The CEO's Contract Bride

by Yvonne Lindsay

  A tiny mew of dismay fell from her mouth at the vision of sheer rose-pink chiffon. With shaking fingers Gwen lifted the peignoir from the case. It matched her bridal underwear perfectly. There was no way in this lifetime she was going to wear it. She laid it to one side on the bedcovers and reached for the next item, a silky-soft stretch lace teddy. What on earth had those two been thinking of? The teddy joined the peignoir on the bedspread as Gwen checked the next layer—more lingerie. Gwen sighed and looked at the collection with growing irritation. Mae obviously didn’t value her life very highly if she had packed only lingerie.

  Lord, what she wouldn’t give for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt right now. She looked at the digital alarm clock at the bedside. It glowed with mute confirmation that morning was a very long way away and she still had the rest of the night with her new husband to endure.

  Blindly Gwen snatched up the teddy, at least it would be comfortable to sleep in, and strode towards the bathroom. There had to be a hotel robe she could wear, and if that’s what she was wearing when she left tomorrow, then so be it.

  After dealing with enough hairpins to build a small bridge she tossed her hair loose from its confines. She laid the purple flowers, now looking somewhat tired, on the vanity unit. She’d planned to press them and keep them as a memento of her special day—at least when she’d originally planned the wedding. Well, the day had been special all right, but not the kind of special she’d planned on. Without another thought, she swept the spent blooms into the rubbish bin and turned on the shower.

  Extricating herself from the torselette proved tricky but determination won out in the end. She kicked off her stockings and panties then stepped beneath the delicious pulsing spray of the shower. Gwen lathered up some soap and stroked it over her skin. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have been alone right now. Although the image that sprang to mind was not of her and her originally planned bridegroom.

  Instead, in her treacherous thoughts, a powerful tanned forearm lay across her stomach while she leaned back against a strong expanse of chest. Dark hair would be mingled with hers in the shower spray and plastered against her shoulders while long fingers gently soaped her body, slicked between the juncture of her thighs. Stroked and caressed.

  The resounding clatter of soap as it hit the floor of the shower startled her out of her daydream.

  “Gwen! Are you all right in there?” Declan’s muffled voice penetrated the bathroom door. Oh, God, hadn’t he left yet? Please say she’d locked the door. No. In the instant she hesitated to reply he was through the door, worry stark on his face. “I heard a crash, are you okay?”

  The heat of embarrassment flowed through her from the tips of her apricot tinted toenails to the top of her head. She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out, whatever she’d been about to say lost in the blaze of his stare. The flush that suffused her body altered subtly—like a wind shift over a sandy beach—becoming, instead, a bloom of desire. Desire for Declan. Desire for her husband.

  Her nipples creased into tight buds, tingling with the need to be touched. A tingling that travelled, spread, and bathed her whole body. She watched, helpless, as his gaze locked onto her breasts. She could almost feel the heat reflected in his eyes, almost feel the caress of his lips against her skin.

  “Get out!” she cried, her voice harsh, desperate.

  Without a word or a backward glance, Declan left and closed the bathroom door silently behind him. Under the steady stream of warm water, Gwen began to shake. She slid down the wall of the shower and crouched in a heap at the base. This was all wrong. What would it take to purge him from her system? When would her body no longer cry out for his touch?

  Declan set the treadmill to its most gruelling level—anything to drag his struggling hormones under iron control—a task easier thought of than achieved.

  He didn’t even need to close his eyes to see her. She was imbedded firmly in his brain. Her long slender arms, her high firm breasts tipped with nipples that had darkened and tightened under his stare, the delicious indentation of her belly button in her smooth, flat stomach and—He had to stop this! It was driving him crazy.

  She was driving him crazy. He wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman. In the eyes of the law she was his. But he knew to the depths of his soul that it took more than paper to belong to Gwen and he wasn’t prepared to plumb those depths. Not back when Renata died, and certainly not now. There was nothing for it but to pound out the miles on the treadmill then bench-press her out of his system.

