Christmas Child

So he, too, was finding the situation difficult. She knew he was far from being a callous man—he would find it hard to tell her that the simple, mutually undemanding partnership he’d mooted when he’d proposed marriage was now unacceptable, that he wanted her out of his life as soon as was discreetly possible.

Bitter-sweet compassion twisted sharply inside her. She longed to take his face between her hands, kiss away those betraying tension lines. But she couldn’t do that. Instead she would have to make this as easy as possible for him, pretend that his change of mind didn’t matter to her.

‘Don’t hover.’ He managed to raise a smile of sorts. ‘Sit here, out of the sun.’ He indicated the other lounger, separated from the one he was using by a low table, completely in the shade of a huge flower-patterned parasol. ‘I don’t want your skin to burn.’

Not much danger of that, Mattie thought dully. Unlike him, she was modestly covered. But the blue waters of the huge pool looked cool and tempting. He had obviously been swimming and had things been different she would have shot back to her room, pulled on her swimsuit and plunged straight in.

But things weren’t different and she couldn’t stand here for ever, like an intruder at a stranger’s party. She made her feet move, the light breeze moulding the fine fabric of her skirt to her thighs, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach.

‘I need to talk to you,’ he told her as she perched gingerly on the edge of the vacant lounger, as if it were made of spun sugar and would shatter beneath her weight.

Crunch time, she thought, her mouth going dry, her heart pumping. She wanted to run away and hide. She didn’t want to hear this. And almost sobbed with relief when Mercy appeared. Reprieve, if only for a few moments.

The tray that was deposited on the low table held a pot of fresh coffee, cups, cream and sugar. A tall jug of fruit juice, glasses, an insulated container of ice cubes. ‘Oh, lovely, thank you, Mercy!’ she babbled, aware of the hot tide of hysteria rising inside her. ‘Isn’t this nice, James? Will you have coffee, or juice?’

Aware that Mercy was beginning to turn away Mattie didn’t wait for his answer. ‘What time would you like to serve lunch, Mercy? What time would suit you best? Something light, I think, don’t you? In this heat!’ She wished, she wished she could shut up! She could babble for hours but it wouldn’t alter the inevitable.

Delaying it wouldn’t make it any easier to bear. Besides, the tension was killing her! Best to get it over with. Out in the open, then she’d know where she stood. While they were still legally married she would always hope; she wouldn’t be able to help it. So ending it would be the best way for her, in the long run.

‘One o’clock will be fine, Mercy.’ The sound of his voice alerted her to the fact that the other woman had been saying something. Mattie hadn’t heard a word. She’d been too busy chasing her own thoughts round and round in her head, the internal din they’d been making drowning out every other sound. Except his voice.

Mercy had retreated. So this was it. With a conscious effort she raised her head, scooped her hair away from her face with both hands and said flatly, ‘You had something to say to me.’

‘I have.’ The long line of his mouth was tight. He removed his sunglasses and put them on the table, next to the tray. She could see his eyes now but they told her nothing. The silver gaze was steady, half obscured by the hooded lids and heavy black lashes.

‘Well?’ she prompted, desperately holding herself together, hoping she didn’t look as shatteringly apprehensive as she felt.

He was leaning forward now, tanned forearms resting along the length of his tautly muscled thighs. Mattie kept her eyes glued to his. If she let them wander to the breadth of his shoulders, the wide firm chest, the washboard-tight midriff, and down to the skimpy briefs that clung to the essence of his masculinity she would be lost, a gibbering, pleading, weeping wreck.

‘There’s no easy way to tell you this,’ he said sombrely. His brows knotted in a frown. ‘Before we married we made a bargain. I have to tell you, Mattie, I find I’m unable to stick with it.’

She felt the blood drain out of her face. She closed her eyes. She felt sick. Hadn’t she guessed, known, this was about to happen? And hadn’t she told herself she would make it as easy for him as she could?

She huffed in a shallow breath, unscrewed her eyelids and told him thinly, ‘I understand.’

‘No, I don’t think you do.’ His voice was lower now, gentler. ‘I saw our marriage as an oasis of peace with the business safely under the umbrella of our union. Our lives running companionably along parallel lines—no meeting point in the physical sense—no sex to muddy the waters. You went along with that, and it’s probably what you still want. Expect. Am I right?’

She had no idea what he was getting at and, in any case, she was incapable of answering. She simply blinked at him, her lips falling apart. Oh, she might have gone along with his idea of a marriage of convenience, kidding herself that she could be content. But how could she tell him that she wanted him in every way there was with every atom of her being?

‘I know I’m right,’ he answered his own questions, his voice heavy. ‘When I warned you of the probable consequences if you continued to dress provocatively you couldn’t jump back into your old style of dressing fast enough! But I have to be honest with you, we both deserve that much—Matts, I want you. If you went around wearing an old sack, I’d still want to take you to bed. I can’t live like that—wanting to make love to you yet having to keep to the letter of our bargain. And I don’t imagine it would be something you’d be comfortable with, either.

‘So we make our marriage a real one, or we end it. It’s up to you to decide which way you want to go. No rush.’ There was a hollow look in his eyes, a downward twist to his mouth. ‘We have four weeks here, time enough for you to make up your mind. I won’t put any pressure on you; whatever happens it will be your decision entirely.’

For a moment he looked achingly vulnerable. Then he pulled himself to his feet. ‘You look st

unned,’ he said dryly. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll leave you in peace to think it over.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

MATTIE watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest. As before, when he’d asked her to marry him, she couldn’t believe her own ears. She must have misheard, or misunderstood. Her brain had suffered some sort of burn-out. She was going crazy!

How could he possibly want to make love to her when the gorgeous, ultra-sophisticated Fiona had once shared his bed? Unless, of course, that was precisely the reason.

He wanted to use her to drive the memory of the woman he still loved out of his head.

The bargain they’d made was a non-starter because he was a normal, virile male.

He needed sex.