Marry Me Page 4

  "So what is your plan, Lucas?" his mother asked. "You've been adamant that you could handle her, but apparently, it will be more difficult than you anticipated. We should let the professionals take over."

  They had an army of private detectives ready to delve into Faith's life. They would turn over every rock, would expose every detail from her past and figure out how to twist them so they worked to her detriment.

  Before he'd met her, he'd been gung-ho to have the detectives proceed, but he didn't want to clash with her—not if he didn't have to. After their little exchange up in the mountains, he was sure there were better ways to obtain information from her. Criminal charges would be incendiary, would fuel a mean, degrading battle.

  "Dustin suggests that I seduce her," Lucas told his mother.

  "It's what you're best at," his brother pointed out. "You might as well play to your strength."

  "And then what?" Brittney asked. "You lure her into bed and, while you're rolling around under the blankets, you get her to spill all her secrets?"

  "That about covers it," Lucas retorted.

  "Don't be vulgar," Jacquelyn huffed.

  "She's attracted to me," Lucas said. "I can use that attraction to find out what I need to know."

  "What if you learn that she deceived Harold?" Dustin inquired.

  "Then I'll crush her, but I don't think I'll have to. I'll wear her down, and she'll eventually relent."

  "I hope you're right," Dustin warned, "and I'll give you a week or two to bring her around."

  "If I can't?" Lucas sneered, irritated by Dustin's bravado.

  "I'll take care of her myself."

  "Oh, good grief," Lucas grumbled. "What will you do? Hire somebody to off her?"

  "You're being melodramatic," his mother complained.

  "I am not," Lucas insisted. "I'm simply asking what he intends."

  "I intend," Dustin said, "that if you don't fix this, I will. Between you and me, she's toast."

  "I'll deal with her," Lucas advised, "and I don't need any of your dubious help."

  He spun and marched out, weary of the family moment and eager to bathe and dress for his dinner date with the delectable, conniving, sexy Faith Benjamin.

  When seduction was the game, and she was the prize, she didn't stand a chance.

  * * *

  "I see a car coming.

  "Is it a Porsche?"

  "I can't tell yet. It's too far away."

  Faith checked her reflection in the mirror as she twirled in a circle and asked, "How do I look?"

  "You'll give him a heart attack," her foster sister, Angela Turner, replied. "He'll be struck blind."

  Faith laughed and vamped in various risqué poses.

  She'd spent the day shopping for the right outfit. She'd chosen a skintight black sheath that had a shimmery thread running through the fabric so it sparkled whenever she moved. It was sleeveless, cut low in the front and the back, and it ended at mid-thigh, so she was showing all the leg she could manage—as Lucas had requested.

  With a single strand of pearls on her neck, silver bangles on her wrists, and high, high silver heels on her feet, she was ready to dazzle.

  At seven on the dot, she headed for the stairs, with Angela trailing along behind.

  They were the same age and had lived together off and on for years. Angela had been reared in foster care too, had been rescued by Gracie. But where Gracie's intervention had turned Faith's life around, her benefit to Angela had been hit and miss.

  Angela had a permanent bad attitude. She was never happy and felt that the world had conspired to make her miserable. Her problems were compounded by the fact that she drank too much, which had cost her several jobs.

  Hard partying was wearing on her. Her auburn hair wasn't as lustrous as it had once been, and her brown eyes rarely glittered with merriment as they occasionally had when she was a girl. She had the worst diet, so she was on the chubby side, her jeans a bit too snug.

  She'd constantly been jealous of Faith, and Faith probably should have severed their ties, but she wasn't that kind of person. She was too loyal, and she and Angela had a history that was important, namely their connection through Gracie.

  Faith reached the foyer as a knock sounded. She opened the door, and Lucas was there, holding flowers and a bottle of wine. She couldn't help smiling.

  He was more handsome than ever, his dark blue suit perfectly tailored to emphasize his terrific body. His white shirt and red tie enhanced his coloring so his skin was even more tan, his eyes even more blue.

