Read Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set Online
Authors: Sandra Marton
"We're going to have to do something about this problem of yours, Princess. No matter how many times I tell you to pay attention, you just don't do it. I didn't come here for the annulment," he said while he
undid his trouser belt. "I came for the annulment
papers
." He nodded to the bits of paper she still held in her hand. “And I sure as hell got 'em."
Elena shook her head.
"I don't understand this at all," she said slowly.
Blake sighed, sat down next to her and drew her against him, safe and warm in the curve of his arm.
"I won't agree to an annulment," he said solemnly. "You're going to remain Mrs. Blake Rogan."
There was a wild pounding behind her ribs. Surely, her heart was going to leap from her chest. But when she spoke, Elena's voice was calm.
"
Why would I do that?"
His arm tightened around her. "We've gone past the annulment stage, Princess. We've consummated our marriage any number of times."
"Blake," she said, "I don't know what you're up to, but..."
"I love you, Elena.
I’ll always love you, even though you're the most contrary woman I've ever met."
"I'm not," she said quickly, and he laughed.
"See what I mean? But you'll learn, Princess. In fact," he said teasingly, "we'll keep the words "to obey" in the marriage ceremony. I know it's fashionable to leave them out today, but..."
“We most certainly will not.”
Blake laughed. “See what I mean?”
“And w
hat marriage ceremony? You just said we were still married, and now..."
"Yes, well, better safe than sorry. That's what my mother always says, anyway. So, just in case there's any question about our marriage, we'll do it again." He brushed a kiss across her lips. "Do you think your father would come to Philadelphia for the wedding? We'll have to be there for a couple of months so my
old man can brief me before I take over the European operations of the firm."
Elena blinked. "What firm?"
"Rogan International. I promised him I'd become director of the European branch. I can't wait to show you Paris in the spring and London at Christmas and..."
Elena let out her breath. "Blake
Rogan," she said slowly, her eyes searching his face, “do I know you at all?”
“You know the only thing that matters, Princess.
I love you with all my heart. I always will.”
She laughed. And she cried. And she tried to sound stern
, but how could a woman sound stern when she was so incredibly happy?.
"You'd better explain all this, Rogan
. I mean it. Start at the beginning."
His smile faded. "You won't like the beginning."
“You mean, my father's role in all this," she said slowly, and he nodded.
"Your father and I met for the first time a few days after you and I had our little encounter in the Santa Rosa market. I was interested in some mining property—well, never mind the business details." Blake took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I was surprised when he invited me to your birthday party. Once I reached the ranch, he took me into his study. He said he'd heard I had a reputation as a man who could handle himself in a tight spot, and he wanted to ask a favor of me. He told me he was arranging for you to leave San Felipe. But he was afraid things were coming to a head more quickly than anyone had expected. He asked if I'd agree to get you out of the country if there was trouble."
"He didn't ask you to marry me?"
"No, Princess, not then." Blake's arm tightened around her. "I said I would help him. Oh, I refused at first—but eventually, I let him talk me into it." He tilted her face to his and kissed her. "I told myself it was the decent thing to do, but hell, I have to admit I was intrigued with the idea. I'd had trouble getting you out of my mind since the day we'd met. I thought you were spoiled and headstrong—but there was something about you I just couldn't forget."
"I don't understand. When did he ask you to marry me? And why? If you'd already agreed to help..."
"Your father phoned me that same night
, right after the fighting started. He was afraid they wouldn't let you leave the country under your own name and with your own papers. And that's when he said..."
"I know what he said," she whispered. "He said he'd pay you to make me your wife."
"No, not quite, Princess. This is the part you're not going to like. He said I'd either marry you or he'd trump up some charges and see to it that I'd rot inside a San Felipian jail."
"No," she said emphatically, "no, not my father! His honor is his life."
"Yeah. That's what he said," Blake murmured, settling back into the sofa and drawing her head to his shoulder. "But he also said that when the safety of his daughter was at stake, he had no choice."
"Poor Papa," Elena said softly. "He told me his arrangement with you had cost him a great deal, but I didn't understand."
