“But I can.”
It took a moment for the words to register. A speechless Sarita stared into his unreadable eyes, and asked, “You are seriously talking about buying this?”
He nodded.
“For me?”
Again, the nod.
Sarita found this very hard to process. “But—”
Myk realized they’d be there all day if he had to wait for her to set aside her social worker values and decide. So he decided for her. He handed the coat to the hovering Obari and asked that the purchase be added to his account.
Sarita stated firmly, “Chandler, I don’t need that coat.”
He didn’t acknowledge her attempt to make him see sense. He strolled over to join Obari at the register, leaving her standing there openmouthed. This is insane, she thought wildly. What could he possibly be thinking of?
Whatever he had in mind he didn’t share. He simply handed her the coat, waved good-bye to the Nigerian proprietor, and politely escorted her out of the salon.
He shopped for her for the rest of the day. She forgot to be distant and uncooperative—she was too busy being amazed by the man’s buying power. Everywhere they went he spent money as if he had a personal pipeline to the national treasury. He signed for evening gowns, shoes, hairbrushes, beautiful sweaters, jeans, blouses, and expensive silk hose, along with everything else a woman could possibly need. And through it all, Sarita’s eyes kept straying to the sable coat folded oh so nonchalantly across her arm. How much money does this man have?
She attempted to draw the line when she saw where they were headed next. The store, a branch of a famous British franchise, offered items both scandalous and demure.
To keep him from going inside, she latched on to his arm. He looked down at her small hand, and asked, “Problems?”
“Yes,” she stated. “You are not buying my underwear.”
Myk nodded a greeting to an older woman passing by them in the nearly deserted mall, then asked Sarita, “Why not?”
“Because.” No man had ever bought underwear for her in her life. Well, her uncles had when she was young, but not since she’d become a young lady.
He searched her eyes. “Because, why?”
“Because you don’t know me that well.”
Myk studied her. “I see.” He’d concede her that point. “Then I’ll let you pick out what you want.”
“Good,” she said, glad this hadn’t turned into a major argument. “Let’s go down to Sears. They have better prices.”
Her frugality almost made him show a smile. “We’re not going to Sears.”
“Why not? Sears has nice things.”
“I’m sure they do, but this is where I want to shop.”
“And if I insist on Sears?”
He told her quietly, “You can insist all you want, but I’m the one paying, remember?”
“I remember that I didn’t ask to come along.”
“Then I get to spend my money where I want.”
He started toward the door. “You coming or not?”
Snarling, Sarita followed him inside.
The store was tasteful, she had to admit. Headless, mannequin torsos sported beautiful jewel-toned bras and scanty little nightgowns. Color was everywhere, and fragrance scented the air. She spotted Chandler in the back. He was surrounded by salesgirls who seemed to sense that the tall handsome man was a no-credit-limit customer and were tripping over each other trying to gain his attention.
“What about this one, baby?”
Sarita realized he was talking to her. The endearment fell on her ears, softly, possessively, and he had a look in his eyes that mirrored his voice. The intensity she saw there threw her even as it touched her. What was he up to?
He explained. “I was just telling the salesladies that you want to replace everything in your underwear drawers. Ladies, my wife, Sarita.”
That threw her as well. “Hello,” she managed to say. The girls grinned back.
Gathering herself, Sarita stepped close to his side and told herself she wasn’t affected by the bone-melting sound of his voice or the vivid touch of his eyes, but it was a lie.
What he wanted her to see was the item he was holding up for her approval. It was a sexy sequined black bustier elegant enough to wear to the White House. She’d never worn anything even remotely like it before, but, seeing the salesgirls watching so eagerly, she cleared her throat, and croaked out, “Sure. I like that.”
“See anything else you like?”
His dark eyes had turned playful. She knew he was only flirting with her for the benefit of the crowd, so to cover her rising reaction to him, she tossed back in a knowing saucy voice, “Yes, I do. And you? See anything you like?”
