The car door opened, and Clint slipped out, waiting for the woman who might be his bride. He wasn’t one to enjoy a plethora of women, but he wouldn’t cut off his chances of ever finding someone if Margaret didn’t work out. The more he thought about Mrs. Creed’s insistence he’d want to marry the moment he saw Margaret, the more preposterous it seemed. He’d hire her to do something instead of sending her back, so she wouldn’t be fined, or whatever the agency did with returned brides. Mrs. Creed had never elaborated on what the penalty would be, but it was clear there would be one. It would mean he’d be out the horrendous fee and have to start all over without the agency, but such was life.

If it was possible, Margaret was even more hesitant than he was. She wouldn’t even walk next to him, preferring to stay a few feet behind him. She’d cocooned herself in, with her arms tucked around her to protect herself. She’d been doing a lot of protecting since she’d met him. What kind of past did she come from that she immediately assumed he’d hit her for speaking her mind? He’d call the agency himself and complain if they were beating their women into agreeing to their contracts.

He tried to casually look at her. Her dark hair was almost chocolate brown in the sun, he’d thought it looked black before, at the airport. Her skin was very light, and her eyes were a toffee brown, she was just curvy enough to make a man think, or forget to. He wasn’t one for stick women, but she curved in all the right places. She caught him staring and quickly tightened her hold on her waist.

He stopped at the huge metallic and wood front desk of the hotel. The attendant smiled, and she made a few clicks on her computer. “Mr. Sage, as you requested, we have the room adjacent to yours cleaned and ready. Here are the cards for both rooms.”

He normally wouldn’t even come to the front, but this hotel was new to him. He’d also wanted to see Margaret’s reaction to every bit of the experience, right down to the mundane. He took the cards from her and handed one to Margaret. She stepped forward, and released her hold only long enough to take the card from him then stepped back, her eyes darting around like she wanted to run. He turned back to the clerk. “Thank you.”

She gave him a curious glance, but then quickly smiled and nodded as she was expected to do. Wonderful, now the hotel staff would be watching him. If Margaret made people curious about her—and why she was with him—they would come up with the worst possible scenario, then word would get out.

“Miss Hawk’s luggage will be coming in through the concierge service, can you please have someone bring it up to her room?”

“Of course, sir.” The woman reached for her phone, ready to get right to the task. Everyone always did that when he asked for something to be done. He turned, and Margaret backed away a few steps, as if she was worried to even get near him. This had to stop. He touched her shoulder to lead her to the elevator and she flinched away. He heard the clerk’s voice go silent on the phone, then start again. She watched the interaction, listening, though she hid it well. He didn’t have to turn around to know it.

“Come Margaret, your attempt to hide is making a bigger scene than if you’d thrown yourself at me.” He kept his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She blushed slightly and followed him, though he didn’t try to touch her again. Marrying her would be interesting if he couldn’t even speak to her. When they reached his room, she headed toward her own. He gripped her arm and pulled her back.

“Let’s go in here for a bit and talk.”

She stepped back out of his reach. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not when you think of me the way you do.” The more agitated she got, her accent got thicker.

“Think of you? I hardly know what to think of you. I don’t know you except on paper and the little you told me in the car. You’re the one who wanted to start over, remember?”

She pursed her pretty lips and cocked a shapely hip. “That was before you called me a whore.”

That was one word he never used. Even when it was deserved. Words like that could wreck a person, they were unforgettable. “I don’t remember calling you anything. I know for a fact I never used that word. Now, as we stand in this hall, there are probably hundreds of people in the rooms around us, listening in. Do you want to come in here, where we can talk? Or, do you want to go to your own room and decide if you’ve made the wrong decision?”

She tilted her head down and haunting memories flooded those beautiful dark exotic eyes. “I will come with you, because I am a woman of my word.”

He wished he could believe that, and that she wouldn’t hide her accent. For a brief moment he couldn’t help thinking she must sound like that when she was passionate about anything, not just anger. He took the card and held it in front of his door, the green light turned on for admittance and he opened it, holding it for his Russian beauty. She slid past him and into the room.

