The Marriage Takeover

by Lee Wilkinson

  She would make the excuse that she had resolved to seize this opportunity to see something of LA, in case it was going to be her future home.

  Once the helicopter had dropped her, she could book herself into a hotel for the night. There would be no need for her to go anywhere near Seguro House. That way no one could accuse Alan of mixing business with pleasure.

  Lang Dalton had said the helicopter would be ready ‘first thing in the morning’. What time was it now? A glance at her watch only served to confuse her; she had omitted to adjust it to the time difference.

  So how long had she got? At a guess she must have nearly slept the clock round, so probably not long, she thought with sudden urgency. But all she needed to do was throw a few things in her overnight bag before Alan knocked. She could always skip breakfast.

  Jumping out of bed, she hurried to the bathroom.

  Having showered and dressed at top speed, and pulled a brush through her long hair, she began to pack some changes of clothing and a few essentials. She had barely finished when she heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter.

  Just in the nick of time, she thought with relief. Any second now Alan would be knocking at the door.

  But no knock came, and it took a moment or two of stunned disbelief before the unwelcome fact finally sank in that the engine noise, rather than approaching, was moving away.

  No, no, it couldn’t be. Alan wouldn’t leave without seeing her, without saying goodbye.

  Her heart suddenly racing, she pressed a button set into the side of the nearest arch, and the glass panels slid aside.

  Hurrying out onto the patio, she shielded her eyes from the brightness and looked up into the cloudless sky. The helicopter, silver against the deep blue, was heading south-west towards the coast and the urban sprawl that was Los Angeles…

  ‘Good morning.’ Lang Dalton’s low-pitched, attractive voice made her jump. ‘You’re up and dressed earlier than I’d expected.’

  Bare feet leaving wet prints, he was coming towards her, tanned and fit-looking, wearing well-cut navy swimming trunks, a towel slung around his neck. His thick blond hair was wet and rumpled, a single lock falling over his forehead.

  ‘That isn’t…?’ Her voice shook betrayingly, and she stopped speaking abruptly.

  Following her gaze to where the helicopter had become a rapidly dwindling speck, he said, ‘I’m afraid so,’ adding with a kind of mocking concern, ‘You look upset. I do hope you hadn’t changed your mind about going?’

  ‘No, I hadn’t changed my mind,’ she lied jerkily, and felt almost sure that he didn’t believe her. ‘But Alan promised he’d…’ Once again she was forced to stop.

  ‘See you before he left?’ Lang finished for her. ‘You’ll have to forgive him. He didn’t have a moment to spare. In fact he was forced to go without any breakfast.’

  A drop of water ran down his lean cheek and he lifted the towel to wipe it away before continuing, ‘The helicopter arrived over an hour early. Some last-minute problem had cropped up that meant McDowell, my pilot, was needed back in LA urgently.’

  But surely Alan could have found just a few seconds to say goodbye?

  As though reading her thoughts, Lang went on smoothly, ‘Brent and I agreed that as you were obviously jet-lagged it would be a shame to wake you for what would have necessarily been a very brief farewell.’

  Brent and I agreed… Cassandra bit her lip vexedly. Reading between the lines, what it amounted to was that to make sure she didn’t change her mind and take advantage of his offer Lang Dalton had tried to prevent Alan from waking her.

  And Alan, no doubt feeling uncomfortable about leaving her, and possibly fearing some kind of last-minute reproach, had taken the easy way out.

  Aloud, she said, ‘How thoughtful of you both.’ And, feeling caught, trapped, wondered despairingly how she was going to get through the next two days.

  But somehow she would have to, and with the best possible grace…

  As though applauding her unspoken decision, Lang smiled at her, and said briskly, ‘However, as you are awake, you’ve time for a swim before breakfast.’

  The blue, sparkling water looked very inviting, but she found herself oddly unwilling to appear in front of him in a swimsuit.

  ‘I’m not sure what the time is,’ she prevaricated. ‘I forgot to alter my watch.’