  Ninety minutes later his muscles were screaming for release, and that wasn’t all. He still wanted her, dammit. Declan flicked an eye to the wall clock mounted above the door. With any luck she’d be asleep by now.

  When he let himself back into the suite he was surprised to find her curled up on the couch wrapped in nothing but a thick white terry robe. Well, not quite nothing but the robe, a tiny hint of pink lace peeked temptingly where the robe crossed her breasts.

  “Feel better?” Her voice sounded thick, as if she’d been crying. Yeah, no doubt she had. It certainly wasn’t the wedding night she’d been expecting a week ago.

  “I need a shower. Okay if I go through?”

  “Sure, help yourself.”

  Even the sharp cold-needled spray of the shower did nothing to diminish the heat that pulsed through his body. He was just going to have to be a man and grit his teeth and bear it. Six months wasn’t long. He took a disparaging look at himself in the bathroom mirror. Okay, so six months in this state would be a very long time. But he’d get through it. He’d gotten through worse.

  “I ordered up some room service. I hope you don’t mind.” Gwen greeted him as he came back through to the sitting room, the jeans he’d pulled on barely disguising his state of constant semi-arousal.

  “Sure, whatever. I didn’t get much to eat at the reception. You?”

  “No, I wasn’t hungry then.”

  But was she hungry now? And for what? He’d lay odds her hunger didn’t have a patch on his. A discreet tap at the door, followed by “room service” snapped him out of his thoughts. He stood, unsmiling, to one side as the waiter placed their desserts in the discreetly hidden refrigerator, laid the dining table in front of the window and lit the candle set in the centre of the table. Declan tipped the fellow, but rapidly wished he hadn’t as on his way out the door the waiter dimmed the central lights to create an altogether too intimate atmosphere.

  “I’ll turn the lights back up.” Declan raised his hand to the switch.

  “No.” Gwen sighed. “Leave it. It’s okay. Besides, the table looks lovely. By the way, I owe you an apology. I’m…I’m sorry I snapped at you before, back in the bathroom. You kind of took me by surprise.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” And don’t bring it up again, please, Declan begged silently, willing his body back under control as it leaped to eager life at the memory.

  Gwen lifted the covers on the plates and leaned forward to inhale. “Mmm, this smells divine. I haven’t had crayfish in ages. I hope you don’t mind, I was a bit extravagant on the order.”

  “Hey, we need to make it worth Dad’s while.” Declan cracked a smile at the irony, sure that being extravagant hadn’t come easily to Gwen and wondering what had prompted it. Maybe she’d just given in to a guilty pleasure for once. Was that what he’d been eight years ago? A guilty pleasure? He slammed down hard on the thought. He couldn’t afford to go down that road. Instead, he pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. “Come on, then. Let’s eat.”

  He gallantly endeavoured to resist the urge to peek from above as the lapels of her robe gaped as she sat down. He flunked miserably. Man, but he was a fool for punishment. A hint of lace against soft, creamy skin sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. He swiftly rounded the table and slid into his chair. Food. What he needed was food. He did not need complications and Gwen had become one heck of a complication.

  No, that wasn’t quite fair. How he felt
about her was now the complication. Their marriage had to last six months. He’d do well to remember that. If she knew what she did to him, no doubt she’d be out that door so fast the dust of his growing empire would still be hanging in the air like yesterday’s dreams. He would not let that happen.

  “This is delicious,” Gwen said as she tasted the crayfish mornay.

  Declan tried to ignore the way her tongue swept her lips as she enjoyed the shellfish. Tried, and failed. “Yeah, they sure know how to put room service together here.”

  “I couldn’t resist ordering dessert, too.”

  “Well, if it’s half as good as this it’ll be worth waiting for. What have they sent us?”

  “Champagne zabaglione.”

  “Zabaglione?”

  “Yeah, egg, sugar, champagne. Delicious. I haven’t had zabaglione since I was a girl.” Gwen’s voice was wistful, her expression distant.

  “Really? How come?”

