Sister Of The Bride

by Valerie Parv

In the driving mirror, his head shook in denial. ‘It’s been worse since then, but they were difficult beforehand. Mrs Westmore either spoiled them or ignored them. Then, afterwards, Mr Westmore didn’t have the heart to be tough on them—not surprisingly. Until you spoke up today, I don’t recall anyone saying no to them. Probably gave them the shock of their lives.’

  ‘Not before time.’ Recalling how Elaine had spoiled Clair when she was younger, Terise could see how Clair had come by her ideas of motherhood.

  ‘Look at Clair,’ Elaine had used to say, catching the teenagers together in some scrape—usually of Clair’s devising. ‘You can see she’s the innocent one.’

  The suggestion had invariably been that Terise had led her child astray. Just as invariably she’d been punished, by being sent to bed without dinner. Then, perhaps to atone for the injustice, Clair would smuggle food to her during the evening.

  A smile curved the corners of Terise’s mouth at the memory. It hadn’t been Clair’s fault that her mother was blind to her flaws—although Terise had often wished that Clair had summoned the courage to confess.

  ‘It wouldn’t do any good,’ she’d always denied when the possibility had been broached. ‘Mum would say I was covering up for you. At least this way I make sure you get something to eat.’ Her argument had been so sweetly reasoned that objecting had seemed churlish, even though deep down Terise had still questioned the justice of the situation.

  Was she taking this job to make sure the Westmore twins got a fairer deal than she had enjoyed? It seemed likely—until an image of their father sprang into her mind, blurring the scenic beauty of the Manly peninsula as they sped along the Esplanade.

  What had she learned about him so far? So much that she didn’t want to know—mostly about her own response to him—and so little that she needed to find out. What was it about him that demolished all of her defences, leaving a raw vulnerability she’d never experienced before?

  Teachers were trained to show leadership, grace under pressure—all the qualities which deserted her the moment Ryan Westmore’s eyes locked with hers.

  There was much about him to admire, if only she hadn’t known better. Reluctantly she pictured him at the press conference, striding into the room with a poise bordering on arrogance, taking charge of all those journalists and famous TV people, bending them to his will without apparent effort.

  Her throat dried at the memory of his touch on her arm, an irresistible force as he’d challenged her to use the computer. She’d been wrong about the bruises. He’d known precisely how much pressure to apply to achieve his aim without physical damage.

  Psychological damage was another matter, but he couldn’t know how his touch haunted her even now. Wouldn’t ever know if she could help it. So he was an attractive, forceful, personable man. They had probably said the same about Jack the Ripper.

  Dragging her thoughts back to the present, she directed Marcus to Elaine’s apartment building, perched on a clifftop overlooking Queenscliff beach. Luckily her married name appeared on the intercom system at the door, so Marcus had no reason to be suspicious. He might not have connected the name Everson with Clair, but he could have mentioned it to Ryan in passing, and he certainly would.

  ‘I’ll come up and give you a hand with your belongings,’ Marcus volunteered.

  Elaine was at a women’s club meeting that afternoon, so there was no reason to forestall him. ‘Thanks. There isn’t a lot. I haven’t really unpacked since arriving from the country.’

  For this reason the task took little time, and she was soon on her way back to Ryan’s building at Circular Quay. She’d left a note telling Elaine about her new live-in job, promising to phone with more details next day when, hopefully, Ryan would be at work and they could talk freely.

  Not that Terise intended to tell her much about Ryan. Clair had kept her marriage a secret, and Terise meant to honour that for now. Telling Elaine that Clair was dead would be tough enough when the time came. Distressing her with the truth about Clair’s marriage might be avoided altogether.

  Clair had written that Ryan was a cruel tyrant of a husband. That he was a tyrant Terise could well believe after today. Although there was no real injury, she fancied that her arm still throbbed where he’d hauled her to the computer to let her humiliate herself. But cruel? It was hard to reconcile that with his actions as a father.