Myk gave her a slow grin. Who’d have thought this female hornet had a sultry side. “I see plenty, but there are children in the room, so let’s get this shopping done.”
Sarita swayed on her new high heels. She turned her attention back to the salesgirls who were now watching the interplay as if it were a movie. Her heart was racing like the Indy 500, but they didn’t know that. “Can I see some nightgowns, ladies?”
So, for the next forty minutes, Sarita looked at nightgowns, bras, and panties. The salesgirls brought out silk pajamas with matching wrappers, scented soaps, slips, and camisoles by the score. Sarita picked out what she wanted and turned down what she didn’t.
Sarita didn’t pay Chandler much attention during all of this. He’d drifted away from her at one point, but now returned with one hand filled with what appeared to be bits of lace and silk. Sarita eyed him curiously. As she watched his hand open and saw the small cache of thongs float down to the counter as if they were made from angel wings, curiosity morphed into shock. Her eyes flew from the thongs to his face. He had the nerve to be smiling like a very pleased wolf.
“Thought you might like them,” he told her.
She blinked, then said with a false brightness, “I do. Thank you.”
“So,” he asked her then, “are we done here?”
They were only a few inches apart, and Sarita hadn’t a clue as to how to answer that double-edged question.
Myk felt oddly spellbound by her nearness. For that tiny moment he ceased to be the head of NIA and became a man filled with the urge to find out just how close to the surface her sultriness was. Under the watchful eyes of the salesgirls, he slid a slow caressing finger down her cheek. “Let’s pay for this stuff and get out of here….”
Sarita was sure the unexpected gesture was nothing more than an act on his part, but his touch left her dazzled and vibrating like a five-string guitar.
The girls ran his credit card, he signed the slip and escorted Sarita out.
In the car, Sarita sat in the passenger seat reeling from her first outing with the man she’d made a deal to marry. A treasure trove of boxes, bags, and packages filled both the trunk and the import’s small interior. The haul accounted for only about a third of the spree. The rest would be delivered later in the week. She glanced over at his serious face. All traces of the playful sensual man in the lingerie store had vanished the moment they exited the store. She told herself it didn’t matter. “You didn’t have to buy me all this stuff.”
“It isn’t for you. It’s for the image.”
He took his eyes off the road a moment and held hers. “I can’t have my wife running around in faded T-shirts and ripped jeans, even if she is temporary.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling more than a bit put down, then turned back to the window. “And what if I prefer faded T-shirts and ripped jeans?”
“Wear what you want at home. Out in the street, you’ll wear—stuff.”
She looked over at him to see if he were intentionally trying to lighten the mood, but the face appeared to be as serious as ever.
When they got back to the house, Lily had a message for Myk to call his office at Chandler Works. While he went off to take care of that, Lily asked Sarita, “How’d the shopping go?”
/> Sarita shrugged. “Fine I guess. I watched mostly.”
Lily smiled. “Lunch in ten minutes.”
Sarita carried as many bags as she could up to her room and took off the beautiful sable coat. Seeing it, touching it, still filled her with awe.
Back downstairs, Sarita stood by the windows and watched the gray waters of the river while she waited for Chandler to return. Her thoughts drifted to Silas and how worried he must be over her disappearance. She had to convince Chandler to let her call the center so Silas and the rest of her people would at least know she was alive.
When Lily came in pushing a cart filled with covered dishes and silverware, Sarita’s first impulse was to help. Sarita’s grandmother had been a day worker for almost fifty years, and because she was, Sarita felt a bit uncomfortable being waited upon.
Lily seemed to sense Sarita’s urge, and said, “You stay right where you are, young lady, and let me do my job. If I need help, I’ll call.”
Achastened Sarita dropped her head and nodded.
Chandler returned right on the heels of the conversation, and said to Lily, “No, let her help, she’ll need to know these kinds of things.”
