“My bedroom’s across the den.” Desire roughened his voice.
“Okay.” She looked and sounded relieved.
If he wanted to sleep better tonight than he had last night he needed to get out of this room, out of this house before he started picturing Lauryn wearing nothing but sleek, wet skin and a dusting of bubbles in that whirlpool tub. With him beside or beneath her.
Too late. He stifled a groan.
“Where are your glasses?” he asked in an attempt to sideline his illicit thoughts.
White teeth pinched her bottom lip and she wrinkled her nose. She looked so damned adorably guilty he almost whimpered. “I…um, don’t really need them.”
“Why in the hell did you hide behind shapeless clothing and ugly glasses?” It made no sense. The women he knew flaunted their assets. Hell, they paid good money to have bigger, better assets implanted.
“I learned not to draw attention to my looks a long time ago. Men assume if you’re pretty, you’re stupid and available.”
“And you aren’t available?” He knew she wasn’t stupid.
“Not at the moment.”
Her flip response stirred something unfamiliar in him. Possessiveness? No. Determination to make sure this plan worked. He couldn’t afford slip-ups if he wanted the council and his brothers to believe he’d fallen for his straightlaced accountant and settled down. “And you won’t be until after we’re divorced.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
The certainty in her tone raised red flags. Holy hell, was she gay? Did that explain why no one had seen her on a date? South Beach had a large gay population. Was that the real reason she’d moved to Florida? Because her story about her father had seemed a lame reason to move three thousand miles.
No, Lauryn couldn’t be gay. He hadn’t imagined the attraction between them or the hunger in her eyes. He’d felt the softening of her lips beneath his when he’d kissed her, and he’d heard her breath catch each time he’d touched her.
He wanted to kiss her now. To prove his theory.
But he wouldn’t. Not yet.
Even though his neglected hormones had him in a tailspin.
Forget the candles, flowers and prepared meals he’d asked Cassie to arrange so he and Lauryn could play out the lovebirds-needing-privacy farce. He couldn’t handle a romantic dinner on the deck tonight. He needed crowds. Loud music. A noisy restaurant. Distractions. Anything but an intimate dinner for two.
“We’re eating out tonight. Be ready in ten.”
Lauryn’s brow creased. “Cassie said she’d filled the refrigerator with local dishes for us.”
Damn. He’d hoped his half sister had neglected to mention that detail. “She did.”
Lauryn swept back her champagne locks with a newly manicured hand tipped in pearl-pink polish. The muscles of Adam’s abdomen ripped as if she’d scraped those short nails across his flesh.
“Adam, I’d rather postpone the whole putting-on-a-show-for-the-locals thing, if you don’t mind. I know we have to eventually, but it’s our first night here and I’m kind of whipped. Cassie is a shopping machine. Surely if anyone is paying attention to our itinerary they’d expect us to want to be alone sometimes?”
Now that she mentioned it, he could see her fatigue in the faint shadows beneath her eyes and the slight downward turn of her mouth.
For sanity’s sake he should be a bastard and insist on going out, but instead he ground his teeth on a frustrated curse.
It was going to be a long night.
“Pick whatever you want to eat and shove it in the microwave. I’m going for a run. I’ll be back in an hour.”
And then Adam did something he’d never done before.
He ran from a woman.
Five
Thursday. Her wedding day.
Lauryn had never been claustrophobic before, but she was getting there fast. The walls of the spacious oceanfront bedroom seemed to close in around her as the clock inched toward the time set for the ceremony. Her pulse raced and her mouth felt as dry and gritty as the sand dunes outside the cottage.
The silk chiffon of her strapless ivory tea-length dress fluttered against her shins as she paced from the window to the door and back, again and again, and the lace bolero jacket abraded her neck and shoulders. Since the ceremony would take place on the beach she’d decided against wearing shoes, and the floor tiles further chilled her already cold bare feet.
Cold feet. Appropriate.
She couldn’t help comparing this wedding to her first. Her ex had had an agenda. So did Adam. Only Adam’s wasn’t illegal and no one would get hurt. Or arrested. Plus Lauryn knew what she was getting into this time. At least she hoped she did.
At eighteen and a day, she’d been incredibly young, naive and hardheaded when her father had forbidden her to see Tommy Saunders again. She’d foolishly believed herself old enough and wise enough to know better than her father. She and her dad had had another one of their legendary screaming matches, but this time Lauryn’s mother hadn’t played mediator the way she usually did when Lauryn’s father went all dictatorial.
Afterward Lauryn had hidden in her room and called Tommy to vent. He’d insisted she was of age and her father couldn’t tell her what to do anymore. On a wave of righteous indignation she’d agreed to go to Mexico with Tommy for spring break. Two days later she’d packed her bags, lied about spending the week at the beach with a girlfriend and left. Not one of her finest decisions.
In Tijuana Tommy had plied her with tequila and then asked her to marry him. She’d almost agreed, but even tipsy she’d known better than to cross her father that drastically.
The next morning she’d awoken hungover and with a cheap wedding ring on her finger that she couldn’t remember putting there. When she’d freaked out Tommy had admitted he’d slipped something into her drink to loosen her inhibitions and help her make the decision he knew she really wanted to make.
His high-handedness had worried her but she’d loved him enough to make excuses for him. She hadn’t panicked until he revealed his scheme over lunch to make them both rich and then she’d suddenly felt queasy and afraid.
Blaming her hangover, she’d excused herself to go to the bathroom, slipped out the backdoor of the cantina, found a phone and called her father.
That was the last time Lauryn had rebelled. After her father had rescued her from that disaster she’d become the perfect dutiful daughter, a straight-A student and as prim and proper as Emily Post.
Emily Post wouldn’t be eloping in the Bahamas or neglecting to invite her mother to the ceremony.
Wincing, Lauryn paused by the glass doors leading to the deck. She hadn’t called because she didn’t want her mother to know about this marriage. Susan would be upset at how far Lauryn was willing to go to gain information about her birthmother, and she’d be hurt. She’d view this as another sign that she’d failed Lauryn as a parent. But other than not revealing the secret of Lauryn’s birthmother sooner, that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Lauryn studied the beach below her bedroom and tried to calm her agitated nerves. The flowered archway Cassie had ordered for the ceremony stood in the sand between the cottage and the lapping waves. The photographer hustled around checking shot angles or light or whatever it was photographers did.
The