  Glancing at the slim, waterproof Rolex he wore on his left wrist, Lang told her, ‘It’s just after six.’ Then, with a glint, he said, ‘And I can recommend that swim.’

  Making a big deal of adjusting her watch, she half shook her head. ‘I’m really thirsty. I think I’d rather have a drink.’

  ‘Why not have both? There’s some freshly squeezed juice waiting.’ He indicated a table by the pool-side that had been set with a selection of fruit and cereals, a jug of orange juice and two tall glasses.

  As she hesitated, his sardonic smile making it clear that he had recognized the reason for her reluctance, he added, ‘I’m going in now to shower and dress. Afterwards I’ve got a couple of things to take care of, so you’ve a good half-hour before I join you for breakfast.’

  ‘Thank you; in that case I think I will.’ She was pleased that her voice was steady.

  Watching him walk away, his carriage easy, athletic, she gritted her teeth. He was the most complex, demoralizing, disturbing man she’d ever met.

  Going back into her room, the first thing she noticed was the overnight bag that now wouldn’t be needed.

  Oh, if only she’d wakened sooner! Agitated and jumpy, nervous as a cat shut in the wrong house, she sighed. But it was too late. There was nothing she could do but make the best of things.

  Stripping off her clothes, she pulled on her black swimsuit and looked in the cheval-glass. It fitted her slender, long-legged figure to perfection, and by modern standards was quite modest, but her heightened sensibilities made her feel half naked.

  A cautious peep showed the patio was deserted, and, with a rueful grimace at the stupidity of her own behaviour, she ventured out.

  She helped herself to a glass of the delicious, sweet-tart juice, and drank it thirstily before slipping into the pool.

  The water was blissfully cool and refreshing, and she swam several leisurely lengths while the tension slowly drained out of her.

  Turning on her back, she floated motionless, her hair fanning out around her, her eyes closed, the Californian sun warm on her face.

  ‘About ready?’

  Lang’s voice startled her, and her head went under. She gulped in water, and for a second or two thrashed about wildly.

  A strong hand caught one of her wrists and drew her to the side. Then, crouching, he took her under her arms and hauled her out with what seemed to be effortless ease.

  While she coughed and spluttered, he set her on her feet and steadied her until she’d blinked the water from her eyes and got her breath back. Then, picking up a short white towelling robe he’d tossed over a chair, he held it for her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. Pulling the robe around her, she knotted the belt and used the cowl collar to wipe her face and dry the dripping ends of her hair.

  A hint of amusement in his voice, Lang suggested, ‘Perhaps in future you should avoid the deep end, rather than risk drowning.’

  ‘I can swim perfectly well,’ she informed him indignantly. ‘I would have been in no danger of drowning if you hadn’t startled me.’

  She hadn’t meant to sound quite so accusing, she thought belatedly, but the shock had momentarily put out of her head the need to tread warily.

  ‘I’m sorry. Trying to drown you wasn’t my intention. Believe me, I much prefer you alive.’ Then he said softly, ‘You see, I have plans for you, Cassandra.’

  ‘Plans?’ A little chill of alarm ran down her spine. ‘What kind of plans?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see. I’ve always believed that anticipation hones the…’ There was a brief pause before he added, ‘Pleasure. Now, are you r
eady for some breakfast?’

  He had changed into lightweight trousers and a blue open-necked sports shirt. Conscious that he was studying the slim length of her bare legs, and feeling very much at a disadvantage, she stammered, ‘I—I was hoping to get dressed first.’

  A hand beneath her elbow, he urged her towards the table and the appetizing smell of coffee. ‘This is California. Even up here, where the air’s cooler, you’re already wearing more than you need.’

  Seeing nothing else for it, she sat down, hiding her legs under the table.

  Smiling a little, he took his own seat and poured coffee for them both, before asking, ‘Would you like to start with some cereal?’ When she shook her head, he helped her to scrambled eggs and thin slices of crispy bacon.

  Sitting in the sun, a balmy breeze rustling the palm fronds and wafting the scent of frangipani, the mountains making a majestic backdrop, they ate in silence, Lang looking relaxed and easy, Cassandra anything but.

