Wildest Hearts

old-fashioned way, didn't you? You worked hard at it.”

    He finished setting the last plate on the table and glanced at her. “Annie, I would rather eat tacos than argue with you.”

    Annie smiled grimly. “That's because you don't know how to argue properly. You just issue orders and back them up with threats. It seems to me that you've got a few things to learn about being a husband, Oliver Rain. You need to learn to communicate.”

    “Is that right?” He went back to the counter and picked up his glass of wine. “Who's going to teach me?”

    “Me,” Annie said rashly.

    “That should prove interesting,” Oliver said.

7

    Annie's bravado had faded somewhat by the time she went to work the following morning. It had been a long night. She had spent it lying awake for hours in her elegant gold and gray bedroom, stewing over her situation.

    She had told Oliver that he had a problem, but the truth was, she had an even bigger one. She was making plans to commit the cardinal error of trying to change him.

    Big mistake, she told herself as she opened the front door of Wildest Dreams. Conventional wisdom held that any woman who married a man thinking she could change him was a fool. Common sense told her that since the marriage was in name only and not expected to last very long, it was even more foolish to think about remolding Oliver Rain.

    She had married him strictly to save Lyncroft. It wasn't her problem if he chose to run his life and his family with an iron fist sheathed in a velvet glove.

    She winced at the image as she turned on the lights. Last night's scene with Valerie made the description a little too apt. Oliver had definitely taken off the glove.

    Daniel had told her that Oliver Rain was dangerous, Annie reminded herself. And Daniel, as Oliver had remarked, tended to look for the best in people.

    Ella Presswood breezed into the shop shortly after ten looking disheveled and disorganized. That was not an unusual state of affairs. Ella had perfected an image of artistic chaos. She reinvented herself daily with new hair color, new clothing combinations, and tons of heavy, jangling jewelry. Today her hair was tinted a vivid shade of fuchsia and slicked down with something wet and sticky. She was wearing a mustard-colored T-shirt under a business jacket that had been designed for a large man. There were rows of clunky fake gems around her throat.

    “'Morning, Annie. Sorry, I'm late. I was on the bus from hell. Very high freak factor among the passengers. Hey, didn't expect to see you here today.”

    Annie waved a feather duster over the cloisonné elephant. “I thought I explained to you that Oliver and I are postponing our honeymoon until after Daniel returns.”

    “Yeah, I know. But you've only been married a couple of days.” Ella eyed her curiously. “Most people would take some time off.”

    “No point. I'd have spent it alone. Oliver went straight into my brother's office this morning. He says it's important to let everyone see him there.”

    “Makes sense. I know how much you've been worrying about your brother's business lately.” Ella busied herself behind the counter. “You know, I still can't believe I never had a clue about you and Oliver Rain. You're not usually so secretive, Annie.”

    “I know. But Oliver wanted things kept quiet.”

    “Too bad you had to rush the wedding for business reasons. You didn't get to do it up big. No gown, no china, no nothing.”

    No nothing was right, Annie conceded ruefully to herself. Not even a few old-fashioned marital rights. But that was her choice, according to Oliver. If she wanted to go to bed with him, he was willing.

    “Oliver wouldn't have wanted a big production, anyway,” Annie said. “He's a very private person.”

    “Private, huh?” Ella surveyed her slicked-down hair in the trompe l'oeil mirror that hung on the wall. The mirror had been painted to show a reflection of a room. “No offense, but he seems a little weird.”

    “Coming from you, that's rather humorous. At least Oliver doesn't color his hair pink.”

    “True, but you've got to admit we don't see many men of his type wearing it long the way he does,” Ella mused. “But I wasn't talking about his hair. He seems sort of dark and mysterious, if you know what I mean. I would never have guessed you'd fall for a guy like him.”

    Annie frowned. “What type did you think I'd go for?”

    Ella shrugged. “Someone like Quigley next door. Or that