Her Faux Fiancé (17 page)

He followed her up, and when she didn’t move, he stared into her eyes. “Is it okay, with the baby, I mean?” In the passion of the moment he’d forgotten entirely that she was pregnant. Forgotten everything, in fact, except how much he wanted her. She was potent. He’d even forgotten about the man she’d met in Winnipeg.

“The baby’s okay. But … ”

He could see a battle going on inside her, and his own guts clenched. Was she conflicted about making love with him or was something else upsetting her? The one thing he did know was that now was the time to find out. There would be another opportunity, he hoped, to take her to bed. Unless he mucked this up now.

“Let’s talk. I think we have some issues to resolve before tomorrow.” He found his t-shirt and tugged it on while she straightened her clothes. She took his hand, and they went back to the house without saying anything.

“Sit here; I’ll get us something to drink,” he said as they stepped onto the porch.

He returned a few minutes later with two glasses of cold lemonade. There were several pieces of straw in her hair and a couple on her shirt. He plucked them off after handing her the glass. Taking a long drink, hoping to cool the lingering heat in his groin, he leaned against the railing in front of her.

“Okay, you start,” he said. Because he sure as hell had no idea where to begin.

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” His brain was still back in the barn.

“Kissing when we need to talk. Jean-Claude always used sex to get what he wanted. Whenever I disagreed with him, he’d start kissing me until I agreed to do as he asked. Then afterward I’d hate myself for my weakness. If we’re going to have any kind of future together, even if it’s a short one, you can’t take advantage of my … passion.” She stared at the floor during her whole speech.

He waited for her to look at him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. I can honestly say that I had absolutely no ulterior motive. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you and I was pretty sure you wanted to be kissed. You might have noticed we have pretty explosive chemistry. If I’m making love to you, my singular motive is to bring you pleasure and bring us closer.”

“I thought you said this marriage was going to be in name only,” she reminded him.

Busted.

“I’ll leave that up to you. If there’s any point in this marriage when you want to change that clause then I’m open to renegotiation. However, there is one thing that is nonnegotiable. If this relationship is going to work, even on the most basic level, we have to be honest with each other.”

“Yes.”

“Who did you meet today?”

She dropped her glass and watched as it rolled to a stop against the post for the handrail, spreading a trail of liquid as it went.

She leapt to her feet, her head swiveling from right to left as though mentally mapping all the possible escape routes. “How do you know about that? Did you follow me?”

“No, I didn’t. Unfortunately, I have relatives everywhere. One of my aunts saw you at The Forks.”

Wringing her hands, she paced the porch. As she passed him, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Was it Jean-Claude?” He ground the name out through the bile that rose up in his mouth.

“No, absolutely not. Jean-Claude is dead. I guess, in the spirit of honesty, I should tell you a little more about him.”

Erik wasn’t sure he wanted to hear more about a sexy Frenchman who could turn a determined Analise from her way with his kisses. “Go on.”

“Jean-Claude was a spy.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know about it until he died. Remember I said I was injured and woke up in hospital? What I didn’t tell you was that hospital was in Algeria. I was kept in detention for weeks while they grilled me about what I knew of his activities, who he’d been meeting with, where, demanding any photos I’d taken of him with his contacts … ”

“And you never knew?”
Great, she was in love with James Bond
. How was a guy supposed to compete with a dead spy?

“In hindsight, it’s all so clear—the clandestine meetings, the coded messages. As an exceptional freelance journalist, this was normal. To get the real story you had to dig deep, meet with people who knew what was happening. And they usually weren’t governmental authorities. But while we were together, I had no idea.”

“Why did the French government question you? Shouldn’t they have known who he was meeting already?”

Analise took a deep breath, as though what she was going to say was a betrayal. “It seems there was some question over whom exactly he worked for. Not all of his reports went to the French secret service.”

“So, who did you meet this afternoon?” Could Analise have taken the vacant position left by her fiancé?

“I found a message from Jean-Claude. It directed me to contact a certain number. They set up a meeting, which happened today.”

