She was frozen to the spot by the sudden realisation that her hatred of him had vaporised, leaving in its place a much more destructive emotion. The sort of emotion she didn’t want to feel for any man, the sort of emotion that would spell disaster for someone such as her.
She didn’t want to love him.
Damn him!
She wasn’t going to give in!
Jasmine did all she could to avoid Connor’s calls.
She left the phone off the hook for hours and didn’t answer the door if the doorbell rang. She worked the most unfriendly hours she could, repeatedly taking the graveyard shift to avoid facing him until she was ready.
She wasn’t ready.
She wondered if she’d ever be ready.
She only had to think of him and her stomach would cave in, the sweet hollow feeling reminding her of an aching physical need of him.
As if summoned by her thoughts, he materialised just as she was leaving the clinic at midnight the following Friday. He was standing outside, leaning against his car, his dark, hooded gaze fixed on her.
He pushed himself away from the car and before she could say anything picked up her left hand and inspected it. He dropped it and asked, ‘Where’s your ring?’
She found the abruptness of his tone intensely irritating.
‘I don’t wear it in public.’
‘Why not?’ He almost barked the words at her.
Her eyebrows rose and she swung away from him to make her way to the bus stop. She hadn’t taken three steps before he’d caught the tail of her untucked shirt and pulled her back.
‘Hey!’ She slapped at his hand. ‘This is my best shirt!’
‘It’s too big for you and it’s the wrong colour,’ he said.
She felt herself bristle at his criticism.
‘I like it.’ She snatched the fabric out of his grasp and dusted herself off exaggeratedly.
‘Why haven’t you answered my calls?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘You’ve been avoiding me.’
‘No I haven’t,’ she lied.
‘Why don’t you wear my ring?’
‘I thought it was my ring?’ she shot back.
‘Don’t split hairs.’
‘It’s too expensive.’
‘Oh, for God’s sweet sake, Jasmine, it’s an engagement ring. It’s supposed to be expensive.’
‘I don’t like wearing expensive jewellery.’
‘Then I’ll get you something cheaper.’
‘I don’t want something cheaper.’
‘Then what the hell do you want?’ His voice rang out over the deserted street.
‘I…’ She clamped her mouth shut. She was so close to shouting back that she wanted him—wanted him with every fibre of her being.
‘I want to go home,’ she said instead. ‘It’s been a long day.’
He sighed and, taking her arm, led her towards his car. ‘It’s been a long week,’ he said, opening the door for her. ‘And it’s not over yet.’
She didn’t respond. She slipped into the seat with uncharacteristic meekness and silently buckled her seatbelt. She watched as he came round to the driver’s side and took his own seat, his glance wrathful as it came her way.
‘Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me?’
She gave him a frosty look. ‘You don’t own me.’
‘Yet.’ He started the car with a violent turn of the key.
She winced at the barely disguised anger simmering under the surface of his one hard-bitten word.
‘Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning?’ She folded her arms across her chest huffily.
‘You could say that.’ He recalled the lonely emptiness of his bed that morning, adding with a rueful glance her way, ‘It was certainly the wrong bed.’
Her heart sank. Surely he didn’t have someone else? A sick feeling came into her stomach, a combination of fear and dashed hopes and mind-blowing jealousy.
‘Perhaps you should be a little more careful in your choice of bed partner,’ she tossed back.
‘I intend to be very careful in future.’
She didn’t know what to make of his statement so kept silent.
It was a while before he spoke.
‘I suppose you saw the televised interview with Holden’s wife on Channel One last night?’
She kept her eyes on her tightly crossed knees.
‘No, I didn’t.’
She felt his quick glance.
‘Why not? Surely you’d want to know what’s being said about you.’
She elevated one slim shoulder dismissively. ‘What would be the point? It’s not as if I can answer my critics.’
‘You could give your own interview, tell them your side of the—’
‘No!’
She felt his assessing glance once more.
‘You sound very determined.’
‘I am.’
‘The money doesn’t tempt you?’
She looked at him at that. ‘No, the money doesn’t tempt me.’
He turned back to the traffic, his brow creased in a heavy frown.
He knew she didn’t know all the facts. How could she? The trouble was, he knew too much. The burden of his knowledge was like a thorn in his side. It niggled at him constantly, but he could hardly blurt out the truth. She would very likely be devastated to hear it so baldly. Better to let her begin to suspect something and then gradually help her to see it…
A wave of protectiveness washed over him, surprising him in its intensity. He wasn’t usually the knight in shining armour type; God knew he’d exploited so many relationships in the past any decent white horse would have bucked him off years ago. But there was something about Jasmine that stirred him where no one had stirred him before. He wasn’t all that sure he understood it but he knew he had to have her, and her parents’ ultimatum was going to make it a whole lot easier than he’d expected.
‘I had a call from your father today,’ he said after a long pause.
She gave a cynical grunt as he pulled up alongside her terrace house.
