Stand-in Bride Read online

  There was no sound except for their breathing and the soft hum of the refrigerator motor as it clicked on decisively. The silence welled suffocatingly until Nicole lifted her head in a regal motion and looked at the man leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms folded purposefully across his chest, his eyes narrowed in an attitude of waiting.

  "I hope you aren't angry at Adrian," she said huskily, quailing inwardly at the hardness in that tall, masculine frame and inflexible features.

  "Angry is hardly the word," he snapped, moving with the sudden swiftness of a jungle cat toward her and with one lithe movement swooping her up into his arms.

  "What are you doing?" she gasped, too startled to struggle.

  "What I should have done a long time ago," he gritted tersely, striding out of the kitchen and up the spacious hallway toward the stairs. Unreasoning panic swept her, and she struggled to get down, to no avail. His arms were fastened around her like an iron vise, crushing her against his hard masculinity with that beguiling musky scent of his flesh.

  Not like this, she thought agonizingly as he swept past her bedroom and pushed open the door to his own, slamming it shut with one foot. Then he stood her on her feet, holding her upper arms in a grip that sent pains shooting up her shoulders. Her mind was numb with shock as he bent down and bruised her lips with a kiss so demanding that her knees buckled under her, forcing her to reach out for his broad shoulders.

  She forced herself to think of Angela, the real object of his love, anything to give her strength to object to the rough caresses of those brutal hands as they slid down her back and molded her hips hard against the masculine contours of his lean body. He doesn't love you, she chastised herself desperately as her lips opened under his and her hands slipped up around his neck and burrowed into the crisp black hair.

  It was useless. All the bitter imprecations against herself failed to elicit any cooperation from her treacherous body—even when his insistent fingers undid the button of her skirt and slid down the zipper, shoving the skirt down her hips to land in a heap on the floor. Then he slipped his hands under the silk blouse, tugged it over her shoulders and head with an impatient oath, and finally pulled her arms free of the clinging material.

  "No!" she murmured pleadingly as he bent his head to kiss the deep hollow between her breasts, his hands fumbling with the catch to her bra and dropping the interfering garment to the floor with a deep sound of satisfaction in his throat. She gasped with tingling pleasure as his mouth moved sensually across her breast and captured one erect nipple.

  She could feel the tremor in his hands as they removed the remainder of her undergarments and then caressed her bareness, arousing wild responses that made her sag weakly against him. "Help me," he whispered, bringing her hands to the buttons on his silk shirt. She freed the buttons, dimly aware of the metallic slide of a zipper and the rustle of fabric flung carelessly aside, and then his body was naked and urgent against her own.

  When he picked her up and laid her across the bed, he was whispering her name, and all her defenses crumbled under the onslaught of his caresses. Every nerve in her body sang in response to his passion, and she gave herself unreservedly to the ecstasy of sensation which went on and on until they became one. I love him! I love him! I love him! The unspoken refrain ran through her mind as the exquisite pleasure built and built until it peaked and they lay in a close embrace.

  As her body gradually calmed and her mind cleared, she was torn between wishing he would say something and dreading to hear words that might tarnish for her the magic of what had just happened. Her happiness steadily diminished with the fear that for Louis their passionate union might have been something entirely different than it had been for her—an expression of deep love. She didn't understand exactly what had prompted his sudden possession after months of marriage, especially since he had just destroyed any possibility of an annulment. He'd told Adrian there would be no divorce; but if he loved Angela, wouldn't he want to marry her?

  His breathing became regular and even, but when she made a tentative move with the intention of sneaking away to her own bedroom, the circle of his arms tightened and he said sleepily, "Oh, no, you don't. Stay here with me." She quieted her tormented thoughts and lay there, exulting in the intimacy of their close bodies in the dark bedroom. Deep down she admitted to herself that in spite of everything, whatever might happen tomorrow or the next day or the next, she was glad this had happened. She would have the richness of this memory forever.

  With the serenity of these thoughts, she finally fell into a deep, restful sleep, dimly conscious that any time she shifted her position his body would follow to mold its long length to hers.