  A sigh whispered past her pursed lips. Even bullies loved their mothers, she reminded herself. Serial killers had been known to keep pets. Just because Ryan cared about his children it didn’t make him a candidate for sainthood.

  ‘What is Ryan Westmore like to work for?’ she asked Marcus as the Harbour Bridge sped by. Maybe he would mention some hint of scandal that she could use as a weapon against Ryan.

  The driver’s grin cheated her of an answer. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

  She sighed. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’

  When Marcus deposited her at the penthouse, Ryan was waiting. ‘Your qualifications check out,’ he said, without preamble.

  He hadn’t wasted time after she’d left her curriculum vitae with Debbie, at his instigation. ‘I told you they would,’ she bristled.

  His penetrating gaze was momentarily hooded as displeasure furrowed his brow. ‘You told me a lot of things which proved to be unreliable.’ It was the most diplomatic way anyone had ever called her a liar and she tensed, every nerve on alert, as he added, ‘I’m well aware there is more to you than meets the eye.’

  Had he found out the truth about her so quickly? She shrugged to dispel the chill working its way down her spine. It had nothing to do with the soft whisper of conditioned air throughout the penthouse. ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘Your background, for one. You supposedly came to Sydney seeking work, yet your previous employer informs me she offered you the position of deputy principal in order to keep you.’

  The offer had been stunningly unexpected, but by the time it was made Terise had been committed to leaving. Regret was still a distant companion. ‘Maybe I needed a change,’ she offered, embarrassed by how inadequate it sounded.

  Ryan’s disapproval raked her. ‘You’d better hope the move to Sydney has satisfied this—restlessness. My children need stability, not someone who’ll up and leave on a whim.’

  He had started out by offering her a job that she didn’t want. Now that it was being threatened she wanted it very much, though she didn’t have the courage to examine her reasons too deeply.

  ‘Four years in my last job hardly makes me a will-o’-the-wisp.’ It was hard to keep the sharpness out of her tone, and he looked thunderous as she failed audibly.

  Like a caged predator, he prowled to where a wall of glass offered a panoramic view of Sydney Harbour, studying it for long moments before turning back.

  The brightness of the harbour waters was reflected in his look, which was blindingly direct. ‘Time will tell, won’t it?’ He came closer. ‘What made you choose me in your quest for self-fulfillment?’

  Brain whirling, she stood her ground, although every instinct counselled retreat. ‘According to your public image, you’re a man who gets things done. With so much unemployment in the city, it made more sense to approach someone like you than to answer endless advertisements and join long queues of applicants.’

  He was so close that his breath was fragrant on her cheek. A trace of an old scar was woven into the grim line of his jaw, and it was an effort for Terise not to lift a finger to follow its contour.

  The devil he might be, but there was something alarmingly compelling about him. The aura he projected was almost hypnotic in its intensity. She felt herself swaying towards him, held still by main force as he continued, ‘Out of all the business people in Sydney, you decide I could best help you?’

  So was this how a cobra felt, compelled beyond its will to move to the strains of the charmer’s flute? What was he getting at? ‘I told you, the press conference gave me the idea.’

  A
strong finger hooked upwards and grazed the side of her face, sending electric impulses all the way to her core. ‘And you had no idea I was no longer married?’

  He must have discovered the truth. This was all part of some strategy to force a confession from her, she decided. The breath tightened in her chest. ‘No, I told you...’

  In a move so swift that it blurred before her eyes, he snatched up a newspaper lying on a console nearby, flicking it open at the business page and holding it in front of her.

  Heart sinking, she looked. There, alongside the announcement of the press conference, was a picture of Ryan with Clair, who was clearly identified as his ‘late wife’.

  Two thoughts slammed through Terise’s mind virtually together. The first was a prayer of thanks that Elaine wasn’t much of a reader and was unlikely to have seen the item. The second was that he did know who she was, and that this entire scene was a cat-and-mouse game, with Terise as the mouse.

