Marriage by Mistake (10 page)

Kelly put Robby's bet and his disconcerting
description of Dean out of her mind as she located Jackson and
talked him into driving them to the nearest public recreation
facility. Her goal was to get Robby doing something worthwhile,
outdoors and physical. But in the car, luxuriously ensconced in the
back seat, Kelly found the Dean problem return to mind.

Always there when you need him
. Was
that the flip side of Dean's heavy authoritarianism, that he was
always there when you needed him, totally reliable?

She felt peculiar even considering the
question, so she latched onto Troy and Robby's bet, instead. They
assumed she wasn't going to stay with Dean. Rather, they assumed
Dean wasn't going to be able to keep her.

Just like his father couldn't keep any of his
wives.

Kelly chewed on a finger and stared out the
car window at the pristine country estates flowing by. Wives,
plural. Very plural, if Kelly'd understood correctly. She wondered
if 'wives' was the way things had been in Dean's youth, too. Had a
succession of stepmothers passed through his childhood?

I know a lot about this type of
situation
he'd told her. Kelly frowned and kept chewing her
finger. Had Dean given his boyish heart to one after another of his
father's multiple brides? Was that what made him now so cold? Why
he'd warned Kelly away from Robby?

In the car, Kelly lowered her bit finger. All
right, so maybe Dean had had a lousy childhood, a lonely one. That
didn't make up for his arrogant and unfriendly manner. He was a big
boy now. He chose how he behaved.

But it could explain some things. Yes, Kelly
had to admit, looking out the window. It could explain a lot.

###

The sun was high, the sky was blue, and the
ball Troy sent over the tennis net whizzed with vicious accuracy to
a corner just beyond his opponent.

"For the love of    You
killed
me. Again!" Emery Stanford Hunsington, III, panted as
he turned to watch the ball bounce from the carefully maintained
Club tennis court and fly into the fence. "That's game
and
match," he groaned, but he smiled ruefully as he came up to the net
to shake Troy's hand.

"It was just good luck," Troy replied. He was
always modest about tennis, even though he spent enough time and
effort on the game to deserve the number of wins he collected every
week at the Club.

Lately, he'd been spending even more time at
the Club than usual. It was too hard to hang around the house,
watching Kelly get ignored by Dean.

Now Emery shook his head of thinning blond
hair. "If that was luck, then you ought to go to Vegas."

Troy's easy smile faltered. He retrieved it
quickly, however, before the other man could guess he'd rippled
Troy's equanimity. "Maybe," he agreed. "Maybe I should do just
that."

Emery jogged off toward the showers, running
late for some board meeting or other. Troy, who had nowhere to be
late to, followed at a more leisurely rate, strolling down the
hedge-bounded walkway and thinking about Las Vegas and the marriage
his cousin, Dean, had entered into there. As far as Troy could
tell, that marriage was going exactly where he'd predicted: south,
and in a big hurry.

It was too bad, really. Having gotten to know
Kelly a little over the past few days, Troy was starting to like
her. She was nice, she was genuine, she was...all right. She could
probably warm up that cold house of theirs. But Dean? Oh, Dean had
the vision of a mole sometimes.

Troy reached the end of the hedge-bordered
path where the courtyard opened in front of the gym and showers. He
idly gazed down the path that led to the other set of tennis
courts. There, as if thinking about Dean could conjure the woman,
was Felicia. Felicia, wearing a blindingly pink tank top and a
short, white tennis skirt. Though she walked toward the gym,
indicating that she, too, had just finished a match of tennis, she
looked cool and unruffled, without a hair out of place or a drop of
sweat. She strode toward the courtyard with the walk debutantes
practiced and she had perfected; cool, refined grace, entirely
stripped of the sexual.

Troy scuffed to a halt. He felt an
instantaneous, and unfortunately familiar, urge to heat up and
ruffle her. He'd like to see a few of her silky blond hairs out of
place. He would absolutely love to see her sweat. And look
sexual.

His response to her made no earthly sense.
The woman was interested in
Dean
, for heaven's sake. Why was
Troy attracted to a woman who was not only a do-gooding,
whip-cracking ice queen, but who preferred
Dean
?