His mocking tone grabbed Sarita’s attention, and she slowly turned to face him. She realized he didn’t believe she knew how to set a table. He’d called her common this morning at breakfast, and her pride was still stung. Was this his attempt to prove himself right? “You don’t think I know anything about this, do you?”
He shrugged those magnificent shoulders and crossed his arms.
Sarita walked over to the cart and picked up the china plates. She set each fragile blue-and-white plate down with a ring. “Your reports must have missed something, Chandler. My grandmother was setting tables for rich folks before you were even born. I started helping her as soon as I could see over the tops of the tables.”
Sarita knew not only where to place the plates, salad plates, and water goblets, she asked that Lily go back to the china cabinet and bring out dessert plates and forks.
When the housekeeper returned, a seething Sarita was in the middle of interrogating Chandler while she went around the table. “Do you know how many inches should be between the dessert fork and the plate?” she asked him, “or how far the plate should be from the edge of the table?”
Silence
“You don’t know?” she asked mockingly. “What about the water glass and the tip of the fork?”
Myk knew better than to say a word to the furious woman in the blue suit. He’d underestimated her again, and had apparently insulted her pretty badly if this demonstration were any indication.
Once Sarita finished setting the table to her grandmother’s exacting standards, she took a seat and drawled, “Have a seat, Chandler, or can’t you do that with both feet stuck in your mouth?”
Lily coughed behind her hand to cover her surprised laughter.
The stone-faced Mykal took his seat.
Lily stayed around only long enough to thank Sarita for her help with the table, then left the two alone to fight it out.
Myk didn’t like being shown up, but was honest enough to admit it had been his own fault. He conceded her the round by raising his water glass and saying with sincerity, “My apologies for insulting you.”
She stated flatly, “Fifty thousand is not going to be enough.”
He picked up his fork, and in spite of his mood, chuckled inwardly. What a woman.
After they finished the meal, Sarita stood up to leave.
His voice stopped her, “There are some papers here you need to sign.”
“What kind of papers?”
“The ones I showed you this morning.”
“I don’t need to sign a prenup. I don’t want anything from you.”
Myk wondered if she’d ever met a situation she hadn’t challenged? Even with her back against the wall, she still insisted upon having her way. Saint had warned Myk it would be easier to pull nails from cement than to get her to go along with something she didn’t like, and he’d been right. Never in Myk’s whole life had he ever had a woman say no to a sable coat, but this one had. He told her, “Humor me then, and just sign it, please.”
“I need to call my people at the center. They’re probably worried sick.”
“We’ll discuss it after you sign.” He set the papers on the table and held out a pen.
Knowing she had no leverage, Sarita took the pen and grudgingly signed in all the places he indicated. “Can I call now?”
“I’ll bring you a phone.”
He left a moment, then returned with a white cordless. It was the first phone she’d seen since her arrival.
Before she punched in the number, she asked pointedly, “Can I have some privacy?”
He retook his seat. “No. Make your call and keep it short.”
Sarita punched in the numbers. She supposed she should be happy he let her call, but his attitude didn’t make her feel real grateful.
She got Silas on the other end. As soon as she said hello, he lit into her. Seconds passed before she could find a space in his tirade to say anything else. “Silas—”
More tirade.
“Silas, I know I made everybody worry. Silas—”
Although she loved him, he was the bane of her existence sometimes. “Silas—”
He kept going on and on about how worried everybody had been, and how could she go off on her honeymoon and not let anybody know she was getting married?
For a moment she was speechless. “Who told you I was getting married?” she asked, meeting Chandler’s eyes across the table. When Silas gave her the name, she yelled, “Saint!”
Before she could react to that, she had to reply to another question. “Yes, Silas. I’m sure Saint’s right, you will like this brother much better than Greg.”
She turned away from Chandler’s curious face. “I know, you never liked Greg. Silas—Silas, I have to go. Silas I’ll see you in a few days. Okay. I know. Silas, I’m hanging up now.”
