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Maybe Married
Leigh Michaels


Pretend marriage–or legally wed?For Dana to guarantee a big promotion, she has to win a huge charity donation from hotshot entrepreneur Zeke Ferris. Unfortunately, Zeke is her ex-husband and could prove awkward! Very awkward, actually. He needs a pretend wife–perhaps they can come to an arrangement…?Dana is wary of the unfinished business between them–not to mention an attraction that refuses to die. Still, it's only a temporary pretense. She can handle living with Zeke for ninety days…. Then Zeke drops a bombshell revelation: they're still legally married!









“She can’t get married till her divorce is final.”


Dana’s jaw dropped. “What? We took care of that years ago. You have absolutely no claim on me anymore, Zeke, so stop acting like a dog in the manger.”

“You’re divorced?” Barclay sounded as if he was about to faint.

“That’s the problem,” Zeke murmured. “She isn’t, actually. There was a little hang-up with the paperwork, and so our divorce never quite went through. Sorry to break the news this way, darling—but you’re still married. To me.”


To have and to hold…

Their marriage was meant to last—and they have the gold rings to prove it!

To love and to cherish…

But what happens when their promise to love, honor and cherish is put to the test?

From this day forward…

Emotions run high as husbands and wives discover how precious—and fragile—their wedding vows are…. Will true love keep them together—forever?






Marriages meant to last!

The Prodigal Wife (#3740)

by

Susan Fox




Maybe Married

Leigh Michaels












www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#ude4581dc-d304-51f6-b989-fdeb0844eb07)

CHAPTER TWO (#u27ec6556-043d-535a-bbad-ec3cbe06034a)

CHAPTER THREE (#u6e41f007-a961-5d77-acff-ce43c64708a9)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


A BURST of applause, followed by a low buzz of conversation and the telltale rustling of two dozen people rising from their chairs, told Dana that the meeting was over. Just in time, too, she thought. As long as no one hung around for prolonged goodbyes, they might still manage to keep to the schedule.

Beside her, Connie glanced at her watch. “It’s past five. President Howell is cutting it a little fine, I’d say. But then he’s not the one who has to clean up the damage—and he does like to hear himself talk.”

Dana ignored both the comment and the sidelong look which accompanied it. “I’ll start picking up the debris now. As soon as the last guest clears the doorway, you can start to vacuum at this end of the room. Tell the caterers they can begin setting up the bar in fifteen minutes.” She didn’t wait for an answer before she slid open the pocket door which separated the hallway from the drawing room and went in.

Originally, there had been two parlors occupying the entire width of the big Georgian house. But years ago when the university had bought the mansion as a home for its presidents, the dividing wall had been knocked out to make a single enormous room suitable for entertaining crowds. In matching fireplaces at each end of the room, gas logs flickered cheerfully, banishing the gloom of a dreary, rainy late afternoon. Between the two sets of French doors overlooking the veranda was a table holding the ravaged remains of afternoon tea. Dana noted almost automatically that the few leftover cucumber sandwiches looked limp, the strawberries had faded and shrunk, and the petits fours appeared hard as rocks. But then, it was nearly three hours since the tea table had been arranged.

At the far end of the room, nearest the front door, a dozen women were still clustered around the university’s president. Dana heard Barclay Howell’s deep voice, though she didn’t catch what he’d said, followed by a burst of feminine laughter.

Dana stayed as far away as she could, trying to be unobtrusive as she gathered up stale coffee cups, dropped napkins, and—what was half a scone doing under the edge of the love seat, anyway? Getting this room cleared out and ready for the cocktail party which was due to start in less than an hour was going to be an especially big challenge.

She didn’t see Mrs. Janowitz until the matron was within five feet. “Dana, my dear,” the woman said, bearing down on her. “Such a lovely party. I was just telling Barclay how much nicer the events here at Baron’s Hill have been ever since you took over.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Janowitz.” Dana’s hands were full, but the matron was between her and the doorway where Connie had parked the service cart, so she took a firmer grip on both the china and her patience.

“That so-called butler they had before,” Mrs. Janowitz went on, “had no flair. No sense of style. He paid far too much attention to petty things and never looked at the big picture.”

Dana felt obligated to give the woman a warning. “Mr. Beeler will be returning as soon as he’s completely recovered from his pneumonia.”

“Oh, yes, I know.” Mrs. Janowitz’s voice was airy. “You’d hardly want to keep on doing everything yourself. And I’m sure, with his fondness for detail, he’ll be much better at carrying out instructions than in planning things all the way through.”

“I’m not sure you understand. As soon as Mr. Beeler returns, I’ll be going back to my regular job as manager of the conference center.”

“If you want to call it a conference center, when it’s really just an old classroom building.” Mrs. Janowitz smiled broadly and patted Dana’s arm. “But of course, my dear, I completely understand that’s the official line for the moment. However, for those of us who can see what’s really going on…” Her voice dropped. “We approve, Dana. I thought you’d like to know.” She strode back across the room and plunged into the still-chattering group around Barclay Howell.

Dana shook her head and dumped the plates and cups she’d gathered onto the service cart. She had no idea what Mrs. Janowitz was talking about and no time to ponder the question at the moment. If President Howell didn’t move these women out in a hurry, they were going to collide at the front door with his cocktail party guests.

As if he’d heard her, the president shepherded the remaining half dozen women into the hallway. Dana watched from the corner of her eye. She’d seen him do it countless times, but it still amazed her how easily Barclay Howell could maneuver people out the door without ever letting them realize they’d been politely sent on their way. Or at least he made it look easy. He’d no doubt had plenty of practice in the time he’d spent as a college administrator, working his way up the ladder to the president’s office.

Connie appeared with the vacuum cleaner, which had been specially chosen for its low noise level rather than its cleaning power, and started on the carpet. Dana was just starting to push the service cart into the hall where it would be out of Connie’s way when Barclay Howell came back into the room, dusting his hands together in satisfaction.

“Dana,” he called. “I’d like a moment with you, privately.”

Dana looked around the room. She still had to freshen up the flower arrangements and move them off the tea table so it could be torn down, and Connie could use help in shifting all the chairs. There was no time to spare for chitchat, but after all, Barclay Howell was the boss. “Let me get rid of this cart first.”

“I’ll be in the music room.”

She pushed the cart down the hall toward the kitchen and then returned to the front of the house. Next to the front door, across the wide entrance hall from the drawing room, was a much smaller, more intimate room. She tapped on the half-open door and went in.

Barclay Howell was selecting music from a cabinet full of compact disks. He put one in the slot and the first notes of a violin concerto murmured through the room. “You did a wonderful job today, Dana,” he said. “Every one of those women was thrilled with the meeting arrangements.”

“Thank you.” Dana frowned. “But I wonder why they were so pleased. There wasn’t anything particularly original about anything I did today.”

Barclay smiled broadly. “Dana, Dana. You must stop disparaging yourself.”

“But in this case it’s true, sir. Those women must have been to hundreds of afternoon teas, and this one wasn’t any different, really. I wonder why they made it a point to tell you that.” We approve, Mrs. Janowitz had said. Dana was beginning to get a ticklish feeling in her stomach as she wondered just exactly what Mrs. Janowitz had meant. “Unless they were just being extra polite.”