  What had he meant by plans? she wondered uneasily. It had sounded almost like a veiled threat…

  Oh, don’t be a fool! she scolded herself crossly. What possible reason could a man in his position have for threatening her? Until the previous day she’d never even met him, let alone given him any cause to want to harm her.

  Lang Dalton was her boss, nothing more or less. A wealthy, influential, highly respected entrepreneur, not some kind of bogeyman.

  Probably plans had been a reference to some quite innocuous outing. He’d told Alan that he would show her ‘something of the area’.

  When, eating abstractedly, she’d done justice to the meal, Lang refilled her cup and, his voice casual, said, ‘Oh, by the way, your fiancé wrote you a note while he was snatching a quick coffee.’

  Why hadn’t he mentioned it before? she wondered vexedly.

  As though in answer to that thought, he added with an ironic smile, ‘In the general excitement, I’m afraid it almost slipped my mind.’

  Feeling in the pocket of his shirt, he produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to her.

  Confirming Alan’s haste, his almost painfully neat writing had degenerated into a scrawl.

  Cass, darling, sorry to leave without seeing you, but in the circumstances it seemed a shame to disturb you. While we were talking last night, Mr Dalton told me where he planned to take you, so enjoy your weekend, and I’ll catch up with you in Las Vegas Sunday evening.

  Love, A.

  Looking up, Cassandra asked blankly, ‘Las Vegas?’

  ‘I thought you might like to see the place,’ Lang said easily. ‘We can drive over to Nevada—you’ll find the journey itself is a pleasure—and stay a couple of nights at the Golden Phoenix… I’ve arranged for your fiancé to be flown straight there from LA…

  ‘Apart from the fact that Vegas is well worth seeing for its own sake—it was a frontier outpost and railway town before becoming a gambling mecca—it’s surrounded by some magnificent desert scenery.

  ‘Death Valley lies to the west, and from nearby McCarran International Airport there are flights that offer a bird’s-eye view of the Grand Canyon.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ she admitted, feeling both excited and relieved. A trip to Las Vegas in a chauffeur-driven car, and staying at a hotel with plenty of people, had to be a great deal easier than remaining here with only Lang Dalton for company.

  ‘I’m glad you approve.’ So far so good, he thought, and asked softly, ‘Are you anything of a gambler, Cassandra?’

  ‘No. Are you?’

  He smiled thinly. ‘Not in the usual sense. I have been known to play for high stakes, but only when the odds are stacked in my favour.’

  Something about his answer made her feel uneasy, but, telling herself that she mustn’t start imagining things again, she asked, ‘When do you plan to start?’

  ‘As soon as possible. How long will it take you to get ready?’

  ‘Ten minutes?’

  Nodding his approval, he rose to his feet and pulled out her chair.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AS QUICKLY as she could, Cassandra showered, put on a white, slim-fitting shift dress, and wound her hair into a neat coil. Her overnight bag in her hand, she was descending the terrace steps when a big cream and beige four-wheel drive appeared with Lang at the wheel.

  Her heart sank a little. It seemed he intended to drive himself.

  Jumping out, he tossed her luggage on to the back seat alongside his own and, a hand beneath her bare elbow, helped her into the air-conditioned vehicle.

  ‘Ten minutes exactly,’ he congratulated her, adding, his smile crooked, ‘With having your overnight things to pack, I hardly thought you’d make it in time…’

  So he hadn’t believed her when she’d denied changing her mind, and he knew quite well that her bag had been already packed.

  Damn him! she thought crossly, flustered by both his touch and his ironic words.

  ‘And you even manage to look cool and collected, and incredibly beautiful.’

  Pursing her lips, she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Dalton.’

  Laughing at her primness, he urged, ‘Have a heart, Cassandra… For the weekend at least, forget I’m your boss and call me Lang.’

  Not on your life! she decided grimly. Calling him by his first name would add a new dimension, a complication she would rather not tangle with.

