“Our marriage will make news. But the attention will pass. Eventually. Lunch is waiting on board.”
Carlos, the gardener, and Tomas, a general handyman who helped wherever needed, waited on the dock. Mitch greeted them, stepped on board and turned to offer Carly a hand across the gangplank. The hot seal of their palms quickened her pulse. They’d made love four times in the past twenty-six hours, the most recent just before church this morning, and yet her heart still tripped when he touched her.
From the moment she stepped into the main cabin, she realized the Kincaids took luxury with them wherever they went. She’d been on boats before, but never one as opulent as this. This floating living room with its hardwood floors, white leather sofas and beveled glass and teak tables could have been in anyone’s home. China, crystal and a silver ice bucket holding a bottle of something waited on a full-size dining-room table beneath a sparkling chandelier. The plastic high chair looked as out of place as Carly felt.
The engines rumbled to life beneath her feet, but the boat barely rocked as Carlos and Tomas cast off. Mitch led her to the table, took Rhett from her and competently strapped him into the high chair. Mitch had come a long way and no longer froze when Rhett touched him. In fact, he often initiated contact and this morning he’d had Rhett dressed and fed before Carly emerged from the shower. He’d be a good father.
Mitch pulled out her chair. Carly sat. His fingertips dragged along her neckline as he lifted her hair away from the high back of her chair, and she shivered. He bent down and pressed a kiss in the curve of her neck and shoulder and then his teeth grazed her skin. Her breath hitched and heat blossomed in her abdomen.
He straightened, circled to the opposite side of the table and sat directly across from her. She couldn’t look away from his handsome face, his tanned skin and his intensely green eyes.
Hers. The possessive statement echoed through her as she briefly shifted her gaze to his mouth. The contrast between his hard jaw and soft lips sent arousal prickling through her. The things he’d done with those lips last night had devastated her inhibitions.
As if he could read her mind, hunger flared in his eyes and arousal darkened his cheekbones. A corresponding flush swept over her. She broke his gaze and focused on Rhett, who was busy examining the dog stamped onto the back of his hand in the church nursery this morning. The church stamped parents and children with the same figure at drop-off time to keep anyone from taking home the wrong child. Both she and Mitch wore blue dogs to match Rhett’s.
Bonded by a blue dog. Marked as a family.
Mitch had surprised her by not only allowing himself to be stamped, but also by not washing away the ink as soon as possible.
He’d surprised her in a lot of ways this morning. First, he’d been so attentive at church that anyone watching them would believe this was a real romance. Second, he’d incited very impious thoughts each time his thumbnail grazed her palm or his thigh pressed hers during the sermon. And third, he’d played her preacher like the powerbroker she suspected Mitch Kincaid might be behind his KCL desk.
It bothered her that he believed money could buy anything. But in his experience, it probably had.
She wanted to trust that their marriage would work and wanted to have faith that mutual passion and concern for Rhett would be enough to sustain the relationship. And if she were lucky, love would grow. She was already heading down that path. How could she not? Mitch was tall, dark, handsome, confident, intelligent and fair. His employees respected and trusted him—much more than they had his father, apparently.
And he did nice things. She fingered the boy charm pendant.
Despite the haunting invasion of her sister’s warnings that kept seeping into her brain, Carly kept finding more to like about Mitch every day.
Elena, Carlos’s wife, entered with a tray. She served Carly and Mitch skewers of large grilled shrimp atop beds of rice and sautéed vegetables. Rhett’s plastic plate held his favorite diced foods. Elena left them.
Mitch reached for the bottle and corkscrew. The dark hairs on his wrist beneath his snowy shirt fascinated Carly as he worked the cork free. “After we finish with the jeweler, you need to call your parents. I’ve arranged for the jet to pick them up Thursday morning and carry them back Sunday. Since we can’t leave town until the end of the year unless it’s business-related, we won’t have a honeymoon.”
A honeymoon. Time devoted to nothing but discovering each other’s minds and bodies. She hadn’t given it a thought, but now that he’d planted the seed she realized she’d love a week of Mitch’s undivided attention. Desire made her shift in her seat. “That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to leave Rhett anyway.”
He popped the cork without spilling a drop—the sign of experience—and then filled the flutes with bubbly gold champagne. After wedging the bottle back in the ice, he lifted his flute. “To us. May our marriage be everything we expect it to be.”
“To us,” she echoed and tinked her rim against his.
The chilled liquid slid down her throat like nectar. “Mmm. You know your wines. I’ll grant you that.”
Carly found an appetite that had been AWOL since yesterday morning. She set down her glass and attacked her lunch. The shrimp and crisp veggies tasted divine. She’d been too nervous to eat breakfast today. She had no trouble replacing the calories they’d burned now.