“No, it was more than that. You have a certain flair for these things. Sit down, Dana, and let’s talk.” He gestured toward a deeply-upholstered chair.

Dana was torn between wanting to stay and needing to go back to work. Pursuing this conversation right now was really going to ruin her schedule. On the other hand, this was the first chance she’d had to talk to Barclay Howell about anything more important than canapes.

Until the last six weeks, the university’s president had been little more than a name to Dana. But since she’d started working directly with him at Baron’s Hill, she’d begun to realize that he was a very attractive man—and not only because of his looks. Not that she knew him well enough to really judge, yet. But now, suddenly, he seemed to be starting to notice her on a personal level…The ticklish feeling grew stronger.

“The cocktail party,” she began. “I really need to—”

“I’m sure your assistant can manage the details for a few minutes. If there’s one small flaw in the way you handle things, Dana, it’s that you insist on doing so much yourself rather than delegating it.”

The professional half of her would have liked to point out that managing the details was what she’d been hired to do, that Connie was pitching in only because Dana needed help and not because it was Connie’s job, and that Barclay Howell was making everything more difficult at the moment.

There were no doubt more tactful ways to make that point, but unfortunately just now Dana couldn’t think of a single one. So she stayed silent.

“Ever since Beeler got sick and you took over, things here at Baron’s Hill have been going much more smoothly. We’ve done almost twice as many events in the last six weeks as we usually do, but under your direction there hasn’t been a single problem.”

I wouldn’t exactly say that, Dana thought. The problems were there—you just didn’t hear about them.

“The entertainment has been superb, the food delicious, the guests happy.”

And I’m exhausted.

“How would you like to have the job permanently?”

As he talked, Dana’s stomach had slowly settled back into place. So much for the vague feeling that Barclay Howell might have more on his mind than the next round of events at Baron’s Hill, she thought ruefully. Of course, it was just as well that he hadn’t asked her out. Attractive though he was, dating the boss was never a good idea. Too many things could go wrong.

But she couldn’t deny that there was a flicker of disappointment deep inside her. Dana would have liked to get to know him better, to find out whether he really was as attractive as he seemed. If so, he might even be the one who could…

Then what he’d said hit her with the force of a hammer blow, and she sat up straight. “You mean Mr. Beeler isn’t coming back after all? That was a particularly awful pneumonia, I know, but surely once he’s completely over it, he’ll be able to do his job again.”

“He is recovering nicely, and he’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”

“Then—Oh, I see. It would probably be a good idea for him to have an assistant, at least for a while. That way he could stop when he was tired because I could take over, and—”

Barclay was smiling. “I don’t intend for you to be his assistant, Dana, but his boss.”

“You’re demoting Mr. Beeler and putting me in his place? He isn’t going to like that. He’s been here forever, sir.”

“He’ll have the same position as always.” Barclay sat down on the arm of a chair opposite Dana. “I’m not doing this very well, am I? Let me start over. Baron’s Court will always need someone to manage all the official events that the president hosts, and Mr. Beeler fills that job very nicely.”

“Then I don’t see where I come in.”

“He’s very good with details, but Baron’s Court needs more than that. It needs someone with vision and imagination and a sense of drama. It needs something that’s been lacking ever since I took the job here. It needs…” He paused, as if he expected Dana to fill in the blank.

Dana stayed silent.

“It needs a hostess, Dana. The biggest difficulty about my position here has been trying to handle all the responsibilities alone.” He chuckled. “Not the professional ones, of course. But the social things—making nice with all the faculty spouses and the pennant-waving alumni…I’m certainly not fussing about those people, they’re all quite charming really. But having someone to help with all that…”

“A hostess,” Dana said slowly.

“Yes. You must have noticed how well we work together. We’re a terrific team. And it would be quite a good opportunity for you. Though I wouldn’t admit it publicly, of course, I don’t intend to spend my whole career at a small private university. It’s a good place for my first job in top administration, but I have my eye on something bigger. Much bigger.” He sounded almost coy. “You wouldn’t lose by throwing in your lot with me.”

The ticklish feeling in Dana’s stomach had turned into an actual pain. He couldn’t possibly be saying what it sounded like. Teaming up with him…moving on to a bigger university…being his hostess…It sounded as if the man was talking about her whole life, not just a job.

No, she told herself, she was reading meanings where none existed. He couldn’t possibly mean that.

A wicked little imp at the back of her brain made her wonder what he’d do if she threw herself at him and accepted a proposal he hadn’t made. Watching the always-cool Barclay Howell turn pale and stammer in shock might be entertaining—and it would make him speak more carefully next time, too, instead of dancing around a subject like a politician. But it would hardly be a nice thing to do.

Barclay’s smile began to look a little forced. “Dana, I’m asking you to marry me.”

He was serious? She’d actually been right? She spoke before she stopped to think. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve never even been to a movie together.”

He frowned. “What does that have to do with it?”

The frightening thing, Dana thought, was that as far as he was concerned it wasn’t a rhetorical question. Things like movies, dinners, walks in the park, getting to know each other…all were unimportant. Barclay Howell had made up his mind.

“I told you, we’re an excellent team.”

Funny, I thought proposals were supposed to cover things like love. “Sir, I think it would be best if—”

“Please, my dear. Call me Barclay. Since we’re going to be married—”

Just a few minutes ago, she’d thought it was kind of cute how easily he could manipulate people into doing what he wanted. But now that he was using the knack to try to maneuver her, Dana was feeling something close to panic. “I haven’t agreed to anything of the sort.”

For one unguarded instant he looked startled by the possibility that she would consider turning him down, and then he smiled again. “Well, not yet,” he said affably. “I suppose I was a bit abrupt.”

A bit abrupt? That was one way to put it, Dana thought, though it wouldn’t have been her first choice of words. The arrogance he was displaying was unbelievable, completely unlike the man she had thought he was.

So much for your judgment, she told herself. But then, we’ve always known you weren’t too sharp where men are concerned.

“So I won’t ask you for an answer just now. Take your time, and let me know when you’re ready, Dana.”

As if there could only be one answer. As if she was only delaying just so she didn’t look desperate by snatching at his proposal…

Now she knew what Mrs. Janowitz had been talking about, when Dana had said she’d be going back to her regular job. Of course that’s the official line, for now. But those of us who can see what’s really going on approve.

The woman had known what Barclay Howell intended—long before Dana herself had even suspected. Had he taken a poll, for heaven’s sake? Checked out his little idea with his advisers to make sure they wouldn’t object to his choice of a first lady for the university?

It was just as well he wasn’t demanding an answer right now. She’d have a hard time finding one that wouldn’t singe Barclay Howell’s aristocratic ears.

She got to her feet, feeling a little unsteady.

“Dana,” he said. “Just one more thing before you go. I haven’t had a chance to tell you how very important this cocktail party is. Quite possibly the most important one yet.”

Dana was relieved to step back onto familiar ground, even though it seemed to be wobbling under her toes. The most important cocktail party yet? Why?

You should be honored, the imp at the back of her brain suggested, that he proposed before he brought up the cocktail party.

