She bit her lip and tried not to colour as his dark gaze roamed over her exposed flesh—and there was quite a lot of it. She realised, too late, that his reference to her figure at lunch must have lingered in her subconscious and been the reason she’d allowed herself to be persuaded into this dress. A subliminal desire to prove a thing or two to him, to be precise. She might be slim but she wasn’t scrawny. Only to have him see right through her…
She said, after a moment’s intense thought, ‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Damien, but I asked that in a particular context—I need to make a statement! I need to stand out from the crowd tonight. I need to be noticed as your…’ She hesitated, then bit the bullet, ‘As your prospective wife.’
‘There’s little doubt you’ll be noticed,’ he said wryly, ‘but why this sudden change of heart?’
She brought him up to date. ‘I know you told me most of this, but coming face to face with Cosmo Delaney and hearing him say that Cyril had promised Plover Park to him really brought it home, I guess,’ she finished.
He pulled off his jacket and tie and slung them over the back of a chair. ‘I see.’
‘He…he gives me the creeps—Cosmo Delaney,’ she added with a shudder.
‘Do you think he overheard our conversation?’
Lee considered. ‘No. If he’d been that close I’m sure I’d have got the vibes.’ She frowned. ‘You don’t seem at all perturbed.’
Damien shrugged. ‘I spend my life dealing with this kind of thing. I’ve also had a long, busy day.’ He touched a cupboard and a door sprang open to reveal the lit interior of a cocktail cabinet. ‘Like a drink?’
‘No, thanks. Of course,’ she said arctically, and looked around the luxury apartment, ‘being wealthy in your own right obviously gives you a different perspective on all this. It doesn’t mean nearly as much to you as it does to me. It probably doesn’t mean anything to you at all!’ Her green eyes were accusing.
He poured himself a Scotch and soda and took it over to the settee. ‘On the contrary, Lee,’ he murmured as he sprawled back, stretched his long legs out and looked up at her lazily. ‘If anyone could prove I conned myself into Cyril’s will under false pretences, I could kiss my career goodbye.’
She stared at him, then sank into an armchair. ‘Why aren’t you more upset, then?’
He studied his glass. ‘Before I go into that perhaps I should make a point. The easiest course for me at this stage, Lee, would be to withdraw any claim on Plover Park.’
Her lips parted and her eyes widened.
‘I don’t need the place,’ he continued wryly. ‘I don’t need the hassle of all this. And, although I don’t intend to do it, perhaps you should bear it in mind.’
She sprang up, then with a frustrated little sound crossed to the cocktail cabinet and mixed herself a brandy and soda—a process Damien watched with amusement. ‘I’m speechless,’ she remarked as she returned to her chair beneath his gaze.
‘Good. Perhaps you’ll hear me out in silence, then. The reason I’m not going to do it is this. For whatever reason…’ He paused and looked into the distance with a tinge of irony in his eyes. ‘I admired your fight for your grandparents. Nor did I in any way pressure Cyril into putting us in his will. He also left Cosmo a significant inheritance in other forms. So I’ll continue the fight.’
‘That’s all?’ she said uncertainly.
‘No.’ He stood up and looked down at her quizzically. ‘While I may continue the fight, the histrionics are your department, not mine.’
Lee bit her lip.
He smiled faintly, then said abruptly, ‘Are you quite sure you want to do this?’
‘A…marriage in name only,’ she said, ‘for the next ten months?’
‘Precisely, Lee. I have no deep, dark intentions towards you, believe me.’ He said it a shade grimly.
She pressed her hands together and took a very deep breath. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘All right. Hang on a moment.’
He left the room and came back shortly with a small velvet box which he handed to her. ‘It’s just occurred to me that we might as well use tonight to announce our engagement—after a whirlwind romance.’
Lee’s startled gaze rested on him, then flicked down to the box.
‘Open it.’
She did. To find a small but exceptionally pure diamond ring in an antique setting. Her mouth fell open and her gaze flew back to his. ‘What’s this?’
