Her flat seemed poky and stuffy after the fresh air of Pelican Head. She felt claustrophobic and cornered, as if her days were numbered like someone on death row.
Ever since Connor Harrowsmith had come into her life she’d felt unsafe. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. He made her so angry she wanted to hit him. She wanted to tear at his mocking eyes and stop him laughing at her from behind those chocolate irises.
The telephone buzzed beside her as she sat on her bed.
She looked at it indecisively for five more rings before snatching up the receiver.
‘Jasmine?’ Her mother’s voice was wobbly—probably from a recent bout of tears.
‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Jasmine, you have to marry him. Please, darling, if for no other reason, do it for me.’
Jasmine felt fresh tears at the back of her own eyes and she swallowed deeply.
‘Mum, I—’
‘The parish council has called a meeting. They’re thinking of withdrawing their support for your father.’ Her mother’s voice cracked. ‘And with the synod meeting in a matter of weeks, you know how this will impact on his plans for the position of Archbishop.’
‘Mum—’
‘Jasmine, I’ve done all I can but this is the last straw. I can’t see your father ruined. The last time was bad enough and now we have to relive it all again, splashed all over the press.’
‘That’s not my fault.’
‘It is all your fault!’ her mother screeched.
Jasmine’s hand around the telephone tightened as she fought to control her temper. It was so unfair! Was there no one on this earth who would suspend judgement long enough to find out all the details first?
‘Your father has decided on an ultimatum,’ her mother continued.
‘Which is?’
‘He doesn’t wish to see you again unless you agree to marry Connor immediately.’
‘What about you?’ Jasmine asked pointedly. ‘Will you see me again if I don’t?’
There was a telling silence at the end of the line.
‘Darling—’ her mother paused for breath ‘—you know how difficult this is for me but your father and I agree—’
Jasmine had heard enough; she knew she was cornered and there was no point fighting any more. Whenever her mother used that tone of voice she felt guilty. It was like an intolerable load on her back to hear that defeated, long-suffering tone. She loved her mother and, deep down, knew she would do anything to relieve her suffering, even if it cost her dearly.
‘All right,’ she said after another tight silence. ‘I’ll do it.’
Her mother’s gushing relief should have encouraged her but it didn’t. Instead it made her realise she had just stepped into a noose that had been laid out especially for her.
And at the other end of the rope was Connor Harrowsmith, who would no doubt be smiling in victory at her final capitulation.
CHAPTER THREE
JASMINE had no way of contacting Connor but he must have known she’d changed her mind for when she got back home from the clinic the following day he was waiting for her outside her flat.
He was leaning up against his shiny black Maserati, this time dressed a little more formally in a business shirt, tie and black trousers which seemed to make his long legs look even longer.
His eyes meshed with hers as she came across the road from the bus stop.
‘Hello.’
She found it hard to hold his look and inspected the cracked pavement at her feet.
‘What brings you here?’
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
She gave a non-committal shrug before chancing a look at his handsome face.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve brought an engagement ring with you?’ She hoped her tone sounded flippant enough to cover the trepidation she was currently feeling.
‘I did, as a matter of fact,’ he said, surprising her completely.
‘Oh.’ What else could she say?
‘It was my grandmother’s so I hope it fits. If it doesn’t, we’ll have it adjusted.’ He slipped his hand into the top pocket of his shirt and handed her a little velvet box, the edges worn with age.
She took it from him, trying not to touch his fingers as she did so. She opened the box and for a long moment looked at the ruby surrounded by tiny diamonds.
‘Go on, try it on.’
She took it out and slipped it on to her finger, somehow not at all surprised to find it was a perfect fit.
She lifted her troubled gaze to his. ‘It’s beautiful. It must be very valuable.’
‘It is.’
She didn’t know what to say. It seemed like sacrilege to be wearing such a ring for all the wrong reasons. It wasn’t a proper engagement in any sense of the word, nor would it ever be a proper marriage.
‘Would you like a drink or something?’ She hunted for her keys in her bag, trying to cover her unease with forced politeness.
‘Sure.’
He followed her up the pathway to the old terrace house where she occupied the top floor. She hoped he wasn’t noticing the cracked and peeling paint on the stairwell as they went up. She imagined he lived in some sort of playboy mansion in an exclusive suburb and was probably turning his aristocratic nose up with distaste with each and every step he took behind her.
‘This is cosy,’ he said, surprising her again as he followed her into her tiny flat.
She tossed down her keys without answering.
‘Have you lived here long?’
‘A few months,’ she answered. ‘It’s close to the clinic.’
‘Ah, the clinic.’ There was something in his tone that unsettled her. ‘I’ve heard all about the clinic.’
‘From whom?’ Her words were sharpened by her anger at her parents’ ultimatum. She could just imagine them describing the run-down building to him, lamenting the fact that their church school educated daughter had chosen such a career path, and an underpaid one at that.
‘Not from anyone you’d know,’ he said.
‘My parents haven’t talked to you about it?’ She eyeballed him directly.