Dana ran through the guest list in her mind. The president’s cocktail party was a regular monthly event, and tonight’s guests were the usual mix. There were a few people from the foundation which raised funds for the university, a few of their most regular donors, a few alumni who might become donors, a few professors, and a few students being honored for special achievements. Dana couldn’t think of anybody who was at all unusual. So what made this particular party any different than the one she’d arranged last month?

“I’ve invited an extra guest,” Barclay said. “I happened to hear just this morning that he was in town, and I called him up on the chance that he might be free this evening. He seemed quite pleased to be asked. So I’d like you to make a special effort to make sure he feels welcome here.”

Lingering shock made her feel like saying she’d tell the bartender to be sure the special guest got an extra paper umbrella in his drink, but she restrained herself. “I try to arrange things so everyone feels welcome.”

“No, I mean a little personal effort. Instead of vanishing into the background tonight, Dana, I’d like you to stick around.”

“Play hostess,” she said. The words tasted like sawdust.

“If you want to call it that. I’d rather think that you were trying out the role.”

“Whatever you wish, sir.”

He shook a gently chiding finger. “You must get over that habit, my dear. When we’re married…yes, I know, you haven’t given me an answer yet. But you may as well get used to the change, anyway.”

Dana took a deep breath, decided not to say what she was thinking, and started for the door.

“Don’t you want to know who the guest is?”

“It won’t make any difference in how I treat him,” Dana pointed out.

“Of course it won’t, my dear.” He started flipping through CDs again. “Still, I think you should know. He might be the biggest single donor this university ever snags—he’ll certainly have the cash to do it, when the sale of his company is final. And he owes us a debt of gratitude, too, since he got his degree here and that’s what made him the success he is today. I looked it up, so I’d be sure to have it right—he studied mechanical engineering.”

Dana’s breath caught in her throat.

Don’t be silly, she told herself. Barclay hadn’t given any time period; the man he was talking about might have graduated decades ago. If he was selling a company, he was probably near retirement age.

To say nothing of the fact that every semester there were at least a hundred graduates who’d majored in mechanical engineering, and a fair number of them must have eventually gone on to own good-size businesses. So why should her mind instantly conjure up a particular one? Especially when the one she was thinking of had said, the last time she’d talked to him, that he’d never set foot on this campus again.

Besides, there was absolutely no reason for her heart to start pounding like an out-of-balance washing machine at the very thought of him. That was over. Done with. Finished.

She managed a casual tone. “So who is this marvelous catch?”

Barclay said the name slowly, with relish, as if the syllables tasted good. “Zeke Ferris.”

And suddenly Dana’s heart wasn’t thumping madly anymore. But that was only because it had almost stopped beating altogether.

The foundation people were always the first to arrive at any university function, because they never missed an opportunity to talk someone into making a pledge. Next came the honor students, starched and stiff and on their best behavior, sitting in a row along the edge of the room. The professors always came as late as they dared—missing the president’s parties altogether would be extremely bad form, but a token appearance was all that most of them seemed to be able to stomach. The alumni and the big donors trickled in and out throughout the party, making it clear that they couldn’t be expected to limit themselves to one event per evening.

But halfway through the time set aside for the cocktail party, it appeared that Zeke Ferris wasn’t going to show up at all.

Dana circulated through the crowd, a half-full glass of sparkling water in her hand, making sure that no one was left out of the conversation. Some of the students looked as though they’d rather climb under their chairs than talk to the president.

Dana sympathized; she was feeling a bit out of place herself. Always before, she’d stayed in the shadows, orchestrating the party and keeping it running smoothly but not coming into direct contact with the guests. This, she thought irritably, would have to be the one evening that Barclay Howell changed the rules. She tried once more to smooth the creases out of her rust-colored skirt. She’d chosen the suit because it was just a shade darker than the auburn of her hair, and normally she liked wearing it. But tonight, next to the neat little cocktail dresses the other women were wearing, her suit felt sadly lacking in style. If she’d had any idea what Barclay had had in mind, she’d have brought along a change of clothes.

Beneath the president’s smile, Dana could see tension. He kept looking toward the door—expectantly at first, then hopefully, and finally with irritation.

Dana was sorry for his disappointment, as well as relieved that Zeke hadn’t shown up after all. But she was not at all surprised. Once she’d had a chance to calm down and think it over, she’d have been willing to bet her next paycheck that he wouldn’t appear.

She entertained herself, while she pretended to listen to an alumni who wanted to describe in detail the last football game of his college career, by listing the possible reasons why Zeke wasn’t there. First and most likely, Zeke had accepted the invitation and then completely forgotten the time and even the day. Or perhaps he had actually not accepted the invitation at all, but Barclay thought he had. The same way he thinks I’ve accepted his proposal, Dana thought. Or, possibly, Zeke had never intended to show up—though he wasn’t habitually rude. At least, he hadn’t been when….

But she wasn’t going to think about that.

That’s over, she reminded herself. Done with. Finished.

Just as the alumnus was reaching the climactic play of the game he was describing, gesturing wildly as he demonstrated the gymnastics required to cross the goal line, the chatter of the crowd dropped by a good ten decibels. Sensitive to the atmosphere of the party, Dana let her gaze sweep across the room, seeking out the cause of the sudden comparative silence.

Not that it required much effort. Her attention, like that of every other person in the room, was drawn as if by a magnet to a man standing in the arched doorway between the drawing room and the entrance hall. He was tall and lean, dressed in a silvery-gray business suit, and he stood perfectly at ease as he surveyed the room. His face was shadowed by the deep arch, but the light of the chandelier behind him fell warmly across his black hair, almost crowning him with its golden glow.

Like he’s wearing a halo, Dana thought grimly. I’ve never seen a better example of false advertising.

She surveyed the perfect tailoring of his suit with interest and had to admit a wisp of relief that he hadn’t shown up in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Not that it mattered to her what he wore, she added hastily. Or how he presented himself to a crowd.

Barclay had hurried toward him, beaming, his hand extended. “Mr. Ferris,” he exclaimed. “How kind of you to honor us with your presence tonight. I hope your business meetings went well today.”

Zeke stepped forward. The halo vanished as the soft light of the drawing room fell across his face. “Call me Zeke,” Dana heard him say.

The alumnus cleared his throat, and she turned hastily back to him. “And that was the play which won the game?”

But the man wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Zeke. “What’s so important about that young fella?” he demanded. “President’s hardly said a word to me all evening, but he falls all over him. Has he given a lot of money to the university, or something?”

“Not yet,” Dana said.

“Oh, I see. Howell’s trying to put the squeeze on him. Well, I suppose there’s never enough money.”

A man on Dana’s other side, a member of the university’s board of directors, said, “You can say that again. We need a new stadium, for one thing.”

Dana started to say that the last thing Zeke Ferris was likely to give the university was a sports stadium, but she stopped herself just in time. How could she know that, anyway? People changed—the Zeke Ferris she had known certainly hadn’t been the perfectly-tailored business suit type. “And we could use a new conference center,” she pointed out.

“Oh, well, I suppose if you’re interested in that sort of thing,” one of the men conceded.

She left the two of them discussing the university’s sports program and excused herself. But the party seemed to be taking care of itself at the moment; no one was standing alone, no one was looking forlorn, and no one seemed to be plunging into an argument. When a waiter passed, she swapped her sparkling water for a glass of champagne, and as she turned away she came face-to-face with Zeke Ferris.

