Synopsis from Amazon Canada:How did pretty, flighty Daisy Devreaux find herself in this fix? She can either go to jail or marry the mystery man her father has chosen for her. Alex Markov, however, has no intention of playing the loving bridegroom to a spoiled little featherhead with champagne tastes. As humorless as he is deadly handsome, he drags the irrepressible Daisy away from her uptown life and sets out to tame her. Except it won't be as easy as he thinks. This man without a soul has met a woman who's nothing but heart. Will vows spoken in haste shatter . . . or offer the promise of love everlasting?
My rating: 5 stars
My review: Total melodrama but you can't help getting hooked.
Excerpt: [Chapter 1]
Daisy Devreaux had forgotten her bridegroom's name.
"I, Theodosia, take thee ..."
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her father had introduced them several days ago, that terrible morning the three of them had gone to get the marriage license, and she'd heard the name then. Right afterward the man had disappeared, and she hadn't seen him again until a few minutes ago when she'd walked down the staircase of her father's Central Park West duplex into the living room where this makeshift midmorning wedding ceremony was taking place.
Her father stood behind her, and Daisy could almost feel him vibrating with disapproval, but his disapproval was nothing new. He'd been disappointed with her even before she was born, and no matter how hard she'd tried, she'd never been able to get him to change his mind.
She risked a sideways peek at this bridegroom her father's money had bought for her. A studmuffin. A very scary stud-muffin with his towering height, lean, whipcord build, and those eerie amber eyes. Her mother would have loved him.
When Lani Devreaux had died in a yacht fire last year, she'd been in the arms of a twenty-four-year-old rock star. Daisy had finally reached the point where she could think about her mother without pain, and she smiled to herself as she realized that the man standing at her side would have been too old for her mother. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and Lani had usually drawn the line at twenty-nine.
His hair was so dark it was nearly black, and those chiseled features might have made his face too pretty if it weren't for his strong jaw, not to mention that intimidating scowl. Men with such brutal good looks had appealed to Lani, but Daisy preferred older, more conservative types. Not for the first time since the ceremony had begun did she wish her father had picked someone less intimidating.
She tried to steady her nerves by reminding herself that she wasn't going to have to spend more than a few hours in her new husband's company. As soon as she had a chance to tell him her plan, this would all be over. Unfortunately, her plan also meant breaking the sacred marriage vows she was getting ready to take, and since she wasn't the sort of person who could take a vow lightly—especially a marriage vow—she suspected her guilty conscience had induced the memory block.
She started over again, hoping the name would poke through her mental barrier. "I, Theodosia, take thee . .." Once again her voice trailed off.
Her bridegroom didn't even spare her a glance, let alone try to help her. He stared straight ahead, and the uncompromising lines of that hard profile made her skin prickle. He'd just spoken his own vows, so he must have mentioned his name, but the lack of inflection in his voice had escalated her emotional tailspin, and she hadn't taken it in.
"Alexander," her father spit out from behind her, and Daisy could tell by the sound of his voice that he was clenching his teeth again. For a man who had been one of the United States' foremost diplomats, he certainly didn't have much patience with her.
She dug her nails into her palms and told herself she had no choice. "I, Theodosia ..." She gulped for air. "... take thee Alexander ..." She gulped again. "... to be my awful wedded husband ..."
It wasn't until she heard her stepmother, Amelia, gasp that she realized what she'd said.
The studmuffin turned his head and looked down at her.
He cocked one dark brow in a vaguely inquisitive fashion, as if he wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly. My awful wedded husband. Her sense of humor kicked in, and she felt the corners of her mouth quiver.
His brows slammed together and those deep-set eyes regarded her without a speck of amusement. Obviously the studmuffin didn't share her problem with inappropriate levity.
Swallowing the small bubble of hysteria that was rising inside her, she plunged on without correcting herself. At least that one part of her vows would be honest because he was certainly an awful husband for her. At that moment her mental block finally evaporated and his last name leaped into her mind. Markov. Alexander Markov. He was another of her father's Russians.
As a former ambassador to the Soviet Union, her father, Max Petroff, had close ties with the Russian community, both here and abroad. His passion for his ancestral homeland was even reflected in the decor of the room where they stood, with its bold blue walls, so common in that country's residential architecture; yellow-tiled stove; and multicolored kilim rug. To her left, a walnut cabinet held vases of Russian cobalt as well as crystal and porcelain pieces from the Imperial Works in St. Petersburg. The furniture was a mixture of art deco and eighteenth century that somehow worked.
