Sudden Pleasures (7 page)

“It?”
Ryan couldn’t help leering at her. Bringing a blush to her pale cheeks was proving to be a lot of fun. He suspected from her consternation that it had been a long time since anyone had made her blush.

“Damn it, you’re doing that deliberately!” she swore at him.

He burst out laughing. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “I see you have a little bit of a temper too. I like my gals with spice,” he drawled in his best Texas accent.

“And you seem to be a tease,
Mr
. Mulcahy,” she shot back. “Okay. Yes. We will get married to preserve our fortunes and our livelihoods. It would seem that neither of us has any other choice, except to transfer our funds to numbered accounts in the Caymans, take on new identities, and run. And I’ve never run from anything in all my life!”

“Neither have I,” he said, serious now. “How do we explain our marriage to everyone? It’s going to seem really strange if we just do it without warning.”

“I suppose we could date for a little while,” Ashley suggested. “I could get to know your family. I have no real family left, but you could get to know my friends. But I don’t want to have to plan another extravaganza, Ryan. When we set the date I want it to be simple. No fuss. No muss. Your mom. My friend Nina. That’s it. I realize your family will probably want a big show, but I have ended up the Bad-luck Bride three times now. I’m pretty certain that the florist here in the village has put one kid through college on my three canceled weddings.”

“But it has to be in church,” he said. “Ma will insist on that.”

“No problem. You’re an R.C., I presume?”

“Baptized, confirmed, but I’m not much on church,” he admitted.

“I’m an Anglican,” she told him. “But I want your mother happy in this, because I can see she means a lot to you. St. Anne’s is the Roman church. St. Luke’s is the Anglican. We’ll get married at St. Anne’s. They’ve got a new priest, Father Donovan. He’s a pretty cool guy. And my priest, Father Edwards, will co-officiate. That okay with you, Ryan?”

“You want to set the date now?” he asked her. “No one except the lawyers has to know we’re going to be pretending to date.”

“How about the last Saturday in August?” Ashley asked.

“That’s good. I don’t travel in August,” he agreed.

“How are we going to say we met?” she asked him.

“No lie there,” he said. “Our lawyers are cousins, and they introduced us.”

She nodded. “Yes, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

The door to the conference room opened, and the partners in the company of Ray Pietro d’Angelo came back in.

“Lunch was okay?” Joe asked.

“It was lovely,” Ashley said. “Whoever chose the menu did a good job.”

“Have you decided what you want to do?” Ray inquired of them.

Ashley looked at Ryan questioningly.

“You explain it,” Ryan said.

“Ryan and I thought it might be better if a relationship between us seemed normal. We’re going to have a whirlwind courtship,” she said with a smile. “We will tell everyone that we were introduced by our lawyers, who are cousins—which is, of course, the truth, isn’t it? And I think sticking to the truth is best. We will date for a few weeks, then surprise everyone by getting married. Ryan has agreed to make his legal residence here in Egret Pointe. We’ll be married at St. Anne’s, because it will please his mother.”

“No,” Ray said. “No church wedding.”

“Why not?” Ryan wanted to know.

“Because this marriage isn’t going to be a long-term thing. It’s just to save your asses,” Ray said. “One day you could find the love of your life, and you’ll want to be married in the church. You can’t if you’ve already been married in the church and then divorced. For this marriage we’ll want a local judge. I want it to be legal in this state, especially because otherwise your sisters are going to raise hell when they see all that money Jerry Klein has promised them going bye-bye. They may even threaten legal action, although they won’t have a leg to stand on. All your dad said was, married by forty. He didn’t specify how or to whom or even how long. Now, how long is this union going to last for you two? I’d suggest a two-year minimum.”

“That sounds fine to me,” Ryan said. He looked to Ashley. “You?”

She nodded. “Yes, that seems right.”

“Okay,” Joe said. “We don’t need you two now. We’ll work out all the details. When we’ve got a working draft of the prenup we’ll have you each look at a copy, make corrections, do a final draft, and you’ll sign it. So when’s the wedding?”

“August twenty-fifth,” Ashley said. “And it will be extremely low-key.”

“What?” Joe teased. “No twelve-piece orchestra? No thousands of dollars’ worth of flowers? No catered feast? The hospital thrift shop is going to be very disappointed.”

“None of the above,” Ashley said. “If we can’t do it in church then we’ll do it up at the hall. You, Rick, Ray, and your wives. Nina. The Byrneses. Joe’s mom and favorite sister. A nice sit-down dinner in the dining room afterward. The flowers will come from the gardens, and if you want to dance afterward we’ll put a CD on. After all, it’s a sudden wedding after a whirlwind courtship, gentlemen.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ray said. He turned to his client. “The limo will take you back into the city, Ryan. It was a good meeting, yes?”

