Hiring Cupid

by Jane Beckenham

  Lordy, did that mean he didn't have any clothes on beneath his robe? Just thinking such thoughts, a scarlet stain inched its way up her neck, her cheeks burning.

  "You don't have to wait on me,” she squeaked, annoyed her voice sounded far too wishy-washy, almost panting with lust. She pulled a face and yanked the bed covers up under her chin.

  Marco grinned and winked. “Nothing I haven't already seen."

  She pulled them tighter. “Well, don't get any ideas. We've a deal. Mummy, Daddy and baby makes three. That's it."

  It was as if her comments had splashed him with ice water and his mask fell back in place, good humor replaced by the darkly daunting man of recent days. “I can see being married to you is going to be a joy."

  "Don't bet on it. I didn't ask for this marriage."

  "You agreed nevertheless."

  "Does the word blackmail mean anything to you, Marco Valente?"

  Marco's jaw tightened at her waspish comment. “I thought you might like to know that the blood tests have returned; also our lawyers have sealed the pre-nuptial agreement,” he said as if brushing her aside physically.

  A wave of sadness snaked through Carly's veins, choking around her heart until she could barely breathe. Suddenly the tray of food on her lap, the toast with the slither of butter, the small pot of raspberry conserve and the frosted glass of orange juice became so intently interesting that she couldn't look anywhere else but at the food.

  Bad move. Her stomach heaved and bile rose in her throat, scorching an acidic path. She wanted to be sick.

  "Excuse me.” Scrambling as if lightening had struck, Carly shoved the tray aside and raced for the bathroom, clutching her belly as she went. Unceremoniously she huddled around the porcelain.

  What was she doing? Why was she marrying him?

  Stupid questions. Easy answers.

  She knew the truth, but nothing right now would force her to tell him. That would only lead to more hurt and she'd had enough rejection to last a lifetime.

  * * * *

  Church bells peeled in unison and rippled through the cathedral with vocal grandeur, but it could have been rap music for all Marco cared. He wasn't in a good mood and wanted to get the whole fiasco over with. How his mother had organized a cathedral in such a short space of time was beyond him.

  Marco lifted his head and stared up at the church tower. At least they were real bells, even if his marriage wouldn't be real.

  And that bugged him, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't want the fleeting kind of love a man finds with a woman, didn't want marriage, and certainly didn't want commitment. But it was the fact that Carly called the shots and made the rules that was giving him a headache.

  You're loosing control.

  Too true, he admitted grimly. And he didn't like feeling powerless. But time to ponder the present evaporated as his hurriedly appointed best man rushed alongside. “Time to roll, mate. Carly's car is coming."

  Rooted to the spot, Marco felt his gut churn.

  Chad gave him a wry look. “You nervous? Don't be. I can see you love her."

  "Love, huh!” He did not love her, or any woman, ever. Love was for fools.

  Minutes ticked by. “If she's not here in ten seconds, I'll go and get her.” Marco groaned. What was the matter with him? Suddenly it was imperative she turn up.

  Chad slapped him playfully on the back. “Don't stress mate. She's here. Probably fluffing her dress. You know how women are?"

  Marco cocked an eyebrow at his best friend. “Do I?” He wasn't so sure. Right now all he could do was to try and keep the rising tide of anxiety at bay. “I don't have a clue."

  The organ struck a chord and the whispering voices in the ancient cathedral hushed. As if in slow motion, Marco felt his gaze pulled to the rear where outlined from behind by the golden rays of sun streaming through the wide-open cathedral doors stood Carly.

  Gorgeous came to mind, but seemed a totally inadequate description. Dressed in a soft pink satin that hugged her curves in all the right places he felt himself react instantly. Atop her head was a spray of rose buds entwined with pink ribbons. She looked ethereal.

  But Carly was real. Very real.

  And so was the baby.

  Accompanied by the fluttering chords of the organ, she began a slow walk up the aisle toward him, each step measured and stiff. Even from this distance he could see a burning fear reflected in her expression and his gut lurched. Had he put that there?

