He rolled the R, and then he said something else in Spanish. The musical cadence of the foreign words made understanding them superfluous. And if there were ice in her veins it surely would have melted when he reached out to caress her cheek.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Touching my wife?” He took another step forward and placed both hands on her hips.

“Stephen, I…”

“You’re curious, Catherine. Admit it.”

“All right, yes. I’ll admit it. I’m curious about you. I don’t think that should come as any surprise. We’re married and we’re going to be living together.”

“I think it goes beyond that. I think you’re curious about this.”

Stephen intended the kiss to be punishing, but she responded to his boldness with surprising acceptance, shifting her position until their bodies touched from shoulder to thigh. He’d started out as the seducer and wound up feeling seduced, but his voice was steady when he said.

“I think you should go, querida. Before we do something that you’ll regret.”

Chapter Five

STEPHEN hadn’t asked Catherine to attend the meeting Tuesday morning that Derek had scheduled with Fieldman’s top brass. He’d mentioned it to her, of course, but not with the expectation that she would be there, especially after that fiasco in his bedroom. He simply wanted her prepared, in case Derek or some tabloid reporter called to confirm her marriage to Stephen. As of yet, word had not leaked out. So it shocked him tremendously when she walked through the door to his office fifteen minutes before nine o’clock. She looked fresh and lovely in a tailored silk suit the color of rich cream, her hair swept back and held in a pearl clip at the nape of her neck. He immediately wished she’d worn it loose.

“I hope I’m not late,” she said, casting Stephen a rueful glance. Then she smiled brilliantly before adding, “I haven’t been getting much sleep lately, so I’m afraid I didn’t hear the alarm go off.”

Derek and Marguerite had just settled into their chairs, sipping coffee, clearly pleased with themselves. At Catherine’s arrival Derek bobbled his beverage, sending a good portion of it down the front of his snowy shirt.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, scowling as he tried to mop up the mess. “We have an important meeting in just a few minutes. Anything you want to discuss with me will have to wait until later.”

“Yes, dear,” Marguerite said, trying to work up a look of sympathy on her frozen face. “It’s really poor form to chase after a man, especially one who has made it pretty clear he doesn’t want you.”

Catherine ignored her, addressing Derek instead. “I’m not here to see you.”

“You’re here to see Stephen?” He laughed, as if she’d just delivered the punchline of a joke. “Well, that will have to wait until after our meeting, too.”

“She stays,” Stephen said, pulling out a seat for her.

“Stephen, really, whatever game you two have concocted, it’s in poor taste,” Marguerite replied. She motioned to their attorney, who had just entered the room, lugging his briefcase. “This is business, not an ice cream social. Fieldman’s people will be here any moment.”

“My wife stays,” Stephen said succinctly, and had the pleasure of watching three mouths drop open.

Derek surged to his feet. “Wife? What do you mean, wife? When did this happen?”

“Saturday, in Las Vegas. You know, cousin, the place where fortunes are won…and lost?”

“You married her?” Marguerite looked suddenly pale.

“You won’t get away with this,” Derek said.

“I believe that was my line last week. Try to be original.”

“Lyle, say something,” Marguerite snapped.

The attorney smiled, relief flooding his expression, and offered a hand. “Congratulations, Stephen.”

Marguerite swatted his arm. “Don’t be a fool, Lyle. Congratulations aren’t in order. Don’t you see what he’s doing? He only married Catherine out of spite. Surely there’s something we can do.”

“If the marriage is legal, there’s nothing. Under the terms of the codicil, Stephen now owns ninety-five percent of Danbury’s.”

“But that’s not fair,” Marguerite had the gall to say.

“You still have your five percent,” Lyle reminded her. “And Derek is hardly a pauper. He has other assets, although he may not be able to live quite so lavishly from now on.”

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Derek fumed, as he and Marguerite headed to the door.

When they were gone the room was silent for a moment, then Lyle sank into a chair and grinned. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you, Stephen.”

