved but knowing if she bent to his will her dignity would suffer, she held
back from returning the kiss. With every ounce of willpower, she only allowed Mitch
to kiss her mouth, not capture her soul. She could not give her soul to this
man. It would mean she’d lost the war, and she could not lose to a man like him.

He drew back and looked at her,
an odd expression on his face.

“Please don’t do this to me,” she
suddenly begged.

His brow arched. “I haven’t done
anything to you,” he said, “that you haven’t wanted me to do.”

Unable to stop a tear from
falling, she looked up at him. “You forced me into this marriage, a honeymoon,
and everything else you’ve done so far…”

“All necessary,” he said. He then
released her so quickly she nearly fell to her knees. The veins in his neck
were now visible, his anger resurfaced.