And she did. She put the phone down and ran her hands wearily over her eyes.
Myk asked, “Who’s Silas?”
“One of the seniors over at the center. They all think I’m in Arizona on my honeymoon. Wait until I get my hands on Saint.”
“Who’s Greg?”
Sarita looked up. “An old boyfriend.”
“How old?”
“Old enough.” She thought back to the lingerie store and the feel of his hand caressing her cheek. She shook it off. “I have a question for you.”
He nodded.
“Saint told me you won’t be expecting sex, is that true?”
Myk held her eyes. If nothing else, she was blunt. “Yes. When we’re traveling we’ll have to share a room, but we can work that out.”
“So what will I do as your wife?”
“Other than be on my arm, not much.”
She wanted to know if he would define the role of a real wife in such limited terms? His response made her realize that it had never crossed her mind when she was swallowing Saint’s baited hook that she might not click with the man involved. As she’d stated earlier, fifty thousand would probably not be enough. “Saint said you’d need me for about a year?”
“Right. If it has to be longer, I’ll let you know. By the way, I found the gun and the diamonds in your flat, but not the bullets. Where are they?”
She added one more sin to Saint’s litany of offenses. The hidey-hole behind the electrical plate in her bedroom had been her secret spot for buried treasure since she was eight years old. No one had known about it—not her grandmother who had a Ph.D. in nosy, not her granduncles, only Saint, and he’d had to sign his name in blood before she would let him in on the location. She was certain it was the first place he’d told Chandler to look. She supposed under the circumstances, pacts made between siblings could not be honored, but she still felt betrayed.
“Sarita, where are the bullets?”
“What?” she came out of her r
everie.
“The bullets, where are they? We searched the flat from top to bottom.”
She debated using her reply as a lever to get Chandler to make a few more concessions but knew it wouldn’t fly. He held all the cards, and besides, he could always go out and buy more bullets; in this town they were as easy to find as used tires. “Your bullets are in the river. I flushed them.”
Myk noted the smug smile of satisfaction on her face as she said this. He then watched as she eased off one navy pump, then the other, before she reached down to massage her liberated feet. Her soft sigh of relief sounded so much like a sigh of pleasure, his manhood responded instantly. She’d done nothing more than remove her shoes, and he was as hard as a beam.
Sarita happened to look up. In response to his piercing gaze she slowed her actions. “I’m not used to being in heels all day.”
“I’ve work to do.”
To her surprise, he got up and left the room. No other words, just gone. Now what, she thought to herself, but there was no answer.
Myk didn’t go upstairs to his home office. Instead, he went outside and stood on the planked walk that led down to his small dock. In an effort to calm down his manhood, he drew in a few long breaths of the chilly October air. He absently rubbed at the discomfort in his still-healing shoulder. He was not supposed to be attracted to her. As he’d noted before, she’d done nothing but take off her shoes. He blamed it on the lingerie store; all that sexy silk had done something to his brain. Stroking her cheek hadn’t helped. He’d no idea her skin would be so soft or that that softness would still be echoing within him more than an hour later. The plan he and Saint had concocted was not following the script.
The next morning, Lily awakened Sarita early. Chandler had a business appointment at nine, and he wanted her to accompany him. A quick glance at the clock showed it to be almost a quarter of eight. Sarita showered, grabbed a piece of toast from the breakfast tray, did her hair, then dressed quickly in the clothes Lily laid out on the bed.
Sarita, wearing a dove gray suit beneath her fur, sat beside Chandler in the car but had no idea where they were headed. When they reached their destination and he parked the car, she at least knew where they were: the underground garage that handled the parking for the city’s main administration building. The lot was nearly full. People with business to conduct in the courts and offices above walked through the cement cavern toward the door and elevators. She glanced over to see if his face held some clue as to why they’d come here, but as usual his features didn’t reveal a thing.