Marriage by Mistake

she had something to do, too, but even if she hauled out her paperback novel it wouldn't have been polite to read it now, not when she was sitting right next to her brand new husband. She tapped her fingers on her knee. Apparently this guy—Dean—didn't realize what was polite.
    She stopped tapping her fingers and cleared her throat. "Uh, do you think we'll have a nice flight?" She didn't quite look at him as she smiled pleasantly.
    He drew his stapled bundle of papers closer to his eyes. "I have no idea."
    And that was that. He frowned at his papers while Kelly felt her face burn.
    Two months—or less.
    Meanwhile the plane bounced gently. They were leaving the gate. Dean actually looked up from his papers, but only to shoot Kelly a disapproving glance. "You need to put on your seat belt."
    "What? Oh." Kelly looked down. Her lap was, indeed, unrestrained. Before she could do anything to correct the situation, he was leaning over her, reaching for the metal tabs. Mr. In-Charge.
    His knuckles brushed her stomach as he shot the metal tongue home.
    Kelly pressed back in her seat. Dean's breath drew in sharply. But neither one of them seemed able to avoid it: their eyes met. A spark arced between them, white-hot electricity, a moment of stripped-bare awareness.
    Dean straightened abruptly and turned, grabbing up his sheaf of papers. Kelly hissed out slowly and craned her head to gaze out the window.
    All right, so there was a physical thing between them. No big deal. Physical attraction didn't make the man her husband. Kelly blinked out the window and struggled to even her heart rate.
    Only love could do that.
    ~~~
    They arrived in Boston two hours late. That meant Dean had been sitting beside the woman for seven hours straight. In that time they'd barely exchanged a dozen words. What was he going to talk to her about? The stock market, free trade problems? Or perhaps the number of sequins she could sew on a single costume?
    Meanwhile, he noticed every time she crossed her legs, every time she shifted in her seat. He did his best to distract himself, delving deeply into the quarterly report, but it didn't work. He still noticed. Worse yet, he still responded.
    It was embarrassing. Never had Dean experienced physical desire so unrelenting. His fingers actually itched. As they deboarded the plane, he decided he had to get away from her. Oh sure, he'd have to bring her home, settle her in, but following that duty some office emergency could take him back to the city. He could get out of her sphere.
    Eager to put his plan into motion, Dean shepherded Kelly through the busy, early morning airport. He was careful to keep his hands off, though those hands longed to touch and lay claim. Thank God, Jackson and the car were already waiting at the curb. The porter was there as well, loading their luggage into the trunk. Dean only had to spend the time it would take to drive home with the woman. He could manage that.
    "Oh, my word," Kelly muttered.
    She was staring. Dean saw nothing but Jackson and the car, with the porter loading the trunk. "What is it?" he asked.
    She shot him a glance. "That doesn't look unusual to you?"
    "Doesn't what look unusual?"
    She merely raised her brows.
    Dean didn't get it. Hadn't she seen limousines in Las Vegas? Indeed, she must have viewed outfits far more ostentatious than his. Meanwhile, Kelly pulled from the shadow of his control and approached Jackson, hand outstretched. "Hi! I'm Kelly. How do you do?"
    Jackson flashed a quizzical glance in Dean's direction, then turned to accept the lady's handshake. "Uh, how do you do?" He released Kelly's hand to open the back door. "Sir," he said to Dean.
    "Jackson." Dean ushered his wife into the car, still wondering how she'd expected them to get home.
    In the car, Kelly settled onto the seat and turned to face Dean. He immediately forgot his limo question in view of her obvious intent to converse. His hand jumped to his inside jacket pocket. "Excuse me." He withdrew his cell phone. "I have some calls to make."
    The way she stared made him fear she was going to have the moxie to object. But she only pressed her lips together and turned to look out the window.
    Dean managed to busy himself with the phone all the way out past the suburbs. But when they arrived at the wrought iron gates of the family estate, he found himself perversely curious about her reaction. What would she think of the home he was providing her? He pocketed his cell phone as they drove