Marriage on the Rebound

by Michelle Reid

  Could it be true?

  The very suggestion was enough to take Shaan’s legs from under her. She sank back into the chair as she began to teeter on the very edge of a desperate hope.

  ‘But what about Madeleine?’ she whispered.

  ‘Madeleine?’ Piers stiffened slightly, and all sign of that sardonic humour was wiped clean from his features as he suddenly became gruff-voiced and defensive. ‘She’s over him now,’ he said. ‘It was all just a silly female crush she had on him,’ he explained, ‘which Rafe tried telling me often enough without me wanting to listen,’ he added. ‘But it hurt that Madeleine of all people would turn away from me towards Rafe. And I think Rafe had to be quite brutal with her in the end to snap her out of it.

  ‘But,’ he sighed, ‘by then I wanted nothing to do with her, so she ran away to her mother in Chicago, and we didn’t see each other again until Rafe dragged her back here when he realised what I was trying to do with you.’

  None of which meant that Rafe was not in love with Madeleine himself, Shaan told herself firmly. Only that he had too much integrity to steal the woman his brother loved.

  Unlike Piers; she made the grim comparison ‘Tell me, Piers,’ she questioned quietly, ‘would you have gone ahead and married me if Madeleine hadn’t come back?’

  His shoulders hunched inside the elegant cut of his jacket, his fair head dipping so he could stare down at his feet for a moment. ‘I didn’t pull back from marrying you for Madeleine’s sake,’ he told her. ‘I did it because Rafe came to me and begged me not to do it to you.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Piers!’ Shaan crossly denounced that. ‘You’d already arranged to marry Madeleine on the same day you were supposed to be marrying me!’

  His head came up, guilty colour heightening his cheekbones. ‘I was going to leave Madeleine standing at the altar, not you, Shaan…’

  And he acknowledged Shaan’s shocked and horrified expression with a grimace of real self-contempt.

  ‘I would have done it too,’ he admitted. ‘If Rafe hadn’t come to me that morning looking desperate and so damned wretched that I…’ He stopped to swallow, then on a tense sigh went on. ‘You’re right, Shaan. I am crass. I know it, you know it, and, my God, but Madeleine and Rafe both know it!’

  There was another pause, another self-contemptuous grimace that said he wasn’t liking this person he was revealing himself to be. ‘Rafe laid his damned soul bare for me that morning,’ he said hoarsely. ‘And I’ve never felt so damned despicable in all my wretched life for forcing him, of all people, to have to do that.’

  Rafe had actually gone to Piers that morning and begged him not to marry her?

  ‘So you’d better damned well love him, Shaan,’ Piers muttered threateningly. ‘Because a man who is prepared to lay his pride at the feet of another man for the woman he loves deserves only the best kind of love back in return.’

  He’s got it, she thought as a warm glow began to suffuse the very centre of her being. Oh, yes, he’s most definitely got it!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT TOOK Shaan a while to find Rafe because he wasn’t in any of the rooms downstairs, though she checked inside them all. Eventually her search took her upstairs to their private suite of rooms—where she found him reclining in one of the big armchairs by the fireplace with his bare feet resting on the low coffee table in front of him.

  He had just taken a shower, she assumed by the dampness still clinging to his silky dark hair, and he was wearing nothing more than his white towelling bathrobe. A glass of what looked like his favourite whisky sat on the carpet by the chair—untouched by the look of it, because he seemed to have fallen fast asleep of all things!

  Jet lag, she remembered, and felt her heart flip in sympathy because he looked so utterly weary, even in repose.

  Being careful not to wake him, she tiptoed further into the room and quietly closed the door behind her, then just stood there, taking a moment to lovingly drink in the sight of him while he couldn’t know she was doing it.

  This man loved her, she told herself warmly. This man loved her so much that he had gone to his own brother and begged him not to many her. This man loved her so dynamically that he had then taken her over, married her himself, possessed and devoured her in his quest to hold onto her.

  He had wrapped her in luxury, cocooned her in the dark, disturbing heat of his powerful sensuality. He had fought for her, made a fool out of himself for her in the eyes of his peers, and finally, and perhaps most beautifully of all, he had put his pride on the line a second time by letting Piers expose the truth to her.