Ryan nodded. “Thanks for solving the problem,” he said.

“Would you have time to see Kimbrough Hall?” Ashley asked him.

“Why not? It’s Friday, and I don’t have to do the driving. Yes, I would very much like to see Kimbrough Hall. I never knew anyone who lived in a hall.”

“We’ll call it our first date then,” Ashley said with a small smile. She turned to the partners. “Thanks, guys. And Joe, call Tiff. If you wait until you get home there will be no living with her.” She turned to Ryan. “We’ll tell the driver to follow me,” she said. “That way you won’t have to drop me back in town later.” She led him from the boardroom and from the law offices of Johnson and Pietro d’Angelo.

Ryan went over to the limo and gave the driver his instructions. Ashley waved him over to her Solstice. He eyed the hot little car and climbed in on the passenger side. Ashley gunned the vehicle and they were off, heading back the way he had come, except when they came to a turn in the road she swung the car onto a narrow paved road. She moved so fast that he almost missed the stone pillars, and just barely caught a glimpse of two brass-and-bronze markers affixed to them. The trees thinned as they reached the top of the hill where the house sat. The view of the bay was spectacular.

The house was beautiful: brick with white trim, gracious and welcoming, with a portico of elegant white pillars in front. He could see the colorful gardens behind and around the house. Two greyhounds loped up to the car as it pulled to a stop. He felt as if he were in a 1940s movie. He hadn’t thought houses like this existed anymore. All this land, and it was obviously hers.
I wouldn’t want to lose it either
, he thought.

“Welcome to Kimbrough Hall,” Ashley said as she stepped from the car, giving the dogs a pat. “I hope you’ll like it here, Ryan. I realize it is very different from the city. Is your apartment big?”

“No,” he said, getting out and letting the dogs sniff him. “I have a one-bedroom in a prewar. Three apartments to a floor. I’ve got the C apartment with a view of the backs of other buildings. I don’t need a view, as I’m there only at night and first thing in the morning when I get up. This place…it’s incredible. And you grew up here? Wow!”

Ashley smiled. She was pleased that he liked it. “I couldn’t live anywhere else.”

She led him inside as Byrnes opened the door as if he had been waiting for her.

“Good afternoon, Miss Ashley, sir,” the butler said.

“Afternoon, Byrnes. This is Mr. Mulcahy. Would Mrs. B. bring us some iced tea out to the porch?”

“At once, Miss Ashley,” was the polite reply.

She led Ryan through the house, and he couldn’t stop turning his head as he spotted valuable antique after valuable antique. The house was pristine, and everything belonged. It looked like a perfectly dressed movie set. He was fascinated by it all. The porch on the side of the house was filled with wicker furniture, the chair cushions done in a green-on-white fabric. “Sit,” Ashley invited him.

“How big is this place?” he asked her.

“This floor, kitchens, pantry, living room, dining room, library, the ballroom, although it hasn’t been used in years, and a small office. Second floor is bedrooms, bathrooms, a nursery wing. There’s a wing over the kitchens for Mr. and Mrs. B. Attics above everything else. They used to be servants’ quarters in the glory days of the house, along with storage. Three-car garage, but we use only two bays—one for my car, the other for the Byrneses car. The housemaid who cleans lives in town, as does the gardener.”

“Big house for just one girl,” he noted.

“I know,” Ashley said, “but it’s home, Ryan, and maybe one day I’ll find the right man to share it with, and have lots of kids.”

“You want kids?”

“Oh, yes! It was such fun growing up with Ben, even if I was a lot younger than he was. He was a terrific big brother.”

Ryan saw tears well up in her eyes, but said nothing.

The butler brought in a small silver tray with two glasses of iced tea, and set the tray down. “Will you require anything else, Miss Ashley? If not I’ll want to go to the garden and pick some peas for dinner.”

“No, this is lovely, Byrnes. Thank you,” Ashley said, and the butler withdrew.

“You have a garden?” He was surprised. With the supermarkets offering such a variety of foods today, he was fascinated that there was some sort of garden here growing vegetables along with the beautiful flowers.

“Byrnes and Tony, our gardener, love doing a vegetable garden every year,” Ashley told him. “Who am I to refuse fresh veggies?” She smiled. Then she surprised him. “Would you like to come out next weekend? I suppose we really ought to start being seen around Egret Pointe.”

