CHAPTER TWO
‘NO. I QUITE UNDERSTAND.’ Trying her hardest to keep the note of disappointment out of her voice, Addie picked up her pen and drew a line firmly through the last name on the list in her notepad. ‘And thank you for giving me so much of your time.’
Flipping open her laptop, she scrolled slowly through the column of figures on the screen. Finally she let out a long, slow breath. It was hopeless. Despite all her efforts she had barely enough funds to cover next month’s rent and a few utility bills. Even if she added in her meagre savings she certainly couldn’t afford to pay her staff’s salaries.
Leaning back in her chair, she bit her lip. If she told them what had happened she knew they would offer to forego their pay. But why should they? she thought angrily. Why should they suffer because she had let her arrogant, maddening ex get under her skin?
Her head was pounding. And it wasn’t just because of her precarious finances. Speaking to Malachi again had stirred up feelings she had buried deep, deep down, and now she was battling emotions she still wasn’t ready to acknowledge or resolve.
Her heart gave a lurch. It wasn’t only her feelings she couldn’t face. She’d spent the last five years more or less pretending that her marriage had never happened. Now, in the space of twenty-four hours, she’d been forced to confront not only her husband but the state of estrangement between them.
Sighing, she slumped back in her seat and reluctantly contemplated the mess she’d made of her private life. Since splitting with Malachi she’d focused her energies on work. Yes, she’d been on a few ‘dates’ but no man ever quite measured up to him. But then she hadn’t just fallen for Malachi. She’d dived in headfirst, captivated not only by his looks and charm but by how he’d made her feel like her true self. The self she’d discovered through music and lost the night of her accident. Only through music had she felt able to be the real Addie—wild and free. And Malachi had made her feel like that too.
But not for long. Pretty soon she’d been out of her depth and drowning. Only by that time she’d become his wife.
Her pulse twitched and she shifted in her seat. It had all happened so long ago. So why were they still married?
As far as Malachi was concerned it was probably because he’d forgotten all about her until yesterday, when she’d called him, whereas she— Her face coloured painfully. She was still married because she was a coward. The thought of seeing him again had been just too painful. In the months following their separation she had vowed to confront him and demand a divorce, but she had always found a reason not to do so. And so the months had become years.
Five long years. In fact, tomorrow it would be five years exactly.
Remembering her wedding day—his tension, her confusion over his parents’ absence—she felt a shiver of sadness. It was obvious even then that what they’d shared was nothing more than physical attraction.
She frowned. But her marriage wasn’t the issue here.
She needed money, fast, and if having lunch with Malachi meant that she got her funding then maybe she should just call him. No doubt he was sitting there in his office, smugly waiting for her to do just that. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to help him choose a restaurant as if it was some kind of a date. Her eyes narrowed. She needed to do something to make it clear that she was meeting him on her own terms.
So why not surprise him at lunch? All she would have to do was follow him to wherever he was eating and confront him, and then finally she might wipe the self-satisfied smile from that gorgeous mouth of his. Easy!
Her breath jammed in her throat.
Easy?
One look from Malachi had once been enough to turn her into a rippling mass of desire. But not any more, she told herself firmly. For even if her body hadn’t learned the consequences of falling for that shimmering, sensual gaze her mind had, she had more sense and pride than to let it happen again.
* * *
Was it only lunchtime?
His grey eyes widening with disbelief, Malachi glanced at the one-of-a-kind Swiss-made watch on his wrist. Unusually for him, the day had seemed to drag—and his mind was only half on work. The other half was picking over his conversation with Addie.
Leaning back, he smiled slowly, remembering the frustration in her voice.
She’d been good and riled. But it wasn’t only exasperation that had made her so hot and bothered. He’d heard another kind of heat.
And just like that an image of Addie flared inside his brain. The soft pouting lips, glossy red curls and legs like a thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby. All wrapped up in a take-it-or-leave-it manner that he’d had no choice but to take...
