The Australian's Marriage Demand

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  She gave him a gelid glare.

  ‘How typically middle class! You with your silver spoon still sticking out of the corner of your goddamned mouth!’

  ‘Watch it,’ he warned.

  ‘You know people like you really make me sick,’ she continued recklessly. ‘You’ve never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from and yet you dare to criticise those who have nothing, not even a parent who loves them…’ She stopped as she realised what she’d said. He’d grown up from the age of four without either of his parents and while he may never have had to worry about hunger she suspected love was something that had been in short supply.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said without glancing her way. ‘I already have.’

  He put his foot down and overtook four cars in one stretch. Jasmine stole a covert glance at him. His expression was inscrutable. However, she noticed his hands on the steering wheel were tense.

  She felt terrible.

  She sat in a miserable silence and wondered how she could apologise any further. She was used to his teasing, not his temper, and it made her realise how little she knew of him. She wished Sam had been back from her honeymoon so she could have asked her to fill her in. Surely being married to his stepbrother, Finn, would have given her some insight into his character?

  After another silent half-an-hour Jasmine began to suspect where he was taking her—Pelican Head. He drove past her mother’s friend’s turnoff until he came to the end of the road to a large Victorian house. Jasmine had explored the grounds in the past, imagining it was haunted, with the shadowed windows of the old house looking like ghostly eyes as they surveyed whoever was game enough to trespass. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever expected to be driving up the pot-holed driveway with a new husband, bags packed to stay the weekend.

  ‘I’ll take our things inside,’ Connor said. ‘You want to have a look around by yourself for a while?’

  How had he known she wanted to be alone just now?

  ‘All right.’ She avoided his eyes as she slipped off her high heels and pushed her feet into a pair of flat casuals.

  He took their bags from the boot and made his way to the old house while she stood and breathed in the cooling evening air. The sun was sinking behind the screen of tall gum trees behind the house, casting rays of golden light across the iron-laced veranda.

  She turned away from the house and walked towards the creek, where the soft sway of the she-oaks in the light breeze and the trickle of water over the river stones gradually began to calm her overstretched nerves.

  She bent down to trail her fingers through the velvet softness of the maidenhair fern that was bowing towards the water and she breathed in the earthiness of moss and damp, a heady mix after the fumes of the bustling city.

  So this was the first day of her married life.

  She straightened and absently twirled the band on her finger, wondering if it would be there long enough to leave a mark.

  It was certainly an unusual way to start a marriage. A rushed ceremony to satisfy her parents’ need for propriety as well as to secure Connor’s mother’s estate, not to mention keeping the gossip-mongers at bay. It seemed a strange set of reasons for marriage, but then what else in her life wasn’t strange? She was like a stranger in her own family. She looked different. She even felt different. All her life she’d felt as if some part of her was missing and, just like a small piece of a jigsaw, the picture wasn’t complete.

  It was nearly dark when she wound her way back through the bush to the old house.

  Connor had turned on some lights, which took away from the haunted look she had been so used to seeing. In fact, the old house almost looked alive, as if it had been waiting all those years for someone to come along and switch on its lights so it could see through its dark windows again. Ever since she’d first skirted past the place on one of her walks she’d felt as if someone inside the house was watching her, but now it looked just as it was—a very old and rundown house in the middle of nowhere.

  She shook her head at her musings and walked up the steps to the front door. When it opened in front of her she started and almost stumbled back down the steps.

  ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,’ Connor said.

  She covered her embarrassment with cynicism. ‘I don’t believe in the afterlife.’ She made to brush past him but his arm came out to block her entry.

  ‘Aren’t I supposed to carry you over the threshold or something?’ he said with a teasing light in his eyes.

  She met his look with a hard light in her own.

  ‘And aren’t you supposed to love and cherish me till death us do part?’

  His expression became unreadable as he dropped his arm.

  ‘What I feel about you is irrelevant,’ he said. ‘What’s more important is what you feel about yourself.’

  She stared at him for a moment without speaking. Then, retreating into the protection of her usual sarcastic armour, she spat back at him, ‘As much as we are both likely to regret it, you are my husband, not my psychoanalyst.’

  ‘In that case I’d better carry you over the threshold.’ Without any other warning, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the house.

  ‘Put me down!’ she shrieked, straining against him.

  ‘When I’m ready.’ He tightened his hold. ‘Now stop struggling or I’ll drop you.’

  ‘I don’t want you to—’ Her words were suddenly cut off by his mouth coming over hers, stopping all sound.

  She stopped fighting him and began fighting with herself— fighting to keep control of the yearning his kiss had ignited like a lighted taper to dry kindling. She was erupting into leaping flames of need; there wasn’t a part of her untouched by the pressure of his mouth on hers. Her skin tingled all over, her heart leaping erratically when he deepened the kiss with a moist slide of his tongue through her parted lips.

  The flames of need were now an inferno. She was aching for him inside and out, her arms tight about his neck, holding on as if he were the lifeline she needed to stay afloat in the sea of passion that was threatening to consume them both.

