The Wedding-Night Affair (Harlequin Presents)

by Miranda Lee

  ‘What do you mean...if?’

  Fiona didn’t seriously believe she could stop this wedding. All she could do was make sure Philip knew what kind of girl he was marrying in advance.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ she said airily, then began to walk off. ‘There are always things you can’t control. Acts of God and such.’

  ‘I’m not worried about acts of God,’ Owen called after her. ‘It’s the acts of the devil which concern me.’

  Fiona had to laugh. Did Owen seriously think she was about to seduce the groom? Even if she wanted to—and, yes, she did, in her darker moments—Philip wasn’t in the market for seduction. Not by her, anyway.

  He’d made it perfectly clear what he thought of her. Perfectly, perfectly clear!

  That was why she didn’t really feel guilty over wearing her new green outfit. She could stand naked before Philip and she doubted he would turn a hair.

  Well...maybe a little hair...

  Eleven o’clock saw her standing before the man in question, but, true to form, he was looking at her quite coldly. He was also looking heart-breakingly handsome in a dark grey suit and pale blue shirt.

  Steve, however, was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Steve’s always late,’ Philip said brusquely, glancing at his watch.

  ‘Shall we wait for him?’ Fiona asked. They were in the reception area of Formal Wear for Men, which occupied the first floor of a rather old building in King Street, not far from Wynyard Station.

  ‘No, let’s not. I don’t have that much time. I have a meeting with a client after lunch. We can leave a message for him at Reception.’

  They did, and were soon ushered inside the vast showrooms by a dapper-looking salesman who started showing Philip some of the more modern suits grooms were being decked out in these days. Philip stopped him in his tracks before he’d barely begun.

  ‘My fiancée wants me in a black dinner suit,’ he stated firmly. ‘With a white dress shirt and black bow tie. She’s quite adamant about that. So show me what you have in that range.’

  ‘I see. Well, if you and your fiancée would like to come this way...’ And he flashed Fiona a warm smile.

  Philip shot Fiona a savage glance, which prompted her to inform the man she was not the fiancée in question. The salesman looked startled, then apologised for the mistake.

  ‘And there I was, thinking what a handsome couple you would make,’ he went on with an embarrassed laugh.

  ‘Fiona’s a consultant with Five-Star Weddings,’ Philip said stiffly.

  ‘Oh, yes, so she is. I recognise her now.’

  After that, Fiona hung back a little while the salesman showed Philip several racks of black tuxedos, pointing out the various styles and shapes.

  Philip selected an extremely elegant but traditional dinner suit, with deep black satin lapels and only one button at his waist. He matched it with a fine white shirt which had tiny black buttons and vertical pleats on each side. The bow tie was black too, as Corinne had ordered.

  ‘I’ll go try this on,’ he informed the man serving him. ‘When my best man arrives, I want him dressed exactly the same. And don’t even think of suggesting one of those ghastly cummerbund things, Fiona. Neither of us would be seen dead in one.’

  Philip promptly disappeared into one of the dressing cubicles, which Fiona was glad to see had proper doors. It would be bad enough waiting outside, thinking of him undressing. Much worse if she was able to glimpse bare bits and pieces of him under one of those half-doors.

  Fiona sighed as she waited. This wasn’t working out at all as she’d hoped. Steve wasn’t here, and Philip was so cold and remote that it was impossible to bring up the subject of his bride.

  Suddenly the door of the cubicle popped open and Philip leant out. ‘I can’t do this infernal bow tie up,’ he muttered, glancing around for the salesman, who’d unfortunately been grabbed by a large man in a safari suit.

  ‘Fiona,’ he finally said in desperation. ‘Come in here and do the damned thing up for me.’

  Rather reluctantly, she moved into the cubicle, which, though larger than the cramped boxes some shops offered, was still far too small once the door was shut.

  And it did shut behind her, operated by one of those automatic do-dads which shut doors once they were let go.