‘What it looks like. An engagement ring,’ he said dryly.
‘But…how come you just happen to have an engagement ring on hand? I mean—’
‘I’ve had it for years,’ he interrupted. ‘An aunt of mine left me all her possessions in her will, that’s all. Try it on.’
For an insane moment she was tempted to say…You should be doing this. Then she swallowed and asked herself if she were mad. She put the ring on the third finger of her left hand. It fitted well. ‘It’s…very nice,’ she said.
He studied it on her slender hand, but made no comment other than to excuse himself to take a shower and change.
It took him fifteen minutes, and when he reappeared he wore a fawn linen jacket, white open-necked shirt and khaki gabardine trousers. He looked casual yet complete, and as if he could go anywhere. His dark hair was sleek and still damp. He’d also retrieved a bottle of French champagne from the fridge in the kitchen.
‘Ready?’
Lee stood up and smoothed her dress down nervously. ‘How far do we have to go?’
He frowned faintly and studied her oval face beneath the heavy, beautifully upswept hair. ‘Only upstairs. My friends own the penthouse. There’s a vast terrace up there and the view’s great—what’s wrong?’
‘Serious butterflies in my stomach, if you really want to know.’ She smiled palely.
‘Don’t you go to parties?’
‘Of course! Well, not a lot these days—and not generally on penthouse terraces with million-dollar views—but that’s not the problem.’
‘I thought I’d reassured you that you do look the part?’ His dark gaze swept up and down her.
‘Thanks.’
‘What is the problem, then? I got the distinct impression you could handle yourself in any circumstances and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of you.’ He looked wry. ‘My one-woman SWAT team fiancée.’
‘Thank you,’ she said sardonically. ‘I can handle myself. I—damn,’ she said and closed her eyes briefly. ‘It’s just that I have no idea how to pretend I’m your fiancée!’
‘Ah. Where’s the movie star attitude?’
‘This is different from walking into a restaurant.’
‘And you’re trying to tell me you hadn’t thought of that bit when you gave me no choice but to take you to this party?’
‘Damien—yes,’ she admitted hollowly. ‘I just…Cosmo unsettled me and—’
‘Made you rush in where angels fear to tread?’ he supplied. ‘You have to admit, Lee, it’s not the first time it’s happened to you.’
A confrontational glint lit her eyes. ‘OK, we both know I can be rash and all the rest, but you were the one who first brought this… spirit-of-the-bequest to life for me—so do you have any suggestions?’
He put the champagne down on the coffee table next to the carnations and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Well,’ he mused, ‘it’s to be expected we are fairly besotted with each other. So, if you really want to make a statement tonight, you have between here and the penthouse to polish up your besotted act.’
She gazed at him fiercely. ‘If you think it’s funny, Damien Moore, I don’t!’
‘I do, I’m afraid. Where’s your sense of humour, Lee?’
‘It’s taking a break. Look—’ she sat down suddenly ‘—I don’t think I can do this. You go.’
‘What will that show Cosmo Delaney?’ he enquired.
She clenched her fists but said, ‘It’s not as if he’ll be there—or will he?’ Her eyes widened.
> He shook his head. ‘Not a chance. We could find ourselves in the society pages of the Sunday papers, however.’
Lee suffered a sudden vision of her nursery. The hundreds of callistemons or bottlebrush, for example. She had rescued them from near death by neglect and was now set to make a nice profit on them. The rows upon rows of fledgling melaleucas or paper bark she was growing. The lillypilly shrubs she found invaluable in garden design, for their bright green shiny leaves, colourful berries and the way their spring growth was often a startling pink.
She had a nursery full of these native shrubs that were so popular because they attracted native birds: lorikeets, rosellas, parrots in all their colourful splendour. She had many more as well, and she’d just received a commission to design the garden of a luxury home at Lennox Head.
She opened her mouth, closed it, and stood up cautiously. ‘We’d have to get our stories right…’
‘Undoubtedly,’ he agreed, and she could have killed him because he was still amused.
