"Chase! She adores her big brothers."
"She's a pain in the backside."
Her expression told him that she didn't take his invective seriously. "After Sage said goodbye, Laurie got on the phone. She invited us out to lunch Sunday. I accepted."
"Fine."
"She also said she would love for us to join her at church." She had her back turned, ladling an aromatic sauce over the platter of pasta. When he didn't immediately respond, she swiveled her head around.
"Chase?"
"I heard you," he said tersely. "I just don't like the idea of church. I haven't been inside one since Tan…
since the funeral."
Marcie's posture improved to the point of rigidity. For a moment she was still. Then she set down the ladle, turned, and spoke to him directly.
"It's up to you how you resolve your anger with God, Chase. But I must say this. Your first wife's name was Tanya. She is a fact of our lives. We can't continue to dance around her name. I'm not going to feel sick and grow ghastly pale every time it's spoken out loud."
"But I might."
Marcie recoiled as though he had struck her. She did, in fact, grow ghastly pale. Even her lips lost their color. She spun around and braced herself against the countertop as though she might slide to the floor, unable to support herself.
Instantly regretting what he'd said, Chase left his seat and moved up behind her. "I'm sorry, Marcie," he said hoarsely.
He raised his hands and considered laying them on her shoulders, but he couldn't bring himself to. He thought of planting a conciliatory kiss on the nape of her neck where several curling strands of hair had escaped her ponytail. But he didn't dare do that either.
Lamely he said, "I shouldn't have said that."
She turned to face him. He expected her to be tearful. Instead, her eyes were bright with indignation. "I don't like having to walk on eggshells inside my own house. I don't like having to weigh everything I say before I say it, wondering how you're going to take it."
Her anger sparked his own temper. "You know how I feel about Tanya."
"Indeed, how could I not?"
"Okay, then, you know that the wound is still raw."
"Yes," she said, raising her chin a notch.
"You made all that perfectly clear before we got married. If not then, certainly last night left no doubt in my mind."
She tried to step around him, but he blocked her path. "Last night? What about last night?"
"Nothing. Forget it. If you'll step aside, I'll get dinner on the table."
"Screw dinner!" He caught her beneath the chin with his fingers and forced her head up.
Their eyes clashed. "What was wrong with last night?"
She lifted her chin off the perch of his fingers and retorted haughtily, "Nothing from your perspective. It was less than thrilling for me, however."
He fell back a step, his jaw going slack.
"Huh? Oh, I get it. I hurt your feelings, so you retaliate by castrating me, is that it?"
She rolled her eyes. "Spare me the macho tripe. Believe whatever you want to." She stepped around him then, but instead of setting dinner on the table, she headed for the stairs. "Since you decided to
'screw dinner,'
I'm going up to my room. When you want me, you know where to find me. Which shouldn't be too difficult for you," she added sweetly.
"You managed to find me in the dark last night."
"Listen," he shouted up at her, "I didn't want to do it at all. I was only doing you a favor."
She halted abruptly, turned around, and glared down at him. One of her arched brows rose a fraction.
"Well, Mr. Tyler, for your information, that kind of favor I can do without."
"Terrific. I won't have to go to the effort again. Unless, of course, you want to claim your rights as a wife."
"And get another slam-bamthank-you-ma'am?"
She laughed scoffingly. "I certainly won't be missing much, will I?"
His head felt so hot with rage, he thought steam was probably escaping his ears. He wanted to close the distance between them, strip her naked, crush her beneath him, and show her exactly what she was going to be missing.
But damned if he was going to make the first move, not after her scathing review of his lovemaking. Hell would freeze over first.
"Fine," he snarled. "We'll keep this a marriage in name only."
"Fine." She turned on her heel and marched up the stairs. After entering her bedroom, she slammed the door closed behind her.
Five hours later she knocked on Chase's bedroom door. He was lying in bed, but the lights were still on and he was awake. The sheets were tangled around his restless legs. His head was propped up on pillows. He was staring at the ceiling and gnashing his teeth.
At her unexpected knock his heart stopped for several seconds. His eyes eagerly swung toward the door. But his tone was hardly cordial when he growled, "What?"
She opened the door a crack and peered around it. "May I come in?"
"What for?"
"I think we should talk."
He made an assenting motion with his shoulders and she walked in. His fledgling smug ness evaporated when he saw how she was dressed. It wasn't anywhere close to the bridal nightgown she had worn last night, but it was just as sexy in a different way.
The pajama set was pink-striped cotton knit.
Boxerlike shorts and a T-shirt top. The wide legs of the boxers made her bare legs look even longer.
Her hair was still pulled into a pony tail. She was wearing her eyeglasses. She was barefoot. She looked like a coed at a slumber party.
Except for her breasts. They were making pert, prominent impressions against her shirt, and they jiggled slightly as she moved from door to bed and sat down on the edge of it.
"Chase, I'm sorry I behaved so childishly earlier. I guess the pressure of the last several days built up until I had to blow or burst."
Since she had made the overture, he could be magnanimous. "I guess I've been on edge too," he grumbled.
"I took potshots at your male ego and that was uncalled for. Although, it would be dishonest of me to pretend that I was satisfied with last night."
She glanced at him shyly, then away. "You see, Chase, I expected a little more consideration.
I don't think I got any more thought from you than the condom you slipped on. I barely got equal time."
His jaw tensed. He was guilty as charged.
That made him that much angrier.
