“You may kiss your bride.”
Catherine hadn’t allowed herself to think ahead to this part of the ceremony, or, for that matter, to the physical side of marriage. Of course their marriage would be in name only, a marriage of convenience. Wasn’t that, to all intents and purposes, what her parents had? A useful and mutually beneficial union. They seemed content enough after twenty-nine years. Yoked together. Like a pair of oxen.
Of course she and Stephen were hardly in this for the long haul. They’d settled on a year, which seemed a reasonable enough length of time to silence the gossips and satisfy any lawyers Derek hired to fight the codicil or question their nuptials. Something told Catherine that her marriage to Derek would have ended much sooner and far less amicably than she predicted this one would.
Her gaze connected with Stephen’s. For better or worse, literally, he was her husband now. She offered a smile, leaned forward for the kiss, expecting something brief and perfunctory. Then she caught the clean scent of aftershave on his warm skin, noted the sexy line of his mouth. Reaching up, she laid a palm against the hard plain of one of his cheeks, and, for no reason she could fathom, she sighed.
Stephen saw her eyelids flutter shut as his mouth touched hers, but he kept his own eyes open, watching this woman he barely knew, watching his wife. He deepened the kiss out of curiosity, sliding his tongue inside the pliant seam of her lips. She’d always seemed so cool, so in control. Once, a few months back, he’d walked into Derek’s office and caught the pair of them kissing. Even with his cousin’s hand on her nicely curved bottom and her arms twined around his neck she’d managed to look untouched. She didn’t look untouched this time, though he’d so far managed to keep his hands to himself. And neither, he admitted, was he. Kissing Catherine was like sailing La Libertad in rough waters. He needed to hold on. He brought his hands up to frame her face, his fingers stretching into the soft gold of her hair.
“That’s more like it,” Liberace cracked. “Now, if you kids could just take this back to your hotel room, I’ve got another wedding to perform. Don’t forget to pick up your T-shirts on the way out.”
They sprung apart as if they had just been doused with a bucketful of freezing water. Her eyes, as big and blue as the deepest waters of Lake Michigan, reflected his own surprise and confusion. An electrical current of need had coursed through that kiss. It had carried with it a blast of heat that he hadn’t felt in…ever. And it had come from the Ice Princess, Catherine Canton. The discovery, however, was not welcome. Business. That was what this was, Stephen reminded himself. Hormones didn’t, couldn’t factor into it. Even as he told himself this was so, he couldn’t quite squelch the male satisfaction he felt when he noted the way her hand shook when she ran it through her hair. She’d worn her hair loose and long this day, a cascade of sunshine that haloed her face and flowed over her shoulders. He liked it this way the best, especially since the slightly mussed tendrils around her temples had been his doing.
The photographer handed Stephen the three Polaroids, which he stuffed into his pocket without bothering to look at them. They were nearly to the door, his equilibrium almost restored, when Liberace ruined it all by calling out, “Enjoy your wedding night.”
Chapter Four
IN THE glaring sun, Las Vegas didn’t have quite the high-voltage impact it did at night. But, sheened in a gaudy kind of glamour, it still throbbed with excitement.
Catherine wanted nothing more than a few minutes to herself, to try to put that searing kiss into perspective. She tried to be analytical about it. Could her reaction merely have been the desperate need for sexual validation by woman recently rejected? Perhaps, but that did little to cool her blood. This was the desert, but where had all that heat come from? She hadn’t known a simple kiss could be like that, shooting a million flaming arrows of need through her system, each one of them unerringly finding its mark.
“What now?”
She hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud, as it was more rhetorical than anything else, but Stephen answered.
“We can play tourist for a few hours, if you’d like. Our flight doesn’t leave till this evening. Ever play poker?”
It seemed like such an outrageous thing to do just after getting married that she couldn’t help but smile. “Once, at a Vegas night a literacy program held to raise money for supplies. Five-card stud, or something like that.”
“Well, your money wouldn’t go for a good cause this time.”
“How do you know I’ll lose?” she asked, fascinated by the gold flecks the sun had teased out of his otherwise dark eyes.
“Odds favor the house.”
“I don’t like those odds.”
He shrugged. “Every now and then someone hits it big. That’s gambling’s allure, the potential for winning the jackpot. That’s why some people bet their life savings and then some.”
“It makes sense that we’re here, then.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You just bet on me, gambled with your legacy.”
“No, I’d already lost my legacy. I had nothing to lose. That’s the first rule of gambling, by the way: don’t bet more than you can afford to lose.”
“I guess Derek doesn’t know that rule.”
“No. But then Derek doesn’t care about his legacy either. He’s about to lose. Big time.”
Catherine couldn’t help but wonder if they had won or if they, too, would find themselves paying once everything was said and done.
Their flight home was the flight from hell. Delayed nearly two hours, and then rocked by turbulence, it seemed to last an eternity. A superstitious woman would have considered it a bad omen. White-knuckled and terrified, Catherine merely endured it as best she could. Beside her, Stephen slept like a baby.
To keep her mind off her nerves, she studied his features: the sensual line of his lips; the square jaw that was now shadowed and in need of a shave; the thick, dark hair that had fallen over his brow. In sleep he looked oddly vulnerable, and incredibly sexy. She recalled their kiss and felt her face grow warm. People called her an ice princess. She pressed her head back, stared at the “fasten seatbelt” sign and sucked in several calming breaths before closing her eyes. What would they say if they could read her mind just now?
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Her eyelids snapped open. Turning her head she found herself nearly nose to nose with Stephen.
They both straightened in their seats.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wondered what you were thinking. You looked so…intense.”
She forced a laugh. “I don’t care to fly.”
“Do the deep-breathing exercises help?” he asked.
She met his dark gaze, felt her heart tremble, and said with conviction, “Not one bit.”
It was well past midnight when they finally touched down at O’Hare. Glitzy Vegas had cocooned them in illusion. Gritty Chicago doused them in reality. They were husband and wife on what could still be called their wedding night, and yet they were stuck in all of the awkwardness of a first date.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, as if they had just gone to dinner and caught a movie.
“I can grab a cab,” Catherine replied. “It’s out of your way.”
“I’ll take you home. You can get your things.”
“My things?”
“You’re my