"He loves you very much, Princess."
She nodded. "I always knew that… but I don't think I ever realized just how much." She looked up and her eyes searched Blake's. "And you never told me the truth. You let me say all those terrible things to you about the money he'd paid you..."
Blake pressed his lips to her hair. "I promised myself I'd tell you the truth when you least expected it and repay you for all the things you'd said about me. But after a while, when I began to know the real you—hell, I just couldn't do it."
"You must have hated my father for what he did to you."
He smiled.
“
Not for long. I figured out, pretty quick, that, like him, I'd do whatever it took to protect you, too. Besides," he said gruffly, "if he hadn't forced us into marriage, we might never have found each other again after that day in the market." He put his finger to the tip of her nose. "You thought I was one step up from a bum."
A smile tilted at her lips. "Not a bum. A bandit. Handsome, exciting..."
"...and dirty. I'd just spent a week in the interior, checking out some mining claims. I was hot, sweaty—and then I saw you, Elena, so cool and beautiful and..." Suddenly, his hands closed on her shoulders and he held her from him. "You still haven't said you love me." His eyes, as blue as the sea, blazed into hers. "Dammit, I know you do. I thought so that last night in the cave, but..."
"Then why did you act as you did the next morning?" she whispered. "If you loved me—if you thought I loved you... why did you let me think you were afraid I might try and trap you into staying married to me?"
Blake's face twisted in pain. "I did a bad job of things that morning, didn’t I? See, you were so young. So innocent. I woke up that day and hated myself for what I’d done. First, you'd been forced into marriage and then I—I seduced you..."
Elena put her fingers lightly over his lips.
I wanted you to make love to me," she murmured. "I was afraid to admit it, even to myself, but..."
"
But I made a mess of things. I knew it, Elena, and I almost told you the truth but when you agreed that making love had been a mistake…”
"Hush," she said fiercely. She put her hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes. "I love you, Blake Rogan," she said. "Do you hear me? I love you
!"
He caught her to him in a passionate kiss. When they finally broke apart, he smiled..
"I suppose I should feel sorry for poor Jeremy," he said. "But I don't. Hell, any man who'd let you go off alone to San Felipe..." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Any man who'd never taken you in his arms and made love to you..."
It was time for Elena's moment of truth, too.
"Jeremy's my boss and a good friend, but that's all. I just told you he was my fiancé because I thought... I suppose I thought it would protect me."
His smile was sexy and wicked.
"But it didn't work."
"Nothing would have worked," she said simply, "not once I'd fallen in love with you." She smiled. "I just wish I knew exactly who you are. I mean, one second you're Blake Rogan, adventurer, and the next you're the new director of the European branch..."
"Does it matter?"
"No, not a bit
. I'd go with you to Belize or Singapore," she laughed, "or even Philadelphia."
"OK, the life story of Blake Rogan, in one quick paragraph. My old man founded Rogan International before I was born. We invest in damned near anything that has value, worldwide—which is what saved my wandering soul. You see, when I finished college, my father wanted me to become his right-hand man. But I wasn't ready. I was twenty-two and there was a whole world to see."
"That was what you meant when you said he'd found you a job and you turned it down?"
Blake nodded. "So he decided that I could learn the business just as well if I went into the field and searched out investment opportunities. He knew I'd never be happy unless I got the adventure bug out of my system."
She looked at him. "So your parents didn't throw you out, hmm? They're not the cold, cruel people I imagined they were?"
He grinned. "You're
gonna love 'em both, Princess. They... Hey!" he said indignantly, as she poked him in the ribs. "What was that for?"
"For letting me think you'd been tossed out into the world. That was rotten!"
"So was letting me think you were in love with old Jeremy," Blake growled, drawing her to him.
"I was simply safeguarding my virtue,
senor,"
Elena said solemnly as she snuggled closer. "I'm an Esteban, after all. I was a very properly raised
senorita.
I knew nothing about such things."
Blake chuckled. "What things?"
"The things you wanted to show me, Senor Rogan."
