He refilled his cup with coffee, then leaned well back in his chair. ‘We’ll check out, then drive further down the coast to Portsea for the day.’
She looked at him carefully. ‘I’m fine if you want to head back to Melbourne.’ She couldn’t, wouldn’t call his Brighton mansion home. ‘I have class papers to mark and lessons to set for tomorrow.’ She paused imperceptibly. ‘Doubtless you have data you need to check.’
‘Nothing that can’t wait until evening.’
It was almost midday when they hit the road, and they spent time checking the craft market, where Romy discovered a beautiful multi-coloured beaded bracelet. It was gorgeous, and she happily paid and tucked the tissue-wrapped purchase into her purse.
‘You’re not going to wear it?’
She spared Xavier a glance as they moved towards the next stall. ‘It’s a gift.’ For a friend, for whom it would be perfect.
Kassi, a dear extrovert whose delicious sense of humour had served to lighten their long study hours during university. A friendship they’d maintained wherever they each happened to be in the world.
Coincidentally, Kassi was now based in Melbourne, teaching at an exclusive private school, and although they’d spoken via phone and met briefly for coffee, so far there hadn’t been the opportunity for any in-depth catch-up. Something they’d each vowed to correct over dinner midweek. Show and tell, Kassi had said with husky laughter.
Romy tamped down a strangled sound at the thought of explaining her sudden marriage to none other than Xavier DeVasquez.
‘You said something?’
She met his speculative gaze and proffered a sweet smile. ‘Just clearing my throat.’
His eyes gleamed with sudden humour, almost as if he’d divined her train of thought. Unlikely, she rationalized.
‘Do you see anything else you like?’ he queried mildly.
Some pretty hand-crafted earrings, dainty and a perfect match for the delicate embroidery on a favourite blouse, except they were beyond her price range, and she simply shook her head and wandered to the next stall with its display of glazed pottery.
His close proximity caused the nerves in her stomach to flutter into disturbing life, and it was all she could do to prevent the faint hitch in her breath as he curved a hand round her shoulder.
You don’t like him, she reminded herself, and you hate that he’s using you as a form of blackmail. Yet last night she’d fought a mental battle in his bed, determined not to succumb to his touch…to merely disengage her emotions and refrain from anything other than minimal participation.
So much for any resolution in that department!
All it had taken was the sweep of his mouth on her own, the exploratory tracery of his fingers as he teased each erotic pleasure pulse and brought them achingly alive. Skilfully led her on a seductive path to a place where her mind was no longer her own…and her body became his to command and enthrall.
It wasn’t fair. She needed to survive. Had to…or she’d never emerge from the relationship with her emotions intact.
Some chance! Only two days into the marriage, and she was already at odds with herself…emotionally, mentally, physically.
Go with the flow and enjoy the ride, a devilish little imp taunted. Milk it with all you’ve got.
Sure, and she could do that. She was no sycophant, and she refused to become one. So where did that leave her?
Precisely where she was…in a permanent state of unenviable ambivalence.
It was late afternoon when Xavier took the Nepean Highway north to Brighton. As they neared the city he diverted to a small Italian restaurant where they dined on a divine salad, followed by pasta, and settled for coffee before continuing the few kilometres to his Brighton mansion.
Xavier took their bags upstairs to the master suite, and Romy joined him, unpacked, and then she gathered up her laptop and satchel.
‘You can use my home office.’
Sharing a space with him wasn’t conducive to clarity of focus, and she indicated the alcove. ‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine here.’
She didn’t see the musing gleam in his dark eyes as she crossed the room and took time gathering together everything she needed.
When she glanced up scant minutes later, he had already exited the room, and she set to work. With two morning and two afternoon classes in different grades, she needed to ensure the appropriate texts were flagged and various notations made.
Next came the assignments that required marking, and she lined the papers up, then began, notebook to one side and red pen in hand.
It took a while, and she was half done when she came across a loose sheet of folded paper. Had it been inadvertently added to the assignments by mistake?
