The CEO's Contract Bride

by Yvonne Lindsay

  “I know.” Her voice sounded as though it came from a stranger. Stilted, forced. Now that the time had come, the words dried up uselessly in her throat.

  “So why are you here? If this is supposed to be one of those face-your-past things before you get married—”

  “No! Oh, God, no. Definitely not.” How could he even think she wanted to bring that up again? The humiliating rejection after they’d futilely sought comfort in one another. She never wanted to cross that road again. Ever.

  She watched as he pulled a vibrantly coloured, rolled up silk tie from his trouser pocket and threaded it underneath his collar. Gwen cleared her throat of the obstruction that threatened to choke her as she remembered just how dexterous those long fingers could be. How she’d been at their absolute mercy.

  “Steve’s gone,” she blurted in an attempt to clear her mind of the sensual fog that clouded her thoughts.

  “Gone? What are you talking about? We’re all supposed to be at your party in about—” he broke off to look at his watch.

  “About thirty minutes.”

  “So, we’ll see him there. What’s the problem?” Halfway through settling the knot of his tie at the base of his throat, his hands stilled. Her eyes still locked on his hands, Gwen stared at the slightly roughened edges of his fingers, evidence that given the opportunity he was as hands-on as any of his workers, at the graze across the knuckle on his index finger. At anything but the question in his eyes.

  “Steve’s left the country.” The words tasted like charcoal in her mouth.

  “Left the country?”

  “With all our money. Yours and mine.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Gwen held her ground. She only wished she was kidding. Sudden seriousness chased the derisive look from Declan’s face as his eyes raked her face for any sign of a lie.

  “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  She shook her head slowly. The sting of moisture pricked at the back of her eyes and she pressed her lips into a firm line, blinking back the urge to let loose her fears.

  “When? How?”

  “He left a message on my cell. I was working in the Clevedon Valley—there’s no reception—he knew I wouldn’t get the call until I came out of the black spot. By then it was too late to stop him.”

  “You’re saying he rang to tell you this? Why would he do that?”

  Steve’s gloating satisfaction replayed in her mind. She’d never forget that tone in his voice, the absolute glee that he’d gotten away with it combined with the fact that he’d known all along there’d been something between her and Declan in the past. He’d found a way to hurt them both. The man he’d most wanted to be and the woman he’d thought Declan still wanted. But he’d been wrong. Totally wrong.

  “Does it matter why he did it? The fact is he did. He’s cleaned us both out!” Her hands twisted the strap of her handbag. Round and round until it resembled a piece of rag caught in a drill bit at high speed.

  Declan swore under his breath and booted up the computer at the front desk. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he logged onto his bank’s Internet service, then stilled as the reality sunk in.

  “I’m gonna kill the bastard.” His voice low, feral.

  “Well, take a number and stand in line. You’d better call the police. If you’ll excuse me, I have a party to stop and a wedding to cancel.” She pivoted on her heels and walked back out the door, half expecting any minute for him to call out to her to stop. To say something, anything. But he didn’t.

  Minutes later, fighting to control the anger that surged and swirled inside him, Declan hung up the phone from the police. There was little that could be done right now. He’d visit the station first thing in the morning.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, selecting and discarding ideas as to what to do next. Steve Crenshaw had single-handedly dealt the blow that could devastate Cavaliere Developments and put his entire staff out of work. Informing his board of directors would be the logical thing to do; no doubt the police would want to speak to them, too, once he’d formalised his statement.

  He slammed his hands flat on the desk. Damn! To be so close, to be on the verge of success and have it all snatched away. That Gwen Jones had been the bearer of these particular bad tidings should have struck him as cruelly ironic. She was synonymous with everything that had gone wrong in his life in the past eight years.

  It disturbed him a great deal more than he wanted to admit, seeing her so up close and personal just now—and to his absolute disgust his reaction hadn’t been entirely emotional. All along, while Steve had crowed about his forthcoming nuptials he’d pushed away the thought of the other man’s hands against Gwen’s alabaster skin. But Declan had no claim on her—nor did he want one.