Breathing heavily, he shifted in his seat, remembering the feverish touch of her mouth against his, the heat between them blurring their edges so that it had been impossible to feel where she’d ended and he’d begun.
He smiled grimly. For most of his life he’d watched his mother and father use passion and emotion like poker dice, uncaring of the consequences. As an adult, away from their orbit, he’d sworn never to follow in their footsteps. His private life would be conducted in the realm of reason.
Only then he’d met Addie, and thrown away caution and control and broken every damn rule in the book.
A pulse began to beat in his neck and suddenly his chair felt cramped, confined. Standing up, he walked quickly across his office to the large floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the gaming area of his flagship Miami casino. He breathed in sharply. There were nearly seven hundred gaming tables down there, not including the club privé, each one offering a change of fortune, a new beginning, a better life.
Watching people as they gave everything they had—sometimes literally—to the turn of a card or the roll of a dice seemed to him to represent the rawest, most pure expression of what it meant to be human. It was all there—hope and hunger, fear, and the desire to win. He found it fascinating, stimulating. But not as fascinating or stimulating as the thought of seeing his estranged wife again.
Staring down at the men and women, their faces tight with concentration, he felt a flicker of anticipation. She’d told him she never wanted to speak to him again. But she would. She’d have no choice. And not just because of the money.
His eyes gleamed.
So, where should he take her for lunch?
Snatching his jacket from the back of his chair, he tugged it on. Addie would no doubt refuse to meet him if there was even a hint that they would be alone together. A busy, open-plan restaurant would be better. His eyes gleamed again. He knew just the place.
Opening his door, he was met by the startled faces of his secretary, Chrissie, and her assistant.
‘I’m going out for lunch.’
‘But—’
The women glanced up at him in confusion.
‘You’re meeting Andy here at twelve-thirty,’ said Chrissie. ‘You always meet him.’
It was true. Most days he met his casino managers as they came on shift. But today was different.
‘So it’ll be a nice change for both of us,’ he said smoothly. ‘Call Eights. My usual table. And tell Andy I’m indisposed.’
‘Would you like your car to be brought round to the front, sir?’
Malachi shook his head and smiled. ‘No, thank you, Chrissie. I need a bit of fresh air.’
He ran a finger under his collar. After thinking about Addie, what he actually needed was a cold shower, but a tall chilled mojito might just be a tolerable alternative!
* * *
The restaurant was crowded with the usual mix of suave businessmen and glamorous, golden-limbed women. His table was set slightly apart from the other diners, with a view over the ocean. Like all the best views in the world, it was unchanging and yet never the same.
His choices made, he waved away the waiters and sat back, his eye drawn to the horizon between sea and sky, where dense black clouds hovered above the turquoise water. A storm was coming. According to the weather reports, it was du
e to hit land just after three. Not that he minded. A storm—bad weather in general—was good for business. But it meant that his lunch might have to be slightly curtailed.
His phone gave a small shudder and, turning, he glanced at it, his face expressionless. It was a message from Henry, asking him to call. But he didn’t want his father’s voice inside his head. Not when his mind was filled with thoughts of Addie.
He picked up his glass. The wine was an interesting choice, the crisp hint of apple surprising him. But it wasn’t the wine that caused him to put down his glass. It was the woman walking through the restaurant towards him.
Like every other man in the room, he watched her intently as she wove sinuously between the tables. He felt a rush of excitement. The weathermen had been wrong. The storm had already hit town. And her name was Hurricane Addie!
Staring defiantly ahead, Addie made her way across the room. Walking into the restaurant, she’d felt a fluttering panic. It was one thing deciding in anger to gatecrash his lunch and cajole him into renewing her funding—quite another to confront him in cold blood. In theory, she could tell herself that she no longer cared about him and that he was just another businessman on her list. She could even remind herself that he was the man who had lied to her face and broken her heart. But all that reason and logic had been forgotten when she’d pulled open the door and stepped into the restaurant.
