The Inconvenient Bride - By Anne McAllister Page 0,34

into view when she turned and he glimpsed the sides where the tails curved upward.

“Hi,” he managed. It sounded like a frog’s croak.

Enough buttons were undone at the neck and below that she didn’t appear to be wearing a bra.

What else wasn’t she wearing?

“You didn’t tell me you’d called Bruce.”

It was what he expected her to say, but her tone wasn’t accusing. There seemed to be a soft, wondering, appreciative note in it.

He shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I can’t afford to support you.”

“I know, but I didn’t expect it. I’m so glad.”

She was? Would wonders never cease? He reached for her, assuring himself that it was okay to do so now. He’d waited all day, after all.

They kissed. It was a long kiss. Eager on both their parts. Deep and hungry. It should have led straight to the bedroom.

But Sierra backed off. “First we eat. Food.” She smiled at him. “I got my mother’s recipe for lasagne. Mariah gave it to me.”

Dominic did his best to tamp down his desire. “Right,” he said. “Food.”

“I hope you’re hungry.” She was looking at him hopefully, her expression open and eager.

“Sure,” he said. “Even for food.”

She laughed as if he’d made a wonderful joke. “Good. Go wash up, then come and sit. It’s ready.”

He was tempted to suggest they make a quick trip up to the bedroom first. But he didn’t. She’d obviously worked hard to make dinner special. The least he could do was enjoy it. Any other time, he was sure he would. It was just that he’d been waiting all day to go to bed with her.

He dried his hands and went back to the dining room. She was serving the meal on his seldom-used dining table in front of the windows overlooking the park. She’d lit candles—tapers on the sideboard and at either side of the table. She’d put their plates directly across from each other. It looked cosy, intimate. A love nest.

Dominic felt edgy, wary, then chided himself. What was he wary of? Being trapped into marriage? Hardly. He was already married to her.

“Sit down,” Sierra said. She asked him to pour the wine.

He poured it, then handed her a glass. He was reminded of the last time they’d drunk together—at dinner with his father and Viveca and Tommy Hargrove. He remembered the toasts. Looking at Sierra he thought she did, too. She was looking at him with a bright, eager look in her eyes.

“To you,” Dominic said after a moment and touched his glass to hers.

“To us,” Sierra replied with a smile. Then she drank.

Dominic drank, too. Then he dug into the lasagne and the salad and the bread. It was excellent. Simple, but delicious. And even though he’d have happily forgone it and headed straight upstairs with her, he ate now with gusto. “Really, really good,” he told her, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

She hadn’t eaten nearly as much as he had. She seemed to be watching him, waiting. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad. I’m not much of a cook. But I’m willing to learn.”

“You don’t have to cook every night,” Dominic said.

“That’s a relief. But I intend to do plenty. If it’s okay with you. I was wondering what kind of foods you like.”

“Most anything. I’m not picky.”

“Italian? You like lasagne. Have you been to Italy? I always thought Italy would be a lovely place to go. I never got there, even when I was in France, can you believe it?” She was talking rapidly. Even more rapidly than Sierra usually did.

“You’ve never been to Italy?”

She shook her head. “There’s a lot of places I haven’t been. Jamaica. Cancún. Niagara Falls. The Poconos.”

Dominic blinked, trying to follow that, wondering what those places had in common. Maybe they were the only places Sierra had never been.

“What about Alaska?” he asked. “Have you been there?”

Her eyes widened. “Alaska? No, never. It sounds…great! Amazing.”

“It’s beautiful,” Dominic agreed. “Rhys and I have gone fishing there several times.”

“Oh.” She looked a little puzzled, but then she smiled again. “Alaska’s great,” she said again.

Dominic frowned slightly. Was she angling to go along when he went fishing with Rhys again? He’d never taken a woman along on a fishing trip before. It was a time to be gnarly and grubby and unshaven. But the thought of having Sierra there to share a sleeping bag with made him consider rethinking his decision.

“Maybe we could do that in the summer,” he said.

She brightened. “Summer! Oh, yes, that’d be terrific.” She plied herself