Her bridegroom's large hand lifted her own much smaller one, and she felt its strength as he shoved a plain gold band on her finger.
"With this ring, I thee wed," he said in a stern, uncompromising voice.
She gazed at the simple band with momentary confusion. For as long as she could remember, she'd indulged in what her mother Lani had called a ' 'bourgeois fantasy of love and marriage," and she'd never imagined anything like this.
"... the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce that you are husband and wife."
She tensed as she waited for Judge Rhinsetler to invite the bridegroom to kiss the bride. When he didn't, she knew her father had asked him not to, sparing her the embarrassment of being forced to kiss that hard, unsmiling mouth. It was exactly like her father to have remembered a detail that no one else had thought to consider. Although she wouldn't admit it for the world, she wished she were more like him,
but she wasn't even able to manage the major events of her life, let alone the details.
In wasn't in her nature to wallow in self-pity, so she shook it off as her father came forward to brush his cool cheek against hers in ceremonial fashion. She found herself hoping for a word of affection, but she wasn't surprised when she didn't get it. She even managed to look unaffected as he moved away.
He drew her mysterious bridegroom toward the windows that looked down over Central Park, where they were joined by Judge Rhinsetler. The other witnesses to the ceremony were the chauffeur, who tactfully disappeared to attend to his duties, and her father's wife Amelia, with her frosted blond hair and lockjaw drawl.
"Congratulations, dear. What a beautiful couple you and Alexander make. Don't they look wonderful together, Max?" Without waiting for an answer, Amelia swept Daisy into her arms, enveloping both of them in a cloud of musky perfume.
Amelia acted as if she felt a genuine fondness for her husband's bastard daughter, and even though Daisy knew her real feelings, she gave Amelia credit for trying. It couldn't be easy to confront the living evidence of the only irresponsible thing her husband had ever done, even if he'd done it twenty-six odd years ago.
"I don't know why you insisted on wearing that dress, dear. It might be appropriate for club-hopping, but hardly for a wedding." Amelia's critical gaze passed stern judgment on Daisy's expensive metallic lace tank dress that ended in a scalloped hem a good eight inches above her knee.
"It's almost white."
"Gold isn't white, dear. And it's much too short."
"The jacket is conservative," Daisy pointed out, smoothing her hands along the sides of the boxy gold satin jacket that fell to the top of her thighs.
"That hardly makes up for the rest. Why couldn't you have gone along with tradition and worn white?Or at least chosen something more sedate."
Because this wasn't going to be a real marriage, Daisy thought, and the more she bowed to tradition, the more she remembered that she was violating something that should be sacred. She'd even removed the gardenia Amelia had fastened in her hair only to have her stepmother stick it back in just before the ceremony.
She knew Amelia didn't approve of her gold shoes either, which looked like a pair of Roman gladiator sandals with four-inch heels. They were brutally uncomfortable, but at least they couldn't be confused with the traditional white satin pumps.
"Your bridegroom doesn't look happy," Amelia whispered. "Not that I'm surprised. Try not to say anything silly to him for at least the first hour or so, will you? You really must do something about that annoying habit of talking before you think."
Daisy barely repressed a sigh. Amelia never said what she really thought, while Daisy almost always did, and her honesty antagonized her stepmother to no end. But Daisy wasn't good at dissembling. Maybe because she had seen so much of it from both her parents.
She sneaked a look at her new husband and wondered how much her father had paid him to marry her. And some irreverent part of her wanted to know how the actual transaction had taken place. Cash? Check? Excuse me, Alexander Markov, but do you take American Express? As she observed her bridegroom declining a mimosa from the tray being passed by Min Soon, she tried to imagine what he was thinking.
* * *
How much longer before he could hustle the little brat out of here? Alex Markov glanced at his watch. Another five minutes should do it, he decided. He watched the servant who was passing a tray of drinks stop to fawn over her. Enjoy it, lady. It'll be a long time before it happens again.
While Max showed the judge an antique samovar, Alex gazed at his new wife's legs, revealed for all the world to see by that harebrained excuse for a wedding dress. They were slim and shapely, which made him wonder if the rest of her body, partially concealed by her jacket, would be as enticing. But even a siren's body wasn't going to compensate him for being forced into this marriage.