  “The last time I had it was in Milan, before my mother sent me away. When I came to New Zealand my aunt wasn’t into anything that frivolous. Even an ice cream from a street vendor was out of the question as far as she was concerned.”

  “You’ve been to Italy, then?”

  “I was born there.”

  Born there? Declan racked his brain to remember if she’d ever given any indication of her heritage. “How come you came to New Zealand?”

  She sighed and put her fork down on her plate. “Okay. I’ll give you the potted history. Mum met my father there while on a modelling assignment. Against his family’s wishes they married when she fell pregnant with me. Unfortunately, she neglected to tell him I wasn’t his. A little before I turned six he found out and threw us both out. For a while Mum’s boyfriends didn’t mind me around but when I was nine she sent me here to live with Aunt Hope. She promised she’d come for me one day, but I guess it really doesn’t suit her image to have an adult daughter.”

  “God, Gwen, I’m so sorry. That must have been helluva tough.”

  “I wrote to her when Aunt Hope died, but the letter was returned unopened. I suppose that made her position pretty clear, and by then I’d learned not to need her in my life anymore.” Or anyone else for that matter. Gwen straightened her spine, unconsciously assuming the rigid posture she’d adopted as a child to prove that nothing and no one could hurt her again. But she’d been wrong. Painfully wrong.

  From the man she’d always thought of as her father, to her mother, right through to Steve, she’d been let down by those she’d learned to love and to trust.

  “I take it dessert is off the menu then?”

  Gwen’s laugh was brittle. “No, of course not. I’m sure it will taste wonderful.”

  They decided to eat their desserts while watching a cable movie. Gwen curled her feet up under her on the couch, Declan ensconced in the opposite corner. She was surprised to discover how much fun it was to watch the film with Declan. He had a quick wit and his amazing comebacks to some of the lines in the movie had her chuckling away. In fact, if she admitted it, she was actually enjoying herself. The pressure of the day had faded away, the need to be perceived to be the besotted happy couple gone. They could simply be themselves. So where did that leave them?

  While this was a suite, so far Gwen had only seen one bed. Surely they weren’t sleeping together. After that unfortunate encounter in the bathroom, there was no way she was sharing a bed with Declan. She even wondered if the two of them continuing to share a house together was a good idea. The alternative, however—not sharing it—would arouse suspicion and throw all their plans in jeopardy.

  As the movie drew to an end, tension built within her. It was getting late. They’d need to go to bed soon. She tried to tell herself the sensation bubbling in her stomach was nerves, but it felt deliciously like something else.

  The credits began to roll up the screen.

  “Do you want to watch another movie?” Declan asked, picking up the movie guide from the coffee table.

  “What is there?”

  “Hmm, nothing all that current unless you want to watch an action flick.”

  “I think I might go to bed. You, too?”

  Declan sent her a telling glance, and she wished her words back firmly in her mouth. She’d all but invited him into bed with her!

  “I might take advantage of the bathroom first.” He arched one eyebrow at her. “Are we going to flip for the bed or shall we share?”

  Gwen’s pulse accelerated. Crunch time. She eyed up the couch they were sitting on, she’d probably be comfortable enough out here.

  Declan’s chuckle startled her. “Hey, I’m just teasing,” he laughed. “This folds out to be a sofa bed, I can kip out here easily enough.”

  “Are you sure?” Gwen looked at the length of him, thinking he’d be far more comfortable in the super-king-sized bed in the other room.

  “Not a problem. I’ve slept in worse places. I’ll just use the bathroom, then it’s all yours, okay?”

  Without waiting for her reply he went through to the bedroom. To distract herself Gwen wandered around the room, taking in the quietly restful décor. Suddenly she noticed a red light blinking on the desk telephone. They had a message? Who would have rung? Had their ruse of a marriage been sprung already? She lifted the receiver and dialled the message service.

  “Mr and Mrs Knight, please accept the hotel’s apologies, but it appears that one of your cases was left at the porter’s station. Please contact reception when you’re ready to receive it.”

