Displays of affection continued to throw her off-balance more often than not, but when Ruth Ann squeezed tight, Monica experienced only a brief flash of discomfort before raising her arms and hugging Ryder’s mother in return. By the time they pulled apart, they were both blinking back tears. Monica turned her head to hide her reaction, hoping Ryder wouldn’t notice. He would never understand how such an open, loving gesture could affect her so much. Especially when she knew that this marriage business was all for show.

  But very few people in her life had ever been as affectionate with her as his mother. It didn’t seem to matter to Ruth Ann that Monica was a virtual stranger who had married her son under very odd circumstances. Because Ryder had chosen her, Ruth Ann automatically—well, almost automatically—accepted her. It warmed a place deep in Monica’s heart and made her feel a thousand times worse for the charade she and Ryder were acting out.

  Ruth Ann wiped at her eyes and sat back down beside her husband—after Jordan, too, had given Monica a gruff, breath-stealing, welcome-to-the-family embrace.

  “So,” Ruth Ann said slowly, a smile accentuating the lines at the corners of her mouth. “When do you think I’ll get my first grandchild?”

  Chapter Eleven

  There are two theories to arguin’ with a woman. Neither one works.

  “Hold this.” Monica brushed the once-beautiful, now annoying lei around her neck out of the way and swung the “Dirty Little Slot” carry-on satchel she’d purchased before the first leg of their trip in Ryder’s direction while she juggled the handful of shopping bags and tried to get the flat plastic key card to unlock the hotel room door.

  He’d talked her out of buying the rhinestone-studded T-shirt with the same tongue-in-cheek phrase, but she hadn’t been able to resist the tote. For one thing, the tiny dot of an airport they’d flown out of only had one gift shop filled mostly with kitschy souvenirs. It’s what came from being situated within a hundred-mile radius of Vegas, she supposed. For another, she’d needed something to stuff all of her other purchases into as they went along. And finally, if nothing else, she wanted at least one fun, Monica-esque reminder of this adventure.

  Ryder gave a grunt of displeasure as the bag hit him in the solar plexus. “I hope you’re not going to be this bossy the whole time we’re here, sugar, or I may have to dump you down the nearest active volcano.”

  She slanted an annoyed glance in his direction and barely kept from sticking her tongue out at him. “Try it, and they’ll be scraping little pieces of your miserable hide off the hooves of your cows until Christmas,” she shot back. The green light flashed and she turned the handle, bumping the door open with her hip and letting the momentum propel her into the air-conditioned room.

  Her new hubby had been a phenomenal pain in her butt since before they’d left the ranch. First, he complained about how long she took to get ready, despite having no luggage to pack, no makeup to apply, and no wardrobe to choose from. Then he griped about having to make the trip at all when he was needed at home, and he continued to bitch about whatever caught his attention—the crowded plane…the long flight…the lousy food…the long wait for a cab…the difficult check-in at the hotel’s registration desk… The list went on and on until Monica wanted to drop him in a volcano of her own.

  And the only thing that shut him up for even a smidgen of time was the reminder that they were doing all of this for the grand sum of fifty thousand dollars, which would be going directly into his pocket. If he was really set against the trip, she’d told him through gritted teeth, they could just go their separate ways and forget all about this devil’s deal they’d made.

  To which Ryder gave one of his signature snorts and told her, “Not on your life, darlin’.” Probably because he suspected—and rightly so—that she would go ahead with The Plan, with or without him. And if he wasn’t right there to annoy, irritate, vex, and all around piss her off, she might get the money back, but he wouldn’t get his money.

  So she was stuck with him. For better or worse. Ugh.

  Okay, she thought with a twinge of guilt. So I owe him. I may have gotten him into this mess, but I’m also trying to get him out. That had to be worth something, didn’t it?

  She breathed a sad sigh of resignation and dragged herself to the king-size bed in the center of the room, letting her body fall face down on the mattress. A moment later, she heard the door click shut and rolled to her side to see Ryder standing over her, his carry-on and hers hanging from his shoulder.

