Marriage On Demand Read online

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

  Epilogue

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  Chapter 1

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  She'd forgotten how good the devil looked in blue jeans.

  Rebecca Chambers stood just inside the garage door, soaking wet. The sound of the storm outside blocked the steady drip-drip from her dress and hair, but she could feel the individual drops collecting on her arms and legs, then falling to the ground. No doubt her mascara had formed perfect half circles under her eyes. She didn't normally wear much makeup, but today she'd taken special pains with her appearance. Her white T-top was silk, and washable, thank goodness. But her loose floral-print jumper was a silk blend that wouldn't survive the drenching. Mud caked her new black flats. She probably looked like something the cat dragged in. Or worse.

  She didn't know if God was punishing her for all her ridiculous fantasies, or if the Fates were having a good laugh at her expense. She sighed softly and brushed her wet hair out of her face. Did it matter?

  For whatever reason, every time she was in the presence of the man in front of her, she made a complete and total fool of herself. She couldn't stop thinking wicked and inappropriate thoughts. They muddled her brain and left her gasping for air and complete sentences. It had been going on for two years. She glanced down at her dripping self and bit back a groan.

  Her gaze was drawn away from her bedraggled appearance to the man bent over a car engine and the way he filled his jeans. It wasn't fair, she told herself, staring at the worn denim and the tight rear end that led to illegally long, lean legs. He was going to stand up, turn around and see her. She was going to look like a dripping, homeless rat, and he was going to be gorgeous. He would stare at her with his killer gray eyes and wait for her to speak. If her tongue didn't get tied up in knots, her knees would start shaking. It didn't matter that she was almost thirty years old and a responsible adult.

  In the past two years she'd been in the same room with Austin Lucas exactly eleven times. She'd made a fool out of herself twelve times. Once she'd not only knocked over a small table containing the refreshments for the local meeting, but she'd been in such a hurry to escape from his presence that she'd turned without watching where she was going and ran smack into a wall.

  She tried not to think about that. Despite the slight chill from her wet clothing and hair, her cheeks were hot with embarrassment. She pressed her hands to her face and wished she had somewhere else to go. But she didn't. He was her only hope. What on earth was he going to say when he saw her?

  She glanced frantically around the garage, hoping to find a source of courage. A radio sat on the workbench lining one wall. Soft rock music filled the room. Next to the front left bumper of the car stood a red toolbox on a dingy cart. Nothing very inspiring, although the maleness of the equipment made her feel even more out of place. She was one of three girls and had little experience with guy stuff.

  She drew in a deep breath, inhaling the odors of machine oil, wet cement and something that could only be the heady scent of Austin himself. She fought the urge to back up a step. Inside her belly, nerves and expectations joined hands in an uneven dance of hyper awareness Please, God, why did it have to be him? Around town, women whispered he was as tempting as the devil himself. Heaven knows he tempted her.

  She cleared her throat. "Mr. Lucas?"

  He chose that moment to drop a wrench and swear loudly. The curses drowned out her words. She opened her mouth to speak again, but he bent down to pick up the tool and his jeans stretched tight across his rear.

  Fourteen years ago, Rod Dowell had walked into her sophomore algebra class wearing tennis whites. She'd melted into her school-issue wooden chair and had wondered if she would ever be able to breathe normally again. She finally had, but it had taken almost three years. She'd earned the secret of that crush with her all the way until graduation when she finally found the courage to wish him luck. His brief, "Yeah, you, too," had sent her reeling with excitement.

  Now, staring at Austin Lucas, or rather at his long legs and tight, rounded rear end, she could feel her tongue twisting itself into knots and her hands getting sweaty on top of already being damp. It didn't matter that she was far too old for adolescent crushes. It didn't matter that he wouldn't be interested in a woman like her. It didn't matter that she was completely out of her league with him – a peewee ball player trying to compete with a pro. She couldn't resist him, and she couldn't walk away. He was her only hope.

