The Marriage Trap (Book 2, The Mackenzies)

by Diana Fraser

  The Marriage Trap

  —The Mackenzies: Book 2—

  by Diana Fraser

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN 978-0-473-23853-7

  Copyright © 2013 by Diana Fraser

  Discover other titles by Diana Fraser at Smashwords or http://www.dianafraser.net

  You can sign up to Diana’s newsletter here (or via her website) for information on book releases.

  Big thanks go to Valerie Susan Hayward for her editorial input and to my writer friends and partners-in-crime—Kris, Ellie and Giovanna—for their support, editorial help and friendship. And, of course, for our enlightening discussions on commas, heroes and sex. (Sorry, Giovanna, I kept the scene in!) Despite all the brilliant editorial assistance, I haven’t been able to stop fiddling with the text, so I claim any mistakes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is co-incidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.

  Prologue

  “Where are you going?” His voice was cold and authoritative and sent a wave of fear through Gemma’s body.

  She stopped, just steps away from the front door of the apartment, and watched his lighter flare in the dark of the bedroom, revealing only his silhouette as he sucked on the ever-present cigarette. She was prepared for his question. Paul always insisted on knowing where she was going and with whom.

  “I need to buy new stockings for tonight.” Paul couldn’t stand imperfections—not ladders in stockings, or in people—and Gemma prayed he wouldn’t insist on going with her. “I won’t be long.”

  “You’re not going alone.” A hand shot out from the darkened bedroom and gripped her tightly around the wrist. She gasped, but before he could emerge into the hall, his cell phone rang. He hesitated briefly before releasing her and disappearing inside the room to answer the phone. She exhaled her tightly held breath and wasted no time in exiting the apartment.

  Once in the marble lobby she pressed the elevator button and waited. She gripped the small bag that held all her belongings, willing him not to appear.

  After what seemed an age the elevator arrived. She pressed the button for the basement and turned to look at the apartment for the last time. The elevator doors slid closed on her life for the past three years—a life that had been full of comfort and security at first but which had proved to be suffocating and terrifying in the finish.

  She walked past her car and out through the rear exit onto the busy street towards where her taxi was waiting.

  “Heathrow, please.”

  Slowly she closed her eyes and kept them closed against the regular flash of the streetlights. Only her friend, Sarah, knew where she was going, and she had her own reasons for never divulging Gemma’s whereabouts.

  It was time to disappear, time to make a new start… time to breathe again.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Forty hours later…

  Gemma jumped out of the rental car, strode away from the river, up to the grassy knoll and looked around. Great. One day in New Zealand and she was spectacularly lost.

  Despite being lost, Gemma sucked in the chill, fresh air and smiled to herself. She’d done it! She’d wriggled out from her boyfriend’s grasp and found herself a new life. Or she would have, once she’d worked out where she was.

  Since she’d crossed the river, there was nothing to see but mile after mile of tussock grass leading to mountains she knew to exist from the map, but whose snow-topped summits had been shrouded in heavy cloud since she’d landed. There was no sign of life, no sign of mountains and certainly no sign of the homestead Sarah had said she could stay in. She knew it was in the middle of nowhere, but this was ridiculous.

  Gemma shook out the map and turned it around, trying to figure out where she was in relation to the wiggly contour lines. But a large drop of rain splattered onto it, making it instantly unreadable. It was quickly followed by others and she looked up in time to see the wall of grey cloud that had been hovering in the mountains all afternoon, rapidly descending on her. She leaped back into the car, switched on the light and tried to figure out where to go next.

  Suddenly the palm of a hand slapped against the outside of the window. Gemma screamed as the same hand grabbed hold of the door handle. She tried to press down the lock but her cold fingers fumbled with the button which slid from under her grasp as the door was yanked open.

  “You need to come with me. Now!” The male voice was commanding and urgent.

  What the hell? Had she been followed here? Had Paul tracked her down already?

  “No way!” She tried to pull the door closed but a hand pulled her arm from the door.

  “Come on! We don’t have much time.”

  “Hey! Let go! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  The dark figure bent down then and she saw it belonged to a cowboy—or maybe not—this was New Zealand after all. She strained to see his face in the grey light, but his battered bushman’s hat was pulled low to keep the rain off his face. All that was visible was a strong jaw line covered with a day’s worth of stubble.

  “Come on!” He repeated. “There’s no time to argue.”

  “No!” She tried once more to pull the door closed but the man huffed, reached inside and slid one hand under her while grabbing her bag with the other and pulled her to him. She screamed and pushed her hands flat against his chest, trying to pry herself from his grip. But he was too strong. He picked her up and strode away. She screamed again, twisting in his tight embrace, and kicked him hard. He groaned but didn’t miss a step.

  “Quieten down.” He slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold and the air rushed from her body. All she could do was gasp for breath, all she could see was the rain, hammering into the soil, turning it into a sea of slick, grey mud, and all she could feel was the grip of his hands, tight around her legs. And all she could think was that Paul had found her and she was a dead woman. No one walked away from Paul.