“But last week you stood with them. You claimed I knew about the codicil.”

“I never claimed that. Marguerite did. I just never corrected her, for which I’m sorry.” His expression sobered. “They can be very persuasive, Stephen. My son had a little trouble a few years back, a gambling debt. A very large one to the wrong people, if you know what I mean. I engaged in some overbilling to gather enough to pay it off.”

“Why didn’t you just come to me?”

“I should have. I was ashamed. Keith’s not a bad kid, and he’s turned his life around. But in trying to help him I broke the law. Derek found out about it somehow, and he used it to find out what Maxwell was planning in his will. When he learned about the codicil he blackmailed me to keep it from you until it was too late.”

“But it wasn’t too late.”

“No. Derek wanted to gloat.” Lyle smiled again when he added, “His Achilles’ heel.”

“And I made the most of it.”

“It obviously never occurred to him that you would beat him at his sleazy game.”

The lawyer shifted uncomfortably after he said it, apparently realizing the unintentional insult his words contained. Glancing at Catherine, he said, “My apologies, Mrs. Danbury, that came out wrong.”

“An understandable mistake,” she replied graciously, even as Stephen watched the color stain her cheeks.

“My congratulations and best wishes to both of you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

The other man fiddled with the handle of his briefcase for a moment, then cleared his throat. To Stephen, he said, “I’ll be resigning as your legal counsel, and I’ll understand if you want to take action against me, legally or with the bar.”

Stephen was quiet for a moment, considering. “I have no plans to do either. As you know, that pair tends to bring out the worst in people. I’d appreciate the name of a good firm, though.”

Lyle’s face brightened. “I know one of the senior partners at Rockwell, Martin, Stanwood. It’s an old and respectable firm. I can have them brought up to speed in no time.”

Stephen nodded.

“Do you want me to stay for the meeting with Fieldman’s?”

“No need.” It was Stephen’s turn to grin. “I canceled it yesterday.”

“Of course you did.”

Lyle was chuckling as he walked out the door. When Stephen closed it behind the man and turned to face Catherine she swore the room got smaller.

“You didn’t have to come.”

It didn’t sound like a criticism, but the intense way in which he watched her made her uneasy, defensive.

“I felt I did.”

“Satisfied with the payback?”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“No?” He’d walked forward as they spoke, and now he stood near enough that she was forced to look up, despite the stylish Italian pumps that added nearly three inches to her height.

“I thought you might need me.”

Something flickered briefly in his eyes and one side of his mouth lifted. “Worried about me?”

“I hear that’s what wives do,” she said lightly.

She thought of the other things wives did and nearly blushed. Just for a moment she was tempted to reach out, trail a fingertip over his chest and then use his very tasteful silk tie to pull him forward for a kiss. God, the man wore clothes well, which made her curious about what lay beneath them. They could lock the door, request that his secretary hold all calls. A vivid picture of what could come next filled her mind, shocking in all its sensuous detail.

She blinked and took a step back. What was wrong with her? She’d never entertained thoughts like this before. Indeed, she hadn’t thought herself capable of sexual fantasies. But this one was a doozy, not to mention highly impractical. After all, a desktop had to be incredibly uncomfortable.

She was sleep-deprived; that was it. And there was no denying that Stephen was an attractive man. Stress. She filed the excuses away, satisfied that at least her brain still seemed capable of functioning. She’d wondered for a moment there.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine. I’d better be going.”

“Busy day today?” He said it without the sneer that she now realized Derek had often used when referring to her work.

“Yes, I have a meeting at noon to discuss Project Christmas.”

“Project Christmas? It’s August.”

“The end of August. And Danbury’s has had wool sweaters on display for at least a month.”

“Touché.”

“Planning takes time if you want to do something right. I don’t believe in doing things halfway.”

She watched one dark eyebrow lift, but he said nothing. And again she thought about his desk and the sizzling fantasy that her sleep-deprived, stressed-out brain had manufactured. Catherine was not a woman known for her spontaneity, and yet she wondered if planning were required to do something like that right.