He remembered his last private conversation with Daisy's father. "She's badly educated, flighty, and irresponsible," Max Petroff had announced. "Her mother was a terrible influence. I don't believe Daisy knows how to do anything useful. Granted, it's not all her fault. Lani never cut the apron strings, and she kept Daisy with her until she died. It's a miracle Daisy wasn't on board the boat that night it caught on fire. My daughter'll need a stiff hand, Alex, or she'll drive you crazy."
Nothing Alex had seen of Daisy Devreaux so far made him doubt Max's words. Her mother was Lani Devreaux, the British fashion model who'd been so famous thirty years earlier. In what could only have been an attraction of op-posites, Lani and Max Petroff had had a love affair when he was just beginning to make his mark as a leading expert on foreign policy, and Daisy was the result.
Max made it clear to Alex in that stuffy way of his that he had offered to marry Lani when she had unexpectedly become pregnant, but Lani had refused to settle down. Nevertheless, Max insisted he'd always done his duty to his embarrassingly illegitimate daughter.
All the evidence pointed to the contrary, however. When Lani's career had begun to fade, she'd turned into a professional party girl and house guest. And wherever Lani went, Daisy went. At least Lani had once had a career, Alex thought, but Daisy didn't seem to have ever done anything useful with her life.
As Alex looked at his new bride more closely, he saw some resemblance to her mother. They had the same black-as-ink hair, and only indoor women could have such pale skin. Her eyes were an unusual blue, so full of color they were as purple as roadside violets. But she was much smaller than her mother—too fragile-looking for his taste—and her features weren't nearly as bold. From what he remembered of the old photographs, Lani's profile had been almost masculine, while Daisy's had a
blurred quality that was especially evident in that inconsequential nose and silly, soft mouth.
According to Max, Lani had been strong on looks but short on brains, another quality the little airhead across the room had apparently inherited. She wasn't exactly a bimbo— she was too well-bred for that-—but he had no trouble imagining her as a rich man's very expensive sexual trinket.
He'd always been discriminating about female companionship, and alluring as that small body was, he preferred a different sort of woman, one who had more going for her than a great set of legs. He liked intelligence in his bed partners, along with ambition, independence, and the ability to give as good as
she got. He could respect a woman who cussed him out, but he had no use for sulks and pouts. This little ball of fluff was already setting his teeth on edge.
At least keeping her in line wouldn't be a problem. He gazed over at her, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. Life has a way of catching up with spoiled little rich girls. And, baby, is it ever about to catch up with you.
Across the room, Daisy stopped in front of an antique mirror to check her appearance. She did it out of habit instead of vanity. To her mother, appearance was everything. Lani regarded smudged mascara as a worse catastrophe than nuclear holocaust.
Daisy's new haircut was chin length in the front and a little longer in the back, breezy, youthful, curling softly here and there. She'd loved it from the beginning, but she'd loved it even more that morning when Amelia had clucked over how untidy the style looked for a wedding.
Just behind her reflection, Daisy saw her bridegroom approaching. She arranged her mouth in a polite smile and told herself everything would work out fine. It had to.
"Get your things, angel face. We're leaving."
She didn't like his tone one bit, but she'd developed a talent for dealing with difficult people, and she overlooked it. "Maria's doing her Grand Marnier souffle for our celebration brunch, but it's not ready yet, so we'll need to wait."
"Afraid not. We have a plane to catch. Your luggage is already in the car."
She needed more time. She wasn't ready to be alone with him yet. "Could we take a later flight, Alexander? I hate to disappoint Maria. She's Amelia's jewel, and she does a wonderful brunch."
Although his mouth curled in a smile, his eyes pierced straight through her. They were an unusual color, a pale amber that reminded her of something vaguely eerie. Although she couldn't quite remember what it was, she knew it made her uneasy.
"The name's Alex, and you've got one minute to get that sweet little butt of yours out the door."
Her pulse leaped with alarm, but before she could react, he turned his back on her and addressed the three other occupants of the room, his voice quiet but commanding. "I hope you'll all excuse us. We have a plane to catch."
Amelia stepped forward and gave Daisy a sly smile. "My, my. Someone's awfully eager for his wedding night. Our Daisy is quite a morsel, isn't she?"
Daisy abruptly lost her appetite for Maria's souffle. "I'll change my clothes," she said.
"We don't have time for that. You're fine just the way you are."
"But. .."
A firm hand settled in the small of her back, determinedly propelling her out into the foyer. "I'll bet this is your purse." At her nod, he picked up her small Chanel bag from the gilded console and handed it to her. Just then, her father and Amelia appeared to wave them off.