  Fiona tried to act cool, moving round to face Philip and reaching up to do what she’d done a hundred times before. When you organised weddings you learnt to do fiddly things like tie bow ties, and pin roses to lapels. Usually the people in the wedding party were all fingers and thumbs. One of Fiona’s main tasks on a wedding day was to provide an unflustered mind and a steady hand.

  But being this close to Philip did something to her mind and her hands. They both ceased to work properly.

  Her first attempt at tying the tie was woeful. She gave a shaky laugh at the pathetic sight. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, and pulled the ends undone. ‘I’ll try again.’

  She didn’t dare look up into his eyes. Instead she stared straight ahead and tried with all her might to tie a proper bow tie.

  But once again it ended up all lopsided.

  ‘I...er...think you’ll have to get someone else to do this,’ she said, somewhat breathlessly.

  When he didn’t say a single word, she looked up, then desperately wished she hadn’t. He was too close. Far, far too close.

  His eyes searched hers with a harsh and haunted expression, betraying in that moment that he did still feel something for her.

  ‘Why did you leave me?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Why, damn you?’

  Her heart tightened at the torment in his voice and face, her hand trembling as it reached up to touch his cheek. ‘Oh, Philip,’ was all she could manage.

  He gave no warning of his intention to kiss her, nothing, except perhaps for a moment’s darkening of his eyes. Suddenly his hands shot out to grab her shoulders, she was yanked against him and his mouth crashed down hard upon hers.

  Fiona gasped under his lips, an automatic air-seeking reaction which proved fateful.

  Did he think she’d parted her lips deliberately, inviting him to drive his tongue deep into her mouth?

  He must have, because he immediately pushed her back against the mirrored wall, holding her face captive with his hands while he did just that.

  Philip had always been a hungry kisser, but this...this was something else. This was beyond hunger.

  Initially, Fiona was stunned by his brutal oral onslaught. Shock, however, soon began to give way to a burst of excitement which was as dangerous as it was reckless. She began kissing him back, her tongue twining round his, her head spinning as the blood roared through her head. He pressed against her, then rubbed against her. She whimpered, and writhed.

  When he reefed back away from her, she stared up into his flushed face and glittering eyes, then reached blindly out to touch him through his trousers, stroking him to even greater arousal.

  ‘Oh, God,’ he groaned.

  The banging on the cubicle door had both of their eyes blinking wide.

  ‘Philip! Are you in there?’

  Philip stifled another groan and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

  Fiona could not believe how quickly one could go from madness to mortification. One moment she was in the grip of mindless lust, the next she just wanted to die.

  Her hand whipped away from his trousers, her face going bright red.

  Philip’s return to reality was as quick, if a little less inclined to self-disgust. He opened his eyes and speared her with an icily accusing look.

  ‘Yeah, Steve,’ he answered curtly. ‘I’m in here. Won’t be a moment. Fiona’s having some trouble doing up my bow tie for me.’

  ‘Who the hell’s Fiona?’

  ‘The wedding consultant Corinne and my mother hired.’

  ‘Oh, right. Look, I’m going into the dressing room opposite, okay? I’m trying on the suit you picked out.’

  ‘Fine.’

  All the time Philip was talking his col
dly furious gaze never left Fiona. As soon as it was obvious Steve was no longer standing outside the door he rounded on her.

  ‘What in hell did you think you were doing, touching me like that?’ he demanded.

  Fiona was jolted by the unfairness of the attack. ‘I...I couldn’t help it,’ she stammered with uncharacteristic confusion, before pulling herself together. ‘Hey, you kissed me first, remember?’

  ‘Only after you touched my face and started looking at me with goo-goo eyes. And what do you mean, you couldn’t help it?’ he lashed out. ‘What kind of lame excuse is that? What are you? Some kind of nymphomaniac that you can’t keep your hands off a man once you come within three feet of him?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I’m nothing of the kind. Not normally, anyway,’ she muttered.

  ‘Oh, only with me, is that it? God, that would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic. Why don’t you admit it, Fiona? You’re sex-mad. You always were and you still are.’

  ‘Sex had nothing to do with why I touched you in the beginning.’