  She was alone. Where was her father?

  But Marco had no time to ponder his future father-in-law's absence. When Carly took the last steps toward him and looked at him fleetingly, he felt he could drown in her eyes.

  As she came to a halt in a shimmer of satin at his side, he bent down and whispered in her ear. “I thought brides wore white."

  "It's oyster pink,” she responded her voice all breathless. “Besides, I can hardly wear white being three months pregnant."

  Marco went to answer that surely propriety didn't matter these days, but his attention was tugged back by the priest who began to speak in a singular drone that echoed across the vast abyss of the vaulted cathedral.

  It was time to get married.

  * * * *

  "You are now man and wife."

  It was over. Marco exhaled and his body jerked alive. It was as if he'd slept throughout the entire service.

  "Kiss the bride,” came a childish call from behind. The small gathering laughed.

  There was no turning back. Marco looked down at Carly, whose unsmiling eyes gazed nervously up at him.

  "Go on mate."

  A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “Better do as we're told,” he said and lowered his head.

  "No...” Carly began, but he covered her mouth with his flaring an instant ardor in his loins. He meant the kiss to be brief, simply to satisfy their audience, but realized he needed to satisfy himself and couldn't pull away even if he'd wanted to.

  And he certainly didn't want to.

  Wrapping his arms around her he tilted her head up to his. His lips seared a path over hers, seeking, teasing them apart and as the tip of his tongue brushed against her sweet moist mouth, a ripple of heat ricocheted through his body making him shudder. He pulled back a fraction, and murmured against her hair. “You taste of heaven."

  Her touch, her perfume. The taste of her. Everything was a potent aphrodisiac and sent his body on a tidal wave of discovery. Again his lips sought hers.

  "Aw heck, how long does he have to kiss her for?"

  Titters of laugher echoed around the cathedral and with more reluctance than Marco wanted to admit, he pulled away. The simple fact that Carly's breathing was as labored as his own gave him a small measure of satisfaction.

  "Ready?” he asked, trying to steady the adrenaline pumping in his veins, wondering briefly if he was fighting a lost cause.

  Flushed faced, his wife nodded mutely, but she kept her eyes downcast. Gently, Marco folded her arm into the crook of his and guided her down the marbled aisle and outside as family and friends crowded around.

  There was a tug at his jacket and he glanced down to see Carly's nephew. “That kissing stuff. Looked like you enjoyed it."

  Aware Carly had stilled at his side and watched his every move, he crouched down to young lad. “Well, son, it's like this. Kissing can be fun. However, it's something that requires a lot of practice."

  "Do you?” the boy asked.

  "Do I what?"

  "Practice. Don't look too much fun to me, all that slobbering. Yuk."

  Marco chuckled and stood up, his hand resting on the tangled mop of Bryce's curls. “Well look at it this way. You don't have to start for a long time, so keep to playing with snails and puppy dog's tails for a while longer.” He gave Bryce a knowledgeable wink.

  Seemingly satisfied, Bryce gave Marco the thumbs up in return and tottered off towards his cousins.

  "Good answer. You have a knack with children,” Carly congratulated
him.

  "Do I?"

  "Bryce seems satisfied."

  "At least someone is satisfied with me."

  * * * *

  The throb in Carly's head increased with every passing minute. She wanted to escape, to be anywhere but at her wedding reception. She didn't feel remotely like celebrating. Besides, who celebrated a marriage of convenience? Instead, she stood in the corner watching the merriment of others. It left her cold. Her sisters ignored their rambunctious children and left them to their own games while her mother latched onto Chad Burns, filling him in on every explicit and sordid detail of her life story.

  In the past Carly would have cringed with embarrassment, but now she didn't care. She'd had too many years fostering her family's every whim, propping up her mother and caring for her siblings on her small and inexperienced shoulders, until one day she'd had enough and rebelled. She had gotten out of the trap. Strength and determination saved her sanity, and from a life of being at everyone's call.

