Convenient Brides

by Catherine Spencer

  Emily smiled and slowed her pace to match Mrs McCrae’s.

  ‘I’m sure you can buy quite nice ones,’ she offered positively.

  Mrs McCrae gave her a scornful look. ‘Next you’ll be telling me it’s not ageing to wear underwear the size of yacht sails.’

  Emily burst out laughing. She hadn’t laughed in so long the sensation felt strange and she quickly smothered the sound. Mrs McCrae looked at her and smiled.

  ‘You should smile more often. You have such lovely eyes. They dance the Highland Fling when you smile.’

  Emily looked away in embarrassment and they continued in a companionable silence. There was something about Mrs McCrae that appealed to her. The faltering steps beside her filled her with compassion, and she wondered if the older woman had had a stroke recently. She didn’t like to ask, but pulled back her pace even more as they continued along the pathway.

  Not long after they’d turned the corner Mrs McCrae stopped in front of a neat terraced house. ‘This is my home. It’s not as grand as its neighbours but I live alone.’

  ‘Did you…did your husband pass away?’ Emily asked uncomfortably.

  ‘He’s been long gone,’ Mrs McCrae said.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Mrs McCrae’s bright eyes twinkled again. ‘Not all husbands are as irresistible as yours, my dear.’

  Emily’s colour returned. ‘I should get going.’ She took a step backwards.

  ‘Come and visit me some time,’ Mrs McCrae said. ‘I don’t have many visitors. We can have tea and shortbread and a good blather.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Emily said, and gave Mrs McCrae’s arm a little squeeze as she turned to walk home.

  Two days later Emily was just sitting down to a snack of cheese on toast when the doorbell rang. She left her scanty evening meal and opened the front door.

  ‘Danny! What are you doing here?’

  ‘This is my brother’s house,’ Danny said, stooping to kiss her briefly on the mouth. ‘While the cat’s away and all that.’

  Emily stepped aside as he came in, her forehead creasing into a worried frown. ‘I’m not sure Damien would appre-ciate your sense of humour. Where’s Louise?’

  Danny shrugged and bent his head to smell the huge bouquet of flowers she’d put on the hall table only that morning. ‘Mmm, nice.’ He turned back to face her. ‘Louise is visiting her mother.’

  ‘So while the cat’s away and all that?’ Emily quipped darkly.

  ‘Come on, Em, have pity on me. Let’s have a drink and a chat. We’re supposed to be mates, aren’t we?’

  ‘You’re my brother-in-law now,’ she pointed out as he strode off towards the sitting room, where the well-stocked bar was located.

  ‘Even better,’ he said, reaching for the whisky decanter. ‘Damien won’t mind sharing. He’s used to it by now. Linda Janssen is his latest—apart from you, of course.’

  Emily found his comments intensely irritating. She hated being referred to in the same sentence as Damien’s mistress—it made her feel used and cheap.

  Danny looked at her as he lifted his glass to his lips. ‘You’re not falling in love with him, are you?’ he asked when she didn’t speak.

  Emily felt the flush rise like a tide along her cheeks. ‘Of course not! You know why I married him.’

  Danny’s laugh was mocking. ‘Yes, you married him for his money, didn’t you, my sweet?’

  Emily’s mouth tightened. ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite that way,’ she said.

  ‘How would you have put it, Emily?’

  Emily turned in shock at the deep sardonic sound of Damien’s voice at the doorway. ‘Damien!’ she gasped.

  Damien’s brow lifted ironically. ‘Surprised to see me? How touching.’ He turned to his brother. ‘What brings you here, Danny—apart from my wife?’

  Danny finished his whisky in one mouthful. ‘I thought I’d do the brotherly thing and entertain Emily for you. But since you’re home now I wonder if I could speak to you about something.’ He glanced briefly at Emily before adding, ‘In private.’

  Emily swung away to leave the room, her face set in lines of tension. She didn’t trust Danny. She wondered why she hadn’t seen it before, the way he inveigled himself, got what he wanted and then turned away without remorse.