He thought a moment, and then answered, “Yes, I would. If I’m going to be living here I ought to get to know the village.”

“Bring a bathing suit. I have a pool, and it’s heated,” Ashley said.

He was surprised, but why he was surprised he didn’t know. She was obviously old money. Not the kind you heard about in the society columns—
real
old money. The old-fashioned kind that showed up only in wedding and death announcements. “I will indeed bring a suit. I love to swim,” he said. Then he stood up. “I had better be going. I usually have Friday-night dinner at my mom’s, and I don’t want to be late. She’ll want to know why, and I’m not certain I’m ready to tell her.”

“Why not?” Ashley said. “After all, according to Ray it was her idea that you have an arranged marriage to save your inheritance. I think you would want to tell her right away so she would stop worrying,” Ashley told him.

“You wouldn’t mind? She might even end up calling you,” he warned her.

“That would be lovely. Intimidating, but lovely,” she said, and stood up. “I’ll go with you to the door, and then I’m off back to the shop. It’s only a little after three, and I’ve got a lot to do. June is always a busy month, with weddings and anniversaries.”

The limo was waiting for him outside the house. They smiled and shook hands, and then, getting in, he settled back for the ride into the city. It had probably been the most interesting day of his life, Ryan Finbar Mulcahy thought.

Ashley watched the car disappear down the drive. The day had seemed like a dream, and yet it was reality. In a few short weeks she was going to marry a stranger. And this groom wasn’t gay, or a con artist, or going to die in Vegas from too much sex. They had a similar problem, and united in matrimony they would solve that problem. And the wedding would take place. Suddenly she was afraid, but then she forced back her fears. He was handsome, well-spoken, and the only agenda he had was to hold on to his money. It was her agenda too, wasn’t it?

“Y
ou’re late,” Angelina Mulcahy said to her son as he came into the house.

“I’ve been in a little town called Egret Pointe meeting my bride-to-be,” Ryan told his mother as he bent to kiss her smooth cheek.

“What?”
Angelina Mulcahy looked astounded.

“Well, you did tell Ray to find me a wife, didn’t you?” he teased her, sitting down in a living room chair and taking the aperitif from the small tray she held.

“Yes,” she answered him slowly, “but I didn’t think he could find a girl from the old country so quickly.” She sat down opposite him.

“What old country? She’s a nice American girl with the same problem I have. Her grandfather’s will says she has to marry or lose everything. I saw some of the everything, Ma. Her house is called a
hall
. It’s beautiful. It’s going to be a wonderful place to entertain my clients,” Ryan told his mother.

“I thought…” Angelina Mulcahy looked thoughtful. “I thought Ray would find you a nice young woman from Italy or Ireland. Where did he find this girl?”

“His cousin, another lawyer, is Ashley’s attorney,” Ryan answered.

“So this rich girl won’t be rich if she doesn’t get married?” She sipped her own drink slowly. “I don’t know, Ryan. This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I asked Ray to find you a wife. I thought a nice, unspoiled girl who would be a good wife and mother. But a spoiled rich girl who doesn’t want to lose her inheritance…I don’t know.”

“She’s rich, Ma, but she isn’t spoiled. She’s got a degree in business, like I do. Her late grandfather invested in her business, and she’s his only heir. She has to marry before she’s thirty-five or she loses it all, including her shop, and she’s just now expanding her little empire.”

“She’s nice?”

“Very nice,” Ryan told his mother.

“Pretty?”

“As a matter of fact she is,” he said with a smile. “But nothing like I would have thought I’d pick. She’s got dark hair, very fair skin, and the greenest eyes I ever saw. And she’s not a twig. She’s got to stand at least five feet eight or nine inches.”

“A big girl,” Angelina Mulcahy mused. Well, that wasn’t bad at all. She sounded like she was healthy. Angelina didn’t approve of those women who starved themselves into wraiths and waiflike figures, but had the best boobs that money could buy. “Not fat?”

“No, just tall, and proportioned right,” Ryan said. “And she likes her food, Ma. We had lunch together, and she scarfed down her ravioli like a champ. And bread too.”

“Dessert?” Now Angelina was interested.

“Every crumb, Ma,” he told her.

Angelina nodded. “So when do I get to meet her?” she wanted to know.

But before he could answer her the doorbell rang.

“This conversation is over if that’s someone else for dinner,” Ryan said.

“It’s Frankie,” Angelina said, getting up to go to the door and let her youngest daughter in, kissing her as she did so.