  She felt him lower her feet to the floor, her body sliding down his erotically, snagging on the thrust of his aroused body, leaving her in no doubt of what he craved.

  But then he lifted his mouth off hers and she opened her passion-glazed eyes to find him looking at her intently, a question lurking in the depths of his chocolate gaze.

  She couldn’t hold his gaze.

  She pushed herself out of his hold, putting some much needed distance between them. She couldn’t think straight when his hands were on her, her thoughts becoming as jumbled and erratic as her pulse. She had no idea how she was going to get through the weekend without betraying herself; her physical desire for him was already spiralling out of her control just from one kiss!

  She turned around and looked at the interior of the house rather than face his sardonic half-smile.

  ‘What plans do you have for this place?’ she asked casually as she picked at a flake of cracked paint on the nearest wall.

  ‘I was hoping you’d help me with that.’

  She glanced over her shoulder at him.

  ‘I don’t know anything about interior decorating.’

  ‘But you’re familiar with the house.’

  She turned to face him.

  ‘Before today I’ve never even stepped inside the place.’

  He raised one brow. ‘Not very neighbourly of you.’

  ‘Look, I came to the shack down the road to escape, not to socialise with whoever may have been living here. Anyway, word has it the person who was last here was a recluse.’

  ‘Weren’t you even a little bit tempted to come over and look around?’

  ‘No, why should I?’ She gave him a reproachful glare. ‘Unlike some, I do actually respect people’s need for space.’


  ‘But surely you must have wondered who was living here? I thought all women were by nature curious.’

  Jasmine found his question slightly disturbing. The truth was she had been intensely curious about the occupant of the old house but her own need for peace had prevented her from investigating any further. She’d wandered through the grounds once or twice, watching for any signs of movement behind the half-drawn blinds before turning for the creek path that ran through the property.

  ‘All I know is whoever lived here wasn’t keen on home maintenance,’ she said with a wry glance towards the peeling paint.

  ‘Yes, it does look a little neglected but I like a challenge.’

  He wandered over to the bookshelves where books were lying haphazardly amongst decades of dust. He picked up a copy of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles and blew off a cloud of dust. ‘I thought the place needed some attention and, like you, I was drawn to the solitude.’

  Her eyes connected with his across the room but she felt as if something more than the meeting of gazes had passed between them.

  She realised then that she knew virtually nothing about his work, what sort of stresses he had to contend with. In fact, apart from what she’d occasionally read in the press and what she’d heard from Finn and Sam he was an unknown quantity. The fact that she was now married to him made her ignorance all the more intimidating.

  ‘Do you enjoy your work?’ She was pleased with her question; it demonstrated an interest without revealing her need to pry.

  He put the old book down and dusted off his hands.

  ‘It pays the bills and creates a few more,’ he answered. ‘Like most jobs.’

  ‘Business is like that,’ she said in response.

  ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Do you have plans to move on from the clinic to a job with more sociable hours?’

  ‘No.’ Her reply was short and sharp.

  He gave her a studied look.

  ‘You have an insatiable desire to be needed, don’t you?’ he observed. ‘That’s why you work yourself into the ground on a wage that wouldn’t feed a sparrow.’

  ‘I don’t see how it’s any business of yours what I do or how much I earn doing it.’

  She turned away from his penetrating look and inspected the bookshelves nearest her. She picked up a copy of Milton’s poems and flicked idly through the yellowed pages.

  ‘What made you buy this house?’ she asked.

  She sensed his casual shrug but didn’t look up at him as she put the book carefully back amongst the others.

  ‘I liked the mystery of the place,’ he answered. ‘Mystery intrigues me.’

  Just then the lights flickered momentarily, went out completely, and then came back on all within the space of a few seconds.

  Jasmine felt a tiny shiver run through her as she turned to look at him.

  ‘Are you frightened?’ he asked, a half-smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Of course not!’ She gave her head a toss.

  A distant roll of thunder sounded and she visibly flinched.

  His smile widened.

  ‘Sounds like we’re in for a storm.’ He watched the interplay of emotions on her expressive face. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.’

  She didn’t need to tell him her biggest fear was him, not the approaching storm; she was sure he must see it for himself in the widening of her eyes as he stepped towards her.

  She held her breath as he touched her gently on the cheek with the back of his hand.

  ‘Don’t be frightened, Jasmine.’ His voice was like velvet running over her skin.

  ‘I…I’m not frightened.’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘I just don’t like storms.’

  ‘What is it you don’t like, the thunder or the lightning?’

  ‘I don’t like the unpredictability of it.’ She swallowed. ‘You never know when the next strike is going to come; they seem to come from a long way off and then the next moment it’s right on top of you, catching you off guard.’

  ‘Like falling in love?’ His eyes held hers for a moment.

  ‘I’m not sure. Anyway, what would you know of love? I thought a playboy’s credo was to keep things strictly on a physical plane?’ She knew disapproval coloured her tone but couldn’t check it in time.

  His mouth lifted in one of his characteristic half-smiles.