  Still, her vulnerability struck him square in the solar plexus. She was as much a victim in this as him. More, in fact. She’d been on the verge of marrying the creep in eight days time. What did that say about her taste in men?

  A flicker of an idea hovered on the periphery of his mind, then flamed to full-blown life. He’d be nuts to even consider it—but maybe that’s exactly why it would work.

  Despite everything, he would help Gwen Jones.

  And whether she realized it now, or not, she would help him, too.

  Gwen parked her station wagon in the secured basement parking allocated to Libby’s waterfront apartment, then rode the lift to her floor. Outside the apartment the pain in Gwen’s stomach wound up another notch. Judging by the racket on the other side of the door Libby hadn’t had time to cancel the party—if she’d even retrieved Gwen’s message by now. Gwen swiftly depressed the doorbell and turned away, forcing herself to take in a deep, steadying breath. The outlook through the massive window at the end of the corridor, over Auckland’s Waitemata Harbour, usually had a calming effect on her, but tonight the city view glittered like tears reflected on the inky harbour, doing nothing to soothe her splintered thoughts.

  “Gwen! Where the hell have you been?” Libby’s voice penetrated the worry that encapsulated her brain. “And where’s Steve?” she whispered, grabbing Gwen by the arm and dragging her inside.

  “Libby, didn’t you get my message? I need to talk to you. In private.”

  “Private? Sorry, chickie, but there’s no privacy here.” She threw out a hand to encompass the seething throng of guests.

  “No, Libby. I mean it. We have to talk.” She grabbed hold of Libby’s arm, but the other woman slipped from her grasp.

  “There’s the door again, I’ll be back in a minute. Here,” she grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray full of filled glasses on the sideboard and pushed it into Gwen’s hand. “Wrap yourself around this while I see who it is. Maybe it’s Steve.”

  Gwen put out a hand to stop her friend, but it was useless. Libby was on a roll and nothing short of a three-foot-thick plate of steel would halt her in full stride.

  People pressed around. Many, colleagues of Steve’s—some, her own clients she’d grown to like and respect. All of whom were oblivious to her turmoil and none of whom she knew well enough to slit an emotional vein and pour her news to, except Libby. Gwen scanned the room, nervously waiting for her friend to return. The babble of conversations seethed around her until she thought she would scream.

  “Hey, everybody, look who’s arrived!” Libby shouted above the crowd.

  Heads turned, Gwen’s included, as Declan was ushered into the room. His eyes searched the sea of heads, and Gwen pressed herself against the wall, as if she could make herself invisible by blending into the paintwork. Too late. He found her. He dropped a kiss on Libby’s cheek and, with one of his killer smiles firmly on his face, started to work his way through the room, heading straight in her direction. People parted before him, like the Red Sea.

  “Everyone, can I have your attention, please?” Libby’s voice again rang out. Voices slowly stopped midconversation and all heads turned. “One of our guests of honour is here at last. The other’
s obviously running late, but in the meantime I’d like you all to charge your glasses in a toast to my favourite buddy and our bride-to-be.”

  Gwen felt the room tilt slightly as a sudden flurry of activity saw glasses rapidly being refilled in preparation for a toast. “No-o-o.” The strangled protest was lost in the babble of noise around her.

  Declan saw tension paint stark lines of fear on Gwen’s face. His stomach tightened in a knot. He wasn’t too late. Clearly Libby didn’t know about Steve’s desertion—yet.

  A raised hand from Libby, obviously relishing playing hostess, drew the assembly to quiet again. “Now I know some of you haven’t seen Gwen in a while, and I’m sure she joins me in thanking you for celebrating with us.” She turned and bestowed a beaming, loving smile at her pale-faced friend. “Please, everyone, raise your glasses to Gwen. May you have many, many happy years.”

