Merger By Matrimony

by Cathy Williams

  In the end, it was Stephanie and not Destiny who saved the situation.

  ‘I don’t want to intrude on anything you two might have going…’ She raised her eyebrows expressively at the both of them, and, while Destiny firmly denied any such thing, Henri stuttered out his version of the same. ‘But I’d really like to get to know you, Henri…’ She lifted his spectacles gently and smiled at his confusion. ‘And this is utterly the wrong place. Too many people, too much going on…’

  ‘We can leave,’ he said eagerly. ‘Go somewhere for a bite to eat…’ In his haste, he slipped partially back into his native French and Stephanie looked delighted.

  ‘We can’t leave Destiny here by herself,’ Stephanie said quietly, at which point the bell rang and Destiny took matters into her own hands. She had never played match-maker in her life before, but there was a first for everything, and how much could there be in it?

  ‘You two go. I’m perfectly capable of enjoying the rest of this performance on my own, and I booked a taxi to collect us after the play. I’ll find my way home.’

  ‘Destiny!’ Henri looked mildly shocked. ‘Taxi? You’re—’

  ‘Independent, Henri,’ she said, smiling, as the bell rang again and the bar began to clear. ‘I was independent in Panama and I’m independent here. You can’t keep a capable girl down.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Come on, Henri.’ Stephanie caught him by the tie and tugged him gently, at which he obediently fell into line with her. Only as Destiny was leaving the bar herself did Stephanie run up breathlessly to say, ‘Had to tell you, Dessie. That felt so good!’

  ‘What did?’

  ‘Being the one to call the shots!’ She dashed back out, pausing to wave at Destiny, and then they disappeared.

  The performance had restarted by the time Destiny made her way back to the empty seats, head down in embarrassment at everyone having to shift sideways or lever themselves up to let her through, and it was only when she was sitting that a dark, velvety voice said from one seat along,

  ‘Hope you don’t mind if I join you?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  The question was ignored as Callum shifted one seat along so that he was directly next to her, his elbow resting on the divide between them.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she repeated tensely. The perspective angle hadn’t worked at all. In fact, it had monumentally backfired, and she could feel that surge of emotion hit her like a sledgehammer as she glared at his averted profile and breathed in his masculine smell that had nothing to do with aftershave of any description.

  ‘Shh, the play.’ He settled back into his seat, while next to him she seethed and tried to figure out how Fate could be malignant enough to throw him into her company at this precise moment in time.

  ‘Aren’t you enjoying it?’ he murmured in a low voice, ‘I can feel you bristling next to me like a steam engine about to explode.’

  ‘I was enjoying it.’

  ‘Oh, you mean until I came along.’ He didn’t appear to be disconcerted by that, and when she opened her mouth again his response was to say, ‘Shh!’

  So she found herself sitting through the remainder of the play, which had lost its appeal, while questions piled up in her head. But she restrained herself from saying another word until the performance was ended, the encores had been done and the lights were on. She was barely aware of the crowds of people surging past her towards the exit. Nor was she about to look around to see whether Callum was behind her. In fact, she’d almost convinced herself that he had somehow got lost in the crowd, perhaps even trampled underfoot, when she felt the pressure of his hand on her elbow.

  ‘So where to now?’

  ‘I’ve got a taxi booked…’

  ‘Oh, good. Mind if I grab a lift with you? Taxis can be hell to come by at this hour outside a theatre.’ He followed her outside, meekly allowing her to stride towards her taxi, head held high, but once they were inside the car, he turned and said, ‘Where were you planning to eat?’

  Originally, she wanted to ask, or now that my escort’s vanished? Then it dawned on her that he was probably aware of exactly why she had been sitting in a row of three on her own. He must have seen her from the start, or else how would he have known where she was sitting? The thought that he’d been watching her made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. Watching and…laughing?

  ‘Actually, I thought I might just go home and give food a miss,’ Destiny said in a stiff, polite voice, head carefully averted.

  ‘Give food a miss? You?’

  That made her snap round to look at him, although she had a sneaking suspicion that that had been the intention when he had made his gibe.

  ‘I do occasionally skip food,’ she told him with glacier-like formality, but the ice in her voice was ambushed by her wide, dilated pupils and for a few heady seconds she was held hostage by his piercing, sexy blue eyes.

  It was, he thought, like an attempt to quench a roaring furnace with three drips of water, a token, desperate effort to distance him, and the awareness of that filled him with a crude, primitive sense of triumph. That tentative taste of her one week ago had been like a tantalising aperitif. It had stirred a hunger in him that had been shockingly erotic and one week of absence had done nothing to still it.

  Love and animal lust swelled inside him, making his groin ache, and he struggled to let none of it show on his face. The slightest smell of his desire would send her running a mile. In all his life he’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted her, and it was just his luck that she was the one woman whose traditional, principled outlook was like a steel barrier between them.

  ‘Not tonight.’ He leaned towards the taxi driver and gave him an address, then he sat back and waited for her inevitable question, which was not long in coming.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Just a little place I know where we can get something light to eat.’

