Sister Of The Bride

by Valerie Parv

  Knowing he would stand over her until she did so, Terise ate a little of the pasta dish Ryan brought to her for dinner, but the painkillers had made her eyes heavy. She was asleep before he took the tray away.

  In her dream she saw Ryan and herself on the bushwalk, but this time there were two Ryans. One was charming and thoughtful. The other was cruelly demanding, urging her to keep up whenever her pace lagged.

  When she felt her self slip and tumble down an embankment she was caught in strong arms, knowing without looking that they belonged to the charming Ryan. The other watched her from the trail, his expression unyielding. He had his arm around a woman who looked like Cecily Elbrun.

  The savage sensation which tore through her as she looked up at them caught her off guard. Then she looked at the arms cradling her and found that they were the branches of a eucalyptus tree. Ryan and Cecily were walking off arm in arm, leaving her alone.

  She felt herself start to slip and tensed, aware of the sharp drop below her. She jolted awake to find herself on the couch in the shadowy living-room.

  Lord, what a dream. She stirred, trying to shake it off, and gasped as a thick jolt of pain washed up her leg from her ankle. Biting down on her lip prevented the cry from escaping, or so she had thought.

  She became aware that she wasn’t alone in the room as a dark figure shifted in an armchair opposite her. ‘Ankle hurting?’

  ‘A little.’ In truth, it was a mass of pain, which radiated along her calf with every movement. While she slept the muscles had cramped, and the urge to move to ease them warred with the protests from her ankle every time she did so.

  He came over to her, snapping on a lamp which bathed them both in golden light. ‘I can imagine. Unfortunately it’s too soon to give you another painkiller.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ She became aware that it was dark outside. ‘How long have you been sitting there?’

  ‘A few hours.’

  She tried to struggle upright. ‘There’s no need. Honestly, I’m fine. You should get some rest.’

  His hand on her shoulder eased her back against the pillows. ‘I am getting some rest.’

  ‘I mean in your own bed.’

  ‘Only if you agree to join me.’

  Her eyes snapped wide. ‘What?’

  ‘I stayed because I wasn’t sure I’d hear you if you called out. But if you came to bed with me it would solve the whole problem.’

  And she had a good idea of how many new ones it would create. Heat flooded through her at the very idea. ‘In your dreams,’ she said defensively.

  The lamplight washed metallic highlights into his hair, but the glint in his eyes was all his own work. ‘How did you guess?’

  She turned her face away, glad of the dim light to hide the consternation she could feel in her expression. This wasn’t the conversation they were supposed to be having.

  He dragged his chair closer to her. ‘Since you won’t come to bed with me, I’ll keep you company. We’ve got all night, so you can tell me your life story.’

  This was the last thing she wanted to do. ‘It’s pretty boring,’ she dissembled.

  He folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘I don’t bore easily. Tell me how you got into teaching, for starters. Were you a straight-A student?’

  It was so wide of the mark that she choked back a laugh. ‘Lord, no. I was the class black sheep. I didn’t settle down to serious study until my teens.’

  ‘you—a black sheep? It’s hard to imagine.’

  Because she was a prim, proper schoolmarm now? ‘It’s true,’ she insisted. ‘I hated school. I was the only kid in my class without a mother, and I played up to show I didn’t need one.’

  He steepled his hands in front of himself. ‘You lost your mother when you were young?’

  ‘When I was seven. I missed her dreadfully, although Dad did his best to be both mother and father to me. We were good friends right up until he died. I still miss him.’

  There was a slight pause. ‘Your father never remarried?’

  Alarm bells went off in Terise’s head, boiling away the dreamy intimacy of the last few moments. This was dangerous territory, but Ryan was waiting for her answer. ‘Yes,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Dad married the teacher who called him in to discuss my bad behaviour—so you could say I brought them together. After Dad died my stepmother moved back to Sydney. We’re still friends.’

  Before he could probe further she tried for a change of subject. ‘Cecily tells me your father was an ambassador. You must have lived in some fascinating places.’

  His scowl told her that the tactic had worked. ‘And some hell-holes.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  His face was blank, his back rigid. ‘Diplomats don’t always get a choice as to where they’re posted.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t become a diplomat yourself?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘There are several reasons. For one, I’m not nearly diplomatic enough.’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed,’ he cut in. ‘I have no time for the niceties of diplomacy, preferring to get straight to the point of any argument.’

  It explained why he was so successful in the cutthroat world of big business, she thought. ‘Isn’t the trade assembly bid a diplomatic exercise?’ she couldn’t help asking.

  He frowned. ‘Yes, if you mean the kind where the main language spoken is money. This bid is all about how many billions of dollars the host city is prepared to spend to make the trade assembly a success. Fortunately the city also benefits handsomely. But it’s more a question of economics than diplomacy.’

  It fitted her preconception of him as a hard-nosed cynic whose main concern was the bottom line, but again she found herself resisting it. Her sense of confusion deepened.

  Perhaps learning more about his background would help. ‘Is your father still an ambassador?’ she pressed.