  “Here,” he said, dropping the bag he found so offensive on the bed beside her with a heavy plop. “You may have talked me into this asinine trip, but I’m not your personal assistant—or your bellhop.” With that, he set his own bag in a corner beside the entertainment system and removed his hat, swiping a hand through his sandy blond hair.

  This time she did stick her tongue out at him. “You know, for fifty thousand dollars, you’d think you could be a little nicer to me.” She lifted her upper body with her elbows and propped them behind her. “Not to mention the fact that I’m your wife.”

  He hitched a thumb into his belt buckle and fixed her with a look that told her his definition of “wife” was on the same plane as Mad Cow Disease, at least where she was concerned.

  “You show me the fifty thou and I’ll show you just how nice I can be.” His voice lowered with the last part of his statement, and one brow lifted with a suggestive wiggle. “Until then, you can thank your lucky stars you’re not up to your ass in horse shit. Where I wanted you.”

  Monica bit her lip, more from the struggle to come up with an appropriate comeback than to keep from saying something she’d regret. At this point, she couldn’t imagine regretting much of anything. The louse.

  Ryder picked up his single black duffel bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m taking a shower. Do you care?”

  Only if he drowned in the process. “Not at all,” she replied sweetly. “I’ll just sit out here anxiously awaiting your return.”

  “You do that,” he tossed out as he headed for the oversize bathroom.

  She fell back on the bed with a ragged sigh. Oh, this was going to be a real thrill. She wondered if she could bind and gag him and leave him in the closet until she took care of this problem with Matt. But, no. Ryder was a cowboy. And didn’t cowboys know all about knots and such? He’d probably just untie himself, break down the closet door, and come after her like…like a cowboy after an ornery cow.

  Rolling her eyes at her less-than-creative simile, she got up and began unpacking the motley assortment of clothes she’d managed to buy along the way. Short layovers and a limited number of rather unimpressive shops had left her scrambling, but hopefully she’d purchased enough to wear the first couple of days. After that, she supposed she could do a little more shopping. Waikiki would definitely offer a wider assortment of stores, but she also couldn’t go crazy. Thanks to Matt, she was currently living on an uncomfortably snug budget and had already spent more than she should have with inflated airport prices.

  She’d found some skirts and tank-like blouses at one shop and bought one of each. The skirts were bright florals, the tops matching solids. She might end up looking like a catalog model, wearing practically the same thing every day, but it was better than continuing to dress out of Ryder’s closet.

  Underwear-wise, she’d found one bra in her size and had chosen a six-pack of Hanes bikini-cut panties over the individual thong styles, because she’d never been fond of feeling like she had a string of dental floss rubbing between her butt cheeks. The rest of her finds included a surprisingly cute swimsuit, sarong, and sandals set, and a goofy one-size-fits-most nightshirt stamped with both the front and rear view of a super-sexy woman in a short grass skirt and coconut bra.

  Monica had just finished stuffing her few new belongings into one of the dresser drawers when the bathroom door opened and Ryder emerged in a fresh shirt and jeans. He was barefoot, with his boots clasped in one hand. She tried not to stare at his long toes or the way his damp hair clung to the nape of his neck. How was it possible that he could be covered from neck to ankle and still send her pulse skittering? He was smoking hot, but that was not why they were here.

  Swallowing hard, she leaned back against the dresser, jumping slightly when her hip bumped the open drawer and it slid closed with a sharp slam. “All finished?” she asked, even more annoyed with herself when her voice came out in a squeaky rush.

  “Yep.” Setting his boots on the floor, he grabbed his duffle and moved to the bed.

  “I’ll go take a quick shower myself, then. Can you call your sister’s suite and ask them to meet us for dinner?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You really want to get into this so soon? Can’t we just wait until tomorrow?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m sure your parents have told them by now that we were on our way, so it might seem odd if we don’t contact them as soon as we get in, don’t you think?

  “Nah.” His eyes sparkled with roguish mischief. “If this were a real honeymoon, darlin’, I’d be nailing my new bride to that cute little headboard, not hooking up with another couple for a boring-ass meal.”