She had to clear her throat before she could reply. “We can count on Danbury’s to host our drop boxes again this year, I hope?”

“Of course. Project Christmas is a great cause.”

She nodded in agreement, grateful for the return of a steady heartbeat. “No child should have to go without gifts at Christmas, which is why I know Danbury’s will also be generous with its corporate donation.”

He smiled. “You’re very smooth. I almost didn’t feel you pick my pocket.”

“Thanks.” She pulled the thin strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Well, I should go.”

“Yes.”

They stood facing each other for an awkward moment.

“The move going okay?”

“Yes, fine.”

She’d spent the better part of the previous evening unpacking the boxes the movers had brought, which had given her the perfect excuse to stay in her bedroom for the remainder of the night. Not that it had mattered. He’d left shortly before six and had not returned by the time she’d called it a night at ten o’clock. Where had he gone? For the first time she’d wondered if Stephen had a girlfriend. Rosaria had said Catherine wasn’t his usual type. What or who was?

She found herself in an odd sort of conundrum. She didn’t want to spend time alone with Stephen, and yet she liked even less the idea that he might be spending his time with someone else.

“I’m going to see my parents tonight. I have to tell them before a reporter calls for comment. I thought, if your schedule is clear, we could go over there this evening. That’s if you want to go with me.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to go alone.” He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his dark gray trousers and tilted his head to one side, looking oddly nervous. “How do you think they’ll take it?”

You’re a Danbury, she almost said. One Danbury would be as good as another to her mother. The connections, the social position, the prestige…the money.

“They’ll be a little surprised.” She offered a small smile.

He didn’t smile. “I’ll bet.”

“What time do you think you’ll be home?”

“Six.”

And she would be there, she realized, in his big, quiet home, waiting for him.

“We’ll just drop by my parents’ house for drinks. I won’t make you sit through an entire meal, I promise.”

He walked her to the door of his office, opened it and then stood there for a moment, leaning against the jamb. “I wouldn’t mind. They’re bound to have questions.”

Yes, Catherine thought. But she didn’t have answers. At least not ones they would like hearing.

“Drinks only.”

“Will you tell them about the codicil?” he asked.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so, but I just thought we should have our stories straight.”

As she boarded the elevator, and hit the button marked “lobby”, it saddened Catherine to realize that her parents would understand marriage as a business arrangement. After all, it was what they had. It was why they had thought her foolish for not marrying Derek even after his duplicity had been exposed. And not for the first time she wondered if the cool reserve for which she’d become well known was a byproduct of her parents’ cold union.

Stephen was not home when Catherine arrived at his house late that afternoon, but the movers had dropped off another batch of boxes. Last night she had been grateful to immerse herself in the tedious chore of unpacking and assigning other boxes to storage in Stephen’s attic. Now she was simply too tired to hunt through the boxes for the shoes she wanted to wear that evening.

Her cell phone rang as she contemplated where to start. She pulled it from her purse and sank onto her bed, grateful for the reprieve.

“Hello?”

“Cath, it’s Felicity. Where are you?”

“I’m…home,” she said, not quite ready to explain. She’d rather get it all over in one shot, which was why she’d asked Felicity, who still lived with their parents, to be sure to be there that evening.

“You’re not home. I dropped by your apartment to borrow your diamond choker and the doorman said you had moved out. What’s going on?”

Catherine sighed. “I’ll explain tonight at the house. It’s really not something I want to discuss over the phone.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Of course not.”

She was touched by her self-centered little sister’s concern until Felicity added, “That’s a relief. You’ve already upset everyone enough by calling off the wedding. And then we’ve had to endure the tabloid stories. Mother’s so embarrassed she hasn’t been to the club in weeks, and I can hardly go out of the house without being laughed at.”