  The truth.

  Her arms went wrapping around herself so she could tightly hug that precious truth.

  A truth that deserved truth back in return, she decided as she stood there simply drinking in the lovely sight of him.

  And suddenly she was remembering the last time she had found him stretched out in that chair like this. Only he hadn’t been asleep then, just relaxing with a whisky.

  It made her smile, because she could still hear the echo of her own teasing laughter as she’d strolled in here from the bedroom wearing nothing but his cast-off shirt, left hanging open on her own brazen nakedness, and with her hair in wild disarray over her shoulders because she had just been made wonderful love to. Which was why he’d been sitting in that chair, wearing a look of pure masculine gratification on his hard, handsome face.

  ‘You look as if you’ve just been ravished,’ she’d heard herself murmur teasingly.

  ‘There’s a wicked witch living in this house,’ had been his sardonic reply. ‘She’s sex-mad. I need sustenance.’ And ruefully he had lifted the whisky to his lips.

  ‘So does the witch,’ she’d responded, with so much sensual provocation that she felt her cheeks grow warm as in her mind she watched that wicked creature stroll over to him and straddle his outstretched legs before she took the whisky glass away from him and bent to replace it with her own hungry mouth.

  How long ago had that been? Two—maybe three weeks? Yet she could still feel the electric contact of his hands closing on her naked hipbones so he could draw her down on top of him. Once again could feel him throbbing, deep, deep inside her, pulsing as he strove to give her all of himself.

  All of himself.

  Shaan hugged that thought to herself too, but with more meaning than ever wrapped in its warmly sensual glow now she knew what she did know.

  All of himself…

  The words had a magical taste to them that filled her with a sudden desire to recreate those special moments, and, creeping quietly across the room so as not to waken him, she disappeared into their bedroom.

  He was beginning to stir by the time she came back, with her hair hanging loose about her shoulders the way he liked it and her freshly showered body wrapped in a white fluffy robe to match his.

  Her heart was beating a little too fast, because it was taking a lot of courage to go over to him dressed like this, not knowing what mood he was in.

  His eyes were still closed, but one long fingered hand was cradling the squat crystal whisky glass now.

  ‘Hi,’ she murmured shyly, unsure of her welcome.

  His eyes were slow to drift lazily open. That face, that beautiful, lean, dark face was grimly implacable as he looked up at her. ‘Had your truth now?’ he questioned flatly.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled softly.

  ‘And how was it?’ He took a sip of his drink.

  ‘Nice,’ she admitted.

  Then, before he had a chance to protest, she straddled his thighs with her own silken ones, bent to take the glass from his fingers, discarded it and sat herself down on his lap.

  ‘So may I kiss you for it?’ she requested. ‘Or are you still too cross with me to want me to?’

  He didn’t answer, that grimly implacable expression staying firmly in place as he merely closed his eyes again.

  And Shaan had to ruefully accept that he wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
/>   ‘I could always go away again, if you’re really that indifferent,’ she offered.

  No comment—again, the ruthless devil. He didn’t even flicker a silky black eyelash.

  ‘The trouble is,’ she went on rather tragically, ‘you’re really much too old for me…’ She decided to rile him out of his wretched apathy.

  It didn’t work.

  ‘I know,’ he agreed.

  Her chest heaved on a small sigh. ‘You have twelve whole years more experience than me of how to play these scenes. It isn’t fair.’

  The eyes opened, focusing directly on her. ‘Are you asking me to wait around for twelve years while you try to catch up?’ he enquired very drily.

  ‘What use would that be?’ she sighed. ‘You’ll always be twelve years better at it than me.’

  ‘Well…’ The eyes closed again. ‘If it makes you feel any better, then I don’t feel twelve years older—I feel fifty.’

  ‘Oh, poor old man,’ she mourned. Then caught his face in her hands and kissed him.

  It took him completely by surprise.

  But he didn’t really stand a chance anyway.