Erik fought down his anger. How was he supposed to keep her safe if she went off and met strange spies without him? He stared at the woman opposite him who had dropped once more into her grandmother’s rocking chair. She looked so similar to ten years ago, minus the long hair, that he was having a difficult time remembering that she was now a grown woman who’d led an adventurous life without him. He needed to get to know this enigma who had fascinated him from the moment she’d rolled down her window on the highway.

However, her association with the world of espionage held other complications. As a mergers and acquisitions lawyer, he needed to keep his reputation squeaky clean. Affiliation with the underside of the world, especially any possible terrorist connections, would be the death knell to his career. He might have been giving up the London partnership, but he wasn’t finished with being a lawyer. Analise was playing with fire, and if he stayed with her he could get burned—badly.

Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face.

“Now that you know my sordid past, I understand completely if you want to call off the wedding tomorrow. Granddad and I can manage. I’ve weathered gossip before. I can do it again.”

Her simple statement, spoken with a flat, lifeless voice, cut through all the questions floating around in his head. He wanted this woman. He needed this woman. “What ifs” weren’t going to get in the way of what could be the most important decision in his life.

“I told you once before. You will never be alone again. I asked you to marry me. I’m not taking that back because your ex played loosey-goosey with world politics.”

Her radiant smile was stunning. Before he got distracted again, there was still the issue of her desire to run away with her grandfather.

“Where did you suddenly get the money to leave?”

“The French government has frozen all my assets, but Jean-Claude left money, some jewels and gold coins, and details about a supposed secret bank account with the man I met. That’s why I could offer my grandfather a way out. And now I have the money to pay you back.”

“I don’t want your money,” he reminded her. Or, more precisely, he didn’t want Jean-Claude’s money. “However, I do want your word.”

“My word?”

“That you’ll show up tomorrow and make an honest man out of me. My grandparents would never recover if their grandson was left at the altar.”

She stood and put her hands on his shoulders, standing on tiptoe to give him an all-too-brief kiss on the lips. “I like your grandparents.”

“What about me?”

“I like you too,” she whispered. Then she pulled back and strode toward the door. “As tomorrow is my wedding day, I guess I’d better get some rest. Can’t be looking tired and worn out with all your relatives staring at me.”

And with that, she was gone. Was it his imagination or did the screen door slamming sound like prison bars sliding closed? Despite the intense summer heat, he shivered.

She shifted from one foot to the other, fiddling with her bouquet.

“Stand still, Analise. I can’t get this headdress right if you keep fidgeting. It’s hard enough getting it to stay in your short hair.” Tracy jammed a couple more pins into her head before giving the whole thing a liberal spraying with what surely must have been hair cement.

“Sorry. I didn’t expect to get married so soon or I wouldn’t have cut my hair short.”

Tracy moved to stand in front, her critical eye surveying her handiwork. “And I bet you didn’t expect Erik’s grandmother to insist that you wear her fifty-pound veil, either. Still, wear it up the aisle to make her happy, then we can ditch it later for the reception.”

“Thank God. I think my neck is going to snap. They sure made brides a lot stronger in the old days.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, they didn’t make them any more beautiful. I can’t believe you got that dress in less than a week. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

Tracy moved to the side, and Analise surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. She’d been so glad when Tracy had offered to help her get ready. If it had been left to her and her grandfather, she’d have had half the million buttons down the back undone. Roving her critical photographer eye over the woman in the mirror, she gave a slight nod of acceptance. The dress did look nice, and the flowers picked this morning from Erik’s grandmother’s garden were bright and cheery and full of gorgeous perfume. She took a deep breath near the lavender, hoping the calming scent would soothe the butterflies fluttering in her belly.

Still staring at her reflection, Analise had to clear her throat before she could talk. “Tracy, how did you feel on your wedding day?”

“Excited, nervous, terrified. All the way up the aisle I thought I was going to vomit. Then, when I saw Brent standing there, looking like he’d just won the lottery, all of a sudden it made sense. The rest of the day was one of the happiest of my life, only eclipsed by the days our children were born.”

