‘I’m going to bed,’ he continued. ‘I need to sleep on this and decide what needs to be done. I’ll have breakfast sent up here tomorrow morning and then drive you back to London. Make sure you’re ready to leave at eight.’
Amber shook her head. ‘I don’t want to drive back to London with you,’ she said. ‘I’ll get the train, like I did before.’
‘It’s not a subject which is open for negotiation, Amber. You and I need to talk, but not now. Not like this.’
She lay there wide-eyed after he’d gone, hugging her arms around her chest. And although she went to the bathroom to shower his scent from her skin, it wasn’t so easy to erase him from her memory and her night was spent fitfully tossing and turning.
She was up and dressed early next morning, telling herself she wasn’t hungry but it seemed her body had other ideas. She devoured grapefruit, eggs and toast with an appetite which was uncharacteristically hearty, before going downstairs to find Conall waiting outside for her with his car engine running.
She tried not to look at him as she climbed beside him and she kept communication brief, but he didn’t object to her silence and said very little on the journey back to London. She stared out of the window and thought about yesterday and how green the lush countryside had seemed—and how today it seemed like a once-bright balloon from which all the air had escaped.
He drove her straight to her apartment and as he turned off the engine she couldn’t resist a swipe.
‘Here we are—home at last,’ she said with bright sarcasm. ‘Though not for much longer, of course, because soon my big, bad landlord will be kicking me out onto the streets.’
‘That’s what I want to talk to you about,’ he said, pushing open his door.
‘You’re not planning on coming in?’
‘No, not planning,’ he said grimly. ‘I am coming in. And there’s no need to look so horrified, Amber—I’m not going to jump on you the moment we get inside.’
Oddly enough, his assurance provided Amber with little comfort. Was it possible that one episode of sex had been enough to kill his desire for her for ever? Because the man who had been so hot and hungry for her last night was deliberately keeping his distance from her this morning.
She waited until they were inside and then she turned to him, noticing the dark shadows around his eyes. As if he had slept as badly as her. ‘So. What’s the verdict?’
His mouth was unsmiling and his voice was heavy. ‘I think we should get married.’
Amber blinked in astonishment and, even though she knew it was insane, she couldn’t quite suppress the flicker of hope which had started dancing at the edges of her heart. She pictured clouds of confetti and a lacy dress, and a rugged face bending down to kiss her. She swallowed. ‘You do?’
‘Yes.’ Navy eyes narrowed. ‘I know it’s far from ideal but it seems the only sensible solution.’
‘I think I need to sit down,’ said Amber faintly, sinking onto one of the white leather sofas beneath the penetrating brilliance of his gaze. And now that her heart had stopped pounding with a hope she realised was stupid, she tried to claw back a little dignity. ‘Whatever gave you that idea that I would want to marry you?’
His gaze burned into her. ‘Didn’t it enter your mind for a moment that giving me your virginity would trouble my conscience? I feel a responsibility towards you—’
‘Then don’t—’
‘You don’t understand,’ he interrupted savagely. ‘I have betrayed the trust of your father by taking advantage of you.’ His voice hardened. ‘And trust is a very big deal to me.’
‘He won’t know. Nobody will know.’
‘I will know,’ he said grimly. ‘And the only way I can see of legitimising what has just happened is to make you my temporary wife.’
She stared at him defiantly. ‘So you want to marry me just to make yourself feel better?’
‘Not entirely. It would have certain advantages for you, too.’
She opened her mouth and knew she shouldn’t say what she was about to say—but why not? He’d seen her naked, hadn’t he? He’d been deep inside her body in a way that nobody else had ever been. He’d heard her cry out her pleasure with that broken kind of joy as she’d wrapped her legs around his back. What did she have to lose? ‘What, like sex?’
But he shook his head, his hair glinting blue-black in the watery spring sunshine. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Most emphatically not sex. I don’t want the complications of that. This will purely be a marriage of convenience—a short-lived affair with a planned ending.’
She screwed up her eyes, trying not to react. One brief sexual encounter and already he’d had enough of her? ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, desperately trying to hide the hurt she felt at his rejection.
He walked over to the window and stared out at the view for a moment before turning back to face her. ‘Your father wanted you to stand on your own two feet—and as a wealthy divorcee you’ll be able to do exactly that.’
‘A wealthy divorcee?’ she echoed hoarsely.
‘Sure. What else did you think would happen—that twenty-five years down the line we’d be toasting each other with champagne and playing with the grandkids?’ He gave a cynical smile. ‘We’ll get married straight away—because a whirlwind marriage always makes a gullible world think it’s high romance.’
‘But you don’t, I suppose?’
His mouth hardened. ‘I’m a realist, Amber—not a romantic.’
‘Me, too,’ she lied.