Francesca Mulcahy O’Connor was thirty-seven years old, and the mother of a single child. She had lost her husband, an investment banker, during 9/11. “Ma,” she said, returning her mother’s greeting. “Hey, big brother.” She took the aperitif her mother poured her. “So, what’s new?”

“Ray Pietro d’Angelo found Ryan a wife,” Angelina said, and then hurried to catch her daughter up.

“That is so cool,” Frankie said approvingly. “So when’s the wedding?”

“August twenty-fifth,” he said quietly.

“You’ve set the date already?” Angelina was a little surprised.

“I don’t have much time,” Ryan said. “I’m forty in April, Ma. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” Angelina said quietly. “I remember very well.”

“So what kind of a shop does she own?” Frankie wanted to know.

“It’s called Lacy Nothings,” he said, and grinned when his sister squealed.

“Oh, my God! The
real
Lacy Nothings? The one I get my stuff from?”

“One and the same, although why a nice widow lady needs
stuff
like that, I don’t know,” he teased her.

“Shut up!” Frankie said. “Do you think once you’re married she’d let me have merchandise wholesale?”

“What is Lacy Nothings?” their mother asked.

“It’s a lingerie shop, Ma. Very high-end, very expensive lingerie,” Ryan said.

“It’s gorgeous, Ma,” Frankie enthused. “Real quality. She’s got a catalog, and my most recent one says she’s opening two new shops. One is right near me!”

“You’re marrying a girl who sells underwear?” Angelina said.

“She’s marrying a guy who makes furniture,” he countered.

“You aren’t a craftsman,” Angelina said. “You’re a businessman, Ryan. Your father was the artisan, but not you. It’s different.” She was very proud of her son. She knew what he had done for his father, even if Fin never acknowledged it. Her late husband had had a very typical Irish attitude. Not once had he ever told Ryan he was proud of him.

“August twenty-fifth,” Frankie said. “I can’t wait to see the look on the girls’ faces when I tell them you’re getting married.” She grinned almost maliciously.

“You are not to breathe a word of this,” Ryan said quietly. “Either of you. The lawyers are handling the business end. Ashley and I will be seeing each other over the next few weeks, and it will be said to be a whirlwind courtship. You and Ma get to come to the wedding. The others will learn of it afterward. I don’t want them trying to interfere. They are not going to get R&R.”

“Dee is going to be furious.” Frankie chortled. “She’s already looking for a bigger house, although with her kids all grown I don’t know why she needs one.”

“Will we meet Ashley before the wedding?” Angelina Mulcahy asked her son.

“How about two weeks from tonight? Here. For dinner?” he suggested.

Angelina nodded.

“Can I come?” Frankie asked.

“Where’s Michael? Isn’t he home from school?” her brother said.

“Home from St. Peter’s, and off to Mountain Lake Camp in ten days to be a junior counselor this summer,” Frankie said. Her son, who was seventeen, had been given a full scholarship to his late father’s old preparatory school after Mike had been killed at the Twin Towers. At first Frankie hadn’t wanted to send her son away in seventh grade, but they had both grieved hard after Mike had been killed so tragically, and their grief fed off each other’s grief. Frankie realized that the only way she and her son would be able to get on with their lives, and past that awful day, was for Michael to go to St. Peter’s. And it had worked. Neither of them would ever forget that terrible day, but without each other they had no choice but to move on. Her son would be a senior at St. Peter’s in the autumn. He was student body president, and Frankie knew his father would be very proud.

“I don’t know why he can’t stay home with his mother in the summer,” Angelina said disapprovingly. “He was in England at Brixton School for his spring term. We’ve hardly seen him this year.”

“Going to Brixton on the exchange program was a big honor, Ma, and he wanted to go,” Frankie defended her son. “And he’s been at Mountain Lake since before his dad died. He’s always wanted to be a junior counselor. He gets his fee free this year, and a stipend of five hundred dollars for the summer. I like encouraging him to earn his own money. He’s a very responsible boy.”

“Maybe if your son were home you wouldn’t work so hard,” Angelina said.

“Nope. If he were home he’d be a latchkey kid, and I’d feel guilty,” Frankie said.

Her brother laughed. “I think you and Ashley are going to get on very well together,” he said with a grin. “She kept me waiting this morning because she had to take an overseas call from her lace supplier in Madeira.”

“Having seen you now, sweetie,” his sister teased, “I’ll bet she doesn’t ever keep you waiting again.”

