Pamela Stone - Last Resort - Marriage

No response.

She touched his shoulder. “Aaron?”

He didn’t move. His only answer was a soft, rhythmic snore.

Her groom was sound asleep.

AARON OPENED ONE EYE and groaned as the light stabbed a knife of pain through his temples. An army of construction workers ran jackhammers inside his head. Closing his eyes, he willed the wrecking crew to take a break.

He rolled over and squinted, but his stomach churned. This time he caught a glimpse of a tall bedpost, with a canopy frame. He steeled himself for the pain and opened his eyes.

The walls were white, with a couple of bright photographs of flowers. The furniture looked expensive, too contemporary for his taste, white like the rest of the room. A huge white ceiling fan rotated slowly above the bed.

Where—He bolted up and grabbed his throbbing head, suddenly remembering. Charlotte Harrington! Correction—Charlotte Brody.

The past forty-eight hours slapped him in the face, but he could only remember bits and pieces after he and Charlie arrived at the bungalow.

He was in Charlie’s bed, but where was she?

Coffee. He needed hot, black coffee. He lifted the sheet and stumbled naked out of the bedroom, in search of the kitchen.

He stopped when he saw his wife—his wife!—curled up on the sofa. She looked innocent and fragile, sleep-flushed, her lips slightly parted. Nothing like the hard-assed woman the resort employees called the Ice Queen.

Vague remembrances of last night flashed through his pounding head as he squatted in front of this stranger he’d married. Every time Thurman had danced with Charlie, Aaron had sloshed down another beer. He couldn’t figure out why her dancing with that jackass had bothered him so much.

He lifted the crocheted afghan and took a long look. Gray knit sleep shorts cupped the curve of her hips, leaving her long legs exposed for his pleasure. The tiny lavender crop top didn’t quite meet the waistband of the shorts. Not exactly a wedding night negligee, but sexy in a Charlie sort of way. Her dark nipples puckered beneath the thin, soft fabric, rising and falling as she slept.

One thing that came back to him with stark clarity from the night before was how perfectly those breasts fit his hands. Her body had enough curves to keep things interesting. A couple strands of blond hair cascaded over her shoulder and between her breasts.

Unable to resist, he rubbed the silky tresses between his thumb and forefinger and brought them to his nose. Coconut.

He stared at her legs. Long, luscious legs. He could imagine them wrapped around his hips as he—

Dropping the afghan across her lower body, he slogged through the foggy muck in his mind.

He had a vague recollection of making out with her. Of her body in his arms.

She’d seemed as turned on as he had, but then she’d bolted like some schoolgirl who’d just found herself alone with a man for the first time. Guess the heiress didn’t want to lower herself to make love with a scuba guide. He didn’t delude himself about why he was here. He was good enough to help save her business, but not to warm her bed.

Fine. She didn’t want to have sex with him during this ridiculous marriage. He had plenty to keep him busy. His boat required major repairs. His books were a mess and he had to find somebody to print up a first-class brochure.

But Mrs. Brody wasn’t getting off the hook that easy. They still had to fool her grandfather.

Using the lock of hair for a feather, he trailed it around her nipple then upward until it tickled the end of her cute little nose.

She sniffed and swatted at it as if it was a pesky fly.

Pausing long enough for her to relax, he repeated the procedure.

Her nose wrinkled and her hand swiped it away, coming into contact with his.

Charlie’s eyes flew open and she turned to stare. “Ohh,” she groaned, massaging her temples. “My head.”

“Good morning, wife.”

She scrunched her eyes closed.

He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t think he could stand the pain. “You know, the locals have a special cure for hangovers.”

“They do?” She peered through squinted eyes.

He leaned close until their lips touched. “It’s called—” he covered her mouth and kissed her until she began to actively participate in the game “—una copa rica de café! But you’ll have to make your own coffee. I have a business to run.” He pushed away and stood up, flashed her a wicked grin, and headed to the bathroom.

CHARLOTTE STOPPED ON THE WAY to her office to put her grandmother’s pearls back in the hotel safe, dragging in after ten to find Perry Thurman looking comfortable and relaxed behind her desk.

“What are you doing in my office?”

He eased her lap drawer closed. “Just helping out. We assumed you’d take a few days off to…well, you know.”

“How dare you search my desk? And don’t just assume you can use my office.” She raised her eyebrows in a haughty look she’d learned from her grandfather.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Perry stood and shoved a legal-sized sheet of paper in her direction. “But at some point we need to discuss this.”

Oh, God! Had he found her copy of the prenuptial?

She rubbed the back of her neck, stepped closer, and glanced at the paper. It wasn’t the prenup. Feeling her heart start to beat again, she narrowed her eyes at Perry. “What is it?”

“You pay your front desk staff ten percent more than market. Could be why this resort isn’t turning the profit it should.”

Every word out of his mouth infuriated her. She called on her depleting reserve of calm professionalism. “Don’t question my management decisions.”

Perry remained behind her desk, wearing an innocent smile.

She moved into position on the other side of her chair and crossed her arms.

He didn’t budge. “Charlotte, please tell me you didn’t marry Brody just to hang on to the resort. I feel responsible. If I hadn’t hurt you so badly before, maybe you wouldn’t have rushed into this marriage so quickly.”

Swallowing her disgust, she stared him straight in the eyes. “I didn’t rush into anything. I’ve been in love with Aaron for three years,” she lied.

“You’ve been having an affair with this guy that long and never mentioned him to Edward?” He laughed. “What can someone of your upbringing have in common with a guy like him?”

“You couldn’t possibly understand.” Being rejected by a woman he didn’t want for a man he considered rungs beneath him had to be a blow to Perry’s sizable ego. She walked around the desk, opened the door, and gestured him out. “Anything else?”

He swallowed, shook his head, and left her in blissful silence.

She shut the door behind him and leaned against it to regain her composure. Six months of this?

Perry was a poor loser. And as shrewd as he was unscrupulous. He might fool everyone else with this caring pretense, but not her. He had something up his sleeve and whatever it was, it had more to do with his quest for power than his heart.

She buzzed Zelda and asked her to bring in coffee. Although, the way her head pounded, she wasn’t sure coffee was going to be enough today.

Remembering Aaron’s “cure” of black coffee, she nearly choked. He’d seemed completely at ease with his nudity this morning. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine herself traipsing around her bungalow in the buff. Not in this lifetime.

Blinking Aaron out of her mind, she grabbed her purse and rummaged for her bottle of aspirin. Finally, she gave up and dumped the contents on the desk. What was that? A check made out to Aaron from her grandfather in the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars. On the notation line it simply said, Best Wishes.

She folded the check and stashed it in her wallet to deal with another day. Aaron had every legal right to cash it, but he’d left it in her purse?