The One-Night Wife Page 14

  But, he'd told himself, it made sense, didn't it, to own property here? He'd been investing in expensive real estate for a long time. Nobody in his family knew it—why spoil their conviction that he was as impractical as he was foot­loose?—but the fact was, he could give up gambling at the drop of a hat and still live as comfortably as any of the rest of the O'Connells.

  There just wasn't any reason to give up gambling. He loved the risk, the emotional highs, had never found any­thing to give him that same thrill.

  Until now.

  That thought, unbidden, unwanted and terrifying, had al­most sent him into the bedroom to wake Savannah, pay her the half-mil and tell her sorry, sweets, the deal is off.

  But it was too late for that. He'd come this far; he'd see his scheme through. And yes, buying a place made sense considering one of the reasons he'd given himself two weeks with Savannah before his mother's birthday party was so they could get to know each other well enough to be convincing as lovers.

  Sorry. As husband and wife.

  How could they manage that in the sterile environment of a hotel? You weren't really yourself in a hotel, no matter how elegant. Maybe because it was so elegant. They'd get acquainted better if they were alone.

  So he'd phoned the Realtor, told her exactly the kind of property he wanted and set up the appointment.

  He'd felt good after that call. He'd buy a place on the beach. Hire someone to come in and pick up the place, maybe cook, but that was it. There'd be nothing to intrude on the private little world he and Savannah were about to create.

  Whoa, he'd thought. What was that all about? He didn't need a private world with anybody, he only needed the right setting to make this stunt work.

  He'd reached for the phone to cancel the appointment. He could buy a house anytime, and really, how much of a bother would it be to have maids or clerks or other guests around? He and Savannah could still set the groundwork for their make-believe marriage.

  That was when he'd heard her stirring. He'd gone into the bedroom to be sure she understood that what had hap­pened the previous night wouldn't happen again.

  Instead, his heart had turned over at the sight of her, look­ing early-morning beautiful and vulnerable as she did her best, like him, to pretend the night hadn't meant a thing.

  For the first time in his life, Sean had known he was tired of taking risks that put nothing but money on the line. He'd wanted to take Savannah in his arms, and he had. He'd even told her part of what he was feeling, how he'd always been a loner, but there was more. He knew that. He just didn't know, exactly, what else he wanted to say...

  "Is that the house?"

  Sean dragged his attention back to the road. A handsome wrought-iron fence rose ahead, a discreet For Sale sign on a stake beside it. A small TV camera, high in a tree just beyond the gate, angled toward them as he slowed the car. The gates swung open, revealing a crushed oyster-shell drive shaded by thickets of sea grape, bougainvillea and prickly-pear cactus.

  The Realtor was waiting for them on the wide marble steps of an enormous, elegant house.

  Sean bent his head toward Savannah's as he helped her from the car. "Do you like it?" he said softly.

  She hesitated, then smiled. "It's beautiful."

  Yes, he thought, it was, but it reminded him of a hotel. A hotel for two, perhaps, but a hotel just the same. He put his arm around her and when they reached the steps, he shook the Realtor's hand.

  "Mr. O'Connell," the woman said pleasantly. "I'm de­lighted to meet you."

  Sean nodded. "My pleasure." His arm tightened around Savannah. "This is Miss McRae. My fiancee."

  He felt Savannah's muscles jerk, felt the sudden tension radiate through his body at his use of the word. The Real­tor's smile broadened.

  "How nice! And where are you folks staying right now?"

  "At the Petite Fleur," Sean said pleasantly, "but we're hoping to move as soon as we find a house to buy." Sa­vannah damn near jumped. He drew her closer. ' 'Right, Sa­vannah?"

  She looked stunned but she managed a quick "yes." It troubled him that she didn't really seem all that thrilled. Should he have told her his plans ahead of time instead of keeping them as a surprise? Why had he wanted to surprise her, anyway?

  Could it have been because he was still surprising him­self?