“Rand will be my witness. You can invite one of your own or use your parents,” Mitch said fifteen minutes later after she’d practically inhaled her meal.
“Only one?”
“The fewer people who are a part of this, the less likely it’ll turn into a circus. And unless you intend to quit your job you’ll need to warn them at work that they might need to beef up security until the media storm blows over.”
“What? No, I’m not going to quit. I love my job.”
“Paparazzi enjoy exploiting the rich and famous.”
Paparazzi. A warning prickled her skin. “I’m neither.”
“You will be.”
She chewed over the disturbing news. It wouldn’t be the same as before. She wasn’t young and naive, and Mitch wasn’t going to hang her out to dry to save his own reputation.
Was she making a mistake to bring Rhett into a world where the media watched and waited for fodder?
No. She was giving him what Marlene had wanted—his birthright.
“We’ll apply for the marriage license first thing in the morning.”
“What about my clients?”
“Reschedule an hour or two. And while you’re at it, take Thursday and Friday off.”
“Mitch, I can’t. People are counting on me.”
“Your parents will be here and you have a wedding to plan.”
Right again. She mentally pictured her schedule, trying to guess who could be shuffled and who couldn’t. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Rhett finished his lunch and his eyes grew droopy. Carly was glad of the excuse to escape. Mitch showed her below deck to a stateroom as posh as the one in the manor. He’d taken care of every detail from diapers to Rhett’s favorite stuffed gator.
She changed Rhett and tucked him into the crib. He immediately went to sleep, taking away her excuse for hiding out. It was almost two o’clock, so she made her way back upstairs.
The engines quieted as she returned to the living area. “Why are we stopping?”
“We have company.”
Before she could ask who, she spotted another boat bumping alongside. But it wasn’t the harbor patrol, which often stopped boats to check for safety issues. The crew of the other yacht linked the boats, and a distinguished-looking older gentleman wearing a goatee and carrying a briefcase came aboard. Mitch greeted him at the door and gestured for him to enter.
“Carly, this is Mr. Belmonté, our jeweler. He has a selection of rings for you to look over.”
Surprised once again, she glanced out the windows on either side of the room. The closest landmass was at least a mile away. “We’re in the middle of the bay.”
“It’s the best way to ensure privacy,” Mitch said as if he shopped in such odd places on a regular basis.
She’d assumed they’d dock at the back door of the jewelry store…or something.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Corbin. I have chosen a number of designs based on Mr. Kincaid’s description, but if none of them pleases you I have more back at the shop.”
After shaking her hand, Belmonté placed his briefcase on the coffee table and flipped it open. Carly nearly fell over backward. The glittering display of fifty or more rings on black velvet had to be worth bazillions. She couldn’t catch her breath, and someone had glued her feet to the floor. Surreal.
Mitch slipped an arm around her waist and guided her to the sofa. Carly collapsed onto the cushion because her legs had started shaking. And then Mitch sat beside her, as close as a postage stamp. The heat of his body seeped into hers.
“Do you see anything you like, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart? Her head swiveled his way. Their gazes collided. “I—I—”
Mitch looked at her steadily. His hand covered the fist she’d curled on her thigh. He’s playing a part. He’d said everyone had a price. Did he think the jeweler did, too?
Play along. It will be better for Rhett in the long run.
“Which do you prefer? Yellow gold, white gold or platinum?”
Carly turned her attention back to the tray. “They’re all so beautiful…and so…” Huge. There couldn’t be anything in the tray that cost less than her car. She’d bet some of the pieces cost as much as her house.
She blinked and tried again. “I can’t wear anything too large. I work with my hands.”
“May I make a suggestion?” The jeweler selected a ring. “This is a flawless three-carat Asscher cut stone. When the platinum bands are added—” he paused to flank the ring with a pair of matching bands “—the stone is protected.”
The wedding bands cupped the stone’s edges in a swirl of gleaming metal. “It’s beautiful.”
“Try it on,” Mitch urged her. “Here. Let me.”
He took the rings from Belmonté, lifted her hand and slid the cool metal down her finger. Warm hands. Cold rings. The contrast overwhelmed her nervous system. But the rings fit as if made for her. A sign? Or a coincidence?
“Like it?” Mitch asked in that low rumble that made her skin tingle.
A knot formed halfway down her throat. Her fingers convulsed around Mitch’s. She nodded, and garbled, “Yes.”
“We’ll take it.”
“And your ring, sir?” The jeweler flipped a lever and another velvet layer dropped to cover the solitaires and display a selection of men’s rings. “You suggested something simple.”
She doubted she could afford anything in the tray, but tradition stated the bride buy the groom’s ring. “Mitch—”
“This one.” Quick and decisive, the Mitch she’d come to know, selected a wide band and slipped it on.