Everything But Perfect, page 7
He reached for her glass and removed it from her fingers, setting it on the tray. “There. Perhaps now you will listen to me.”
“I would rather listen to a spitting viper, than waste the energy trying to figure you out.”
“Are you going to be like this all night long?”
“Are you going to disappear into a tar pit?”
“No.”
She gave him an easy smile, others moving close to them. “Then yes, I’m going to be like this,” she said under her breath.
He crushed her fingers in his strong grip. It wasn’t as though he did not trust her to bolt…tongue in cheek. He was simply doing his best to make their relationship look legit, even if she was doing everything she could to make him falter at this goal.
“Next time someone asks how we met, keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking,” he warned.
Her eyes widened. “What? Now you’re going to control that about me, as well?”
“If I have to, my dear,” he said.
“Stop calling me that,” she grumbled.
“What? Dear?”
“Yes.”
“What would you prefer?”
“I’d prefer it if you would call me nothing at all.”
His brow arched; a tilt to the corner of his mouth. “Now what fun would that be?”
“No fun at all. That’s the point.”
Mitch’s hand clenched tighter to hers.
“You’re hurting me—again.”
“Sweetheart, I haven’t even begun to hurt you,” he said, lowering his voice.
Cheyanne yanked her hand out of his faster than he could react. Ten seconds later, he had her by the elbow.
“Dammit! Let go of me.”
“As soon as you stop making a scene.”
Her smile grew. “Darling, I have barely begun making a scene. You should see me when I’m drunk.” With that, she succeeded in walking away from him unscathed, reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
Hours later, they were inside the library, alone. The guests had finally left, her parents were in bed, and Sara and Henry just made their way up the staircase.
****
Tonight, quite possibly, had been the longest day of his life.
Mitch dropped onto the couch cushions, exhausted. God help him, even he had limits and she’d pushed her way close to those borders.
He yanked off his tie, tossed it on the couch, and then leaned back. A drink already in hand, he downed it without breathing. He needed at least four more, but one would have to suffice, for now.
“Positive I did not put something in that?” she inquired, eyeing him from the opposite couch.
With hate-filled eyes, he said, “Right now, sweetheart, I could care less if you filled the glass with arsenic.”
Never before had a woman inflamed him as much, and in so few hours, as she had. He stood, poured another scotch, downing it swiftly.
“So the great one finally fell off his high horse,” she muttered rudely.
He turned and glared. “Shut the hell up.”
“Shut the—?” She paused, seemingly flabbergasted. “How about you make me shut up?”
Mitch’s brows arched high, his throat tightening. “Make you?”
“Yes, I dare you. Make me shut up.”
Her smug attitude dwindled into pixie dust the instant he stepped forward.
“Either you do as you are told, or I will close that sassy mouth for you,” he warned.
Foolish and likely drunk, she quickly goaded him into the point of no return. “Do try your best.” She then crossed her legs, and her gown parted enough to give him an ample view of her incredible skin. Mitch groaned. His last straw broken, he threw his empty glass across the room, the crystal hitting the wall.
“I’ve fucking had it with you! Your wicked mouth, your refusal to see what is right in front of your face. If I wasn’t such a gentleman…,” he growled out, taking a deep breath to calm down. “Sweetheart, you have pushed me into wanting to beat the living daylights out of you, and I have never condoned violence against any female in all my life, deserving or not.”
At least she didn’t dare comment on this, perhaps knowing better.
“I’m tired of taking the blame for you hating me. I did not ask for this strange situation, and I certainly don’t deserve your constant viperish tongue. You, my dear, are stuck in quicksand, and I am the only one in sight holding a rope long enough to get you out of it. Obviously, you have a brain. Try using it for a change.”
A raging bull with a thorn in his side, he was not about to let her get away with her continuous childish behavior much longer. What she needed was a spanking over the knee—his!
Mitch groaned again. Just the thought of being able to slap her sexy bottom had him getting hard, at the worst possible moment in recorded history. Her little game and bad attitude had gone too far this time.
“I—I,” she stammered, watching his every move. Thankfully, self-preservation kept her mum.
“Get out of my sight before I do something I will truly regret. Now!” he suddenly yelled.
****
Cheyanne could not leave the room fast enough. Gathering deep breaths, she wisely sat down on her bed before she fainted. Never before had a man told her he wished to beat her. She was torn…beaten down by two overpowering men. One she hated with every fiber of her soul, the other was selling her off to the highest bidder.
She hugged her knees to her chest, already disposed of the silk gown in exchange for comfortable pajamas.
Yes, she was drowning in quicksand, and yes, he was holding a rope, but it grated her to acknowledge he was the only man who would lower himself to save her father’s company from ruin.
She climbed under the sheets, but did not fall asleep until almost four in the morning, her mind racing by what Mitch had said to her.
Unfortunately, she forgot to reset her alarm and it went off at seven, just in time for breakfast.
Groggy, convinced sleep was outdated; at the bottom of the stairs, she heard voices. Extra chairs being removed, floral arrangements carried into the parlor; Sara and Henry were pitching in with cleanup, and to do as little work as possible, Cheyanne darted into the kitchen, hoping to avoid family.
