The Australian's Marriage Demand

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  She crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she could reach her dress on the other side of the sofa.

  As if reading her mind, Connor bent down and, picking it up, dangled it from his fingers.

  ‘You want this?’

  She tightened her mouth. ‘I’m cold.’

  ‘There’s a roaring fire over here,’ he said, pointing back over his shoulder.

  She ignored his comment and commanded, ‘Hand me my dress.’

  ‘Come and get it.’

  She met the challenge in his eyes and, taking a swift intake of breath, strode across and snatched it out of his hand. She turned her back to him and stepped back into it with as much grace as her fumbling fingers would allow. Once she was decently covered she faced him once more, the light of rebellion still firing in her eyes.

  ‘If you thought you could haul me down here for a weekend of seduction think again. I won’t be any man’s plaything.’

  ‘The thought never crossed my mind.’

  She glared at his guileless expression.

  ‘You’re making fun of me again and I won’t stand for it.’

  He laughed softly as he turned back to stoke the fire behind him.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jasmine—’ he addressed the settling flames ‘—I won’t suddenly leap on you and take you without your consent. That’s not my style.’

  ‘No.’ She tightened her hands into fists. ‘Your style is more the sneak up and take them when they’re off guard, isn’t it?’

  ‘So you do confess to being a little tempted?’ He looked over his shoulder at her standing stiffly on the other side of the sofa. ‘That is, when your guard is down?’

  ‘No!’ Her protestation was far too vehement, sounding more defensive than convincing. ‘I’m not tempted at all, guard down or not.’

  She could see he didn’t believe her, his dark eyes communicating as surely as if he’d spoken the words out loud.

  ‘I’m not interested in casual relationships,’ she added when he didn’t speak.

  ‘Our relationship is hardly what I’d call casual,’ he pointed out wryly. ‘After all, we’ve already shared the same bed and are now officially married.’

  ‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘It really suits your perverse sense of humour to have me in this unspeakable situation, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t deny the element of comedy in the situation.’

  ’Comedy?’ She almost shrieked the word. ‘You think this funny, me being imprisoned with you in this haunted mausoleum all weekend?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t believe in the after-life?’

  She gave a shiver as the old house creaked, as if in protest.

  ‘I don’t, but this place still gives me the creeps.’

  ‘It’s just an old unloved house, Jasmine. By the time we’ve finished, all the ghosts will be well on their way.’

  She didn’t care for the glint of mischief in his dark gaze and hastily turned her back to inspect the nearest object of furniture, to cover her unease. It was a small escritoire, beautifully crafted and in good condition considering the state of the house.

  ‘It’s a nice piece.’ He spoke from behind her left shoulder. ‘I bought it at an auction a few days ago.’

  She admired his taste but didn’t say so.

  ‘I bought a few other things, which will be delivered on Tuesday.’

  She turned to look at him at that.

  ‘You’re planning to stay until Tuesday?’

  ‘As honeymoons go it’s still rather short but I thought we needed more than two nights to get to know one another.’

  ‘We’d need a century.’ She brushed past him agitatedly to go and warm herself by the fire. ‘That is if I felt so inclined to get to know you at all.’

  ‘I think by the time we leave here you’ll know me very well.’

  She knew he was using the biblical meaning of the word by the element of lazy humour in his teasing tone.

  ‘I don’t want to know you. I don’t even like you.’

  ‘The reason you don’t like anyone, including me, is because you don’t even like yourself.’

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  ‘You can quit the Freud impersonation right now,’ she said tightly. ‘Analyse your own behaviour before you start on mine. You’re the one who got us into this unholy mess in the first place.’

  ‘You were the one in the wrong room,’ he pointed out neatly.

  She was infuriated by his satirical tone.

  ‘I made a simple mistake! Am I supposed to pay for it for the rest of my life?’

  He gave an indifferent shrug of one shoulder.

  ‘That’s entirely up to you.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ She stared at him suspiciously.

  ‘I mean this “unholy mess” we’re in, as you so indelicately described it, could turn out to be a whole lot of fun.’

  ‘I’d rather die than have fun with you.’

  He raised his eyebrows at her.

  ‘Careful, such careless untruths could call that old storm right on back.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Her tone was scathing.

  There was a very definite grumble of thunder in the distance. Connor winked at her and she turned back to the fire, her face glowing more than the flames still leaping there.

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’ he asked.

  ‘How can we cook without power?’

  Just then the lights gave a tentative flicker or two before coming on completely.

  Connor lifted his head towards the ceiling with a grin.

  She didn’t know what to say. She even wondered if he’d engineered the whole black out thing to suit his plan for seduction.

  He could see her scepticism and he smiled.

  ‘Come on. Let’s see what’s in the kitchen to eat.’

  She frowned as she followed him from the room at a safe distance. When she saw how well-stocked the old refrigerator was as well as the walk-in pantry she had to concede that he had certainly gone to a lot of trouble; at the very least, there was enough food to keep them going for a month.

  ‘Would you like some wine?’ He took a bottle out of the door of the refrigerator and held it up for her inspection.