‘I’m afraid my conversations with your parents so far have concentrated on other topics.’
She could just imagine!
‘You weren’t too put off by one of my father’s interminable lectures about right and wrong?’
‘Your father and I have come to an impasse. He thinks he’s right and I think he’s wrong.’
‘About what?’
‘About you.’
‘Me?’ She stared at him.
‘Yes, you. He doesn’t know you at all, does he?’
Jasmine couldn’t help feeling a little bit overexposed. How had he come to that conclusion? He hardly knew her! Surely that one night in his bed, innocent as it was, couldn’t have given him any sort of insight into her character?
‘I’m not sure I know what you mean,’ she hedged.
‘Do you know, to an outsider you seem to be rather a misfit in your family,’ he said, watching her intently.
She turned away from his all-seeing eyes to switch on a lamp. Her tiny flat didn’t get much afternoon sun and the subdued lighting gave the room an intimate atmosphere she felt uncomfortable sharing with him.
‘What makes you think that?’ she asked off-handedly.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he sat down on her second-hand sofa chair, the one with the springs showing through the cushions, noticing he didn’t even flinch as he sat on their protruding coils.
‘Your hair for one thing.’
‘My hair?’ She touched the cascading strands around her face self-consciously; no matter what she did, her hair would just not stay up.
‘Your sisters all have straight blonde hair; your hair is chestnut and curly.’
‘So?’
‘Your parents are both fair.’
‘Perhaps I’m a throw-back.’ She met his eyes across the room. ‘It happens from time to time
.’
His dark gaze held hers.
She felt increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, frightened in case he would eventually see through the wall of indifference she’d erected around herself for protection.
‘What would you like to drink?’ she asked, desperate for a subject change even if it meant extending his visit, loath as she was to do it.
‘What will you have?’ he asked.
‘I’m not a drinker,’ she said without apology. ‘So I’ve only juice, tea or coffee or water. The coffee’s instant by the way.’
‘Water’s fine,’ he said, surprising her yet again. ‘It’s been quite warm today, hasn’t it?’
She wasn’t so sure about the day but she was feeling increasingly warm with his dark eyes on her all the time!
‘I didn’t go outside much,’ she answered. ‘I was tied up with a workshop all day.’ She went through to the kitchen and got two glasses out of the cupboard above the sink.
‘What do you do at the clinic?’ he asked from behind her.
She waited until she’d filled both glasses before turning to answer him. He took the glass she held out to him, his fingers brushing hers.
‘I’m involved with the rehab team.’ She cradled her own glass with both hands. ‘We teach the patients life skills, help them find employment—that sort of thing.’
‘Rewarding work.’
She gave him a rueful look.
‘Sometimes.’ She took a sip of water. ‘But I’m afraid there aren’t as many happy endings as I’d like.’
‘People have free will. You can’t always make them change unless they want it for themselves.’
‘I know.’ She put the glass down on the sink. ‘But I have to try.’
‘Because of your family background?’ he asked.
She looked at him when he said that.
It amazed her later to think how close she had been to admitting to him how right he was, but something had stopped her. She didn’t want him to have access to any part of her private life; it was less hurtful that way.
She pushed herself away from the sink and made to move past him.
‘If you’ve finished your water I think you should be going. I have some calls to make.’
His hand came down on her arm and held her fast. She forced herself to meet his gaze but it took every ounce of her pride to hold it without blinking.
‘I haven’t finished talking to you,’ he said. ‘We have a wedding to plan.’
‘Plan it without me.’ Her tone was dismissive as if they were discussing a picnic she hadn’t yet made her mind up to attend. ‘I’m not fussy.’
‘So it seems.’ His tone was dry. ‘But, all the same, I’d like your input.’
‘I don’t want a big wedding,’ she insisted. ‘A registry office will do and no guests.’
‘What about photographs?’
‘No photographs.’
‘You might regret that one day when the kids ask to see them.’
She wrenched her arm out of his hold and glared up at him. ‘What kids?’
She didn’t care for the dark glitter that had suddenly come into his eyes. ‘Ours, of course.’
She felt a flicker of heat pool traitorously in her belly at the thought of being swollen with his child but as quickly as she could she stamped it out.
‘If you think this marriage will ever be consummated you’re very much mistaken.’
He quirked one aristocratic brow.
‘Never say never, sweetheart.’ The corner of his mouth twisted mockingly. ‘Such emphatic statements have a nasty habit of coming back dressed up as humble pie.’
‘I don’t want to marry you in the first place!’ she fumed. ‘If I have to sleep with you it will make it a hundred times worse!’
‘How so?’
‘You know how so.’ She clenched her fists in agitation.
‘I’ll be gentle—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ She wanted to stamp her foot over his toes in frustration. ‘Stop making fun of me!’
‘I’m not making fun of you; I’m simply informing you of my intentions.’
‘Your intentions are to milk this situation for all it’s worth. I know what you’re up to. This is about getting back at your stepfather, isn’t it?’