She snuck inside, shut the door, and came face to face with her greatest enemy now.
“Sleep well, darling?” he teased.
Cheyanne tired her best to ignore him, walking over to the side table laden with pastries. Was it too much to have a moment’s peace without running into a man she was learning to detest? The mansion could hide a herd of elephants…but could not misplace one very aggravating man?
She poured a cup of coffee, sat at the table, and pretended interest in the newspaper. Perhaps she could pretend he wasn’t here.
He stepped over to the table and stood next to her. Her eyes raised slowly, her breath coming out in rapid exhalation. He would not give her an inch.
“May I sit down?”
Even more handsome in the morning, she could barely focus her attention on anything other than his muscular chest.
“Why bother asking me? You seem to do whatever you like.”
“I’m asking, because I don’t want a repeat of last night.”
“You started it,” she said.
“And I am going to finish it, if you want me to.”
“I don’t give a damn what you do, Mitch. I just want to eat my breakfast in peace. Is that too much to ask from you?”
“No, it’s not, but then we’d have something in common.”
Her curiosity peaked. “Such as?”
“We both want a truce.”
Cheyanne shoved her chair away from the table, hoping to stand.
Mitch stopped this progress, his foot set on the rung, holding her in place. “Where are you running off to now?” he inquired.
“I am not running…”
His grin widened. “My mistake. I could have sworn you were about to bolt out of the room.”
“What the hell do you want?” she snapped. “Wasn’t tormenting me last night enough for you?”
“What I want is a decent breakfast, a cup of coffee, and at least five minutes with the two of us not trying to kill each other.”
She eyed his empty plate. “You already had breakfast, and as far as us killing each other…if you’d just let me out of this room, that won’t happen.”
He let go of her chair, she wasn’t prepared for it, and she toppled over. Seated on her ass, Mitch held out his hand to help her up. Cheyanne slapped it away. Thin lines creased his forehead, his jaw twitching. Still, she refused to back down, or use his help. She righted her chair, raised her eyes, and found mocha orbs boring holes into her.
“What is your problem now?” she asked waspishly. She’d seen a tyrant last night, and she did not have the energy to face one now. Not on three hours of sleep.
“How did you like the gift?” he suddenly said.
“What gift?”
“The box I sent to you.”
“Oh, that box was from you?” When he nodded, she said. “Didn’t open it, and don’t want to. Just take it back.” She had assumed it from her father, certainly not Mitch.
He grabbed her by the elbow, practically dragged her from the kitchen, shoved her forward, toward the stairs and said, “Let’s go!”
“What are you doing? Where are we going? And stop trying to boss me around.” She had enough of his manhandling last night.
“We are going up to your room. You’re going to open up a bloody damn present sent to you, and you are going to shut up about it.”
She stumbled as he pushed. Once inside her room, he continued shoving her. There was no mistaking the anger radiating out of him. “I can walk. I don’t need you doing it for me, nor do I appreciate it.”
He ignored this request, and instead yelled, “Open the fucking box, Cheyanne!”
Cheyanne moved in slow motion toward the wrapped present. She did not want to open it, not while he looked ready to kill. Still, she picked it up, set it on her bed, gave him a watery smile, and bowing down to the pressure did as she was told.
“I tried civil,” he began, as her fingers trembled undoing the bow. “I lowered my convictions to being uncivil. I’ve tried threats, and I’ve tried generosity, but dammit Cheyanne, you are pushing all the wrong buttons today.”
Her attention moved to him. “And by saying this, you expect me to cooperate?”
“No. I don’t expect anything from you—yet.”
“Good, because my expectations of you are dwindling by the second.”
“Open the goddamn box!”
Cheyanne jumped. She turned, removed the wrapping, lifted the lid, and found her worst nightmare laid out on a bed a delicate tissue paper.
A wedding gown?
Tears fell quickly. On the gown was a ring box. Her trembling fingers picked it up and opened it. Inside was the biggest diamond she had ever seen.
She turned to him, undaunted about her emotional destruction witnessed at eight in the morning. “Please, can you leave me alone…just for a moment?”
“Why?” He stepped forward, making her flinch.
“I just need a few seconds,” she said, swiping at the tears.
“I’m not leaving you. I’m afraid…” He paused. “Hell, if I’m going to be an ass, I might as well make certain you think I am, so I’m going to stand here and watch you put on that ring…then I’ll leave.”
Cheyanne’s tears fell harder. She tried to put on the ring but her fingers would not cooperate, therefore Mitch came closer and did it for her.
The coldness of the metal felt like ice wrapping around her heart, its steely grip tightening until she could not focus. Somehow, some way this one gesture had her heart skipping too many beats, making her lightheaded. She swallowed hard to keep from passing out.
Chapter Nine
Cheyanne walked down the stairs, a smile on her face; her heart at her knees. It was a beautiful day, the perfect summer afternoon. Only thing was, what she was about to do was anything but perfect.