In fact so telling was the look she shot him that he laughed softly, then sobered. ‘How about this? We met when you approached me for legal advice and it all flowed on from there. Keep it as simple as that. Oh, and don’t worry about the besotted bit.’
‘Why?’ she asked uncertainly.
He looked down at her with a wicked glint in his eyes. Then he took a perfect creamy carnation from the bowl beside the champagne, snapped it off so there was only a couple of inches of stem left, and tucked the flower between her breasts. ‘I’ll take care of it.’
‘Damien, you dark horse!’
Ella Patroni, hostess extraordinaire—even Lee recognised her from reports of her famous parties, charity endeavours and spending sprees—looked genuinely stunned on being presented with Damien’s fiancée. But she recovered in a flash and Lee found herself being all but smothered in a flurry of amber shot-silk caftan—Ella’s voluminous attire—as she was hugged enthusiastically.
‘You clever kid,’ Ella said. ‘There’ve been many who’ve tried to nail him to the altar but none of them thought of doing it secretly. I’ll bet that’s why you succeeded!’
Damien raised an eyebrow at this monumentally tactless observation but said nothing. And Lee, trying to appear nonchalant but still suffering from the feel of his fingers between her breasts, looked beyond their hostess to a vista that made her eyes widen and made her temporarily forget the embarrassment of her situation.
Through the huge sliding glass doors the penthouse terrace resembled a tropical island. There were palm trees, a thatched hut that served as a bar, burning braziers and fairy lights, and a lit pool. The lack of sand and sea was a detail that didn’t seem to detract from the overall scene at all, and, to her amazement and amusement, the waiters and waitresses attending to the lively colourful throng of guests were dressed up as characters out of Gilligan’s Island.
There was a Ginger in gold lamé and a Mary Ann in bunches and gingham, circulating with trays of champagne. The Professor was behind the bar mixing cocktails and the Skipper was helping him. Mr and Mrs Howell, impeccably and authentically attired, were offering hors d’oeuvres. Only Gilligan was not waiting upon guests. He was tinkling at the ivories of a white piano that stood in a small replica of the Minnow, draped with a fishing net and colourful starfish.
‘That’s wonderful!’ Lee said, and turned a laughing face back to Ella.
‘Mmm…mmm!’ Ella put her head to one side. ‘I bet it was those eyes that got you in, Damien. They are quite stunning! OK, how do you want to handle this? Save a lot of time and effort if we just announce it, don’t you think?’
‘No…’
‘Yes…’
Lee and Damien spoke together, she in the negative.
‘Lee,’ he said patiently, ‘let’s get it over and done with.’
‘I—’
‘He’s got a point,’ Ella put in. ‘I mean if word spreads slowly you’ll have people coming up to you all night asking if it’s true. Trust me, pet, I’ll do it myself. Come with me.’ She took Lee’s hand and surged out on to the terrace.
In the last moments before the world and its wife became aware that she was about to marry Damien Moore, Lee was prey to a sinking sensation that told her she might not have given it enough thought. She was familiar with this sensation. She did often act on impulse, but she was generally able to damn the consequences on the basis that her intentions were always of the best. This time she wasn’t so sure. Not about her motives but about the consequences…
Then, as Ella commandeered the microphone and ‘Gilligan’ played the piano equivalent of a drum roll, Damien took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Don’t look as if you’re going to the gallows, Lee,’ he murmured so only she could hear. ‘It spoils the effect.’
She swallowed, and was electrified because he then dispensed with her hand and drew her into his arms as Ella proclaimed through the microphone, ‘Friends, Romans and countrymen, I give you Damien Moore and his fiancée Lee Westwood!’
A dramatic hush fell over the party, then an excited babble broke out while Damien kissed her leisurely and for the first time.
‘Oh!’ she said as they broke apart. Gilligan started to play ‘Here Comes the Bride’…and they were besieged by well-wishers.
He observed her flushed cheeks and stunned eyes. ‘Not very pithy, Miss Westwood,’ he said softly. ‘Could I have surprised you?’