She looked past him and saw that the alumnus who had told her all about the game he’d won had buttonholed Barclay as he crossed the room and was drawing him off into a corner. Even Barclay’s celebrated people skills might not get him out of that conversation in a hurry, she thought.

She’d almost forgotten how tall Zeke was. Even in her highest heels she’d always had to look up at him. Today, in the comfortable flats she habitually wore when she was in charge of a party, she seemed to look a very long way up into eyes bright as sapphires and filled with speculation.

“Dana,” he said softly. “Now this is a surprise.”

He had not said, she noted, that it was a pleasant surprise. And you can multiply that reaction times two, she thought. But she smiled and put out her hand. “Zeke.”

His grip was warm and firm, and he continued to hold her hand. “It’s been a long time.”

Not long enough.

He looked around the room and then back at her. “So what are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you faculty? Staff? Or are you finally going after that graduate degree you wanted so badly?”

“Staff,” she said coolly, and tugged her hand away. He let her fingers slip slowly out of his. She could feel her hands trembling, so she folded both of them around her cold glass to hide the telltale tremor. “I hope you’ll enjoy your visit here, Zeke. May I get you a drink?”

She watched a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He might as well have said it, she thought, for it was quite clear what he was thinking. So that’s the way you’re going to play it.

“When you said you were staff,” Zeke murmured, “I thought you meant something administrative. It didn’t occur to me you might be just a waitress.”

Dana gritted her teeth. He’s trying to jab you into making a scene, she told herself.

Behind her, Barclay said smoothly, “I’m sure you misunderstood, Zeke.”

Dana had no trouble interpreting his tone of voice. No matter what a prospective donor said, it wasn’t to be taken as an insult—it was merely a misunderstanding.

“This is Dana Mulholland,” Barclay went on. “She’s not a waitress, she manages all the conferences and special events that the university hosts, and she’s been filling in at Baron’s Hill as well. In fact—”

Dana stepped quickly into the gap. “When we finish raising the money to build a new conference center, I’ll be in charge of it.”

“That’s not what I meant, my dear, but I know you’re right. Since it’s not quite official yet, I probably shouldn’t say anything at all. But it’s so hard to keep such happy news a secret.” Barclay’s tone was confidential, almost intimate.

Zeke’s eyes had narrowed, and only then did Dana realize that Barclay had draped an arm around her shoulders. She tried to shrug it off.

Barclay’s grip tightened. “I’ve asked Dana to marry me.”

Dana wanted to stuff her fingers in her ears on the theory that if she couldn’t hear what was going on, then it wasn’t really happening.

A member of the board of directors, standing nearby, cocked his head to one side. “Did I hear you right, Howell?” he asked. “You’re marrying Dana?”

“I wasn’t actually going to announce it just yet,” Barclay began.

He’s keeping his options open, Dana deduced. But the director didn’t pause. “Capital idea. I don’t mind telling you there was some hesitation on the part of the board when we hired you. We wondered if putting a young man, a bachelor, in that position was just asking for trouble. But marrying Dana—now that’s sensible. Like you’re taking the university to your bosom, eh? Making it your own.” He chortled at his own wit.

Dana’s face felt hot. Say something, she ordered herself. Deny it—and fast.

But that would mean contradicting Barclay in public and mortifying him in front of directors and alumni and faculty. Not that he didn’t deserve it—but if nothing else, self-preservation suggested she keep quiet for the moment and deal with the proposal later, when she could be alone with Barclay. Embarrassing the president of the university wasn’t the best way to improve her job security.

And why should she provide any more of a scene for Zeke Ferris’s entertainment, anyway? It was none of his business what she did.

“And marriage will help keep all the other women from circling around, too,” an alumnus added. “You must have been having to beat them off with a baseball bat this last year.”

Barclay’s self-deprecating smile and vague gesture of denial were so halfhearted, Dana thought, that he might as well have come straight out and said yes, the women found him so attractive that he was forced to defend himself.

The sheer arrogance of the man made Dana seethe with fury. She was drawing breath to set the record straight when she caught a glimpse of Zeke’s face. She blinked in astonishment. She hadn’t expected that he’d rush to congratulate them—but she also hadn’t expected to see pity in his eyes. Pity? How dare he pity her?

He looked at her levelly for a long moment. “Now that could present a problem,” he said finally. “Because she can’t.”

Dana’s temper snapped. Even though she had no intention of marrying Barclay Howell, the very idea of Zeke telling her she couldn’t was enough to make her spit nails. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Zeke, don’t try to lay down the law to me. There is absolutely no reason for you to have an opinion in the matter. Whether I get married or not has nothing to do with you.”

“Much as I hate to disagree with a lady—”

“You expect me to believe that piece of nonsense?”

He wasn’t looking at her, but at Barclay. “She can’t get married till her divorce is final.”

“Divorce?” Barclay said blankly.

Dana’s jaw dropped. “What? We took care of that years ago. You have absolutely no claim on me anymore, Zeke, so stop acting like a dog in the manger.”

“You’re divorced?” Barclay sounded as if he was about to faint.

“That’s the problem,” Zeke murmured. “She isn’t, actually. There was a little hangup with the paperwork, and so our divorce never quite went through. Sorry to break the news this way, darling—but you’re still married. To me.”




CHAPTER TWO


THE room seemed to whirl around Dana.

It wasn’t possible, she thought. It was six years since they’d called it quits, and the proof was buried at the back of the fire-safe box in her closet where she kept her most important papers.

Or…was it?

Suddenly—illogically—doubt swept over her. She had certainly received documents. But when that long brown envelope had finally arrived, months after they’d actually split, she’d simply glanced at the papers inside before she’d put the package away. Half of her had been relieved that the whole mess was over, but the other half was still stinging with misery and injured pride. The last thing she’d wanted to do was read every last detail, set down in harsh black and white in a chilly legal document, concerning the most painful mistake of her life.

But she’d looked at it closely enough to know what it was—a final dissolution of her brief marriage. Zeke was wrong, that was all there was to it. Where he’d gotten the idea that the divorce hadn’t gone through was beyond her, but he had to be wrong.

Or else he was flat-out lying.

She found herself looking uncertainly at him. The one thing he had never done, in their months together, was to lie to her.

People change, she thought. But did they change in such essential ways as that?

Of course, the fact that he’d never lied to her wasn’t exactly an accolade, Dana told herself. There had been times during their brief marriage when Zeke’s bluntness had not helped the situation at all. For instance, during that last argument when he’d made it clear that he was anxious not only to get away from the campus but from her…

This is no time to be reliving the past, she reminded herself. You’ve got enough to deal with right now. Like the fact that Barclay’s face had turned purple and he looked as if he couldn’t breathe.

She hit him a sharp blow between the shoulder blades, just in case he’d inhaled an olive, and he gasped, choked, and started to laugh. “For a minute there, I thought you were serious,” he said. “What a joker—I’d heard you have quite a sense of humor, Zeke, but I had no idea it was quite so…unusual.”

