Marriage by Mistake (29 page)

Dean set down the bags. The air seemed to hum
around them. Through the hum, he reached for her. She leaned toward
him. Their noses briefly fumbled for space before their lips
touched.

Magic. Power. Immensity. Dean closed his eyes
and let it all wash over him. Deep, deep down, in the darkest heart
of him, he knew he was continuing the pretense. This was neither
smart nor honest.

But, God, he did like her! And she'd liked
that. She'd liked it!

Kelly's arms went around him. Dean pulled her
close. Reality? he thought, his chest nearly bursting.
The hell
with reality
.

Deeper. He kept letting her in even deeper,
Kelly thought, as Dean's arms closed around her. He'd told her he
liked her. That was    it was   

Not enough.

Some voice inside her, not yet seduced, spoke
up. There were rules governing this kind of situation, rules she'd
thoroughly flouted last Monday. She wasn't supposed to be going to
bed with him, not giving so much    or at least not
giving so much until he gave something back: a proposal of
marriage, or in their case, the words that ought to go with one.
Words of love, words of commitment. She'd promised herself she
would go back to the rules that would protect her.

The resistance of the door behind Kelly gave
way. She suspected she'd been the one to grope for the knob. But it
was Dean who walked her backwards into the room. Kelly didn't
protest, however, when he turned to lean her against the inside of
her bedroom door, when his mouth descended desperately to devour
hers. She twined her arms behind his neck.

Perhaps there were rules, but the situation
seemed strikingly familiar. Five weeks ago with Dean in her car in
Las Vegas, she'd felt the same thrill of discovery, the same pulse
of need and giving. That night, Dean's touch and his words had
sparked Kelly's infatuation into love.
Marry me
, he'd said.
I love you
, he'd said.

Okay, so he hadn't said that tonight. Kelly
admitted this as Dean's hand roved over the bodice of her sundress
and she moaned her appreciation. No, Dean had not pronounced his
undying love and devotion, but he had admitted he liked her. For
the Boston Dean, that was equivalent to an avalanche.

"Kelly," Dean murmured.

"Dean," Kelly whispered back. She reveled in
the shudder that went through him when she rocked her hips against
the ridge in his trousers. Did it truly matter if she closed the
barn door now, when the horses had been let out not once, but
several times?

Dean's fingers found her taut nipple through
the cotton of her dress. The jerk of arousal pulled Kelly out of
her haze. Wait a minute. She'd sort of decided it did matter.
Surrendering now, without words of love, would leave her vulnerable
and unprotected.

"Stay," Dean then breathed. "Kelly. Stay with
me."

Oh, boy. Kelly lifted her lashes. Dean's eyes
were closed, his face drawn in lines of stark, heedless need.

He didn't merely want her. He needed her.
Kelly's love for him swelled.

"I'm here," she choked out. She brushed her
hand against his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean."

With a low sound, he opened his mouth over
hers in a deeply carnal kiss. Kelly kissed him back, while reaching
behind herself to draw down her zipper.

Some rules, she told herself, were meant to
be broken.

###

It was the kind of a party that was usually
Troy's favorite: good booze, loud music, and a wide variety of
women. The range of females at this particular shindig went all the
way from somebody's wacky grandmother, wearing décolletage and
pearls, to a gaggle of terrified-looking Harvard undergrads.

But all Troy could do was wander the many
rooms of the mansion of a friend of a friend and feel...bored.

He forced himself to come to a stop in the
main room of the house, the one with the DJ and the dancing. He
stood next to the five foot high speaker and lifted his martini to
his nose for a sniff. His body hummed with the vibrations of the
music, but he felt an overall dissatisfaction. Hell. It didn't make
sense.

Troy was
always
satisfied. He made
himself satisfied, whatever the situation. He'd learned to do so at
the age of fifteen, when they'd come to tell him that both his
parents had died in the same small plane crash. That's when he'd
figured out that life was not going to turn out the way he'd like
it to, so he'd better learn to be happy with whatever
was
.