  She didn’t normally drink much alcohol but decided that she would this time. She needed something other than him to stimulate her senses!

  ‘All right,’ she said.

  She watched as he uncorked the wine, poured some into the two glasses he’d taken from a cupboard. She took the glass he held out to her and took a tentative sip.

  He raised his own in a salute.

  ‘To a happy union.’

  She refused to join him in the toast.

  He took a generous mouthful and she watched the movement of his neck as he swallowed. She dragged her eyes away and stared into the contents of her own glass for a long moment.

  ‘You have to drink it, not wait for it to evaporate,’ he said.

  His mockery made her reckless. She gritted her teeth and, with the barest hesitation, lifted the glass to her lips and downed the contents in one hit. She put the glass down on the counter and met his taunting gaze.

  ‘Another?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not?’ she said, and pushed it towards him.

  After topping up his own he refilled it for her, leant back against the counter top and surveyed her defiant pose.

  ‘Doesn’t do to drink on an empty stomach,’ he cautioned.

  ‘I can handle it.’ She drained the glass with three mouthfuls.

  He pursed his lips as he watched her.

  ‘I can see what you’re up to.’ He twirled the glass in his hand. ‘But you’ll regret it in the morning.’

  ‘So?’ She tossed her head at him. ‘If I fell for your seductive plans I’d regret it in the morning too. The way I see it, this is the lesser of two evils.’

  ‘I have no plans for seduction. When we make love it will be because we both want i
t so badly there’s no other choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice.’

  He quirked an eyebrow at her.

  ‘That high moral ground is unfamiliar territory for you. I thought you enjoyed playing devil’s advocate?’

  ‘I’m having a night off.’ She suppressed a hiccough and steadied herself against the counter as the alcohol began to kick in. ‘Anyway, my father’s not here so I don’t need to bother.’

  ‘You enjoy needling him, don’t you?’

  She refused to acknowledge the question and reached to pour herself another glass of wine.

  ‘I suppose you think it’s your duty as the resident black sheep of the family,’ he added.

  She sipped at her wine before finally responding.

  ‘I don’t have a lot of time for people who are too heavenly good to be of any earthly use.’

  ‘Strong words from the daughter of a man who wants to be the next archbishop,’ he put in.

  ‘Look, don’t get me wrong. I care about both of my parents but their beliefs are not mine, and I won’t be forced to do or say anything I don’t want to.’

  ‘I’ll have to remember that.’

  ‘Yes, you will.’

  She was glad when he went to the refrigerator once more to organise some food for them. She was on shaky ground with so much alcohol in her system, and she didn’t trust herself not to start saying things she had no right saying to him or anyone.

  ‘How about some smoked salmon quiche and salad?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ she said as he brought over the food and set it out on the scrubbed pine table in the centre of the room.

  ‘We could eat in the dining room but it’s probably warmer in here,’ he said, holding out her chair.

  She sat down, conscious of his large frame leaning over her. She could smell his aftershave, a spicy, heady concoction that she knew she’d always associate with him. She held her breath until he moved to take the chair opposite, his eyes meeting and holding hers.

  ‘More wine?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not, indeed?’ He reached behind himself for the bottle and topped up her glass, leaving his own as it was.

  She bent her head to the food in front of her and, picking up her knife and fork, began applying herself to the task of eating to avoid having to make conversation rather than any particularly pressing need for food.

  Her appetite had waned hours ago when she’d joined him in front of the marriage celebrant, her stomach hollowing as she’d taken her place by his tall side, his broad shoulder touching hers as they both turned to face the front. The enormity of what she’d been about to do had struck her then more than at any other moment. As they’d signed the marriage certificate a few minutes later she’d truly felt as if she’d signed her life away. The sinking feeling in her stomach hadn’t gone away even now, all these hours later. A great yawning emptiness, reminding her of all she wanted but could never have…

  ‘You don’t seem all that hungry,’ Connor observed after a few minutes watching her shred her salad into tiny pieces, none of them quite making the distance to her pensive mouth.

  Jasmine blinked and looked down at her plate.

  ‘Oh.’ She gave a cherry tomato a little push with her fork and it rolled like a beach ball to the side of her plate. She put her knife and fork down and met his compelling gaze.

  ‘I’m sorry. I had a big breakfast.’

  He studied her for a long moment, his handsome head on one side, his dark hair ruffled, making her fingers twitch with the desire to thread themselves through the silky curls. She thrust her hands in her lap and forced herself to hold his gaze.

  ‘Is there a telephone?’ she asked. ‘I need to ring the clinic to tell them how long I’ll be away.’

  ‘I’ve already done that.’

  She felt herself tense in growing annoyance at the way he kept stepping over her personal boundaries. First, having his housekeeper pack her things and then calling the clinic.

  ‘You had no right to do that.’ The air crackled with her anger.

  He held her look, his eyes so intent she was sure he could see right through her to the back of the chair where her trembling shoulders were pressed.

  ‘I had every right to ensure you have a decent honeymoon period.’