  He laughed. ‘Well, believe me, honey, sex had everything to with the way you ended up touching me.’

  ‘That was only after things got out of hand,’ she countered, her face flaming. ‘And who are you to accuse me of being sex-mad? You kissed me first. And it wasn’t a polite, platonic kiss, either. So what are you, Philip?’ she countered heatedly. ‘Some kind of sex maniac that you can’t keep your hands off a woman once you come within three feet of her?’

  ‘Only with you, Fiona,’ came his rueful confession. ‘Only with you.

  ‘Old memories, I guess,’ he went on, before she could take any pleasure in the admission. ‘But they’re damned powerful old memories. Powerful and perverse. If Steve hadn’t knocked when he did, I’d have let you have your wicked way with me. Yep, I admit it. I’d have joined your long line of male victims for a second sick run around your block.’

  He gave a short, harsh bark of laughter. ‘Hell, I’m only now beginning to appreciate why I had such trouble forgetting you, Fiona. But I’m warning you, honey. You keep well away from me. You had your chance ten years ago, and you blew it. I love Corinne now and I’m going to marry her.’

  ‘Yes, but does she love you?’ Fiona threw back at him, stung by his scorn and his anger.

  Philip’s eyes showed utter disbelief, then contempt. ‘I want you out of here,’ he muttered, low under his breath. ‘Right now. And I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you again till my wedding day, and then only if strictly necessary. Do I make myself clear?’

  Fiona saw the bitter resolve in his face and knew she’d lost any chance she’d had. To say any more would be futile, and possibly even more disastrous.

  But she simply could not leave without saying something!

  ‘I know you won’t believe this, Philip,’ she tried to explain, her voice softly pleading, ‘but I do care about you. I only had your best interests at heart in saying what I just said. I’ve only ever had your best interests at heart.’

  His eyes stayed hard and cold. ‘Then you have a funny way of showing it. Now, will you just go, please?’

  She still lingered. ‘What...what about your suits for the wedding? Owen will ask me, that’s all.’

  ‘Tell Owen the groom’s taking care of his and the best man’s clothes. He exonerates you entirely of the responsibility.’

  Fiona winced at his coldness. ‘I... I am truly sorry, Philip.’

  His mouth tightened. ‘Please, just go.’

  She gave him one last despairing look, and went.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘OH, FIONA, how lovely you look! My, doesn’t white suit you! You should wear it more often.’

  Fiona’s heart tightened. Kathryn had no idea of the irony within her words, or the pain she’d once given Fiona on another wedding day, ten long years ago.

  ‘White’s not a very serviceable colour for a career girl,’ Fiona replied. ‘Neither is this hairdo,’ she added wryly, and took another peek in the mirror at the way Kathryn had talked Fiona into having her hair done that morning. Up, with wispy bits hanging down around her face and neck.

  ‘You need a romantic hairdo to go with that romantic dress,’ Kathryn had insisted.

  The dress was, indeed, romantic. White chiffon, it was an elegant and close-fitting sheath in an off-the-shoulder style, with a self-made rose between her breasts, out of which chiffon scarves floated down to the hem. The neckline wasn’t low enough to be vulgar, but it felt bare, so Fiona had added a pearl choker and earrings.

  The dress had been an impulse buy, Kathryn steering her in its direction the day she’d taken Philip’s mother shopping for her mother-of-the-groom dress. Fiona now thought wryly that she should have bought something black to signify mourning.

  Instead, here she was, on Philip’s wedding day, looking exquisitely soft and feminine and, yes, sort of bridal.

  ‘I want to thank you for staying here with me last night, dear,’ Kathryn was saying. ‘I’d have been a bit lonely without anyone.’

  Fiona snapped out of her thoughts to smile at Philip’s mother. ‘It was kind of you to ask me.’ She’d grown to genuinely like the woman, which she supposed was perverse in the extreme. But it was true.

  Staying overnight hadn’t been any great hardship either, since neither Philip nor Corinne was in residence. Philip had spent his last evening of bachelorhood at his best man’s place, and Corinne had stayed at home, saying she wanted to have her hair done at her usual hairdresser’s in the morning. Fiona presumed Carmel had stayed with her and was going to the same hairdresser.