  He assessed her dress and murmured, "Turn around." She did, and he gave a soft whistle. "Very nice."

  "I'm glad you approve." She gestured into the living room. "Come in, come in."

  He stepped over the threshold and grinned. "I'm making progress. It's only my second visit, and I've been invited inside."

  "Don't get used to it."

  "Is Gracie here? Or your kids? Have I earned an introduction?"

  "They're at the movies." Faith motioned over her shoulder to Angela. "This is my sister, Angela. Angela, this is the male nuisance I mentioned."

  "Ha!" Lucas snorted.

  "Hello, Mr. Merriweather."

  "Is Faith usually this annoying?" he asked Angela.

  "Yes," she said.

  He shifted his attention to Faith's home, checking out the furniture, the hallway to the kitchen, the stairs up to the bedrooms. Obviously, he was searching for signs of avarice or excessive spending, but he wouldn't find any.

  She was carrying on as she always had: frugally, modestly and comfortably.

  She pointed to the flowers. "Are those for me?"

  "Yes."

  She took the bouquet, as well as the wine, and she was disturbed to see that the flowers were pink roses—her favorite—and the wine a French merlot—also her favorite. Its price was beyond her budget and one she splurged to buy only on special occasions.

  Why would he know her preferences? Who had told him?

  There were only two or three people in the world who could have supplied the information. Gracie instantly came to mind. Would he have phoned her?

  Gracie viewed herself as a matchmaker, so she wouldn't have hesitated to share tidbits that would further a romance, but Gracie couldn't keep a secret. If she'd talked to Lucas, she'd definitely have blabbed about it.

  "How did you know what I like?" she asked, frowning.

  "I'll never tell."

  "I bet I can make you."

  "You can certainly try."

  She leaned nearer, relishing the sparks that ignited. He was so close, and his hot focus flustered her. She couldn't deal with all the heat he generated.

  Unable to catch her breath, she lurched away. "Shall we have a glass of wine?"

  "I'd rather get going."

  "All right. Let me…ah…"

  Angela rescued her. "Give me the flowers. I'll put them in water for you."

  "Thank you."

  "The wine too. I'll open it so you can have a glass when you get home."

  "Perfect," Faith replied, though she imagined Angela would drink it all before she ever had a chance to taste it.

  They strolled out, Lucas guiding her down the sidewalk with a hand on her arm.

  Angela called from the porch, "When will you be back?"

  Faith glanced up at Lucas. His expression promised any number of delights, not the least of which would be food.

  Faith peered at Angela and said, "I have no idea, but it'll be very late."

  * * *

  Angela hid behind the drapes, watching as Faith got into the car with Lucas Merriweather. The vehicle was a limousine, complete with a uniformed chauffeur who held the door as she climbed in.

  It was typical that Faith would have the cash to buy such a pretty dress, that she was skinny enough to wear it, that she'd stumble on a man like Merriweather.

  They'd grown up together, raised by Gracie who'd urged them to choose a path and confidently strut down it. She'd insisted
they could succeed at whatever they tried.

  Well, the advice had worked for Faith. No matter what she touched, she turned it into gold. But for Angela, the universe was fickle, and she never managed to thrive.

  She was twenty-five, her unemployment about to run out, her job search going nowhere. In a few weeks, when she couldn't pay her rent, she'd lose her apartment and have to move back in with Faith and Gracie.

  It was the story of her life that she failed at everything, and Gracie ended up rescuing her. If Gracie had ever lifted a finger to assist Angela, rescue wouldn't be necessary. Gracie had opened every possible door for Faith, but not Angela.

  Gracie had introduced Faith to Harold. Gracie had convinced him to hire Faith as his housekeeper. Angela still couldn't figure out how Gracie had persuaded him to marry Faith, but he had, and now, Faith had inherited his estate.

  Gracie played favorites, preferring Faith to Angela. Angela could have been wedged into Harold's orbit. But no. With Gracie, it was all Faith, Faith, Faith.