‘Well, that makes it a whole lot easier, doesn’t it? And you know what they say...marry in haste, repent at leisure. Only nowadays there’s no need to do that. We’ll split after three months and nobody will be a bit surprised. I’ll settle this apartment on you and agree to some sort of maintenance. And if you want my advice, you should use the opportunity to go off and do something useful with your life—not go back to your former, worthless existence. Your father will see you blossom and flourish with your new-found independence. He’s hardly in a position to berate you for a failed marriage—and my conscience will be clear.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ she said slowly.
‘I deal in solutions.’ His gaze drifted to her face. ‘What do you say, Amber?’
She looked away, noticing a red wine stain on the white leather of the sofa as he waited for her answer. The trouble was that on some level she wasn’t averse to marrying him and she wasn’t quite sure why. Was it because she felt safe and protected whenever he was around? Or because she was hoping he’d change his mind about the no-sex part? Surely a virile man like Conall wouldn’t be prepared to coexist platonically with a woman—no matter how fake or how short their relationship was intended to be.
And look what he was offering in return. At least as a divorcee she would have a certain respectability. A badge of honour that someone had once wanted her enough to marry her...
Except that he didn’t. Not really. He didn’t love her and he didn’t want her.
That old familiar feeling of panic flooded through her. It felt just like that time when she’d been shipped off to her dad’s after her mother had died. He hadn’t wanted her, either, not really—and neither did Conall. It was a grim proposition to have to face until she considered the alternative. No money. No qualifications. No control. She swallowed. In an ideal world she would turn around and walk out, but where would she go?
Couldn’t this marriage be a stepping stone to some kind of better future?
‘Yeah, I’ll marry you,’ she said casually.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WASN’T A real wedding—so no way was it going to feel like one.
It was a line Amber kept repeating—telling herself if she said it often enough, then sooner or later she’d start believing it. Her marriage was nothing but a
farce. A solution to ease Conall’s conscience and set her up financially for the future. This way, nobody would have to lose face. Not her and not Conall.
But weddings had a sneaky knack of pressing all the wrong buttons, no matter how much you tried not to let them. Despite the example set by both her parents, Amber found herself having to dampen down instincts which came out of nowhere. Who knew she would secretly yearn for a floaty dress with a garland of flowers in her hair? Because floaty dresses and flowers were romantic, and this had nothing to do with romance—Conall had told her that and she had agreed with him. This was a transaction, pure and simple. As emotionless as any deal her Irish fiancé might cut in the boardroom.
So she opted for a dress she thought would be suitable for the civil ceremony—a sleek knee-length outfit by a well-known designer, with her hair worn in a heavy chignon and a minimalist bouquet of stark, arum lilies.
The ceremony was small. Her father, still in his ashram, had not been able to attend—and Conall had insisted on keeping the celebrations short and muted.
‘I don’t want this to turn into some kind of rent-a-crowd,’ he’d growled. ‘Inviting a bunch of my friends to meet a woman who isn’t going to be part of my life for longer than a few weeks is a waste of everyone’s time. As long as we give the press the pictures they want, nobody will care.’
But on some level Amber had cared. She tried to convince herself that it was a relief not to have to invite anyone and have to maintain the farce of being a blissfully happy bride. She told herself that she was perfectly cool with the miniskirted Serena and another of Conall’s glamorous assistants being their only two witnesses on the day.
But hadn’t some stupid part of her wanted Conall to take her into his arms when he’d slipped the thin gold band on her finger—and to kiss her with all the passion he’d displayed on that moonlit night in his country house? He hadn’t, of course. He had waited until they got outside, where a bank of tipped-off photographers was assembled, and it was only then that he had kissed her. From the outside it must have looked quite something, for he held her close and bent over her in a masterful way which made her heart punch out such a frantic beat that for a minute she felt quite dizzy. But his lips had remained as cold and as unmoving as if they’d been made from marble—and it didn’t seem to matter what she said or did, she couldn’t remember seeing him smile.
They had taken the honeymoon suite at the Granchester Hotel, even though Conall had an enormous house in Notting Hill, which Amber had visited just twice before. But both occasions had felt dry and rather formal and she’d felt completely overwhelmed by the decidedly masculine elements of his elegant town house.
‘I think it’s best if we stay on neutral territory for the first few days.’ His words had been careful. ‘It lets the world know we’re man and wife, but it will also allow us to work out some workable form of compromise as to how this...marriage is going to work.’ He’d paused and his midnight-blue eyes had glinted. ‘Plus the hotel is used to dealing with the press.’
The hotel seemed used to dealing with pretty much everything. Their suite was huge, with a dining room laid up to serve them a post-wedding meal, a vast sitting room, and a hot tub on the private and very sheltered rooftop garden. Rather distractingly, the king-sized bed had been liberally scattered with scarlet rose petals—something which had made Conall’s mouth harden as he’d walked into the bedroom, while pulling loose his tie.
‘Why the hell do they do that?’ he asked.
Amber paused in the act of removing the pins from her hair, relieved to be able to shake it free after the tensions of the long day, even though a feeling of apprehension about the night ahead was building up inside her. ‘Presumably they like to think they’re adding to the general air of romance.’
‘It’s so damned corny.’