  ‘Even playboys can fall in love,’ he answered smoothly. ‘And just like thunder and lightning it can take them completely by surprise.’

  She felt increasingly uncomfortable under his watchful gaze and lowered her own to inspect the floorboards at her feet.

  ‘How often have you fallen in love?’ She hoped her tone suggested indifference.

  ‘Not often enough to be any expert on the subject,’ he said.

  She didn’t understand why his answer had disappointed her.

  ‘What about you?’ he asked into the stretching silence.

  She would have answered him with some carefully framed, suitably evasive reply but just then a bolt of savage lightning split the sky, turning the room a sickly shade of electric-green. She flinched as if someone had struck her from behind and flung herself forward into his arms. He held her against him as the thunder boomed like a cannon over their heads, his hard body like a fortress against the enemy at the gates. She heard a crackle and the light flickered and then finally snuffed out like a candle in a sudden breeze.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as another bolt of lightning rent the sky, closely followed by the roar of angry thunder.

  ‘It’s all right.’ His hand stroked the back of her head. ‘It’ll pass in a few minutes.’

  ‘It’s getting so dark,’ she said into his chest.

  She felt rather than heard his rumble of amusement.

  ‘It is, now that the power’s off.’

  ‘Do you have a torch?’ Her tone was hopeful as she looked up at him.

  His eyes were like fathomless pools as he held her gaze. She was suddenly conscious of the hard length of him against her, its presence between them a reminder of the intimacy of both their circumstances and relationship. They were totally alone, without the distraction of either people or power; alone in a big old house still trembling with a host of memories seeping through every wind-borne crack in the windows.

  ‘I don’t have a torch,’ he said.

  ‘A candle?’ She peered up at him in the ever increasing darkness.

  He shook his head.

  ‘But I have laid a fire in the fireplace and I have some matches.’

  She didn’t see any point in disguising her relief.

  ‘Thank God.’ She gave a tiny shudder against him. ‘For a moment I thought we were in big trouble.’

  There was a strange little silence.

  ‘We are in big trouble,’ he said.

  ‘What sort of trouble?’ She looked up at him again.

  ‘This sort of trouble,’ he answered and bent his head to hers.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ANOTHER shaft of lightning filled the room momentarily with green-tinged light but once it flashed Jasmine didn’t even spare a thought for the thunder. When Connor’s mouth covered hers she was lost to the violence of the storm outside, her only thought on the storm of need he’d awakened inside her with the first dart of his tongue into her warm mouth.

  She was carried along by the maelstrom of desire pulsing between them, a desire she didn’t want to feel but couldn’t stop herself from feeling. It was as if the force of nature had taken over her body, making her act in ways totally unfamiliar to her. Her hands were already threading their way through his dark hair, her soft whimpering cries filling the silence of the room as he left her mouth to blaze a trail of kisses down her neck. She was on a wanton path to destruction but she didn’t care any more. She heard the rasp of the zip at the back of her dress and stepped out of its silken folds, glad of the cloak of darkness as she stood before him in her underwear.

  She felt the scorch of his
eyes even through the darkness.

  ‘I’ll light the fire,’ he said in a whispering tone.

  She wanted to tell him he’d already lit a fire; her body felt as if it were going to burst into leaping flames right then and there. But she said nothing as he searched along the top of the mantelpiece for the box of matches.

  The strike of one against the side of the box seemed loud now that the storm outside had faded to a distant rumble. She watched as the tiny glow of the match cast his features into relief, giving him a rakish look. He bent to the laid fire and it erupted into a warm glow, giving her a timely reminder that he must have done this a hundred times with a hundred different women in a hundred different locations.

  He reached for her but she’d anticipated the move and put the old sofa between them. The fire lighting him from behind made him appear larger and more threatening as he loomed over her, his eyes scorching her from head to toe.

  ‘Cold feet, Jasmine?’ he asked in his customary mocking tone.

  She set her chin at a defiant angle.

  ‘I’m not on the Pill.’

  ‘I have a condom.’

  ‘Only one?’ Her look was cynical.

  ‘I came prepared.’ There was an intent light in his eyes that frightened her.

  ‘I bet you did,’ she sniped back at him as he made a move towards her. ‘In an array of colours and textures, no doubt.’

  ‘I always aim to please.’

  She tore her eyes away from his and did another round of the sofa.

  ‘Will you stop following me like some nasty predator?’ she railed at him crossly as he closed the distance with another stride. She didn’t trust herself not to throw herself back in his arms and so retreated behind a wall of cold anger to disguise her need. ‘Leave me alone, Connor, or I’ll scream.’

  His eyebrow lifted in amusement.

  ‘Who do you think is going to hear you? God?’

  ‘Believe me—’ she gave him a fulminating look ‘—when I scream the whole universe will hear it.’

  ‘A screamer, eh?’ His eyes danced as he looked her over once more.

  She felt herself blush from head to foot at his double meaning. Well, that was one thing on which he could reassure himself; her responses were hardly going to wake the neighbours if her track record was anything to go by, she thought bitterly.