“Yes, I know what a trial this has been for her, and for all of you,” she said, somehow managing to keep sarcasm out of her voice. Just once, she thought, it would be nice to have someone in her family worry about her feelings and be supportive of her decisions. Perhaps she would get her wish later that night. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around eight.”

She hung up, even less enthusiastic about spending the next couple of hours unpacking than she had been before, so she decided to stall a little longer.

In the kitchen, she took a glass from the cupboard and went to the fridge for some orange juice. She noticed the cake right away. It was a double-layer with chocolate frosting. Not quite half of it was missing. Stephen’s birthday cake. Much as it should have pleased her that he had had someone with whom he could celebrate, she couldn’t suppress the spurt of jealousy that that someone had not been her.

Catherine chose a beige linen pantsuit to wear to her parents’ house. Her mother would frown on the pants. Her mother often frowned, though, making pleasing her a virtual impossibility. Besides, Catherine figured by the time Deirdra Canton heard the word “married”, she wouldn’t be paying any mind to her daughter’s wardrobe. She heard Stephen coming up the stairs as she put on her earrings. Sticking her head out the door, she watched him jog up the last few steps and turn in the opposite direction.

“Hello.”

He turned, startled. “Hi.”

She was surprised, too. The neat executive was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a sweaty man in gray cotton shorts and a T-shirt, hair windblown and skin glowing from exertion.

“You’re ready.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not.”

“I heard the water running in your room when I got home. I figured I had time for a run and quick shower before you were ready. Most women…” He wisely let the thought go unfinished. “Give me fifteen minutes,” he said.

She allowed her gaze to roam over the damp T-shirt that seemed molded to his powerful build. The fantasy she’d entertained in his office that morning came back to her in a breath-stealing rush. “Take twenty.”

Catherine used the extra time to do some more unpacking, figuring the monotony would keep her mind off inappropriate thoughts. She had finally managed to reel in her pulse when, arms loaded with lingerie, she turned to find Stephen standing in her open doorway. His dark gaze lingered on the silky garments she clutched in her hands.

“I wondered…”

“Wondered what?” she asked, as she hastily stuffed the assorted unmentionables into the top drawer of the bureau without bothering to neatly fold and arrange them.

“I wondered…if this was appropriate attire for meeting the in-laws.”

He wore a lightweight sport coat, crisp white shirt and dark trousers. He’d forgone a tie, a definite no-no in her mother’s book.

“Perfect.”

The Cantons were already having drinks when Stephen and Catherine arrived. The economic downturn had decimated Deirdra and Russell Canton’s once robust stock portfolio, but it had not changed the way they lived. They still insisted on having the best of everything, because keeping up appearances was more important than the fact their retirement funds were nearly gone, their savings obliterated and the house had been remortgaged twice.

Her parents and sister were seated in the room her mother insisted on calling the front parlor. They had no back parlor, so Catherine’s practical mind had never understood the need for the distinction. As long as she could remember the room had been decorated the same, with spindly-legged antique chairs and a settee that had once belonged to her mother’s mother. It was indeed a parlor, Catherine had thought more than once: a funeral parlor.

“Someday the furniture will be yours,” Deirdra Canton had said often enough. Catherine considered the words a vague kind of threat, as if someday her own personality would be stamped out of existence and she would become her mother.

Not that she didn’t love her mother, she just didn’t believe they had much in common—whether it was their taste in furniture or their support for social causes for that matter. Deirdra Canton sat on beautification committees and raised funds for animal shelters. Worthy causes, certainly, but Catherine thought it more important to wade into the trenches to reach people who were too frightened and desperate to notice the lilies blooming in a downtown garden and too poor to afford food for their children, let alone their pets.

Her parents had objected to her having a career until she’d snagged a position at the shelter. It was close enough to charity work in their book so as not to raise eyebrows among their friends, whose debutante daughters had ensured their social standing by marrying well soon after college. Apparently her parents had entertained the same notion, expecting Catherine to earn a degree but not actually use it. Just as they had provided the scholarship that had allowed a young girl from one of Chicago’s roughest neighborhoods to attend the same exclusive prep school Catherine had. Then they had objected strenuously when the girl had become Catherine’s friend.

