Claiming His Wedding Night

by Louise Fuller

  Mesmerised by the shimmering molten heat of his voice, she wondered how such a short sentence could contain so much promise of pleasure and danger.

  But of course paradise wasn’t perfect, she thought dully. As well as cool streams and sunshine there were snakes. Or in this case one particular snake.

  But as the dinghy slid through a narrow gap in the rocks she completely forgot her doubts, for in front of her was the most beautiful beach she had ever seen. At the end of a shell-shaped pool of clear blue water was a large curve of pale gold sand, fringed with picture-book palm trees. For a moment she stared in silence, struggling to find words to put into a coherent sentence as Malachi watched her stunned reaction.

  ‘Is it a lagoon?’ she said finally.

  He nodded, his face impassive but his eyes suddenly intent. ‘I’m guessing this is more what you were expecting to see.’

  Before she could reply he lifted his hand and waved at a man and woman who were waiting at the end of a short wooden jetty.

  ‘That’s Terry Clarke and his wife, Leonda. They take care of everything on the island. Maintenance. Laundry. Cleaning. And Leonda enjoys cooking, so anything you fancy just tell her and she’ll make it. But don’t worry!’ His eyes mocked her. ‘We’ll have plenty of time on our own, sweetheart. And plenty of space. Sixteen acres, in fact. Although not all of it is accessible.’

  Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled her against him.

  ‘Imagine it. Just you and me in paradise. Alone. Doing whatever we want.’

  His eyes seemed to reach inside her and suddenly her whole body was squirming with a flickering, treacherous heat. She didn’t need to imagine what she wanted to do with Malachi. Since meeting him in the restaurant it had been playing inside her head like a slow motion erotic film.

  But thankfully at that moment the dinghy bumped gently against the jetty, and with relief she climbed out of the boat and away from the gravitational pull of his gaze.

  Terry and his wife, Leonda, were both charming. Having grown up on Antigua, they were well informed and enthusiastic about the Caribbean island experience. Still slightly stunned by the thought that this idyllic paradise was going to be her holiday home, Addie hardly managed to do anything other than make a few polite, meaningless remarks about the colour of the sand and her fondness for mangoes. Not that it mattered. Their attention was fixed on Malachi, and who could blame them when his handsome face looked so absurdly flawless in the pure, white sunlight?

  Finally they were alone.

  ‘The villa is this way!’

  Pushing aside a tangle of foliage, Malachi stepped aside to let her pass.

  Addie breathed in sharply. She had thought that nothing could surpass that first view of the beach, but the villa was quite simply stunning. A clean-lined, contemporary house, set on a bleached wood deck, it was surrounded by lush grape trees and looked across another, smaller lagoon.

  ‘There used to be a colonial-style building here, but after Hurricane Helena came we had to rebuild everything. I actually prefer the look of this. It feels less intrusive. Come on, I’ll show you around.’

  Inside the villa, Addie had to pinch herself. It was luxury on a scale she’d never imagined, let alone seen. Five years ago Malachi had been wealthy, but his casino empire had only just started to expand, and although the money had been there it had been in the background. Gazing round at the state-of-the-art kitchen, at the understated glamour of the lounge area and the marbled luxury of the bathroom, she started to realise just how much he had changed over the last five years.

  Watching her eyes widen at the sight of the huge open-plan living area, with its linen-covered sofas and vases of frangipani, Malachi felt his stomach twist. In the way of all wealthy and sophisticated people, most of the men and women of his acquaintance would have made a concerted effort not to notice, much less remark on their surroundings. But why? What was so wrong about being open and honest?

  His eyes narrowed. He must have been out too long in the sun if he had to even ask himself that question. And while it might be amusing—charming, even—to listen to Addie go into raptures over the view from his bedroom window, it reminded him why their relationship had failed. Why it could never have worked. Her fervour for life was fine when carefully managed, as part of the overall package he had envisaged for their marriage. It had even played out well with the media, giving him a new, warmer, more caring image. But that was where it should have stayed. In public. He had no use for uncontrolled emotional outbursts in his private life.