  “To Gwen!” Voices echoed all around her and multiple clinks of crystal repeated throughout the room. Declan watched as the remaining colour leached from Gwen’s face, leaving it ghostly pale. She swayed slightly on legs that appeared to have become too weak to bear her slender frame.

  An instinctive surge of protection billowed through him. He pressed forward, determined to reach her side before she collapsed. As his arm slipped around her waist a shout penetrated the air.

  “So, where’s your lucky man, Gwen?”

  The tightly wound tension in her body transferred itself to him as all eyes swivelled to Gwen, who right now looked nothing like a radiant bride-to-be should. Sheer terror flew across her face, her colourless lips incapable of moving. The growing silence around them hung in the air like a fully charged rocket about to be launched.

  As if suddenly aware of his presence she turned slightly towards Declan. Her eyes locked onto his, their shimmering grey depths reflecting a fierce combination of fear, distress and barely veiled entreaty.

  Electricity curled through him, until he felt as though he crackled with unearthed energy. This was his opportunity. Decisively, he linked his free hand through the cold trembling fingers of hers. He drew them to his lips and brushed a kiss across the whitened knuckles.

  His eyes still locked with hers, he pitched his voice to ring through the room.

  “I’m right here.”

  Two

  With only three short syllables Gwen was trapped in a nightmare that had grown to gargantuan proportions.

  In shocking, sudden silence lipsticked mouths dropped open, eyebrows shot into hairlines and glasses of champagne raised in a toast remained clutched in hands still poised in the air. In the surreal atmosphere, all eyes turned to the tall, commanding presence of the man whose impossible response still reverberated through the room.

  A bone-deep chill invaded Gwen’s body and held her as still as a marble statue. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. She could get out of this. Surely all she had to do was laugh it off as a clever joke. Except she’d never felt less like laughing in her whole life.

  The sureness of Declan’s strong arm hooked around her waist sent warmth spreading through her body.

  The sound of a single set of hands applauding drew Gwen’s eyes to her friend Libby. Nice surprise, her friend mouthed silently, a grin spread across her face as wide as the Auckland Harbour Bridge. One by one, each of the guests joined in until cries of congratulations filled the room. People thronged around them, eager to pass on good wishes to the ‘happy’ couple. All the while Gwen kept a smile pasted to her face, leaving Declan to bear the brunt of the questions.

  At some time, in the crush of perfumed bodies, he let go of her hand. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel lost. Seeking out her friend, she found Libby leaning against the back wall of the room, a self-satisfied smile painted on her face.

  “Well, you’re a dark horse. Fancy not telling me!”

  “I tried to talk to you when I got here. But, Libby, it’s not what you think—”

  “Whatever, Gwen. I’m thrilled to bits for you, but what about Steve? How did he take the news?”

  “He…I…”

  “He’s taken an extended leave of absence,” Declan interrupted, arriving like a dark shadow on Gwen’s horizon. “We’re sorry to have broken the news to you like this, Libby. We’d hoped to tell you sooner, hadn’t we, hon?”

  His eyes shot Gwen a dark challenge, underlying the steel in his voice, which warned her to agree, before he tucked her back against his side. Awareness of him, of every breath he took, seared through her thin clothing.

  “Sometimes you absolutely know when it’s right,” he continued smoothly. “Besides, we’ve known each other for years and now we have the rest of our lives to find everything out about one another. Don’t we?” He prompted her with a squeeze.

  Gwen’s mouth dried. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. He could barely stand to be in the same room as her, yet now he’d become her latest fashion accessory. His strong fingers increased their pressure under her rib cage, reminding her she had to make a response. She swallowed, trying to moisten her throat and allow the words that were trapped inside to come out.

  “Y-yes.” Good Lord! Was that her voice?

  A tiny frown creased between Libby’s eyebrows. “Gwen? Are you certain you’re doing the right thing?”

  Gwen drew in a deep breath. “Yes.”

  Thank goodness. Her voice was stronger now. More definite, although she’d never felt more adrift in her entire life.