  Within minutes the man had stopped, opened the door of a Range Rover and tossed her and her bag inside, just as an almighty crash of thunder echoed around the wide valley. Before Gemma could move, he’d clicked a lock in the side of the door so she couldn’t escape and had jumped into the driver’s seat and roared off as if the devil was after them. She backed into the corner and looked around as she tried to regain her breath.

  He glanced at her with ice-blue eyes as hard and cold as the land outside. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Then let me go.” Her voice sounded strangled.

  “Can’t do that. We have to get out of here—now.”

  The Range Rover revved loudly as it moved up over steep ground away from the river. She barely heard her words of protest above the hammering of the rain on the roof and the spinning of the wheels as they tried to gain traction in the mud.

  Suddenly he stopped the vehicle, turned to her and pushed up his hat. For the first time Gemma saw his face properly. Her first impressions were confirmed. He was just like the country around them. The bone structure of his face was strong and powerful, his expression as unforgiving and impressive as the mountains that ringed the huge valley. She shivered and pressed herself back against the door.

  His eyes flickered over her face. “Look down there.”

  Gemma had no inclination to take her eyes off him. “Why wou
ld I do that? Give you another chance to attack me? I’m not going with you, I’m not going back to him.”

  He shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about, woman? Just look down there.”

  Her heart hammered, but as she continued to stare at him, she felt strangely reassured. Perhaps this man wasn’t one of Paul’s men. He didn’t appear to be like his sort. She didn’t get the feeling he was.

  “Just look,” he repeated.

  She nodded slowly, let out a tight breath and peered through the window, down to the river below. “At what?” She rubbed the condensation off the window just in time to see a wall of water descend the river. It spilled over the banks, washed away the bridge she’d just crossed, scooped up her hire car and swept it along the valley. “Oh…” She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She cleared the window of condensation again and took another look at the place she’d been standing only minutes earlier that was now flooded by surging grey water. “My car! My things… Oh. My. God! What the hell was that?”

  “A fresh. It’s been raining in the hills for days. One was due any time.”

  Gemma sat back, stunned, her eyes fixed on the receding car, bobbing black on the grey surge of the river, as it disappeared into a watery landscape of cloud, mist and rain. Her heart still thumped from being manhandled by a stranger, but her fear had now changed into the shock of having narrowly escaped death.

  “What am I going to do? All I had in the world was in that car.”

  “It’ll wash up downriver somewhere. We’ll find it later, but not now.” He slipped the car into gear and it accelerated up the uneven slope once more.

  “But we have to. We have to go and look for it.”

  “We’re on the wrong side of the river for town. I crossed the river to get to you. Now the bridge’s gone, the nearest passable crossing is a day away.”

  As they took off into the unknown, Gemma fixed her shocked gaze on the wet, grey world, revealed by the regular slap of the windshield wipers. The vehicle skidded, and she held her breath as it found its grip and pulled itself up a steep bank.

  “But surely you must live nearby. We can go there and phone for help.”

  “Not this side of the river, I can’t.”

  “Then what the hell are we going to do?”

  He shifted the car into first gear. “Find shelter.”

  She pressed her palm onto her forehead, willing it all to go away. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. She’d come here to find freedom and everything—nature and man—was conspiring to trap her again.

  “You mean there is somewhere we can go?”

  “The river will be impassable for at least twenty-four hours. But there’s an old shepherd’s hut, not too far away, which I keep stocked for emergencies.”

  A shepherd’s hut, twenty-four hours, a stranger. The words played over and over in her mind like a nightmarish chant.

  “Well, I’m guessing this sure counts as an emergency.”

  “I reckon. What the hell are you doing out here anyway?”

  She chewed her lip with indecision. She hated lies but she couldn’t risk Paul finding her. If she was going to pose as heiress of Blackrock she may as well start now. She and Sarah had decided Gemma could get away with using her own name as the owner’s identity was hidden behind a screen of companies. Only the Auckland lawyers knew the truth and it was more than their reputation was worth to reveal it.

  “I’ve just landed from the UK. My family used to live here a long time ago. Thought I’d check out my family history.”

  “Strange place to do it.”

  “Strange family by all accounts.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “So what were you doing out here?”

  “Checking on stock. Just as well, otherwise you’d be gone.”

  Gone. She closed her eyes tight. She would have been, too. All this way to find a new life and it had nearly ended before it’d begun. “Thank God for stock.” She sucked in a deep breath and looked at him. “Thank you. I thought you were crazy, I thought you were going to attack me.”

  His eyes were narrowed and his mouth clamped tight in concentration as he swung the car around, avoiding rocks and potholes as best he could. Her eyes lingered on his lips, firm yet quite full. Soft even. He glanced at her and she swallowed and turned back to the window. She was suddenly acutely aware they were quite alone together—no one around for miles.

  “No. On both counts.”

