She studied a point on the wall just past his shoulder. "I thought you and Paige…"
Mitch didn't say anything. He just stood there and looked at her.
His look was definitely possessive. She remembered the five dollars, and she could feel her cheeks growing hot. Did he really think he'd bought her from Yank?
She lowered herself to the floor and made a great business out of looking for her shoe. Anything to avoid looking at Mitch. She peered under the desk, under the credenza, over by the doorway. Mitch's shoes were there. Unlike hers, they were on his feet. Polished black wing tips peeking out from between neatly creased navy-blue slacks.
The silence was growing more oppressive. Her cheeks still felt hot. She jumped as her shoe dropped in front of her.
Just as she picked it up, two strong hands pulled her to her feet. Mitch looked quite stern, perhaps a bit dangerous. "Your divorce isn't final yet. As soon as it is, you and I have an appointment in the bedroom."
At first she thought he said boardroom. You and I have an appointment in the boardroom. She was so shaken that she heard him wrong. And by the time she realized what he had actually said, he was on his way out of the office.
She gritted her teeth. Oh, no. It wasn't going to be all business. No way. If Mr. Stuffed Shirt thought it was going to be all business, he'd better think again. She flung her shoe at the door.
His reflexes were quick, and she hadn't been trying to hit him anyway, so the shoe missed him by a yard. That didn't seem to appease him, however.
He turned back to her, crossed his arms over his chest and said with a deadly quiet, "You've got thirty seconds, Susannah."
"For what?"
"To stop acting like a feather-headed female and decide what you want."
"I-I don't know what you mean."
"Twenty-five seconds."
"Stop bullying me."
"Eighteen."
"You're a real jerk, do you know that?"
"Fifteen."
"Why does it have to be me?"
"Twelve."
"Why can't you say it?"
"Ten."
"All right. I'll say it!"
"Five."
"I love you, you jerk!"
"Damn right, you do. And don't you forget it."
He still looked as mad as hell, but something warm and wonderful was opening inside of Susannah. She wanted to slide into his arms and stay there forever. What was it about Mitchell Blaine's arms that made a woman want to lose herself in them? Moving forward, she placed her open palms on his chest. She could feel his heart racing just as hard as hers. She shut her eyes and lifted her mouth toward his.
He groaned, caught her wrists and set her firmly away from him. "Not yet," he said hoarsely. "I bought you, and I'm in charge."
Her eyes snapped open. "You're kidding."
He gave her that narrow-eyed look he turned on competitors when he was bargaining for position. "Legally, you're still a married woman. And I'm not going to touch you until your divorce is final, because once I get started with you, I don't intend to stop."
She repressed a delicious shiver of anticipation, and then frowned. "It's going to be another month, Mitch. That's a long time."
"Use it well."
"Me?"
He gave her his best steely-eyed glare, but she saw these funny little lights dancing in those light blue irises. "You might as well know right now, Susannah, that I expect value for my money."
The sound that slipped through her lips was a garbled combination of laughter and outrage. She decided two could play his game. Recovering quickly, she sauntered back over to him and slipped her fingers underneath his necktie knot. "I know exactly what I've got to offer. You're the unproven commodity."
"Now that is exactly the sort of disrespect we're going to have to work hard to correct." His voice was as solemn as a judge's, but she wasn't fooled for a minute. "I want to see a change of attitude, Susannah. At least a semblance of subservience."
"Subservience?"
"I'm the man. You're the woman. As far as I'm concerned, that says it all. It had better be that way after we're married, too."
"Did you say married?"
"I'm considering it."
"You're considering it? Of all the arrogant-"
"First you pass the bedroom interview, Hot Shot. Then we'll talk about a contract."
As she sputtered for breath, his sober face shattered into the biggest grin she had ever seen. Before she could say another word, he walked away.
But she wasn't done with him. She rushed over to the doorway only to discover that he was already halfway down the hall. "Stop right there, Mitchell Blaine," she called out. "Do you love me?"
"Of course," he replied, without losing a step. "I'm surprised you even need to ask."
Then, as she watched, he took three long strides forward, leaped off the ground, and faked a perfect jump shot at the ceiling.
His shirttail didn't even come untucked.
Chapter 34
Yank and Paige left for Reno without bothering to change their clothes or pack a suitcase. Somehow, Paige had never imagined herself getting married in a silk blouse and pair of gray slacks, but no force on earth could have persuaded either of them to wait a day longer. The ceremony took place not long after midnight in a tacky little chapel with one of Elvis's guitars on display in a glass case. Yank had stared at the guitar for a long time and then said it reminded him of a woman he loved.
Paige didn't understand why one of Elvis's guitars would remind Yank of herself, but the service was ready to begin, and she didn't have time to ask any questions.
The wedding suites in the better hotels were already booked, and they had to settle for a smaller hotel. The bellhop showed them into a room that looked like a nightmare version of the inside of a Valentine candy box. The walls were covered in fuzzy zebra-striped wallpaper, and white fake fur rugs as thick as dust mops stretched from wall to wall. Festoons of shiny red and white satin draped the heart-shaped bed and were reflected in the gold-flecked mirror that served as a headboard.
"This is nice," Yank said in admiration.
Normally Paige would have laughed, but she was too nervous. What if Yank was disappointed in her? She had faked lovemaking with some of the best, but Yank was a lot more perceptive than most men. Still, she didn't envision lovemaking as being the most important part of their life together. Anybody who was as cerebral as Yank probably wasn't going to be the world's most competent lover, which was fine with her. She'd already gone to bed with the greatest, and it hadn't been all that wonderful.
Cuddling with him appealed to her the most-so warm and cozy. The cuddling and the cooking. She wanted to fill his thin body with her rich, wonderful food. Nurse his babies from her bountiful breasts. Unaccountably, her eyes filled with tears.
She had her back to him, but somehow he seemed to know she was crying. He gathered her in his arms and held her. "It's going to be all right," he said. "You mustn't worry."
She stood on her tiptoes and buried her face in his neck. "I love you so much. I don't deserve you. I'm not a nice person. I lose my temper. I swear too much. You're so much better than I am."
He tilted up her chin and stroked her blond hair back from her face with his fingers. His eyes were filled with wonder. "You're the most wonderful woman in the world. I still can't believe you're mine."
As he gazed at her, all the goodness in his soul infused her. And then he dropped his head and kissed her. Oh, so slowly. She had never been kissed like that. His lips touched hers so lightly that at first she could barely feel them. She was the one who deepened the pressure. She was the one who opened her mouth.
The kiss went on and on. He was a man of infinite patience, and he believed in doing a job well. He kissed her cheeks and her eyelids, laid her back on the bed and tilted her chin to the side so he could kiss her throat. He found the pulse that fluttered there and counted the beats with the touch of his lips.