It should have become quiet then, but Dean's ears were ringing. For a long time he could only stand there, eardrums vibrating. Then he turned. His gaze went down to the floor.
The gold band lay behind the back wheel of his chair. Like a snake, waiting to strike.
Married, to a dancer on the Strip. Impetuously, foolishly tied to a woman with whom he had not a thing in common, who could only be charmed by his money, who made a living controlling the passions of others, and who could have no real feelings for him at all.
Married to the very kind of woman his father always married.
Dean stared at the ring and frowned. No. The ring was just a prop. Easily obtained. Interchangeable. Hardly proof of anything.
He bent and picked it up. The metal was still warm from her finger.
Dean felt a large area hollow out in his stomach. His fingers tightened on the ring. Prop?
Or evidence of what he'd actually done those two missing days?
The hollow in his stomach grew. No, Dean told himself. He was not his father.
But his eyes squeezed closed as he set the ring against his forehead. If only it all didn't make a horrible kind of sense.
CHAPTER TWO
Kelly was still burning as she braced for liftoff in the crowded jet out of Logan. Hypnotized! How — how outrageous could a man get? Claimed he didn't even remember her! Glaring out the plane window, Kelly thought of the hours they'd spent together, the outpourings of their souls, so fast, so deep.
She'd told him everything; from her strict, but loving, upbringing as a preacher's kid in a small town outside of St. Louis, to how she'd nearly flunked out of school but had won every dance contest around. He knew how lucky she'd felt to get the Las Vegas gig, but how frustrated she was in finding a man who was serious about a relationship, and not one who simply wanted an affair with a dancer.
He was going to forget all that? Her soul stripped bare?
And what about the other parts of her she'd stripped bare? What about the hours they'd spent in her bed, hot, entwined, pleasured? Was he going to 'forget' that!
Throughout the plane flight Kelly nursed her anger, although every so often a stray thought crept in. Why had Dean looked so strange? With that grim slash of a mouth and corporate demeanor, he'd seemed like a completely different person. And a whole building was named after him?
That was when, for one tiny, wing beat of an instant, Kelly would wonder if he'd been telling the truth in that big fat office of his, if he'd really been hypnotized and had done everything while in a trance.
But the instant of such credulity would pass quickly. Her anger would burn through again. She wasn't that stupid. Oh, she'd let men feed her some pretty incredible lines, but she wasn't about to eat this one. Hypnotized.
And to think she was married to him!
In her cramped airplane seat, Kelly grimaced. Unfortunately, she had to recall that she'd been the one to bring up marriage. After her last disastrous relationship, with a musician who'd strung her on for months without committing, she'd decided to go back to basics, back to the values with which she'd been raised. She'd decided she could no longer go to bed with a man unless he was her husband.
Last Saturday night in the back seat of her car and locked in a hot, wet kiss with Dean, the temptation had been strong to abandon this quaint little policy. He'd felt so good around her; his arms so strong, his hands so clever.
But Kelly had forced herself out of her sensual haze. Panting, she'd pushed back from Dean. The look in his eyes then — Oh, not disappointed, not angry, but stricken. Yes, he'd looked as if her pulling away hurt as much as a blow.
So Kelly had explained the problem. She'd been terrified he would laugh. She was a Las Vegas dancer, after all. She wasn't loose, but hardly a virgin. So — holding out for marriage? She'd expected an argument, persuasions.
Instead Dean had given her one long, intense look — and then asked her to marry him.
At the time, oh! — Kelly had thought it so romantic. Sure, she hadn't believed him at first. But Dean had talked fast. He'd talked hard. And he'd truly seemed to be absolutely, positively serious. He'd been so serious he'd made Kelly feel that way, too. As if they were meant to be together, not just for that night but for forever.
Serious! All he'd been serious about was getting her into bed.
Kelly's anger kept her going through the plane flight, the landing, and a cab ride home. By the time she got to her apartment, however, it all began to catch up to her. She hadn't slept the night before, or the night before that. She was worn to the bone.
At the front door, her key wobbled in the lock. "Come on, come on," Kelly muttered. "Don't get picky on me now." The tumblers caught and she pushed the door open.
She nearly tripped on the pale green sweatshirt trailed across the threshold.