Page 1 of Daigo

Chapter 1

The drink was as bitter as his thoughts. Or even more. He could compare the two and his thoughts would win hands down.

He was miserable, undoubtedly. Were there regrets? Taking a measured sip of the scotch, he wandered over to the window to stare out at the leaden sky. It mirrored his mood. He loved his wife, of course he did. Wasn't that why he had hustled her off to the altar and slapped a ring on her finger? Wasn't it why, for the first time in his life, he had gone against his mother's wishes and married someone outside of their culture?

He loved her. He often wondered if she had cast a spell, woven her magic, with those eloquent golden-brown eyes. Cat eyes. The comparison had hit him as soon as he got an eyeful of her.

He was used to beautiful women, of course. He was Japanese-American. He knew women, had more than his fair share for the experience, and he had plenty of it. His father had coldly and decisively picked out his first woman when he was but thirteen. He was Japanese and as such, he had to be well rounded. Giving his wife pleasure when the time came was as important as some of their other traditions.

It was also important never to show emotion, which was not allowed. Never allowed.

That particular rule or culture had been shot to hell the minute he first laid eyes on her.

And to think he had been dragged there by the very flighty Mei. That was when his fate had been sealed. Tied up, like the knots that had formed in his belly at the sight of her.

He had pretended to be cool about it, deliberately ignoring her while she talked to Mei about the things being carted in by a beleaguered servant.

He had wandered over to an ad hoc display section displaying old lamps, refurbished tables, glass beads, and other knickknacks. The place had an odd, appealing look to it and the customers seemed to be drawn to the merchandise. Not his cup of tea, of course, but he could admire the presentation.

Then she had stepped up behind him. Even before he saw her, he smelled her perfume, something whimsical and elusive, powerful enough to have his body tightening in response. It had annoyed and frightened him. So much so that he had been deliberately rude.

Then he had gone back when the store was near to closing. He recalled sitting out in the parking lot wondering what the hell he was doing there.

He had sat there in the shadowy parking lot for approximately ten minutes before driving away.

Tossing back the scotch, he jumped slightly as the doors were pushed open.

Her perfume, the scent of her, was the first thing he noticed.

"Your trusty assistant said to come right in." Her voice had a sexy huskiness to it that turned him upside down.

"Day drinking, darling? Rough day?" Shelby considered that it was about to become rougher.

"What are you doing here?" He stiffened slightly when she walked up next to him.

"In the neighborhood." She could feel the tension radiating from him and almost sighed. They had been having the same argument for two weeks and she was going to finish it today.

"Remember old Mrs. Pomeroy? Eccentric old bat with a rude streak a mile wide?"

He had to smile at the image. "Yes."

"Well, she called just as I was about to do some inventory and said she wanted to meet with me. Sounded real official. She also snidely mentioned that I should put myself together. I had a suit in the car that needed dry cleaning, so I had to get it out and make myself presentable."

"What did she want?"

Her eyes gleamed in excitement. "To get rid of most of what's in that mausoleum of hers. Good stuff. No, strike that, excellent stuff. And a very good price. Are you going to look at me?"

The change in tone had him turning and when he did, he felt the usual tug of yearning. It was embarrassing and demeaning to him how susceptible he was to her. The suit was a plum-colored dress with a fitted jacket and made her caramel complexion glow. Her wild curls were tamed, slicked back into an elegant chignon at the nape of her graceful neck. Diamonds, ones he had given her for her birthday in June as part of a set, glittered at her lobes.

Her makeup was flawless, her lips shimmering the same shade as her suit. Need, desperate and clawing, had him taking a step back.

"I cannot have this discussion again. We've been through it too many times to count."

"And we're going to end it now." She watched as he walked to the cabinet to splash the scotch into the glass. He was a slimly built man with subtle muscle tone, topping a little over six feet. His face was too narrow to be called handsome, but he was striking, with intense dark eyes and dark hair superbly cut. She knew every inch of the long, golden body and shivered as she remembered what he could do to her.

He was out of her league – common sense had warned her that it was foolish to think otherwise. He had pursued her, rushed her into marriage. And she had been unable to say no because love had washed through her like a storm, making her weak.

At first, she had thought that it was because she was starved for love, having lost her parents when she was but a baby and been brought up in the system.