Not the Marrying Kind(24)

“But who is he and why haven’t you mentioned him?”

Great time for her sis to gain clarity.

“Beck Blackwood. He’s CEO of a big construction company based in Vegas.” She glanced skyward, expecting to see a stray bolt at any time. “I haven’t mentioned him because you’ve been dealing with a lot of stuff. And I didn’t want to gush about how great he is while you’ve been coming to terms with Wayne’s departure.”

“But you’ve always been anti-marriage.” Sara’s eyes narrowed. “What makes this guy so special?”

Hmm…Poppy would have to make this sound convincing and get the hell out of there, because she had a feeling the longer she stayed, the harder it’d be to skirt around Sara’s increasingly probing questions.

“He’s amazing. Thoughtful”—to the extent he’d thought she’d want to marry him for money—“kind”—he’d better be or she’d neuter him—“and absolutely gorgeous.” One truth out of three ain’t bad. “He’d do anything for me.” Including blackmail and flinging five hundred big ones her way to get her to jump to his tune. “And I want to be with him, so why wait?”

For some inexplicable reason, her last reason brought a lump to her throat.

What would it be like to have a guy like Beck propose marriage for real? Not for altruism, but because he had to be with her? She’d never experience it, not in this lifetime. And while she had turned her back on love and all it entailed by choice, that didn’t mean she didn’t have a heart.

“Wow.” Some of the accusatory gleam faded from Sara’s suspicious stare. “This guy must be something to get you to fall this hard.”

“He’s something, all right.” At last, one hundred percent truth. “Can’t wait for you to meet him.” Sometime next century.

Sara’s wobbly smile made her heart ache. “Be happy, Pops, because divorce is a bitch.”

Didn’t she know it.

Ironic. In her case, it was the part of the marriage she was looking forward to the most.

…



When Beck had a goal in sight, he wanted to achieve it ASAP.

No stalling, no delays. He wanted to get this over with as he caught sight of Poppy strolling toward him in a stunning wedding dress. Classy. Elegant. Sexy.

The satin hugged her curves and ended mid-calf while the tops of her breasts peeped enticingly over the strapless crystal-beaded bodice. Her hair tumbled in loose spiral curls to her shoulder, held back from her face with a mini diamante tiara, a gossamer-thin veil trailing to the floor behind her.

That’s when he noticed her shoes. Crimson. Sparkly. Impossibly high. The same memorable color as the shirt she’d worn to her pitch, the color he couldn’t get out of his head, the color he’d forever associate with her.

Poppy.

She didn’t stroll down the makeshift aisle, she strutted, her gaze locked on his, daring and defiant.

And he’d never been so turned on in all his life.

Damn it, marrying this woman was part of a well-thought-out, precisely executed business plan, and he couldn’t afford to screw it up. Which was exactly what would happen if he started thinking about consummation.

He could do sex without strings, but in his experience, women equated the bedroom with emotion and romance. No way in hell would he mess this up by complicating their arrangement with sex. Despite the raging desire to do just that.

“Nice tux.” She stopped a foot away and smoothed his lapels, close enough he could smell her intoxicating floral fragrance.

“Nice shoes,” he said, unable to resist ducking down to place a kiss just shy of her ruby-slicked lips.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I always wear a splash of red.” Her strangely lopsided smile told him she wasn’t quite as confident as she made out. “Corny namesake.”

“I think it’s sexy.” He touched her cheek, a fleeting gesture that rattled him as much as it did her, if the sudden widening of her eyes was any indication.

He had no idea how long they stood there, gazes locked, his hand caressing her cheek, and if it hadn’t been for the minister clearing his throat he would’ve swept her into his arms and kissed her silly. To eradicate her doubts, of course. Nothing at all to do with the burning, relentless desire to taste her again.

“Shall we begin?”

“You ready?” He grasped her hand and squeezed.

Wild-eyed, she darted a look over her shoulder and for a horrifying second he thought she’d bolt.

“We need to do this.” He felt like a jerk for badgering her. How desperate must she be to save her sister’s business to marry a stranger? Her devotion impressed him and if she could bring one tenth of that loyalty to this marriage, enough to impress the investors this sham was real, he’d be happy.