Zeke looked down at him, eyes half-hooded. Though he was only a couple of inches taller than Barclay, somehow he managed to make it look like much more, as though he towered over the other man.

It was a good trick, Dana thought. Under other circumstances, she might have been amused at his lord-of-the-manor pose.

“Oh, it’s a side-splitter of a story, all right,” Zeke said agreeably. “I’m glad you enjoyed my efforts to entertain you, Bark.”

If he hadn’t already had a shock, Dana suspected Barclay wouldn’t even have winced at the mangling of his name. But obviously he wasn’t fully recovered yet, for distaste flickered across his face. “Uh…yeah,” he said. “Let me get you that drink Dana promised you.”

He strode off toward the bar. The buzz of conversation picked up again, and for a moment Zeke and Dana were almost alone in the center of the room.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” Dana said, “but I don’t appreciate it.”

“Sorry to interrupt your life, honey, but it isn’t a game.” Zeke’s gaze shifted to a point over her shoulder.

Dana was furious. “You can’t just come in here and make an announcement like that and then ignore me when I ask for an explanation!”

“Oh, you want an explanation,” he said with a bright-eyed air of discovery. “And here I thought you’d already decided I’d made it up just to interfere in your new romance.”

“As if you’d want to,” Dana snapped.

He looked appraisingly at her. “Don’t you mean, ‘As if you could’? Come between you and the new boyfriend, I mean.”

“That, too.” It came out sounding a little lame, Dana thought, but her feelings—or lack of them—for Barclay were certainly none of Zeke’s business.

“Though I’d be doing you a favor if I did break it up. Honestly, Dana, can’t you do any better than Barclay Howell?”

“Coming from you, Zeke, that’s the funniest joke of the year.”

“Everybody thinks I’m so humorous, maybe I should take up comedy.”

“You’d fit right into the profession,” Dana said coolly.

Zeke reached past her to take the glass Barclay was holding. “Thanks, Bark.”

Dana bit her tongue. The night was young, and sooner or later she’d have a chance to get Zeke off in a corner and shake an explanation out of him. Whether he could adequately justify what he’d done was probably another question altogether, but at least she could find out what he’d been thinking when he made that bizarre announcement.

In the meantime, she decided, the best way to head off more questions was to pretend nothing important had happened. She smiled at Barclay. “You must ask Zeke to tell you about his first couple of years here. The university had quite a reputation as a party school back then, and he helped add a chapter to the story. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I see that Professor Wells has just arrived. I’m helping her to organize an event that’s coming up later this week, and I must ask her about a few details.” She tried not to give a sigh of relief as she made her escape.

Professor Wells was at the bar, taking a tentative sip of her Scotch and water. “I hate these parties,” she grumbled to Dana. “But at least I’ll say for Barclay Howell that he insists on good Scotch. I think the stuff the last president served was really antifreeze. How are the arrangements for the trivia tournament shaping up?”

Dana bit back a smile. “I’m sure the sponsors of the Academic Honors Bowl wouldn’t like hearing you call it a trivia tournament.”

“Then they should make it a real contest. Put in some questions that require intellect and reasoning instead of a command of random information.”

“Finding enough dormitory space to house a couple of hundred high school students overnight wasn’t easy,” Dana admitted. “And I’m having a little trouble with the awards ceremony at the end of the day. The lecture hall in the conference center isn’t large enough to hold all the students who are taking part, but I can’t put chairs in the aisles or the fire inspector will have a fit.”

Professor Wells grunted. “If enough of them get bored and leave early, there’ll be no shortage of seats.”

“That’s true, but it’s hardly the solution we want.”

“I know, Dana. We really need that new building. Of course, don’t hold your breath. If the trustees have their way, there’ll be a new stadium first, and then a basketball arena, and then—”

Dana was having trouble concentrating. She realized suddenly that even with her back turned she knew exactly where in the room Zeke was at any given moment. The hairs at the nape of Dana’s neck seemed to be acting as a sort of compass, with Zeke being true north. It didn’t help that Barclay seemed to be showing him off, making the rounds of the room in order to introduce him to everyone.

She finally gave up on making sense of the conversation and told Professor Wells she’d phone her the next day to get the list of people who had volunteered to serve as question-readers and judges for the academic bowl. Instantly her internal radar seemed to relax a bit, but as soon as she turned her attention back to the room, she saw why.

Zeke was leaving. He was already in the entrance hall, with Barclay beside him, obviously almost pleading with him to stay a little longer. She watched as Zeke shook his head and went out.

He had been there less than half an hour, but that short space of time had thrown Dana into the worst emotional turmoil she’d felt since their divorce. And now he was escaping without giving her any justification at all for his behavior.

Which was pretty much par for the course where Zeke was concerned.

Barclay closed the door behind him and came straight across the drawing room to Dana. He looked, she thought warily, as if he’d like to kick the nearest alumnus. She braced herself. How was she going to explain that incredible announcement of Zeke’s when she had no idea herself what he’d been talking about?

“You could have told me you knew him.” It sounded like an accusation.

“There was no reason to. It was back in the dark ages.”

“The timing doesn’t matter.”

“Look,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You must realize you took me by surprise earlier this evening. If we’d been dating, of course I would have told you I’d been married before. But it’s not something I announce when I’m first introduced to someone, so—”

Barclay waved a hand, dismissing her concern. “I wasn’t talking about that.”

Dana almost choked. “Then what are you talking about?”

“You could at least have filled me in about his history,” he said impatiently. “Warned me about that kooky sense of humor…you mean you really were married to him?”

Dana nodded. “For about three months.”

“Oh. Well, that’s nothing.”

Nothing, Dana thought. But did he mean that her short-lived marriage was unimportant because it had no implications for her current decisions, or because finding out about it had changed his mind about the offer he’d made?

Not that it altered her feelings about Barclay in the least, but it would be convenient to know whether she was still supposed to be considering his proposal. Why waste time trying to find a way to let him down gently, if he had decided she wasn’t suitable marriage material after all?

Barclay sounded aggrieved. “You could at least have suggested the best way to approach him.”

As if he were a rattlesnake, Dana thought. “You want my advice on how to get a donation out of Zeke Ferris? Sorry, but I have no idea how to persuade the man to part with his money, because when I knew him he didn’t have any. I’m the one who paid for the divorce.”

The divorce I didn’t get after all…She told herself firmly not to leap to conclusions. Just because Zeke had said something didn’t make it true. Maybe Barclay was right, and Zeke had intended it as a sort of practical joke. Then, as soon as he’d realized that she didn’t find it amusing, he’d sloped off rather than take responsibility for a gag gone bad…

But that behavior wasn’t like the Zeke she’d known, either. Dana’s head was starting to pound.

She had never in her life been so glad to see the end of a party. She pitched in to help the caterers clean up, partly so they could all go home sooner, partly because she didn’t want to face another tête-á-tête with Barclay just now—but mostly because as long as she was surrounded by a group of outsiders, Connie couldn’t ask her any questions. And since at the moment she had absolutely no answers…

She kept on working after Connie gave up and left. Finally, when the last members of the catering crew were ready to go, Dana took her raincoat from a hook near the kitchen door and went out with them. The last truck roared away and she was alone.