  Both girls were due to drive out to Kenthurst after lunch, arriving around three, giving them four hours to be ready for the wedding, which was scheduled for seven. Their dresses were already hanging up in the guest suite Kathryn had allotted for the bride to use. Philip and Steve weren’t due to arrive till the last minute.

  Fiona had instructed the parents of the page-boy and flower girl to dress them in their respective homes and keep them there as long as possible as well. Little children, she’d found, were notorious for getting excited and having accidents on wedding days, especially where a staircase was involved, not to mention flagged steps and swimming pools.

  The actual ceremony was to take place at one end of the pool, between the marble columns, with the garden as backdrop. Rows of red chairs had been set up on the two sides of the pool and down at the other end for the two-hundred-odd guests. Unfortunately, nearly all those invited had accepted. There’d even been a few last-minute additions, as Corinne’s father had thought of some influential people he’d forgotten.

  After the ceremony, most of the red chairs would be cleared away, leaving room for dancing around the pool. Not much room for that in the marquee, which sat on the lawn just beyond the terrace and which, though large, was chock-full of tables and chairs for the formal sit-down dinner.

  ‘I hope everything goes smoothly,’ Fiona said, giving in to a quite uncharacteristic burst of uncertainty.

  Kathryn looked surprised. ‘I’m sure it will,’ she soothed. ‘The weather’s marvellous and everything looks just magnificent. The house. The marquee. The lights. Everything! You’re just worried because you weren’t here the other night for the rehearsal. But, truly, your partner put everyone through their paces without a hitch. Which reminds me. Are you sure you’re feeling one hundred per cent better now? I must say you look well.’

  ‘I’m fine. It was just one of those twenty-four-hour viruses.’ Owen was the only one who knew she hadn’t really been sick that day.

  Other than Philip, of course.

  Fiona hadn’t told Owen the whole truth, just that there was a bit of tension building between her and Philip and it would be better all round if he conducted the rehearsal. Owen had been only too glad to oblige. He didn’t want anything to spoil the wedding of the year!

  Kathryn patted Fiona’s hand. ‘Corinne was worried you might not make it for the wedding, but Philip was sure yo
u’d be here.’

  Fiona winced inside. So he was still angry with her.

  What was he thinking? That she might still try to spoil something?

  She sighed, and Kathryn gave her a closer look. ‘Come to think of it, you are a bit pale. How about we go downstairs and have us both a stiff brandy?’

  Fiona smiled. ‘Good idea, Kathryn.’

  The brandy worked. So did keeping busy.

  Corinne and Carmel arrived shortly after lunch, and were bustled upstairs with instructions to be ready for the photographer a good hour and a half before the ceremony.

  Things really started hopping after that. The flowers were delivered. The video man arrived, keen to get set up well before mingling guests made things difficult. The official photographer, Fiona knew, would not come till five-thirty. Bill had already had a good look last week, and planned the best settings for his photographs.

  The catering staff arrived, plus the parking attendants she’d hired to direct the guests’ cars. Fiona kept moving and checking on things, whilst hoping and praying nothing would go wrong. Owen would kill her if it did.

  At five, Kathryn went upstairs to get ready. She hadn’t wanted to put her white silk suit on too early as she’d been afraid it might crush if she sat down.

  Fiona didn’t have to worry about that. Her dress didn’t crush. Still, she had no intention of sitting down.

  Bill arrived just on five-thirty, with his assistant and bevy of cameras. Fiona collected the bouquets from where they’d been resting in a cool spot in the pantry, and accompanied the photographer upstairs to collect the bride and bridesmaid for some pre-ceremony shots on the stairs.

  Even Fiona had to admit that they both looked lovely. Corinne, especially. Like a fairy princess.

  Bill didn’t need her, so Fiona left him to it and went back downstairs to check that everything was ready for the ceremony and the reception afterwards. The sun was starting to set, throwing a spectacularly golden glow over the garden and the pool.