  She was successful. Life was good.

  Okay, so she was married to someone who didn't love her. She could handle that. Unrequited love would be enough, she hoped. Besides, watching Marco interact with her nephew had eased her mind considerably. He would make a good father. Forget the good husband. That wasn't important.

  Who says?

  But Carly ignored her inner voice and as the car drew up, Chad ushered her and Marco to the waiting limousine. Everyone crowded around, their voices loud and grating on her already over stretched nerves.

  She got in and moved swiftly to the far side followed by Marco. He said nothing, merely gave her one of his imperious glares he was so good at.

  "Not the happy couple scene I thought you'd want to impart on the family, Mrs. Valente."

  Carly looked the other way and stared out the window. Bryce stood watching. He gave her the thumbs up and she replied with a fleeting smile. But the moment the car drove away, the heavy layer of sadness she'd fought all day finally broke the flood banks and enveloped her in its gloom.

  Second by second, as the car eased into the city traffic, Carly's sense of desperation escalated. She couldn't fight the way her body reacted to Marco. Cocooned by the exotic aroma of leather seats, mingling with the heady spice of Marco's cologne, it teased her senses.

  She had to get away. Leaning forward she tapped the window between the driver and herself. “Drop me off at High Street."

  Marco jerked round to face her, his expression narrowed and hooded. “Where the hell are you going?"

  "I want to go to the office.” Carly was ready to go back to work. She needed to.

  "I should have known,” he sneered. “A woman who works on a beach with a laptop would certainly want to work on her wedding day.” He gave her a withering glacial look. “Far be it from me to suggest we spend some time together.” He gave the driver a nod and the car turned at the next intersection.

  Satisfied they were heading in the right direction, Carly relaxed and once curbside the driver opened the door for her. But she didn't move. She wanted Marco to say ‘stop, don't go', pull her into his arms and declare his undying love. She twisted on the seat and looked into his face. It was hard as granite, his gaze so bleak it sent a shiver down her spine.

  "Your office awaits, Mrs. Valente."

  Fairy tales don't exist. Haven't you learned that yet?

  Disappointment and defeat cut through Carly's heart and she battled to contain it. Holding her head high she blinked back the threat of tears and bit her bottom lip to stop herself from trembling. With as much dignity as she could muster, she exited the car, but before she had time to straighten her dress Marco yanked the door closed behind her and the car sped off leaving her alone.

  Alone on her wedding day.

  Well wasn't that she wanted?

  Of course it was. She wanted the safety of her office, her work and the things she knew and understood, not the feelings and emotions playing havoc with her senses.

  Didn't she?

  Stoically, Carly walked into her office. It was empty.

  She was married and she was alone. Somehow, she had made the two things that weren't meant to go together synonymous.

  Slumped in a chair, she dropped her head into her arms and finally gave in to the tears she'd forcibly held back all day. One by one they trailed down her cheeks. Soulful tears, heart wrenching sobs full of pain and hurt and every emotion she'd ever felt, ever owned, and denied. They rose to the surface, brutal and unrelenting. Yet there was no one to hear it, no one to comfort her.

  Just like her whole life.

  "It's okay baby,” she whispered. “I love you.” Carly caressed her stomach. “Your daddy will love you. He just doesn't love me, that's all."

  Chapter 11

  Carly took the lift to the penthouse. The rioting butterflies in her stomach were definitely not because she hadn't eaten all day. Her nerves were as taut as a high wire, any slack and she'd probably crumple to the floor.

  The lift came to a halt with a soft hiss.

  "Here we go. Shoulders back,” she muttered as she stepped into the lobby. Swiping her key tag in the locking system she opened the door.

  He's a man, that's all. Just a man.

  He's your husband.

  Marco's sharp deriding tone attacked her as soon as she entered. “So you decided to come home. Work all done is it?"

  "There's always work to be done."

  "Si,” Marco shrugged and gulped the last of his brandy. “Work is so important."

