“I’ve waited long enough,” Marek said. “What’s your answer? Will you marry me?”
Her insides roiled and her palms became damp even though her hands felt icy as she gazed into his brown eyes.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Yes, I will.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. He pulled her up and gave her a light hug. “Thank you,” he said in a voice that sounded choked with emotion.
He smelled of citrus and sandalwood and the fresh cottony scent of his immaculate dress shirt. He was warm, tall and his arms around her felt reassuring. He leaned away a fraction to look down at her and her only thought at that moment was how handsome he was. “We’ll make this work, Camille,” he said in a husky voice.
A pang racked her because his emotional reaction was not due to her, but to her baby. “I don’t want to fall in love,” she whispered, biting back the words that if she did, he would break her heart.
About the Author
SARA ORWIG lives in Oklahoma. She has a patient husband who will take her on research trips anywhere from big cities to old forts. She is an avid collector of Western history books. With a master’s degree in English, Sara has written historical romance, mainstream fiction and contemporary romance. Books are beloved treasures that take Sara to magical worlds, and she loves both reading and writing them.
The Texan’s Contract Marriage
Sara Orwig
To David with love
One
Marek Rangel glanced at his watch and pushed aside the papers in front of him. It was the morning of the second day of April, a sunny, spring day. Two minutes until his appointment with the opera singer. He had no idea why Camille Avanole had requested to meet with him or even how she had gotten through to his private line. He didn’t attend the opera and it wasn’t on the list of charities of his family’s foundation. He had been tempted to refuse to see her, but, out of courtesy, he had decided he would meet her briefly.
He gazed around his corner office on the twenty-second floor in the building that was headquarters for his company, Rangel Energy, Inc. His secretary was to interrupt them if Ms. Avanole ran over the allotted thirty minutes he had agreed upon.
A light knock on the door brought him to his feet.
His secretary thrust her head into the room. “Camille Avanole is here.”
“Tell her to come in,” he said, stepping away from his oversize antique mahogany desk.
A vivacious black-haired woman approached him with her hand extended. A smile revealed white, perfect teeth; she had a sparkle in her enormous, thickly lashed blue eyes. The plain black dress she wore with a black scarf wrapped casually below her neck was striking. She had an inviting presence, as if she were about to share a delightful surprise. Suddenly, Marek’s interest stirred.
“Mr. Rangel,” she said. “I’m Camille Avanole.”
Her warm hand was soft, yet her handshake was firm. At the moment of contact, he was jolted by an electric response, an intense awareness that he had not felt with any woman since he had lost his fiancée. Realizing he was staring, he released her hand.
“Please have a seat.”
Marek focused on her interesting walk. As she crossed the room, he noticed her tiny waist. Her beauty had to be an asset to her career.
“Just call me Marek,” he said, certain this meeting would be brief and he would never see her again.
Two antique velvet wingback chairs stood in front of the mahogany desk. Marek sat down facing her. She crossed long, shapely legs that had to be the best-looking legs on the opera circuit.
“Are you in Dallas for a performance or is this your home?” he asked politely, noticing she had the largest eyes he had ever seen. Striking, spellbinding eyes.
“I’m back in Dallas this spring for a performance I’ll have soon.”
He had the feeling of being studied as intently as a bug under a microscope.
“So what is the mysterious reason you wanted to see me that we couldn’t discuss on the phone?”
Her smile vanished and she straightened. He could add the word compelling to his description of her. He couldn’t imagine her playing any part on stage except the star; she would steal the show even in the background. Even while sitting still, she exuded energy.
“You lost your brother and your fiancée a year ago this March. I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied stiffly, waiting and wondering why she had brought that up.
“I knew your brother,” she said quietly.
Surprised, he focused on her. “How’s that?”
“We met at a New Year’s Eve party. You had a very charming brother.”
“Yes, Kern was charismatic, fun,” Marek said, his mind racing. Had she and Kern secretly married? He dismissed that notion immediately. Kern would have told him. “Let’s cut to the chase here. What does your knowing my brother have to do with your asking for an appointment to talk to me?”
“I’m going to give you a shock and I’m trying to lead into it instead of just hitting you with it all at once.”
“At this point, I’m ready for you to hit me with it,” he said, unable to fathom what she might be about to tell him.
She pulled out a picture to show him. He looked at a baby boy with big dark eyes who was smiling. Marek’s breath left him as if he had received a blow to his midsection. The picture looked like dozens he had seen at his parents’ home. The baby had big brown eyes like his brother, tangled black hair, the same color his brother’s had been, the same color as his own. Marek looked up. “Who is he?”
“I think you already know,” Camille answered quietly. “He’s my son. Your brother was his father.”
Even though that was what he had already guessed, it was another hard blow to his midsection to hear her declare it. “I can see a resemblance, but Kern would have told me. I’m sorry, I find this difficult to believe. It could be a coincidence he looks like my brother. How old is this child?”
“He’s six months old now. Noah was born October 4, last year.”
“Six months old,” Marek repeated, dazed. He stared at the picture in disbelief, an icy chill setting in as he wondered if this was a play for money. “Kern never said a word about knowing you. He would have said something to me.”
“We met at a New Year’s Eve party over a year ago,” she said in her silky soprano voice. “Kern charmed me. We had mutual friends, so I felt safe leaving with him. It was an exception in my very structured life—two nights of passion that I’d never had before and never since. We used protection, but I still got pregnant. I’ve managed to keep the publicity low-key. It hasn’t been difficult to keep the baby out of the spotlight. An opera performer—at least at my current level—is not the same as a movie star. I have only recently had more success and more fame.”
“I find it difficult to believe this baby really is Kern’s.”
“He is. You can have a paternity test. The DNA should give you an answer.”
Marek could not stop looking at the picture of the baby. “What’s his name?”
“Noah Avanole.”
“I’m still