The Inconvenient Bride (11 page)

When he didn't immediately reply, she added stiffly, “I
just thought I should tell you ahead of time.” There was just enough hesitancy in her voice to make him wonder if her words were a slap at his way of having handled things or an attempt at being conciliatory.

“Suit yourself,” he said, and tried for the same neutral expression that she'd used.

“I intend to,” she said quietly. For just an instant their gazes met. Instantly both of them looked away.

“Good night, then,” Sierra said. She turned and headed for the stairs.

Dominic stared after her, watching the gentle sway of her hips in those skintight jeans, and felt an ache he knew all too well.

“Sierra?” Her name was out of his mouth before he realized it.

She stopped, one hand on the banister, looked back at him. “Yes?”

A moment of silence washed over them both. He shook his head. “Nothing. Good night.”

“S
HORT
honeymoon,” Finn said when Sierra walked into work the next morning. “Everything okay?”

Sierra smiled her best sunny smile. “Of course. Dominic just had something come up. You know how these corporate hotshots are. We decided to postpone.”

“Well, go somewhere,” Finn advised. “Izzy and I and the girls went to Bora Bora.”

“Bora Bora? I didn't know that! Whyever did you—”

“Started out as a joke.” Finn grinned. “Remember when my sister dumped Tansy and Pansy on me? It was so she could take off to Bora Bora with a guy. Izzy and I were stuck with the kids while she went out to have a good time. We had a pretty good time ourselves, eventually,” he recalled with a smile. “After Izzy and I finally decided to tie the knot, I said we'd go to Bora Bora on our honeymoon and take the girls.”

He shrugged. “She held me to it.”

Izzy would, Sierra thought. Izzy was a force.

“Nothing like a little sea and sand and sun to get a marriage off on the right foot,” Finn went on, a faraway look of longing in his eyes.

It sounded heavenly to Sierra, too. “That's an idea,” she said. She didn't tell him that Dominic had no intention of getting their marriage off on any foot at all.

She got home late that evening because the ad agency rep kept changing his mind. It was nearly seven when she arrived.

Dominic was standing in the doorway to the kitchen when she pushed open the door. His normally neat hair was ruffled, as if he'd been running his fingers through it. His tie
was jerked loose, and one shirt button was undone at his neck.

“Where were—” he exhaled sharply, words coming to a complete stop as she set her tackle box on the floor. He took another breath, then said, “Worked late?” in an almost casual tone.

Almost, Sierra thought. Not quite. Had he been worried? Had he thought she'd left? He couldn't have. All her things were still upstairs.

But why else would he be looking so frantic?

She nodded. “Yes. It was Ballou again. Never make one decision when five will do.”

Dominic grinned faintly. “I've had managers like that. Briefly.”

“Well, I wish he worked for you. You could fire him.” She flexed her shoulders wearily. It had been that sort of day.

“I picked up Chinese,” Dominic said. “I figured it was my turn in the kitchen, and I got home too late to want to bother figuring out what to cook.”

Sierra had trouble keeping her jaw from dragging on her toes. They were going to be taking turns cooking?

Dominic had stopped and got dinner?

“I hope you like Mongolian beef and cashew chicken,” he said. “I got some spring rolls and some wontons and some bird's nest soup, too.” He looked like he wasn't just making conversation but was waiting for a reply.

So Sierra nodded. “Sounds…fantastic. I'll wash up.”

The table was a sea of small white cardboard boxes when she entered the kitchen a few moments later. Dominic gestured for her to sit, then sat down opposite her.

Sierra hadn't eaten all day and she was as hungry as she was exhausted. The first bite was ambrosial and she whimpered.

“What's wrong?”

She shook her head. “N-nothing. I…it's so good. Thank you.” She smiled at him.

Dominic smiled back. And for a few seconds Sierra felt an even deeper connection than she had all those times that their hormones had been in sync. Then Dominic bent his head over his bowl and began to eat.

Once her initial hunger was sated, she started to talk. For one night, perhaps, she could keep silent. But it wasn't her way not to talk during meals. She told him about Ballou. She could write a book of hair-pulling stories about Ballou. And telling them, she made Dominic smile, and then she made him laugh.