There was no chance to answer him—not that she’d come up with anything pithy in the meantime—because she was being introduced left, right and centre to his friends.
Why the secrecy? was the most common comment.
To Lee’s surprise—although it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, she mused darkly—Damien fielded the comment every time with suave ease and a stroke of genius. He intimated to all and sundry, not only by what he said but by the way he looked at her, that he’d wanted to keep her to himself for a while.
She even saw several women close their eyes and sigh soulfully at the way his dark gaze lingered on her, full of sensual appreciation and ownership.
Come to that, she herself was having trouble with that sensual appreciation and ownership, and it caused her to stumble a couple of times on the way to the dance floor as the buzz subsided and the party got back to normal.
‘Wasn’t too bad, was it?’
She bit her lip. ‘No.’
‘Once again, you don’t sound too sure,’ he remarked wryly.
‘I just get the feeling you’re…too good at this.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Too practised is what I mean.’ She frowned. ‘As if you could do it for a living.’
‘That’s a serious charge to lay, Lee,’ he replied seriously, but something at the back of his eyes was laughing at her.
‘Well,’ she soldiered on, ‘it can’t be for real, but it rolled off you as if it were.’
He grinned openly. ‘I am thirty-six, so I guess a bit of practice has come my way. I also believe if you’re going to do something you might as well do it properly.’ He swung her to the music and pulled her back into his arms.
It was extremely hard, she discovered, to maintain a severe stance this close to Damien Moore. He danced well, better than she was managing to do beneath the weight of everything that had happened to her tonight—and he’d obviously assessed that, so he was keeping it simple and providing her with plenty of lead. Plenty of opportunity also, she reflected darkly, to come into contact with a fair proportion of his tall, lean and streamlined body.
There was also that dark gaze of his to deal with, and the way it rested on the lowest point of her heart-shaped bodice where her skin was pearl pale and the swell of her breasts visible. She’d removed the carnation in the lift and tucked it into her hair, but she now regretted it. Because every time he glanced down at her his gaze lingered there for a moment, and it was as if his fingers were brushing her nipples and spreading ripples of sensuous delight through her. It was impossible to ma
intain a steady rate of breathing beneath this onslaught, and once again she tripped.
Whereupon, like a lover, he gathered her close and kissed the top of her head. Close enough for Lee to be struck by a new knowledge of Damien Moore. Until tonight his attraction had mostly been in his aura. Now she could feel the muscles beneath his clothes, the slip and flow of a strong, athletic body as he moved her effortlessly through the rhythm of the music. She was close enough to be fascinated by the feel of him, and all her senses were crying out for her to melt against him…
It was no consolation either that she’d always suspected he would have this effect on her. She’d had a fair intimation of it, even although until now the closest physical contact they’d had was a handshake and his hand on her arm. And the reason it was no consolation—or one of the reasons—was the visible effect he had on most women.
Very humiliating to join a queue, she brooded. How much more humiliating to know that for him it was all an act?
‘You were saying?’ He broke in on her bittersweet reflections as the music stopped.
She blinked. ‘Did I say something?’
He stopped dancing and held her loosely around her waist.
‘No. But your thought processes were almost written on your forehead.’ He scanned her flushed face and the way tendrils of auburn hair clung to her neck. ‘It was obvious you were conducting an internal conversation.’
‘I’ve had a lot surprises today, one way or another,’ she returned with dignity. ‘It’s only surprising I’m not talking aloud to myself.’
He laughed and dropped a light kiss—on her forehead this time.
She flinched inwardly, and to cover it said, ‘By the way, the state of your larder leaves a lot to be desired.’
He looked surprised, then comprehending. ‘Didn’t you order another lunch?’
‘No. Cosmo managed to destroy what little of my appetite was left after you broke your news.’
‘Let’s eat, then.’ He released her and took her hand. ‘I think this is the dinner break anyway. I just hope there is something to suit your specialised tastes.’
There was, and they took their laden plates to an unoccupied table amongst the colourful, noisy throng.
Marriage on Command Page 5
