Marriage by Mistake

way he was, this way that could not be changed.
    Don't fool yourself ! An alarmed voice squawked in her head. He'll be no worse off once you've gone . Dean had grown too set in his ways, his defenses too established, for her brief appearance in his life to cause a ripple. She'd be like a speck of dust that had gotten into his eye. She'd be like a bug that had been squashed beneath his shoe. Insignificant. Unimportant.
    All the same...
    "I'm staying," she heard herself say.
    Dean's brows snapped down.
    Kelly felt the oddest sensation, like weights being lifted from her shoulders. Part of her stood back and wondered what the heck she thought she was doing. This was absurd, futile, and possibly self-destructive.
    But another part of Kelly felt lighter than air. She stepped out of the car. "I'm not going to give up on you, Dean, even if you are the most set-in-his-ways, unlikely-to-change man I have ever met."
    Dean's brows relaxed. "Wha—?"
    "He's in there somewhere, the man I married." Kelly winced. "All right, he's buried pretty deep, but that doesn't mean we can't try to dig him out. We have to try, in fact. We have to...get the real you out of there."
    Dean's eyes widened.
    Kelly closed the car door behind her. She had no idea what this thing was they were supposed to do, but she felt like she was floating three feet above the ground. There was a shimmering, wondrous excitement inside her. Something, something had to happen.
    With a laugh in her throat, she stepped forward. In surprise, or maybe to set her away, Dean put his hands on her waist. The heat of his fingers through the silk of her pantsuit was all the instigation Kelly needed.
    Her hands went up to his face, her feet arched to tiptoe, and her lips touched his.
    Dean's hands flinched on her waist. He uttered a small sound.
    Kelly uttered a sound of her own, a moan of sheer pleasure. Lord, he felt good, even better than she remembered. The slight scratchiness of his jaw was an erotic counterpoint to the civilized scent of his aftershave. No less provocative was the solid strength of him against her torso, and his taste— Her tongue grazed the closed seam between Dean's lips. He tasted like all of God's forbidden fruit wrapped into one. Her hands slid into his hair.
    Dean didn't participate. But neither did he resist. He simply stood there, taut, and moaned again.
    The sound, mingled with his continued immobility, brought Kelly back to earth. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. She was kissing him. She halted, stunned, then drew her lips away. Inhaling deeply, she took a step back.
    She saw immediately she hadn't stopped a moment too soon. Dean looked as though he'd been pushed to some inner limit. His eyes were wide and his lips swollen. As Kelly watched, his expression of bemusement faded. Hard determination took its place. "Don't," he said, low, "ever do that again."
    Kelly felt a quick spike of fear. He was right. She shouldn't have kissed him. He wasn't 'her' Dean. But such thoughts were washed away by pure satisfaction. She'd obviously made an impression. "Oh, good," she said, and tapped his cheek. "You're worried."
    She was delighted to see his eyes blaze. Then, before she could do anything more, something that might worry herself , she turned and, as dignified as possible, wobbled out of the garage.
    ~~~
    It was really not a good idea to be drinking. Nevertheless, Dean nursed a brandy as he looked out his bedroom window in the hours following his opera date. Behind him, the brown and gold silk counterpane on his bed lay untouched. He turned the glass in his hand.
    They'd kissed. Rather, Kelly had kissed him. He had...resisted.
    More or less.
    Dean lowered his glass. More rather than less. But was he relieved? Was he proud of himself?
    Not exactly.
    What was the point of resistance, he was starting to wonder? What did he gain by turning away all that sex appeal? He could have kissed her back. He could have pulled her close and given her everything she'd been asking for. By now they could have been on the other side of the house, naked in her bed. And he'd have been satisfied. Finally.
    Dean rubbed his thumb on the rim of his glass. On the other hand, perhaps he wasn't giving himself enough credit. He'd kept his cool down there in the garage. He'd remembered the long-range consequences. If he took Kelly to bed, if she could give him the satisfaction he'd experienced in his dreams, all hell could break loose. There'd be nothing he wouldn't do for her, no