Marriage by Mistake(4)

Two days gone. Completely vanished.

Dean nearly reeled every time he thought about it. How could he have lost that much time, just forgotten?

Okay, so he'd been hypnotized. Dean shuddered to think of how easily that had been accomplished. But no matter how deep a trance he'd fallen into, he should have been able to remember his actions. He should have been able to know, one way or another, if he'd followed his stupid cousin Troy's suggestion.

Do what you want, instead of what you should.

Dean could feel his hand start to tighten around the woman's forearm. With an effort, he relaxed it. Surely even if he had followed Troy's idiot suggestion, it couldn't have involved this woman, stumbling beside him in her too-high-heeled boots. It simply couldn't. She wasn't — He wasn't — No.

"Please hold my calls," Dean requested his assistant, as soon as they entered his anteroom. Ignoring Mrs. Barnes' startled glance, he ushered the other female through. Whatever was going on, Dean wanted to hear about it in private.

Therefore, smiling inanely, he closed the door to his inner sanctum in his executive assistant's face.

And then it was quiet. They were alone.

Dean released his hold on the unknown woman with a deep, silent breath. He took a discreet step to the side. She rubbed her arm where he'd been holding her. And their eyes met.

She was still angry. Dean both saw and expected that. What he didn't expect was the punch it delivered to his gut. It was almost as if...he felt responsible.

Either that, or he was getting aroused.

Dean drew himself up. He was not getting aroused. Well, yes, he could see now that she was pretty, on top of the obvious sexual stuff. Her eyes were an extraordinary shade of green, and...appealing. Her complexion was peaches and cream. And there was a certain healthy vitality about her.

But that didn't mean he was attracted to her.

Nor was he responsible for her mood.

"Please," he said, at his most government-grant formal. "Have a seat."

She narrowed her eyes. "You must be kidding."

Her tone was a slap in the face, but Dean didn't let it show. He was an expert at not letting emotions show, especially pain. "Suit yourself," he replied mildly.

She crossed her befringed arms over her chest. "You don't seem too surprised to see me."

"I...wouldn't say that."

Her eyebrows raised. "So you are surprised." She sounded oddly bitter about it. "You didn't think I'd have the nerve to come after you even — even after what you did."

After what he did? Dean calmed another guilty sinking in his gut. He couldn't have done anything to feel guilty about.

No, not even if the longer they stood together alone in his office the more he became...aware of her; of the way her lips curved up at the corners, of the silky look of her hair. A small, hot ball began to form deep inside him.

But he refused to believe he'd done anything irresponsible, anything reprehensible.

He was in no way like his father.

Meanwhile the woman's fingers visibly tightened on her upper arms. "And now I come here and — and, my God, Dean. This office. Your name on the — on the building. And that

suit — " She paused, as if overcome by this last item on the list. She lowered her arms and snorted. "Is there anything you told me that was the truth?"

Dean stopped breathing. She glared at him, as if she had no idea of what she'd just said. In, out. Dean made himself breathe again. "I do not lie," he said, very softly.

Her eyes widened.

He made his voice even softer. "I never lied to you."

"Huh." Her gaze turned derisive. "How about 'wait?'"

"Wait?"

"Oh, come on." She laughed. "You aren't going to pretend you forgot."

Dean stared at her.

"Well." She put her hands on her hips. "Are you?"

You forgot. The ball of heat inside Dean should have winked out then. She'd just given herself away. But it didn't wink out. In fact, it was no longer a discrete ball but an over-arching sphere. He was reacting to her, vigorously, but not because there was any history between them.

Oh no, it was all becoming crystal clear. Her presence here, his reaction to her — it was all beginning to make sense.

"You know too much," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"'I forgot.' You know too much. How to get my goat. What to say. It's too damn convenient."

Her eyes widened. "Ex-cuse me?"

Dean took a step back. A man who'd lost two days of his memory was in a vulnerable position. An unscrupulous individual could take advantage. Or merely a mischievous one, one without any sense of propriety or limits.

And Dean happened to know just such an individual. "Troy sent you."

"What?"

She seemed incredulous, too much so, and Dean felt all the pieces come together. Her arrival at his important annual meeting, the impression of sex kitten she exuded, his reaction to her.