Halloween Honeymoon Read online

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, dredging his memory for the few snatches of conversation they’d had. She taught history, he recalled. At…where the heck was it? Billings!

  Within moments, he had the chairman of the history department on the line. Dr. Edward Grant hesitated at first to discuss his former colleague, but Josh knew how to apply the good-ol’-boy conversational grease. The somewhat pompous professor soon unbent and provided a sketchy, rather disturbing background on Caren O’Donnell.

  According to Grant, she was a brilliant researcher, but regrettably impulsive. She’d left Billings under questionable circumstances a few months ago and, as far as anyone knew, was currently unemployed.

  “Great,” Josh muttered as he hung up. “Just great.”

  Harry’s warning about alimony and community property clanged like a siren in his mind. Cari hadn’t struck him as the gold-digger type, but Josh had sure misread a few other signals concerning her last night. With a sinking sensation, he realized that this mess could soon get a whole lot messier.

  He’d wait till he heard something definitive from Harry, he decided, then track Cari down at the address he’d wormed out of Grant. One way or another, he’d get this matter straightened out quickly, then get on with his life.

  Two hours later, Josh was aiming his two seater convertible south on I-85 and fighting the urge to stomp the accelerator to the floor. Of all the farcical, idiotic, asinine situations!

  He was legally married! To a woman he’d exchanged a half-dozen sentences with. A dozen, at most. Well, he’d soon exchange a few more…while he hustled his wife to the lawyer Harry had recommended, to arrange a very quick and very quiet divorce.

  Gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled fists, Josh exited the interstate and drove through streets lined with towering oaks and waxy-leaved magnolias. He found the small apartment complex he was looking for with little difficulty.

  A petite gray-haired woman with a watering can in one wrinkled hand answered his knock. A hint of wariness crossed the woman’s face when she took in his grim expression. And his eye patch.

  “Yes?”

  Josh couldn’t do anything about the patch, but he did manage to crank up a grin. “I’m looking for Caren O’Donnell. I was told she lived at this address.”

  His smile eased some of her stiffness. “She does.”

  “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, Ms.—?”

  “Mrs. Wilder. I’m Cari’s neighbor.”

  “Is Cari home?”

  Despite her tentative answering smile, the woman remained cautious. “Are you a friend? Or relative?”

  Josh debated how to answer that one, and finally settled on friend. “My name’s Josh Keegan,” he added, pulling a card out of his wallet to confirm his identity.

  Mrs. Wilder’s pale blue eyes rounded. “Josh Keegan? The golfer? I read about you in Daytime Digest last month, you and Jessica Hope—Oh!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “That’s ended, isn’t it?”

  It had never really begun, but neither Josh nor the glamorous star of a popular daytime soap had been able to convince the media of that.

  “Yes, it’s over. Is Cari home? I’d like to speak to her.”

  Josh glanced over the neighbor’s shoulder, frowning as he surveyed what looked like a cross between a tropical rain forest and a public library. If there was any furniture in the place, he couldn’t see it.

  Wonderful! His—Josh choked. His wife was out of work, and apparently possessed few visible assets. Harry’s gloomy prognostications on what it might cost to extricate himself from this mess were beginning to look like very real possibilities. Josh dragged his attention back to Mrs. Wilder, who was now bubbling over with eagerness to help.

  “No, Cari’s not home. She called me early this morning, all excited about a vacation she’d won.”

  “A vacation?”

  “Some kind of cruise or something. She had to leave right away to catch the boat, and asked me to water her plants.”

  Ten minutes later, Josh peeled back onto I-85 and pointed the low-slung convertible north.

  Dammit to hell, this was turning into a first-class goat rope! He couldn’t quite believe a half-size pansyeyed female he didn’t even know was turning his whole life upside down.

  After a brief stop at Gulliver’s Travels, he screeched into the parking lot of an office complex done in mellow brick and wrought iron reminiscent of Atlanta’s past. Pulling into the slot reserved for Harry’s partner, he slammed the car door and stalked into the law offices. A startled receptionist quickly showed him into the walnut-paneled inner sanctum.