  Rebecca squared her shoulders and told herself she had to say something before she shivered to death. She opened her mouth. He spoke before she could.

  "How long are you gonna stand there dripping?"

  "Not long," she said, her voice shaky. "Another ten minutes or so."

  She clamped her hand over her mouth, not able to believe she'd actually said that. Her eyes fluttered shut. She wanted to die. She prayed for the cement floor to crack and swallow her whole. The floor didn't budge.

  "You can look now," he said, a hint of teasing deepening his already low voice.

  Rebecca opened one eye, then the other. Austin stood in front of her, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. He wasn't especially good-looking, she told herself, then wondered why she bothered to lie. It didn't do any good. He wore a faded denim shirt tucked into even more faded jeans. The slashed fabric by his left knee had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with his life-style. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. The top three buttons of the shirt were undone, exposing just enough chest to threaten her sanity.

  Her gaze rose higher past the square jaw and firm mouth – not smiling, of course, for Austin rarely smiled to hollow cheekbones and a straight nose. His cold gray eyes carefully shuttered all emotions. Thick dark hair had been brushed away from his face. It hung down long enough to scrape the bottom of his collar.

  He was handsome as sin. Her gaze flickered to the small gold hoop earring he wore. The delicate circle of gold looked out of place on his totally masculine form. She'd never known a man who wore an earring. The small hoop looked perfect, she thought in defeat. It made her think of pirates and women stolen away for secret pleasures.

  It made her wonder about his flaunting of convention. It made her think about being in his bed. No doubt she would die of plea sure, but what a way to go. She stiffened her spine and told herself to get a grip. He was just a guy, and the gold hoop was just an earring. Of course Glenwood was a small tow and slightly right of the rest of the nation. Men didn't wear earrings here.

  But Austin made up his own rules. That was, she acknowledged part of his appeal. He was the bad boy, the devil in disguise. How could a woman like her be expected to resist that?

  "Rebecca?" he said.

  The sound of her name on his lips made her toes curl u side her damp, muddy shoes. "Huh?" Eloquent to the last she thought, fighting back a groan.

  "Why are you here?"

  She opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. St. closed it and thought carefully, then tried again. "My car stuck."

  He frowned, his dark eyebrows drawing together. "Okay. Where is your car?"

  He was speaking slowly, as if to a half-witted child. She wanted to get indignant and tell him she was perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation. Unfortunately she wasn't. With him she'd never managed more than a sentence or two without some sort of disaster striking. She glanced around the open garage. At least there wasn't anything to break or spill here.

  "It's in the driveway," she said, moving out of the room and into the rain. The drenching downpour had slowed somewhat, settling into a steady sprinkle. She felt the drop on her head and shoulders.

  He hesitated be
fore stepping out into the open. "Do you want an umbrella?" he asked.

  She glanced down at her floral-print dress. It hung loosely, albeit damply, around her body. The long, calf length skirt was heavy and probably stretching. "I think it's a little late for that, don't you?"

  His gaze slipped over her, heating her chilled flesh and sending electric bolts zooming through her blood. When their eyes met, he smiled slowly. "I guess so."

  He stepped past her, his worn black cowboy boots squishing in the mud. She stood rooted in place. It wasn't the thick muck that held her so firmly. It was his smile. She'd never seen Austin smile before. Lines had collected by his gray eyes; his teeth had flashed white. The smile had made him look teasingly dangerous, like a wolf pretending to be a lapdog. It had reminded her she was completely out of her element. He was all black leather and five different kinds of sin. She was a babe in the woods, uncomfortable and unwilling to play in the fast lane. He would find her as interesting as flat beer.

  She turned on her heel, almost losing her shoe in the process, and started after him. He stood next to her old station wagon. Most of the fake wood paneling had long since cracked and peeled. The side of the car was two-tone, from an accident several years before. The engine had been rebuilt twice, and the vehicle needed new tires.