An unsigned computer print-out comprising a few lines, and at first glance it seemed innocuous, just a long sentence outlining praise for her dedication as a teacher. She refolded the paper and slid it into the sleeve of her satchel.
It was late when she packed up. She showered and then, moving into the bedroom, she viewed the large bed, undecided which side she should choose.
‘Does it matter?’
She heard Xavier’s slightly amused drawl and uttered a startled sound as she turned to face him.
She hadn’t heard him enter the room, and her eyes clashed with his own for a few timeless seconds until he began freeing the buttons on his shirt.
An action which galvanized her into mobility, and she quickly moved to the bed, slid between the sheets and pulled the covers up to her chin, studiously choosing to look anywhere but at the man who unselfconsciously stripped off his clothes and walked naked into the en suite.
Sleep should have come easily, except every muscle in her body seemed tense, and she shifted position twice before curling onto her side.
Romy heard him re-enter the room, sensed him slide beneath the covers on the opposite side of the bed, and then heard the almost undetectable click as the room was plunged into darkness.
For endless minutes she silently recited Byron, then she switched to counting numbers…reaching one hundred before conducting a mental run-through of passive verbs.
Nothing seemed to work, and she consciously slowed her breathing, reflected on memories from happier times, only to give a startled cry as she sensed a faint movement, then strong arms gathered her close.
‘Mierda.’ The husky oath sounded close to her ear. ‘Relax.’
Like she could do that curved in against his naked body, with his warm palm cupping her breast and one long muscular leg looped over her legs?
‘Sleep…unless you want me to help you with that?’
‘No. Please—’ Her voice was little more than an indistinct choking sound.
His warm breath fanned softly over her head, and she could feel the solid beat of his heart against her back. It felt…good, and her own heartbeat slowed, then her eyelids drifted down as she slipped into a dreamless state.
When she woke, the early morning light was filtering into the room, and she turned, saw the bed was empty, and she picked up her watch to check the time.
There was no sign of Xavier as she quickly selected fresh underwear and outer clothes. Showered and dressed, her hair swept into a smooth knot atop her head, minimal make-up in place, she caught up her laptop and satchel and made her way downstairs to the kitchen where the aroma of freshly made coffee smelt wonderful.
Xavier was seated at the table in the adjoining informal breakfast room, and his piercing gaze speared her own for a few seconds. ‘Good morning.’
She had no reason to feel slightly awkward, and she covered it well by offering a sunny smile. ‘Hi.’
He looked the quintessential business tycoon, freshly shaven, well-groomed, and attired in a three-piece designer suit, undoubtedly crafted especially for him.
At this hour of the morning he was too much. Oh, why not tell it how it was…Xavier is too much at any hour of the day or night!
Maria bustled in from the kitchen bearing freshly made t
oast and cereal. ‘It’s a lovely morning,’ she greeted warmly. ‘I hope you slept well?’
It was a polite, rhetorical query. Yet recalling how she’d slept, curled up against Xavier’s naked form, brought a faint tinge of pink to her cheeks, and she managed a polite, ‘Very well, thank you.’ And deliberately refrained from glancing in his direction as she poured steaming coffee into her cup and added sugar before taking an appreciative sip.
‘You have a full day ahead of you?’
Romy selected toast, fresh fruit and yoghurt, and she began preparing both as she answered him. ‘Classes back-to-back, with a short afternoon break.’ It was only polite to ask, ‘And you?’
‘Busy. A late meeting which will probably run over time.’
‘So don’t wait dinner?’
‘No.’ He checked his watch, then drained the remainder of his coffee and rose to his feet. ‘I need to leave.’
She was unprepared for him to cross to her side, capture her chin and possess her mouth in a brief, evocative kiss that succeeded in sending her emotions every which way but loose.
It irked that he knew, and she gave him a speaking glance as he lifted his head. She expected to see mockery evident, but there was none.
What was that? Staking a claim, setting a precedent, or merely exerting his powerful ownership?
