The Wedding Deal. Janelle DenisonЧитать онлайн книгу.
at the moon, and stopped at the split-rail fence surrounding the paddock. Eden’s sassy reply didn’t seem to take her reputation into consideration. But then, he suspected her words had been a show of bravado, a dare to provoke him into agreeing to her outrageous, and very desirable offer.
A marriage in name only.
Laughing at the incongruity of that, he leaned against the fence, and propped the heel of his boot on the bottom rung. He gazed up at the main house, unable to imagine any healthy, red-blooded male agreeing to her marriage of convenience scheme. A year of living with Eden would surely test a man’s self-control, and his libido. Granted, she wasn’t offering her bed or her body as part of the deal. The guest bedroom downstairs would lessen temptation, but she obviously wasn’t taking into account the day-to-day intimacies that a husband and wife shared that would surely heighten their awareness of one another. Living in the same house meant constant contact with each other, and the risk of casual touches turning into burning, needy caresses.
He already found her too attractive for his peace of mind. And as their relationship currently stood, this evening proved that they were struggling to evade their attraction, and trying to ignore its existence.
Releasing a deep sigh, he reached into his shirt pocket for one of the hard cinnamon candies he favored in lieu of a cigarette since he’d quit smoking four years ago. Unwrapping the disc, he popped it into his mouth, welcoming the sharp sting of cinnamon on his tongue that curbed his craving for nicotine.
His craving for Eden wasn’t as easily appeased.
As if his thoughts had beckoned her, the light in her upstairs bedroom went on. A moment later, she walked up to the window, pushed aside the sheer curtains, and lifted the casing to allow fresh air into the room. The diaphanous drapes fell back into place, enabling him to see her silhouette as she bent her head and began releasing the buttons down the front of her dress.
Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, looking like burnished gold from the lamplight reflecting off the strands.
He told himself to go, but his feet wouldn’t move. He told himself to look away, but his eyes remained riveted on her shadowy outline, which was far more provocative than seeing her without the flimsy obstruction of the curtain. This ethereal view of her was soft, unfocused, and teasing. He found himself completely enthralled with this unveiling…and powerless to resist her.
When the button task was done, she shrugged her shoulders and the dress slid to her waist, and with a subtle shimmy of her hips it glided the rest of the way to the floor. Next came her bra, allowing him a profile glimpse of her lush curves before she walked out of sight.
Luke’s breath left him in a rush, and his body throbbed in startling awareness and need. He crunched into the hard cinnamon candy, but the fiery flavor only inflamed him more.
When she walked by the window again, she was dressed in a gauzy nightgown that reached her thighs. She climbed up onto a high poster bed, and turned off the lamp. Darkness enveloped Luke as well, and for as much as he’d learned to live a solitary existence, at the moment he wanted to trade in his lonely life for a real home, family, a wife.
He could have that with Eden, for a year. In exchange for land in Montana, which would go a long way in expediting his personal dreams of having his own spread, and the security of being his own boss. But for as much as he would gain, he couldn’t dismiss what Eden might lose if someone discovered his past and brought it to light. Without a doubt, scandal and outrage would erupt. Her own reaction to his deception wouldn’t be pleasant, either. It never was.
Eden was so sure of him, so trusting in believing that he was a good, honest, hardworking man. He’d like to think he was those things, and could be all that she needed. Eight years ago he could have been, before another woman had destroyed not only his reputation, but the course his future would take.
Always drifting. Always running. Always alone.
That land in Montana beckoned, as well as his freedom, and Luke struggled with his conscience. He thought of Eden’s parting remark that she would find someone else to accept her offer, and felt something deep within his gut twist at the thought of another man reaping the benefits of taking her for a wife for a year.
She had to be bluffing, provoking him. She’d told him to take a few days and think about her offer, and he’d do just that—not because he was considering accepting her wedding deal, but to give her time to realize just how crazy this harebrained scheme of hers really was. To realize that taking a husband wasn’t the solution to her problem with her brother-in-law.
CHAPTER THREE
IF she had a husband, Eden firmly believed her biggest problems on the Double L would be solved. With Allen unable to control the trust Bryce had set up, her bills would be paid on time, she’d be able to expand her cattle operation, and she’d even be able to indulge in a few luxuries for Phoebe.
Unfortunately, the man she’d chosen to fill the role of bridegroom wasn’t cooperating with her plans.
With a determined stroke of the mascara wand, Eden applied a coat to her lashes, then swiped a shade of shimmering peach across her lips. Taking a step back, she eyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror critically.
A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Not bad,” she murmured, pleased with the subtle transformation from her everyday, “au naturel” look, to chic and sophisticated. She’d never been one to wear a lot of makeup, but she had to admit that the basics highlighted her green eyes, defined her cheekbones, and made her lips look full, glossy and alluring.
She’d rolled her hair into the hot rollers her sister had given her a few years ago, but she’d never used before because she’d never had a reason, or an occasion, to primp. The end results of those curlers were soft waves that tumbled to her shoulders, adding to the sensual aura she’d created. She also wore a new pair of formfitting black jeans, a white blouse with a western design patterned in black piping with pearled snaps down the front, and her waist was cinched with a black-and-silver belt.
Her chin lifted confidently, matching the enthusiastic sparkle in her eyes. “This ought to make Luke sit up and take notice,” she said to her image in the mirror.
She’d given Luke a week to think about her proposition and accept her offer, and all she’d got for her patience and waiting was Luke reverting back to the polite, courteous hand she’d originally hired. He spent the long days out on the range until the sun set. When he rode back to the main ranch in the evenings, he avoided being alone with her, and didn’t encourage casual conversation. From what she’d learned from Jake, Luke was spending his nights down at The Silver Spur.
She found his evasive behavior exasperating, but a challenge as well. Her renegade cowboy had yet to see just how stubborn and persistent she could be.
Turning, she headed into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her black leather heeled boots. She refused to put her pride on the line and beg for Luke to help her, but she had no qualms about using feminine wiles to prompt him into accepting something she knew he wanted, coveted even. The way his eyes had glimmered with interest when she’d mentioned that land in Montana, along with their attraction to one another, gave her hope that he only needed a little prompting to agree to her one-year proposition.
Tonight would tell, when she followed through on her bluff to find another candidate who would appreciate her profitable overture. For the first time since Bryce’s death, she was going out in public with the pretense of finding herself a man. There was only one man’s attention she sought, and with luck, and a little jealousy, she’d have him—for a year.
“Mom, is it almost time for you to take me to Ashley’s?”
Eden glanced up as her daughter entered her room, an overnight bag in hand, looking anxious to get to her best friend’s house where she was spending the night. At eight years old, Phoebe was sprouting like a weed and was taller than most of the girls in her third-grade class. Her legs were long and coltish, her body slender yet sturdy from riding her