On their wedding night.
Even if this was a sham of a marriage, each sob felt like a knife was being plunged through his gut. He was at least partially to blame, if for nothing else than being a tool in JM’s crazy proposition and convincing her to go through with it.
Why had JM wanted this for either of them? That question just wouldn’t be answered by any logic he could come up with.
He could tell by the dampened bursts of sound she was trying to stop the waterworks, trying to conceal them. It hit him that Mandy had hardly had time to breathe these last few days, much less grieve. And here she was staying in her grandfather’s house, knowing she’d agreed to this marriage in part to keep it in the family. The memories alone had to be tough.
He counted the seconds as the muted sobs continued. He didn’t get past sixty before he was out of bed, the breeze from the open window nipping at his skin as he padded the short distance to where she lay.
Taking a deep breath, he squatted on the edge of the mattress, glad the lack of light would conceal his state of undress. And the degree of his arousal. Her rose-tinged scent surrounded him.
She didn’t move as he slid down next to her, spooning against her back with only the coverlet separating them. He shifted his hips so his hardened flesh wouldn’t touch her. Despite everything tonight, he hadn’t yet been able to tame his lust for her. The need was so strong he wasn’t sure even her tears could do the trick.
He struggled for something to say that would provide comfort, but nothing profound came to him. “I’m sure this is rough for you.” She didn’t move a muscle as he wrapped an arm around her, careful to aim for the safe territory of her waist. She didn’t answer. Only a strangled sob.
“You don’t have to hide your tears from me, Mandy. You’re entitled. God knows you’ve got enough to cry about.”
He tugged her, pulling her around to face him. She didn’t resist but buried her damp face in the bare flesh of his shoulder and wept.
He hugged her to him, mindful not to spook her by pulling her too close to certain parts of his body and grateful for even the thin shield the cover afforded.
“Let it out, honey. You’re safe.”
He felt the tremors as the sobs broke, as the tears wet his chest, as her moist breath teased his skin.
This was no time to come on to a woman, and yet, his body wasn’t listening. Holding her close in his arms under the cloak of darkness in the bed’s narrow confines had his veins thrumming and his blood hot. He couldn’t help but note they fit damn well together.
He felt undone as Mandy tearfully quivered in his arms. He was in uncharted waters, for sure. He’d never held a crying woman. His mother had cried a lot before she’d gone to the hospital, never to return. He’d only been ten at the time, hadn’t understood the reasons, and in all his father’s remaining years, he hadn’t enlightened Ty beyond saying his mother had been ill.
John Martin hadn’t been a very open man. He’d kept things in, didn’t show much emotion. Ty never could tell what the man was thinking, and the man never said.
Ty had a good idea what Mandy was thinking. That she should have never agreed to this arrangement. That she missed her grandfather. That Ty wasn’t the man she wanted to marry, even if it was for six months. That she wanted her company back.
He wished he could convince her it would be worth it in the end. She wouldn’t believe him, but as much as he had his own agenda for being there, it wasn’t to hurt Mandy. Business-wise, he intended to leave the Prescott family finances in a strong position, whether from the proceeds of a sale or the income from an agreement with the AFBR and a stream of rodeo contracts. He was committed to making that happen for JM and for Mandy. And maybe in the process he could prove to Mandy he wasn’t quite the bastard she thought he was. Maybe they could enjoy each other during this time. Leave as friends instead of enemies, laugh about having been married to each other “back in the day.”
And maybe, just maybe, he’d find what he was looking for in life. Work that made him feel like a man instead of a corporate shill, and a place where he felt he belonged in this world, even if he had to engineer it himself.
“It’s going to all work out,” he said, brushing his lips against her hair. She had beautiful hair, full and luscious. Tawny bronze strands that shimmered in the moonlight.
Her breath shuddered as if in answer. The sobs had eased some, alternating with short intervals of silence.
Her moist breath puffed against the sensitive skin on his collarbone, as if she was feathering delicate little kisses there. Lust wound tighter inside of him, like a hair-triggered coil.