Marriage with Benefits

“Nosy, aren’t you?”

He raised a brow. “Well, now, darlin’, you just proposed to me. I’m entitled to a few questions.”

“My grandfather is old-fashioned. When my parents died …” Her lips firmed into a flat line. “He wants me to be taken care of, and in his mind, that means a husband. I’m supposed to fall in love and get married and have babies, not get a divorce. The money is a safety net in case the husband bails, one I put considerable effort into convincing my grandfather to include.”

“Your grandfather has met you, right?” He grinned. “Five minutes into our acquaintance, and I would never make the mistake of thinking you can’t look after yourself. Why thirty-five? You don’t strike me as one to blow your trust fund on cocaine and roulette.”

“I donated all the money I inherited from my parents to the shelter where I work,” she snapped, as if daring him to say something—anything—about it. “And don’t go thinking I’m looking for handouts. My grandfather set up the trust and deposits the considerable interest directly into my bank account. I have more than enough to live on, but not enough to build a shelter. He’s hoping I’ll lose enthusiasm for battered women by thirty-five.”

“Well, that’s obviously not going to happen.”

“No. And I don’t enjoy being manipulated into marriage.” She tightened the lock of her crossed arms. “Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to hurt puppies or put your money into a pyramid scheme. This is going to save lives. Women who suffer domestic abuse have nowhere to go. Most of them don’t have much education and have to work to feed their kids. Consider it charity. Or are you too selfish?”

“Hey now. I’m on the Habitat for Humanity board. I tithe my ten percent. Give me a break.”

Good button to push, though, because against his will, wheels started turning.

Six months wasn’t too much of a sacrifice for the greater good, was it? Abuse was a terrible evil, and a charity that helped abuse victims was well worth supporting. He took in Cia’s fierce little form and couldn’t help but wonder what had sparked all that passion. Did she reserve it for crusading or did she burn this brightly in other one-on-one situations, too?

Through the glass separating the balcony from the ballroom, he watched his grandparents slow dance in the midst of his parents’ friends. Could he make this fake marriage work and protect his family from divorce fallout at the same time? He couldn’t deny how far a nice, stable wife might go toward combating his problems with Lana’s husband. Probably not a bad idea to swear off women for a while anyway. Maybe if he kept Cia away from his family as much as possible, Mama would eventually forget about the absentee daughter-in-law.

No. No way. This whole setup gave him hives.

Mama would never let him keep a wife squirreled away, no matter what he intended. Cia could find someone else to marry, and together he and Matthew would straighten out the kinks in Wheeler Family Partners’ client list. “As … interesting as all this sounds, afraid I’ll have to pass.”

“Not so fast.” Her gaze pierced him with a prickly, no-nonsense librarian thing. “I’m trusting you with this information. Don’t disappoint me or you’ll spend the next six months tied up in court. My grandfather is selling the cell phone division of Manzanares and moving the remainder of the business to a smaller facility. I’m sure you’re familiar with his current location?”

Four buildings surrounding a treed park, centrally located and less than ten years old. Designed by Brown & Worthington in an innovative, award-winning Mediterranean/modern architectural mix. Approximately three million square feet with access to the DART light-rail.

“Slightly.”

“My grandfather would be thrilled to give the exclusive sales contract for the complex to my husband.”

She waited, but calculations had already scrolled through his head.

The commission on Manzanares beat the Rose building by quadruple. And the prestige—it could lead to other clients for Wheeler Family Partners, and instead of being the Wheeler who’d screwed up, he’d be the family’s savior.

Out of nowhere, the fifty-pound weight sitting on his chest rolled off. “If I went so far as to entertain this insane idea, can I call you Dulciana?”

“Not if you expect me to answer. My name is Cia, which, incidentally, sounds nothing like darling, so take note. Are you in or out?”

He had to tell her now? Evidently Cia did not subscribe to the Lucas Wheeler Philosophy of Life—anything worth doing was worth taking the time to do right. “Why me?”

“You may play the field well and often, but research shows you treat women with respect. That’s important to me. Also, everything I’ve read says you’ll keep your word, a rare commodity. I can’t be the one to file for divorce so I have to trust you will.”

Oddly, her faith touched him. But the feeling didn’t sit well. “Don’t you have a boyfriend or some other hapless male in your life you can railroad into this?”

“There’s no one else. In my experience, men have one primary use.” She let her gaze rove over him suggestively, and the atmosphere shifted from tense to provocative. Hidden terrace lighting played over her features, softening them, and that unrevealing dress dangled the promise of what she’d hidden under it.