  "The people who built this house were very well-known on the international scene." The Realtor leaned closer. "I'm sure you'll recognize the name. They were very happy here. They did lots of entertaining. Well, you can see it's a perfect place for that. The former owners had a staff of six—"

  "Six?"

  "But you'd need extra help for big parties, of course."

  So much for privacy but then, if Savannah liked it... "Yeah," Sean said, "of course."

  "Let me show you through the house. I'm sure you'll both love it."

  Savannah didn't. Sean could tell, even though she said all the right things. He was coming to know his pretend-fiancee's expressions. Right now, she wore a smile like a mask.

  What didn't she like? He had no opinion, one way or the other. Okay, maybe he did. Truth was, growing up in over-blown Las Vegas, he might have preferred something smaller. Simpler. A place where he could be himself, and she could be...

  His gut tightened. Savannah would only spend the next couple of weeks here. She didn't have to love the place. It just made him wonder, was all, why she didn't.

  Was it because she was accustomed to the Lorelei? Did she want gold cupids, dark wainscoting and crimson velvet? No. He'd watched her reaction to the things the clerk showed her at the shop in Bijou. The simpler, the more classic, the better.

  What was it, then? Was it the prospect of the two of them rattling around alone here? The house was isolated on acres of property with nothing but shore and seabirds for com­pany. There'd be servants—that cast of six—but well-trained servants would know how to be unobtrusive.

  The more he thought about it, the more likely that seemed. Why kid himself? Alone, what would they do? What would they talk about? It wasn't as if he couldn't clue her in on things that would make them seem a real couple in the comfort of the hotel.

  As good as last night had been, it was only sex. Being in bed would only get them so far. There were two weeks ahead of mornings, afternoons and evenings. Two weeks of empty hours to fill.

  Why had he figured they'd be better off living alone than in the hotel?

  Sean interrupted the Realtor midway through a spiel about the joys of the restaurant-size kitchen range.

  "Thanks," he said. "I'll be in touch."

  The look on her face mirrored Savannah's. He was lying and all of them knew it.

  "Of course," the woman said, sounding disappointed.

  Hey, he thought coolly, she would be, losing a six-figure commission.

  Savannah looked relieved.

  It made him angry as hell. She should have told him she didn't want to be alone with him right away, he thought grimly as he hustled her to the car.

  "If you didn't want to move out of the hotel," he growled, "you should have said so."

  She shot him a surprised look. ' 'How could I? You said you were buying a house. You never mentioned you ex­pected us to live in it."

  "Well, you can stop worrying. We won't."

  "Good." Savannah folded her arms and glared straight ahead. Why was he so ticked off? She was the one who had the right to be angry. He'd decided to buy a house. Well, that was his affair. That he'd decided to move her into it was hers. Why hadn't he told her? To spring something like that, to let the Realtor think they were a pair of starstruck lovers... "Living together here wasn't part of our deal."

  "You're right. It wasn't." The tires squealed as Sean turned onto the main road at a speed that made trees blur as they sped past them. "I had an idea we'd find it easier to get to know each other away from the hotel. It was dumb."

  "You should have asked me."

  "I said, it was a dumb plan."

  Seconds pas
sed. Savannah shifted in her seat. "I can see where you'd think it made sense."

  He looked at her. She was sitting as stiff as a ramrod, her profile as stern as that of the sixth-grade teacher who'd sent him to the principal's office when she'd discovered him teaching a couple of his buddies how to play craps.

  "Yeah?"

  "Uh-huh. I mean, if we were actually engaged, we'd want to spend time alone."

  Sean nodded. ' 'That was my thinking but, like I said, it was—"

  "Did you really like that house?"

  Sean looked at her again. She'd turned toward him, eyes filled with defiance.

  "Why?"

  "For heaven's sake, O'Connell, just answer the question. Did you like it?"

  "No," he said bluntly. "It was—"

  "Too big."

  "Well, yes."

  "Too formal."

  "Right again."

  "If we were a couple, if we really—if we really were lovers, would we want to live in a place so huge we'd need to leave trails of bread crumbs to find each other?"