Though, he hadn’t stayed at that particular resort before, he’d stayed in one just like it in Vegas and Hollywood. The penthouse hadn’t been available on such short notice and he’d had to settle for a suite. Though, they were now prepared for him to use their hotel at any time in the future, enough that he could use a special door from now on when he didn’t want to use the front. The room looked similar to those in other cities, and he showed her where to find everything in the sprawling space that took up the square footage of at least six normal rooms. It had its own bedroom and sitting room, kitchenette and bar. There were two bathrooms, one for his room and the other for everyone else. While Margaret made a fuss over the room, he wondered what she was up to, because her awe rang false, as if she was used to such things, or didn’t care.

“Would you care for a drink?” He made his way over to the bar and pulled out two tumblers, filling them with ice from the bucket they’d left for him.

She shook her head. “Not right now.” She returned to clutching her waist and standing uncomfortably still in the room, her eyes staring off anywhere but at him.

“It might help you to get more comfortable. Are you sure?” He held up his own glass, with a couple fingers of good whiskey on the rocks. He’d need it to crack open what was going on, because if the agency had threatened her, she may not speak easily.

She shook her head and took a seat on his couch, her knees tight and shoulders bent. He made his way to her and sat down on the other end, giving her room. For now.

“I can hear in your voice that you’re originally from somewhere in the Baltic region. Tell me about it.”

She shook her head. “Nothing good can come of talking about that. I come from Wyoming. Don’t you want to know about that?” Her eyes darted again, like she wanted to bolt.

“I’m not interested in where you say you’re from. I want to know why you have that delicious accent, when you say you’re from middle America?”

“You’re meddling where you don’t belong!” She gasped again and leaned over the arm of the couch to get out of reach.

That didn’t sit well. No one reacted like that unless they had reason to, were taught that they had to react that way, protect themselves. He set his drink on the side table and slid down the couch, taking her hands. They were shaking and like ice, even in the summer heat. He’d had the room A/C set high because he hated it too chilly.

“Why don’t we start with that, get that right out in the open. I will never, ever hit you. I don’t know who did in your past, but they were assholes. I don’t hit women or kick dogs.”

She took a deep breath and set her shoulders straight, like she was trying to relax, but failing. Her trembling didn’t slow down. She didn’t trust him in the slightest. He tried something else, laughter was the best medicine, or so his grandmother said.

“Can you imagine, when I met with Mrs. Creed, she told me that some couples wed right on the very first day?”

Margaret’s eyes met his and held there. “Is that so very strange? Isn’t that why we did this in the first place?”

“Is that why you’re worried? Are you afraid I have you here and won’t marry you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” She bit her lip once more and it was like a beacon, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“I can’t even imagine marrying someone after just meeting them.” It defied every logical thought. A man was supposed to meet a woman, take her out, get to know her. He had so many friends going through divorce because they hadn’t chosen right. It was possible Margaret would be just another woman in a long line of unfortunate disasters.

Margaret stood and strode two steps to the spot right in front of him. Her sudden boldness took him off his guard as he tilted his head back to watch her. She peeled off the small sweater to reveal long, supple arms. As she bent nearer, she put her knee between his legs on the couch and leaned into him, her face just inches from his.

“Where I come from. If a man is wealthy and gives you a good kiss, you take the offer. A better one might never come along. You wanted to know about where I come from. Now you know.”

Her eyes were dazzling, and he wanted to take her up on her offer, but was he ready to commit his life to stranger? Was his satisfaction really guaranteed if he had to get a divorce a month later?

“I thought we’d already established I don’t know where you’re from.”

She leaned forward and caught his bottom lip between her teeth, gently tugging until it broke free. Her gaze never left his. He wanted to reach out, yank her down onto his lap and nip her right back. She tasted of red licorice and spice, intoxicating. He pressed his lips to hers and nipped her lip, but left his hands on the couch where they belonged, for now.

As she backed away, her sultry smile ignited more fire than her playful kiss.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Sage. I accept your offer.”