Then she finished the sentiment. “To move furniture.”

That’s why this exotically beautiful woman didn’t have a boyfriend stashed somewhere. Any guy sniffing around Miz Allende had to want it bad enough to work for it. Nobody was worth that much effort, not even this ferocious little crusader with the mismatched earrings who’d waltzed into the Black Gold Club and walked across the room with a deliberate, slow gait he’d thoroughly enjoyed watching. “You win. I’ll call you Cia.”

Her brows snapped together. “Throw down your hand, Wheeler. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain by marrying me. Yes or no?”

She was all fire and passion, and it was a dirty shame she seemed hell-bent on keeping their liaison on paper. But he usually liked his women uncomplicated and easygoing, so treating this deal as business might be the better way to go.

He groaned. At what point had he started to buy into this lunatic idea of a fake-but-pretend-it’s-real marriage to a woman he’d just met? Call him crazy, but he’d always imagined having lots of sex with the woman he eventually married…way, way, way in the future.

If he pursued her, he’d have to work hard to get Miz Allen de into bed, which didn’t sound appealing in the least, and the deal would be difficult enough.

Business only, then, in exchange for a heap of benefits.

The Manzanares contract lay within his grasp. He couldn’t pass up the chance to revitalize his family’s business. Yeah, Matthew would be right there, fighting alongside Lucas no matter what, but he shouldn’t have to be. The mess belonged to Lucas alone, and a way to fix it had miraculously appeared.

“No,” he said.

“No?” Cia did a fair impression of a big-mouth bass. “As in you’re turning me down?”

“As in I don’t kowtow to the X chromosome. You want to do business, we’ll do it in my office tomorrow morning. Nine sharp.” Giving him plenty of time to do a little reconnaissance so he could meet his future wife-slash-business-partner toe-to-toe. Wheelers knew how to broker a deal. “With lawyers, without alcohol, and darlin’, don’t be late.”

Her face went blank, and the temperature dropped at least five degrees. She nodded once. “Done.”

Hurricane Cia swept toward the door, and he had no doubt the reprieve meant he stood in the eye of the storm. No problem. He’d load up on storm-proof, double-plated armor in a heartbeat if it meant solving all his problems in one shot.

Looked like he was going to make an effort after all.

Two

Cia had been cooling her heels a full twenty minutes when Lucas strolled into the offices of Wheeler Family Partners LLC at 9:08 a.m. the next morning. Renewed anger ate through another layer of her stomach lining. She’d had to ask Courtney to cover her responsibilities at the shelter to attend this meeting, and the man didn’t have the courtesy to be on time. He’d pay for that. Especially after he’d ordered her not to be late in that high-handed, deceptively lazy drawl.

“Miz Allende.” Lucas nodded as if he often found women perched on the edge of the leather couch in the waiting area. He leaned on the granite slab covering the receptionist’s desk. “Helena, can you please reschedule the nine-thirty appraisal and send Kramer the revised offer I emailed you? Give me five minutes to find some coffee, and then show Miz Allen de to my office.”

The receptionist smiled and murmured her agreement. Her eyes widened as Cia stalked up behind Lucas. The other women often found on Lucas’s couch must bow to the master’s bidding.

Cia cleared her throat, loudly, until he faced her. “I’ve got other activities on my agenda today, Wheeler. Skip the coffee, and I’ll follow you to your office.”

Inwardly, she cringed. Not only were her feminine wiles out of practice, she’d let Lucas get to her. She couldn’t keep being so witchy or he’d run screaming in the other direction long before realizing the benefits of marrying her.

If only he’d stop being so…Lucas for five minutes, maybe she’d be able to bite her tongue.

Lucas didn’t call her on it, though. He just stared at her, evaluating. Shadows under his lower lashes deepened the blue of his irises, and fatigue pulled at the sculpted lines of his face. Her chin came up. Carousing till all hours, likely. He probably always looked like that after rolling out of some socialite’s bed, where he’d done everything but sleep.

Not her problem. Not yet anyway.

Without a blink, he said, “Sure thing, darlin’. Helena, would you mind?”

He smiled gratefully at the receptionist’s nod and ushered Cia down a hall lined with a lush Turkish rug over espresso hardwood. Pricey artwork hung on the sage walls and lent to the moneyed ambience of the office. Wheeler Family Partners had prestige and stature among the elite property companies in Texas, and she prayed Lucas cared as much as she assumed he did about preserving his heritage, or her divorce deal would be dead on arrival.