Despite the fact that the room was packed with diners, she spotted him in a heartbeat. No one but Malachi had that invisible but tangible push-me-pull-me energy. Radiating out from him like rays from the sun, it tugged her gaze across the room to where he sat, gazing out at the ocean like some buccaneer on the high seas. She breathed in sharply, her hand rising involuntarily, protectively in front of her, as though to ward off the full intensity of his masculinity.
He was even more beautiful than she remembered, with his dark hair falling across his forehead, that sculpted poet’s profile and those eyes...the grey shifting and darkening like a constantly changing winter sky. He looked cool and relaxed in a tailored charcoal-grey suit that was a shade lighter than his eyes—and worth every cent of the billions of dollars he was rumoured to have made from his gaming empire.
Her head was spinning; the noise of the room sounded distant and distorted. But even though it was clear he still had the power to throw her off balance, she damn well wasn’t going to reveal that fact to Malachi.
Her hands curling into fists, she walked purposefully towards him and stopped in front of his table. Her back felt as if it was burning beneath the combined female envy in the room, but her blue gaze was cool and scornful as they stared at one another in silence.
It was she who spoke first. ‘You wanted to have lunch with me.’ Her voice was husky, her cheeks flushed with colour. ‘So here I am.’
‘Yes, you are,’ he said softly. He stared in undisguised appreciation at the clinging black dress. Or rather at the swelling curves beneath the fabric. ‘You look incredible, sweetheart. Life must be treating you well. I feel like I should be the one asking you for money.’
Addie lifted her chin. ‘Who knows? Maybe one day you will be.’ She rested one slim hand on her hip. ‘So, are you going to ask me to sit down? Or have you changed your mind?’
‘In that dress? Not a chance. Come and join me.’ Patting the seat beside him, he grinned as, ignoring his gesture, Addie sat down on the opposite side of the table.
As though her arrival had triggered some hidden switch, not one but two waiters immediately appeared beside them, and her shoulders lowered with relief as the daunting prospect of being on her own with him was temporarily postponed. But her reprieve couldn’t last for ever and finally they were alone.
‘I just want to make it clear that I’m paying,’ she said quickly. Their eyes met—hers the same, rebellious blue as a teenage tattoo, his glinting, grey. ‘It’s only fair.’
His gaze fixed on her face and he stared at her thoughtfully, then shrugged. ‘Fine. You can buy me lunch. But I warn you, I’m not a cheap date.’
Addie stilled. ‘This is not a date, Malachi. And that kind of remark is why I’m buying lunch. So there aren’t any mixed messages.’
He grinned. ‘You know me, sweetheart. The only thing I like mixed are my cocktails. Speaking of which—at least let me buy you a drink. Do you still like Bellinis?’
She swallowed, feeling a stabbing within. And then a softness. ‘You remembered...’
His eyes never left her face. ‘Of course. I remember everything about you and our time together.’
The softness hardened and she shivered inside. Was that what their marriage had been to him? A portion of hours and days? Her heart began to beat faster.
‘Good!’ She swallowed. ‘Then you’ll remember how important my charity is to the children it helps. And, no, thank you. I don’t want a Bellini.’
He waved a hand across the table at her negligently.
‘Some wine, then? Or is my presence intoxicating enough for you?’
Tucking her legs beneath the table, Addie forced herself to meet his cool grey gaze. ‘I don’t drink at business meetings.’ she said primly.
‘Neither do I,’ agreed Malachi, lifting the glass of wine to his lips. ‘It’s very unprofessional. But fortunately I don’t class our meeting as anything other than a cause for celebration.’
She stared at him blankly. ‘Celebration! I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course you do.’ Beneath the restaurant’s lights his eyes looked lighter, almost silver. ‘It was you who reminded me.’ He held out his glass and tapped it against her tumbler of water. ‘Happy Anniversary, sweetheart!’