And when they'd finished, she said, “I'd like a cup of coffee. Would you?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “All right.”

They cleaned up the kitchen together while the coffee was brewing. Sierra took hers out to stand and look over the park bathed now in late evening shadows. Across the way she could catch just a glimpse of the tiny white lights that marked the Tavern on the Green. They looked magical. Like fairy lights. Or stars.

When she'd been a child she'd lain out on the grass in their front yard in Kansas and stared up at night into a sky awash with stars. She'd never been sure which was the first one—the wishing star—so she'd always wished on all of them.

Most nights she couldn't see stars here in New York City. There were too many other lights.

But it didn't stop her wishing.

She clutched her coffee cup, held it against her mouth and let the steam rise, blurring her eyes. And she pretended the lights across the park were wishing stars.

And she said inside her heart,
I wish it would work.

She felt more than heard Dominic come to stand beside her. He didn't stand close. There had to be a foot separating
them in physical space. She didn't even want to think how much emotional space there was.

Before their blowup he would have taken the coffee cup out of her hands and turned her in his arms and kissed her. He would have run his hands up under her shirt and rubbed his fingers over her sensitive nipples. And she would have responded in kind.

She would have made quick work of those buttons and that half-mast tie. She might have teased him with it. She surely would have pleased him with it.

She stood absolutely still. She even stopped breathing, praying that he wouldn't try, that he wouldn't touch. She wanted him as much as she ever had.

But she wanted more of him than he was ready to give. So she would have to pull back. Say no.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and sipped from his mug. “Good coffee. Thanks.”

“Thank you…for dinner.”

They stood still and silent in the darkened room, side by side, not looking at each other.

Then Dominic said, “Gotta get to work.”

And Sierra said, “Of course.”

Lying alone in bed that night, she tried to think positive thoughts.

 

He tried not to think about her.

It didn't work.

He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter whether she was in his bed or not, marrying her had accomplished what he'd wanted it to—his father had gone back to Florida and there were no more phone calls about women Dominic ought to consider making his wife.

Because he had a wife.

Living down the hall from him.

It set his teeth on edge. It made him clench his fists and
want to pound something or someone. It made him crazy with longing for her.

But he didn't push.

He was afraid to push. Because he was afraid, if he did, she would walk out for good.

He told himself that didn't matter either. And he believed it for about twenty-four hours. But that night when he'd come home and she wasn't there, he'd felt as if all the air had been sucked right out of him.

He'd stopped to pick up Chinese because he was early for a change. And he figured, since she'd gone back to work that day, that she wouldn't want to have to fix a meal. He'd expected to arrive home about the same time she did or maybe right after—soon enough that he could tell her not to bother cooking dinner.

But she hadn't been there.

An hour passed and she never came. He'd felt a niggling nervousness, a sort of free-floating worry. Had something happened to her? Had she been run over by a bus?

Had she left him?

It wasn't the first thought that occurred to him.

But it was the one that sent him bounding up the stairs to check the room she slept in. Memories of the abortive wedding with Carin played in his head. And he'd breathed a sigh of relief to see that everything was still there.

For now. Maybe she was just out arranging to have her things moved. He'd paced and puttered for another half an hour, wondering if he should go look, telling himself not to be stupid, before he heard the key turn in the lock.

At the sight of her, weary and exhausted and lugging that damned tackle box, he felt a whoosh of relief like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Later, though, he'd been annoyed with himself. It wasn't like he couldn't have survived without her, for goodness' sake.

Still, as the days wore on, he was glad she was there.

It surprised him, really, how now that he wasn't going to bed with her, he found other things about her to admire.

He knew from experience how devoted she was to her sister. But now he saw how devoted she was to her friends. There was, of course, the astonishing gift of his money she'd made to her friend, Pammie. That had been in a good cause, of course. But she was often busy doing something small but significant for someone else.

She took a psychedelic stuffed duck to work one day for Gib and Chloe Walker's little son, Brendan.

“Is it his birthday?” Dominic asked.

Sierra shook her head. “Brendan likes ducks. And I saw this one yesterday and I couldn't resist.”