  Faith had Harold's fortune, while Angela remained where she'd always been: broke, miserable, and alone.

  Harold had been dead for months, and Angela didn't understand why Faith hadn't spent any of the money. She claimed she was saving it for when the kids were older, but why worry about the future? They needed stuff immediately—like a bigger house.

  Faith should purchase one up on the hill so they could gaze down on the valley and thumb their noses at people who were poorer than they were.

  If Angela's financial situation continued to worsen, and she was forced to move home, she wasn't about to sleep on the extra bed in Peanut's room. She would demand that Faith hire a realtor and start looking at property. There was no reason they shouldn't live according to their means.

  The limousine vanished from view, and Angela scoffed with disgust.

  Faith had said she'd be out late, and from how she'd been making cow eyes at Merriweather, they'd probably wind up in the sack. They probably weren't even going to supper. They were probably heading to a hotel.

  Angela couldn't imagine prim, proper, saintly Faith falling into bed with Merriweather on the first date, but his charms were legendary. He showered his lovers with jewelry and other expensive gifts, and on one wild occasion, he'd picked up some model for a weekend getaway and had flown her to Paris on a private jet.

  If Faith ended up in Paris, Angela would slit her wrists.

  She went to the kitchen, where she dumped the flowers in the sink. She'd told Faith she'd put them in water, but Gracie could deal with them. Or Faith could take care of her own damn flowers.

  Angela uncorked the wine, poured herself a glass, and began to drink.

  * * *

  Faith buried herself in the food, trying not to glance up. Lucas was staring at her so intently that she felt like a rabbit hiding from a hawk, while knowing that—when she least expected it—the hawk would swoop in and devour her.

  Since they'd climbed into his car, he'd said very little. Through the ride to the restaurant, the seating at the best table, the excellent service as the waiters fawned over them, he'd been silent and…smoldering. Yes, that was the word.

  Smoldering.

  With each passing minute, his attention was more unbearable, but not in a bad way. There was so much sexual tension between them that she was ready to throw down her fork and invite him to sneak off to the bathroom.

  They could lock themselves in a stall, and it would only take a few seconds to finish. Maybe then, they could come back to the table and converse like two ordinary people.

  "Why are you staring at me?" she finally inquired.

  "I like watching you."

  "What are you thinking about?"

  "You know what," he responded. "You shouldn't have to ask."

  "Do you ever think about any topic but sex?"

  "No."

  "Humor me. Tell me one thing that's on your mind—besides sex."

  "You're so beautiful tonight."

  "Flattery will get you everywhere."

  "Normally, I'd have skipped the dinner altogether and taken you straight to the nearest motel."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "I doubt you'd have agreed, and my ego couldn't have stood the shock of your rejection."

  She laughed, glad the tension was easing.

  "I don't like you." She stopped and scowled. "Or maybe I do. I can't decide."

  "Why does it matter?"

  "I don't fall into bed with men I hardly know, and I most especially don't sleep with men I don't like."

  "What about my grandfather? Where was he on your list?"

  "Don't be obnoxious," she scolded.

  "I can't help but be curious what it was like between you and Harold. I'd like to have sex with you, but—"

  She was offended by his bluntness. "How do you really feel? Don't hold back on my account."

  "I never will."

  She grabbed her napkin and fanned her face. The wine, coupled with the man and the innuendo, was making her crackle with emotion. She was ready to ignite again and wondered if it would become a permanent condition when she was in his presence.

  "It's a valid question," he claimed. "If I'm going to seduce you, it seems only fair that I know if my grandfather had you first."

  His comment was vulgar and demeaning, and she was furious. "That was an awful thing to say."

  "Was it?"

  "Apologize right now or I'm leaving."

  He reached out and took her hand, and to her disgust, she didn't pull away. She liked it when he touched her, and he gave her such extreme pleasure, merely by pressing his skin to her own.

  "I'm sorry," he murmured.