  "You drive this thing?" he asked, staring at it as if he'd never seen anything so pathetic in his life.

  "The home owns it," she said. "I don't have a car of my own. There's a bench seat in the back, allowing us to seat five more kids, six if they're small. It's practical."

  He glanced at her and raised one eyebrow. She'd never actually seen someone do that. She wanted to see him do it again, but she didn't ask him to. He might not understand.

  "Practical or not, it's sure as hell stuck: He walked around the wagon. Each footstep squished in the mud.

  His property stood at the far end of Glenwood. He had about ten acres. There was a three-car garage, an oversize, two-story barn and a huge empty house. The house was the reason she'd come calling in the rain.

  According to rumors, which she couldn't help but overhear, he was richer than God, had never married and was determined to keep his private life private. Glenwood was too small for him to achieve that. His long-term affairs were well documented by most of the women in town. A stunning redhead driving a white sports car had made biweekly trips through town and down his dusty, unpaved driveway for almost six months. Several times Rebecca had seen her and felt a stab of jealousy. Austin's collection of ladies made men envious and women dream. Rebecca had dreamed, too, even as she'd known it was useless. Austin's women had two things in common: curves and attitude. She glanced down at the wet clothing clinging to her straight, girlish body. She had neither.

  He bent over the hood and rocked the car. She watched the muscles bunch in his arms. His shirt was already soaked and clinging to his back and chest. Rain fell on her face and dripped off the end of her nose. In the distance, she heard the rumble of thunder.

  "Where are your keys?" he asked. "

  "In the ignition."

  He opened the door and slid into the seat. Within seconds the car started. Dependable as always, she thought, realizing she had a lot in common with the old car. Not very exciting, but they both got the job done.

  Austin put it in drive. The wagon rocked forward. He eased on the gas. The wheels spun wildly in the mud. Rebecca jumped back to avoid being sprayed. Her right shoe stuck. She waved her arms in the air to try to maintain her balance. The car engine shut off. She heard squishing foot steps moving toward her but she didn't dare look. She didn't want to see the disgusted or amused expression in his eyes.

  She started to go down and was forced to lower her stocking-clad foot into the mud to save herself. The thick cold earth swallowed her up to her ankle. "Perfect," she muttered.

  A warm, strong hand gripped her arm. "You okay?" Austin asked.

  She looked up at him. Her dark hair was in the way, so she moved it off of her face. She stared at him, dumbfounded.

  Water rolled off his face and onto his chest. Drops slipped down into the open V of his shirt. The cotton clung to him, hugging his tanned skin, outlining his muscles, leaving nothing to her imagination.

  She swallowed hard. Where his fingers touched her, she felt individual jolts, as if she'd been hooked up to an electric current. Her breasts swelled inside her damp shirt.

  "Rebecca?"

  "What? Oh, I'm fine." She glanced down at herself. One foot was in the mud, the other almost as dirty. Her wet and stretched dress flapped in the cold wind. The color from the fabric was bleeding into her white silk T-top. The damp material clung to her chest, outlining her rather pitiful curves. So much for swelling. No one would notice, much less be impressed, she thought, remembering the generous curves of Austin's redhead.

  "I think I lost my shoe," she said, pointing to a lump in the mud.

  In the distance there was a flash of lightning. "The storm is getting worse," he said. "I can't get the car loose. Kyle's borrowed my truck, and I don't think my car is going to have any better luck in this mud. Come on up to my place and we'll call a tow truck."

  "I don't want to be any trouble."

  He smiled again. Her heart beat faster inside her chest. "It's a little too late for that."

  He released her and bent over to dig through the mud for her shoe. When he'd retrieved the ruined flat, he handed it to her. She took it and stared at the coated leather. It would never be the same again. The fitting end to a lousy week.