  Her eyes widened at his callousness, but she managed to smother an indignant gasp. Especially since she’d had similar thoughts about him only moments before. “Well, the sooner we get started, the sooner you can go back home to your cows,” she added, knowing the reminder of his precious ranch would be the deciding factor.

  “Fine. But for the record, I still think the idea you cooked up on the plane is one of the stupidest I’ve heard since Ned suggested we use razor wire to keep the cattle in the pasture.” He shook his head as though that idea still boggled the mind.

  “Yes, I know,” she huffed. “If I had a dollar for every time you’ve mentioned what a ridiculous idea this is, we wouldn’t have to go through with it at all because I could just hand you the fifty thousand dollars you want.”

  The frustrating part was that she didn’t disagree with him. She might not categorize the plan she’d hatched as stupid, but it wasn’t terrific, either, and if there were any other way… But she wasn’t even sure this would work, let alone anything else.

  “We just have to hope your sister doesn’t recognize me from the reception, and I need to get Matt alone so I can press him for information about my money.”

  Ryder reached for his boots and started tugging them on. “Then maybe I’ll take up ostrich farming and you can tie a string to that belly button ring of yours and go flying around the islands.”

  Ignoring that sour statement, she added, “And remember that we’re madly in love. You adore me. Worship me. Kiss the ground I walk on.”

  He snorted and gave her a look that said he’d be more likely to spit on the ground she walked on. “Don’t expect too much of that lovey-dovey crap. Josie wouldn’t believe it, anyway.”

  She clamped down on the urge to throttle him. “Do your best. I’ll change for dinner.”

  …

  When she returned twenty minutes later, Ryder was stretched out in the center of the bed, a pillow stuffed behind his back, remote control in his hand. He’d stopped on ESPN, but wasn’t really paying attention to the noisy dirt bikes racing around in a pit of mud.

  “Did you talk to Josie?” Monica asked. Just like a real wife—nag, nag, nag.

  “Yeah,” he said without bothering to look at her. “We’re meeting them in the outdoor dining area at six.”

  “Great. I hope we can pull this off,” she added nervously.

  Ryder didn’t much care if they did or not. He was more inclined to just come right out and ask Matt if he’d taken Monica’s money. And if he had, where the hell it was. Nor was Ryder opposed to the idea of grabbing the man by the scruff of the neck if he gave him any guff.

  He lazily lifted his gaze, as if Monica were only slightly more interesting than what was on TV…and then his jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, hoping she hadn’t noticed, and hit the power button on the remote, casting the room into sudden, almost painful silence. She was definitely more interesting than dirt bikes.

  Her hair was slicked back in a short ponytail at the nape of her neck and somehow darkened into a “wet look,” she’d used a heavy hand with the makeup around her eyes, and her skin had somehow been turned at least two shades darker from hairline to tippy-toes—all in an effort to alter her appearance enough to keep Josie from recognizing her. The insta-tan was somewhat jarring at first, but he had to admit that the efforts to disguise herself were likely to work. He didn’t know how anyone who’d seen Monica with curly brown hair, porcelain skin, and in a full-length wedding gown could possibly suspect she and the woman standing before him now were one and the same.

  She’d also changed from the tight black leggings and fire engine red Sin City “I feel a SIN coming on!” T-shirt she’d picked up at that first airport gift shop to travel in, to a gold bikini and some sort of short—very short—wrap-around skirt. Knotted on one hip, the black-and-red flowered material left little to the imagination. He could practically see right through the damn thing, to the tiny slip of gold beneath. A small triangle that covered the most important part of her anatomy. The rest of the suit he couldn’t even see. He hoped there were straps somewhere on her hips to hold the blasted triangle up, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Then when she leaned over to retrieve something from one of her bags, he discovered that way too much of her rear end was visible through the skirt thingie, especially since the suit bottom only covered about half of each of her butt cheeks. He was a fan of string bikinis, of course, but living where he did, he didn’t get many chances to see them up close. And while he was fine with them in general, he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of his wife walking around in one. Not when she was out to get her ex-fiancé.