  Sean grinned. "My sentiments exactly."

  She nodded and looked straight ahead again. "See? If you hadn't sprung this on me, if you'd said, 'Savannah, I think we should live someplace away from the artificial climate of a hotel so we can get to know each other better, and how would you feel living in a house the size of the Taj Mahal,' we wouldn't be having this quarrel now."

  She was trying her best to sound pragmatic but what she sounded was quintessentially female. Sean's grin widened.

  "Is that what we're doing? Having a quarrel?"

  Something in his voice made her look at him. "Aren't we?"

  "Our first."

  "You're kidding. We've done nothing but quarrel since we met."

  "Our first as lovers," he said, pulling under a tall palm tree on the side of the road and shutting off the engine. He undid his seat belt, leaned over and gently undid hers. "Be­cause that's what we are," he said softly. "We're lovers, Savannah."

  ' 'You know what I meant. I meant if we were^''

  Sean gathered Savannah into his arms and kissed her. She tried not to respond but his mouth was sweet and his body was warm, and it took less than a heartbeat for her to sigh and kiss him back.

  "We're lovers," he said, stroking the curls back from her cheek and tucking them behind her ear. "Even the Realtor could see that."

  "It was a logical conclusion, O'Connell. You introduced me as your fiancee."

  "Yeah." Sean took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Which reminds me...we have to make the trip to Bijou again."

  ' 'No way. As it is, you bought enough clothes for ten of me!"

  He chuckled. "If my sisters heard you say that, they'd hustle you off to a psychiatrist."

  "Oh, right. You mentioned them before. Two sisters?"

  ' 'Three, and every last one of them would—well, maybe that's an overstatement. Two of 'em, for sure, would tell you a beautiful woman can never have too many things in her closet."

  That won him a little smile. "Honestly. I don't need any­thing. You bought me so much—"

  "A ring."

  Her eyes widened. "A what?"

  "A ring." Sean kissed her hand again, then gently sucked the tip of her ring finger into his mouth. "Men who are engaged to be married give their fiancees engagement rings."

  "Don't be silly. They don't. Not always."

  "Always," he said firmly, deliberating ignoring the fact that one of his brothers hadn't married conventionally enough to have time to put a ring on his fiancee's finger. It was a reasonable demand, wasn't it? He had a mother, an entire family, to fool.

  A ring. His ring, on her finger. It would only be part of the game, but...

  Savannah leaned her forehead against his. "Sean. This— this is getting complicated."

  "I'm just trying to make sure we seem believable."

  She looked up. ' 'Is that the reason you made love to me last night? So we'd seem—"

  His kiss left her dizzy.

  "You know it wasn't," he said gruffly. "I made love to you for the same reason you made love to me, because we need to be together as much as we need to breathe."

  Need, Savannah thought. He'd said need. As if what they'd shared would go on. As if they had a future that stretched further ahead than two short weeks.

  She sighed, closed her eyes and buried her face against his throat.

  "Complicated,"' she whispered, with a little catch in her voice.

  This time, he didn't argue. She was right but he didn't want to talk about that now or even think about it. Instead, he held her close, reveled in the feel of her in his arms, and wondered if he'd ever, in all his life, felt so complete.

  "Savannah?"

  "Hmm?"

  "You said I should have asked you what kind of hou§e you preferred. Well, I'm asking."

  "I didn't say that. Not exactly. What I said was—"

  "There's a place up the road a couple of miles. I saw the

  For Sale sign and drove in for a quick look the last time I was here. I haven't seen the inside but from the outside..." He took a bream. Why did he feel so nervous? All he was doing was describing a house. "It's small. Well, compared to the monster we just saw, it is. Three bedrooms, maybe four."

  Savannah's smile was as bright as the sky. "Darn," she said softly. "You mean, we wouldn't need six strangers underfoot to keep things going?''

  "Just you and me," Sean murmured, stroking the back of his hand down her cheek. "Truth is, the house is beau­tiful. And it's on the beach, comes with maybe five, six acres of land you'd need a machete to get through."

