Marriage by Mistake

starting to descend into the tops of the trees. Kelly shook her head and pushed out of the chair. Friend or foe, it was time to face him down.
    ~~~
    At the desk in his study, Dean sifted through his papers, not really seeing any of them. All he could think was: you asked her in here, to be alone with you, you idiot. What were you thinking?
    Dean slapped his hand down on a perfectly well-conceived business plan. He was thinking about Robby, that's what he was thinking. Robby was the reason he'd asked Kelly into his study for a good talking-to. She was going to break the child's heart, carelessly, recklessly. Dean wasn't about to stand around and let that happen.
    Dean stared at his hand on the desk. It occurred to him that Kelly might not intend to do wrong. She might sincerely want to be kind. Tapping his thumb on the papers, Dean discarded the idea as irrelevant. No matter her intentions, in this case it was not kind to be, well, kind. In fact, kindness could be the worst sort of cruelty. He had to get that through to her.
    The door cracked open. Kelly's face peeked round the jamb. "You wanted to see me?"
    Dean let out a long, slow breath. His skin heated at her mere presence. He had to struggle to recover his equanimity as he stood. "Yes, please come in."
    She slipped through the doorway cautiously, gracefully, like a deer. Her gaze swept the papers set in piles all over his desk. "I don't even know your job title. President, CEO?"
    "Chairman of the Board." Of several boards, in fact, but even the one sounded pompous, suddenly.
    "Family business?" She tilted her head.
    Dean paused. "You could say." He'd founded the genetics research company himself, then added to it by the judicious merging with innovative competitors. He didn't feel like explaining the lone nature of the enterprise to Kelly, however. He was part of a family, wasn't he? So that made his business a family business, even if no other member of his family had ever had anything to do with it. "Please," he ordered. "Have a seat."
    She thought about it, then moved toward the chairs. Intellectually, Dean understood the discipline it took to create her sinuous stride. Viscerally, he wanted to stop that stride and pull her under him onto the Aubusson rug.
    Lord. He fought to bring his body under control. Robby, he reminded himself. His brother's welfare. That was his purpose here. Nothing else.
    Kelly halted and rested her hands on the back of one of the brocade chairs. "I know why you called this little meeting," she admitted, "and I don't blame you one bit."
    Dean raised his brows. She was going to make this easy for him?
    "It's time we stopped fooling around here," she said.
    "Excuse me?"
    "We have less than two months now." She strolled around the armchair. "Clearly, you're a busy man, but you're going to have to find some sort of slot to fit me into your tight schedule."
    Dean went very still. A slot to fit her in ?
    She was directly in front of his desk now, close enough to bang her thighs against it. "I need to get to know you," she said.
    Dean's brain went cock-eyed. She needed to get to know him ? Only by looking at her face and seeing the utter sobriety there, did her real meaning penetrate.
    She needed to get to know him, him as opposed to the man she'd married. This had been her avowed goal as his temporary wife. He wanted to talk about Robby, he needed to talk about Robby, but...she had a point.
    "Well?" She crossed her arms.
    Dean raised his chin. "Of course. You do need evidence if you are to reach any conclusions. I understand that." But damned if he wanted to spend ten minutes in her company.
    On the other hand, he had to spend time in her company. Implicitly, he'd given his word. Flustered, Dean heard himself blurt, "What about the opera? Saturday night."
    She stopped her gentle banging against his desk. "What?"
    'What,' indeed. It was a ridiculous idea. But Dean had gone too far to turn back. He adopted a lofty tone. "Come with me to the opera on Saturday night. A date. That is the conventional means by which couples get to know one another, is it not?"
    "A date," she murmured.
    A date at the opera. He was an idiot. Yes, he had tickets for the special benefit performance Saturday evening, but he'd planned to forego them. His showgirl wife would hardly appreciate La Bohème, and in his present circumstances he could hardly invite somebody more suitable.
    "The opera," Kelly went on, speaking louder. One corner of her mouth curved