A Contract for His Runaway Bride

Elodie entered the bedroom next to Lincoln’s and closed the door and leaned back against it with a whooshing sigh. She knew it was dangerous, tempting Lincoln into changing his mind about the terms of their marriage. But knowing he wanted her gave her a sense of power—an addictive sense of power she couldn’t resist exercising.

Lincoln was a man who held strong opinions. Once he made up his mind he found it difficult to change it. It was one of the reasons they’d locked horns so much in the past. They were both strong-willed and opinionated and neither of them wanted to back down.

If by some miracle she managed to change his mind, she would be flirting with even more danger. The danger of allowing her feelings into the passion they shared. That had been her mistake in the past—falling for him because he was such a fabulous lover. She had confused physical chemistry with emotional attachment. How had she been so foolish to not recognise it? Just because a man knew how to make your blood sing, it didn’t mean he was in love with you.

Seven years ago, Lincoln might have been in lust with her—just as he was now—but love had never been part of his commitment to her. He had been willing to marry her, to live with her and have a family with her, but he hadn’t been willing to offer her his heart. What sort of star-struck, lovesick idiot had she been to accept him on those terms back then?

Since their breakup Elodie had never felt anything for any of her lovers—not that there had been many. She had actively encouraged a party girl image to go with her smart, successful, sassy, sophisticated and sexy brand. Those five S-words sold the lingerie and swimwear she modelled. But no one had come close to exciting her the way Lincoln had.

Sex for her had been a purely mechanical thing before she’d met him. She had never orgasmed with a lover before him and she hadn’t since. It was as if he had cursed her to be unable to fully function sexually without him. Which was part of her reason for wanting to revisit their passion. She needed to know if he still had the same sensual power over her. Judging from the kisses they had shared, it was looking highly likely.

Why was he so insistent on keeping their marriage on paper? It didn’t make sense. They both stood to gain from their arrangement—why not exploit it to the fullest extent?

Elodie came downstairs a few minutes before their guests were due to arrive. She wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water and came face to face with Morag, the housekeeper. A shiver of apprehension scuttled over her flesh, her heart-rate increased and a sense of dread as heavy as stone filled her stomach. She mentally prepared herself for attack, knowing it would be a miracle for the housekeeper to welcome her with open arms, especially after the way she had left Lincoln standing at the altar seven years ago.

She hid her unease behind a breezy smile. ‘Hi, Morag. Nice to see you again.’

The older woman’s lips pursed. ‘So, you’re back.’

Elodie waved a hand in front of her body. ‘As you see. And blissfully happy. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’

‘Congratulations.’

Never had someone sounded less sincere.

‘Thanks. It’s nice to be back.’

Morag wiped her hands on a tea towel and tossed it to one side, her expression set in disapproving lines. ‘How long are you staying this time?’

Elodie gave a tinkling laugh. ‘For ever, of course.’

The lie slipped off her tongue with such ease it was almost scary.

Morag harrumphed and picked up a paring knife. She began slicing into an avocado, her brow heavily furrowed. ‘If I thought you truly loved him I’d be happy for you.’

Her voice had the stern quality of a buttoned-up schoolmistress dealing with a rebellious child.

Elodie shrugged off the housekeeper’s comment with a nonchalant up-and-down movement of one shoulder. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, I guess.’

Morag glanced at her with a narrow-eyed look. ‘He deserves better than the likes of you.’

Elodie tried to suppress the bubble of anger that rose in her chest, but it was like trying to hold back a flood. And along with the toxic tide of anger there was a deep twinge of hurt because the housekeeper saw her as a taker, not a giver.

She wasn’t by nature a people-pleaser. She went her own way and didn’t give a damn what people thought about her—or at least she pretended she didn’t give a damn. What was it about her that Lincoln’s housekeeper disliked so much? It had irritated her in the past, but now, for some strange reason, it hurt as well. Was there something about her that both Morag and her father saw? A flaw that made her unacceptable? Unlikeable? Unlovable?

She moved to the other side of the kitchen to find a glass, but because the kitchen had been remodelled she couldn’t find one. ‘Where do you keep the glasses?’

‘Third cupboard on the right.’

‘Thank you.’ Elodie found a glass and took it over to the sink and filled it with water. She drank the water and then placed the glass upside down on the draining board. Then she turned and leaned back against the sink to look at the housekeeper. ‘Did you know Lincoln was adopted when we were together seven years ago?’

Morag continued artfully arranging the sliced avocado on the seafood starters she was making for dinner. ‘I knew.’

Elodie couldn’t hold back a frown. He’d told his housekeeper and not her? How was that supposed to make her feel? How could she not feel upset and unimportant? Someone under his employ knew the intimate details of his life, and yet the woman he had asked to marry him did not. He had chosen not to tell her.

‘Did he ask you not to mention it to me?’

Morag lifted her gaze from her food preparation to meet hers. ‘I only knew because his mother Rosemary mentioned it to me in passing one day. Lincoln never told me himself and I didn’t see it as my business to tell anyone else.’

‘Not even his fiancée? The woman he’d chosen to be his wife?’

The housekeeper gave her an unwavering look. ‘I think you already know the answer to that question. It’s why you didn’t go ahead with the wedding. You didn’t love him the way he deserves to be loved.’

Elodie pushed herself away from the sink in agitation. Her feelings about Lincoln had always been the issue. The depth, the intensity, the overwhelming need of him she knew could put her in a vulnerable situation from which she might never escape.

‘I wasn’t ready for marriage back then. I was young—only twenty-one.’

‘And you’re ready now?’ Scepticism was ripe in the housekeeper’s tone.

Elodie straightened her shoulders, her chin at a defiant height. ‘You bet I am.’

***