The Inconvenient Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

country.
    Had she lost her mind?
    Apparently. Never very much given to second guessingherself, even Sierra couldn’t refrain from second guessing this.
    What on earth had possessed her? Why had she said yes to Dominic’s outlandish proposal?
    She knew he didn’t love her.
    Most of the time he barely acted as if he even liked her!
    Except in bed.
    In bed they were dynamite. In bed things happened that Sierra wouldn’t have believed could ever happen—especially between Dominic and herself.
    Out of bed, though, she feared they had nothing in common at all.
    He was using her against his father. He’d admitted as much.
    Well, she was using him to help Frankie, she reminded herself. And she hadn’t even admitted that.
    Not that he would care. He wouldn’t even ask. He’d just cut the check.
    Her husband. Dominic Wolfe!
    â€œSomeday,” her mother used to warn her, “you’re going to bite off more than you can chew, missy.”
    â€œSomeday, kiddo,” her far more blunt farmer father used to say, “you’re going to leap without thinking and land headfirst in the manure pile.” Only he hadn’t said manure pile. He’d been a little more graphic.
    That was about where Sierra felt she’d landed right now.
    She shivered inside her jacket and considered opening the door and throwing herself out into traffic. With luck she’d be squashed by a passing taxi.
    With her luck, she’d be knocked over by a bicycle messenger and Dominic would simply peel her off the pavement, mop her off and trundle her away to meet with his father.
    God.
    It was as close to a prayer as Sierra had been in a while. She was not big on praying. It wasn’t that she didn’t believein God. Or prayer. She did. But for the weak and the downtrodden and the desperate.
    Not for herself. And definitely not when it came to asking for things. Asking was for people who couldn’t help themselves.
    Sierra had always been sure she could.
    Until now.
    What on earth was she going to do now?
    She shot a quick glance at the man sitting next to her. He had his briefcase open on his lap and was running his pen down a column of figures. His pen probably cost more than the rent on her apartment!
    But it wasn’t just about money. It was about style. About values. About their whole very different approaches to life.
    Like this restaurant they were heading toward.
    She didn’t dare hope that Dominic was taking her to an uptown diner or a groovy little club for his little tête-à-tête with daddy.
    No, it was bound to be one of those stuffy obnoxious places, all wood-paneling and hunt club prints of dogs with dead birds in their mouths. A muffled elegant place where the maître d’ would look down his ski-jump of a nose and seat her behind a potted palm— if he even deigned to seat her at all.
    What if they didn’t even let her in?
    A momentary shaft of humiliation and panic stabbed her in the gut before she realized that of course they would let her in.
    She was going to be on the arm of Dominic Wolfe. He’d cow them and loom over them and pass them fifty bucks on the side and they might look askance, but they’d let her in.
    And then they’d spill soup in her lap.
    Or expect that she’d do it herself.
    She started to bite her thumbnail, then jammed her hand into the pocket of her jacket. She was not going to bite her nails in front of Dominic. It was why she painted them wildand outrageous colors in the first place—so she’d remember not to bite them.
    She wasn’t going to betray by the slightest flicker that her heart was in her throat and that her stomach was in knots.
    No, sir. She wasn’t.
    She’d learned long ago that fear got you nowhere. Her older sister Mariah had taught her that back when Sierra was only seven years old.
    In those days her biggest terror had been water. When she was four, Terry Graff had knocked her into