  Declan dipped his head to her temple. “Good move.” His warm lips moved intimately against her skin. To anyone in the room it looked like a caress.

  “If you’re certain…” Libby’s voice trailed away, doubt still clear in her tone.

  “We’ve never been more certain of anything in our lives.” Declan’s voice resonated confidence. “Do you mind if we have a moment together, in private? You will excuse us, won’t you?”

  “Certainly. Why don’t you use my bedroom?” Libby offered generously—too generously in Gwen’s opinion.

  “No!” Gwen’s voice shot like a bullet. “I mean, the balcony will do fine. No one will bother us out there.”

  The last thing she needed was to be in a bedroom with Declan Knight. She pulled free of his clasp, once again struck by an inane sense of loss, and stumbled slightly as the heel of her strappy sandal hooked on the thickly carpeted floor. A strong grip at her elbow steadied her. Did he have to be so constantly close he could touch her?

  “Okay?” He reached past her to open the glass slider that led onto the semicircular balcony.

  “I’m fine. At least, I will be once we sort this mess out.”

  She turned, freeing herself from his hold and tried to ignore the glow of challenge that lit his eyes at her action. A glow that was doing funny things to her sensitive stomach. More indigestion, she decided. Except this felt different. It was a fire in her belly all right, but this burn was molten, enticing and as forbidden as it had been eight years ago.

  Declan slid the door closed behind them, the double-glazed floor-to-ceiling windows cutting out almost all sound from inside. Marooned on a dark island, the shimmer of lights reflected across the harbour.

  “What do you want to sort out first?” He crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest and leaned back against the waist-high concrete wall that scalloped the balcony. Backlit by the streetlights behind him, he towered there, large and powerful. His dark head haloed like some fallen angel.

  “Our engagement for one thing. What the heck are you playing at? I don’t want to marry you and I know for certain you don’t want to marry me, either.”

  “You’re right. But the way I see it, it’s the perfect solution to our problems.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. How on earth could our marriage be a solution to anything? We’ve barely even spoken since Renata died.” Spoken? No. But they had done so much more.

  “This has nothing to do with Renata.” He bit the words out. She could see the tension drawn on his face, the hardening
of his jaw. “Smile.”

  “What?” Had he lost his mind?

  “Smile. Everyone inside can see us and we’ve just announced our engagement. They expect you to look happy, not as if you’d like to tip me over this balcony.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” she answered, her voice low and angry. The thought had sudden appeal, but instead of seeing Declan tumbling from the balcony all she had was a vivid memory of Renata’s body tumbling past her on the rock face that had almost sent them both to their doom. No, she couldn’t joke about that, not even for a minute. Gwen forced her lips into an approximation of a smile.

  “That’s better.” Declan’s voice rumbled through the dark night air. “Now come over here and put your arms around me.”

  “No way.” A chill shivered over her arms, raising goose bumps on her flesh, belying the warmth of the balmy humid evening.

  “Then I’ll come over to you.”

  Before she could protest Declan covered the short distance between them, draped her limp arms around his waist and linked his own around hers.

  “There now, that didn’t hurt a bit.”

  Hurt? Maybe not in the physical sense, but there was an ache deep down inside her that had been her constant companion for longer than she wanted to acknowledge. A pain that couldn’t be assuaged and had taken eight years to learn to ignore. Damn him for opening that wound again.

  “So, are you happy now?” Her words dropped bitterly from her lips.

  “Hardly. This is all for show. If we’re going to make this work we have to look the part.”

  “Make it work? I haven’t even agreed to this charade. In case you hadn’t already noticed I’m supposed to be engaged to Steve,” she snapped. His arms were warm bands around her, his fingers stroking in lazy circles against the small of her back. Gwen forced herself to listen to him and to ignore the spirals of pleasure that radiated traitorously from his touch.

  “I believe that could be disputed, considering he’s abandoned you to face the wedding without him. Besides, you’re not exactly heartbroken he’s gone. Angry at him, for sure. He’s cleaned you out. But heartbroken? I doubt it.”