  She awoke with a startled sensation that she was not alone. Someone was watching her. At the same instant she became aware that she wasn't in her own bedroom and was lying nude and uncovered. Remembrance brought hot color to her cheeks, and she turned her head to find Louis propped up on one elbow, looking at her with those disturbing blue eyes.

  She blushed more deeply as her eyes moved down his leanly muscular body, which he made no move to cover, seeming totally relaxed under her shy scrutiny. Her embarrassment was so acute at the realization he had been studying her as she slept that she made a quick move to get out of the bed, her mind suddenly cleared of all drowsiness as it dawned on her she didn't even have a robe. Her clothes from last evening were crumpled in a pile on the floor.

  "What's the hurry?" His hand moved like lightning and imprisoned her wrist. The plaguing uncertainties rushed back in the light of morning, and an unreasoning panic gave her sudden strength as she jerked free of him and stood beside the bed, her long dark hair rippling like a screen around her shoulders.

  "It must be late," she blurted in her confusion. "Adrian and I are supposed to practice this morning. Tomorrow's the tournament, remember?" She reached, down and picked up the skirt and wound it around her nakedness, avoiding those penetrating eyes that had hardened at her words. He swung to the floor in one fluid movement and walked over to the big walk-in closet.

  Taking a dark green silk robe off a hanger, he slipped it on his tall frame, knotting the sash carelessly. Then he reached again and turned around with another garment in his hand—her white satin robe. He came close and pulled the tartan wool skirt from her inert fingers and helped her into the robe with punctilious courtesy. "By all means, you can't keep your tennis idol waiting," he said sarcastically.

  "You planned what—what happened last night!" she whispered incredulously. "Why?"

  "Aside from the more obvious reasons of personal pleasure"—she flushed angrily at the sardonic inflection in his voice—"I came to the same conclusions as your ardent admirer and tennis mentor and decided it was time to consummate our marriage before anyone got any ideas about annulment. I would not have been quite so forceful if I hadn't come home last night to find you two out together."

  Acute disappointment flooded through her at the words, which confirmed what she already knew. That throbbing love scene last night held none of the deep significance for him that it had for her. He had cold-bloodedly decided to consummate their marriage as a kind of keep off sign to Adrian. His possession of her was merely an act of arrogance and an assertion of ownership.

  "Well, it won't happen again!" she flared, her anger only accentuating her beauty as she stood there in the white satin robe belted snugly around her narrow waist, her long hair a dark cloud floating down her back, her head set at a proud angle.

  "After last night, I'm afraid I can't make any promises. Sometimes they turn out impossible to keep." The faint irony in his voice as his eyes moved suggestively down her body brought a rush of emotion compounded of anger and resentment and some other feelings she refused to analyze at that moment.

  "Nicole, where are you? Adrian and Jimmy are downstairs already!" Nicole inhaled sharply at the sound of Elaine's impatient voice out in the hallway. Louis laughed softly at her chagrined expression.

  "Caught in your hus
band's bedroom. It's perfectly legal and moral, darling."

  "Don't call me that," she choked and caught her clothes up from the floor, starting for the door. He moved with the incredible swiftness of a predatory animal and caught her by the shoulders, pulling her so close she was thrust against his warm, hard chest and in danger of sinking, of succumbing to the dizzying appeal of his virility.

  It was maddening, but she was helpless to stop him when he lowered his mouth against hers in a slow, tantalizing kiss that revived the flickering flames of desire in her flesh. "To hell with Adrian and the tournament—why don't you just stay here with me?" he murmured caressingly.

  She came down to earth with a shock of indignation. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then you wouldn't run the risk of being embarrassed by the amateurish efforts of your wife. I don't think you care about anything except your precious name and reputation!" She jerked away from him and fled to her own bedroom, mindless of the picture she must make with her last night's clothing bundled in her arms.