  She turned back to him and his eyes zeroed in on the bikini top. More blasted triangles! This time it was two smaller ones pointed upward rather than downward, connected by spaghetti-thin straps that wrapped around her neck and back. And those triangles left nothing to the imagination. He could see every inch of cleavage—if you could even call it that when there was nothing to hide the smooth valley or shadow the view—and the tiny, pearl-like ridges of her nipples under the cloth. Ryder knew Monica photographed models for a living, but in this get-up, she could easily pose for the cover of Sports Illustrated herself.

  It didn’t help that her belly button ring was displayed perfectly on the slight curve of her abdomen, just above the tight, knotted skirt. He never thought he’d be particularly interested in a woman with body piercings, but—damn!—he’d had more than one erotic fantasy about that silver hoop since Monica had stormed into his life. And the thought of other men entertaining those same thoughts didn’t sit well with him.

  “You’re not wearing that to dinner,” he blurted out. Her brows lifted and he hurried to add, “Are you?”

  “Of course.” She smiled sweetly, slipping her feet into tiny sandals with black crisscross straps. Then she picked up a pair of sunglasses and hooked one of the stems over the thin string between her breasts.

  “This is Hawaii, Ryder. Everyone dresses this way, even for dinner. Besides, I want to throw Matt off-balance and keep your sister from connecting dots.”

  He felt a scowl settle into the deep lines of his forehead. Monica hadn’t painted a very pretty picture of Matt to begin with, and the idea of the guy ogling her in her current outfit didn’t exactly endear the man to Ryder. Never mind that Matt and Monica had supposedly been engaged and surely saw each other naked. Never mind that Ryder didn’t have any real interest in Monica. Brother-in-law or no brother-in-law, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Lifting her gaze back to Ryder, Monica gave him a quick once-over. “You’re the one who’s going to look out of place, you know.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what people think,” he said, knowing how she felt about his clothes, since she’d mentioned more than once that one simply did not wear a cowboy hat and boots in Honolulu.

  Right now, he was more concerned with how Monica was dressed. He didn’t like the idea of her traipsing around the hotel in that get-up, but he didn’t know what he could do to stop her. Even if they were a real married couple and his opinion meant something to her, it wasn’t exactly his place to tell her or any other woman how to dress.

  She checked her watch. “It’s almost six now. Shall we go?” she asked.

  “I guess,” he said reluctantly, grabbing his Stetson and shoving it down on his head. He didn’t like this. Not one tiny bit. But he held the door open for her and followed behind her down the hotel corridor, watching as her firm little fanny swayed left to right with every other step.

  She stopped suddenly, turning to face him, and he knew he’d been caught. It took some doing, but he refused to blush. If she insisted on walking around like that, she ought to be used to men checking her out.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked suspiciously, one eye narrowing while her hands lifted to her hips.

  Was he? He gave a mental shrug. Well, there sure as heck was enough to smile about. His grin widened at the very thought.

  Lifting his gaze from her bikini top—isosceles triangles, if he remembered anything from high school—he drawled out, “Sorry, darlin’. I was just rediscovering my fondness for geometry.”

  Monica’s brows arched at that, but she didn’t bother to ask what he meant. Good thing. Chances were she wouldn’t like the answer.

  Her lips thinned into a straight line as she turned and stomped off ahead of him. Which only took him back to his original hobby…staring at her tottering behind.

  Chapter Twelve

  When the herd turns on ya and you’re forced to run for it, try to look like you’re leading the charge!

  “Ryder!”

  The minute Josie spotted him—and how could she not spot full cowboy regalia in the midst of Bermuda shorts and flowered shirts?—she raced between umbrella-covered tables scattered across the restaurant patio and threw herself into his arms. While Ryder stepped forward to meet his sister, Monica stopped at the wide entrance to the outdoor dining area, slightly uncomfortable with the exuberant family reunion, but also wanting to take stock of the other couple in the moments before she made her “grand entrance” as Ryder’s new bride.