  No use for it.

  No understanding of it.

  And definitely no need for it.

  ‘What’s that over there?’

  Addie’s voice broke into his thoughts and, turning, he looked towards where she was pointing, over the lagoon to a wavering white line cut through the verdant foliage.

  ‘I think it’s a waterfall.’ He squinted across the water. ‘I seem to remember there being one.’

  She frowned at him. ‘How can you not know if there’s a waterfall?’

  He frowned. ‘I do know. I just can’t remember if that’s where it is. I haven’t been round the island for years. When I stay I don’t generally bother leaving the villa. I don’t need to. There’s enough to keep me entertained here.’

  She gritted her teeth. By ‘enough’, he clearly meant some eager, sexually responsive female companion. It was a surprisingly unwelcome discovery, although she hadn’t for one moment imagined that he had been single for the last five years. But did he have to rub in that fact here, now?

  ‘If you’re expecting some kind of sexual Olympics then I think you might be in for a disappointment,’ she said tartly. ‘Maybe you should have brought whichever woman you normally come here with instead.’

  He stared at her in silence and then, smiling slowly, he leaned forward. ‘You’re the first and only woman I’ve ever brought here, sweetheart. The first and only I’ve ever wanted to bring here.’

  It was true. He usually only visited the island on his way to or from a business trip, and he had certainly never brought a woman. Not even his mother. Especially not my mother, he thought grimly.

  ‘I come here four or five times a year. As a reward for sitting through interminable discussions with people I’m only meeting so they remember my face.’

  He smiled at her slowly, and suddenly her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding against her ribs. People didn’t forget a man like Malachi King, his dark, restless gaze and pure, clean profile. And they always remembered his slow, devastating smile. She knew just how far someone would go to make Malachi King smile like that—and how much they would be prepared to sacrifice.

  She had the scars to prove it.

  The watch on his wrist made two small beeping noises and, grateful for the chance to break free of the tension swelling between them, she took hold of his arm and turned it gently.

  ‘Is that the time?’ she said quickly. ‘No wonder I feel so hungry. Why don’t we go down and I’ll see if I can rustle up something to eat?’

  Frowning, he pressed his hand against his forehead. ‘I completely forgot. Leonda told me she’d left us some lunch. Nothing fancy, but I’m sure it’ll be delicious.’

  It was. A three-course cold buffet, all exquisitely presented. Leonda had also thoughtfully provided a handwritten menu, listing all the ingredients.

  ‘I can’t believe I offered to cook,’ Addie groaned, gazing down at her plate.

  ‘You didn’t.’ Biting into a barbecued rib with guava and tamarind, Malachi raised an eyebrow. ‘You offered to “rustle up something”.’

  He was impossible to resist. She tried to frown, but ended up smiling. ‘You tricked me. You said she enjoyed cooking.’

  His grey eyes gleamed. ‘And she does. She also happens to be a Cordon Bleu trained cook who enjoys “creating dishes which combine colonial and Caribbean influences”,’ he drawled. ‘Or so it said on her CV.’ Grinning, he leaned across and speared a small, golde
n parcel. ‘What is this?’

  Addie glanced at the menu. ‘It’s coconut and shrimp tempura. It’s delicious.’ She sighed. ‘I think I’ve eaten about forty already.’

  He glanced across the table. ‘Only another seventy to go, then.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m afraid Leonda seems to think I don’t eat between visits, so she always cooks enough for a small army.’

  Putting her knife and fork together tidily on her plate, Addie gave him a small, careful smile. As if her feelings were as easy to arrange as her cutlery. In her head being alone with Malachi had seemed quite straightforward: there was the sex and then there was everything else. She wasn’t deluded enough to pretend that she wouldn’t enjoy the sex part, but she hadn’t expected the talking, the just being together to be anything other than extremely trying.

  Only sitting opposite him now, it was hard to feel like that. Not just because he was stupidly good-looking, but because he was such effortless company. He was bright and well read and, mixing as he did with the rich and the famous, he had an endless supply of amusing and salacious stories.