  ‘What is it this time?’ she heard Damien ask as she closed the door behind her. ‘Money?’

  She wouldn’t listen through the keyhole, but how she wanted to! Instead she went back to her abandoned meal and sat down and stared at the cold cheese and limp toast. Very few minutes had passed before she heard the front door slam and the roar of a car soon after.

  Damien’s unmistakable tread came towards the kitchen and Emily pushed her untouched food away.

  ‘I want to talk to you,’ he said as he entered the room.

  Emily felt her stomach free-fall at the sheer height of him looming over her like some dark knight intent on righting the wrongs of his underlings.

  ‘I’m having my dinner,’ she said defiantly, pulling her toast back towards her.

  He gave the small plate a cursory glance. ‘That’s not dinner—that wouldn’t feed a gnat.’

  ‘I’m not that hungry.’

  ‘Are you upset?’

  She looked up at him.

  ‘Upset?’

  ‘You told me you can’t eat when you’re upset. Remember?’

  ‘Oh.’ She turned back to her plate. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I am,’ he said.

  She looked back at him at that. ‘Because Danny was here?’ she guessed.

  ‘That and other things.’

  ‘He’s your brother. I didn’t realise I was banned from speaking to him. Apart from your aunt, are there any other relatives you’d like me to keep away from?’

  His expression darkened. ‘Who else have you entertained while I’ve been away?’

  She got to her feet and slammed her chair in forcibly. ‘No one, although I don’t see that it’s any business of yours. I haven’t asked for a minute-by-minute account of your time away, although no doubt it would be very enlightening.’

  One of his hands snaked out and caught her arm, pulling her back to face him. ‘I don’t want you to spend time with Danny alone.’

  ‘Oh?’ She arched one fine brow provocatively. ‘Why? Because you don’t trust him? Or is it that you don’t trust me?’

  She suddenly found herself slammed up against him, her face far too close to his, her breasts rising and falling against the wall of hard muscle at his chest.

  ‘I don’t trust myself around you,’ he ground out, ‘let alone anyone else.’

  She could hardly breathe but managed to ask, ‘Am I to be put under lock and key?’

  His dark chocolate gaze fixed on her flashing blue glare. ‘No. I have other plans for you.’

  ‘Torture?’

  He gave a bitter half-smile and her stomach lurched again. ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’ Her voice sounded breathless, husky even.

  ‘On this,’ he said, and covered her mouth with his.

  It was torture, she decided some minutes later. Torture to be in his arms and know he didn’t care a jot for her. They’d moved from the kitchen to the sitting room but she couldn’t quite recall how. She’d locked her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as his mouth had worked its magic on hers, and when she opened them again she was being pressed to the expanse of the sofa and he was on top of her, each hard line of his very aroused body imprinting itself on hers.

  His mouth moved from hers to trail a path of heat along her neck. She turned her head as he pressed soft, spine-tingling kisses along the sensitised skin, her hands tightening around his shoulders, her nails digging into his firm flesh.

  ‘You’re a wildcat,’ he breathed against her mouth. ‘Do you know that?’

  She answered him with an open-mouthed kiss of her own, her nails digging even deeper. He returned her kiss while flames of uncontrollable desire licked along her flesh
wherever his hands or fingers touched. Her clothes were a barrier that he soon dispensed with. She heard something tear and then realised it was the back of his shirt as she wrenched it out of his trousers. Two buttons flew through the air to land alongside her bra and top, and his tie coiled like a ribbon-dancer’s as it joined them on the floor.

  She was lost. All her determination to resist him had disappeared, replaced with a desire so strong she had no hope of turning back its tide. It was like the force of a hurricane, overtaking everything in its path, hurling reason and intellect into the swirl of relentless desire.

  His hands covered her breasts, moulding their firm globes under expert fingers, tracing her sensitised nipples in tiny circles until her breath locked in her throat as he replaced his fingers in turn with his mouth. His tongue rolled over each hard nub until she thought she’d scream with her need of him. Her body arched beneath him, her pelvis melting into the strength and purpose of his.