She brought home a sack of fresh fortune cookies one day and handed them to him.

“What are these for?” Dominic looked at them mystified.

“You like them,” Sierra said. “You're always eating mine.”

Which was true. He did like them. But he'd never had anyone notice before. “Well, er, thanks,” he said. And because she was standing there expectantly watching him, he plucked one out, cracked it open and popped it into his mouth.

“And your fortune is?” she prompted.

“It isn't the fortunes I like,” he said, his mouth full.

“Even so,” she insisted.

He unfolded the tiny white paper. “‘Don't look back.'”

Sierra laughed, delighted. “Sounds like my kind of fortune.”

That was something else he liked about her. She didn't look back and brood. She looked forward and around her, and did what she could to enjoy life—and see that others did, too.

Later that week at breakfast—she was eating breakfast with him now, too—she told him she was going to be late that night, that she wouldn't be home for dinner.

“Got a hot date?” Dominic asked before he could stop himself.

She blinked, surprised, then shook her head. “I told Mariah I'd baby-sit so she and Rhys could go out to dinner. They really need a night out for themselves.”

“Oh. Right.” He felt foolish. He'd never thought about how demanding it must be to have twins.

He tried not to think about it—and while he was at work he did fairly well. There was always more than enough to keep him busy at work—as long it was interesting enough to keep Sierra off his brain.

It would be good for her to be gone tonight, he told himself when he came home. He'd done just fine without her for a lot of years. It wasn't as if he needed her there.

But he wondered if maybe she needed him.

So he called his brother's and asked Sierra if she'd like him to bring over dinner.

“You have time?” she sounded surprised.

“I have to eat,” he said gruffly. “I might as well do it with you.”

“Well, when you put it so nicely, I don't see how I can refuse,” she said. But she wasn't really sarcastic. Her gently teasing tone just made him ashamed of his surliness.

He picked up some Burmese food from a place near Rhys's, and when he got there he found that she had set the picnic table in the back garden of Rhys and Mariah's brownstone.

“It's nice here,” Sierra said. “Like being in the country.”

After they'd eaten she stretched out in a chaise longue, balancing Lizzie on her thighs and letting the baby hold on to her hands as she bounced up and down, giggling and grinning. Sierra was grinning, too.

She looked young and happy and very maternal as she played with Lizzie. They rubbed noses and giggled some more. Then Sierra blew kisses against Lizzie's soft belly and got a full-blown gurgle out of her niece.

She was very good with children. It made Dominic wonder if she wanted some of her own.

They'd never talked about children. They'd never talked about much.

Experimentally he rolled a ball toward Stephen who was sitting on the patio banging a spoon. The little boy batted the spoon at it and the ball rolled partway back.

“Wow! Look at that. What a swing! He's going to be a ball player,” Sierra said with a grin.

Dominic couldn't help grinning, too. “Of course he is. All Wolfe men play ball.”

Sierra's brows lifted. “Even you?”

“Of course me,” he said, affronted. “I pitched my team to the state semi-finals in high school. I won there, too. A three-hitter,” he added, and was unaccountably pleased when she looked impressed.

“Did you play in college?”

He shook his head. “No. No time. I started working for the firm then, plus I was going to school full-time, double major in accounting and communications technology. Baseball was just a game. Dad figured it was time to grow up.”

“Dad ought to mind his own business,” Sierra muttered.

Sometimes, traitorously, Dominic had thought that, too. But he'd never ever articulated it. “The firm is important. It was Dad's sweat and blood. Long hours and a hell of a lot of determination. It's our livelihood. And I needed to learn it from the ground up.”

“I didn't say it wasn't,” Sierra said. “I just think it's too bad you didn't get to play ball if you wanted to.”

“We don't always get what we want,” Dominic said gruffly.

“Not always,” Sierra agreed. She gave Lizzie one more bounce. “You have to decide if it's worth fighting for.”

Her words stayed with him. They echoed in his head all that evening and for days afterward.

It would help, he thought, if he knew what the hell he wanted.

He'd thought he did—the business, freedom from parental harassment, and a wife who knew her place, which was in his bed.