No Need for Love

by Sandra Marton

  ‘Patty,’ Sally said helpfully.

  ‘Patty, that’s right. I’ve asked her to take your job as of tomorrow, darling.’ His teeth flashed in a quick smile. ‘You see? Everything has been taken care of.’

  ‘And we’ve even managed to put together a shower for you,’ Sally said brightly.

  Hannah turned pale. ‘A shower? A bridal shower?’

  Sally smiled. ‘It won’t be a surprise, but then, they never really are, are they? A girl always knows she’s going to have a shower when she leaves to get married.’

  There was a silence. Hannah looked from her friend’s shining face to Grant’s glittering eyes. It was like being swept forward by a tidal wave, she thought; there was no way back and no way to turn.

  ‘Would you excuse us for a minute please, Sally?’ Grant said, and, without waiting for the girl’s answer, he drew Hannah into his office and quietly closed the door. Once they were alone, he let go of her. ‘You were about to sign the contract when that phone call interrupted us.’

  ‘That’s not exactly the way it happened,’ Hannah said stiffly. She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. After a moment, she touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. ‘Did you plan it this way? Getting Sally involved, so that the whole office would know and—’

  ‘The contract,’ he said, holding a pen out to her.

  Hannah caught her breath. ‘Grant—look, I know I agreed to—to…’ She swallowed. ‘But now I—I’m not certain——’

  ‘Sign it, Hannah.’

  His face was hard, his gaze unswerving. She waited a moment, then snatched the pen from his hand, stalked to the table where the contract lay waiting, and scrawled her name. When she was done, she tossed down the pen and turned towards him, her expression shuttered and cool.

  ‘Satisfied?’ she said.

  A lazy smile spread across Grant’s face. ‘Very,’ he said. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he reached out and gathered her into his arms. ‘Very,’ he whispered, and then he drew her close and kissed her.

  It was a long, unhurried kiss, a kiss that she knew was meant as confirmation of his power over her. It was nothing more than a pretence of passion, and yet Hannah felt the earth drop away from beneath her feet, felt the room spin around her. Heat shimmied through her blood, touching her everywhere with a sweet, fierce pleasure.

  A discreet knock on the closed door drove them apart. ‘Hannah?’

  It was Sally. Hannah swayed on her feet, her only link to the planet the harsh pressure of Grant’s hands on her forearms.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ he murmured.

  She swung away from him, heart racing, and wrenched open the door.

  ‘The party,’ Sally began, and Hannah nodded and followed her into the hall and towards the lunch room and a celebration that was, in the best of circumstances, an ordeal to be endured, but was a special hell now that it was in her honour.

  At least she didn’t have to make any small talk. Sally did it all for her, chattering away non-stop about the fun of planning the last-minute shower, about how thrilled all the secretaries were, about how handsome Grant was.

  Hannah kept nodding and smiling, but she wasn’t really listening. She was thinking about how Grant had trapped her, wrapping her in a web of silk so fine no one but she would ever know it was there.

  But she could survive that. When all of this was finally over, she would have what she wanted. A child. That was why she’d entered into this bizarre pact, after all.

  Sally tugged at her sleeve. ‘Wait until you see the nightgown we bought you.’ She giggled. ‘I m not supposed to tell you, but it’s really something! It’s white and sheer, cut down to here and up to there——’

  And Grant would never see it. It was little compensation, Hannah thought as she fixed a smile to her face and entered the lunch room, but it was something.

  And it would have to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MARILYN HOWE plucked a microscopic bit of lint from Hannah’s shell-pink skirt and sighed with pleasure.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ she said happily. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’

  Hannah looked into the mirror that ran the length of one wall in the Howe guest room. A stranger looked back at her, a stranger whose shiny chestnut hair fell loose to her shoulders, whose face was pale, whose doubt-filled eyes seemed enormous without their usual oversized glasses.

  ‘I hardly recognise myself,’ she murmured.