‘Take care.’ Without a further word he collected his laptop and briefcase, bade Maria a brief goodbye, then strode from the room.
Romy made a conscious effort to finish her breakfast, but her appetite had disappeared, and she merely refilled her cup with coffee and drank it down; then she gathered her laptop and satchel, acknowledged Maria’s presence, and made her way to the garage, fired up her Mini, and battled heavy peak-hour traffic en route to the northern suburbs.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A PHONE call to Kassi during a break from class ensured they set up a time and place to meet Wednesday evening. The fact it coincided with Kassi’s birthday was incidental.
Romy entered the restaurant a few minutes early and followed the hovering maître d’ to a corner table where Kassi was already seated.
‘Hey there.’ Kassi stood, and they hugged, laughed, then subsided into chairs. ‘I ordered champagne to be delivered the instant you arrived.’
Dear Kassi…beautiful, tall, slender, long wavy sable-coloured hair and the most expressive dark eyes any number of women would kill for.
‘It’s so great to see you,’ Romy enthused, and Kassi gave an infectious grin. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘Like…three years? We have so much to catch up on.’
E-mail correspondence and phone calls had sufficed, but nothing came close to face-to-face contact.
‘First and foremost, let’s do the birthday thing!’ Romy reached into her purse, extracted the brightly wrapped gift, and presented it together with a card. ‘Happy birthday!’
‘Do I get to open it now?’
It was easy to smile. ‘Of course.’
Kassi read the card and became a little misty-eyed. ‘You have a way with words. Thank you.’ She dispensed with the paper and the tissue surrounding the gift, then she gave a delighted exclamation as she retrieved the bracelet. ‘It’s gorgeous.’ She slid it on, then she rose to her feet and brushed her lips to Romy’s cheek. ‘I love it.’
A waiter appeared, proffered the chilled bottle of champagne, received Kassi’s approving nod, then he proceeded to pull the cork and fill their flutes.
‘Here’s to us.’ Kassi lifted her flute and lightly pressed the rim to Romy’s.
They each took an appreciative sip, savoured the superb French vintage, then regarded each other with the pleasure of a long friendship.
‘Are you planning to tell me the significance of the ring you just happen to be wearing on your left hand?’ Kassi’s eyes sparkled. ‘Is it what I think it is?’
She’d seriously given thought to slipping it off and dropping it into her purse before she left the car. Except at the last minute she couldn’t do it.
Any day soon news of their marriage would reach the media. How long would it take a savvy reporter to make the Picard connection? Hours…a day, at most. It wouldn’t take much to do the maths, or for the speculation to begin.
‘Yes.’
Kassi shrieked, then laughed, and gave her a warm hug.
‘Congratulations! How come you didn’t tell me on the phone?’ She gave a delighted grin. ‘OK, girlfriend…details. Who and when…and don’t leave out a thing.’
‘Early evening on Friday,’ Romy began carefully. ‘The wedding was very private, just immediate family.’
‘Given you’ve only been home a fortnight, I gather this has been a whirlwind affair? Yes?’ Kassi’s eyes twinkled with humour. ‘Give, Romy! Who is he? Someone you met while you were away?’
She hesitated for all of a few seconds. ‘It’s Xavier DeVasquez.’
She saw Kassi’s eyes widen, then cloud with concern. ‘I think,’ her friend managed slowly after a measurable silence, ‘you need to explain.’
She owed Kassi the truth…or at least a diluted version of it. For it had been Kassi who’d witnessed her involvement with Xavier. A dear friend who’d cared enough to listen, support and commiserate as Romy had dealt with the break-up.
The waiter presented them each with a menu, and Kassi waved him aside as she fixed Romy with an intent look. ‘I take it this isn’t a love match?’
‘No.’ It was nothing less than the truth. Lust, certainly, but not love.
‘So there has to be a solid reason why you’ve gone along with it.’ Kassi’s features softened. ‘Do you want to tell me? In confidence, of course.’