‘What did he want? A chance to inveigle himself into the registry office proceedings?’
‘It seems he’s having a rethink about us getting married.’
Jasmine tensed.
‘Apparently he thinks you could do much better.’
‘What did you say?’ she asked, not brave enough to look his way.
He gave a deep chuckle that sent shivers up her spine.
‘What I told him is not for a bishop’s daughter’s ears.’ He gave her a wry glance. ‘Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that suitable for a bishop’s ears either.’
A bubble of laughter came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She quickly covered it with a self-conscious cough but from the satisfied expression on his face when she looked at him she could tell he’d heard and noted it.
‘So the wedding’s off?’ she asked.
‘No, the wedding is not off.’
A funny sensation flickered between her thighs at his emphatic tone.
‘Actually, he soon changed his mind again,’ he added.
She looked at him warily, wondering what was going on behind that sexy half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
‘Don’t tell me you had to bribe him for my hand?’
He gave a deep rumble of laughter which sent another shiver of sensation right through her.
‘Your father is very proud of his organ, isn’t he?’
It took her a moment to grasp his meaning but by then it was already too late, her cheeks were fiery red.
‘Yes, although it’s in some need of repair,’ she muttered, trying not to look his way.
‘Not enough use?’ He threw her a cheeky look.
She didn’t answer, but the glance she sent his way spoke for her and he laughed again.
‘Once your father cashes the cheque I just donated to the organ fund I don’t think we’ll hear another word
about my unsuitability as a husband.’
‘I thought you were short of money.’ She frowned at him. ‘Isn’t that why you need to get married to access your mother’s estate?’
His eyes were on the traffic ahead and he waited until someone turning right moved out of his way before he answered.
‘I will never be short of money, but the money I want most in the world is what my mother left for me in her will. I guess compared to what I currently earn it may, to some people, seem rather a pittance, but she wanted me to have it and no one, and I mean no one, is going to stop me getting it.’
There was something in his tone that yet again alerted her to some undercurrent of ill-feeling towards his stepparents. She wished she knew more about his childhood, about the grief he must have felt on the death of his mother at such a young age, and his feeling of uncertainty for his future living in a household of people who bore no blood relationship to him. She didn’t voice her thoughts, however; she didn’t want him to think she had any feelings of any sort where he was concerned, and especially not feelings of empathy.
‘You’re making a big mistake tying yourself to me,’ she warned as he turned the car into the kerb. ‘Nothing good can come out of it.’
‘Let’s wait and see, shall we?’ His eyes caught and held hers.
She had to look away; he had an uncanny knack of seeing things she didn’t want him to see.
‘Thanks for the lift home.’ She reached for the door.
He reached across her to open it for her and she instantly shrank back as his muscled arm brushed against her breasts.
He heard her swift intake of breath and, leaning back, gave her a long, studied look.
‘Jasmine, answer me one question.’
She turned back to face him. ‘What is it?’
He waited a full thirty seconds before he spoke.
‘Tell me something.’ He paused. ‘Are you agreeing to marry me because of your parents’ demands on you or because of my desire to claim my mother’s estate?’
What could she say?
Neither?
That she was tempted to marry him just for herself? There was no way she was going to confess that to him! The truth was she did want to marry him. She wasn’t entirely sure why. He annoyed her, agitated her, teased her and intrigued her as no one else had ever done but a secret part of her felt drawn to him, as if he alone held the key to her long search for happiness. His laughter stirred her, his touch inflamed her, and his eyes twinkled with passionate promise until she couldn’t think straight. But she mustn’t let him see the effect he had on her. That must be kept hidden at all costs.
‘I’ve got nothing better to do.’ She tossed his previous words back at him casually.
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
‘Jasmine Byrne, what the hell am I going to do with you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her voice came out huskily.
‘I know what I want to do.’ He closed the distance between them, his arm coming around her shoulder and drawing her close.
She lifted her startled gaze to his descending mouth, her heart tripping in her chest as she felt his warm breath disturb the soft surface of her lips.
‘W…what?’ She barely breathed the word.
‘You know what,’ he said and covered her mouth with his.
She didn’t want the kiss to end.
She was already mentally rehearsing her invitation for him to come upstairs when he broke the contact and looked down at her with a rueful half-smile.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said.
Her fingers reached and fumbled over the door handle and somehow she finally managed to get it open and drag herself from the car without caving in to the temptation to beg.
She stood awkwardly on the pavement, her hands twisted in front of her just like a gauche schoolgirl coming back from her very first date.
‘Go on in,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait until you’re safely indoors before I leave.’
She turned on her heels and walked the short distance to the front door, all the time resisting the urge to run back to the car and plead with him to…
‘Jasmine?’
His voice stalled her.
She turned back around, faint hope flashing briefly on her features until she saw he was holding something out to her, suspended on the end of his long fingers.
‘Your bag,’ he said evenly, his expression unreadable.