The dark and gloomy afternoon had given way to a darker and gloomier evening. It wasn’t quite raining, but the air was so heavy with mist that the usual evening sounds were softened and flattened. Her footsteps on the brick driveway didn’t make the usual sharp click, and the creak of the gate as she opened and closed it was unusually muted. The sound of a car engine starting might have come from any direction at all.

She turned toward downtown, to walk the dozen blocks to her little house. Her hands were deep in the pockets of her raincoat and her head was bent against the misty air. She was vaguely aware of a car coming up behind her, but that was nothing new. It would have been more unusual for the streets to be empty at this hour in this neighborhood. Though she felt dead tired, in fact it wasn’t late.

It took her a while to realize that the car was moving too slowly. It should have passed her by now. Was it following her?

She shot a nervous glance over her shoulder and speeded her steps. A Jaguar. If a stalker was after her, she thought, at least he had good taste.

The car crept along beside her for another few yards, then pulled in toward the curb. The passenger-side window opened and a man leaned across the seat to look out at her.

“Want a lift?” Zeke asked.

“I was enjoying my solitude,” Dana pointed out. She kept walking.

The car crept along beside her. “I thought you wanted an explanation.”

She stopped. “Does that mean you’re actually planning to give me one?”

“Get in.” He pushed the door open.

She perched sideways on the seat with the door open and one foot still planted on the street.

“You never used to be the nervous sort,” Zeke said, “but at the moment you look like you’re ready to run. And yet you’re walking home at this hour. The two things don’t fit together somehow.”

“Give it a little thought and I’m sure you can figure out why I’m a bit jittery at the idea of sitting here.” Her voice was dry. “What gives, Zeke?”

“I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you don’t want to sit here, let’s go somewhere for dinner.”

“Let’s have that explanation first.”

“I’m too hungry to keep my mind on details.”

“It’s your own fault if you’re hungry. There was food at the party.”

“That’s what you call food? Those dainty little nibbles didn’t even take the edge off. I’ve been sitting here fantasizing about a steak. I had just about convinced myself I was wasting my time waiting for you to come out. Another five minutes and I’d have been gone.”

“My timing always was rotten,” Dana murmured. “So if you were going to wait five more minutes for me anyway, you might as well put it to good use. Give me the condensed version and then you can go eat. And by the way, if that remark about wasting your time waiting for me was a polite way of asking whether I’ve moved in with Barclay, the answer is no.”

“Oh, I’m sure you still go home every night…eventually. Barclay wouldn’t want any gossip about his future wife.”

Dana hit her temple with the heel of her hand. “What on earth is wrong with me? Did I just imply that you were trying to be polite? My mistake. I take it all back.” She slid out of the car, slammed the door, and leaned in the still-open window. “If you waited around just so you could insult me, you wasted your time, Zeke. Good night.” She took two steps.

The car crept forward. “You keep saying you want me to tell you what happened.”

“Well—yes, now that you mention it, it would be nice to know what inspired you to say such a stupid thing. No, wait—let me guess. You just had to make sure that Barclay knew I’d been married—is that it?”

Zeke’s voice was soft. “So I was right on target. You hadn’t told him.”

Dana could have kicked herself for admitting as much. “No, I hadn’t. But—” She stopped. She was not about to confide in Zeke that she hadn’t even known Barclay well enough to tell him about her past; Zeke would laugh himself into tears.

“Barclay’s first lady will have to be like Caesar’s wife, you know,” he said with a sanctimonious air that made Dana want to punch him. “He couldn’t possibly marry any woman who had a breath of suspicion hanging over her, and I…well, I just couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t done my best to prevent a scandal.”

“You’re the one who caused the scandal,” Dana pointed out. “Besides, there’s nothing for anyone to be scandalized about. It happens all the time. We got married, we decided it didn’t work, we got divorced—”

Zeke shook his head. “Not quite.”

“Look, enough of the joke already.”

“I wish it was a joke, Dana.”

There was a deep and obviously heartfelt note in his voice that made Dana’s stomach feel like lead. She said uncertainly, “You weren’t making it up?”

Zeke shook his head. “Come on,” he said and pushed the car door open. “We’ve got some talking to do.”

Dana chose the restaurant, but as soon as they walked in Zeke knew why she’d made that particular selection—it was the darkest little bar he’d ever been in. “I can’t quite see Barclay bringing you here,” he murmured as she led the way to a table. “As a matter of fact, I can’t see much of anything at all. But I suppose that’s the biggest attraction of the place—he’s not likely to walk in and spot us together.”

To his disappointment Dana didn’t rise to the bait. “No, I chose it because the music is loud enough to keep anyone from overhearing us, but not so loud that we’ll have to shout. And you did say you wanted a steak—they’re supposed to have the best ones in town.”

“Supposed to? You don’t know? Don’t tell me you’ve gone vegetarian.” She looked it, he thought. She was thinner than he remembered. Did that mean that Barclay liked his women as angular as clothing racks?

“I got so used to rice and beans when we were married that it became a habit.”

“Sarcasm isn’t your strong point, Dana.”

“Then I’ll have to work harder at it.” She took a menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers and handed it to him. It was so battered that the lamination was coming loose from the paper. Zeke maneuvered the menu into the glow of the single narrow spotlight above the table and tried to read around the scratches and reflections.

Dana seemed to have no trouble figuring out what the menu said. “It’s my lucky day,” she said. “Pinto bean and wild rice soup. Just what I wanted.”

“Don’t starve yourself for my sake.”

“Still being bossy, I see.” She put her menu down with a slap.

“No, just practical. I saw you knocking back champagne at Barclay’s party, and if we’re going to have a serious discussion—”

“You’d like me to be sober for it? Gee, and here I thought you were asking me out to dinner for old times’ sake. You can rest easy, Zeke. I had one glass of champagne. I carried it around with me most of the evening, and I dumped the last of it down the drain right before I left Baron’s Hill.”

“Fine.” One thing was already obvious, Zeke thought. She was still just as stubborn as she’d ever been—if not more so.

“But if you insist, I’ll order something besides rice and bean soup.” She looked up at the server. “I’ll have your most expensive steak.” She pointed at Zeke. “And he’ll have the bill.”

The server didn’t even blink. “For you, sir?”

“Make it two.” The server went away, and Zeke said, “The last thing I would have expected, years ago when we were just trying to survive the semester, was that you’d end up being the university’s first lady.”

Dana shrugged and fiddled with her menu, putting it neatly back in place and propping it up with the ketchup bottle. “And who would have thought you’d end up as Mr. Industrialist?”

“Not for much longer.”

She nodded. “Barclay said something about you selling your business. He’s hoping that when you hold all those millions in your hands, you’ll remember the university with fondness.”

“Tell me something I didn’t know,” Zeke said dryly.

“What are you going to do then? Go lie on a beach in Hawaii?”

Zeke shook his head. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t dream of restricting myself to one beach when there must be hundreds of them out there around the world, just waiting for me.”

Her laugh brought a sparkle of gold to her big brown eyes, he noted. At least that much hadn’t changed.

The server brought salads and a basket of bread.

Dana drizzled blue cheese dressing over her lettuce. “All right,” she said. “Enough polite conversation. What makes you think—”

“Poor Barclay,” Zeke interrupted.

