Not the Marrying Kind(31)
The moment she’d slipped the platinum band on his finger and he’d kissed his new bride, he’d wanted to get her alone. Naked.
And therein lay the problem. He’d already let her into his life by allowing her to stay at Red Rock Canyon, had already divulged too much in telling her all that stuff about his family history. Having her live in his home implied an intimacy he didn’t want, and sex with her would solidify that.
It was more than that and he knew it.
The house was the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else. None of his Vegas crowd had been there—not even Lou—and he liked it that way. He may have escaped Checkerville and his dreary past, but there was one thing he could thank his no-good folks for: helping to instill in him a love of the desert.
Pa had fostered his love for the arid landscape surrounding their trailer, had taken him on long hikes, pointing out the Joshua trees, the Mohave yucca, the Apache plume, while warning him of the dangers of scorpions, tarantulas, and Mohave green rattlers.
Beck had spent countless hours watching his favorite desert tortoise, coyote, and gila monster, chasing jackrabbits and studying roadrunner habits.
He loved the heat, the dust, the colors.
Something Poppy had homed in on immediately.
He’d seen the light in her eyes as she’d toured his home and it made him like her all the more. Which was why he’d shut down and put some serious emotional distance between them. He didn’t want to feel anything for his wife, and that was a distinct possibility if they spent too much time together.
Poppy was nothing like the women he usually dated. She was warm and spontaneous and bold. She didn’t defer to him; she didn’t play games. Hell, this marriage farce was testament to that. Poppy was blunt and genuine and far too appealing. The less time he spent with her, the better.
“There you are.” She slipped her arms around his waist from behind and rested her cheek on his back, playing the doting wife for their reception guests. “Slipped off the ball and chain already?”
“I’m taking a breather.” He turned around, secretly pleased when she didn’t release him.
“Low stamina, huh?”
He ducked his head to whisper in her ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Not really.” She laughed up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and right then, snug in the circle of her arms, he’d never been more convinced he’d done the right thing in offering her the Red Rock Canyon house to stay in.
He thought he’d made a smart business move marrying this woman for convenience. But right now, enjoying the way she made him feel way too much? Dumb.
She stood on tiptoes to murmur in his ear. “Are we pulling this off?”
He sure as hell hoped so. Everyone had turned up: the investors, the work crew, a few A-listers. People he mingled with on a regular basis, people whose opinions shouldn’t matter. But they did. He needed the investors to trust him, to trust Blackwood Enterprises enough to help take them national.
This marriage had to do that. It had to.
“We’re doing okay.”
“One thing’s for certain, you sure know how to throw a party.” Poppy released him to step back and take in the crowd. “But you know I’ll top this for Lou’s divorce party, right?”
“Shhh.” He held a finger up to her lips, immediately regretting it when her eyes heated to molten chocolate and her lips parted on a soft sigh. “Don’t say the D-word around here. People might question the validity of this marriage.”
“You don’t need to remind me about the importance of anonymity.” The fire in her eyes faded. “Sara would have a coronary if she knew I was the divorce diva.” She gestured at the crowd. “As for them questioning our marriage, people are going to do that anyway, considering how it happened out of the blue.”
“Have you been interrogated by anyone?” Concern poked holes in his carefully constructed plan.
“Try everyone.” She snorted. “Don’t worry, I gave them the spiel we rehearsed. Your need for privacy, the long-distance thing, unable to be apart any longer.”
“Did they buy it?”
Pensive, she glanced at the investors, a bunch of Scotch-swilling, backslapping suits who clung together like an old-boys club. “They seemed impressed, especially when I played up my Provost angle.”
Some of the residual tension tightening his shoulders eased. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” She kissed him on the cheek, a strangely sweet gesture that made his chest burn. “Better get back to mingling.”
“Later.” He snagged her hand and led her to the dance floor. “You were such a stickler for tradition with the threshold and all, it’s only fair we have a bridal waltz.”