  A moment later he was in the driving seat, and with a throaty roar from the powerful engine they were off, following a private road through extensive, palm-shaded grounds.

  He drove without speaking, his lean, long-fingered hands lying lightly on the wheel, a slight smile touching his firm mouth.

  The tall, wrought-iron gates in the perimeter wall slid aside at their approach and closed behind them as they turned to follow a tortuous mountain road between spectacular masses of granite boulders and tinder-dry scrub.

  But rather than watching the scenery Cassandra’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to her companion’s hard-boned profile—the strong nose, the controlled line of the upper lip in direct contrast to the warm curve of the lower, the droop of an eyelid at the outer corner, the sweep of thick, gold-tipped lashes…

  As though aware of her scrutiny, he suddenly turned his head to smile at her. Feeling herself start to flush, she looked hurriedly away.

  For a while she stared determinedly out of the window, absently noting a gnarled, twisted cypress and the occasional sword-leaved yucca.

  Then, wanting to break the silence, to get on some kind of workable footing that would keep a respectable distance between them, she asked politely, ‘Do you go to Las Vegas often?’

  ‘From time to time,’ he answered casually.

  Remembering his previous remarks, she suggested, ‘But not to gamble?’

  He shook his head. ‘Sometimes it’s a matter of business. Other times I go to catch one of the big name acts when they appear at Caesar’s Palace or the Golden Phoenix.’

  ‘Earlier you spoke as if you enjoyed the journey?’

  ‘I do. I’ve always got a buzz from just being on the move. Unfortunately my wife didn’t. Nina found any kind of travelling both tiring and boring…

  ‘Do you enjoy being on the move, Cassandra?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Her voice wistful, she added, ‘I’d like to have done some real travelling, seen a lot more of the world.’

  But she’d had neither the opportunity nor the money. Having sent her to a good school, her parents had considered their duty done, and, unwilling to ask them for anything further, she’d struggled to be completely independent.

  Lang slanted her a glance. ‘You said you’d been to Paris?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When was that?’

  Unwilling to talk about it, she answered shortly, ‘A couple of months ago.’

  ‘With Brent?’

  Lifting her chin, she said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  In fact the weekend had proved to b
e something of a disaster and they’d ended up sleeping in separate beds. Yet in an odd sort of way the truth coming out had strengthened their relationship, and resulted in their deciding to get married earlier than first planned.

  Afraid Lang was going to question her further, she abruptly changed the subject, saying the first thing that came into her head. ‘As today’s journey seems to be a longish one, I’d half expected you to take the limousine.’

  He went along with it. ‘On this kind of trip I prefer to drive myself, and the Cherokee was bought primarily for desert travel, which needs special safety precautions.’

  ‘You make it sound…dangerous.’

  ‘In spite of its beauty, it can be just that. Particularly in the hottest months when the temperature in Death Valley has been known to reach a hundred and thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit. Anyone who breaks down or gets stuck in such desiccating heat can be in real trouble, unless they have plenty of water and some way of shielding themselves from the sun until help arrives.’

  ‘Which I’m sure we have?’ she asked gravely.

  With a sidelong glance, he answered equally gravely, ‘Of course.’

  Only the sudden gleam in his blue eyes told her he knew he was being teased.

  It was a new, and unexpected, experience for him. Still, a lot about this woman had been unexpected, he admitted. Her spirit and her sense of humour, her innocence…

  Innocence?

  No! He knew that appearance of innocence was assumed. There had been Sean… And she and Brent were undoubtedly lovers. But what really had come as a surprise was that she seemed to genuinely love the man whose ring she was wearing.

  In the circumstances, an unlooked-for complication.

  Until he’d met her, he’d presumed she would be out for all she could get, willing to ditch Brent when some more lucrative proposition offered itself.

  Now he had serious doubts. He might be forced to use his alternative plan. But what did it matter so long as, in the end, he got what he wanted…?

  ‘Are we actually going through Death Valley?’ Her low, slightly husky voice broke into his thoughts.