  She looked so different, she thought uneasily. The emerald ring, flashing on her finger each time she moved her hand; the lovely, incredibly expensive pink dress that clung to her body with stylish grace; the contact lenses Marilyn had talked her into trying… All of it added up to a woman Hannah had never seen before.

  The realisation was terrifying, but then, everything about this day was terrifying, for in just a little while she would become Grant’s wife.

  Hannah MacLean. Mrs Grant MacLean. Oh, God…

  ‘Are you all right, Hannah?’

  Hannah blinked and looked into the glass. No, she thought, while her heart galloped wildly, no, I’m not all right. I feel as if I’ve made a pact with the devil.

  ‘Hannah? Do you want to sit down for a minute? Shall I send for Grant?’

  ‘No!’ Hannah drew a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips. ‘I’m fine. Really. Just—just—’

  ‘Last-minute nerves.’ Marilyn smiled, too. ‘Sure. I felt the same way.’

  ‘Did you?’ Hannah asked softly.

  The other woman nodded and slipped her arm around Hannah’s shoulders. ‘I was scared stiff,’ she said as they made their way slowly towards the door, ‘and positive I was going to pass out the minute I heard the Bridal March begin.’ She smiled. ‘But then I saw Bob waiting at the altar, and all I could think about was that in just a little while we’d be husband and wife.’ She gave Hannah a quick hug as they stepped into the hall. ‘You just wait until you get yourself a look at that handsome brother of mine, honey. All your worries will fly away.’

  But it didn’t happen quite that way. If anything, that first glimpse of Grant, standing straight and tall at the far end of the room, only made Hannah’s heart race even faster. He looked so forbidding, so remote and powerful. She wanted to turn and run away, to keep running and never come back.

  But his eyes held her fast, those cool grey eyes; they locked on hers and seemed to draw her forward so that she walked slowly towards him while the strains of Lohengrin played softly on the grand piano in the sunroom. And then she was there, standing before him, her breathing quick and shallow.

  Grant held out his hand.

  ‘Hannah,’ he said softly.

  There was still time to run—but she lifted her chin and put her ice-cold hand in his. His fingers closed over hers, and the warmth of his touch surged through her. He drew her forward until she was standing close beside him, and then he smiled and something happened deep within her heart, something that was beyond description or comprehension, something that was dangerous and exciting, and all she could think of was that it was a damned good thing that theirs was going to be a celibate relationship.

  It had been useless, arguing against a honeymoon.

  ‘Is there somewhere special you’d like to go?’ Grant had asked, and when she’d shaken her head he’d tossed off a list of possibilities as casually as if they were simply names on a shopping list. ‘Spain? France? Italy? Perhaps something exotic. Japan—I’ve always wanted to see the Yasukuni Shrine.’

  Hannah had listened with growing unease. Those places were all so far away, she’d thought. Her acquiescence to Grant’s proposal, the wedding plans—all of that was unreal enough. Surely she’d feel even more estranged in such foreign surroundings?

  ‘Or perhaps someplace warm,’ he’d mused, when she hadn’t answered. ‘Mexico. The Caribbean.’

  ‘Mexico,’ she’d said quickly, automatically choosing the one that was closest to home. She’d never been there, but she knew people who
had. Sally had returned from Acapulco with stories about crowds and music and days crammed with activities organised by the hotel social staff. It had sounded awful to Hannah, who much preferred being left to her own devices when she went on holiday. But this wasn’t a holiday, it was a make-believe honeymoon with a man she barely knew. In those circumstances, days jammed with carefully arranged happenings sounded like a good idea.

  ‘Fine,’ he’d answered, and that had been the end of the discussion.

  But as soon as their plane landed Hannah got the uneasy feeling that whatever lay ahead would not in any way resemble the vacations Sally or any of the other girls had described.

