Eight
Julia pushed at the heavy, mahogany dresser and managed to move it a couple of inches along the gleaming wood floor. Then she stopped, huffed out an impatient breath and glared at the blasted thing as if it were being deliberately stubborn. You’d think the thing would slide a little more easily. It wasn’t as if she was trying to push it into the next room, after all.
She stopped and looked around the master bedroom. Hers and Max’s bedroom now. She wondered how it would be to fall asleep beside him every night and wake up next to him every morning. She smiled to herself as she silently acknowledged that in a bed that wide, they might not even notice each other’s presence.
But as soon as that thought sped through her mind, she discounted it. She was always hyper aware of Max, no matter where they were. Lying beside him in that big bed, she knew, was going to be both glorious and miserable. Julia never would have agreed to marry him, even for the rescue he offered her, if she didn’t care for him. If she didn’t love him.
How she’d managed to fall in love with Max Rolland so quickly, so irrevocably, was beyond her, but that step had been taken and there was no going back. Julia sighed a little as she stared at the bed covered in a dark red silk duvet, and she wondered if living with Max without his love was going to be a little like dying just a bit every day.
Her only recourse was not to let him see what she felt for him. To behave no differently than she ever had around him. And to hope that sometime during the year of their temporary marriage, he might come to love her, too.
“What’re you doing?”
She jumped, startled, and spun around, one hand at her throat as she stared at her soon-to-be husband standing in the doorway. Her heart jolted a little and her insides began their now familiar twist into expectant knots. But with her latest resolution to keep what she felt for him to herself in mind, she blurted, “You scared me!”
“Same to you,” Max snarled, glaring at her. He stalked into the master bedroom, marched directly up to her and grabbed hold of her right arm. He paid no attention at all to the electricity that zipped through his veins at the merest touch of her skin to his. He wasn’t about to be sidetracked by desire. “I said, what’re you doing?”
She pulled her arm free, gave him the same disgusted look she’d just directed at the dresser and quipped, “What am I doing? Brain surgery. You?”
“Funny,” he said, not smiling in the least.
He’d arrived at the penthouse loft only a minute or so ago and had noticed the difference in his home the moment he walked in. There were bright, colorful throw pillows on the sofas and chairs in the living room. There were fashion magazines spread across the coffee table and a pair of high heels apparently kicked off in front of one of the couches.
But he hadn’t even needed to see those physical hints of Julia’s presence. Standing in the foyer, he’d felt the difference in the atmosphere instantly. Until today, every night when he walked into his empty home, he told himself it was as he wanted it. Privacy. Space. Time to think with no one making demands on him.
But with the simple act of moving into the penthouse, Julia had changed that. There was life here now. Even the air was faintly scented with her perfume. The rooms seemed warmer, the apartment itself more welcoming somehow. And he found he relished it. So naturally, he’d gone in search of his almost wife only to locate her in the bedroom, pushing a huge piece of furniture.
“Are you nuts?” he demanded, waving one hand at the dresser. “That thing’s got to weigh a couple hundred pounds. What’re you doing trying to move it by yourself?”
Both of her eyebrows lifted, she gave him a tight smile and, ignoring his bluster, turned to shove at the thing again as if he hadn’t said a word. Max could hardly believe it. He wasn’t accustomed to people disregarding what he said. And he didn’t much care for it.
Max pulled her away, turned her around and held on to her shoulders with a viselike grip. “You’re pregnant, Julia. You shouldn’t be trying to move heavy furniture.”
She sighed. “I’m not an invalid and the baby is perfectly safe.”
“You’re not doing this,” he said and to avoid further argument, bent down, scooped her up into his arms and carted her over to the wide bed, where he dropped her on the mattress. She bounced a little and then looked up at him through narrowed blue eyes.
“Max, I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Where were you trying to move it to?” He cut her off as he walked quickly to the dresser.
She sighed again, shook her head and pointed. “There. Just a foot or two to your left.”
Muttering darkly about women being unable to leave things as they were, he put his back to it and in moments had the dresser exactly where she wanted it. “There. Happy?”
“Deliriously.”
He brushed back the edges of his jacket and planted both hands on his hips. “Why didn’t you have the movers do that for you when they were here this morning?”
“Because I didn’t think of it then.” She scooted toward the edge of the bed, dragging the sumptuous duvet with her.
When she was on her feet again, Max walked toward her, looked down into her eyes and said, “I don’t want you doing any heavy lifting or pushing. Understood?”
She tipped her head to one side and he tried not to notice how her blond hair looked lying against her throat. “Are you really worried, Max?”
Frowning, he studied her a long moment before saying, “Of course I am. You’re going to be my wife. You’re carrying the child who will be my heir.”
“Wow,” she said softly, wistfully. “That’s just so special and touching.”
His scowl deepened. Was that disappointment in her voice? What had she expected him to say? More importantly, what had she wanted him to say?
Then she was speaking again and Max reined in his thoughts. He’d already learned that it made good sense to pay attention when she was talking.
“I won’t be coddled, Max,” she said quietly. “I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling, “I know.”
“I won’t have you risking yourself or the baby with ridiculous stunts.”
“Ridiculous?”
“That’s right,” he snapped, wondering where this overprotective streak was coming from. All he knew was that when he’d seen her shoving a piece of furniture that weighed more than twice what she did, he’d felt something inside him break.
“If we’re getting married, Max—”
“If?”
She ignored that and continued, “If we’re getting married, then you might as well get used to the idea that I don’t like being ordered around.”
“That’s a shame.” Why was he still practically vibrating with a jumble of emotions he didn’t really want to acknowledge? And why the hell was he issuing a deliberate challenge to a woman he knew damn well would fight him tooth and nail over it?
“Yes, it is. For you.” She took a step closer to him, shook her hair back from her face and lifted her chin so that her gaze could spear his more easily.
He knew she was trying to look steely, immovable. But damned if he didn’t find those glints in her eyes so sexy he wanted to tumble her backward onto the bed.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“You’re marrying me,” he told her, his voice low and hard. “That makes taking care of