Marriage by Mistake

without any personal nature. Felicia was determined this not become a romantic interlude. Troy was still who he was.
    So on Saturday night Felicia, dressed in a deceptively simple green Versace, ambled with seeming aimlessness through the rooms of the refined country club. All the while she kept watch for a dark-haired, gypsy-eyed male.
    It only took her about ten minutes to find him. He was sitting by himself, oddly enough, in a far corner of the bar lounge. His ankles were crossed on a hassock and a full martini glass was on an end table beside him. He held a copy of The Economist .
    Felicia came to a frowning halt. She'd never imagined Troy reading anything so serious. Was this another aspect of his transformation, the transformation she didn't really believe was happening?
    Then Troy closed the magazine and threw it to one side with a gesture that revealed he'd simply found it sitting on the chair and had picked it up out of idle curiosity.
    Felicia took in a deep breath. Troy wasn't serious about anything. He was a devil-may-care man-about-town. He was not for her.
    She took another deep breath and started toward him. With no magazine to hold his attention, he saw her immediately. He clearly tensed. Something brief passed over his face.
    Fear? No. Felicia shook the idea aside. Troy had nothing to be afraid of. Oh, well, yes, he'd claimed he was in love with her, but surely that was an over-dramatization of some far more mundane emotions. He'd probably gotten over it by now.
    So she smiled her best cool, elegant smile as she walked up to him. "Good evening, Troy."
    With his gaze close on her, he dropped his feet from the hassock. "Hello, Felicia." Slowly, he stood.
    Their eyes met and Felicia felt all the old prickliness crackling through the air between them. She now understood the prickles to be sexual electricity, and that it wasn't all manufactured by Troy. It was both of them. An unfortunate chemistry.
    "How have you been?" she asked.
    "Okay." His eyes narrowed. "And you?"
    "Oh, great. Just marvelous." Her lashes lowered. She couldn't hold his gaze while she said what she had to say. "I've been remiss. I should have thanked you by now for the check you got out of Joe Esterley. And now for the one from Emery Hunsington."
    "Me?" Troy sounded surprised. When Felicia looked up, his expression was all bafflement. "What is this about me, and checks from Esterley and Hunsington? I have no idea what you're talking about."
    If she'd had any lingering doubts, Troy's little act just now erased them. He had, indeed, been the one to arrange for those checks to be sent. He'd taken her advice and exerted himself for a cause.
    But he didn't want to admit it.
    Felicia's polite smile quirked. "Fine. Whatever. You still have my thanks, and that of everyone who needs that shelter."
    But Troy was hanging on to his baffled look. "Please don't thank me. I didn't do a thing."
    Felicia could feel her smile freeze. This was beyond modesty. He was adamant she not acknowledge what he'd done for the shelter. With a blow that was almost physical, she realized why. He didn't want her to imagine he'd done it for her. He didn't want her to imagine he'd been trying to impress her or make her think he could be a better man, one with some ideals.
    A man she might consider, romantically.
    Or one who was still in love with her.
    Struggling not to show her hurt, she showed anger instead. "In that case," she said crisply. "I take back all of it. No thanks is given from me to you."
    Her icicle tone appeared to relieve Troy. "Great. I'd hate to think you've been feeling beholden to me, or anything."
    Their eyes met again. Felicia hadn't felt beholden. She had felt...impressed, though. Even admiring. And now with Troy watching her so coldly and her stomach shrinking, she realized she'd been feeling a great deal more. Deep down, she'd been hoping he was giving her an excuse to like him...an excuse to allow him to kiss her. She'd been hoping he was changing into the kind of man with whom she could have a relationship.
    "No," she agreed slowly. "I wouldn't want to feel beholden to you, either."
    Troy rocked back on his heels. "Glad we got that straightened out."
    "Yes," Felicia said.
    Troy smiled. "Have a nice evening, Felicia."
    Felicia glanced up sharply. Troy was smiling in his old, careless way, utterly unmoved. For a moment she felt disoriented. Even suspicious. Was this all some sort of act? He had been moved by his tour of the Boston Family Aid