Addie felt her skin grow cold. His eyes were glittering with an emotion she didn’t fully understand and, quickly turning her head, she fixed her gaze on the view of the ocean just as their meals arrived.
The food was both delicious and beautifully presented, but Addie found it impossible to enjoy her lobster salad.
‘Even if it is our anniversary,’ she said coldly, ‘I hardly think that’s relevant to today’s discussion. Personally I’d be happier if we just stuck to the real reason why we’re both here.’
‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘If it makes you more comfortable.’
Addie glowered at him. Comfortable! As if!
The only reason she was still sitting there was the children and her colleagues. Otherwise, had she not chosen to wear such ridiculously high heels, she would happily have turned round and run as fast as possible from that deceptively guileless face.
But breathing out slowly, she pressed her nails into the palms of her hands. At least she looked the part. Even if it had meant selling her bike. The important thing was that while she might need his help, he didn’t need to know that. She looked cool and classy and in control. Not like a woman looking for a favour.
Now all she had to do was stay focused. But, glancing across the table, she felt a pulse leap in her throat as she looked up into his glittering grey gaze.
‘You’re very quiet, sweetheart. I thought you wanted to talk?’ Lolling back against the leather upholstery, Malachi gazed at her intently.
She shrugged. ‘I was just thinking.’
‘Then I should probably be leaving!’ His eyes, light and dancing, fixed on her face even as the corners of his mouth began to tilt upwards. ‘A quiet woman is like a hand grenade. A quiet woman thinking is like a hand grenade with the pin pulled out.’
His curving smile waited for her reply and she licked her lips, her heart fluttering beneath his scrutiny.
And then, just in time, she remembered that there was an actual reason for her being there—other than just to gawp at Malachi’s cheekbones. Feeling clumsy, hoping he didn’t suspect the reason for her distracted behaviour, she pulled out a folded piece of paper from her bag and handed it to him.
‘That’s the original agreement.’
He took it and opened it. His face was impassive as he scanned the contents. Finall
y he looked up at her. ‘It’s strange, don’t you think? The two of us? Together again?’
She’d been expecting him to refer to the letter. Instead, caught off guard, she had to force down the tangled mass of emotion that reared up inside her in response both to his words and the probing focus of his eyes.
‘Th-there is no “two of us”,’ she said shakily. Her eyes darted away from him and round the room, seeking something solid and reassuring. Fixing on two burly businessmen at the bar, she felt her shoulders relax slightly. ‘And we’re not together.’
He smiled slowly. ‘Then why are you scared?’
Her temper flared. ‘I’m not scared.’ She hesitated. ‘Just a little apprehensive, I suppose.’ She met his gaze defiantly.
‘Would it help if I promised not to drop my napkin?’ he said softly.
A warm tide swept over her skin, as hot and strong as a hurricane. But no hurricane could ever be as devastating or dangerous as Malachi King, she thought wildly. Her cheeks burning, she fixed her eye on the smooth white linen tablecloth. But she could feel his eyes, dark and implacable as granite, seeking her out.
‘I’d rather you didn’t bring that up now.’ Her skin felt as if it was on fire; her heartbeat felt so loud she was surprised the other diners hadn’t stopped eating to stare at her.
‘When would you like me to bring it up?’ he asked smoothly.
‘N-never!’ Her voice was trembling and she shook her head. ‘It’s just not appropriate!’
He shrugged, his face dispassionate. ‘I don’t remember you complaining at the time.’
His eyes were like the shimmering headlights of a car. She stared at him helplessly, hypnotised, horrified by her body’s fierce, swift response to his words and the image they conjured up.
Had she really let him do that to her? In a restaurant? There was an ache low down in her pelvis. Her whole body was suddenly shaking and it felt as though her insides were being sucked into a whirlpool. A memory—perfect, impossible, spinning apart into a hundred shades of gold—slid into her head. It had been so wildly, shockingly exciting. Even now she could hardly believe it had happened. Or that she had let it. What had she been thinking?
Claiming His Wedding Night Page 3