His Not-So-Blushing Bride: Marriage with Benefits / Improperly Wed / A Breathless Bride. Fiona BrandЧитать онлайн книгу.
Lucas said brightly, and everyone’s gaze slid off her as Fran agreed.
The yeasty scent of baked bread had permeated the air a few minutes ago and must have jump-started Lucas’s appetite. She smiled at him, grateful for the diversion, and took a minute to settle her stomach.
Andy and Matthew followed Fran’s lead into the dining room adjacent to the living area, where a middle-aged woman in a black-and-white uniform bustled around the twelve-seat formal dining table. A whole roasted chicken held court in the center, flanked by white serving dishes containing more wonderful food.
Lucas didn’t move. He should move. Plenty of couch on the other side of his thigh.
“Be there in a minute,” he called to his family and took Cia’s hand in his, casually running a thumb over her knuckles. “You okay? You don’t have to have lunch with my mother. She means well, but she can be overbearing.”
“No.” She shook her head, barely able to form words around the sudden pounding of her pulse. “Your mother is lovely. I’m … well—we’re lying to her. To your whole family. Lying to my grandfather is one thing because he’s the one who came up with those ridiculous trust provisions. But this …”
“Is necessary,” he finished for her. “It would be weird if I never introduced you to my parents. For now it’s important to play it like a real couple. I’ll handle them later. Make something up.”
He didn’t understand. Because he’d had a mother his whole life.
“More lies. It’s clear you’re all close. How many other grown sons go to their mother’s birthday party and then to dinner at her house in the same week?” Cia vaulted off the couch, and Lucas rose a split second later. “I’m sorry I put you in this position. How do we do this? How do I go in there and eat dinner like we’re a happy, desperately in love couple?”
“Well, when I’m in an impossible situation, and I have no idea how to do it, I think to myself, ‘What would Scooby do?’”
In spite of the ache behind her eyes, a shuddery laugh slipped out. A laugh, when she could hardly breathe around the fierce longing swimming through her heart to belong to such a family unit for real.
“Scooby would eat.”
“Yep.” Lucas flashed an approval-laden smile. “So here’s a crazy idea. Don’t take this so seriously. Let’s have fun tonight. Eat a good meal with some people I happen to be related to. Once it’s over, you’ll be one step closer to your money and I’ll be one step closer to Manzanares, which will make both of us happy. Voilà. Now we’re a happy couple. Okay?”
“We’re still lying to them.”
“I told my parents we’re engaged to be married, and that’s true.”
“But there’s an assumption there about us—”
He cut her off with a grunt. “Stop being so black-and-white. If anyone asks, don’t lie. Change the subject. My parents are waiting on us to eat dinner. You’ve got to figure it out.”
She took a deep breath. One dinner. One short ceremony. Then it would be over. “I’m working on it.”
“Maybe you need something else to think about during dinner.”
In a completely natural move, Lucas curved her into his arms, giving her plenty of time to see him coming. Plenty of time to anticipate. The crackle in the air and the intent in his eyes told her precisely what he’d give her to think about.
And still, when he kissed her, the contact of Lucas’s mouth against hers swept shock waves down her throat, into her abdomen, spreading with long, liquid pulls.
She’d been kissed before. She had. Not like this, by a master who transformed the innocent touching of mouths into a carnal slide toward the depths of sinful pleasure.
He cupped her jaw with a feathery caress. When her knees buckled, he squeezed her tighter against him and deepened the kiss slowly, sending the burn of a thousand torches down the length of her body.
Her brain drained out through her soles to puddle on the Wheelers’ handmade rug.
Then it was over. He drew his head back a bit, and she nearly lost her balance as she took in the dark hunger darting through his expression.
He murmured, “Now, darlin’. You think about how we’ll finish that later on. I know I will be.”
Later?
Lucas tugged at their clasped hands, and she followed him on rubbery legs into the dining room, still raw from being kissed breathless. Raw and confused.
It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. That kiss had been window dressing. It had been a diversion to get her to lay off. She wasn’t stupid. Lucas had a crackerjack gift for distraction when necessary, and this had been one of those times. There was no later.
No one asked about the relationship between her and Lucas during dinner.
It might have had to do with the scorching heat in his eyes every time he looked at her. Or the way he sat two inches from her chair and whispered in her ear every so often. The comments were silly, designed to make her laugh, but every time he leaned in, with his lips close to her ear, laughing didn’t happen.
She was consumed with later and the lingering taste of him on her lips.
Clearly, she’d underestimated his talent when it came to women. Oh, she wasn’t surprised at his ability to kiss a fake fiancée senseless, or how the wickedness of his mouth caused her to forget her own name. No. The surprise lay in how genuine he’d made it feel. Like he’d enjoyed kissing her. Like the audience hadn’t mattered.
He’d been doing his job—faking it around other people. And despite the unqualified awareness that it wasn’t real, that it never, ever could be, he’d made her want it to be real.
A man who could spin that kind of straw into gold was dangerous.
After dinner, Fran shooed everyone to the huge screened-in porch for coffee. Andy, Matthew and Lucas small talked about work a few feet away, so Cia perched on the wicker love seat overlooking the pool, sipping a cup of coffee to ward off the slight chill darkness had brought. Decaf, because she’d have a hard enough time sleeping tonight as it was. Her body still ached with the unfulfilled promise of Lucas’s kiss.
After a conspicuous absence, Fran appeared and joined her.
“This is for you,” Fran said, and handed Cia a long, velvet jewelry box. “Open it.”
Cia set her coffee aside and sprung the lid, gasping as an eighteen-inch gray pearl and diamond necklace spilled into her hands. “Oh, Fran, I couldn’t.”
Fran closed Cia’s hand over the smooth, cool pearls. “It belonged to my mother and my grandmother before that. My mother’s wedding ring went to Ambe—” She cut herself off with a pained glance at Matthew. “My oldest son, but I saved this for Lucas’s wife. I want you to have it. It’s your something old.”
Madre de Dios, how did she refuse?
This was way worse than a villa—it was an heirloom. A beautiful expression of lineage and family and her eyes stung as Fran clasped it around Cia’s neck. It hung heavy against her skin, and she couldn’t speak.
“It’s stunning with your dark hair. Oh, I know it’s not the height of fashion,” Fran said with a half laugh. “It’s old-lady jewelry. So humor me, please, and wear it at the ceremony, then put it away. I’ll let Lucas buy you pretty baubles more to your taste.”
Cia touched the necklace with the tips of her fingers. “Thank you.” A paltry sentiment compared to the emotion churning through her.
Fran smiled. “You’re welcome. At the risk of being tactless, I was crushed you didn’t want any family at the wedding. I’m more than happy to pitch in as mother of the