Dana paused. “What about him?” She sounded a little uncertain.

“He must think you’re a diplomat, or he wouldn’t have proposed. Boy, is he in for a nasty shock.”

“Thank you very much for that helpful dissection of my character. I don’t normally have trouble making nice to people—only when they say completely idiotic things. What makes you so sure there’s something wrong with the divorce, anyway? I have all the papers—or didn’t the lawyer ever send you a set?” Her eyes widened. “Dammit, Zeke, if you caused all this trouble just because you didn’t get any paperwork—”

“I got it. It’s a very impressive set of documents. Lots of fine print and gold seals and flowery signatures and whereases and heretofores.”

“Yeah,” Dana said slowly, “that sounds like the same thing I got. But then—”

“Did you ever read the fine print?”

She hesitated, as if she was considering the ramifications of telling the truth, before she finally said, “No. Not all of it.”

“Well, I didn’t either, until just recently. It turns out that we applied for a divorce in the Dominican Republic instead of Wisconsin. Or, rather, our attorney applied, in our names.”

Dana looked at him blankly. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“Apparently because he’d found it to be a very accommodating legal system—and it appears to be a perfectly fine one for the people who live there. Unfortunately, as far as I can find out, very few other courts in the world seems to recognize a Dominican divorce as legal. So if a couple who lives in Wisconsin gets a divorce in the—”

“They’re not really divorced at all,” Dana groaned.

“Not unless they move to the Caribbean. Though, come to think of it, there are plenty of beaches there. It’s worth considering.”

She obviously wasn’t listening. “That shyster! Why bother to file it anywhere? Why not just create the fancy document out of thin air and tell us it was real? We’d have believed it—we’d have believed anything he told us. We were just a couple of kids who were anxious to put a mistake behind us.”

“I suppose he thought that making it up out of whole cloth would be unethical.”

“Unethical!” She made a noise that sounded like a snort. “It sounds to me as if he wouldn’t know an ethic if it bit him in the nose.”

Pure mischief made him say, “You have to give him a little credit for having a conscience. The document we got is certainly real, even if it doesn’t exactly accomplish what we intended it to.”

“Cut it out, Zeke. The man was only after the money, and you know it. He probably calculated the cost of every last gold seal.”

“The question now, of course, is what we’re going to do about it.”

“That’s a no-brainer,” Dana said promptly. “We hire another attorney and get a real divorce this time. No, on second thought, the first thing I want to do is sue him to get my money back, and then—”

Zeke frowned. What was she talking about? “Get your money back?”

“Yes.” She thrust out her chin. “As long as we’re hashing out leftover details, that’s another thing we might as well talk about. I know you were strapped for cash at the time, but so was I. That was why we agreed to cooperate instead of hiring two attorneys in the first place.”

“That was your brilliant idea, I believe,” he murmured. “And an expensive mistake it turned out to be.”

She glowered at him. “I’m not the only one he fooled. And stop trying to change the subject. I didn’t appreciate you sticking me with the bill for the divorce, Zeke. Splitting it down the middle would have been fair, but saddling me with the whole thing—”

No wonder she wants her money back. “I didn’t do anything of the sort,” Zeke said.

“Don’t try to weasel out of it now, because it can’t be done. Not only did I pay the whole bill, but I kept the cancelled checks as a reminder to be more careful who I got involved with next time.”

He didn’t doubt it for a minute. Not that the resolution appeared to have done her much good—taking up with Barclay Howell, for heaven’s sake. What was the woman thinking of?

He spoke slowly and deliberately. “So did I, Dana.”

She stared at him. “You…what?”

Zeke said gently, “I paid the whole bill.” He watched her face turn pale under the brilliant spotlight as comprehension slowly dawned.

“He charged us both? And all this time I was thinking that you’d ducked out of paying your share.” Her voice cracked. “And you thought I’d dodged mine.”

“No, I just believed it was my responsibility, so I took care of it.”

She swallowed hard, but she obviously wasn’t in the mood to give him points for acting like a gentleman. “That shark.” She stretched out her hands, fingers spread like claws. “When I get hold of him—”

She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring, Zeke noted absently. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry at all, in fact; not only were her hands bare but her neck was unadorned as well. Pity, he thought. It was a neck that was made for delicate gold chains. Her throat was slim and long, with an aristocratic arch. It had always been a very kissable little neck. He wondered if Barclay had discovered the ticklish spot right below her ear….

None of your business, Ferris.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said mildly. “You’d be bound to be caught if you committed assault and battery inside a federal penitentiary, and Barclay might not like it.”

“Our attorney is in a federal prison?”

Zeke nodded. “He’s already served two years of an eight-to-ten for fraud.”

“So that’s how you found out we’re not divorced after all? A story in the newspaper or something.”

He toyed with the idea of simply nodding. It would certainly be the easiest course. But Dana had already proved that she wasn’t going to be easily convinced, and he wouldn’t put it past her to demand that he produce the newspaper clipping. The trouble was that there had been no news coverage—or at least none that he’d seen.

“Not exactly,” he said. “Arranging faulty divorces isn’t what he’s in prison for. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know he was in prison till I tried to look him up so he could explain how the hell he’d messed up ours. Until then, I thought it was just a simple mistake.”

The server returned with two platters topped with still-sizzling steaks. Good timing, Zeke thought, and changed the subject. “How long have you known Barclay?”

Dana paid no attention to either her plate or his question. “How did you find out there was anything wrong?”

He met her gaze, levelly. “I happened to run across the divorce papers one day and I decided to check everything out and make sure it was all in order.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Six years after the fact, you just took it into your head to ask an attorney whether you were really divorced?”

“Call it a whim. And it turned out to be a sensible one, too.”

She looked at him for a long moment and then shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t, Zeke. You’re not going to make me believe that you had nothing better to do than run down the details of a six-year-old legal case. Or to pay a lawyer to do it, either. So what’s really going on?”

He cut a slice from his steak. “This will lose half its flavor if you let it get cold,” he warned.

Dana didn’t seem to hear him. “I’ve got it. You’re planning a little walk down the aisle yourself. And your new bride—who must be a more careful sort than I ever was—wanted to be certain you were really and truly free.”

“Nice story. Not a word of truth in it, but you get credit for a noble effort.”

“Oh, come on. Why should I care that you’re planning to get married? You can tell me all about her. Maybe I’ll invite her to lunch someday—give her some pointers about handling you. She might even ask me to be a bridesmaid.” Dana started to laugh. “If you could see your face, Zeke…You’re acting as if you think I’m going to refuse to divorce you this time around.” She stopped dead, staring at him.

He watched her with interest. The play of emotion across her face was fascinating—first laughter, then shock, and then the beginnings of grim anger.

“You do,” she accused. “You are actually arrogant enough to think I’m going to stand in your way. As if I’d be stupid enough to want you back! I couldn’t wait to get out of our marriage last time around, and I’m certainly not going to hold you up…”

Zeke cut another bite of his steak and waited patiently for her to run down.

“Hold you up,” she repeated. “I get it now. Last time neither of us had a dime, so there was no problem about who got what. But now you’re sitting on a gold mine—and you think I’m mercenary enough to want to stay married to you just so I can help spend it.”