  A long white limousine drove them to a sprawling series of pastel buildings tucked into a lush, tree-lined cove where an azure sea foamed whitely against a pale beach. A smiling bellman collected their luggage, then led them to a suite at least twice the size of Hannah’s flat back in San Francisco. The sitting-room was exquisitely appointed, the bathroom was a wonder of black and rose marble, the bedroom—the bedroom was like something out of a fairy-tale, all white organdie, pale blue eyelet cotton, and tropical flowers. It was the kind of room women dreamed about, the sort you saw in perfume ads. All it lacked was a centrepiece, a pair of lovers locked in each other’s arms.

  ‘Well? What do you think?’

  She turned quickly. Grant was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, watching her, his eyes unreadable behind dark aviator lenses, his hands tucked into the pockets of his casual chino trousers.

  Her heart gave a funny little lurch. ‘I—I think it’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Where did you ever find it?’

  He smiled. ‘The travel agent recommended it. He said it was the perfect honeymoon spot.’

  Hannah swung away from him. The perfect honeymoon spot. Yes, she supposed you’d certainly call it that—and as removed from the sort of place Sally had visited as day was from night. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out that there wouldn’t be an organised activity in sight, just that impossibly blue ocean and long, deserted stretches of white sand, perfect for a bare handful of couples who would have eyes only for each other.

  Why would Grant have chosen such a place? There was surely a limit to how far they had to play this little drama, especially now that they were safely out of sight of the people they knew. Being at a place such as this was only going to embarrass them. They wouldn’t share any activities. Grant had already asked her if she knew how to scuba-dive and she’d told him she didn’t.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ he’d said, with a smile.

  Perhaps. But he could dive all he wished, while she found a shady spot under a palm tree and read the handful of paperback books she’d brought with her. In the confines of a large, busy hotel, such behaviour would probably have gone unnoticed. But here, in the midst of all this togetherness, the two of them would stand out like—like mismatched linen on the oversized bed that dominated the bedroom of the suite.

  ‘Shall I draw the bed curtains back, sir?’ the bellman had asked with a little smile, as if he had seen hundreds of honeymoon couples and knew where they would be the moment he left them alone.

  But not them. Not she and Grant. A little knot tightened within Hannah’s breast.

  ‘Hannah? Do you like it?’

  She blinked and looked at Grant again. Why didn’t he take off those glasses? It was unnerving, not being able to see his eyes.

  She gave him a quick smile. ‘It’s—it’s very pretty.’

  Grant grinned. ‘Very pretty? I think the management would kill itself if it heard you use such a tepid phrase to describe Paradise.’

  Her smile was more genuine this time. ‘Paradise?’

  ‘Paraiso. Paradise. That’s what it says on the towels.’ He laughed as he leaned away from the door and strolled towards the built-in bar on the far side of the room. ‘Don’t look at me that way—I didn’t pick the name.’

  ‘No. Only the place.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, as if he didn’t hear the sharpness in her tone, ‘I’ll take the credit for that.’ He whistled softly as he took a bottle of champagne from its ice bucket. ‘Dom Perignon,’ he said, ‘and a vintage year. Very nice.’

  ‘What made you choose this place, Grant?’

  He nodded his head towards the windows. ‘Take your pick. “Dazzling white beaches, water the colour of the sky…”’ The cork popped softly and golden wine foamed lightly over the bottle top. ‘Just what the travel agent promised.’

  ‘And very much off the beaten track.’

  ‘That, too.’ He poured champagne into two crystal flutes, then held one out to her. ‘A newly-weds’ hideaway.’

  Their eyes met, and something in the way he looked at her made Hannah flush.

  ‘I—I don’t think I want any wine, thank you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. This is our honeymoon.’ She looked at him, caught by a sudden tension in his voice, but she could tell nothing from the little she could see of his face. ‘Go on,’ he said, more gently, ‘it’ll relax you. You look all keyed up.’

  Hannah hesitated, then reached for the glass. ‘I’m just tired. It was a long flight.’

  ‘And a long day.’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘It was.’

  Grant sighed as he pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them on the bar.