  Harry listened to Josh’s scathing status report, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully.

  “This cruise could be a real break for our side,” he said when Josh had finished. “If she left as early this morning as her landlady said, she might not have seen the paper.”

  “So?”

  “So you catch up with her,” Harry urged. “Take her by surprise. Get her written agreement to a quickie divorce the moment she returns from the cruise.” His eyes lit up. “Or better yet, before she returns. Have you got a copy of the itinerary?”

  Josh tossed the package he’d picked up from the travel agency on the table. Harry dug through it and scanned a glossy pamphlet.

  “All right! The boat docks at Cancún seven days from now. We’ll set up a nice, quick Mexican divorce.”

  “Wait a minute…“

  “It’ll work, Josh. Trust me. I’ll get in touch with an associate of mine who specializes in divorces and have him set up everything from this end. All you have to do is waltz your wife—” he caught Josh’s scowl “—er, waltz Miss O’Donnell in and out of the registry office before she has a chance to change her mind.”

  “Are you sure a Mexican divorce is recognized in the U.S.?”

  “The law varies from state to state. I’ll have to double-check on Georgia, but I’m almost certain we’re okay on this.”

  “Almost certain?”

  “I’ll check on it,” Harry promised again.

  His scowl deepening, Josh shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Oh, sure. And being married to a perfect stranger does?”

  Josh didn’t have any answer for that one.

  “Go home,” Harry urged. “Throw some things in a bag. Catch up with your missing bride tomorrow in…Where does the boat dock first? In Nassau. Explain the situation and get her agreement. You two will be divorced before she really grasps the fact that you’re married.”

  Cari bent one leg and languorously stretched both arms above her head. Heat pulsed down on her bare limbs.

  A distant, lazy corner of her mind acknowledged that the lingering effects of this fierce tropical sun might kill her twenty or thirty years from now. And when she tried to stand up, she’d probably regret slurping down the rainbow of rum and fruit juices the steward had mixed for her when she returned to the ship awhile ago. At this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to worry about either eventuality.

  For the first time in months, she was totally, bonelessly relaxed. She didn’t even have a book in her hands! It lay on the polished teak deck beside her lounge chair, lost amid the clutter of tanning oil, terry-cloth cover-up, and sunglasses. She lifted her face to the sun, glorying in its heat.

  She still couldn’t quite believe she was here! Lounging on the upper deck of a private yacht that Aristotle Onassis might have lusted for! Or that she’d soon make her way downstairs to a stateroom twice the size of her apartment to prepare for dinner. She’d felt a twinge of guilt when she was shown to what the captain jokingly called the honeymoon suite, but she’d gotten over that when he explained it was the only cabin available.

  Wide-eyed, she’d explored the unbelievably luxurious quarters. The two-room suite was all gleaming brass and teak fittings. Acres of pale champagne-colored satin on a bed the size of Rhode
Island. A bar stocked with labels like Courvoisier and Glenlivet. A whirlpool tub that would seat three and sleep two comfortably. A cedar-lined closet that swallowed up Cari’s few clothes.

  Thank goodness she’d flung her only decent cocktail dress into her suitcase yesterday morning, along with a hastily assembled assortment of shorts and sundresses, the bathing suit she rarely wore, and a dozen or so research volumes. As she’d discovered last night, one dressed for dinner aboard the Nautilus III.

  One dressed for everything aboard the Nautilus III!

  The array of diamond rings and silk ascots and white linen suits that greeted Cari when she rushed up the gangplank minutes before departure yesterday afternoon had intimidated her just a bit. Nor had it helped her composure to find herself seated across from the only other single aboard at dinner last night—a thirteen-year-old wearing pleated white pants, a superbly cut navy blazer and a gold ring in his left nostril. Although his grandparents were delightful, the kid had a definite attitude. When his grandparents could get him to talk at all, he mostly just groused about spending his boarding school break on a ten-day cruise with them instead of joining his buddies at a soccer clinic.