  Clothes. Mae could live another day. Gwen gave a grim smile; of course her friend wouldn’t have left her completely in the lurch.

  “Was there a message?” Declan came through from the bathroom. He’d changed into the other bathrobe. Her mouth dried as he padded towards her on bare feet. His long legs closed the distance between them. Was he going to sleep naked? Every nerve went on full alert.

  “There’s another case for us downstairs. I’ll get them to bring it up now,” she said, averting her gaze before her expression could give away the sudden rush of desire that flooded her body.

  “Yeah, good idea,” he replied and sat back down on the couch and stared at the television, surfing through a few channels until he found a news site.

  Gwen tried to ignore the way his robe fell away from his torso to expose the fine dark hair that arrowed down his lower belly. Her fingers curled into tight fists as she remembered trailing her fingertips through the soft scattering of hair, lower and lower until she’d traced the inner line of his leg and finally cupped the full aching hardness of his arousal. Her ears filled again with the groan of need that had ripped from his throat at her tender touch, her mind with the power that came from knowing she had wrought that reaction from him.

  Gwen sluggishly dragged her thoughts back to the present. What was she supposed to be doing? Clothes. Yes, that was it. She dragged her eyes from his body and swiftly made the call that with any luck would bring her some relief from his unsettling presence before she surrendered to foolish need—just like she had eight years ago.

  Ten

  Gwen perched on the edge of the bed the next morning. She’d been up and dressed for what felt like ages, yet filled with reluctance to go out and face Declan, and the new day, as his wife. She’d heard his cell phone ring about an hour ago, and the rumble of his voice through the door as he took the call, so she knew he was awake. When the doorbell to the suite rang she decided she’d hidden in her room long enough.

  At the sound of the bedroom door opening Declan turned from where he stood in the doorway, his body masking that of another man. He turned back and said a few words she couldn’t make out before he shut the door and came back into the parlour.

  “Good morning.” His eyes didn’t meet hers.

  Curiosity piqued, Gwen asked, “Who was that?”

  “Detective Saunders.”

  Gwen recognised the name immediately. He was the lead detective in the case to find their money—and Steve
. “He came here? Today? How’d he know we were here?” Of course, Gwen realised, the phone call.

  “He had information he felt we should know now. And he…” Declan paused and took a breath deep into his lungs. “He wanted me to I.D. Steve in a photo.”

  There was a strange tone to his voice. A tone that made the hairs on the back of Gwen’s neck prickle and her blood run cold. “Was it Steve?”

  “I believe so.”

  “You believe so? What do you mean believe so?”

  “The picture wasn’t particularly good quality. But they think they’ve found the money. It seems Crenshaw had opened an account in Switzerland. Interpol are working on the details now.”

  “And have they arrested him? Are they bringing him back?”

  “Not exactly. Look, Gwen, there’s no easy way to tell you this. Steve’s dead.”

  “Dead?” All the air sucked from her lungs, and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

  Declan reached out, taking her firmly by the upper arms and forcing her down into a chair. “C’mon, Gwen, don’t lose it on me now. Take deep breaths, nice and easy.”

  She focussed on his voice, his strength, and breathed in and out until the sick sensation in her stomach settled with a flutter.

  “How did he die?” Her voice wobbled as her throat constricted.

  Declan took a deep breath. This was the pits. How the hell did he tell her? The picture taken of Crenshaw had been a crime scene photo and it hadn’t been pretty. “Apparently he got caught up in a bar fight. It was quick.”

  “What will happen now? Will they bring the body back?”

  A sickening sense of déjà vu tipped his stomach as he remembered a similar conversation. One where Gwen had clung to the rocky ledge that had saved her life when she and Renata had fallen—the ledge Renata had missed and dangled beneath until she’d eventually plunged beyond, her body finally coming to rest in a crevasse lower down. Gwen’s refusal to leave the mountainside until he gave his promise that Renata’s body would be recovered still rang in his ears. His heart twisted at the memory and his voice roughened. “He didn’t have any family. They’ll bury him there I imagine. Unless you want me to bring him home.”