"Uh huh," he murmured, and he bit her gently on the neck. "But you're a quick learner, Princess."
"That's the Kelly part," she said. "My mother always thought girls should learn as much as they were able."
"Which is very good news, Mrs. Rogan," Blake whispered. " I still have an awful lot to teach you."
His arms closed around her and he rolled her beneath him. "Heck, this damned couch is too narrow to sleep on anyway, so... What are you smiling at,
senora?"
he demanded with mock ferocity. "This isn't a joking matter."
Elena laughed softly. "Remind me to tell you all about Margarita some time," she whispered.
Her arms rose and wound around his neck. "Some time," she said with a sigh, "but definitely not now."
The End
Sandra Marton
Copyright 1987, 2012
Table of Contents
The oversized bed was a dimly lit oasis centered in the surrounding darkness. Its soft pillows and down quilt were the boundaries of the universe for the man and woman lying, limbs tangled and intertwined, amid the silken sheets.
The soft strains of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”
filled the room, its delicate rhythms a counterpoint to the abandonment of the couple on the bed.
The woman’s eyes were closed, her thick, black lashes lying like dark shadows against her pale skin. The man beside her smiled and touched his lips to her slender throat.
‘I want you, darling,’ he groaned, his hand roaming over the curving line of her hip, outlined softly beneath the pale peach sheet. ‘I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.’
The woman sighed. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘yes...’
‘You were all I could think about tonight. I thought of this moment a hundred times. Tell me you thought about it, too.
’It’s true,’ she said softly. ‘I couldn’t keep my mind on anything else... ’
The laundry,
she thought, tangling her hands in the man’s thick, blond hair
. Dammit, I forgot to pick it up last night! And my blue silk dress is still at the cleaners.
The man shifted his weight and drew her against his chest. ‘I’ve never felt this way before,’ he said.
‘Darling,’ she whispered. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me...’
... aside from the fact that I don’t have anything to wear tonight. By the time I finally get away from here, the cleaners and the laundry will both be closed. Well, I can always wear jeans or my grey wool trousers. It’s not as if I’m going somewhere special...
‘I’m going to make you know the meaning of passion,’ the man said huskily. He caught a handful of the woman’s long, black hair and leaned towards her. ‘You’ll never forget this night.’
She smiled again and clasped the back of his head with one hand. ‘Neither of us will,’ she promised.
She pulled his head down to hers and their mouths met in a long kiss.
The grey wool trousers, she thought. She was only going to dinner with her agent—they’d probably go to that little Italian place near the studio— but Claire had mentioned that she wanted to make a quick stop after dinner. She had to see a new client or something...
She grunted softly as the man rolled his body across hers. There was something sharp in the damned mattress and it was digging into her hip. And the pillow was harder than a bag of cement...
‘Come on, Shannon! The least you can do is pay at
tention during a seduction.’
The deep voice broke the woman’s line of thought. She rose on her elbows and stared into the darkness.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Did I miss my lines?’
‘No,’ the voice admitted. ‘It’s... Harry, bring up the lights, would you? OK, everybody. We’ll take a five- minute break.’
The couple on the bed broke apart as the studio lights blazed on and the music shut off abruptly. The man sat up, the sheets falling below his waist and past his baggy sweatpants.
‘Hell,’ he groaned, scratching his bare chest, ‘I think I’m allergic to this damned quilt. It’s got to be the feathers. The sacrifices we make for
“All Our Tomorrows!” Whoever said daytime TV drama wasn’t a legitimate art, anyhow?’
Shannon Padgett nodded in assent as she scrambled to her feet.
‘It was probably the last poor actress who spent an hour lying on her back in this studio, Tony.’ She tugged the straps of her flesh-colored bodysuit up over her arms and then rubbed the small of her back. ‘This isn’t a mattress, it’s a rock pile.’
Tony Richmond flicked his dark hair from his forehead. ‘Do me a favor, sweetie. Don’t let any of my fans hear you say that, okay? All those little housewives out in TV land would die if they knew you were thinking about your bad back while I made passionate love to you.’ A grin curved wickedly on his handsome face. ‘I can promise you that my date last night didn’t think about anything so mundane.’