  Eric’s surliness at dinner had put only a small dent in Cari’s enjoyment of the cruise, however. So far, it had been a voyage of discovery. Yesterday, she’d enjoyed the thrill of watching the sun sink into silvery sea and dining under a canopy of stars.

  And today! Today, she’d strolled the narrow, teeming streets of Nassau, capital city of the Bahamas. Given her limited funds, Cari had avoided the glittering import shops on the main thoroughfare. Instead, she’d spent a wonderful morning getting lost in side streets lined with pretty old pastel homes. The highlights of her afternoon had been visits to Fort Montagu and Blackbeard’s Tower, a mossy old ruin said to have been erected by the pirate Edward Teach.

  She stretched again, grimacing a bit as thoughts of another pirate drifted through her mind. Blackbeard didn’t have anything on Josh Keegan when it came to carrying women off to have their way with them, she decided. Resolutely she ignored a sharp twinge of regret that she hadn’t let him. Have his way with her, that is.

  Come on, O’Donnell, she admonished herself. This is the nineties. No one with a lick of sense indulges in casual affairs or one-night stands anymore. Not that she had ever indulged in either, she admitted with a small sigh. She’d saved herself. For Edward.

  Wrinkling her nose at that humongous mistake, Cari shoved all thought of men and sex out of her mind. She had nine more days of unimaginable luxury and sun-kissed islands ahead of her. She’d explore exotic ports. Sip colorful rum drinks. Feast on the gourmet meals prepared by the yacht’s chef. And sleep in the sun, storing up energy for the grind that would greet her when she got back to Atlanta.

  She had just drifted into a doze when a deep voice suddenly growled at her.

  “Miss O’Donnell?”

  Holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the red ball of the sun, Cari squinted at a blurry silhouette. Enrique. That was his name. The chief steward. The only man aboard with shoulders that size. He’d brought her that wonderful drink earlier, and promised to show her how to work his pride and joy, the high-tech digitized massage device in the fantastically equipped spa. Cari wasn’t into exercise, but a body massage sounded heavenly.

  “Hi, Enrique. Ready to go below and show me how to get loose?”

  She reached for her terry-cloth robe and stood, expecting him to move aside and give her room. Instead, he loomed over her like a towering stone monolith.

  Startled, Cari backed away—or tried to.

  The edge of the lounge chair hit her calves, and she plopped down again. Shielding her eyes with the back of her hand, she squinted up at the figure above her. Only then did she realize that he wasn’t wearing the white slacks and discreetly monogrammed shirt of a crew member. Surprised, she took in tan twill slacks and a red knit polo shirt. Surprise spiraled into a squeak of astonishment when she crooked her neck back and saw the tanned face glowering down at her.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  Josh fisted both hands at his sides as he struggled with wildly conflicting emotions. After a hectic twenty-four hours, he’d finally caught up with his bride. The last time he saw her, she’d been laced into an iron corset that displayed as much as it concealed. Her hair had been puffed away from her face, giving her delicate features a regal air that matched her costume. She’d looked intriguing, and sexy as hell.

  Now she wore a demure, old-fashioned bathing suit that covered far more than it revealed. Long bangs and layers of windblown buckskin hair all but obscured a mouth wiped clean of color, a nose slathered with greasy sunscreen and brown eyes rounded in amazement. She looked disconcerted and dismayed. And sexy as hell.

  Josh hadn’t expected the attraction that slammed into him the moment he spotted Cari stretched out in the deck chair like a sleek, lazy cat. Any more than he’d anticipated this fierce, unreasoning anger at the idea of her getting loose…with anyone!

  “Who’s Enrique?”

  She blinked at the whiplike question. “The steward. How did you get here? Why are you here?”