“We don’t become involved with people like that on a personal level,” her mother had chastised her more than once.

Catherine was still haunted by that lack of involvement, and what had happened to the young girl who, despite Deirdra’s objections, had become Catherine’s most treasured friend.

“Are you going to stand there staring at the furniture, dear?” her mother asked with an embarrassed laugh.

“Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. Mother, Dad, Felicity—you remember Stephen Danbury?”

Her father stood, shook Stephen’s hand. Her mother remained seated, smiling politely. Felicity offered a feline grin. At eighteen she had mastered flirtation. Indeed, she could have given Catherine lessons.

“It’s nice to see you all again.”

“We didn’t realize when you said you would be bringing someone that it would be Stephen. How is your cousin?” Deirdra asked.

The inquiry was her mother’s polite way of being rude.

“I’d imagine he has worked his way to irate right about now,” Stephen said. Reaching for Catherine’s hand, he added, “Catherine and I have some news.”

“News?” her mother and father asked in unison.

Felicity, glancing at their linked fingers, muttered, “I have a feeling this is going to be bad.”

“We’re…married,” Catherine said, deciding to just get it all out there at once. This discussion wasn’t the sort that one could ease into anyway.

“M-married?” Deirdra sputtered, her face a study in surprise, and not the good kind. What little hope Catherine had held that her parents would be pleased enough with her new status to overlook her serious breach in family etiquette faded away.

“When did this happen?” her father asked.

“We were married over the weekend, sir,” Stephen replied. “It was all very spur-of-the-moment.”

“I’ll say.” Russell tossed back the last of his Scotch and scowled.

“But where?” Deirdra asked, as some of the color returned to her cheeks.

“In Las Vegas,” Stephen said, and Catherine watched the color leak out again. In fact her mother’s eyelids flickered delicately, as if she might faint dead away. At another time her mother’s flair for drama might have been comical. But there was nothing funny about the tension snapping like an exposed electrical wire in the Cantons’ staid front parlor.

“Great! Just great!” Felicity stormed. “The tabloids were just starting to forget about us. I leave for college in a week, Cath. One week! How could you do this to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you,” Catherine said. “In fact, given the way the press has hovered since…Well, we just wanted something simple and private.”

“And tacky, too, apparently,” Deirdra harrumphed. Her near fainting spell had apparently passed.

“We wanted you all to be there, of course,” Catherine said, as if her mother hadn’t spoken. “It just seemed better this way.”

“Well, then, by all means, let’s pop out the bubbly,” Felicity snarled. “We still have a few cases left over from Cath’s other wedding, don’t we, Daddy?”

“Felicity, there’s no need for your editorial comment,” Russell said.

“Yes, stop your annoying chatter,” Deirdra added. “You’re giving me one of my migraines.”

Felicity sat down on the settee, outwardly subdued. This was quite the role reversal, Catherine thought. Usually Catherine toed the line that Felicity regularly stepped over. Catherine hadn’t merely strayed a few inches into forbidden territory, though. With her unexpected marriage to Stephen she had taken one huge flying leap.

“I can’t believe you did this,” her mother said.

“We’re very disappointed,” her father added.

“I apologize for not including all of you in our plans or the ceremony,” Stephen said. “Catherine wanted to, but I insisted on secrecy. I felt it would be best to do this quickly and quietly.”

As he accepted the blame, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. The gesture seemed both chivalrous and protective. It seemed to say, We are a unit. And so it gave her strength.

Deirdra waved away his explanation. “There’s going to be plenty of talk now. Is this—” she said the word “this” as if it referred to something vile “—why things didn’t work out with Derek?”

“This has nothing to do with Derek,” Catherine replied, and then felt her face heat. In a way, it had everything to do with Derek.

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