Substitute Fiancee

by Lee Wilkinson

  'Ready for some hot chocolate?" he asked.

  'Please.'

  He took the top off the Thermos jug and poured the creamy liquid into two mugs. Passing her one, he instructed, 'Careful, it's quite hot.'

  Holding it in both hands, she took a sip. It was deliciously light, yet satisfying. 'Mmm...that's good,' she murmured.

  Picking up his own mug, Blaze sat down on the settee by her legs.

  In response to her involuntary shift away, he queried blandly, 'Not crowding you, I hope?'

  Disturbed by the movement, the material of her skirt parted company.

  Before Fran could reach to pull it into place Blaze half turned and, after admiring the expanse of slender silk-clad leg and thigh, with his free hand he carefully rearranged the grey chiffon.

  'Thank you,' she said in a strangled voice.

  He leered at her theatrically. 'Always willing to be of service.'

  All at once, in response to the laughter in his eyes, a smile tugged at her lips.

  'That's better,' he applauded. 'I was afraid you'd lost your sense of humour.'

  'I haven't had much to laugh about lately.'

  'No, the last couple of days can't have been a lot of fun.'

  That was the understatement of the year, Fran thought as she sipped. Fate had dealt her so many blows that she was starting to feel well and truly battered...

  All at once, whether from lack of concentration or sheer weariness, the mug in her hand tilted, spilling the remaining hot chocolate down the front of her dress and into her lap.

  She gave a cry of horror.

  Jumping up, Blaze demanded urgently, 'Are you scalded?'

  'No. No. But the dress..!'

  As he took the empty mug from her hand and put it on the tray beside his own, she stumbled to her feet and headed for Melinda's room.

  'Don't worry about the dress.'

  Ignoring his injunction, she unzipped it and stepped out of it as quickly as possible. Then hurrying through to the bathroom, she began to sponge away the worst of the mess.

  How could someone who was usually quite careful have been so downright clumsy? she chided herself.

  It wouldn't have mattered a jot if it had been off the peg and her own, but this was an expensive designer model belonging to another woman...

  When she'd got the dress as clean as possible, she hung it on a hanger and briefly considered what to do next.

  The chocolate had soaked through to her skin, and her delicate undies were stained and sticky.

  After a moment's thought, she decided that as her case was here the most sensible thing would be to shower at once, clean her teeth, and put on her night things. That way, as soon as she reached her own room she could drop straight into bed.

  A glance in the mirror reminded her that she was still wearing the necklace. Taking it off, she put both that and Blaze's ring carefully on the dressing table, before returning to the bathroom to strip off her undies and step into the shower.

  Some five minutes later, her hair loose about her shoulders and still slightly damp, she donned an ivory satin nightdress and a robe, which she belted securely. Then, putting all her things into her case, she zipped it up and, that in one hand and the necklace and ring in the other, returned to the living room.

  Blaze, who was standing with his back to the fire, came over. 'You've only just made it. Another thirty seconds and I was coming in to get you.' Eyeing the case, he queried, 'Going somewhere?'

  Ignoring the levity, she handed him the necklace and the ring and said, 'I've done what I could with the dress...'

  He slipped the ring into his pocket, tossed the necklace carelessly on to the bureau and, taking the case from her hand, set it down by the wall, before leading her back to the fire.

  Without knowing quite how she got there, Fran found herself stretched out on the settee once more, with Blaze by her side.

  Anxiously, she added, 'I only hope it's not ruined.'

  'The dress isn't important,' he said firmly, 'apart from the fact that you looked so sensational wearing it.' As her cheeks flushed with pleasure, he went on seriously, 'I was proud of you tonight. You played the part of fiancée beautifully... Which reminds me...'

  Taking the ring from his pocket, he slipped it back on to her finger and touched his lips to it. 'Moonstones, like opals, should be worn all the time, even in bed. See how these glow? They pine and grow dull if they're put away, or the wrong person wears them.'