  It took a lot longer than usual for her to dress. How she dreaded facing Elaine and Adrian—not to mention Louis. She stood for some indeterminate period of time under the hot, stinging spray of the shower, stepping out finally to towel off vigorously as if she were trying to erase all evidence of those searing caresses.

  There was no erasing the memory, though, nor the aftereffects. Her body was different in some subtle way, and she worried irrationally if everyone would be able to detect the change. With that discomfiting thought, she remembered Elaine's impatient reminder earlier outside her empty bedroom that Adrian and Jimmy were already waiting downstairs. Today was the last practice before the tournament tomorrow.

  Speeding up the dressing procedure, she slipped on a pale aqua tennis dress made of a stretch fabric that had the appearance and soft feel of a thin velour while being washable. It had been shockingly expensive, but she hadn't been able to resist when Elaine insisted it was made for her. The fullness of the graceful skirt was created by elastic shirring in the waistline. The neckline was round, and simple cap sleeves completed the dress's utter simplicity.

  It was cool enough this morning for the jacket of the same soft material with accents of a deeper aqua. There were also warm-up slacks with the outfit, but they wouldn't be necessary today.

  After brushing her hair straight back and fastening it with a rubber band at the nape of her neck, she tied an aqua silk scarf to conceal the rubber band. Quelling her nervousness, she marched downstairs to breakfast.

  A hasty glance revealed Elaine, Jimmy, and Adrian already seated at the table. "Where have you been?" demanded Elaine, looking annoyed at her tardiness on this of all mornings. "You didn't answer when I knocked on your door, and when I peeked in, your bed—" She halted abruptly at the expression on Nicole's face and, with amazing sensitivity for one so young, changed in midsentence. "How's this for starting breakfast off with a whole gang?" She waved her hand at the unusually large number of place settings at the small table.

  Nicole avoided Adrian's eyes as she slid into her place and poured a cup of coffee. When she did look up to accept a hot biscuit from the basket he offered, she noted the hint of reproach in the soft hazel depths, mingled with unmistakable pleading.

  Jimmy looked more interested in the sausage and eggs than in the undercurrents swirling around him. "Hm, that's a snappy outfit," he managed in between bites.

  At least she was spared the inquisition of those mocking blue eyes. Her reflection was a mixture of relief and disappointment at Louis's absence. Refraining from any question or comment about the two other places set at the table, she spread blackberry jam on a biscuit, refusing the sausage and eggs.

  Elaine shifted restlessly in her chair. Things were moving much too slowly for her this morning. After much pleading she had gotten special permission from Nicole and the headmistress of her school to be absent from classes today. She had even talked Jimmy Martin into persuading his parents to let him do the same. Both of them were excellent students, so that it really hadn't been all that difficult to wangle a day off.

  Nicole had been secretly amused at Elaine's machinations. The ostensible reason behind the day's holiday was to help Nicole and Adrian practice one last time before the tournament. But in reality that could have taken place after school. Somehow an outing on Andrew's boat had been arranged, much to Jimmy's unbounded enthusiasm. Nicole suspected that without the lure of the boat trip Jimmy might never have agreed to the proposal to miss a day's classes.

  "How was the movie?" Elaine asked just as the two late arrivals to breakfast walked in. Nicole almost choked on her mouthful of biscuit at the sight of Angela clinging to Louis's arm. He was tall and casual in a close-fitting navy silk shirt and khaki slacks.

  Nicole was breathlessly aware of the leanness of his waist and hips, the length of the muscular legs, the breadth of shoulders. She remembered the way she had seen him uncovered by any clothing only an hour ago. The intimate expression in the dark blue eyes as they met hers only accentuated her confusion—could he read her thoughts?

  Angela wore a red knit jumpsuit that emphasized every curve of her petite figure. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the silent exchange between Nicole and Louis.

  After a polite round of greetings, Elaine sighed in exasperation, beginning to fear for the success of her day's plans. "Where did you two come from?" she asked in a voice clearly indicating her wish that they had stayed wherever they had been previously.