  Wetness misted her eyes—for Clair, for Elaine, for this whole sorry mess about which she could do nothing more. Revenge for Clair would have to rest with fate. Ryan was about to throw her out, making her story about being unemployed humiliatingly authentic.

  Though she willed her eyes to dryness, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making her cry, a droplet managed to escape. Astonishingly he caught it with the tip of his finger. ‘Tears, Terise? For my situation, or for yourself because I’m on to your game?’

  What was the point of prolonging this? ‘Go to hell.’

  ‘Stronger souls than you have wished me there,’ he said caustically. ‘Although it is an odd choice of destination for a honeymoon.’

  What was he talking about? ‘Honeymoon?’

  His nearness heightened her senses, making her dizzily aware of his maleness as he loomed closer. His hand travelled from her cheek to her shoulder, and his fingers dug into the tender flesh.

  But it was at his harsh tone that she winced. It was empty of emotion, as if something—or someone—had drained his resources in this area. ‘Yes, honeymoon. Why else would you come to me with such a cock-and-bull excuse, if not in hopes of snaring yourself a wealthy husband?’

  This time Terise had no need to pretend. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Bleakness invaded his expression. ‘Then you’re the first single female to cross my path lately who doesn’t cherish such a notion.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ she flared back, chin rising defiantly. ‘I wouldn’t consider you husband material if you were the last man on earth.’

  Knowing what sort of husband he had been dragged the assertion out of her. At the same time her deeper instincts screamed a denial, as if there was another truth to be known here.

  Intrigue sparked in the eyes fused with hers. His brows rose in an expression of ironic amusement. ‘You wouldn’t? Not even if I offered you marriage here and now?’

  An infuriating glow flooded her features, and a tremor like an earthquake warning—but totally localised within her—threatened her mask of composure. There had to be an answer which wouldn’t get her into more trouble than she was already. ‘It’s one way of getting a nanny to stay, I suppose,’ she offered. Was she dousing the fire or adding fuel to it?

  It was the right answer, she saw, with an outrushing breath of relief, as his grim features lightened fractionally. The relief was short-lived as his almost-smile impacted on her with all the warmth of a shark’s jaws just before they closed over their victim.

  ‘Clever,’ he murmured. ‘Of course there is a way to find out if you’re telling the truth.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  How stupid could a woman be and still function? The test he had in mind became startlingly evident as he closed the remaining gap between them and pulled her into his arms.

  His touch was like fire as his fingers skimmed her nape. There was artistry in the way he moulded her head to receive his kiss, but by then the blood pounding at her temples and the tearaway rhythm of her heart were distracting her from the awareness that he was a little too expert at this.

  Unable to control her response, she trembled, awaiting the touch of his lips which, when it came, was like wine. Sweet as honey, pure as flame, demanding and giving all at once. Playing with fire she might be, but there was an irresistible appeal in being swept along by a force as elemental as the one he awakened in her.

  It was pure physical attraction, her brain insisted, but it was just as quickly silenced by more primitive responses which knew nothing of logic. No amount of reasoning could countermand the needs awakened by his touch.

  No one had ever reached her on such an emotional level before. It was like everything she’d ever read about being made love to—everything she’d previously dismissed as exaggeration. If it went on forever, it would stop too soon.

  ‘I rest my case.’

  He might as well have poured cold water over her. The shock was comparable as he stepped away, a grim satisfaction in his steely gaze. Too late came the realisation that she had all but surrendered in his arms. No amount of protesting would override the physical evidence of laboured breathing, racing heartbeat and shining eyes—exactly as he’d intended.

  Damage control was all Terise could hope to achieve now. ‘So now you know. I chose you because you’re wealthy, powerful—and eligible. Are you satisfied?’

  He crossed to a bar and poured himself a generous measure of scotch whisky—the rarest brand, she noticed, with the heightened sensitivity which was becoming part and parcel of being around him. She gestured a refusal, being confused enough without adding alcohol to the matrix.