  He shook his head. ‘He died a few years ago. It was in all the newspapers.’

  Memory returned to her, and with it a coldness like icy fingers caressing her spine. His father had been Grant Westmore, the diplomat who had been kidnapped and held hostage for five years in the Middle East: Her heart went out to Ryan. How had he endured the torment of wondering whether his father was alive or dead?

  Her fingers grazed her lower lip. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’

  ‘It isn’t something I advertise,’ he said, shadows shifting in his eyes. There was more pain here than he permitted to reach the surface.

  Was this what had built the wall around his emotions? Maybe even turned him into the monster of Clair’s letters? If so it might be explainable, if not excusable. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘He was returned to the family but his health never recovered. He took up a desk job in Canberra but died a few years later.’

  ‘You loved him.’ It wasn’t a question. Despite his veneer of cynicism, she sensed the reality underneath, wondering at the same time when she had begun to read him well enough to be so sure.

  His eyelids lowered momentarily. ‘He was my father.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘She lives on a property she inherited from her family in England. We’ve never been close but I see her whenever I go over there.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Hell of a family, aren’t we? Not quite your image of Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear?’

  ‘Teachers deal with all kinds of families. I learned long ago not to expect fairy tale set-ups.’

  ‘Even in your own family?’

  Her hollow laugh was involuntary. ‘Especially not in my own.’

  ‘Yet you avoid talking about them.’ When she started to protest, his look silenced her. ‘When we started, you soon switched the subject to my family.’

  ‘Only because there isn’t much to tell.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ he said, so softly that her head came up, her eyes as startled as a fawn’s.

  ‘What?’

  �
�There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye,’ he said, in the same deceptively mild tone—although she heard the steel underneath. ‘I’m well aware that our meeting wasn’t accidental, and I don’t buy that bull about you coming to me for a job,’ he continued, overriding her attempt at denial.

  ‘Then why did you hire me?’

  ‘Because you’re good at what you do. I also prefer you where I can keep an eye on you. You’re up to something, and I intend to find out what it is.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE silence lengthened uncomfortably. She couldn’t deny his accusation because it was true. Right now she would have given a lot for it to have been otherwise. Hearing him talk about his father, sharing his tragic memories, had disturbed her.

  She didn’t want to picture him shouldering the burdens of his family while waiting for news of his father. It subtly altered her perspective—like meeting an enemy and finding out that he was as human as herself. She tried to shake off the feeling but it persisted.

  With it came another uncomfortable possibility. Could Ryan himself be getting in the way? He attracted her in a way no man had done before, but that didn’t mean... No. She couldn’t be falling in love with him.

  ‘No!’ The word was wrenched from her, the gesture of denial so forceful that her calf muscles pulled on her injured ankle. She swallowed a cry as pain jolted along her leg.

  Nevertheless Ryan heard her, and was beside her in an instant, gathering her into his arms to rock her gently. ‘Go ahead—yell if you want to. It will probably help.’

  Aware of the warmth of his arms around her, she shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’

  He frowned. ‘So I see. Where did you learn to be such a stoic?’

  His comment provoked a slight smile. ‘I’m not, really. You should see me when I go to the dentist.’

  He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Would you believe, me too?’

  Her eyes widened. It was impossible to imagine Ryan having any fears at all. He had called her a stoic, but he was the rock of Gibralter—the alpha male.

  He was teasing her, she realised as the skin around his eyes crinkled and a warning light flashed in the grey depths. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she denied.

  ‘OK, maybe I exaggerated—but you must admit it took your mind off your pain.’

  It had done much more, she realised, becoming aware of a new kind of ache settling around the region of her heart. He held her tightly enough for her to feel his long fingers splayed hotly across her back. Her breathing quickened as he brought one hand around to caress the line of her jaw.

  Unconsciously she tilted her head back, the gesture answered by his sharp intake of breath. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his taut features hinting at an internal battle with himself.

  ‘Ryan?’ she said uncertainly.

  She watched his jaw knot, then he leaned over her, his mouth finding hers with the precision of a heat-seeking missile.

  Pleasure swelled through her, the sensation so bittersweet that it was only a heartbeat away from pain. Her first instinct was to resist, but the noble intention was almost instantly swamped by a wave of pure ecstasy.

  An unbearable hunger swept through her. With trembling hands she reached up to touch the side of his face, half convinced that she was dreaming. But he felt substantial enough under her fingers. She traced the hard line of his jaw, her fingertips reading the muscles like Braille. At this late hour his skin felt whiskery, the bristles teasing her palm. She rubbed her hand against them like a nuzzling kitten.

  Images of Ryan making love to her filled her mind, bewilderingly real, like forbidden fruit. Except that they were so close to becoming reality that dizziness gripped her.

  She could feel his heartbeat, like a piston working deep in his chest, the rush of his lifeblood like a thunderstorm she could sense in her own body.

  When had she become so attuned to him, as if they were one being instead of two? This was only supposed to happen between people who loved each other. It couldn’t be happening to her.