  But, while she might not hate him as much as she would or perhaps should, she needed to make sure their relationship had recognisable boundaries. Sex, by necessity, involved some amount of intimacy—maybe even a certain amount of tenderness. But this—the being together part—required her to be no more than civil. In fact, now might be a good time for her to introduce a more formal, less personal tone to their lunch.

  Picking up her water glass, she took a breath and said quickly, ‘Thank you.’

  There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes as they met hers. ‘For what?’

  ‘For bringing me here. It’s lovely. Truly.’ She glanced out across the lagoon. ‘So how did you find this place? I mean, it’s so hidden away.’

  He shrugged. ‘It was an accident, really. I was actually looking to buy a yacht.’

  She stared at him dazedly. He spoke about buying a yacht as though it was a carton of milk. And what kind of person chose whether to buy an island or a yacht? It was just another reminder of the differences between them.

  She shook her head. ‘So what happened?’

  His eyes gleamed. ‘I went for a swim.’

  She stared at him, confused. Surely he couldn’t have swam that far out to sea?

  Glancing at her face, Malachi shook his head. ‘Not here. In a hotel. In Vegas.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘How has that got anything to do with this island?’

  He gave her a teasing smile. ‘I was playing poker and Teddy Chalmers—do you remember Teddy?’

  Addie nodded. She had met him socially with Malachi. He was a lanky middle-aged Texan real estate billionaire, with a penchant for land and property and a passion for poker.

  ‘Teddy bet me this island that I couldn’t jump into a pool at the hotel and touch the bottom.’

  She frowned. ‘That’s crazy. Anyone could do that.’ Her face stilled with suspicion. ‘So why did he think you couldn’t?’

  Malachi grinned. ‘Probably because of the sharks!’

  ‘Sharks!’ She stared at him in horror. ‘Real sharks? With teeth?’

  He laughed. ‘The sharks were real, so I guess their teeth were too.’

  Addie gazed at him, open-mouthed.

  Smiling, Malachi reached for the wine bottle and refilled his glass. ‘Don’t look so worried, sweetheart. I won.’

  ‘What if you’d been bitten?’

  He gave her an infuriating smile. ‘I’m touched that you care.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ she said quickly. ‘I just can’t believe you’d risk your life over some stupid bet.’

  ‘I like to win.’

  She glared at him. ‘Winning isn’t everything. And if you’d walked away what would you really have lost?’

  He shrugged. ‘My pride! Look, they were small nurse sharks in a tank in a Vegas hotel. Honestly, I didn’t think it was that risky. All I really had to do was focus on winning.’

  Then Teddy Chalmers must be more stupid than he appeared, Addie thought slowly. Malachi might be the most charming person she had ever met, but he was also the most driven. Losing was simply not an option for him.

  He held her gaze. ‘I don’t make a habit of it,’ he said lightly. ‘But I was twenty-four years old and I’d spent the best part of a year playing poker non-stop.’ He breathed out slowly. ‘And with those guys everything turned into a bet.’

  Picking up his wine glass, he swirled the contents slowly around.

  ‘When I finally came out here, though, it blew me away. Not the beach and the palm trees so much. But the peace—’ His mouth twisted. ‘There’s something so pure about the sound of the waves, and the breeze and the birdsong.’

  Something in his tone made her hold her breath. She stared at him, confused. Birdsong? Since when had that mattered to Malachi? Her heart gave a thump as she wondered what else he hadn’t told her. But could she blame him? She’d hardly been open or honest with him, choosing to share only a carefully edited selection of details about her accident and home life.

  Staring past him, she realised that they had never really known one another at all. That they had never trusted one another enough to do so. But why be so secretive now? It wasn’t as if it mattered any more.

  She glanced back at his face. ‘I’m not usually a big fan of peace and quiet,’ she said hesitantly. ‘But this is the good kind.’

  ‘The good kind? What’s the bad kind?’ he prompted, his gaze fixed on her face, searching, curious.