  He entered her so deeply she shuddered at the impact. He checked himself, murmured something in her ear which in her overcome state she didn’t properly register. She let her body do the talking for her instead. Her legs tightened around his, her back arched to take him further, and she heard him groan as her hands raked along his back. Each movement of his body in hers brought her closer to the edge of ecstasy, only just out of reach but moving inexo-rably nearer. His mouth returned to hers, drawing a fiery response that left them both gasping for air.

  Her cry of pleasure when it came seemed to fill the room. She bit down on his shoulder as the last of the waves rolled over and through her, and his answering groan of release was like a salve along her heated flesh.

  It was a long time before either of them moved. Emily kept her eyes shut; her arms had relaxed their grip somewhat but were still around his neck. Damien’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, the steady beat of his heart close to hers.

  ‘Emily?’ He shifted his body and she immediately felt empty and alone. ‘Did I hurt you?’

  She shook her head against his shoulder, not trusting herself to speak. He lifted himself up on one elbow to look down at her.

  ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I told myself I wouldn’t.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘No, it’s not OK. It’s not part of the deal.’

  ‘Please, Damien—’ She pushed against him to get up off the sofa. ‘It’s not a big deal. It was just sex.’

  ‘Thanks.’ His tone was resentful.

  She flicked him a wry glance. ‘Very good sex,’ she said, stepping back into her discarded clothes.

  ‘I thought so too,’ he said as he reached for his trousers.

  She had to look away.

  ‘Have you had dinner?’ she asked, plumping up the squashed cushions on the sofa, wondering privately what Mrs Tilberry would think if she’d seen the way their bodies had just flattened them.

  ‘No—’ she heard him sigh ‘—you know what aeroplane food is like.’

  ‘Can’t be much worse than soggy cheese on toast.’

  ‘Comes close, I’d say.’

  She gave a reluctant smile as she turned to face him. He was looking at her intently, his dark gaze penetrating.

  ‘When you smile your eyes dance,’ he said. ‘You should smile more often.’

  Emily looked away, her cheeks aflame.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. You just reminded me of someone, that’s all.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Someone I met the other day.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your Scottish neighbour, Mrs McCrae.’

  ‘Never heard of her,’ he said dismissively.

  He poured them both a drink and, handing her one, asked, ‘What did Danny want?’

  She took a deep sip before answering. ‘We didn’t get to that.’

  ‘No.’ He put his drink down. ‘You were too busy discussing your motives for marrying me.’

  ‘It wasn’t quite how it sounded.’

  ‘Oh?’ His arched brow was sceptical.

  ‘I can’t see why you should be feeling affronted. You’ve made your own motives more than clear,’ she put in.

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m a smokescreen for the real love of your life. Everyone knows it.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  ‘Well, I know it.’

  ‘You know nothing. You just make it up as you go along to suit yourself.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ she said crossly, then, inspecting the whisky decanter intently, added, ‘Was she with you interstate?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  Emily turned to look at him. ‘Because I will not be made a laughing stock, that’s why.’

  ‘I wasn’t with Linda,’ he assured her. ‘I was catching up on clients.’

  She turned away again, not wanting him to see the relief on her face. ‘If I’m to believe your word then you should at least believe mine.’

  ‘Point taken,’ he said, putting down his glass. ‘But I still don’t want Danny to visit you alone.’

  ‘Danny is nothing to me.’

  ‘Other than a way to gain access to my aunt.’

  ‘I’m keeping my side of the deal,’ she said. ‘Even if you’re not.’

  His eyes moved away from hers and she felt a small sense of victory. An awkward silence fell between them. Emily finally broke it with, ‘I didn’t ask him to visit me.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but you were discussing me with him.’

  ‘Is that not allowed?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he insisted. ‘Would you like it if I discussed what just happened between us with another party?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him anything I wouldn’t have said to your face.’