  But it was, and she parted her lips instinctively, excitement spiralling through her as he responded by deepening the kiss. She threaded her fingers through his hair, the strands feeling like silk.

  The faint hint of a leathery aroma reached her. It was the aftershave lotion he’d been wearing when they set off on the bushwalk, hours ago. Traces of it remained, revived by the heat of his body. It was a tantalising discovery, like mapping a new country. She found she wanted to make more such discoveries, and set about exploring with her hands and mouth.

  As she worried the buttons of his shirt, managing to unfasten the first few to reveal an expanse of deep, tanned chest, he caught her wrists and held her away from him. ‘Stop, Terise.’

  Rejection speared to the heart of her. There was a hard glitter in his eyes which made her go cold all over. Had he been playing with her? Horrified at how she had betrayed herself, she looked away, but he turned her face back to him. Tears glimmered in her eyes and he brushed at them with the back of his hand. ‘What’s this for?’

  Awareness of what she had so nearly invited made her voice tremble. ‘Isn’t it obvious? You stopped because you don’t trust me.’

  ‘One has nothing to do with the other,’ he said, his voice coldly precise. ‘Unless you’re planning a lifetime together, trust doesn’t enter into it.’

  And sometimes not even then, the thought seared through his mind. Commitment, even marriage didn’t guarantee trust. He knew that well enough to write a book on it.

  But this was Terise, not Clair, he told himself. They were worlds apart in character—as Terise had shown by risking her life to save Lisa. The knowledge should have overcome his reservations—Lord knew, his body was trying its hardest to convince him—but once bitten was enough. He hadn’t got where he was by making the same mistake twice.

  All the same, he was aware of an almost alien surge of regret as he heard the hurt vibrating in Terise’s tone. ‘Why, Ryan?’

  He made himself sound cold and distant. ‘Why did I start, or why did I stop?’ For a crazy moment he was tempted to tell her everything, then he decided that the stakes were too high. Even if she swore she was protected, he couldn’t take the risk. Not again.

  ‘You can answer the first question by looking in a mirror,’ he said instead. ‘The answer to the second question is because I’m not about to risk another accident. I’m not prepared for this, and I doubt if you are either.’

  She surprised him by shaking her head, confirming his assumption. His veneer of cynicism was threatened by the sudden conviction that she hadn’t expected to find herself in his bed, so she hadn’t taken precautions of any kind. Had he misread her after all?

  He stood up, unwilling to reveal how shaken he was. ‘I’ll get you that painkiller now.’

  It might help the pain in her ankle, she thought as he went into the bathroom. But what would he prescribe for the other pain, carving a tight band around her heart?

  He came back with a capsule and a glass of water. ‘The doctor said this should dull the pain and make you sleepy,’ he said as he watched her take the tablet.

  The medication worked quickly. As promised, the pain in her ankle dulled to non-existence and her thoughts became muzzy. It wasn’t until she was almost asleep that she recalled what he had said. He hadn’t made love to her because he didn’t want another accident. What had he meant?

  She tried to rouse herself sufficiently to ask him, but couldn’t summon the strength. What did it matter anyway? She was nothing more than a challenge to him. What had he said? Trust didn’t enter into it unless you were planning a lifetime together?

  His plans for her were a lot briefer, she thought, hating the need which flared through her at the very idea. She knew that she’d have a hard time forgetting his embrace, and the heady demands of his kisses.

  She shivered, contemplating what would have happened if he had been prepared. A stolen moment. An edge of danger. It had been all that and
more. And, to her eternal shame, she knew that she would have gone right to the edge with him if he’d wanted her to.

  It was a blessing when the medication finally pulled a velvet curtain over her whirling thoughts and she gave herself up to a restless sleep.

  By the time they returned to Sydney Terise’s ankle had healed and she was able to walk normally, with only the barest hint of discomfort if she overdid things.

  Her inner pain refused to heal, and she was grateful that there were no outward signs—at least none that Ryan could read.

  He still suspected her. She judged that by the close watch he had kept over her during her recovery and after they’d come home. He couldn’t know it, but her feelings for him were his best insurance. Even if she could find any hint of scandal in his business or personal life—and she was beginning to doubt that she would—she wasn’t sure that her courage would stretch to publicising it now.

  It was a betrayal of herself and her stepsister, but it was the truth. She resolved to resign from Ryan’s employ as soon as she could.

  The thought of leaving Trudy and Lisa tore at her, but she pushed it aside. She would keep in touch with them somehow. Where there was a will, there had to be a way.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to going shopping for the children’s school clothes?’ Ryan asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she insisted. ‘You’ve done enough, having your staff look after the twins while my ankle healed. It’s time I pulled my weight.’

  ‘Then I’ll have Marcus accompany you,’ he said in the tone of an order. ‘I’d come myself, but we’re on the downhill run with the bid. The host city is announced next week, and it will need every strategy we’ve got to keep Sydney as the front runner.’

  ‘Marcus has enough to do without nursemaiding me,’ she said, adding stiffly, ‘Unless you don’t trust me out of your sight.’

  ‘Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?’ he asked, steel threading his rich baritone voice.