Kicking off her cream shoes, Amber sank down on one of the chairs and looked at him, a trace of defiance creasing her brow. ‘So now what?’
It was a question Conall had been dreading and one he still hadn’t quite worked out how to answer, despite it looming large in his thoughts during the days since she’d agreed to marry him, while they’d waited for the necessary paperwork to go through. Hadn’t he thought she might phone him up and tell him she’d changed her mind? That she’d tell him it was insane in this day and age for two people to go through with a marriage neither wanted, just because they’d had casual sex and she had been a virgin?
There had been a big part of him which had wanted her to do that. Because whichever way you looked at it, he was now trapped with her for the next three months. Their relationship had to look real, which meant he’d have to be with her—as a new husband would be expected to be with his wife. And he didn’t do sustained proximity. He liked his freedom and the ability to come and go. He always demanded an escape route and a get-out clause whenever he was in a relationship. And this wasn’t a relationship, he reminded himself grimly.
He walked over to the ice bucket, which was sitting next to two crystal flutes and yet more scarlet roses, and pulled out a bottle of vintage champagne.
‘I think we deserve a drink, don’t you?’ he said, glancing over at her as he popped the cork.
‘Please.’
Trying hard to avert his gaze from the splayed coltishness of her long legs, he handed her a glass. ‘Here.’
Amber took the glass and studied the fizzing golden bubbles for a moment before looking up into his eyes. ‘So what shall we drink to, Conall?’
He sat down opposite, deliberately settling himself as far away from her as possible. What he would like to drink to wasn’t a request for long life or happiness. No. What he needed right then was to be granted some sort of immunity. A sure-fire way to stop thinking about her sensuality—a sensuality which seemed even more potent now that he’d sampled her delicious body for himself. He wondered how it was possible for a woman to be so damned sexy when she’d only ever had sex once before.
He felt his throat thicken, but he had vowed that he was going to forget that night and put it out of his mind. To push away the ever-creeping temptation to do it to her all over again...and again. He swallowed as he felt the hard throb of desire at his groin and the sudden distracting thunder of his pulse. ‘To an argument-free three months?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘You think that’s possible?’
‘I think anything is possible, if we put our minds to it.’
‘Okay. Then—purely on the subject of logistics—I’d like to know how this arrangement is supposed to work when there’s only one bed?’
Sipping his champagne, he fixed her with a steady look. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s a very big bed.’
‘And you won’t be...’
‘Won’t be what?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Tempted?’
‘To leap on you?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, I’m one hundred per cent certain I’ll be tempted because you are an extremely beautiful woman and you blew my mind the other night. But I can resist anything when I put my mind to it, Amber. Even you.’
She put the glass down on the table and tucked her legs up neatly beneath her. It was a demure enough pose—but that didn’t stop his body jerking in response, nor prevent the sudden urgent desire to slide his fingers all the way up her silken thighs and to feel if she was wet for him. Was that why a sudden brief look burned between them and why she suddenly started shifting awkwardly on the chair, as if a colony of ants had crawled into her panties?
‘Well, we’re going to have to do something to pass the time.’ She glanced around. ‘And I haven’t noticed any board games.’
‘I don’t think you’ll find board games are the activity of choice in a world-famous honeymoon suite,’ he said drily.
‘So we might as well find out more about each other. A sort of getting-to-know-you session.’ She
fixed him with a bright smile. ‘It’ll come in useful if ever we’re forced to compete on one of those terrible Mr and Mrs TV shows, before we get our divorce finalised. I’ve told you plenty of stuff about me but you’re still one great big mystery, aren’t you, Conall?’
And that was the way he liked it. Conall drank some more champagne. Being enigmatic was a lifestyle choice. Keep people away and they couldn’t get close enough to cause you pain. Because pain meant you couldn’t think straight. It made you lash out and lose control. He’d lost control once—big time—and it had scared the hell out of him. It had almost ruined his life and he had vowed it would never happen again.
But you lost control with Amber the other night, didn’t you? You had sex with her even though you’d told yourself it wasn’t going to happen. You plunged deep into her body even though your head was screaming at you to withdraw. And you couldn’t. You were like a fly caught in her sticky web.
Briefly, he closed his eyes. The way she’d made him feel had been like nothing else he’d ever experienced—as if he’d been teetering on the brink of some dark abyss, about to dive straight in. If he’d had his way, he would have walked away and never seen her again.
But Amber was his wife now and that changed all the rules. He was with her for the duration and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. And they were holed up in this hotel with a self-imposed sex ban. What else were they going to do but talk? Surely he needed something to occupy his thoughts other than how much he’d like to rip that damned white dress from her body. He could always have her sign a confidentiality agreement when the time came to settle the divorce. And in the meantime, wasn’t there something liberating about for once not having to hide behind the barriers he had erected to stop women from getting too close?
‘So what do you want to know about me?’ he drawled. ‘Let me guess. Why I’ve never married before? That’s usually the number-one question of choice for women.’
The Billionaire's Defiant Acquisition Page 11