  His romantic words and action made her heart melt, even while a sense of self preservation warned that such a feeling was dangerous.

  Watching her face, he said softly, 'And speaking of bed, it's about time you went. It's been a tiring evening and you're looking shattered.'

  'I didn't sleep very well last night,' she confessed.

  He surprised her by saying, 'Neither did I. But hopefully we can remedy that tonight.' Then, with a lift of one brow, 'You don't look very optimistic?'

  She wasn't. Though she was weary, with such a lot on her mind she didn't see how she could possibly sleep.

  Helplessly, she said, 'There's so much unresolved...so many things there's been no time to even think about, let alone discuss. Suppose we were wrong in presuming Melinda and Kirk had run off together? There might be some other explanation.'

  'I very much doubt it.'

  'And if the necklace really is a fake—'

  'There's nothing can be done at the moment,' he broke in decidedly. 'So I can't see any point in staying awake and worrying.'

  'I don't think I can help it,' she admitted.

  Leaning towards her, his eyes fixed on her mouth, he said with soft intent, 'Well, I'm sure I can take your mind off things.'

  Too late she realised the danger. 'No! Please, Blaze, don't...'

  But his hands cupped her face, lifting it to his, and that hovering mouth swooped and claimed hers.

  His kiss was light, almost experimental, searching for a response that, lips pressed together, she fought hard to withhold. The tip of his tongue brushed over them, coaxing them to part, finding the soft, sensitive inner skin, making her shudder.

  One hand slid beneath her tumbled hair, finding the warmth of her nape, while the other moved to caress the curve of her breast.

  Already her eager body was longing for his touch, and in just a moment or two her need would swamp her common sense and then she would be lost...

  Somehow she tore her mouth free and gasped, 'You said you had no intention of kissing me.'

  'I said I had no intention of letting the same thing happen tonight that happened last night.'

  'But this is what happened last night.'

  'No, it isn't. Last night we both slept alone...or rather didn't sleep. A cold shower had little effect. And I don't plan to take another one. Tonight I intend to have a hot shower and go to bed with my fiancée.'

  In a panic, she cried, 'No! I've done as you asked so far. I've taken Melinda's place at the party. But I've no intention of taking her place in your bed. I won't be a substitute—'

  'Who said anything about a substitute?' he broke in coldly. 'In any case, you'll be anything I want you to be. As I pointed out earlier this evening, you owe me...'

  'Don't force me to sleep with you,' she begged.

  'You know as well as I do that there won't be any need for force. Sexually we've always struck sparks off each other. Last night, when we were both committed, you would have let it happen. You wanted it to happen. Tonight we're both free, so what's the problem?'

  The problem was that, loving him as she did, she couldn't bear to just feel used... At the very least she wanted him to want her...

  But she could hardly tell him that.

  Jerkily, she said, 'I've never gone in for one-night stands or short-term affairs—'

  'You did once,' he reminded her cruelly.

  'And one mistake was enough.'

  The dark face hardened. 'So you regard it as a mistake?'

  'What else can I regard it as?'
>
  'I see,' he said silkily. 'And you don't want to make the same mistake twice? Well, that's too bad...'

  He got to his feet, and in one swift movement stooped and lifted her high in his arms.

  'I'll just have to see that it's a mistake you enjoy making...'

  His bedroom had plain white walls and black polished oak floorboards. It was simply furnished, apart from a magnificent four-poster with a crimson and gold canopy.

  He put her down on the bed and went to turn the key in the lock.

  'What are you doing?' she gasped.

  'Making sure you don't run away while I take a shower.'

  'I hate the idea of being locked in,' she protested hoarsely.

  'In that case you have two choices. Either you come in the bathroom with me...'

  'I certainly will not.'

  'Or you give me your word to stay put.'

  When she bit her lip and remained silent, he said, 'Just as I thought.' Taking the key, he dropped it into his pocket, promising, 'I won't keep you waiting long.'