  ‘If that’s supposed to reassure me, it doesn’t. You’ve said far too much to my face as it is.’

  ‘Only what you deserved to hear.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘You have only yourself to blame.’

  ‘Be that as it may, I still think you should keep away from Danny,’ he said again.

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t trust him,’ he answered. ‘Any more than I trust you.’

  Emily felt an inexplicable pang of hurt deep inside but covered it with a sharp barb of her own. ‘That’s a harsh statement from his own flesh and blood. I thought brothers stuck together through thick and thin?’

  ‘Danny doesn’t always behave like a brother,’ he said, bending down to pick something up off the floor. He straightened and handed her one of her earrings, his fingers brushing hers as she took it from him. She re-inserted it into her ear lobe nonchalantly, as if nothing intimate had happened between them. She felt him watching her, her fumbling fingers betraying her façade of cool composure.

  ‘How was your business trip, anyway?’ she asked to cover her nervousness. ‘Successful?’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’ He picked up his tie. ‘How about you? Did you get any work done?’

  ‘Work?’

  ‘Aren’t you working on a new book or something?’

  ‘I…I’ve got writer’s block.’

  ‘So what does one usually do when such a condition strikes?’ he asked.

  Emily shrugged. ‘Chocolate, lots of chocolate. Sometimes wine, but only when I’m really desperate.’

  ‘Red or white?’

  ‘Red,’ she said. ‘The full-bodied, headache-the-next-morning variety.’

  He smiled and reached for a corkscrew in the drinks cabinet. ‘Are you desperate enough for this?’ He held up a gold-labelled Cabinet Savignon that she knew probably cost more than her first car.

  ‘Not desperate,’ she said. ‘But tempted.’

  ‘Good.’ He deftly uncorked the bottle and reached for two crystal glasses. He poured the blood-coloured liquid and handed her one.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said, lifting his glass to chink against hers.

  ‘What are we toasting?’ s
he asked. ‘Our paper marriage?’

  His eyes glittered wryly as he took a sip of the wine.

  ‘It’s hardly a paper marriage now, is it?’ he said.

  Emily took a deep sip of the wine before responding. ‘It’s hardly a marriage. I know nothing of you; you know nothing of me.’

  ‘I know what gives you pleasure,’ he reminded her.

  Emily buried her flaming face into her glass. ‘I’m sure you’ve left a lot of very satisfied women in your wake,’ she bit out tartly, ‘but sexual satisfaction hardly constitutes a fulfilling relationship, let alone a marriage.’

  ‘But it’s important, surely? I mean, it would be a very stale relationship if there was no chemistry at all.’ He took another sip of wine and watched the fleeting emotions on her face.

  ‘What is it you want from me, Damien?’ she asked. ‘I’m getting a little mixed up over the fine print. I was under the impression this was to be a hands-off relationship, everything on paper. Wasn’t that the deal?’

  He put down his glass and met her fiery gaze.

  ‘I didn’t intend to sleep with you—’ he began.

  ‘You haven’t slept with me!’ she railed, thrusting her own glass aside. ‘You just tear my clothes off when you feel like it and have sex with me. I haven’t spent the night in your arms once!’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ His voice rose in frustration. ‘To sleep with me? For this to be a physical marriage?’

  Emily bit her lip and turned away, reaching for her glass to cover her feelings. One mouthful of good wine and she was asking for the moon. What was wrong with her?

  ‘No,’ she said determinedly. ‘I just want to stick to the rules.’

  ‘OK, then,’ he said. ‘I promise not to touch you. But you have to promise something to me. I want you to call your agent and tell her the book’s not going to be released—ever. That it’s not going to be written at all.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘No. If that book is ever released I will sue.’

  ‘You’d still sue me? Even though you’re married to me?’ she asked incredulously.

  His expression hardened. ‘Is that why you married me? Did you think I wouldn’t follow through? You’re a good lay, I’ll give you that, but I won’t see my aunt’s name dragged through the mud to fund your retirement, even if you are my wife.’