"I expected, wanted, more… more… I
guess the word is involvement. I wanted more involvement from you."
"You wanted an orgasm," he said, being intentionally blunt. By God if she could tromp on his masculinity, why should he be skittish about calling a spade a spade?
"That's the least of it, yes," she admitted quietly. "I would have liked more attention and affection, too."
"Then you should have hired yourself a gigolo instead of buying a husband. You could have paid him by the hour, or by the orgasm, instead of making such a sizable investment."
It wouldn't have surprised him if she had hauled off and hit him, which he secretly felt he deserved. If a man had dared talk to Sage like that, she would have gone after him with the garden shears. Devon too.
Instead, when Marcie spoke, her reply was calm and conceding. "After sulking all this time in my room, I reached the same conclusion."
Her unmitigated honesty disarmed him. Instead of getting any satisfaction from shocking her, he felt more rotten than he had before.
She was a hell of a lot smarter than either his sister or Devon. Her method of disarmament was more poised, but just as effective.
She took a deep breath, drawing his attention to those damn taut nipples again. "If I had wanted hearts and flowers, I should have hired a gigolo. But I don't regret the decision I made," she told him. "You're legally and physically my husband now. I'll try to be a good wife to you." Raising her eyes to his, she added, "So if you want me tonight—"
"No thanks." It rankled that she didn't appear disappointed.
"Did I wound your ego too terribly?"
"I'll live."
"I suppose if you can survive years of bull riding, you can survive me. Does this itch?"
Surprising him, she ran the back of her fingers up the center gully of his torso where the hair was beginning to grow back.
He sucked in a sharp breath and wheezed,
"No. Not yet."
"It probably will before too long."
"I'll keep you posted."
"Listen, Chase, the thermostat for the whole upstairs is in this room. My room is cold. Do you mind if I turn the heater up several degrees?"
She was already off the bed, moving toward the thermostat mounted on the opposite wall.
"Actually I do," he said contrarily. "I'm hot."
He shoved the sheet down another inch or two, until the thick hair on his lower abdomen was visible. He thrust one long, bare leg from beneath the covers. Only one corner of the sheet kept him decent. He was feeling ornery and wanted more than anything to get a rise out of her.
She didn't even flinch. "Oh, well, I certainly don't want you to be uncomfortable.
So in that case, I'll just get another blanket for my bed. I store spares in this closet."
She pulled open the louvered door of the extra closet in his room, went up on tiptoe, and reached for the top shelf where several blankets were folded.
Her pose made Chase's mouth go dry. It emphasized every lean muscle in her long legs. It raised her pajama top, baring a good three inches of midriff. The shorts were raised over twin crescents of derriere that he craved to cup in his palms while lifting her up and against him.
In danger of embarrassing himself, he reached for the covers and pulled them above his waist.
She dragged the blanket down from the shelf and hugged it against her with both arms. "There, that ought to do it."
He could swear that was a double entendre.
Sure as hell, she was referring to making him rock hard and throbbing. Her statement had nothing to do with extra blankets. Then again, his warped imagination was probably reading more into her smile than was intended.
"Good night, Chase," she said innocently enough. "Sleep well."
He didn't trust himself to speak.
II
Chase had very little to say for the entire month that followed.
Few had the courage to engage him in conversation. His sour disposition and perpetual scowl frightened off most who would otherwise have attempted it. Those who dared felt relieved if they escaped with their lives.
On a Friday night, sitting with his brother at the bar in the tavern known by locals merely as The Place, he didn't appear inclined to make conversation.
A half hour after his arrival, he was still
nursing his first bourbon and water. He was hunched over it like a stingy dog with a bone who didn't really want the bone but didn't want another dog to have it. He was morosely staring into the drink, which melting ice had turned a light amber.
"Well, there's nothing we can do but wait them out."
Lucky's comment only deepened Chase's frown. "That's what we've been saying for a month."
"They've got to make a decision soon."
"When I called last week, they said they would award a contract by the end of this week. This week they said it will be next week. I think they're giving me the royal runaround."
"Well, if there's oil down there, it's not going anywhere," Lucky said philosophically. "All we can do is wait them out."
Chase banged his fist on the bar. "You sound like a damn broken record. Can't you think of something else to say?"
"Yeah, I can think of something else to say."
Lucky replied testily, sliding off the bars tool.
"Go to hell."
"Wait a minute." Chase reached out and grabbed a handful of Lucky's jacket. "Come back. Have another drink."
Lucky threw off his brother's grip. "I don't want another drink."
"I'll buy."
"Doesn't matter. Your company stinks. I've
got better things to do than sit around and take your abuse."
"Like what?"
"Like go home to my wife, that's what.
Which is what you should be doing. This is the third time this week you've twisted my arm into coming here and having a drink with you after work."
"So? Now that you're married, you can't go out with the boys anymore?"
"I don't enjoy it as much as I used to."
"And one drink is your limit? Devon put a kink in your drinking habits, too, huh?"
"That's right. I'm so happy with her, I don't need any other kind of high."
"Oh, really? Does sex with her make you drunk?"
Lucky's hands balled into fists at his sides.
His deep-blue eyes turned glacial and his nostrils flared. Two years ago he would have already charged his brother and been throwing bloodletting punches. Devon had taught him that discretion is the better part of valor.
He no longer fought first and thought about it later. He had learned restraint, but Chase was testing the boundaries of it tonight.