  Fran watched the bathroom door close behind him with a tumult of mixed feelings...fear and longing, anger and anticipation...

  Her mind, her will, still fought against being coerced in this way, while adrenalin pumped through her veins, fuelling a growing excitement.

  She couldn't deny that she yearned for him. But she knew that while tonight his lovemaking would be sweeter than wine, tomorrow, the knowledge that she'd been merely a substitute for Melinda would be as bitter as Dead Sea apples.

  However, if he was determined to take her, she would have little choice in the matter. He wouldn't make any attempt to force her; she was certain of that. But then, as he'd already pointed out, he wouldn't need to.

  Her body was more his than her own, and though her mind and her will would put up a token resistance, they would soon be overwhelmed and vanquished...

  The bathroom door opening brought her bolt upright.

  As Blaze strolled in she felt her heart lurch. She'd seen him naked before, but she had almost forgotten how beautiful he was.

  'Beautiful' seemed a very feminine way to describe so masculine a man. But one dictionary definition of the word was, 'delighting the aesthetic senses', so it was apt.

  He had both strength and symmetry, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, long, straight legs and an elegant line to his spine.

  His smooth, healthy skin gleamed like oiled silk, while a scattering of crisp body hair pooled on his chest and vee'd down to his flat stomach.

  Though a tall, powerful man, he moved lithely, with an almost feline grace, and Fran held her breath as she watched him cross the room.

  He came and sat on the edge of the bed. His dark hair was slightly rumpled, a single lock falling over his forehead, and in spite of their brilliance his grey eyes appeared almost black.

  'I'd prefer it if you didn't look as though you were afraid of me,' he said abruptly. 'I know you want this as much as I do.'

  'One part of me does,' she admitted. 'But I hate the thought of just being a stand-in for Melinda.'

  'I can assure you that you're not, and never will be, a stand-in for anyone. It happens to be you I want.'

  'Isn't that because I'm the only woman here?' she asked defiantly.

  Curtly, he denied, 'No, it isn't. If you don't believe me, you can walk out now.'

  As her lips parted, he said flatly, 'You'll find the door isn't locked. That was just a pretence.'

  Getting to his feet, he moved to allow her space. 'If you want to go, this is your chance.'

  Scrambling off the bed, she headed for the door and turned the knob. It opened, confirming the truth of his words.

  There was nothing to stop her leaving.

  But did she really want to?

  She had been fighting herself more than him, but why keep on fighting when, as he'd already remarked, they were both free?

  He was the only man she had ever truly loved. The only man she would ever love. He didn't love her, but then he hadn't loved Melinda...

  And he'd said all she could have hoped to hear—'It happens to be you / want...'

  So what was she to do? Walk away and congratulate herself on how strong she'd been? Or snatch the brief happiness of a night spent in his arms?

  Common sense said walk away. One night of bliss would only make her future seem greyer and emptier.

  But it would be grey and empty anyway, so why not have something wonderful to remember? For she didn't doubt it would be wonderful...

  Closing the door carefully, she turned to look at him.

  His expression held triumph, and some other emotion she was unable to identify.

  'Decided to stay?' he asked softly.

  Determined he shouldn't crow, she said, 'You offered to take my mind off things, and on reflection it seemed a better option than just lying awake worrying.'

  He grimaced. 'That effectively puts me in the same category as all-night television or a good book. Come here, woman...'

  She obeyed, her body pliant in his arms.

  He lifted her face to his. 'The very least you can do is give me a kiss to assuage my hurt feelings.1

  'Well, if it's only a kiss you want...' she said as flippantly as possible, while her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her ribs.

  'I shall want a great deal more than that, but it will do for a start...'

  While he kissed her, his tongue touched hers, searching and tormenting, fusing the kiss and sending shivers of desire running through her.

  His free hand slid inside her robe, his warm fingers caressing her soft curves until he felt her response through the thin satin of her nightdress. Then one hand moved to cradle the back of her head, while the other untied the belt of her robe and eased it off.