  ‘Decent?’ The word came out as a harsh grunt of cynicism. ‘There is absolutely nothing about any of this that is decent!’ She got to her feet in agitation, tossing the napkin on to the table with a slash of her hand.

  ‘Jasmine…’ His tone was cautionary, which made her all the angrier.

  ‘Don’t you “Jasmine” me,’ she shot back with a passable imitation of his deep intonation. She caught the tail end of his little smile of amusement and stamped her foot at him. ‘I told you to stop laughing at me.’

  He got to his feet in a single movement, his sudden increase of height making her shiver in apprehension. She couldn’t read his expression accurately but thought it was somewhere between anger and frustration as he laid his napkin down with exaggerated precision even though his eyes never once left hers.

  ‘I think you should take yourself off to bed,’ he said in a tone one might have expected to hear when speaking to a small, over-tired child. ‘You’re beginning to sound distinctly shrewish.’

  She gasped at his effrontery.

  ‘And why wouldn’t I be shrewish? You’ve dragged me to this God-forsaken gothic gargoyle-adorned disintegrating dosshouse just so you can inveigle your way into my underwear.’

  His brows rose in mocking admiration at her wordy diatribe.

  ‘They say alcohol loosens the tongue. In your case it’s just off-loaded half the dictionary.’

  She was beyond containing her rage. She moved from her chair, uncaring that the action toppled over the glasses, spilling wine everywhere. His glass rolled off the table and shattered at his feet, the sound of it breaking filling the flinty silence with an ominous edge.

  This time she was in no doubt of his expression. He was angry, possibly more so than she’d ever seen him. His jaw was tight, the evening shadow on his jaw not able to disguise the flicker of a pulse at the side of his firm mouth, the shadows cast by the single light bulb overhead unable to conceal the glitter of reproach in his darkly hooded gaze.

  ‘That was not a very nice thing to do,’ he said after an interminable pause.

  ‘I don’t care,’ she tossed back recklessly. ‘You deserved it. I wish it had been red wine and stained your trousers.’

  ‘If that had been red wine you’d be flat on your back by now with me staking the claim that I should have staked the moment we walked into this house.’

  Her head reared back at the crudity of his statement. A host of disturbing images flooded her mind—images of his large body pinning her to the floor of the sitting room, the flickering flames from the fire nothing compared to the heat and fire of his touch on her fevered skin. She felt her innermost intimate muscles clench involuntarily at the thought of his hard length filling her, his milky fluid bursting from him at the peak of his pleasure…

  ‘I must remember to make sure you never consume red wine in my presence.’ She made an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

  He wasn’t letting her off that easily.

  ‘After you’ve cleaned that up I’ll show you where we’ll both be sleeping.’ He stepped over the broken glass and, before she could open her mouth to tell him what to do with his arrogant command, he’d gone from the room, clipping the door shut behind him.

  Jasmine stared at the mess on the floor. She refused to feel ashamed about her loss of control. He’d asked for it, damn him! Teasing her all the time, laughing at her behind those chocolate eyes, biding his time until he made the final swoop and made her his in every sense of the word.

  She’d show him! She snatched at a dustpan and brush and shoved the broken fragments into the bin. She gathered the dishes and, after giving them a cursory scrape, left them in the sink. She’d be damned if sh
e’d turn into his galley slave as well as his sex slave.

  She stomped from the kitchen, intent on tracking him down in the big old house to inform him that even if there was only one bed left on the planet she was not going to share it with him.

  He was in the main bedroom, a lovely room with large bay windows which in daylight afforded a beautiful view over Pelican Head. The old bed seemed to dominate the room, even though by any standards the room was commodious.

  He turned as she flung open the door with a theatrical shove of her hand.

  ‘I’m not sleeping with you in that bed.’

  ‘I see.’

  She hunted his face for a clue to what was going on behind that impenetrable mask but his cool indifference gave nothing away.

  ‘It’s unthinkable,’ she added.

  ‘Quite.’

  She opened and closed her fists by her sides.

  ‘It’s not that you’re not very attractive…’ She gnawed her bottom lip as she tried to back out of that very obvious compliment. ‘What I mean is…I can’t do it. I just can’t!’

  ‘I understand.’

  She pressed her lips together tightly, not trusting herself to continue confessing rather more than she wanted to confess.

  ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa downstairs,’ he offered gallantly.

  She ran her tongue across the parchment of her lips.

  ‘That’s very…kind of you.’

  ‘No trouble.’ He picked up his things off the bed, a small shaving bag and his bathrobe, and left her in the middle of the room—alone.

  She stared at the now closed door and frowned. She knew she shouldn’t be feeling this gnawing sense of disappointment but, damn it, she did!

  She turned around and sat heavily on the big bed, instantly sinking into the depths of the old mattress. A cloud of dust rose in the air and she sneezed.

  ‘Some honeymoon,’ she said under her breath, giving the springy mattress a punch with her fist. She sneezed again and her eyes began to water.

  Damn him! She sprang to her feet and, kicking off her shoes, padded back downstairs to have it out with him.