stands to inherit the title, then an English court may order that the baby stays with her. So…”
“So?”
“The only thing to do is to stay with our original plan,” he said, still holding her shoulders. His gaze was intent and sure. Jenny’s world was crumbling, so he had to sound confident. “I understand why you had to run, but the threat’s not over. We make sure our marriage sticks. It’s a legal contract, but Gloria will be down at immigration first thing tomorrow telling them our marriage is a sham. She’ll shout it to the rooftops, and if necessary she’ll bribe them to get their interest.”
“But…”
“Jen, if she’s not back here tomorrow, the immigration officials will be. That’s almost guaranteed. Either way, you can’t be here. Our marriage has to seem real. You have to be with me. You need my protection, and so does your baby.” He gave a self-mocking smile. “Maybe it’s time for me to be a real hero.”
She didn’t smile back. “Michael, I don’t want to live with you.”
“Jen, we started this,” he told her, and his voice took on a note of steel. “You knew you’d have to stay with me, whether you want to admit it or not. To do otherwise is stupid, and Gloria’s proven that tonight. Now, let’s get your gear packed and move you where you legally belong. Living with your husband.”
JENNY SAID NOTHING on the drive, but Michael was growing accustomed to her silences. He liked them, he thought. When his sisters were upset they let him have it with both barrels. Jenny withdrew into herself, holding her trouble close.
They had packed all her belongings into the Corvette. There was nothing personal left in her apartment.
“The break has to be complete,” he told her.
“I can’t stay with you forever.”
A couple of years, he thought, but he knew if he said that, she’d bolt like a startled rabbit. “Let’s take one day at a time,” he said instead.
Or even one night at a time, he thought as he watched her worried face. Her absolute weariness concerned him. His first priority was to get her to sleep tonight.
The responsibility he’d taken on was growing heavier by the minute, he acknowledged bleakly. It seemed he had himself a wife in truth, as well as on paper.
At least she had a calm nature, he decided, trying to look on the brighter side. She wouldn’t disturb his bachelor existence much.
“I’ll try not to be too much trouble,” she whispered into the dark, as if she guessed his thoughts. “I never meant to do this to you.”
“I offered,” he said, and managed a smile. “Don’t be grateful, Jen. Just do what you need to do to survive and go from there.”
MICHAEL’S HOME couldn’t have been more different from Jenny’s. His multilevel town house was part of a new housing development built on a tree-lined avenue overlooking the bike trails by Town Lake.
Michael hit his remote control and the door of his garage slid silently up. The Corvette entered the garage, and the door slid closed behind them, and Jenny had the sensation of being trapped. Crazy or not, she had to suppress an impulse to get out, thump on the garage door and demand to be let out.
But Michael was holding open the door to his house, and she had nothing to do but walk inside.
And gasp.
His home was white!
Jenny stopped dead and stared around with astonishment. Of all the places she’d imagined Michael could live, this wasn’t it. This was no messy bachelor pad. The place was stark and coldly white, with the occasional splash of black for dramatic effect. White tiles, white chairs and sofa, white wood furniture with glass-topped tables to reflect the white tiles. White walls, with black and white prints on the walls. White drapes.
Michael put down the first load of her belongings and pulled the drapes wide. Outside was parkland and the river beyond. The lights of Austin were twinkling against the night sky. Gorgeous.
She turned to the room-and shuddered.
“Michael?”
“What’s wrong?”
“This room.” She gestured helplessly. “I can’t…”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t live here,” she said honestly. “I don’t think I can even stay here.”
“Why not?” He smiled at her. “It’s in better shape than your place. That was a real dump.”
“There’s no need to get personal.”
“But it was. Admit it.”
Her anger flared. “If we’re talking of dumps…”
“Are we?” He was watching the spark behind her green eyes. She came alive when she was angry.
She really was lovely.
“What’s wrong with this place?” he asked, and watched while she tried like crazy to be polite. And failed.
She took a deep breath. “Michael, it’s awful.”
“Oh, yeah? Who are we kidding here? Your place was awful. This place has serious money spent on it.”
“I can see that, and of all the wasteful-” She bit her lip, and Michael grinned. She was so transparent.
“Go on.”
“I’m too polite.”
“No. Come on, Jen.” He was enjoying this. “I’ve been honest about your place. You owe me the same.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yeah, I do.” She was fascinating. Her eyes were roving around the place as if she were mentally pulling it apart, and he could see her courage returning. “We’re married, remember? You’re going to have to show immigration officials around and admit you like living here.”
“You think I could do that in a million years?” she asked incredulously.
“Why not?”
“Oh, yeah, as if I could ever like white. I’d rather face Gloria again than admit I had anything to do with this place. Where do you relax?”
“I’m not here much.”
“I can see that. It looks like the photographer’s just left. But when you are here, where do you watch TV and drink beer?”
“Mostly I do my beer drinking at Garrett’s ranch,” he admitted.
“No wonder. It’s so cold here. Who decorated the place?”
“A woman I went out with.”
“How many times did you go out with her?” Jenny demanded, fixing him with a look. Michael stared at her. She was transforming in front of his eyes. This wasn’t the quiet Jenny he thought he’d married.
“Beats me. Twice, maybe.”
“She obviously didn’t know you. This isn’t decorating. This is a vacuum!” She went to the sofa and stared in disgust at its gorgeous white surface. “You don’t sit on this thing!”
“Of course I do.” He was stung.
“How often?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes.”
“Like never,” she said flatly. “I tell you, Michael, if you sat here now you’d leave a mark that’d take a chemical arsenal to remove. I bet your housekeeper has an awful job keeping it clean.”
He glared, cornered. “How do you know I have a housekeeper?”
“Hey, I just guessed.” She grinned. “Sherlock Holmes, that’s me. And I’ll bet she comes once a day. Or more. What’s her name?”
“I don’t…” Michael frowned. “What the heck does it matter what her name is? It’s an agency. Whoever’s available comes. I don’t know names.”
“Then that’s easy. Michael, you don’t really like this stuff, do you?”
Did he? He tried to find words to defend his decor, but they weren’t there to find. There was something about this woman that demanded honesty. “No, but…”
“Let me fix it for you.” Her eyes gleamed with challenge, and he found himself starting to laugh.