Analise smiled. Would seeing Erik have the same curative powers, or would the doubts that had plagued her all night long come back twofold? She’d promised not to leave him at the altar, but she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t bolt as soon as the minister asked if anyone had a reason why the marriage shouldn’t take place.
Excuse me, but I can’t actually marry this man because I think I might be falling in love with him again, and if this ends badly I may not be able to put the pieces back together this time.

A tentative knock on the door made Tracy scurry to answer the summons. Analise held her breath; she didn’t know if she could handle more interference from Erik’s mother. Her soon-to-be mother-in-law had already been to the small dressing room three times in the last forty minutes. Thankfully, Tracy had managed to get her to leave within five minutes of each invasion. Analise prepared herself for whatever Susan Sigurdson could suggest next. Because if it were any more ridiculous baby names, Analise would run screaming from the building. Primrose if it was a girl? Really?

Instead, standing at the door was her grandfather, resplendent in a three-piece suit, a red rose, and a spray of baby’s breath in his buttonhole. His silver hair had been brushed back off his face, and his cheeks were freshly shaven. He was a little older but once again looked the vibrant man who had hugged her till she couldn’t breathe as a teenager.

“You’re beautiful, sweet. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,
Afi
.”

Tracy followed behind, bundling the long veil so Analise could walk without her head being pulled backward by the weight. As they approached the doors to the ballroom where the ceremony and the reception were to be held, her grandfather paused.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was gruff with emotion.

Analise put her arms around him, tucking her head under his chin as she’d done all those years ago. His heartbeat was strong, and the arms that wrapped around her back held her tightly. She gave him one final squeeze before pulling back.

“I’m sure. Erik is a good, caring man. He’ll look after me almost as well as you.”

“He better,”
Afi
declared.

The music began, and she was walking up the aisle on her grandfather’s arm. As she neared, her eyes met Erik’s. He didn’t quite look like he’d won the lottery, but pretty close. They could make this work. All was right with her life, if only for one brief moment.

• • •

Analise wasn’t sure which hurt more, her cheeks or her feet. The new heels pinched her big toe until it throbbed. She alternated slipping her shoes off each foot until she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to get the footwear back on again. The photographer, although nice, had insisted on taking 600 shots of her and Erik with endless variations of family in the background. Next time she married, it would be to a man with fewer relatives.

“How you holding up?” Erik asked as the photographer went off to find another memory card or download some of the photos onto her laptop.

“My feet are killing me, my cheeks may never be the same again, and if one more person asks if I can feel the baby yet, I’ll give them a kick,” she said through a smile.

Erik caressed her face. “If it’s any consolation, you’re doing a fabulous job. My grandmother and mother are in tears.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Yes, they’re tears of joy. Trust me, if they weren’t happy, I’d have heard about it. And have you noticed? Mom has stayed sober.”

“I did notice. I’m glad she’s hopefully getting better.” Analise looked around at the crowd. “Weddings aren’t really for the bride and groom, are they?” The room had been transformed from wedding chapel to reception banquet hall in the hour they’d been outside taking photos.

“No, that’s what honeymoons are for. Speaking of which, I’ve booked us a room at the Hecla Island Resort for tonight and tomorrow night, and then from next Friday we’ve got two weeks in the Seychelles to truly relax.”

“Sounds heavenly.” She sighed. The thought of two weeks in the sun with nothing to do except read and get to know Erik was just what she needed to make it through the rest of the evening.

Erik put his arm around her waist, and they strolled over to where Brent and Tracy were conversing with another couple around the same age. Analise smiled and nodded, hoping her nods were in time with the general conversation. She let the words buzz over her, already trying to picture herself lying on the beach, Erik’s strong fingers working out a particularly stubborn knot in her neck muscles. As she was imagining his hands moving from her neck down to her back to untie her bikini top, she felt him stiffen next to her. His hand at her waist tensed.