He didn't know the answer, he only knew how
hard it was to drag his gaze up from her long, thoroughbred legs.
"Felicia," he said, since she was nearly in front of him and some
kind of salutation was required.

"Troy." Her tone could have frosted a
volcano. But still, it was somehow polite. Felicia could do that,
put you in your place while skirting the correct side of good
manners.

The problem was that the more politely
frosted she got, the hotter Troy became. And the angrier. He didn't
want
to be turned on by her. Curving his lips into an
insolent smile, he balanced his tennis racket on his shoulder. Then
he did what he usually did with Felicia: got mean.

"Fancy meeting you here," he drawled. "I
would have thought you'd be too busy to play tennis during the day,
what with all those heartbreakingly good works you do." He swept
his gaze from the bright pink curve of her breasts to those long,
slender legs. "But I suppose we have to keep our girlish figure
somehow."

Felicia's eyes were snapping when Troy looked
up again, just as he'd planned. Her ice looked, for a minute,
hot.

If only he didn't like her looking hot so
much, this conversation might not go the way all of them did.
Asinine.

Meanwhile, she recovered her sang-froid
quickly, calming the heat in her eyes and giving Troy a brilliant
smile. "A healthy life is a balanced one." She rested her tennis
racket on her shoulder, mirroring Troy. "Which reminds me, since
you mentioned good works, I wanted to talk to Dean about the Boston
Family Aid Foundation. We need to hire a professional fundraiser.
If you get a chance    " Felicia's casual smile widened
   "will you ask him to call me?"

Troy squinted. Yep, it was going asinine, and
she wasn't helping. She knew damn well he wasn't going to be her
messenger boy. "Why can't you call him yourself?"

"I have." Felicia's wide smile dimmed. "But I
haven't been able to get through to him."

Troy's eyebrows jumped. "No!"

Swiftly, Felicia commenced damage control.
"Oh, I'm sure he's just fabulously busy, running that huge,
multi-national corporation of his." She was smiling again, and
twirling her tennis racket on her shoulder. "You know, the one in
the building downtown with his name on it?"

"Yeah, I know the one." Surely she wasn't
trying to get his goat with
that
? Troy wasn't jealous of
Dean's big company. "Even if Dean is so busy in his big building,
he still should have returned at least
one
of your half a
dozen phone calls," Troy insisted.

Felicia's twirling tennis racket halted. "I
did not call him half a dozen times."

"Only four or five then?" Troy laughed.

Oh, he'd done it, then. Troy could
practically see smoke streaming out of her nostrils. He might have
enjoyed the sight more if it didn't stir him so, down below. He
lowered his tennis racket and grasped it, two-handed, in front of
himself.

"On second thought," Felicia said, eyes
blazing and voice more frosty than ever. "Perhaps it isn't Dean I
should be speaking to about the fundraising job. Perhaps it is
you."

"Me?" Now, that came from left field. Troy's
name and the word "job" were never linked together. "What are you
talking about?"

"You know..." Felicia's eyes were sparkling
dangerously now. "You'd be perfect for it."

"For a job?" Troy choked.

"That's right." Felicia resumed twirling her
tennis racket. "You have all the necessary skills, in abundance.
You're outgoing and even charming, in a sleazy sort of way. You
know all the right people and    " Her smile turned
positively wicked. "And you have extensive experience in convincing
people to part with their cash."

Troy could feel his face redden. He didn't
borrow money from his friends...very often. Needless to say, he'd
never
put the touch on Felicia. "Gee, thanks for the offer,
but I think I'll pass." Thank goodness that had come out just
right. Casual and a little snotty.

But she didn't seem to care. Still smiling
malevolently, she shrugged and started to turn away, toward the
women's part of the gym. Troy had the unhappy feeling she'd just
won this match, or would, if he didn't manage to one-up her.

"Oh, Felicia?" Troy called.

Still smiling, she stopped.

Troy smiled back at her. "Actually, it just
occurred to me... I might have an idea why Dean hasn't managed to
return any of your calls."