She walked back to his car with as much dignity as she could and took her bag from him.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.
He didn’t say a word.
She walked back to the front door and after three attempts finally opened it and without a backward glance went inside and closed it behind her.
But even as she stood and listened as his powerful car drove off she was sure she could hear the sound of his mocking laughter filling the night air.
Damn him!
CHAPTER FOUR
THE date for the wedding had been set for the following Friday.
All the way to her parents’ house Jasmine’s anger had been steadily growing over her father’s permission being granted for the mere price of a pipe organ overhaul. She wanted to be angry at Connor for suggesting it, but knew deep down it was her father she was most annoyed with for accepting it.
On her arrival, however, it seemed her mother still had some misgivings.
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ Frances Byrne asked, her brow furrowed in a frown.
‘Of course I know what I’m doing,’ she answered, wondering if it were entirely true.
‘But darling—’ her mother’s hands twisted together ‘—he’s so…so…’
‘Go on, say it, Frances,’ her father cut in impatiently. ‘He’s a rake and he gambles.’
‘And I’m an outrageous tart,’ Jasmine shot back. ‘A match made in heaven, if you ask me.’
Her father had always found it difficult to deal with her propensity for sarcasm and, as was his custom, shook his head and looked heavenward for guidance.
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Elias,’ her mother scolded.
‘It’s all right, Mum,’ Jasmine said, sensing a showdown. ‘I understand your concern, but this is now between Connor and me.’
Her mother’s worried gaze flicked to her husband and back again.
‘Jasmine…’ She hesitated.
‘No, Frances,’ her father interrupted her. ‘Leave it.’
‘But Elias, she has to know some time—’
‘If you mean about the organ fund, I already know about that.’ She threw her father a caustic glance.
Her father shifted his gaze uncomfortably.
‘Elias—’ Her mother’s voice sounded hollow and her features took on a sickening pallor.
Jasmine’s eyes went back and forth between her parents, a sinking feeling coming into her stomach at the lines of tension she could see etched on their faces as they exchanged worried glances.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
Her father’s lips closed together like a purse being shut.
‘Mum?’ She turned back to her mother, her frown deepening.
‘Nothing’s going on,’ her mother said, avoiding her eye. ‘I’m just being silly, that’s all. Too many weddings in one year, I suppose.’ She dabbed at her eyes and once she was finished stuffed her handkerchief back up her sleeve, communicating that her brief lapse into sentimentality was now over.
‘Jasmine, your mother and I want you to be happy,’ her father said in the tone he used for a particularly serious sermon topic. ‘But your tendency to rush headlong into things has always been of great concern to us.’
‘I’m twenty-four years old,’ she said with a touch of bitterness. ‘Surely it’s time I was left to deal with the consequences of my actions without your intervention.’
Her parents exchanged another nervous, agitated glance.
‘What is it with you two?’ Jasmine asked in frustration
. ‘You’re acting unusually weird all of a sudden.’
‘Darling—’ her mother used the soothing tone she saved for emergencies ‘—of course we’re not acting weird! We’re both looking forward to seeing you happily married to Mr…I mean Connor, aren’t we, Elias?’
Her father grunted and picked up the sermon notes he’d been revising before his wife and daughter had interrupted him.
‘I’ll be in the breakfast room,’ he said and closed the door behind him.
Jasmine looked at her mother.
‘Mum?’
Frances Byrne gathered up the patchwork quilt she was making for the parish fair.
‘Don’t worry about your father,’ she said, folding the quilt haphazardly. ‘He’s nervous about the synod, that’s all.’
Jasmine sighed. ‘I understand, Mum, I really do.’
‘No, you don’t,’ her mother said, clutching her needlework to her chest like a shield. ‘That’s the whole trouble; you don’t understand.’
Her mother left the room and Jasmine was left staring at the space she’d just vacated, her mind swirling with a kaleidoscope of doubt and fear.
Connor called on her the Monday before the wedding. She’d not long come home from the clinic after a particularly trying day when one of her ‘hopefuls’ had slipped through the hoop and gone back on the streets for ‘a fix’.
She was in no mood to discuss weddings, parties or anything.
‘What do you want?’ she sniped as she thrust her key in the lock.
He followed her into the flat, deftly catching her bag as she flung it to one side carelessly.
‘Hard day at the office?’ he commented, hanging her bag over the back of the nearest chair.
She shot him a fiery look, frightened that if she relinquished her anger she’d howl like a baby instead. Ever since that strange exchange with her parents she’d felt on edge, as if she were on the cusp of some new change in her life, a change that would be both permanent and painful.
‘Why are you here?’
‘I’ve missed you.’
She gritted her teeth. ‘I wish you wouldn’t make fun of me all the time.’
‘I’m not. I’m telling you the truth. I really missed you today.’
‘You saw me three days ago.’
‘I like seeing you every day.’
The Australian's Marriage Demand Page 5