Even though she didn't plan to go any farther than the airport, she wanted to jerk away from Alex's touch as he steered her toward the door. She turned back toward her father and hated herself for the faint thread of panic in her voice. "Maybe you could convince Alex to stay a little longer, Dad. We've hardly had a chance to visit."
"Do as he says, Theodosia. And remember—this is your last chance. If you fail at this, I'm washing my hands of you. For once in your life, let's see if you can do something right."
By now she should be used to her father humiliating her in public, but being humiliated in front of her new husband was so embarrassing she barely managed to square her shoulders. Lifting her chin, she stepped in front of Alex and walked out the door.
She refused to meet his eyes as they waited in silence for the elevator that would take them to the lobby. They moved inside. The doors shut, only to open again on the next floor and allow an elderly woman leading a tan Pekingese to enter.
Daisy immediately shrank against the elevator's rich teak paneling, but the dog spotted her. He drew his ears back, yipped furiously, and sprang. She screeched as he jumped up on her legs and tore her nylons. "Get away!"
The dog continued to claw at her. She screamed and grabbed the brass rail. Alex regarded her quizzically, then nudged the animal away with his shoe.
"Naughty Mitzi!" The woman swept her pet into her arms and gave Daisy a censorious look. "I can't think what's wrong. Mitzi loves everybody."
Daisy had begun to perspire. She continued to hold the brass rail in a death grip while she kept her eyes on the vicious little beast as it yipped and snapped at her until the doors opened to the lobby.
"The two of you seem to know each other," Alex said as they got off.
"I've-—I've never seen that dog in my life."
"I don't believe it. That dog hated you."
"I'm not"—she gulped—"I have this thing about animals."
"You've got a thing about animals? Tell me that doesn't mean you're afraid of them."
She nodded and tried to force her heartbeat back to normal.
"Terrific," he muttered, setting off across the lobby. "That's just terrific."
The late April morning was damp and drizzly. There were no crepe paper streamers attached to the limousine that waited for them at the curb, no tin cans and JUST MARRIED signs, none of the wonderful silliness reserved for ordinary people who loved each other. She told herself to stop being such a sentimental fool. Lani had teased her for years about being hopelessly old-fashioned, but all Daisy had ever wanted was to live a conventional life. Not so unusual, she supposed, for someone who had been raised so unconventionally.
As she climbed inside, she saw that the tinted glass window separating the driver from the passengers was closed. At least she'd have the privacy she needed to tell Alex Markov her intentions before they reached the airport.
You took vows, Daisy. Sacred vows. She shook off the troublesome voice of her conscience by telling herself she didn't have a choice.
He got in next to her, and the spacious interior suddenly seemed cramped. If he wasn't so physically overpowering, she didn't think she'd be so nervous about this. Although he wasn't muscle-bound like one of those freakish-looking bodybuilders, he had the hard, sinewy physique of someone in top shape. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow. The hands that rested on the slacks of his charcoal suit were strong and deeply tanned, with long, tapered fingers. She felt a small jolt of awareness that unsettled her.
They had barely pulled away from the curb before he began to tug at his necktie. He yanked it off, stuffed it in the pocket of his suit coat, and unfastened his collar button with an efficient flick of his wrist. She stiffened, hoping he wasn't going to take off any more. In one of her favorite erotic fantasies, she and a faceless man made passionate love in the back of a white limousine stuck in a Manhattan traffic jam while Michael Bolton sang "When a Man Loves a Woman" in the background, but there was a big difference between fantasy and reality.
The limo began to move. She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together, and smelled the heavy scent of the gardenia in her hair. She was relieved to see that Alex had stopped taking off his clothes, but when he stretched his legs and began to study her, she shifted uneasily. No matter how hard she worked at it, she would never be as beautiful as her mother, and when people stared at her for too long, she felt like an ugly duckling. The hole in her shimmery gold nylons from her encounter with the Pekingese didn't add to her self-confidence.
She opened her purse to find a much needed cigarette. It was an awful habit, and she wasn't proud of having succumbed to it. Although Lani had always smoked, Daisy'd never had more than an occasional cigarette in the evening with a glass of wine. But in those first months after her mother's death she'd found that cigarettes relaxed her, and she'd become truly addicted. After a long drag, she decided she was calm enough to tell Mr. Markov her plan.
"Put it out, angel face."