  Louis and Nicole spoke simultaneously in censure of her rudeness, but Angela looked pleased at the question. She replied in silken tones, "When Louis came by the club last night, I simply insisted he take some time to assist me in planning the Homes tour. Nicole, even though she's willing enough, just isn't much help."

  Her implication couldn't have been more obvious if she'd spelled out her attack in neon-lighted letters. Nicole didn't have the social background or the familiarity with the history of Mimosa House to be of any help. It was just another way of stating her unsuitability to be Louis's wife.

  But what hurt even more than her barbed innuendoes was the knowledge Louis had been with her last night before—before… It was too painful to complete the thought.

  "What Angela started to explain," Louis said evenly, "was that I dropped by the club last night after I arrived home to find the place empty. I ran into Angela along with a whole party and arranged to pick her up this morning since her car is in the shop. I thought maybe you would be free to sit down with us for an hour or so and go over this Tour of Homes schedule." The last was addressed to Nicole.

  "I was here last night," Elaine corrected.

  "It was after ten, and you were in bed where all spoiled young girls should be at that hour," Louis replied sternly. A teasing light in his eyes betrayed his affection.

  "Where was Nicole?" Angela demanded.

  "Say, what kind of third degree is this?" Adrian was indignant, well aware of the discomfort on Nicole's expressive face.

  Angela didn't look willing to drop the subject, but a quick glance at the others revealed an unwillingness to pursue it any further. She shrugged indifferently.

  "Well, Louis, it looks like Nicole is all ready for a tennis game with her favorite partner. I doubt she has time for anything so mundane as a tour of your home by hundreds of interested visitors."

  "Nicole won't be here for that tour thing, anyway," Elaine announced blithely, not at all pleased at the hurt in her beloved companion's dark eyes.

  "Why not?" Angela demanded, regarding Elaine as if she belonged to some particularly unappealing species of insect.

  "Because the tour's at Thanksgiving, isn't it? We'll be in New Orleans at the Dryades Tournament this year!" What started off as one-upmanship ended on a note of irrepressible excitement.

  "I see." There was no regret in the reflective tone. "And it's too late now to withdraw Mimosa House from the tour. The programs are already at the printer. I guess we'll just have to get someone to substitute
for you, Nicole. It shouldn't be too difficult to find someone… capable."

  She turned to Louis appealingly. "You'll be here, won't you, darling?"

  He shook his head in disagreement. "Sorry, but I can't expose Elaine and Nicole to the dangers of the city without a male escort. I plan to accompany them. I trust your mother and Mrs. Holden to look after things here. They're both old pros at this tour business."

  Angela's full lips tightened. She swung an accusing glare at Nicole. "It's going to be a little awkward to explain that tennis is more important to you than fulfilling your responsibilities as hostess of Mimosa House," she spat, almost choking on the last words.

  Nicole bit back the angry retort on her lips. Elaine was far more important to her than a benefit run by a group of affluent women with time heavy on their hands. Angela wouldn't understand her feelings anyway, so what was the use? Instead, she replied coolly, "I'm sure some compromise can be worked out so Louis can satisfy all his obligations."

  His eyes narrowed to blue slits. She spoke hurriedly to conceal the disturbing effect of that gaze on her nerves. "The tournament lasts for several days. If Elaine is in the finals—and I fully expect her to be—perhaps Adrian would agree to pinch-hit—"

  Her voice faltered at the reactions to her incompleted suggestion. An explosive epithet from Louis, who looked as if he could shake her senseless. An eager "Sure!" from Adrian, who looked in complete agreement with the idea. A delighted "Of course!" from Angela, whose expression rivaled the supreme satisfaction of a cat licking its paws after a particularly sumptuous and unexpected bowl of cream.

  Jimmy Martin sat hunched in his chair, completely forgotten. He wondered how long all this jawing was going to take. He might as well have gone to school as sit here all morning. Whatever else happened, he hoped the boat trip was still on. His face lighted with accord as Elaine said crossly, "At this rate we'll all still be sitting here at Thanksgiving. I don't know about you guys"—with a belligerent look at Angela—"but we have plans."