Suiteheart Of A Deal: Suiteheart Of A Deal / My Place Or Yours?. Wendy Etherington

how much preparation even a meaningless wedding required. She looked forward to a long, hot bath, followed by a quiet evening. Maybe they could light a fire and enjoy a snifter of brandy together. Get to know each other a little better. After all, they were married—for real or not. Humming softly to herself, she changed into jeans and a baggy sweater and bounced down the stairs.

      In the living room, she stopped dead in her tracks. Beck, too, had donned jeans and a sweater. But he was also wearing a jacket. Avoiding her eyes, he scooped up his car keys and put them in his pocket.

      Rainey was appalled. “Surely you’re not going out!”

      “Actually, I am.” He fidgeted unnecessarily with the zipper on his jacket, then raised his guilty eyes to hers. “I thought I might head up to Banff. Play a few hands with Nate and the boys.”

      “A few hands?”

      “Yeah. Poker. Five card stud. Winner takes all. Or, in my case, loser gives all.” He chuckled lamely.

      Rainey didn’t laugh. “But—but it’s…” She trailed off there, awash in feelings she didn’t understand and couldn’t explain. She had almost said, “It’s our honeymoon.” But that was just nonsense.

      “Look, Rainey,” Beck grumbled. “You said it yourself. It’s not a real honeymoon. So it shouldn’t make any difference if I stay or go. Right? Besides, don’t you want to relax? Get settled in?”

      Anger welled up inside Rainey, but it was stupid, inexplicable anger. She struggled to get it under control. Beck was right. It wasn’t real. Any of it. “It makes no difference at all,” she lied.

      Beck left and Rainey went to the window overlooking the driveway. As the Fairlane pulled away, spitting gravel, she suddenly recalled the fuming redhead who had screamed at him on the street that day in Banff—the day they had first met with Nate Frome.

      “Humph!” she snorted, steaming up the glass. “Poker, my foot!”

      7

      “HOW MANY CARDS?”

      Beck looked up. Someone had just spoken to him. Who was it? For one dizzy moment, he thought it was Rainey. But it couldn’t be. He was here in Banff, hunched over Nate Frome’s dining room table. She was alone in his cottage, doing heaven only knew what. Probably burning his clothes by now. Cutting up his furniture. Trashing his office.

      “Beck?” came the bewildered voice again.

      Beck snapped to attention. Okay, it was Nate Frome. At first glance he had actually looked like Rainey. Her face had somehow been superimposed on his—on all three faces at the table, in fact. Nate’s. Arnie Hutchinson’s. Pete Wilson’s. They all looked just like her—minus the knockout body and the long legs, of course.

      “Beck!” Nate repeated. He sounded more worried than impatient. “How many cards do you want?”

      “Ah, I’ll take three,” Beck replied. Wait a minute. Was it three? How many cards did he have in his hand? Oh, yeah. Two. “I’ll take three,” he repeated dumbly.

      A look passed between the others. Catching it out of the corner of his eye, Beck muttered, “Sorry, gentlemen. I’m a little off tonight.”

      “Yeah,” Pete snorted. “Off the planet.”

      “Gentlemen, let’s play cards,” Nate said wearily.

      Brows furrowed, lips pursed, Beck tried to concentrate on his hand. Okay, he had the jack of spades, the seven of hearts, the nine of diamonds and two sixes—a club and another heart. Nothing. “What’s wild?” he asked, risking more ridicule.

      “You being here on your wedding night,” Arnie dead-panned.

      Beck struggled to arrange his facial features into something resembling intelligence. “Rainey’s getting settled in,” he explained. “I’m just killing a little time.” It sounded lame, but what else could he say? I can’t go home yet, guys, ’cause I’m hot for my wife—I just can’t keep my hands off her. Yeah, sure.

      “Fives and tens,” Pete said.

      Beck frowned. “What?”

      Shaking his head, Pete leaned across the table. “Fives and tens are wild, Beck. Listen, buddy, maybe you should just head on home now.”

      Beck peeked at his watch. It was only eight-fifteen. If he went home this early, he’d probably find Rainey awake and shredding his photo collection.

      Damn that woman! She had been hotter than hell when he left, but she wasn’t having it both ways. No, sir. Either it was a real marriage, or it wasn’t. Either they were going to get down and dirty, or they weren’t. And she was adamant that they weren’t. So why was she upset? Women. He loved them, but he would never understand them.

      “I’m out.” He tossed his cards facedown on the table. Grumbling, Nate and Pete did likewise, and Arnie took the pot.

      Restless, Beck jumped up and poured himself a cup of the strong coffee that helped the boys to stay awake, sometimes until dawn. It was probably a mistake. Sooner or later he would have to go home, and the last thing he needed was to lie awake all night thinking about how good it would be…

      Nate cleared his throat. “So, ah, Beck, tell us how you and Rainey fell in love overnight.” A chorus of snickers rose up from the table. Beck ignored it—along with the annoying smirk on Frome’s face.

      Coffee in hand, he sat down again. His friendship with Nate had always had an edge to it—a friendly rivalry. After that little episode two years ago, it had gotten downright nasty. But hey—how was Beck supposed to know that Nate had been dating that woman? She certainly hadn’t mentioned it.

      “I don’t know, Nate,” he replied off-handedly. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

      “Okay, gentlemen,” Pete announced, “it’s kings and little ones. You don’t need the king to make the little one wild.”

      The boys exchanged looks, but Beck stayed where he was.

      Summoning all the concentration he could muster, Beck managed to get through the next hand, and the one after that. Between losses, his mind drifted back to Lilly’s bedroom—to the embrace that had rocked his world.

      How had Rainey managed to get him worked up so quickly? Sure she was sexy. But so was Francine. And Linda before her. And Maryann before her. They were all babes, but none of them got his hormones cooking the way Rainey Miller did. None of them sent his libido into hyperdrive whenever she touched him.

      Francine. Linda. Maryann. Beck could have any one of them tonight, he knew. Yup, even on his wedding night. One phone call was all it would take. But he didn’t want them. He wanted Gorgeous Green Eyes. Badly.

      “So,” Arnie ventured, “I don’t suppose there’s a connection between your recent marriage and your inheritance, is there?”

      Momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of the question, Beck glanced around the table at the others. Their faces were impassive, their eyes glued firmly to their hands. What the hell. There was no point in getting riled. Obviously he was going to have to get used to this kind of stuff.

      He rearranged his own cards. “No connection at all, Arnie. As you know, I was going to get the money, anyway.”

      “Hmm.” Arnie pretended to be fascinated by his hand.

      Beck knew that more was coming. Sure enough, two hands later, Arnie added, “Yeah, but not for another three years. Isn’t that right?” That launched another round of snickers. Pete eventually laughed so hard he spit a mouthful of coffee clear across the table onto Nate’s Polo shirt.

      Okay, that was it. “I’m outta here!” Beck snapped. “’Bout time.” Nate said with a laugh. He dabbed at his shirt with a napkin. “If I had a woman like that in my bed, I would have been gone hours ago.”