  Carly tried to brush past him, but his hand snaked around her wrist. He held her fast and she bit back a cry as a wave of heat radiated from his firm grasp and thundered through her veins. “Work is my life,” she reiterated.

  "And our baby is not?"

  "Of course it's important."

  "But not the marriage."

  "Marriage! This isn't a marriage, Marco. Your threat determined that. This is a deal to make a family for our child. You do your thing, and I'll do mine."

  "Which is?"

  "My business. I've not worked for years to let it slide away. I intend to keep working. I won't let you take from me all I've worked for."

  "And you intend to tag the baby along with you?"

  Her shoulders sagged and she fought off a rush of exhaustion. “I'm tired Marco, I want to go to bed."

  His hold on her dropped away. “Alone I take it."

  "We had a deal."

  "We did. A marriage with two bedrooms."

  "I didn't force this marriage."

  "So you keep reminding me. But you came nevertheless."

  "I came because you blackmailed me.” Carly clamped her lips firmly closed. She wasn't about to tell him her other reasons. Why put herself through that much hurt?

  Marco stepped away and picked up a magnificent bouquet of roses from a side table. Dozens of them in every color and shade imaginable. “These are for you."

  Tentatively, Carly took them from him, mindful her fingers didn't touch his. At all costs she had to keep away from him—touching him had always been her downfall. She bent and inhaled their heady fragrance. “They're beautiful."

  "Si.” His voice was thick and full of velvety promise and stirred an instant nervousness, amplified as her gaze locked with his.

  "Thank you."

  "Wait, there's more,” he chuckled, handing her a gold wrapped box.

  "You sound like the man from television, hawking his wares."

  "That's good."

  "What is?"

  "You're smiling. A wedding day no matter what the circumstances should at least see a smile on the bride's face, hmm?"

  Carly's fingers trembled as she undid the gold and silver wrapping paper. “Chocolates.” Her stomach rumbled at the sight of food, reminding her she hadn't eaten for hours.

  No good for a baby.

  Awash with guilt, she tucked the box under one arm and carried the flowers in the other. “Thanks Marco. It's a nice gesture."

  "Nice. I seem
to have heard that word from you before."

  The corners of her lips twitched. “I presume the champagne is for you,” she said pointing to the large bottle of bubbly still on the table.

  Marco glanced at the bottle and back at her. “Si. No alcohol for you or baby,” he said sternly.

  "You've been reading up on daddy stuff,” she laughed.

  Color fused his cheeks and she realized she'd hit the jackpot. It took her by surprise.

  "I have something I wish to ask you."

  "Can't it wait, Marco? I'm beat."

  "No, it can't. I want a..."

  Carly's heartbeat stopped. “A divorce?"

  All color drained from Marco's face. “Never. I will not have my child tossed from parent to parent. No, Carly, not divorce, but we cannot live as two people who pass in the night, with never a civil word."

  Carly watched the play of emotions flicker across her husband's face. Suspicion was powerful and she steadied herself for the onslaught of disaster. Married to a man who didn't love her, a man she ached to touch and couldn't allow herself to, was more than she could bear. And the future, knowing he would find release with other women, even if discreetly, was too overwhelming to consider.

  "What do you have in mind?” she asked, but really wasn't courageous enough to want to know the answer.

  "I want a truce."

  Was that all? Carly's relief was absolute and she sagged against the door. “All right,” she agreed and turned to escape to her room, to shut out the pure physical attraction Marco's presence caused—lest she cave in.

  "Before you go,” he cautioned and she halted. Her eyes shuttered for a moment. “This is for you.” Marco held out a large white envelope. She looked questioningly at it then at him, but his eyes were hooded, veiling any expression.

  She took it.

  "Open it,” he encouraged.

  Her heart thudded in her chest and her throat tightened as she tore it open. She pulled out a cream and gold folder.

  "A contract for the interior design of all the new CV Hotels,” he informed her

  Carly's legs buckled beneath her. “Do you think I married you to get the contract?"

  "Didn't you?” he questioned, his tone hard edged.