‘You’d better hope the mikes are off when you say something like that,’ Shannon laughed. She snatched up her terry-cloth robe and slipped it on. ‘Maybe it’s just as well this was only a rehearsal.’
Tony turned towards the man standing beside the sound boom. ‘You wouldn’t let anything like that happen to me, would you, Jerry? You’re too good a di
rector to let me fall on my face.’
The director of New York’s longest running television daytime drama laughed.
‘You mean, I’m too good to let the show fall on its face. Go on. Take a quick shower. You’ll scratch yourself raw if you don’t get those feathers off you.’
'Right. Thanks, Jerry. I’ll be ready in five minutes.’
Jerry Crawford waved his hand in the air. ‘Take your time. I want to talk to Shannon, anyway.’
Shannon arched her dark eyebrows. ‘That sounds ominous,’ she said, hoping she sounded less con
cerned than she felt. ‘Is there a problem, Mr. Crawford?’
The director smiled at her and draped his arm across her shoulders. ‘That’s what I wanted to ask you, Shannon. And please call me Jerry. We’re informal here. You should know that by now.’
She nodded, thinking she should know a great deal after two weeks on the set, but the truth was that she still felt like an outsider.
Who wouldn’t?
Most of the cast and crew had been together for years. In a business as chancy as acting, that was rare. It was also wonderful—and, thanks mostly to luck, she was being given a chance to become a more permanent member of that cast. What had begun as a bit part that was supposed to last a month might be turning into something more substantial, something that might last at least until spring.
But not if the director was dis
pleased with her, she thought, glancing sideways at the man. Not if he decided she didn’t really fit the part...
‘I guess I forgot to turn my face to the camera after Tony rolls over me,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Mr... Jerry. I’ll do it right the next time.’
‘No, that’s not it, Shannon,’ he said, squeezing her shoulder lightly. ‘Look, you know what the writers had in mind for your characters. You and Tony meet, the sparks fly, and you end up in bed together.’ He paused and his arm dropped from Shannon’s shoulder. ‘The thing is, I don’t feel those sparks, my dear. You and Tony go through all the motions, but nothing comes across. No desire, no wanting, no passion.’
‘Maybe if I understood more about why we fall into bed so fast... The script has us meeting at a cocktail party and then, the next thing anybody knows, we’re there, in that bed. I mean, that doesn't seem right for my character, you know? She’s a strong, modern woman, yes, but that doesn’t mean she’d end up in bed with a man when they’ve barely exchanged names.’
Her words drifted into the echoing silence of the high- ceilinged sound stage.
Had she gone too far?
She glanced at the man beside her. He looked—amused? Annoyed? Well, whatever that twist to his lips meant, it wasn’t good.
Just do what Crawford asks,
her agent had said.
And don’t overdo the Stanislavsky bit, Shannon. This guy’s got to get a show on tape every day and rehearse stuff still coming down the pike. He’s not into your ‘inner space’ exercises. If he says you feel happy, that’s how you feel. You don’t need to know why.
‘Look, forget I said all that, Mr...Jerry,’ Shannon said quickly. ‘I’m a pro and I can give you what you want. Just give me another chance.’
The director rolled his eyes.
‘Did you think I was going to fire you? Shannon, dear, part of the reason we enlarged your part was because we’ve had such good audience reaction to you...’ A peal of female laughter cut across the sound stage and both Shannon and the director looked across the room.
‘You’re a good actress,’ Crawford said, putting his arm around her again. ‘You impressed all of us when you auditioned for that other part last year.
Rima’s part, Shannon thought, glancing across the room again. She’d tried out for it almost eleven months ago but Rima had got the part instead and what was more, they’d changed it to suit her. She had only one scene to do today and Jerry had already taken her through it. The woman’s performance had been wooden and emotionless, just as it would be later when it was taped for tomorrow’s show.
The director’s gaze followed Shannon’s and he sighed.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘And you’re right. I am, indeed, demanding more of you than I do of Rima. But only because I know you can give more than you have. Do you understand?’