  ‘Marilyn went a little overboard, I guess.’ He took a sip of his wine. When he spoke again, his voice sounded gruff. ‘Was today anything like your first wedding?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘it wasn’t.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You went the whole route then. White gown, church, bridesmaids…’

  Hannah shook her head as she thought back to that impetuous teenage marriage performed at City Hall.

  ‘Actually,’ she said softly, ‘this was much nicer. Having the ceremony at home, with your family there…’ She cleared her throat. ‘And you? What was your wedding like?’

  Grant smiled. ‘My ex believed in extravaganzas,’ he said. ‘We had everything but dancing girls, and I think the only reason she didn’t include them was because she was afraid they might steal her thunder.’ He took a swallow of champagne. ‘To tell you the truth, I think it’s all overrated. It seems to me that what we did this time is a hell of a lot more honest.’

  Hannah’s smile faded. So much for making small talk, she thought. Sooner or later they would always get back to the reason they were together, not only for the next week but for the duration of their agreement, she and this man who was her husband, this—this stranger.

  She felt a sudden jolt of despair. Why had she let him insist on this travesty of a honeymoon? It was bad enough she’d let him back her into this marriage, but——

  ‘Hannah.’ She looked up. Grant was watching her with a quiet intensity. ‘You think I should have picked someplace less private, don’t you?’

  She flushed. ‘I think it would have been easier, yes.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘Who knows? You may enjoy the next week more than you expect. Maybe we’ll each take home some pleasant memories.’

  His words sent an unexpected stab of pain into her heart. The reaction troubled her, and she dealt with it the only way she could, by beating a quick retreat to the safety of reality.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’ she said steadily. ‘I mean, this isn’t a real honeymoon, Grant, and we both know it, no matter what the rest of the world thinks.’

  ‘Yes.’ His smile was gone, as swiftly as if it had been wiped from his face. He scowled and tossed off the rest of his wine, then refilled his glass. ‘And I suppose, sooner or later, we might as well get down to basics.’

  Basics. Yes, of course. They’d never really had the chance to talk about what would have to be done: the selection of a doctor, all the technical details the magazine articles glossed over. That was what this was all about, wasn’t it? Having a baby. It wasn’t the usual way, but neither of them wanted that.

  Hannah drew in her breat
h, then expelled it. ‘Yes, we probably should get down to basics. I—I meant to ask you, in San Francisco…’ Their eyes met, and a flush rose in her cheeks. ‘Do you—do you know how to do it?’

  Grant’s brows lifted. ‘How to do what?’

  ‘The—the procedure,’ she said stiffly. ‘What will be required when——’ She broke off in mid-sentence and her flush deepened. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t, Hannah. I’m not very good at mind-reading.’

  He looked puzzled and sounded innocent, damn him, but he was making fun of her! She knew it, just as he knew that talking about this part of their agreement embarrassed her.

  ‘Well? Are you going to tell me what you’re talking about, or am I supposed to guess?’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘The baby,’ she said calmly. ‘I know a little about how we go about it, but not very much. I wondered if you——’ Her flush deepened. ‘I don’t see what’s so amusing, Grant,’ she said stiffly. ‘It’s a perfectly reasonable question.’

  ‘Cute,’ he said softly. ‘Very cute. I have to admit, I wouldn’t have pegged you for playing games, Hannah, but hell, if that’s what you want to do——’

  ‘Cute? What’s cute?’ Her eyes widened as he put down his glass, then took hers and put it down, too. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I thought it might take me a while to get you into the mood, but…’ He smiled as he took her into his arms. ‘I’ve always believed in accommodating a woman’s wishes.’

  Hannah stared at him. ‘Grant?’ A rill of panic threaded her voice as he gathered her closer. ‘Grant, stop!’

  ‘Actually,’ he said softly, ‘I’ve been negligent, darling.’ His hands spread on her shoulders. ‘Here we are, husband and wife, and I’ve yet to kiss you.’