Chapter Nine
Emery stares at me as if I've grown five red, lumpy heads and a pair of devil horns. She says nothing, seems not to blink, and the only movement she makes is when her jaw goes slack. I've shocked the lass, and though I expected this response, I hadn't anticipated the strength of her reaction. A free-spirited woman like Emery should jump at the chance. Shouldn't she?
But I haven't explained the details to her. That's why she can't speak or blink. Once I lay out the parameters, she will understand and appreciate the elegance of my solution. The problem is my unquenchable lust for her. My rules will clear up that issue.
Aye, they will.
"Perhaps I should explain," I tell her.
"Yeah, I think you really should."
Head bowed, I flatten a palm on the tabletop, curling my fingers and then spreading them. That is not a nervous reaction. It's…something else. I study my reflection on the polished surface of the table since I cannot look at her. "I've been divorced three times, and I have no desire to marry again."
"So naturally, you propose to me."
My fingers tense into a claw-like position. "I said I have no desire to marry, but circumstances require that I do."
"This isn't the Middle Ages. People aren't required to get hitched."
"You don't understand." I slump forward, elbows on the table, my hands flat on the slim stack of papers. "In the past two years, both my brothers have married. First Lachlan, then Aidan. This has resulted in my family insisting what I need to set me right is another wife."
"Set you right?" She bends forward, crossing her arms on the tabletop. "You mean because you're so uptight and pent-up and determined to make yourself miserable when you could be having a rollicking good time?"
Memories of the other night explode in my mind. Emery naked. The scent of her desire. The look on her face when she came.
I stab my tongue into the inside of my cheek. "Yes."
"You've decided they're right, and that marrying a stranger is the solution."
Mhac na galla.I scratch my head. "This will not be a love match. It will be a business arrangement."
"Better explain in more detail, before I run for the phone and call nine-one-one to report a man is kidnapping me for sex slavery."
I roll my eyes, and with a huff, throw my body against the chair's back. "No slavery of any sort. You are intelligent enough to consider my offer and decide whether to accept it."
"Gee, thanks. But you haven't explained your offer yet."
No, I haven't. What a bloody stupid erse you are.
I steeple my fingers under my chin, elbows balanced on the chair's arms. "I need a wife, to appease my family. As I said, they've grown rather insistent that marriage is the cure for what they believe ails me, to the point they've begun to contrive seemingly accidental meetings with eligible young women every time I go out in public. They convinced my housekeeper to bring her divorced daughter to work with her in hopes I'd find her appealing."
"You didn't."
I rest my forehead on my steepled fingers. "She's bonnie, but I'm not interested. Besides, she was a wee bit frightened of me."
"Frightened? Of you?"
"I realize I have no such effect on you, but some people find me intimidating." I glare at the papers on the table. "The salient fact is this. I tried marrying for love three times, and three times I was…disappointed."
Despite the overpowering urge to glance at her, I refuse to do it.
But I swear I can feel her watching me.
"This time," I continue, "I will marry for pragmatic purposes. If I go home with a new wife on my arm, my family will have no choice but to stop blethering about my personal life. You and I would remain married for one year, then you will leave, and I will tell my family our marriage is over. There will be a legally required one-year separation after that, but you will receive generous compensation as soon as you move out."
"How generous?"
"Five hundred thousand American dollars."