His eyes narrowed slightly and she continued heatedly. ‘I’m known as a notorious tart; everyone knows it and, even if they’d forgotten, they were reminded of it in the papers two days in a row. What better way to rub your family’s nose in it than to marry me to spite them?’
‘If you’ll remember, the notion of marrying you was your father’s suggestion,’ he pointed out in even tones.
She’d forgotten that little detail but it made no difference.
‘Either way it’s still his penance for you. It’s all the same thing, isn’t it? I’ve been cast as the devil’s gateway in all this; it’s irrelevant who’s actually oiled the hinges.’
His chuckle of amusement broke the tension.
‘What’s so funny?’ She frowned at him darkly, trying to suppress the twitch of her mouth that had been precipitated by his.
‘You are.’
‘I’m not trying to be funny.’ She scowled.
‘I know, and that’s why you’re so successful at making me laugh.’ He touched her gently on the cheek. ‘Not many people can make me laugh; not many people at all.’
Jasmine couldn’t quite get rid of the feeling that something other than mutual amusement was being passed between them. It was more subtle than that; like a delicate, slender thread had passed across the room, linking them in an indefinable way.
Her cheek still tingled from his butterfly-like touch, her senses now on full alert at his nearness. He was half a step away from her. She could even feel the heat coming off his body as he stood looking down at her, his firm mouth relaxed in a small sexy smile that sent a silent message straight to her feminine core.
He closed the distance without appearing to have moved at all. For a fleeting moment she wondered if in fact it had been her who had shifted in response to a subconscious desire to feel his mouth on hers.
He bent his head as if in slow motion.
The anticipation was like torture to Jasmine’s already throbbing lips, her snagging breath escaping in sharp, painful little intervals from between them. As his head came closer and closer her lips opened automatically as if commanded to do so by the flash of desire in his eyes.
His lips touched hers in a tentative ‘hardly there’ kiss that made her lips buzz with sensation even more. He did it again, and again, each time the pressure increasing a mere fraction as if he were tasting her for the very first time.
She’d had enough.
She wanted him to kiss her, really kiss her.
She grasped his dark head between her hands and took over the kiss with all the pent-up passion she’d been feeling from the first moment his eyes had met hers in the church at her sister’s wedding. Her tongue found his and he tightened his hold around her waist, pulling her into his hard frame, leaving her in absolutely no doubt of his body’s instant reaction.
He wanted her.
For whatever reason, he wanted her and knowing it made her own response to him fire out of control. Her mouth became frenzied on his, kissing him greedily as if he were the very air she needed to breathe to keep alive.
He returned the frantic pleas of her mouth with commandeering ones of his own, his tongue leaving no corner of her mouth unexplored, staked and claimed.
She felt as if she belonged to him now.
He’d branded her with an invisible brand that left her useless without his touch on her fevered skin.
She craved it.
She craved it like the thirsty crave water or the hungry hunger for food. Every cell in her body was rising up to greet him, every nerve leaping just under her skin to feel the pressure of his fingers running over her, caressing her. Her breasts felt heavy, their pointed buds tight against the cotton of her bra, stra
ining, aching to get closer to him.
She felt the rasp of his evening shadow as he moved his mouth slightly, sending a sharp burst of sensation to the pit of her stomach. Never had she been more aware of his masculinity. Her heightened awareness fuelled the leaping flames of her desire into a conflagration; she was completely at his mercy, wanting him even more than her pride, which until now had been so important to her.
As if he sensed her surrender, his kiss changed to a seductive caress, his lips leaving hers to move down to the sensitive skin of her neck. She felt the warm brush of his fingers undoing the top three buttons of her simple white blouse, the fabric folding open to give him access to the creamy shadow of her breasts lying waiting, aching for his touch.
He gave her an opened mouth kiss on the upper side of her right breast; the heat of his mouth firing her senses to an intolerable level. He did the same to the other and she thought she would scream if he didn’t finish the job properly by uncovering her breasts completely.
His hand came up to gently cup her cheek, lifting her face so she had no choice but to look up at him.
‘You know I could do right now what most men would do in this situation, yet something tells me it’s not the right time.’ His voice was deep and husky. ‘But I promise you I will finish this. You have my word.’
Jasmine found the sparkle of unrelieved desire in his eyes compelling; she couldn’t look away if she tried. She swallowed the restriction in her throat; her intake of breath catching in tiny little tugs all the way down into her lungs.
He released his hold and stepped away from her.
‘I have to go now,’ he said. ‘Will you be all right?’
Pride came to her rescue. What did he think she was, some sort of sexual desperado?
‘I think I’ll just about manage,’ she said tightly.
He smiled and touched her on the cheek once more.
‘Till next time.’
She didn’t answer him.
She didn’t trust herself not to beg him to come back and finish what he’d started right here and now.
She watched as he walked from the room and then listened to his footsteps as he traversed the tiny hall, heard the door open and registered the click of the lock as it closed behind him, still without moving a millimetre from where he’d left her.
The Australian's Marriage Demand Page 4