  Resting his forearms on the bar, he skewered her with a sage look. ‘If you knew as much about men as that statement is meant to suggest, you’d know better than to expect me to be satisfied with what is basically an aperitif to a much more stimulating banquet.’ He sipped his drink, his gaze unwavering. ‘You almost tempt me to show you the rest of the menu.’

  There was no point asking for a drink now. It would only betray the dryness in her throat, further proving his point. ‘I’m not h-hungry,’ she managed.

  ‘Then my demonstration has achieved its aim. We understand each other.’

  Fury rose in her, displacing some of the shock which had held her in thrall. ‘If you think I’m such a menace to your single status, why don’t I leave now and be done with it?’

  Her anger washed off him, leaving no trace. ‘Because I want you here. You’re the first person the twins have taken to since their mother died.’ He gestured expressively. ‘Don’t think I haven’t tried nannies before. I have. But the twins need more than well-meaning supervision. They need someone who understands them and can help them adjust to their loss.’

  Before she could react he pressed on, ‘What I don’t need is an aspiring wife. That’s the condition you’ll accept in order to work for me. Understood?’

  Even as she nodded compliance a deeper part of her argued that she would regret the bargain. It was absurd, of course. As the song said, a kiss was still a kiss. Just because it had shaken her to her foundations it didn’t mean that she craved a repeat experience. This was the devil, she reminded herself.

  So why was she having such trouble keeping it in mind?

  Making the effort, she followed Ryan on a tour of the penthouse. It was huge and airy, the décor influenced by the blues and yellows of the French Impressionists—a surprise really, considering the austere elegance of the office floors below. Evidently some effort had been made to provide a cheerful city home for the children.

  Terise’s room was along a vast central hallway. The lush chalk-blue carpet and white furnishings had a friendly, provincial feel. An all-white bathroom opened off it.

  Ryan opened a door at the far end. ‘The twins sleep in here, so you’ll be handy to them if they need you.’

  In a room dominated by a wide, netting-swathed bed it was an effort, but Terise made herself sound businesslike. ‘
Where are the children now?’

  ‘My housekeeper, Maggie Oken, is giving them dinner in the family-room. Afterwards you’ll entertain them until their bedtime, then join me for dinner.’

  Evidently he had no difficulty maintaining a businesslike distance. The thought was unexpectedly galling to her. Rather more waspishly than intended, she said, ‘If I’m to be strictly an employee, is that appropriate?’

  ‘Since I define “appropriate”, it is. Unless you do have an ulterior motive?’

  ‘Of course not. Should I dress for dinner?’

  ‘We have no guests tonight, so you can please yourself.’

  If that had truly been an option she would have been as far away from here as humanly possible. Instead she nodded acquiescence, explaining away her traitorous sense of anticipation as appreciation of having this chance to learn more about the children’s background.

  It couldn’t have anything to do with the prospect of spending the evening with Ryan, she assured herself. Even the devil offered a higher price for a soul than one kiss.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE size of the penthouse was a blessing. By the time Ryan had shown her around it Terise had regained most of her composure, so that her smile was warm and genuine when she was introduced to the housekeeper supervising the children’s dinner.

  Spoons poised in identical poses in mid-air, Trudy and Lisa looked wary as Ryan explained that Terise was their new nanny. ‘Why can’t Mrs Oken be our nanny?’ Lisa asked truculently.

  ‘We like her better,’ Trudy chimed in.

  So Lisa was the leader and Trudy the follower, Terise noted automatically. She waited to hear Ryan’s response.

  His tone dropped to a gentle baritone. ‘What does Mrs Oken tell you when you come home from school?’

  Tiny dimples cratered the small cheeks as the twins exchanged grins. ‘“Get out of my kitchen. The floor’s just been washed”,’ they chorused, almost in unison.

  Maggie Oken flushed at having her words recited back at her, but didn’t contradict. Terise suppressed a smile.