  "Thank you."

  "Did you like Harold?"

  "Very much. He was kind to me."

  "Did he like you?"

  "Yes."

  "He could have married any woman in the world. Why pick you? Why at the very end of his life?"

  "He trusted me. He knew I'd do as he'd requested."

  "And what was that?"

  "None of your business."

  She sipped her wine and studied him. He was studying her too, as if trying to read her mind, but he'd never be able to. She might share Harold's secrets someday, but it would be because she thought the time was right. He'd never pry them out of her otherwise.

  "Why didn't he wed Gracie?" he asked. "She's closer to his age. If he'd chosen her, I wouldn't be so suspicious."

  "She's a con artist—which he understood—while I'm revoltingly loyal and have a heart of gold."

  "A bank account of gold too, thanks to him."

  "Yes." She shifted forward in her chair so they were a few inches apart. "Can we talk about something besides money?"

  "If you'd return what you stole, we could call it even and move on."

  Faith rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You never give up, do you?"

  "No."

  "I've seen pictures of you in gossip magazines"—she was determined to change the subject—"and every time, you're with someone new. Do you have commitment issues?"

  "Damn straight."

  "No wife and home and family for you?"

  "No. Not for me. I had quite enough when I was growing up."

  "I pity you."

  "You shouldn't. I'm willing to bet that my life has been more exciting than yours."

  "You were married once," she said, "briefly, when you were very young."

  He shrugged, but didn't reply.

  "Are you ever in contact with her?" she asked. "Have you ever wondered what happened to her?"

  At that moment, the waiter passed their table, and Lucas gestured for the bill. The waiter handed it over, and without glancing at the total, Lucas stuffed a wad of cash in the folder.

  He pushed back his chair and stood. "Let's go."

  "I'm not done eating."

  "I am."

  He walked around to her, leaned down and whispered, "I want to get you out to the car. I want to be alone with yo
u."

  His warm breath tickled her neck. Goosebumps slithered down her arms. She peered up at him, and he touched his lips to hers in a quick kiss that was so potent and so unexpected that it nearly knocked her shoes off her feet.

  "Come on," he murmured.

  "Okay, but since you didn't let me finish, you'll have to feed me again sometime."

  "I'll insist on it."

  He helped her stand, and they left. The other customers checked them out, the women in particular watching them go. She suffered a vain, possessive thrill that she was the one leaving with him, and she shook her head at her foolishness.

  One date—probably the only one they'd ever have—and she was already telling herself they looked good together, that they belonged together. She had to get the stars out of her eyes, had to remember who she was and who he was. He was chasing after her with the worst motives, and she couldn't forget it.

  As if he'd sent a secret signal to his driver, his car was at the curb. The man held the door as Faith slid into the rear seat. Lucas entered after her.

  A bottle of champagne had been opened, and Lucas grabbed it and poured her a glass.

  "Are you trying to impress me?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "Aren't you having any?"

  "I want something else."

  "What?"

  "You."

  "I don't know if I'm ready."

  "I'll get you ready."

  "You're awfully sure of yourself."

  "I am; I admit it."

  He took her glass, downed the contents, and threw it on the floor so he could lean in and kiss her.

  This time, he abandoned any restraint. His tongue was in her mouth, his hands roaming over her torso. Before she realized what he planned to do, his fingers slipped under the fabric of her dress to caress her breast.

  She gasped with surprise and drew away. Nervously, she peeked over her shoulder at the driver.

  "Don't worry about him," Lucas said. "He can't see us or hear us."

  "Are you positive?"

  "Very. No one on the street can see in either."

  Which meant she wasn't the first woman he'd seduced in his backseat. Did it matter? They weren't teenagers; they were adults and could proceed if they felt like it. Did she feel like it?

  Angela often accused her of being too straight laced, and Faith supposed she was. It was too much, too soon: the rich man, the fancy car, the chauffeur. Still, there was a divider between him and them, and the car windows were tinted.