Sniffing his martini again, Troy brooded that
he'd yet to learn how to be happy about his last interview
   his last kiss    with Felicia. That kiss had
been...amazing. But while his body craved more kisses from the
woman, his brain knew better. They couldn't have a relationship.
Why, they didn't even define the word the same way!

And yet...and yet... Troy's lashes lowered.
And yet, there was something very unfinished about the whole
business.

Across the room by the bartender, one of the
Harvard undergrads lifted her Margarita and smiled at Troy,
apparently not as terrified as he'd assumed. Indeed, the girl was
on the bold side, considering Troy looked what he was: a dozen
years her senior. He smiled back, but turned and walked in the
opposite direction, as if he'd just remembered a previous
assignation.

As he strode through the next room, the one
with the tables heaped with appetizers, he tried desperately to
remember. Would he have walked away from a smiling undergrad two
weeks ago, before this whole thing with Felicia had started? Had he
owned that many scruples? He gnashed his teeth and hoped to God he
would have behaved with such restraint.

Otherwise, he had to worry that kissing
Felicia might have ruined him for anyone else.

After stalking right through the appetizer
room and out onto the lawn, Troy stopped, shuddered, and finally
took a swallow of the drink he'd only been sniffing for the past
hour. Felicia ruining him. It was a scary thought.

Or was it? Was it actually scary, or was it
something else? Maybe it was something he wasn't ready to define
   but that he'd forever rue if he didn't explore.

He took another swallow of his drink and
looked out over the darkened landscape. He was always satisfied. He
never wanted anything he couldn't have. And he probably couldn't
have Felicia.

Probably. But then,
probably
wasn't
certainly
. And this particular
probably
was going to
drive him crazy. What if he could have her? What if he could
experience a fulfillment he hadn't enjoyed in fifteen years? What
if?

Troy bared his teeth and tossed the rest of
his martini over the lawn. Hell. He had a sinking feeling there'd
be no peace for him until he exerted himself and did something
about that
probably
.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Completely comfortable in Kelly's bed, Dean
yawned luxuriantly. It was Monday, he was already late for work,
and since the moment he'd walked into Kelly's bedroom last night
he'd crossed every line of morality and self discipline he
owned.

But somehow, with Kelly curled up under his
nose, Dean couldn't work up the energy to hate himself.

Indeed, as he lay there and sensed Kelly's
limbs shift, her muscles tensing in a stretch, he felt nothing but
pleasure; pleasure to be next to her, delight that they were in bed
together, and a pure, mindless contentment with the whole
situation.

"Hey, beautiful." Silly words. They just
popped out of his mouth.

But they accomplished what he wanted. When
Kelly looked up at him she was smiling. "Hey beautiful, yourself,"
she whispered, morning hoarse.

Dean knew he was grinning like an idiot. He
supposed he
was
an idiot. "You really are drop dead
gorgeous, you know."

"Dean." Her tone was half embarrassed, all
pleased.

He smoothed his hand over her shoulder and
decided he liked embarrassing her, and pleasing her. Maybe he would
do more. "Say. It occurs to me that in all this time I still know
next to nothing about you." Nothing, that is, besides what he'd
learned from the private detective he'd hired at the beginning.

Kelly raised her eyebrows. "And you want to
know more?"

Yes! No. Hell. Personal questions. That meant
probing, getting closer. Was that smart? And yet    And
yet    he
did
want to know more about her.

Dean shifted onto his side so that he could
look directly at her. "First thing I don't understand   
" and what couldn't have made its way into the private detective's
report.

"    Gorgeous as you are, why Las
Vegas?"

She tilted her head. "Las Vegas isn't such a
terrible place."

Dean snorted.

She brushed the hair from her eyes with a
smile. "It isn't. Not if you love dancing. Besides, my parents
encouraged me to move there."

"Your
parents
?"

"Sure. They wanted me to be able to make a
living doing something I loved." Kelly grinned. "And dancers can
make a good living in Las Vegas."