  He started walking toward an enormous barnlike structure partially concealed by a grove of Chinese maple trees. He didn't bother to look back to see if she followed. She limped along with one shoe on and one shoe off. Thank goodness they were flats. The rain increased its intensity, turning from a steady sprinkle into a downpour again. The temperature seemed to drop considerably, too.

  When they reached the brick-bordered cement path, it was easier to keep up with his long-legged stride. Her lone shoe made a squishy noise with each step. Her wet hair flapped in her face. She pulled off her velvet headband and saw it was ruined along with everything else she was wearing. Why hadn't she grabbed an umbrella before she left? No, she thought, shaking her head. That would have required a brain – something she didn't seem to have when it came to Austin.

  She glanced at the clipped grass stretching out on both sides of the path, then at the slabs of cement. At anything but the tall, dark and very appealing male specimen right in front of her. It didn't work. Again and again her gaze was drawn back to him.

  He walked with an easy loose-hipped grace. His arms swung with each stride. Despite her bedraggled appearance, she couldn't help thinking that if she hurried and caught up with him, their arms might brush and then she—

  Stop it! she commanded herself. This was insane. And embarrassing. She was here on a mission and she couldn't forget that. Still, his scent drifted to her and made her think about tangled sheets and bare skin and "Oh, my," she whispered, trying to ignore the heat suddenly blossoming in her belly.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, stopping and turning toward her.

  She almost plowed into him. As it was, she skidded to a stop, the big toe of her one bare foot jabbing painfully into the concrete. "Nothing," she said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to grab her toe and hop on one foot until the pain faded.

  He glanced down at her. She stood five feet eight inches in her stockinged feet. The low shoe gave her a half inch more. She stood eye to eye with a lot of men. Austin topped her by a good seven inches.

  "You are the most peculiar woman," he said, then turned away and crossed the last few feet to the door of the barn.

  Great, she thought, grumbling. Peculiar. That was romantic Peculiar. When she wanted to be beautiful, witty, curvaceous, intoxicating. She shrugged. She was never going to be any of those things. Her destiny was to be ordinary. That was the reason Rod Dowell had never noticed her and Austin wouldn't, either. She was the girl nex
t door. Wholesome, innocent, ordinary. Like milk. People took it and her for granted. She wanted to be the dash of cognac at the end of a perfect evening. Instead, she was reserved for pouring over breakfast cereal. It wasn't fair.

  Austin cleared his throat. She looked up and saw he was holding open the door, obviously waiting for her to step inside She ducked in, careful not to slap his legs with the hem of her soggy dress.

  The foyer was a small room with no furniture. A big metal door with a window in the top half led to what looked like a large machine shop and laboratory. To the left, stairs curved up to the second floor.

  "Up there," he said, pointing to the stairs.

  "Up there?" She swallowed.

  "Only if you want to get dry."

  "Oh. Sure. Thanks."

  He lived up there. Alone. Except for the occasional female visitor. Like the redhead.

  It wasn't that Rebecca went out of her way to learn things about Austin. She might have a crush on him, but she wasn't completely nuts. Still, people talked, especially about him.

  No matter how much she tried to slip away or tell herself not to listen, she always heard things, and remembered them.

  She gripped the metal railing and started to climb. She could feel the moisture rolling off her and dripping on the stairs. Her footsteps sounded uneven, the clunk of her shoe, the silence of her bare foot.

  He was right behind her. She could feel his gaze on her back, heating her. Was he staring at her the way she'd stared at him? Foolish to think he might. He probably barely realized she was female.

  At the top of the stairs, she stepped onto a hardwood floor. Her first impression was of space, light and warmth. The living quarters covered the entire loft of the barn. There were no separate rooms; areas flowed into each other.

  Eight-foot-high windows added to the feeling of openness in the cavernous room. Two overstuffed couches cordoned off an area to form a living room. Entertainment equipment provided a divider between that room and the kitchen. A king-size bed with – she gulped – a black satin comforter lined up against the opposite wall.