  The steward? Josh shook his head, suspecting that he might have jumped to the wrong conclusion. Maybe. What the hell was it about this woman that threw him off stride every time he tangled with her? A dull throb started just above his left eye.

  “I’m here because we have to talk.”

  At his terse reply, she scrambled off the far side of the deck chair. Clutching a terry robe to her chest with both fists, she stared at him.

  “Talk about what? Is something wrong?”

  Josh glanced around the polished deck. A hulking dark-haired crewman in pristine white slacks watched them curiously from a few feet away. Enrique, no doubt.

  “Couldn’t they collect the pledges?”

  Cari’s worried voice dragged Josh’s attention back to her face. Under the fringe of feathery bangs, her eyes had widened to huge pools of chocolate. When he didn’t reply immediately, alarm chased across her expressive features.

  “Oh, no! They’re not trying to hold us responsible for the ten thousand, are they? I don’t have it. I don’t have half of it!”

  Harry’s dire predictions rang in Josh’s ears like deep, booming gongs. He closed his eye, took a slow breath and ignored the sharp stab of pain in his forehead.

  “Why don’t we go below? So we can talk. Privately.”

  Four

  “Married?”

  Cari’s shriek bounced off the green marble wall panels of her cabin. Shock pounded through her veins, followed instantly by disbelief.

  “I can’t be married! Not to you!”

  The sardonic lift of his brow told Cari that she’d been less than tactful, but she was too stunned to care.

  “Look, it’s nothing personal. I don’t want to be married to anyone. Not for the next hundred years or so, at least.”

  He made no response to that, except to lean his hips against the back of the jade-green leather sofa. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he watched her with narrowed eyes. Eye.

  “Are you sure the ceremony was legal?” she demanded, still disbelieving. “The judge was pretty tipsy. And we didn’t sign anything.”

  “It was legal, according to two of Atlanta’s most expensive lawyers.”

  “Expensive lawyers? Oh, God!”

  Spinning on one heel, Cari paced the spacious cabin. Her bare feet sank into plush champagne-colored carpet with each agitated step.

  “I can’t afford expensive lawyers. I can’t afford any kind of lawyers right now. I can’t even afford plant food until I hear about the…”

  A horrifying thought struck her. Whirling, she faced her…her husband!

  “How much do you make a year?”

  He didn’t move, didn’t alter his casual stance by so much as a flutter of an eyelid. But a steel mask seemed to descend over his face. His jaw, already square, took on rigid ninety-degree angles. He g
ave her a look that would have sliced right through her if she hadn’t been so distracted by the awful, sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  “Why?”

  Thinking of all those tabloid headlines, she barely heard the ice in his voice. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

  The tight look on his face confirmed her worst fears.

  “More than a lot,” she groaned. “Gazillions.”

  “Notquite,” he replied in a slow, dangerous drawl.

  She resumed her frantic pacing. “I’m dead! They’re going to think I lied. That I falsified the financial data on my application.”

  “What application?”

  “I’m dead!” she repeated, taking another distraught turn. “If anyone finds out we’re married, I can forget about the grant. Forget about finishing my disserta—”

  Two hard hands caught her forearms and brought her up short. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “My grant!” she wailed.

  A gold-flecked eye bored into her. “What grant?”

  “I applied for financial assistance from the Atlanta History Center. To finish my dissertation. The award is based on merit and on need. I won’t qualify if my income or—” she stumbled over the next words “—or my spouse’s income exceeds the basic minimum.”

  He stared down at her, a muscle ticking in one side of his jaw. Cari ignored his obvious tension as she fought to master her swamping dismay.

  If she didn’t get the grant, there was no way she could finish her dissertation on time. In their last, turbulent meeting, Edward had warned her that she wouldn’t get an extension. Not with him chairing the department.

  The jerk!

  The hard grip on her arms dragged her thoughts from the recent past to the immediate present. She stared up at Josh’s taut face, searching for a way out of this unexpected dilemma.