What he really meant was that Rima didn’t have to give anything more than her name, Shannon thought with a trace of bitterness.
Rima Dalton had been a model when she was ten years old. Her hauntingly strange, child-woman face had been on every magazine cover in the western world.
When she reached thirty, the close- ups that had been so kind to her exotic young features became a cruel parody.
It was then that Rima had de
cided to become an actress, and, with a name that generated publicity, that was easy. The producers of
All Our Tomorrows
had rewritten the role Shannon had read for, changing it so they could cast Rima as an older, stereotypical soap opera villainess.
The role didn’t require much talent and, thanks to careful editing, Rima had become a star. Not an actress—at least, not in Shannon’s eyes— but a star.
‘Yes, I understand,’ she said carefully. ‘I’ll get it right the next time.’
‘You have to feel the passion, Shannon. You meet this guy, you talk for an hour or so, he takes you back to his apartment, and wham! The feeling between you is so strong, so powerful, that you fly in the face of every convention you believe in. You fail into his arms and into his bed.’ Jerry gave her an encouraging hug. ‘You and Tony have to make the audience understand that. What I want is... is instant heat
that just blows the audience away.’
‘
All right, Jerry, I know what you want.
I...’
A buzz of sound erupted at the entrance door to the studio.
‘What the hell’s all that about?’ Crawford said.
He and Shannon turned toward the door.
A small crowd had gathered around the door. A small crowd had gathered beside it. More and more people joined it until he and Shannon were the only ones at the far end of the huge room.
‘Just what I need,’ he said sharply, taking Shannon’s elbow. ‘A party of VIPs out slumming.’
Shannon hurried along beside him, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. The crowd was babbling with excitement; the sound guy and the cameramen were staring as if royalty had just stepped into the room. The script girl and the make-up woman—all the females, in fact—had grins on their faces.
Crawford muttered something as he shouldered his way through the crowd, Shannon beside him.
‘Come on, people,’ he said, ‘get back to work. We have a final shoot for tomorrow’s show in a little while, and I want to finish rehearsing before—' Crawford stopped in mid-sentence. 'Well, I’ll be damned!’ he said softly. ‘! I didn’t expect to see you today.’
Shannon fell back as Crawford moved towards the man in the center of the crowd. ‘Why didn’t you let us know you were coming, Cade? I’d have had the welcoming committee out.’
The man separated himself from the group surrounding him and stepped forward.
‘This looks like a pretty good welcoming committee to me,' he said, grinning as he took Crawford’s out
stretched hand in his. ‘How've you been, Jerry?’
‘My God,’ Tony’s voice drawled softly in Shannon’s ear, ‘it’s Cade Morgan.’ He shook his head and droplets of water rained on to her face. ‘Isn't he one gorgeous sight?'
Usually, Shannon laughed at Tony’s overblown adjectives, but not this time.
It was hard to quarrel with Tony’s description, although she wouldn’t have used the word to describe Cade Morgan.
Gorgeous was a word that conjured up images of softness, and there was nothing soft about this man.
He was a world-famous musician and she’d seen him dozens of times before—on television, in magazines and newspapers—but never in person.
‘Did you see him on the tube with the Boston Pops the other night?’ Tony whispered. ‘How can a guy head a group like the Marauders one day and play classical guitar the next?’
It was an interesting question, Shannon thought, staring at Cade Morgan, one which had intrigued music critics for years. Only Morgan’s admiring fans asked no questions. They were content simply to pack his con
certs and buy his CDs, whether they were blues, rock, or classical.
And, yes, she'd watched him with the symphony. Dressed in black tie, he’d been incredibly masculine and almost heart-
stoppingly handsome.
Today, he was all that and more, although the formal outfit had been replaced by a black leather motorcycle jacket, tight, faded jeans, and dusty black leather boots. Add a
mazingly sexy to the list of words that described him, she thought, watching as Jerry led him through the excited crowd. The two of them were talking but Morgan still managed to pause and smile, shake hands and exchange pleasantries.