"But    " Dean started to frown.
But    the detective's report had described her run-down
apartment building, had listed her monthly credit card debt. She
didn't appear to make a good living. He shook his head. "Even so,
what kind of parents send their child    their female
child    to the gambling capital of the world?"

Kelly's eyes sparkled. "My Dad was a
minister. My mother helped him in the church."

Dean just looked at her.

She laughed, delighted.

"You're not kidding."

Obviously enjoying herself, Kelly tapped his
chin. "Call it 'only child' syndrome. All they wanted was for me to
be happy."

All they'd wanted was for her to be happy.
Dean shook his head. For most of his life, he'd been an only child,
too, but neither of his parents had thought beyond their own
happiness. His mother had taken off before he'd turned two. To that
day, his father was still too busy womanizing to care about Dean's
happiness.

"Do you still see them?" Dean asked.

The grin on her face faded. "My Mom passed
away three years ago. My Dad went soon after that."

"Mm," Dean gazed at her, feeling like he was
getting a window into a world he'd never known. He had the urge to
comfort her, though surely there was nothing he could do about her
parents' deaths at this late date. "I suppose that was...hard," he
essayed anyway.

Kelly's eyes swept back to him. "Yes. Yes, it
was, especially with my mom. She...lingered."

Dean reached out to clasp a hand around
Kelly's. Emotions rose up in his chest, emotions he had no business
entertaining. For the love of Pete, he'd already gone past his
deadline. They were supposed to be back in reality again.

He drew his hand away. "I should get up."

Kelly wrinkled her nose and snuggled closer.
"Say that again."

"I should get up."

She laughed. "Just as I thought."

"What?"

Her eyes flicked upward. "You don't really
want to."

Well, of course he didn't want to. He was in
bed with a delightful and fascinating naked woman, one to whom he
felt suddenly, perhaps dangerously, closer. "It wouldn't kill me to
take a day off," he heard himself say.
Am I crazy? I've already
taken
one
day off
.

Meanwhile Kelly lifted a hand to his cheek.
Her expression sobered. "Do you mean that? I mean, could you?"

Dean looked deep into her eyes. Did he? Could
he? He was supposed to have ended this business last night. Instead
he'd delved even further into it. It was crazy. Persisting in this
thing was only going to hurt them both. This was the moment to tell
her.

Dean threaded his fingers through her hair,
hair generously mussed from their lovemaking of the night before.
He looked into her eyes, eyes that seemed deeper, more
three-dimensional than the day before. His insides clenched. This
was the moment to tell her.

If he were about to do anything of the
sort.

Dean smiled. Everything within him calmed. He
was not going to tell her. Not now, and maybe not tomorrow, either.
This simply felt too good. And, wrong or right, he wanted to feel
good.

"I'm sure," he said. Still smiling, he kissed
her.

###

That day, a Monday, Dean drove Kelly up to
Rockport, the old fishing village. They wandered the streets of
gift shops, then toured the Revolutionary-era mansions. While
enjoying herself, Kelly watched Dean. He was spontaneous. He was
relaxed. But he also took care of his responsibilities. At one
point in the afternoon he bought Kelly a fat paperback, installed
her in a quaint café, and went off for forty-five minutes to make
phone calls. When he came back he was smiling. Indeed, he was
relaxed enough to sit down and order a fancy coffee, after which he
suggested a hike.

Kelly found herself waiting for the other
shoe to drop. Dean had spent so much of his life behind emotional
walls. It didn't make sense for him to act the way he was today, as
if he'd overcome all his fear. And yet, one couldn't deny he was
having a good time with her, laughing, connecting. And that morning
in bed, he'd really seemed to, well,
care
.

She felt torn between wanting to accept
things the way they seemed to be, and wondering if she ought to
push the issue.

She ended up choosing not to push the issue.
Everything was too nice, too dreamy and marvelous. She didn't even
question matters when Dean pulled off the road on their way back
home, when they began kissing    and more    in
the back seat of his car. If ever there was a time Kelly should
have been protecting herself by making sure of a man's feelings,
this was it. Yet she did nothing.