Not the Marrying Kind by Nicola Marsh Page B

offering her the Red Rock Canyon house to stay in.
    He thought he’d made a smart business move marrying this woman for convenience. But right now, enjoying the way she made him feel way too much? Dumb.
    She stood on tiptoes to murmur in his ear. “Are we pulling this off?”
    He sure as hell hoped so. Everyone had turned up: the investors, the work crew, a few A-listers. People he mingled with on a regular basis, people whose opinions shouldn’t matter. But they did. He needed the investors to trust him, to trust Blackwood Enterprises enough to help take them national.
    This marriage had to do that. It had to.
    “We’re doing okay.”
    “One thing’s for certain, you sure know how to throw a party.” Poppy released him to step back and take in the crowd. “But you know I’ll top this for Lou’s divorce party, right?”
    “Shhh.” He held a finger up to her lips, immediately regretting it when her eyes heated to molten chocolate and her lips parted on a soft sigh. “Don’t say the D-word around here. People might question the validity of this marriage.”
    “You don’t need to remind me about the importance of anonymity.” The fire in her eyes faded. “Sara would have a coronary if she knew I was the divorce diva.” She gestured at the crowd. “As for them questioning our marriage, people are going to do that anyway, considering how it happened out of the blue.”
    “Have you been interrogated by anyone?” Concern poked holes in his carefully constructed plan.
    “Try everyone.” She snorted. “Don’t worry, I gave them the spiel we rehearsed. Your need for privacy, the long-distance thing, unable to be apart any longer.”
    “Did they buy it?”
    Pensive, she glanced at the investors, a bunch of Scotch-swilling, backslapping suits who clung together like an old-boys club. “They seemed impressed, especially when I played up my Provost angle.”
    Some of the residual tension tightening his shoulders eased. “Thanks.”
    “Anytime.” She kissed him on the cheek, a strangely sweet gesture that made his chest burn. “Better get back to mingling.”
    “Later.” He snagged her hand and led her to the dance floor. “You were such a stickler for tradition with the threshold and all, it’s only fair we have a bridal waltz.”
    Her smile faltered and for a mortifying moment he thought she’d bolt. He had no idea why dancing terrified her but with people already turning their way, they couldn’t back out now. “Two left feet, huh?”
    “No, it’s not that. It’s…” She shook her head. “Nothing. Let’s do this.”
    Beck nodded at the band, who struck up the song he’d specifically selected, U2’s One . Appropriate. He wanted to be number one, wanted every person who’d ever laughed or scoffed or teased him in the past to know it.
    Poppy stiffened in his arms as the lead singer did a great Bono impersonation, crooning about love being a temple and higher law, about one love, one life, one need in the night, the haunting lyrics effectively silencing the crowd. The hush was unnerving, but not as much as seeing the sheen of tears in Poppy’s expressive eyes.
    “You okay?” he mouthed.
    She clearly wasn’t, but she nodded, before burying her face in his chest.
    His arms tightened around her waist and hers around his neck as they swayed together, their bodies in tantalizing contact, their souls a world apart. He didn’t know what made his wife tick and for the first time since he’d devised this foolproof scheme, a sliver of remorse pricked his conscience.
    Maybe she wasn’t as ballsy and blasé as she pretended to be. What if, God forbid, Poppy had bought into all this romantic wedding crap?
    Yep, the sooner he packed her off to Red Rock Canyon, the better.

     
    “You two make quite the couple.” Stan Walkerville slapped Beck on the back and thrust a double malt into his hand.
    Beck should’ve been ecstatic the head of the investors’ conglomeration had sought him out. Instead,