He laughed. He had been a little put off when she had been late, but her explanation had been perfectly logical and practical. And when she had looked directly at him with those gorgeous green eyes, he had to admit that he was intrigued. Why had he ever considered a blue-eyed blond the perfect ideal? Ashley’s dark hair had been cut very fashionably short in a boyish bob, but he had to admit there had been nothing boyish about her body. It was, to use an old-fashioned expression his dad had been fond of, curvy. Her breasts had pushed out that red tee nicely, and her ass in those tight pants had been very tempting.

As he sat alone later that night in his own apartment, half watching
Letterman,
Ryan again considered his ideal, and decided that maybe he had a new ideal. He wondered what she would look like without that red tee and those tight pants. Did she wear her own merchandise? Having thumbed through his sister’s catalog once, he had to admit Ashley sold some pretty provocative stuff. He remembered in particular a little thigh-high black silk robe with the model’s boobs half-visible, and the smallest bikini bottom he had ever seen that matched it.

He considered how Ashley might look in such an outfit, and actually felt himself begin to get hard.
Damn!
How could you be attracted to a girl you had just met, who didn’t at all meet your original expectations? He was horny, of course. It had been months since he had had any kind of a relationship with a woman. Business just kept him too busy. Maybe getting married wasn’t such a bad idea. Except that she had told him they wouldn’t have sex. But they could have sex if they wanted to, couldn’t they? They would be married, and today a lot of people who weren’t married had sex. Then he shook his head. He was an idiot. This marriage was going to be strictly business.

Yes, business, Ashley thought as she contemplated entering the Channel that evening. Her marriage was going to be a business arrangement, but God, he was the sexiest thing she had seen in ages. The height of a Celtic warrior combined with that beautiful Italian face had actually made her go weak in the knees. She couldn’t wait to see what he looked like in a bathing suit. He probably had washboard abs. He looked like he had them. And he had been hung. Even in those elegant custom-tailored slacks she had been able to ascertain that he was a big guy, and he dressed to the left.

Ashley shivered. She was going to have to share a bed with him the nights he stayed at the hall. Share a bed, and no sex. Was such a thing even possible? Well, it would be, because she suspected she didn’t appeal to him physically. Big men always seemed to like little women, just like little guys always liked having a big girl on their arm. Ashley laughed softly. So their marriage would be a business arrangement, and after a few years they would go their separate ways. But she always had the Channel.

She picked up her remote. She loved the new features the Channel offered now. Ashley didn’t know who owned or managed the Channel, but it had to be a woman. Only a woman would have thought of having two fantasies available to each customer. It was like getting a two-pound box of Godivas. Contemplating the remote, she considered which fantasy for tonight. Her finger brushed over button A, but she wasn’t in the mood to dominate Quinn tonight. Tonight she wanted to be dominated. Ashley pressed the on button first, watching as the wall opposite her bed opened to reveal her flat-screen television. Then she pressed the button marked B, and the one marked enter.

Almost at once she found herself at the booted feet of a tall warrior. Her hands were chained before her. Her long, dark hair was loose. Her
stola
was half ripped from her body, and her breasts were easily visible. Looking up at the blond warrior, she snarled, “Unchain me at once, barbarian! My husband will have your life for this!”

“You should have remained in your civilized south, Roman whore!” he snarled back. “Now you will serve me, as you made yon Celtic warrior serve you.” He turned to Quinn. “You are free now either to return to your homeland or join with me. I am Rurik, lord of the Northmen, and I bid you welcome to my camp.”

“I’ll stay,” Quinn said. “What do you mean to do with my mistress?”

“She’s no longer your mistress,” Rurik said. “She’s my whore until I grow tired of her. After that she will service my men.” His booted foot pushed at the woman at his feet. “What is her name?”

“She is the lady Cordelia, wife to Tribune Maximillian Alerio Patronius, who is kin to Caesar,” Quinn said.

“And this tribune permits his wife to fuck a captive slave?” Rurik wanted to know. “He is most generous with his wife’s favors.”

“I was part of the tribune’s booty after a battle in Gaul,” Quinn explained. “He noted my, er, male attributes, and gave me to his wife to serve as a sex slave. Many highborn Roman men give sex slaves to their wives. The lords know that if their women have sex slaves they will not stray and cause a scandal while they are away. They also know that no Roman matron would have a child not her lord’s.”

“He is either a practical man or a suspicious one, this Maximillian Alerio Patronius,” Rurik noted with a laugh. Then he reached down his hand to wrap a hank of Ashley’s hair about his fist. Roughly he yanked her up and kissed her mouth hard. “Is she good?” he asked Quinn when he had finished.