Made For Each Other by Parris Afton Bonds Page B

leather painted lime green and pulled it near
her lounge chair.
    His gaze swept over her pale face,
noting the slight shadows beneath her eyes. “After a glass of
champagne,” he said, “we’ll take the customary Mexican
siesta.”
    She smiled, “That’s the best
suggestion you’ve made yet.”
    “You ought to do that more
often—smile,” Nick said. “Your dimples are fairytale
enchanting.”
    “ Thank you,” she answered
somewhat hesitantly, unsure if he was merely plying his customary
charm or if he was sincere. Then, as he leaned forward and picked
up one of her feet, her breath drew in. “What are you
doing?”
    “Removing your tennis shoes,
Thumbelina—it’s getting to be a habit with me.” He untied the white
laces. “No one wears shoes in Cozumel.” She shifted uneasily in
the'lounge chair, unused to such attention. “You’ve been here
before?” she asked, trying to seem casual.
    Nick dropped her tennis shoes beneath
the table and slipped off his own expensive leather loafers. He
crossed his arms behind his head. “Several times.”
    “Oh?” She could well imagine the trips
he made, the glamorous girls he brought with him. Or was it just
Sheila Morrison now—no, not even Sheila Morrison, Julie thought
with surprise. It was herself! Her name could be added to the
growing list of Senator Raffer’s playgirls.
    Except she was his wife.
    “I come here, or go hunting in
Ruidoso, when the pressure gets too high at the capital,” Nick
said, his eyes slits against the midday sunlight reflected off the
water. “I fish, walk the beaches, remind myself that nothing can be
so serious it’s worth working up an ulcer over.”
    She would have liked to ask more, but
room service brought the bucket of iced champagne, wrapped in a
damask napkin, and two chilled glasses. Nick tipped the man and
filled the two glasses. He passed her one and said simply, “To us,
Julie.”
    She did not know quite how to respond,
so she merely took a sip in acknowledgment of his toast. The cool
liquid tingled all the way down, and within seconds she felt
better, more relaxed. She even felt brave enough to ask Nick, her
husband, personal questions. “What will your parents think about
this sudden marriage?”
    Nick’s laugh was sarcastic. “I doubt
they’ll ever find out. They’re too busy with their own marriages to
wonder about mine.”
    “Then they’re not married to each
other?” She saw Nick’s long fingers tighten around the stem of his
glass, the heat from his hand already causing rivulets of sweat to
channel the layer of the glass’s frost. “They’ve each been through
several partners since their marriage to one another. It’s one of
the reasons I’ve avoided the blissful state of
matri¬mony.”
    “I see,” she said for lack of anything
else. Nick’s blue eyes, lighter now than the Caribbean switched on
her. “And your parents— what will they say?”
    “Why—” She had not really thought
about it. Everything had seemed so unreal. “They’d want me to be
happy. They wouldn’t really care whom I married as long as we loved
each . . . She let her voice trail off, aware of her slip. She
began again. “I mean—Nick, this is so bizarre, I can’t even wrap my
mind around it. So I surely can’t expect my parents to believe
we’re . . . we’re in love.”
    Nick rose. “That’s all right,” he said
grimly. “If they come for a visit, I’m sure you’ll manage to look
suitably in love—however much you dislike me.” He held out his
hand. “Ready for a siesta?”
    She wanted to tell him that she no
longer disliked him, for she had to acknowledge the truth—that he
had taken care of her, he had married her despite the fact that he
did not love her. But pride—reluctance to join the ranks of women
charmed by the roguish senator—forbade her.
    Assured of the locked door that
separated the bedrooms, she went to sleep immediately, only to
awaken what seemed minutes later, though actually an