An Arranged Marriage. Peggy Moreland

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      Clay stood with his hands braced on his hips, watching to make sure Roger didn’t have a change of heart before he made it to the parking lot.

      “Well?” came Fiona’s indignant voice from behind him. “Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to hand me a towel?”

      Clay glanced over his shoulder to find her still standing chin-deep in water. Though her hair floated in wet, tangled clumps around her shoulders and mascara was smeared beneath her eyes, she still managed to look beautiful, regal. Untouchable. But then she always had been. Especially for men like Clay Martin.

      “Depends,” he replied, and turned to fully face her.

      “On what?” she snapped impatiently.

      “On how nicely you ask me for that towel.”

      She jerked up her chin. “I’ll turn into a prune first.”

      He lifted a shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

      She glared at him a full five seconds, then narrowed her eyes in challenge and began pushing her way through the water toward the steps. Clay watched as first her bare shoulders appeared above the surface, then her chest. Water sluiced down her pampered flesh, leaving droplets to cling to the tips of her nipples, making them glitter like diamonds in the moonlight. Shaking his head, he dragged a towel from the back of a chair and moved to the edge of the pool. As she climbed the steps, he spread his arms, holding the towel open for her.

      She stepped onto the tiles, then turned and waited, her chin tipped high, as if she were a queen, the towel her royal robe and Clay a lowly servant there to do her bidding. With a slowness meant to infuriate her, he draped the towel around her shoulders and brought the ends together, tucking them between her breasts.

      He heard her sharp intake of breath as his forearms grazed her nipples, felt the swell of her breasts beneath the thick terry cloth. Unable to resist, he cupped his hands over her shoulders and dipped his mouth close to her ear. “Cold?”

      Though he could feel the tension in her, the awareness, her expression revealed neither as she turned slowly in his arms.

      “No,” she said in a voice set on a seduction. “Actually, I’m rather hot.” She stepped closer and pressed a fingertip against the center of his chest. Tipping her head to the side, she looked up at him through lashes still spiked with water and smiled. “Want to cool me off, Ranger?”

      Her voice was breathy, seductive, but Clay knew her too well to fall for the coquettish act. “I suppose I could throw you back in the pool,” he offered.

      He caught the flash of temper in her eyes before she masked it. Pretending indifference, she flicked a nail beneath his chin and turned from his arms. “Your loss, Ranger.”

      Clay watched her walk away, unable to help noticing the provocative sway of her hips beneath the damp towel. Feeling a pang of sympathy for Roger, he shook his head and followed. “What were you trying to prove, Fiona?”

      She turned and let the towel drop. “When?” she asked innocently.

      Though it was difficult, Clay managed to keep his eyes on hers and not follow the towel’s descent. “Earlier with Roger. You can push a man only so far, you know, before he’s gonna expect you to deliver the goods.”

      She struck a seductive pose. “So what’s your breaking point, Ranger?”

      Clay slid his gaze slowly down her body, noting the puckered nipples, the tiny V of damp black lace that clung to her femininity. He shifted his gaze back to hers. “I don’t know. Want to test me and see?”

      She pursed her lips and studied him a moment as if considering, then fluttered a hand and turned away. “I would, but I’d really hate to ruin your macho image.”

      He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right.” Stooping, he picked up the towel and held it out to her. “Who was the show for, Fiona? Me or your father?”

      She snatched the towel from his hand. “Who said I was putting on a show?”

      Clay pinched his khaki slacks just above the knees and sank down onto the foot of the lounge chair. “Call it an educated guess, but when a woman strips down to her unmentionables and persuades a man to go skinny-dipping with her, then kicks up a fuss when he tries to score…” He lifted his hands. “Well, that would make a person question the woman’s motives.”

      She whipped the towel around her and flopped down on the chair beside him, angrily tucking the ends between her breasts. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you.”

      He bit back a smile as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and looked out over the pool. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.” He spared her a glance. “So who were you trying to piss off? Me or your father?”

      She dropped her gaze to her lap, frowning as she plucked at a loose loop of thread on the towel. “You,” she admitted reluctantly. “Daddy’s a lost cause. Once he’s made his mind up about something, there’s no changing it.”

      Clay nodded slowly, knowing she wasn’t exaggerating. Fiona was famous for her stubbornness, but as her father had said, she’d come by it honestly. She’d inherited it from him. “Sure appears that way.”

      She continued to pluck at the loose thread, then angled her head to look at him suspiciously. “The one thing I can’t figure out is how he talked you into going along with this insane scheme of his.”

      Clay looked away, narrowing his gaze on the water, reluctant to admit that it was greed that had motivated him. But if nothing else, Fiona deserved honesty from him, at least on this one aspect of his and Carson’s agreement.

      “Money.”

      Her eyes widened in surprise. “Daddy paid you to marry me?”

      He nodded.

      “How much?”

      “A hundred thousand.”

      She shot to her feet. “A hundred thousand dollars!” she exclaimed.

      At his nod, she whirled and stalked away. She stopped at the edge of the pool and slapped her arms across her chest, smoke all but coming out her ears.

      “You should have held out for more,” she called over her shoulder. “I bet he’d have paid much more than a piddling hundred thousand to get rid of me.”

      Hearing the hurt in her voice, the bitterness, Clay remained silent, unsure how to respond.

      She spun to face him. “So when are we supposed to tie the knot?”

      Clay lifted a shoulder. “He didn’t name a date.”

      “Then let’s do it tonight.”

      “Tonight?” he repeated in surprise.

      “Yes, tonight. If I know Daddy, he’ll want a big church wedding. It’ll serve him right if we spoil his fun.”

      A big church wedding? Clay hadn’t considered that possibility when СКАЧАТЬ