Wendy Etherington - Suiteheart Of A Deal

From time to time, Beck came by to check up on her. Each time he asked if she’d thought it over, and each time she said no. Good grief. Why was he in such a hurry? After all, it wasn’t going to be a real marriage. Uh, that was, if it happened at all.

Marriage. Hmm. Her brain was still cycling crazily through the list of potential problems. For one thing, wouldn’t marrying Beck mean spending altogether too much time with him? Living with him, working with him. Even the best of real marriages would buckle under that kind of strain.

At the end of day three, weary from placating chilly guests and a little cold herself, Rainey poured a hot bath in Lilly’s claw-footed tub and sank into it with a sigh of relief. For the first time since his call, Trevor popped into her head.

Why had he called? Surely he didn’t have any illusions about getting back together? How could they, anyway? He was an urban yuppie who detested small-town life. One week in Bragg Creek and he’d be whining, “What? No avante garde theater?” And Rainey was never going back to big-city life.

Never. As she luxuriated in the hot, soapy water, the sheer finality of that word hit her like a slap in the face. She was here and she was staying. Forever. Whatever it took to keep her in this beautiful place, she would do it.

Ah, even if it meant marrying the town hustler? Yes, she realized, even if it meant that.

Sighing, she looked around the bathroom, at the chipped paint on the wood wainscoting and the cracked, rippling mirror above the pedestal sink. Lilly’s personal items were still in the medicine cabinet. Thank heavens Rainey didn’t have to redecorate. There was, of course, still the matter of where she was going to live.

Hmm. A light flashed on in her head and she abruptly sat up, splashing water over the side of the tub. What would Trevor think if she married Beck? Hah! Wouldn’t it just serve him right? Wouldn’t it just frost him? She could just see the look on his bland face. Total shock. Oh, how she would love to see it! Of course, if she did marry Beck, she would have to settle for Trevor’s reaction over the telephone. But even that would be worth it.

Oh, yes, she realized with maniacal glee, it would be well worth it.

Laughing like a lunatic, suspecting that she had lost her marbles but somehow no longer caring, and knowing full well that it was going to be a disaster, she scrambled out of the tub and called Beck at home. When he answered, sounding tired, she exclaimed, “Okay, buster, I’ve thought it over. Let’s do it!”

“YES, LADIES and gentlemen,” Beck intoned in his best impersonation of an infomercial pitch man, “it’s the first, the only, free-trial offer of its kind. Try a wife! Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. If you’re not happy with the product, just return it after six months—a year at the most—and get a full refund.”

Chuckling aloud, he dipped Lilly’s ancient hand razor in the sink and took another careful swipe at his five o’clock shadow. He wanted to look his best tonight. He was about to make the biggest, and definitely the strangest, announcement of his life: I’m getting married, Grandma, to a woman I met five days ago. She doesn’t love me, Grandma. Hell, she doesn’t even like me much, but who cares? She’s a babe!

His eyes, glassy and a little crazed looking, stared back at him from the mirror above Rainey’s bathroom sink. “You’ve gone mad,” he said to them.

“Beck, what on earth are you doing in there?” Rainey asked from outside the door. She sounded tense, rattled.

“Nothing,” he answered in the high-pitched voice of a kid just about to shave his head and put a ring in his nose.

Moments later he heard an anxious sigh followed by the click-click of her heels retreating down the hall. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

Wasn’t it just the deal of a lifetime? A suiteheart of a deal, he thought, choking back a laugh. How many guys could just try a wife on for size? Marry with the option, right up front, to just walk away if things didn’t work out? None, that’s how many. Nate Frome would be green with envy. He already had two messy divorces behind him.

Ah, wait a minute. He couldn’t tell Nate the truth—not right away. If their little scheme was to work, everybody had to believe that he and Rainey were crazy in love. No exceptions. Dammit, he would love, just love, to see the look on old Nate’s mug.

Distracted, he nicked himself. Terrific. Now he was going to be stuck with a nerdy square of tissue on his chin.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a real marriage—not in the biblical sense, anyway. Rainey had made that pretty clear the other day. Separate bedrooms. Yeah, well, he’d just have to see about that.

And that stuff about being vulnerable. What was that about? Obviously, Trevor, whoever he was, had broken her heart. Beck wanted to kill the guy. Mostly for hurting Rainey, but also partly for giving Beck one more damned hurdle to jump. Loving Rainey was starting to feel like a four-hundred-yard relay.

He dabbed at the cut with a tissue. Hey, wait a minute. Loving Rainey. Now where had that thought come from? Stay cool, he silently warned his reflection. Stay cool, old boy.

He heard her banging around in the living room. Nervous and jumpy, she had changed her clothes about nine times in the past hour. Beck could just imagine what she was wearing now. One of those prim, high-necked blouses she seemed to have an endless supply of. A straight, knee-length skirt. Probably panty hose, too. You’d think she was still working at the Royal York Hotel, or something. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that no woman in Bragg Creek wore panty hose if she could possibly avoid it.

Cool. Yeah, well, that was going to be tough. ’Cause no matter what kind of getup she wore, Rainey Miller was just about the most delicious piece of womanhood he had ever seen. Those eyes. Those curves. Those legs.

After that stupid move he’d made in her kitchen the other day, Beck had gone home and cursed himself three ways to Sunday. She had just issued a plea for mercy, and what had he done? Drooled all over her, that’s what. Like it or not, he would just have to summon a little restraint. Keep his greedy mitts off her—except, of course, when it served their crazy purpose.

Yes, sir. The bedroom thing, the wardrobe thing, the anal-retention thing—all would be addressed in good time.

His thoughts drifted to Francine. Should he tell Rainey about her? Last spring they had gone out exactly three times—twice to dinner and once to a movie. Six whole months had passed and she was still bitter about their “breakup.” What Beck didn’t understand was, how could they have broken up when they never got together in the first place? They had nothing in common and couldn’t dredge up enough conversation to get through a meal. Why, they hadn’t even…

Anyway, maybe he should just leave it alone for now. Francine was smart and sensible. She’d come around eventually.

Another thing he wasn’t about to tell Rainey: that despite his reputation he hadn’t gotten down to business with any woman for nearly two years. He was hungry for a woman’s touch, her taste, her scent. But not just any woman…

Lord knew it wasn’t for lack of opportunity. It was just that…hell, there just wasn’t anybody he wanted to be with. Meaningless, short-term stuff. Man, he was tired of that routine. The mindless chitchat over dinner. The slow buildup to the big question: So, when do you get your inheritance, Beck? And by the way, exactly how much money is it? Not that I’m interested, or anything.

And then, worst of all, the hurried, halfhearted sex that left him wanting more. What more he wasn’t exactly sure—but there had to be something more.