Bought: One Husband

Instead he told her, because it seemed as good a get-out as anything else, ‘You’ve carved out a brilliant career for yourself in the face of what must be tough opposition. I would have thought you’d have gathered a modicum of caution along the way. Yet you leapt headlong into this marriage—I even had to stop you paying me before I’d signed on the dotted line, remember? And I would have thought you’d have had the common sense to insist on a pre-nuptial agreement. For all you know I could take you to the cleaners after the divorce, claim part of your future earnings.’

She recognised the trace of bitterness in his voice and reminded him quickly, ‘I thought you didn’t want a divorce.’

She didn’t know why she’d blurted that out. Surely she wanted to forget what he’d told her this morning? Perhaps it was the wine talking? She decided it probably was when he leaned forward, resting his tanned forearms on the table-top, and concurred softly, not a sign of bitterness now, ‘I don’t. Believe me, sweetheart, I don’t. I just thought I’d draw your attention to your lack of caution. It can be a big bad world out there.’

She gave a low gurgle of laughter and confessed, ‘I’m not completely wet behind the ears! I trust you, Jethro. Would I have suggested this arrangement if I didn’t?’

She’d always trusted him, she realised now, with a tingle of shock. On some deep, inexplicable level she had always known she could trust him.

‘Do you? Trust me, that is?’

He leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. He was wearing a loose-fitting white shirt in a silky fine fabric, open at the neck, the sleeves rolled back. A slight breeze had sprung out of nowhere, ruffling his thick dark hair. It was too dark now to see his expression clearly, but she could feel the renewal of tension in him, tightly controlled.

She wanted to ease it away, but didn’t know how. Unless she were to give in to the blind instinct that made her want to push her fingers through that soft dark hair, slip his shirt buttons from their moorings, slide her hands over his naked skin, find the flat male nipples with her mouth and skim her fingertips over his body, over the washboard flatness of his stomach, down, and lower down, until—

Heaven help her! She mentally stamped on her chaotic thoughts. She could trust him, but she sure as hell couldn’t trust the way he affected her!

‘Then let’s work on that, shall we?’ He seemed to have taken her reaffirmation of trust for granted. ‘Tell me why your uncle felt the need to put that condition on your inheritance.’

Allie blinked. The nerves in her stomach were still haywire from the realisation that she wanted so badly to make love with this man. Her husband. Her stomach executed a few wild somersaults as the fact that they were man and wife took on a greater significance than the mere acquisition of Studley.

And she hadn’t expected that question. She had expected— What? Something more intimate, an attempt to draw closer, a restatement of his own desire to make love to her?

She swallowed disappointment with a mouthful of wine, told herself not to be so darn stupid, then lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug and told him, ‘I never really blamed Fabian for refusing to renew the lease. Studley was his, he was getting married, and he wanted to live there. But I did resent the speed with which he tipped us out—I am only human. Then two years later his marriage broke down and Studley was empty again. I told you that. My mother was shattered when he agreed she could go back provided she slept with him whenever he felt like it. I despised and loathed him then.’

‘That’s understandable.’

Allie flicked him a glance from between her lashes, then turned her attention back to the wine glass she was holding, twisting the stem round and round in her fingers. How was it possible to be so aware of a man, so aware that nothing else seemed real?

‘I—well, we didn’t see him, or hear of him for years. We didn’t want to. Then, soon after my career took off, I took part in a fashion show which was part of charitable event, with the inevitable party afterwards. Not my scene, but it went with the job. Fabian was there. I knew I couldn’t be civil to him so I did my best to avoid him. When he tracked me down, I was ready for him. He started off by telling me I was the image of Laura as a young woman and supposed I was husband-hunting—was that why I’d chosen a modelling career, be

cause I had a good chance of getting a wealthy man who wanted a decorative wife? He was sneering, looking me over with his nasty, knowing eyes. He told me I’d obviously inherited my brains from him—because my parents hadn’t any—and that he presumed I wouldn’t make the mistake Laura had: ruin my life by marrying a spineless wimp, someone who couldn’t give me a decent lifestyle.

‘By this point I was seething. I said I had no intention of marrying anyone, ever. And if he was a prime example of the male sex, I reckoned I’d made the right decision.’

She gave Jethro a rueful smile. ‘Needless to say, we didn’t part on amicable terms, and the next I heard he’d died suddenly of a heart attack. I can only suppose he put that condition on my inheritance out of spite, because of what I’d said about never marrying, to show me what I’d lost by being so anti-marriage.’

Profound silence.

Allie shifted in her seat. Her skin was crawling with heat. She was thankful for the near darkness because he wouldn’t be able to see how uncomfortable his silence made her feel.

‘I don’t feel ashamed of getting the better of him!’ she defended hotly, when his silence became too much to bear.

She felt ridiculous when he leaned back, activated a switch on the wall that illuminated the terrace area with subdued lighting, and stated, ‘I’m not suggesting you should be. I’m a partner in it, after all. A willing partner.’

The honeyed darkness of his tone sent shivers down her spine, her brain taking up the words ‘willing’ and ‘partner’ elaborating on them, translating ‘partner’ into ‘mate’, and ‘mate’ into ‘husband’. Which was what he was. And that put thoughts she’d tried so hard to oust straight back into her head, cementing them there.

Unwittingly, her fingers gave the glass she held another violent twist, spraying drops of dark red wine on the white-painted cast-iron tabletop. Clumsily she tried to wipe them away with the tips of her fingers, but he caught her hand, held it, and she wished to heaven he hadn’t because her uncontrollable fingers twined tightly around his, her body trembling at the contact of warm skin, hard bone. And the pulse-point at the base of her throat was beating so frantically he simply had to see it and know what he was doing to her.

But if he noticed how the simple handclasp had affected her he didn’t show it. His voice was light, almost indifferent, as he suggested, ‘Perhaps you should tell me why you made that decision. Not to marry. Ever.’

He parodied her earlier related vehemence as he said the last word, and Allie withdrew her hand as if the contact scorched her, pulling together all her reasons, wondering if he was mocking her.

Perhaps if she spelled them out he’d understand why she’d made the decision to live her life alone. More importantly, going over them would convince her of their validity.

Around him, she needed convincing all over again.

She took her time in answering, and he leaned back in his chair, his eyes shadowed, enigmatic.