Marrying Mr. Right. Carolyn Greene
vows seriously, just as he did.
“I’m going to be a good wife to you...in every way. I want to please you. It’s my first time,” she confessed, “but I want it to be good for you.”
Christina snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Greg had just started backing her toward the bed when a banging sounded behind them. Before he could gather his wits, the door was flung open and sunlight spilled into the room.
“Looks like I got here just in time,” a male voice boomed.
As Christina stared past Greg, the passion in her eyes was quickly replaced with panic.
“Daddy!”
Greg turned his back to her, shielding her from the questioning gazes of Sheriff Cline, his deputy and the motel manager while she hastily adjusted her clothing.
The uniformed men glared at him in much the same way someone peers distastefully at a bug before squashing it.
“Daddy, before you get the wrong idea—”
“Never mind that. young lady. We’ll talk later about you casting your pearls before swine.” Sheriff Cline nodded to the deputy, who approached Greg with a pair of handcuffs. “Right now I have a matter of a robbery to discuss with your hoodlum friend here.”
Greg didn’t resist as the deputy cuffed him and recited his rights. The shame he felt right now wasn’t for himself—it was for having put Christina in the middle of this mess.
“You can’t do this,” Christina insisted, clutching Greg’s arm. “He hasn’t done anything for you to atrest him.”
Greg stood straight, but he didn’t meet her gaze. Couldn’t meet her gaze. “Christina,” he said softly, “let the man do his job.”
“Bet you didn‘t—”
He turned away from her, and he knew she assumed the worst. Not that he blamed her. He should be used to it by now—people always tended to think the worst about him—but it hurt so much more, coming from Christina.
He could try to explain. Try to tell her that the situation wasn’t what it seemed, and he was confident she would believe him. But her father wouldn’t, nor would anyone else in town, for that matter. He was as good as convicted right now.
She watched in stunned silence as the deputy led him to the patrol car parked outside, slammed the rear door shut and said to no one in particular, “Looks like this piece of trouble will be off the streets for at least a couple of years.” Then he threw Greg’s shirt onto his lap.
Christina started toward the car, and her father laid a hand on her arm. Breaking free of his grip, she ran to Greg and yanked open the car door.
“I’m going to find someone to help you,” she declared, even though she must have known that no teacher or other adult in town would come to his defense. “And while we’re getting this straightened out, I’ll be there for you...just like we vowed.”
When he could muster the courage to look at her, he tried to steel himself to her beauty and sweetness. He knew with certainty that she would do as she promised—she’d stick, by him through better or worse, through thick or thin—but what kind of louse would he be to make her endure such a hell? She deserved more than that, and one day he would find a way to give her the kind of life that was worthy of her. And he’d make himself worthy of her, no matter how long it took.
“I’m not going to drag you down with me.”
“It’s okay,” she said as her father approached the car. Her earnestness was sincere. “I’ll wait for you. And I’ll come see you every day.”
He had no doubt about that, but such an environment was not for the likes of someone as pure and sweet as Christina. With a stabbing pain in his heart, he knew the only way to protect her from it was to release her from her vows.
Someday he’d come back for her—when he was good enough for her. When she could be proud to introduce him as her husband. In the meantime, though, he had to let her go.
“I don’t want you there,” he said, his voice hard and strained. “There’s nothing left for us. Forget about me, and get on with your life.”
In his life, Greg had done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of, but he would never forgive himself for making Christina cry.
CHAPTER ONE
YOU make one foolish mistake in your entire life and, sure enough, ten years later he shows up on your doorstep, looking sexier than any man has a right to look. Her body mutinied, urging her to fling herself into his arms and pick up where they’d left off. Wisely, and with great effort, she resisted the urge, and it was just as well that she did.
Greg Primo was not a happy camper.
An official-looking packet of papers dangled from between his large fingers.
She glanced over her shoulder into the living room to see if Donald was aware of what was going on. Fortunately he had his nose buried in the business section of the newspaper.
“What’s the meaning of this?”
All those years apart, and no how-do-you-do or my-how-you’ve-changed. Nevertheless, he still had the power to make her drop everything and turn her full attention to him. It seemed as though her entire body was focused on him. It wasn’t just his physical presence Although, heaven knows, Greg’s musclethickened body, almost-black hair and penetrating brown eyes were enough to make any warm-blooded woman from puberty to rocking chair stop and give him her undivided attention.
And right then it would have taken a dynamite blast to divert her gaze from the magnificent human specimen that seemed to fill her front porch. A moth circled crazily as if it, too, were caught in the mesmerizing spell of the man.
As a teenager, Greg had been big for his age. But now... now his shoulders seemed to swell out of the dark suit jacket that was, for him, quite uncharacteristic. In contrast to his torso, his hips seemed narrow in the tailored slacks that hugged his long legs.
No, this was no teenager anymore. And if she weren’t convinced by his nearly brutal masculinity, the firm set of his angular jaw told her he was used to getting what he wanted...no matter what it took.
His dark hair fell in casual disarray across furrowed brows. His eyes were deep-set, and his scowling made them appear more so.
He shook the papers at her as if to snap her from her slack-jawed stare back into the present. “Do you have any idea how much trouble this is going to cause me?”
A droplet of perspiration that couldn’t be blamed on the late-April weather trickled between her breasts. Christina’s gaze traveled down the neatly typed heading on the paper that was now crumpled in Greg’s big fist: Christina Cline vs. Gregorio Primo.
A movement behind her distracted her from Greg’s fury, and when Donald touched her elbow Christina was grateful for the interruption.
“Is something wrong, dear?” He lowered his voice and spoke into her ear. “Want me to get rid of him for you?”
He was being unusually possessive tonight, acting for Greg’s benefit as if he lived here rather than just visited after work and on weekends. And as if their relationship were more than a convenient arrangement to satisfy their respective needs.
The idea of her fiancé taking on Greg was enough to jolt her out of her stupor. She was touched by his unnatural display of machismo, especially since their promises to each other would be in name only.
The two men were as opposite as if they’d come from different planets. Donald was as fair as Greg was dark. At thirty-five, his wispy blond hair was thinning prematurely, whereas Greg’s thick brownish-black locks shone under the incandescent porch light. And Greg’s tanned six-foot frame dwarfed Donald’s medium, deskbound build. Even their attitudes were oppositas. Greg’s reputation around Morrison Heights