  Though, to be fair, he did try to put up a fight, going all tense beneath her, his hands snapping to her waist and trying to pull her away from him while his mouth remained utterly unresponsive against the coaxing pressure of hers.

  But, having caught him off guard she was determined to keep him off guard, so she proceeded to press soft, seductively moist little kisses along the unresponsive line of his lips until the tension began to leave him and his hands stopped tugging, and his mouth finally caved in and began kissing her back instead.

  ‘What was that for?’ he grunted when she eventually let them both up for air again.

  ‘Because, old man or not, I love you,’ she replied, and watched his mouth take on a cynical twist that completely derided that claim.

  ‘Where’s Piers?’ he asked then, as if he automatically related the word ‘love’ with Piers’ name where she was concerned.

  ‘Gone,’ she said. ‘Back to his insipid little wife who can’t kiss for toffee.’

  Silky dark eyebrows arched at that ‘He said that, did he?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘But you did. Though why I should believe a single word that you say when you lie as well as you do, I don’t know,’ she added sagely.

  ‘Ah.’ He was beginning to catch on at last. ‘So he told you it all, did he?’

  ‘He feels guilty,’ Shaan explained. ‘Because he forced you into having to beg him to let me go.’

  ‘Beg?’ he said in protest. The liar. I threatened to kill him if he didn’t put a stop to his stupid games, but I object to being accused of begging!’

  Shaan just shrugged. ‘Well, Piers saw it as you begging. And…’ her dark eyes took on the lustrous quality of wicked, dangerous teasing ‘…I rather like the idea of you begging him to jilt me so you could jump into his place.’

  ‘I’d watch my step, if I were you, Shaan,’ he warned very quietly. ‘Because I am still damned angry with you.’

  ‘Mmm,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I’ve brought you a present,’ she announced. ‘A peace-offering, if you like, for my not appreciating the lengths you were prepared to go to get me…’

  And even white teeth began pressing down into her full bottom lip, liquid dark eyes pleading with him through the penitent sweep of her long dark lashes while she waited for a response.

  It was a look he had seen before, right in the middle of the world’s busiest street market, and his eyes darkened at the memory of what that look had done to him then—because it was all pure female guile, that look. Maddening, teasing, playful, inciting—and it reacted on his senses like the sirens’ song that had been luring men to their deaths through the ages.

  He let out a sigh—the mark of his own imminent death at this beguiling woman’s hand. ‘Go on,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll fall for it. What kind of present?’

  Instantly her hands went to the knotted belt holding her towelling robe together.

  But one of his hands closing over hers stopped her. ‘What are you doing?’ He frowned.

  ‘Unwrapping your present,’ she said. ‘It’s me,’ she added softly. ‘I’m your present. If you still want me after the blindly stupid way I behaved today, that is…’

  His big chest heaved on a short tense suck of air, his eyes closing, then opening to reveal irises gone almost as dark as her own luminous eyes as he muttered something hoarse beneath his breath.

  ‘Oh, come here.’ He reached for her then, pulling her against him. ‘Are you really so blind, Shaan,’ he sighed, ‘that you really can’t tell when a man is heart and soul in love with you?’

  ‘I suppose I must be,’ she conceded sadly. ‘But I’m heart and soul in love with you, too, Rafe!’ she added urgently. ‘I’ve been in love with you so long, in fact, that I can barely recall my life before you took it over!’

  ‘Good,’ he said, and caught her mouth in a short, hot, masterly kiss. ‘Keep it like that,’ he grimly commanded. ‘Because I’m very possessive of every single moment in your life!’

  ‘And you think I’m not the same with you?’ she said, then continued on a sudden flash of blistering possessiveness, ‘So if I ever see you so much as peck Madeleine’s cheek again,’ she warned fiercely, ‘I shall walk out on you and never come back!’

  ‘The woman is a pain in the neck,’ he grimaced. ‘She was a pain in the neck while she had her silly crush on me a couple of years ago and she was a pain in the neck today, when she met me at the airport so she could spend the time it took me to deliver her back to the Connaught trying to talk me into forgiving Piers for the way he’d used you!’

  ‘Why the Connaught?’ Shaan frowned. After all, Piers had his own apartment right here in London.