  Kissing and nibbling his way along her jawline and down the length of her slender neck, he slipped the nightdress straps from her shoulders. A second later he sent it to join the pool of satin at their feet, before his mouth found the warm hollow at the base of her throat.

  The exquisite sensations he was evoking made her feel giddy, as if the entire world was swaying, and with an incoherent murmur she clung to him.

  Raising his dark head, he looked at her dazed face, with its parted lips and closed eyes, then he stooped and lifted her on to the bed, to continue his sensual assault.

  As well as a crimson and gold canopy, the carved four-poster had a luxurious mattress and soft pillows. Old and new going hand in hand. But the knowledge that Melinda had shared this bed suddenly intruded on Fran's bliss, making her feel far from comfortable.

  Stretched by her side beneath the light duvet, naked flesh to naked flesh, Blaze was exploring the seductive curve of her breast when something about her stillness made him pause.

  Studying her troubled face, he asked with his usual perception, 'What's bothering you?'

  'Nothing,' she mumbled.

  'Don't lie to me. I know something is. I can sense the tension. So what is it?'

  When she hesitated, he said, 'Don't worry, I think I know. You're wondering if Melinda ever slept in this bed?'

  'Yes,' Fran admitted.

  'Well, if it makes you feel any better, she didn't. I always went to her room. Now, as I don't relish making love to a woman whose mind is on other things, if you would give me your full and undivided attention...?'

  'I'll be only too happy to.'

  'In that case I think I can promise you'll enjoy yourself. As you haven't been in my bed for over three years, and I need to make up for lost time, I intend to...' His lips brushing her ear, he whispered his intentions.

  While she listened, a liquid core of heat formed in the pit of her stomach, and her nipples firmed betrayingly.

  When his mouth found the evidence of her arousal, he gave a little murmur of satisfaction and proceeded to make shudders of ecstasy run through her.

  * * * * *

  A pearly grey dawn was filtering into the room when Fran opened her eyes. Blaze was lying beside her, one ha
nd thrown over his head in an attitude of abandon, his fingers, with their neatly trimmed nails, curling into his palm.

  From a mind drugged with sleep and pleasure she recalled that his promise of delight had been more than kept, and her stomach clenched at the thought of his passionate and inventive lovemaking. He knew just where to touch, where to apply a little pressure to heighten and prolong every sensation.

  Afterwards, thoroughly sated, and too exhausted to worry about anything, she had slept like a baby in his arms.

  Now it was his turn to sleep like a babe.

  Propping herself on one elbow, she looked down at him, drinking in the sight of that beloved face, memorising this moment for when he had gone and she had nothing left to warm herself with but memories.

  His ironic eyes were hidden, and his bony nose and tumbled hair gave him a strangely boyish look, in spite of the dark stubble adorning his jaw. The thick lashes, seeming out of place on such a very masculine face, were so long and curly that she was forced to envy them, and his mouth, with its exciting combination of austereness and sensuality, always made her heart beat faster...

  As though her scrutiny had disturbed his slumber, he stirred. Without opening his eyes he felt for her with his hand and, pulling her down on top of him, murmured a long, interrogative, 'Mmm?'

  'Mmm!' Fran answered.

  He opened his eyes and smiled at her. Then, with a sudden swift movement she was unprepared for, he reversed their positions. Bending his head, he kissed her, and said, 'That's good, because I plan to do it all over again.'

  When she awoke for the second time she was alone in the big bed, and there wasn't a sound. A glance at her watch showed it was almost one-thirty.

  Sleeping through the morning was getting to be a habit, she thought ruefully.

  Her body still felt languidly fulfilled and glowing with remembered ecstasy, but her mind, starting to grapple with hard, unpalatable facts, wasn't nearly so euphoric.

  No matter what Blaze had said about wanting her, in the cold light of day Fran was convinced that almost any woman would have done to take Melinda's place.

  If he'd cared in the slightest for her...