  She gave him a small, tight smile. It was so tempting to believe that he was genuinely interested. Had she not known him as well as she did, she might even have hoped that he felt more than just a physical attraction. That he cared about her. But she knew that for Malachi a confidence shared was just a weakness to exploit. Only given their situation, what was there left for him to exploit?

  She shrugged. ‘I guess when I say “bad” I mean boring.’ Pausing, she frowned, her sudden impulse to be open faltering in the face of his dark, dispassionate gaze. ‘Which is what I’m being now, so—’

  For a moment he stared at her in silence, and then slowly he reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘You might be a lot of things, sweetheart. Some of them are exceedingly challenging.’ He smiled slowly. ‘But I can safely say you have never once bored me.’

  Her heart twitched, caught his smile like a fish on a hook. ‘It’s early yet,’ she said lightly.

  He grinned. ‘Come on, I’m intrigued.’

  She burst out laughing. ‘Fine. But it’s really not that exciting.’ She hesitated. Except that it felt stupidly exciting to be talking to him about herself. To feel his eyes on her face, not as part of some kind of foreplay but because he was listening, actually listening to her. ‘I suppose it’s being here. It’s made me think about the holidays I used to go on with my parents.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘To my aunt and uncle’s farm in South Dakota. Every year for years. In the mornings my mum and my aunt would sew, and my dad and uncle would fix things, and in the afternoons they would all play bridge.’

  Malachi nodded. ‘It’s a good game. Old-timers usually play a tight hand.’

  Addie smiled. ‘Not just old-timers. I play a pretty tight hand too.’

  ‘But you didn’t? Play, I mean? You said, “they would all play bridge”.’

  She stiffened. No wonder he was so good at poker. He missed nothing. Every glance, every word, every blink was noted and examined and weighed up.

  She shook her head. ‘No. I used to help my aunt feed the animals, and then I’d do my piano practice on this old keyboard my uncle rigged up in the barn. To be honest, it wasn’t really that different to being at home—just quieter. Even quieter than in Wichita.’

  ‘I’ve been to Wichita.’ His face was calm, watchful. ‘It’s not Vegas, but it’s not exactly a ghost town.’

  Picking up her glass, she took a sip of water, her cheeks suddenly warm
. She had never told him much about her family. She hadn’t wanted him to know. Beside his glamour and raw animal energy, her home, her childhood, had felt so ordinary and she’d been embarrassed. But mostly she’d been scared. Scared that somehow he would see through her, past whatever it was that he thought he saw, and realise her ordinariness. For deep down she had never quite believed that he wanted her for who she really was.

  She smiled. ‘Wichita is fine. It was my home that was so quiet. You see, my parents were already old when I was born. My dad was nearly sixty when my mum got pregnant. I don’t remember him ever being well. I always had to be quiet at home because he was sleeping, and I couldn’t have friends over to play.’ She smiled again, more weakly. ‘I think that’s why I got so good at the piano. My lessons at my teacher’s house were the only time I was allowed to be rowdy!’

  ‘Moving to Miami must have been a bit of a shock, then.’ He was smiling still, but his eyes on her face were serious.

  She nodded, wondering where he was heading with that remark.

  ‘I suppose,’ she agreed. ‘But in a good way. I could be who I wanted to be. The real me. And Miami is such a warm, vibrant place. It’s like there’s a permanent party happening.’

  The change in him was negligible. She might not even have noticed it but for the slight tightening of his mouth, the ripple of tension in his shoulders.

  There was a small pause, and then he shrugged. ‘You can get tired of partying!’

  She looked up at his face, wishing that there were subtitles running across his forehead to give her a clue as to what was going on inside his head.

  ‘I suppose you can,’ she said carefully. ‘I haven’t actually been to that many.’

  He shifted in his seat, abruptly switching his gaze across the veranda to the rippling blue water.

  ‘I must have been to hundreds,’ he said softly. ‘My parents live to party. When I was a child, Henry, my father, kept a whole bunch of suites at the Colony Club. All weekend it would be open house. To get in, my parents just had to like you. My mother, Serena, once invited the boy who cleaned our pool because he could charm snakes.’