Marriage by Mistake

jumped. She thought of the couple she'd seen at the opera, of the glow of excitement in Kelly's eyes, and the intense attention in Dean's. Felicia gave a little cough. "It's going to last."
    There was more surprise, and some bewilderment in the look Troy threw her. "You sound pretty sure of that."
    "Not sure." Felicia lifted her shoulders. "That's just how it looked to me."
    The bewilderment in Troy's gaze hardened into disquiet. "Do I have this straight? You're going to sit back and simply accept this?"
    Felicia laughed. "Is there something else I'm supposed to do?"
    Troy looked dark. "Not be so all-fired cheerful about it, for one thing."
    "Oh, why shouldn't I be cheerful?" He was clawing through her forbearance, turning the focus back on her. Worse, he was claiming she had to be fading away! She was not fading away, or if she was, he'd be the last person to whom she'd admit it. She waved a dismissive hand. "Life is full of little disappointments."
    Troy's gaze was deriding. "I wouldn't call having the man you love marry somebody else a little disappointment."
    Felicia's teeth crushed together. But she didn't lose her smile. She wouldn't. "I'm not in love with Dean."
    Troy just looked at her.
    "I'm not!" It was all Felicia could do not to hiss the words through her wretched smile. How dare Troy try to tell her how she felt!
    But Troy not only dared, he started to smile. It was a slow, knowing...and somehow sexual, smile. "Not in love with him, huh? But your nose is getting red. How much do you want to bet that means you're lying?"
    Felicia felt the blood rush to all parts of her body, her nose included. She wasn't lying. She was furious. How dare he? How dare he sit there and tease her! When she spoke, it was in a mere purr, with her lips curving into her own knowing smile. "Maybe you would like to hear what I would be willing to bet about you ?"
    Troy's smug smile faltered.
    That made Felicia's smile grow. "I would bet there is a reason you are so morbidly interested in your cousin, Dean, and the women in his life. I would bet it's because you are jealous of him. In fact, you feel quite inadequate in comparison to him, all around."
    Troy's big smile was fading faster than the sun before a thunderstorm.
    Feeling a surge of satisfaction, Felicia went on. "That's why you wouldn't even consider taking the fundraising job I offered you. Why you won't take any job. You're afraid of paling next to Dean."
    Pale was exactly what was happening to Troy's face. He looked so stricken that Felicia almost—almost—felt bad.
    But the idea that she was actually getting the better of him spurred her on. "You've spent your entire life trying to make sure nobody would compare the two of you, but here's a news flash. I do compare you. And I know you're selling yourself short, Troy. I know you could do more and you could be more—if you weren't such a yellow-bellied coward."
    Nothing moved in Troy's face except for his eyes. His eyes glittered dangerously at Felicia.
    She felt a frisson of mixed excitement and fear. Immensely satisfying as that had been, she'd done the equivalent of cornering a big alley cat. Probably not her most intelligent move.
    Very slowly, Troy straightened from his casual slouch. Slowly, he leaned over the little table. And slowly, oh so slowly, he smiled. His eyes glittered more dangerously than ever. "You," he said, very softly, "shouldn't throw stones...seeing as how you live in a glass house, yourself."
    There was a sharp, sinking sensation in Felicia's stomach.
    "Let's talk about being a coward." Troy's eyes held hers. "Let's talk about staying inside your safe, little shell. About never daring to set foot outside. I'll bet you would have a lot to say on that subject, wouldn't you?"
    Felicia knew she was staring at him. Not only because he seemed to be speaking her most private, carefully hidden thoughts, but because his masculinity was pouring off of him in waves. She could practically smell it; the power, the drive...the near violence. Like a mouse before a cat, all she could do was sit there, barely able to breathe.
    "Nicoise salad." The voice came from above the tension-shimmering air. A sleeve-clad arm descended in front of Felicia, bearing a china plate heaped with crisp vegetables. "And pasta bolognese," the waiter continued. A plate of angel hair noodles came to a landing in front of Troy. "Enjoy your meal," the waiter said brightly.
    Felicia supposed the waiter walked away. She didn't know. She