She regarded him apologetically. "I know it's a terrible habit, and I promise I won't blow smoke at you, but I really need this right now."
He reached past her to lower her window. Without warning, her cigarette burst into flames.
She shrieked and let it go. Sparks flew everywhere. He grabbed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and somehow managed to put out all the embers.
Breathing hard, she looked down at her lap and saw tiny burn marks in her gold lace dress and on the satin jacket. "How did that happen?" she gasped.
"I guess it was faulty."
"A faulty cigarette? I've never heard of anything like that."
"You'd better let me throw away the pack in case the others are like that."
"Yes. Of course."
She quickly handed it over, and he pushed the pack into his pants pocket. Although she was shaken, he seemed perfectly relaxed. Leaning back in the corner of the seat, he crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.
They needed to talk—she had to explain to him her plan for putting an end to this embarrassing marriage—but he didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation, and she was afraid she'd mess it up if she wasn't careful. This past year had been such a disaster that she'd gotten into the habit of giving herself small pep talks so that she didn't fall into the habit of considering herself totally hopeless.
She reminded herself that although her education might have been unorthodox, it had certainly been comprehensive. And despite what her father thought, she'd inherited his brain and not her mother's. She also had a good sense of humor and a naturally optimistic outlook on life that even the past year hadn't entirely destroyed. She spoke four foreign languages, could identify nearly any couture piece by designer, and was an expert at calming hysterical women. Unfortunately, she didn't possess even a modicum of common sense.
Why hadn't she listened when her mother's Parisian lawyer had explained there would be nothing left after Lani's debts were paid? She suspected now that it was guilt that had pushed her into her disastrous months-long spending spree following that numbing time immediately after the memorial service. For years she had wanted to escape the emotional blackmail that had pinned her to Lani's side on endless rounds of pleasure-seeking. But she hadn't wanted Lani to die. Not that.
Her eyes filled with tears. She'd loved her mother desperately, and despite Lani's selfishness, her endless demands, and her constant need to be reassured that she hadn't lost her beauty, she knew Lani had loved her, too.
The more guilt Daisy had felt about the unexpected freedom Lani's death had given her, the more money she'd spent, not only on herself but on any of Lani's old friends who were down on their luck. When her creditors' threats had grown ominous, she'd written more checks to hold them off, not knowing or caring that she didn't have enough money to cover them.
Max found out about her extravagant spending the same day a warrant was issued for her arrest. Reality crashed in, and she realized the enormity of what she'd done. She'd begged her father to lend her the money to hold off her creditors, promising to pay him back as soon as she got on her feet.
That was when he'd resorted to blackmail. It was high time she grew up, he told her, and if she wanted to stay out of jail, she was going to put an end to her extravagance and do as he said.
In crisp, uncompromising tones, he had dictated his terms. She would marry the man he chose for her as soon as he could arrange it. Furthermore, she would promise to stay married to him for six months, serving as an obedient and dutiful wife during that time. Only at the end of the six months would she be free to divorce and benefit from a trust fund he would set up for her, a trust fund he would control. If
she was frugal, she would be able to live in relative comfort off the interest for the rest of her life.
"You're not serious!" she'd exclaimed when she had finally recovered her powers of speech. "People don't arrange marriages any more."
"I've never been more serious. If you don't agree to this marriage, you'll go to jail. And if you can't stay married for six months, you'll never see another penny from me."
Three days later, he had presented her future bridegroom without mentioning a word about his background or occupation, merely giving her an admonition: "He's going to teach you something about life. For now, that's all you need to know."
They crossed the Triborough Bridge, and she realized they'd be at La Guardia soon, which meant she couldn't wait any longer to broach the subject they needed to discuss. Out of habit, she withdrew a slim gold compact from her purse to make certain everything was as it should be. Reassured, she closed it with a snap andput it away.
"Excuse me, Mr. Markov."
He didn't respond.
She cleared her throat. "Mr. Markov? Alex? I think we need to talk."
The lids over those pale amber eyes drifted open. "About what?"
Despite her tension, she smiled. "We're total strangers who've just gotten married. I think that gives us a few things to discuss."
"If you want to pick out names for our children, angel face, I think I'll pass."
So he did have a sense of humor after all, if only a cynical one. "I mean that we should talk about how we're going to get through the next six months before we can file for divorce."
"I figure we'll just take it day by day." He paused. "Night by night."
Her skin prickled, and she told herself not to be foolish. He'd made a perfectly innocent remark, and she'd merely imagined that husky undertone of sexual innuendo. She fixed a bright smile on her face.