  "We'd have privacy."

  Sean nodded. "Yes. All we could ask for. There's a pool, a small garden, a conservatory like the one Cullen has at his place on Nantucket."

  "Who?"

  God, there was so much she didn't know about him, so much he didn't know about her...but there was time to learn. There was plenty of time, and he was looking forward to every second.

  ' 'One of my brothers. Cull lives in Boston with his wife and baby, but he has a house on the Atlantic and this room I've always liked. Glass walls, a big telescope. He can watch the ocean, see whales and dolphins and—"

  He fell silent, suddenly feeling foolish. Maybe Savannah thought whales and dolphins were kid stuff. But she smiled, and the way she smiled set his concerns to rest.

  "I love to watch whales and dolphins! Whales, espe­cially. The way they seem to dance in the sea, you know? I never get tired of seeing them, even if Alain always says I'm foolish to—to..."

  Her words trailed away. For a moment, Beaumont seemed to be in the car with them, his presence a stain on the bright afternoon. The questions in Sean's head fought to surface, but what mattered right now was the sudden darkness in Savannah's eyes.

  He gathered her close and kissed her until the darkness was gone and they were alone again in their make-believe universe.

  "Beaumont's out of your life forever, sweetheart," he said. "I promise."

  Because she had already learned that Sean would never lie to her, because the sun was shining down from a cloud­less sky, but mostly because she was safe in her lover's arms, Savannah did a foolish thing.

  She let herself believe it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sean called the Realtor on his cell phone. Yes, she said happily, she knew the property he meant and it was still on the market.

  She met them at the foot of a long, winding driveway. A couple of hours later, the deal was done.

  The house was his.

  Though he already owned other properties, this was the first time he'd bought one to live in, the first time he'd wanted to do that...and, most definitely, the first time he'd wanted to share his space with a woman.

  The realization shook him. He reminded himself that this was all simply a logical part of a plan. Still, he felt almost unbearably happy when he saw the excitement and pleasure that glowed in Savannah's eyes as they walked through the house togeth
er the next day.

  "It's beautiful," she said.

  Beautiful, indeed. Sean couldn't get enough of looking at her.

  The house came furnished. A good thing, because they moved in right away. Standing on the porch, Sean wondered what it would be like if this weren't make-believe. If they were really moving in together.

  If the diamond ring he'd bought and slipped on her finger, and the matching wedding band he intended to surprise her with once they headed for Vegas, weren't part of a plan but marked a turning point in his life.

  The thought shocked him. Horrified him. What kind of craziness was this? He wanted this woman, yes, but he'd wanted other women. This relationship only seemed special because of the circumstances.

  That was all it was, he told himself, and he swung Sa­vannah into his arms and headed for the bedroom. Laughing, she clung to his shoulders.

  "What are you doing, O'Connell?"

  "It's an old Irish custom," he said with a lightness he didn't feel. "We have to inaugurate the bed for good luck."

  Long moments later, they lay spent in each other's arms, Sean staring up at the ceiling and knowing that it was time to stop lying to himself.

  What he felt for Savannah was special. Two truths re­vealed in one day. What in hell was happening to him?

  Maybe it was safer not to find out.

  The house was perfect, eight big rooms with walls of glass. Anywhere you stood, you could look at the pink sand and deep blue sea, or at the rich tangle of green that shielded the estate from the world.

  The shower room in the master bath had glass walls, too." Standing inside it, warm water cascading down your body, you could turn your face up to the hot yellow sun by day, the cold white stars by night.

  It was as perfect a place, Sean said huskily, to love each other as the bed.

  That first night, standing in the shower, her lover's moon-washed eyes looking into hers, his hands molding her to him as he caressed her breasts, then laved them with his tongue, Savannah trembled.

  "What is it, sweetheart?" Sean murmured.

  She shook her head. She was happy. So happy that ad­mitting it might be dangerous.

  Sean could have told her he understood. He read what she was thinking, what she was feeling, in her eyes and knew those emotions were inside his own heart.