Felicia raised a questioning, haughty
eyebrow.

Troy felt a surge of impending triumph. He'd
been holding his ammunition, deeming it unsporting to discharge,
but she'd asked for it. "See, the fact is it'd be kinda hard for
Dean to call his former lady friends, even one so very close as
yourself...since he just got married."

Felicia's face froze. It simply went on
pause; smile, haughtily arched eyebrow and all. The only thing that
changed was its color as the blood seemed to drain from her skin.
If Troy had hit her with his tennis racket, he couldn't have
achieved the shock he now saw evident in her very attempt to
disguise it. Clear proof, assuming he'd doubted, of how deeply
Felicia was infatuated with Dean.

"Married?" she finally asked. Troy could tell
she'd meant to say the word in a normal tone, but it came out in a
whisper.

He sank his weight onto one hip, somehow
hanging onto his smile though he wasn't feeling so triumphant any
more. "Yeah, he got married about a week ago. Nice lady." Which was
true, Troy told himself. Kelly
was
a nice lady, even if it
was unlikely she was going to remain Dean's wife much longer.

God, he hadn't
had
to tell Felicia
this news. What had gotten into him?

Meanwhile, Felicia was doing an admirable job
of retrieving her self-possession. "A week ago," she said, and
cleared her throat. From somewhere she produced a parlor-room
smile. "Why, then, you must give him my congratulations. What a
   ahem    Why, what a wonderful thing for him.
Married!"

Troy crushed his teeth together. He'd been a
pig, as usual, and she was rising to the occasion, saying the right
things, in the right way. "Yeah," he said, once he managed to pry
his jaw apart. "I'll give him your message."

With one last, utterly appropriate smile,
Felicia turned and strode into the women's locker room. High class
all the way.

Troy swiveled to slash his racket at an
innocent hedge. He hadn't intended to open his trap. What was it
about the woman that brought out the absolute worst in him? He
scowled at the hedge and wondered
what
it could be.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A disturbing report brought Dean home in time
for dinner. He'd called Maggie, the housekeeper, from the office to
check in, and could scarcely believe what she'd told him. Kelly
knew exactly what Dean thought about her spending time with
Robby.

Five minutes before the dinner hour, Dean
drove his Lexus into the estate's multi-car garage and rehearsed
the set-down he intended to give Kelly. But as he got out of his
car, he wondered if he was over-reacting. Robby had spent enough
time with his father to have discovered for himself the
disappointing nature of stepmothers.

On the other hand, there was something about
Kelly that invited a person to believe she was different from all
the rest. Something...well,
inviting
.

As the automatic garage door closed behind
him, Dean shook his head. The woman was a menace. She had to be
stopped. That was all there was to it.

Approaching the house from the side, Dean
used his normal route in of an evening, through the kitchen.

Roberto, the cook, was alone in the room. He
spoke before Dean could attempt a greeting. "It's what they said
they wanted."

"Excuse me?"

"Hamburgers with French fries. It's what they
said they wanted." Roberto turned to slap his spatula on the
stove.

The cook apparently wanted exoneration.
"Hamburgers are fine," Dean said. Who cared what was being served?
What he needed was something to ease the nerves tightening his
stomach. He was going to see her. She was going to do that thing
she did to him    to his hormones, that was.

Determined to overcome his unruly nature,
Dean spent another moment in the kitchen, straightening his lapels
and taking in a deep breath. Then he pushed through the swing door
to the formal dining room.

The room was empty. But Dean heard the sound
of laughter and a boy's chatter. If he wasn't mistaken, Troy's
tenor was involved, too.

Outside.

Frowning, Dean went to the French doors of
the dining room and pulled them open. On the stone walkway that
abutted the house, a wrought-iron table had been set for dinner.
Kelly, Robby, and Troy, all wearing shorts and T shirts, sat around
it in animated discussion.

So much for dressing for dinner. In the span
of four short days Kelly had dispensed with that family
tradition.

Dean felt his righteousness return. And then
his eyes met hers. Righteousness departed as his heart took a drop,
and then sped.