“If that was what I thought, Dana, I would just have waited to tell you about the divorce till the business was sold.”

Dana shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t—because then you’d have cash in your hands. I could demand part of that in return for your freedom. Well, let me assure you I won’t. I want to be free just as much as you do, and it can’t happen soon enough for me.”

Here’s your chance, Ferris. Make it good. “Now that is a difficulty,” Zeke said calmly. “Because you see, Dana…I don’t.”




CHAPTER THREE


DANA pushed her plate away and propped both elbows on the table, steadying her chin in her hands while she tried to decide whether Zeke could have possibly said what she thought she’d heard. He couldn’t have, she decided. She must have been hallucinating, because he didn’t seem to realize he had said anything unusual at all. And he certainly wasn’t waiting for a reaction, the way he would if he’d deliberately thrown out a bombshell like that one; he was concentrating on his steak as if it was the only important issue in his life at the moment.

It was an odd thing for her to hallucinate about, though. Out of the blue, to imagine that Zeke wanted her back…She wasn’t even in the habit of thinking about him. Not often, anyway. She must have been even more shaken than she’d realized by his announcement—and that was saying something.

“In case I didn’t make myself quite clear,” Zeke said finally, “I mean that I don’t want a divorce.”

Dana supposed that announcement should make her feel better, because there was no question this time what he’d meant, and that proved she wasn’t hearing odd voices in her head after all. Unfortunately, establishing that she wasn’t the crazy one didn’t eliminate the problem.

“Well, you always were a little irrational about certain subjects,” she said, trying to sound calm. “But this confirms it—you’ve lost your ever-lovin’ mind. Of course you want a divorce, Zeke. You’ve had a divorce for the past six years.” She saw him start to shake his head and rolled her eyes. “So all right, maybe it wasn’t quite legal—but we thought it was. We both lived as if we were single. You absolutely cannot expect me to believe that you’ve gone around for the last six years regretting our breakup and living like a monk while you tried to figure out a way to get me back.”

“No,” Zeke said.

“Good. At least you know better than to insult my intelligence. So what on earth do you mean, you don’t want a divorce?”

“Not at the moment anyway.”

“At the moment? Okay, I’ll wait five minutes and try again.” She pulled her plate back and cut into her steak. “In the meantime—”

“And not for the next few months. About three should do it, I think.”

Dana put down her fork. “I’m not even going to ask you to explain the logic behind that. But I don’t see the problem. If we’d file the papers tomorrow, it would take at least that long before the divorce is final and you’re free. Even if the court rushed everything through, three months from now we’ll still be married…” Her voice trailed off. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying that.”

“But as soon as we asked for a divorce, it would be clear that I was going to be unattached within a relatively short space of time.”

“And you don’t want to be free?”

“Ultimately, yes. Of course I do. But not for the next three months.”

“What’s magical about three months, for heaven’s sake?”

“I thought you weren’t going to ask me to explain.” He held up both hands, palms out. “Okay, okay—no more teasing. I haven’t forgotten the symptoms when you’re about to blow up.”

“Good for you,” Dana muttered.

Zeke tipped his water glass and used the edge of the heavy base to draw invisible circles on the tabletop. “You said Barclay told you I’m selling my company.”

Dana nodded.

“Well, he’s a little ahead of the times. I’m negotiating a sale, but it isn’t final yet.”

“No wonder you weren’t eager to write the university a check.”

“And I never will be as long as he’s in charge.”

“Tell me, Zeke…” Dana’s voice dripped irony. “Exactly when did you acquire this overwhelming fondness for Barclay? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were acting jealous.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Zeke said lightly. “I’ve been watching you from afar these last six years and setting private detectives to check out every guy you dated. I can tell you exactly how many times you’ve been kissed good night at the front door.”

Dana didn’t believe him for an instant. “Only at the front door? Surely you didn’t neglect to bug my bedroom.”

“Dana!” He sounded shocked. “There are some things a gentleman just won’t do.”

“Right. I’d put more stock in that if you behaved like a gentleman even when it wasn’t convenient. It’s interesting that all through these years of spying on me, this is the first time you felt it necessary to intervene in my private life. I suppose you’re going to tell me that your Don Quixote impulses got the best of you?”

“And sent me rushing to rescue you from Barclay,” he agreed. “I find it fascinating, of course, that you seem to think you need rescuing…Was that one of those nasty Freudian slips, my dear?”

Dana bit her tongue. When was she going to learn to watch every word she said? He’d always been deadly in an argument. “Let’s leave Barclay out of it, all right?”

Zeke shrugged. “Fine, just remember that you’re the one who brought him in. But let me put your mind at rest on the jealousy question. I disliked Barclay the moment I heard his unctuous, oily voice on the telephone.”

“Then—if you were so unimpressed with him—why did you accept his invitation to the cocktail party?”

“Because I was looking for you, sweetheart, and I thought if he called the alumni office to vouch for me, I’d have an easier time of getting your current address.”

“Why didn’t you just ask all your private investigators where to find me?” Dana asked sweetly.

Zeke had gone straight on. “I didn’t expect to run into you right at Barclay’s elbow.” He raised his eyebrows. “Come to think of it, why were you at Barclay’s elbow? And don’t give me the obvious answer, because I’m not asking what you see in him. I want to know why you’re even at the university. You were as anxious to shake the dust of this town off your feet as I was.”

“No—I was anxious to get out of the marriage. I’m here because I was offered a very good job, with a lot of potential for advancement.”

Zeke shrugged. “I guess, if marrying Barclay is your idea of advancing…”

“That isn’t what I was talking about. I was hired to promote the idea of a conference center, to develop the plans and create demand for the facility. In another year or two, when it’s completed, I’ll be in charge of a brand-new, state-of-the-art building and all the business that goes with it. The university will be the place to go for conventions, parties, product launches, weddings—”

“And in the meantime?”

She admitted, reluctantly, “We’re located in Dressler Hall.”

“Refresh my memory. Is that the building on the corner of the quadrangle, the one that’s all falling plaster and bats?”

“Not anymore. Stop changing the subject, Zeke. You still haven’t told me why you want to be unavailable for the next three months, much less why you want to look as if you’re going to be unavailable forever. You’ll notice I didn’t assume that you actually want to be married to me.”

“Smart girl,” Zeke said. “To put it in a nutshell, the corporation that wants to buy my business has indicated that they want me to be part of the package.”

“Work for them, you mean? It’s not exactly unusual.”

“The CEO is quite insistent.”

“So tell him you’ve done all the work you intend to in this lifetime and you’re going to lie on a beach for the next forty years. I don’t see why you think being married will solve that problem.”

“The female CEO.”

Dana shredded a bit of steak while she thought about it. “And the package she wants to buy includes you personally? Isn’t that called sexual harassment?”

“Try to prove it. Besides, she’s far too subtle to say it directly. That’s part of the problem—if she’d come out in the open, I could deflect her, but she’s playing me like a trout on a line. She won’t agree to the purchase unless I sign an employment contract, and the minute the sale is final she’ll start with the personal stuff. ‘Let’s talk about that over dinner, Zeke.’ ‘There’s a client’s party we must be seen at, so let’s go together.’ Things like that.”




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