"I have a plan; a simple one, really."
"Oh?"
"If you'll give me a check for half of what my father is paying you to marry me—and I think you'll agree that's only fair—the two of us can go our separate ways and end this awkwardness."
An expression of amusement flickered across those granite features of his. "What awkwardness are you talking about?"
She should have known from her experiences with her mother's lovers that a man this good-looking wasn't going to be blessed with brains. "The awkwardness of finding ourselves married to a stranger."
"We'll get to know each other pretty well, I imagine." Again that husky undertone. "And I don't think the two of us going our separate ways is what Max had in mind. As I remember it, we're supposed to live together and play husband and wife."
"That's just like my father. He's a little dictatorial when it comes to running other people's lives. The beauty of my plan is that he'll never know that we haven't been living together. As long as we don't set up housekeeping in Manhattan, where he can walk in on us, he won't have any idea what we're doing."
"We're definitely not setting up housekeeping in Manhattan."
He wasn't being as cooperative as she'd hoped, but she was enough of an optimist to believe he only needed a little more persuasion. "I know my plan will work."
"Let me get this straight. You expect me to hand over half of what Max is giving me to marry you?''
"How much is that, by the way?"
"Not nearly enough," he muttered.
She'd never had to haggle, and she didn't like doing it now, but she couldn't see that she had a choice. "If you think about it, I'm sure you'll realize that's equitable. After all, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't be getting any money at all."
"This must mean you're planning on giving me half the money in that trust fund he's promised to set up for you."
"Oh, no, I'm not planning to do that at all."
He gave a short bark of laughter. "Somehow I didn't think so."
"You misunderstand. I'll pay you back as soon as I have access to my trust. I'm only asking for a loan."
"And I'm refusing it."
She knew then that she'd made a mess of it. She had a bad habit of assuming other people would do what she herself would do if she were in their shoes. For example, if she were Alex Markov, she would certainly loan herself half the money just to get rid of her.
She needed to smoke. Badly. "Could I have my cigarettes back? I'm sure that only one of them was faulty."
He withdrew the crumpled pack from the pocket of his slacks and handed it over. She quickly lit up, shut her eyes, and drew the smoke deeply into her lungs.
She heard the sizzle, and by the time her eyes sprang open, the cigarette was already in flames. With a gasp of dismay, she dropped it. Once again, Alex swept up the butt and embers with a handkerchief.
"Maybe you could sue," he said mildly.
She pressed her hand to her throat, too stunned to speak.
He reached over and touched her breast. She felt the flick of his finger on the inner swell and jumped back, even as the sensitive flesh beaded beneath the satin. Her gaze flew upward to those unfathomable golden eyes.
"A spark," he said.
She covered her breast with her hand and felt the trembling of her heart beneath her palm. How long had it been since a hand other than her own had touched her there? Two years ago, she remembered, when she'd had her last physical exam.
She saw that they had reached the airport, and she garnered her courage. "Mr. Markov, you have to realize that we can't live together as man and wife. We're strangers. The whole idea is ridiculous, and I'm going to have to insist that you be more cooperative about this."
"Insist?" he said mildly. "I don't believe you have a right to insist on anything."
She stiffened her spine. "I'm not going to be bullied, Mr. Markov."
He sighed and shook his head, regarding her with an expression of regret that she didn't believe for a minute was sincere. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this, angel face, but I guess I should have figured it wouldn't be that easy with you. Maybe I'd better spell out the ground rules right now, just so you'll know what to expect. For better or worse, the two of us are married until six months from today. You can walk away any time you want to, but you'll have to do it on your own. And in case you haven't figured it out by now, this isn't going to be one of those modern, talk-things-through-so-we-can-compromise marriages like you read about in all those ladies' magazines. This is going to be an old-time relationship." If anything his voice grew softer, more gentle. "Now what that means, angel face, is that I'm in charge, and you're going to be doing what I say. If you don't, you'll suffer some pretty unpleasant consequences. The good news in all this is that after the time's up, you can do whatever you want. I won't give a damn."
A wave of panic gripped her, and she fought against succumbing to it. "I don't like being threatened. Maybe you should just come right out and tell me what these consequences are that you're holding over my head."
He settled back into the seat, and the small upward tilt of that hard mouth sent a shiver of dread down her spine.
"Aw, angel face, I'm not gonna have to. By tonight you'll have figured it out all by yourself."
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