She made her way out to the open patio doors on her father’s arm, one hundred guests filling the gardens in distinct rows on white chairs.
She moved forward, dazed. How could she do this? How could she pretend life was great, when all she saw before her was four months of dread?
As the holy man said the words, she stared at Mitch. He seemed about as happy with this as she was.
“Dearly beloved,” the man said, smiling at both.
As the man finished the ceremonial farce, Mitch placed the wedding band alongside her huge diamond. She, in turn, did the same to him.
She’d never felt such a heavy weight reach into her soul than while lying to God she would cherish this man next to her, all the days of her life.
“You may kiss your bride, Mitch,” the minister said.
Cheyanne smiled, the appropriate thing to do, but she did not feel an emotional attachment to the proceedings.
He leaned forward…and God help her, the world exploded. His lips were warmer than before, gentle. A sweet morsel to a starving woman, she almost fell for the ploy.
She allowed the kiss to linger, even though it went against every grain of her soul. Mitch was so handsome, his mocha eyes drilling into her and locking on.
Cheyanne shook free of the fantasy as quick as she could. He wasn’t her husband; he was a man she had to marry. Four months, no more. How hard could that be?
Convincing others of the farce had been easy. Convincing herself this was going to be a walk in the park was looking to be unachievable.
They went from marriage to reception within minutes. She never expected the farce to continue, but it did—right down to Mitch shoving wedding cake into her mouth, then giving her a lingering kiss to seal the deal.
Inner misgivings as to what else he expected of her started creeping into her mind. There was an undeniable response to his kiss, but if strong and determined, she should be able to get through this.
Should.
His mouth found hers again, toasting the marriage with champagne. Cheyanne’s knees went weak, her body tingled, and her hands went to his chest by free will. She splayed her fingers over the warmth of muscle, over a man she could not get out of her system. Had he given her a moment’s notice she would not have reacted in this way. A volatile man kissing her, holding her close, he might be a danger too hot to handle without practice.
His grip tightened as the kiss continued. He then drew back and whispered in her ear, “You can save your false passion for later, my dear. It’ll give me something to look forward to on our honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon?” she choked out, eyes wide.
“Yes, honeymoon. You did not think this was it, did you?”
She glanced up into his thickly hooded gaze, unable to believe he would force a honeymoon onto her. Such a thing was for two people who loved each other, and they were far from it.
Damn. She must stay wary of this man—give him an inch, he takes a mile; allow him freedom, he’ll destroy hers.
“What makes you think I do anything falsely?” she counteracted.
“Yes, Cheyanne…what could possibly make me think you do anything falsely?” A fixed, glittering gaze then proved she would again have to work out an escape hatch to this marriage if she expected to survive the next four months.
The demons of desire easily persuaded to surface, how one learned to control that desire would serve best the one with the most to lose.
****
Hours later, her head against the cool interior of Mitch’s Mercedes, Cheyanne tried to relax. Impossibility when near this man. Her eyes shifted to his profile. He was certainly an accomplished driver. Not once had he turned her way or spoken a word.
“Is something bothering you?” he said, suddenly smiling at her.
She whipped her face forward, determined not to let him get her goat. “No. Why, should it be?”
“You tell me.”
Her heavy sigh reached all the way to her toes. “Why a honeymoon? No one would even know if we just went back to your apartment and hid out for a few days. Then I can leave, you can have the company, and everyone’s happy.”
“I would know,” he muttered, turning the sleek vehicle down a small driveway. “And it isn’t how this is going to work for others to believe our lie.”
Cheyanne felt the blood loss in her cheeks. “Is this it?” Ahead, loomed a quaint bed and breakfast inn, right in the middle of nowhere.
“Yep.” He drove the car up to the house, and then shut off the engine. His aloof awareness was making her blood boil. In silent horror, the corners of his mouth tilted.
Tearing her gaze away, she willfully chose not to say another word. She could not trust that any of them would not come out as four-lettered explicative.
“Satisfied?” he suddenly asked.
Cheyanne turned, wondering what brought on the question.
“I asked if you are satisfied,” he repeated.
“Hardly, but then I never know what you’re really asking most days.”
He would not even try to hide his smile. “If you want to look at who you married, go ahead. No one is stopping you.”
“Look at…what? I—I wasn’t trying to…” She stopped at that point, knowing he was only teasing her as his grin widened.
“You really are a bastard,” she snapped at him.
“That could well be, but I know I had parents and I did think to have married a lady.” His gaze went up and down her length, stopping at her breasts. “Yet if she keeps having these low opinions of my character, I might have to do something about it.”
Cheyanne crossed her arms over her chest, defiant of his words. Whether to protect her virtue, or just to ward off the blow of his smile, she wasn’t sure. It did make her feel better. That’s all that mattered.
She remained in her seat, facing forward, and could have cared less what he wanted. He wasn’t going to get any of her, touch any of her, or enjoy this farce of a honeymoon, that’s for damn sure.
No sooner did this cross her mind, the front door of the inn opened and out came a portly gentleman. He scurried to their car. Mitch got out and greeted the man.