  “I’m glad about that, since we’ll be spending the next few hours together.”

  “Put your seat belt on.”

  Instinctively Gemma began to frame words of objection. She hadn’t traveled ten thousand miles to be ordered around, controlled—that’s what she’d come here to escape from—but the car suddenly struck a ridge and it flew into the air before landing with a sharp bump.

  “Just do it.”

  She didn’t need telling again.

  The storm intensified. Rain descended like steel bullets and lightning sparked the leaden sky. Thunder crashed around them, hardly settling before enveloping them in a fresh roll. Gemma wedged herself in the seat, trying to stop herself from being thrown around as they lurched over rough tussock towards higher ground. At last they slowed and he swung the car through a narrow opening in a small copse of gnarled, wind-battered trees in the midst of which an old cob cottage stood.

  “This is it.”

  She turned to him at the same moment as a flash of lightning silhouetted his profile. He didn’t look human in that eerie light. His face could have been hewn from granite. It was so strong, so hard, unfeeling. Then the moment passed and he was out of the vehicle and lost in the stream of rain that washed over the windows. She grabbed her bag and jumped out into the mud after him. Head down, she stumbled across the small yard onto a narrow verandah and slapped right into him. He threw the door open wide and pushed her inside. The wind slammed the door closed behind them.

  “Okay?”

  She shrugged. Where should she begin? Lost? Frozen? Terrified?

  “Good.” He opened the door once more, obviously taking her silence for the affirmative. “I won’t be long.” The door slammed closed behind him, leaving Gemma alone in the strangely quiet cottage. She stepped into the gloom and looked around. Her heart sank. A shepherd’s needs were obviously minimal as there was little in the hut except a bed, table, two chairs and a stove—all in the one room. A half-open door revealed the edge of a bath. She heaved a sigh of relief.

  Before she had time to explore further, a gust of wind blew into the room as the man entered, his dark form outlined by the lighter iron-grey of the sky outside.

  “I guess you haven’t found the lamp yet.”

  He nudged the door closed with his foot, dropped a pile of logs on the floor and strode through to the rear of the small hut.

  Gemma relaxed as the hiss of gas ignited and the small flame grew as he replaced the shade. As he brought the lantern to the only table, she opened the potbelly stove and peered inside.

  “Get the fire going, will you? I’ll get some more wood.”

  He disappeared outside once more and Gemma heard the thud of logs being shifted against the rear of the cottage. She opened the lid to the stove, dropped a few logs in and sighed. This wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned as she and Sarah had devised Gemma’s plan of escape. She struck a match and dropped it on top of the logs. As the man re-entered the room, the spark bloomed momentarily before immediately dying.

  “What the hell are you doing, woman?” He dropped the second armful of logs onto the floor and took off his coat, the rain pooling on the bare wooden boards.

  “Trying to light a fire.”

  He withdrew the logs from the stove and tore off some of the outer bark and twigs to make kindling. “Something you’ve never done before, at a guess.”

  “You guess right. Not much call for lighting fires in London.”

  “Perhaps you should have stuck to London.” He shot her
an irritated glance. “Saved us both from an uncomfortable night.”

  Gemma sucked in a deep breath to calm her frustration. He was right. If it weren’t for her, he’d no doubt be happily back at his home by now, wherever that was. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’ve done with London. I came to New Zealand looking for something different.” The truth. That felt better.

  He turned away from the weak flame that had just caught in the stove and looked at her then, as if for the first time. He didn’t look at her like any of the men she’d known before. This was no sly assessment. He checked her out openly. She imagined he’d do the same for any stock he’d buy. He glanced down at her sodden jeans that clung to her legs and then up, over her wet fleece before his gaze came to rest on her hair that had escaped her beanie. There he stopped, for a moment too long. She lifted her hand to her hair and pushed some wet strands off her face. Her movement seemed to break the spell and he turned away.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “something different all right.”

  She frowned. His words, that should have been a simple reply to her comment, were uttered slowly, thoughtfully, as if he meant something else entirely. She watched as he turned his attention back to the fire, opening the damper and coaxing the flames higher until they engulfed the kindling, before dropping in one of the smaller logs. He took off his hat and tossed it onto the table, pushing his hands through sun-streaked hair before turning back to look at her again.

  Attraction bloomed from somewhere deep within, making her heart pound and heat spread throughout her body. She looked away quickly, confused. She’d never had such an instant reaction to someone and she didn’t want one now.

  “You’d better get yourself out of those clothes. You’ll find some towels in the cupboard.”

  “Sure.” She plucked off her soaking beanie and tossed it to one side. She shook out her hair and turned to find him staring at her.

  “You have red hair.”

  Her confusion deepened when she saw his expression. She nodded. She had to keep it light. “Yeah, the original ginger, that’s me. Ginger and very wet hair.” He shook his head, looked briefly puzzled and turned away. “Look,” she sighed. “I’m cold. I think I’ll go and have a shower, if that’s okay.” She unzipped her fleece.