Something Romy could rely on…not that it made it any easier to relay the facts. ‘My father owed him a large sum of money.’ A simple truth which didn’t fool Kassi for a second.
‘Xavier, damn his diabolical heart, ruthlessly offered a pay-back scenario…which you failed to throw back in his face because…?’
‘He had every reason to press charges, and dad would have gone to prison.’
‘Oh…hell.’
Precisely.
‘That’s it? All of it?’
Not quite all, but as much as she was prepared to reveal.
‘Shall we order?’ Romy lifted a hand to summon the waiter. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said lightly. ‘But I’m famished.’
They perused the menu, ordered a starter, a main, and held off on dessert.
Romy lifted her flute and took a small sip, then she viewed Kassi over the rim. ‘Your turn to bring me up to date.’
‘I have the pampered darlings of the rich and famous who can tell a Manolo Blahnik from a Jimmy Choo at twenty paces,’ Kassi offered in faintly droll tones. ‘A Collette Dinnigan from Sass & Bide, Prada from Versace. Mention the Paris Collection and they can recite the who’s who of designers and the models who’ll feature them.’
Romy couldn’t restrain a grin. ‘Ah, the important stuff.’
‘Convincing the majority there’s importance in the history of the Renaissance, the Arts, and it’s a lost cause.’
‘Which, to some of the students, it is.’
Kassi rolled her eyes. ‘Unless, of course, nepotism runs rife and they coast into mother’s gallery, or father’s corporation.’
A light chuckle emerged from Romy’s throat. ‘Let’s not forget mother’s boutique, or the family firm.’
‘There is the exception,’ Kassi posed. ‘I have a student in the twelfth grade who appears to be determined to make it without any influence from her exceptionally rich parents. The father is a high-flyer, and his daughter intends to follow in his footsteps…in direct competition.’
The waiter delivered their starter, and they ate the decorative morsel in relative silence.
‘While you,’ Kassi ventured, ‘taught teenagers from underprivileged backgrounds in what could be loosely termed a poverty-stricken area where gang fights were the norm.’ She paused imperceptibly. ‘You r
arely mentioned anything untoward. But I imagine there were a few instances you had to contend with over the past three years.’
‘Some,’ she acknowledged in a non-committal voice as she mentally reflected on the worst of them. The stabbings, bashings, the presence of police on a too frequent basis. Angry parents, the threats of physical violence. Teenagers who knew every angle there was…and how to work it. Old before their time, street-savvy and merely living to survive.
Some managed to gain a scholarship and get out with a chance to do better, make something of themselves. It had become her mission to instil the need to study, to succeed. She wanted to make a difference…and she had, even if the numbers were pitifully few.
‘Opposite ends of the scholastic spectrum,’ Kassi concluded. ‘And now you’re back where you belong on home ground. Once again choosing a tough school.’ She paused as the waiter presented their main course and didn’t continue until he’d retreated. ‘Will Xavier allow you to continue teaching?’
‘It’s not up for negotiation.’
Kassi’s eyes lit up with approval. ‘Go—you.’
It was as they lingered over coffee that Romy posed the question she had yet to ask.
‘And you, Kassi,’ she ventured quietly. ‘Is there a special someone in your life?’
There was a few seconds’ pause. ‘Wondered when we’d get around to it.’ She made a slight moue. ‘There’s someone who’d like to be special.’
Romy’s eyes sharpened. ‘But?’
‘He refuses to take not interested for an answer.’
‘Persistent, is he?’
‘Very.’
‘Not in a nuisance way?’ Heaven forbid, not—
‘Stalking me? No. He’s just there. Friendly, warm, fun.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘It’s me.’
‘You’re holding back…why?’
‘There was a guy, a year ago,’ Kassi admitted with a degree of reluctance. ‘It isn’t a pretty story.’ Her eyes darkened and became bleak. ‘I’m not ready to trust anyone else…if I’ll ever be ready.’
Romy refilled her cup, then took a measured sip. ‘Does the current man know any of this?’
Bride, Bought and Paid For Page 7