  ‘It’s where she and Piers are staying because they’ve sold his apartment.’ His hand came up to gently smooth the frown from her brow. ‘They’re going to live in Chicago,’ he explained. ‘Piers is going into partnership with his father-in-law. And to be honest,’ he added heavily, ‘I think it will do him good to get out from beneath my shadow.’

  ‘You still haven’t forgiven him, have you?’ she realised.

  His big shoulders shrugged. ‘Beneath all that surface charm he’s not a very nice person, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Shaan sighed. ‘But I think he’s beginning to realise that himself, now, if it’s any consolation.’

  ‘The only consolation I need right now,’ he said soberly, ‘is the assurance that I am what you really want, and not just the guy who caught you on the rebound from Piers.’

  ‘Oh, don’t,’ she murmured as she saw the ache of real uncertainty glint across his eyes. ‘I’m sorry if what Piers and I almost did hurt you, Rafe. But I can’t think of a way to make that memory go away. Except to say that from the first moment I saw you after Piers and I got engaged I was more obsessed with you and what you thought of me than I was with anything else—and that included Piers. So maybe I was already falling in love with you without really knowing it,’ she suggested anxiously. ‘Maybe I was even too frightened to look any closer at why you disturbed me so much in case I had to face what a terrible mistake I’d made!’

  To her surprise, he started smiling. ‘At the risk of sounding arrogant,’ he drawled, ‘I am man enough to know my own worth. All I needed was time with you. Time I didn’t think I was going to get…’

  ‘You said that on the telephone in Hong Kong,’ Shaan recalled.

  ‘I also said I was in love with you, only you chose to believe I was talking about Madeleine.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.

  ‘Don’t be.’ He grimaced. ‘To be honest, I was never more relieved than when you misunderstood that conversation, since it meant I could at least hang onto a bit of my pride.’

  ‘While you spent the next two weeks ravishing me,’ she added accusingly.

  ‘Now that’s a moot point,’ he mocked, ‘as
to who actually ravished who most of the time.’

  ‘Now, now,’ Shaan protested. ‘Be careful who you malign here, because I have a witness!’ And to prove it she held out her wrist where Minnie Mouse still kept perfect time.

  ‘Ah, but so do I!’ Rafe responded, and dug into his bathrobe pocket to come up with the palm-sized jade Buddha. ‘You said, “Be lucky, Rafe”—remember?’ he murmured huskily. ‘Well, I am, Shaan. Very lucky…’

  He kissed her then, long and soft, and so deeply Shaan felt herself sinking right into him.

  ‘Come on,’ she whispered, climbing off his lap and catching hold of one of his hands to tug him up with her.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, as if he didn’t really know!

  ‘To unwrap your present,’ she said, pulling him with her into their bedroom.

  Their bedroom. Their home. Their life. Their love.

  No illusion. Nothing fickle or gullible or dishonest about it

  Because this was it. The real truth. Shaan loved Rafe. Rafe loved Shaan. It really was as beautifully, gloriously simple as that.

  * * * * *

  Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of Sharon Kendrick’s next book,

  THE SHEIKH’S SECRET BABY

  Sheikh Zuhal is shocked to discover he has a son! To claim his child, he must get former lover Jazz down the palace aisle. And he’s not above using seduction to make her his wife!

  Read on for a glimpse of

  THE SHEIKH’S SECRET BABY

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS THE LAST place he’d imagined her living.

  Zuhal frowned. Jasmine? Here? In a tiny cottage in the middle of the English countryside, down a lane so narrow it had challenged the progress of his wide limousine? The woman who had loved the sparkle and buzz of the city, hiding herself away in some remote spot. There had to be some kind of mistake.

  His frown became a flickering smile of anticipation. Not that he had given a lot of thought to her accommodation. If ever he’d stopped to think about his lusciously proportioned ex-lover—something he tried not to do, for obvious reasons—then it had usually been a predictable flashback to her soft skin. Or the tempting pertness of her breasts. Or the way she used to rain kisses all over his face so that his heart used to punch with pleasure. His groin, too.