  He sat back against the door and watched her. Watching her gave him a peculiar feeling of pleasure. Watching her, absorbing the expressions that flitted across her face. Even now, as she turned away, hunching her shoulder like someone trying to fend off danger through body language, he still enjoyed the view. Her skin was like satin, smooth and brown, making her hair look even richer and blonder in comparison. He wanted to reach out and gather it up between his fingers, so that he could pull her closer to him. He imagined her weight against him and the bird’s-eye view he would have of the enticing swell of her breasts, barely restrained by her low-cut neckline. She had a body that always appeared to be bursting to get out of the clothes she wrapped around it.

  That little wimp she had brought with her to the theatre was no match for her. She needed a man, a real man. Him, in other words. And she damned well knew it. It was written in every word she didn’t say and in every expression she tried so hard to conceal.

  Henri. That was his name. Callum had met Stephanie the evening before; their conversation had no longer been strained by the invisible pressure hanging over their heads that they were an engaged couple, and should therefore be frantic to climb into the nearest convenient bed, and he’d managed to pump a fair amount of information out of her.

  They would discuss this Henri character just as soon as they had reached their destination. He was pretty good at reading body language, and from what he had glimpsed mutual sexual attraction had not been on the agenda, but still, they had appeared relaxed with one another—and relaxed was always a bad sign.

  ‘Is this a restaurant?’ Her voice broke through his reverie and he realised that the taxi had stopped and she was now looking past him to his townhouse.

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’ He opened his door, paid the driver, leaving a generous tip and waited impatiently for her to exit the taxi.

  ‘What do you mean, “in a manner of speaking”?’

  ‘I mean there’s food inside.’ He hustled her along, preparing himself for the inevitable explosion—which occurre
d just as soon as she was through his front door.

  ‘It’s your house, isn’t it?’ She turned to him, her cheeks flushed with colour.

  Instead of answering, he calmly switched on the hall light. ‘How do you like it?’

  ‘You brought me to your house! You told me that we were going to a restaurant!’

  ‘I did no such thing,’ he demurred. ‘I told you that I knew somewhere we could get something light to eat.’

  ‘You lied! I demand to be dropped back to my house! Immediately!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? Why? Because—’

  ‘Promise…no touching…’ He held up both hands, palms towards her. ‘At least, not unless you want me to…’ he added very softly to himself. ‘Food and a bit of business. I need to wrap this matter up with the company within the week.’

  ‘You do?’ Destiny asked hesitantly. ‘Why? You never mentioned a deadline for my decision.’

  ‘Business runs on deadlines,’ Callum informed her, improvising as he went along and managing to usher her into the kitchen while she ruminated over what he had said. ‘I have my board breathing down my neck, wanting to know whether we’ll be acquiring Felt’s. My accountants need to know how to distribute the money with year-end coming up.’

  ‘But I can’t give you an answer,’ she said from behind him, while he started extracting pots and pans and cooking ingredients from various cupboards and the fridge.

  ‘Why not? What’s the problem? I’m offering to practically bail you out.’ Now that he’d managed to get her into the kitchen, it seemed as safe a policy as any not to focus his attention on her. She had forgotten that she’d been brought to his house against her will. No point reminding her of the fact by trying to stare her down.

  ‘Yes, well…’ She shuffled over to the kitchen table, which was constructed of wood and chrome and was very high-tech-looking, and ran her hands over the smooth surface. She sighed and looked at him as he chopped vegetables and expertly tossed things in a frying pan. Whatever he was cooking, there were some very reassuring smells emanating from it.

  ‘Do you need any help?’ she asked awkwardly.

  ‘No. Just sit. I’m fully capable of cooking a simple meal for two without help. Don’t guarantee how it’s going to taste, but it’ll be better than nothing.’

  ‘Smells good,’ Destiny said politely, raising her voice to compensate for the sound of sizzling, then she lapsed into silence, content to look.

  Within ten minutes he began fishing plates out and allowed her to lend a hand by laying the table.

  ‘Now, eat and enjoy,’ he commanded when he was finally sitting opposite her with the overhead light dimmed—which he had jokingly told her was a famous ruse of the uncertain chef, who preferred to spare his audience too much clarity when it came to his food.

  ‘It tastes…delicious.’ There was a lot of pasta, and he had stir fried vegetables with cream and parmesan cheese which soaked into the noodles like gravy.

  ‘Good. So…I couldn’t help noticing at the theatre that you arrived with a man… Looked a nice guy… Who was he? Friend of Steph’s?’

  ‘How did you manage to pick us out among all those people?’

  ‘I think everyone in the place noticed Stephanie when she walked in five minutes after everyone was seated. Must have been a bit embarrassing arriving on time with her chap, to find that she hadn’t arrived yet…’

  ‘Actually, Henri’s staying with me,’ Destiny said reluctantly. ‘He works with me in Panama and I invited him over for a few days.’

  ‘Oh. I get the picture. Bad luck for you. He seemed besotted with my ex—and, of course, he left with her during the interval, didn’t he?’

  ‘Were you spying on us?’ Destiny asked abruptly. ‘If you’re still that obsessed with Stephanie, then I suggest you tell her—because you might find that someone else is around to pick up the pieces!’

  ‘I wasn’t spying on you and, believe me, you couldn’t be further from the truth as far as my feelings for Stephanie go. I’m more than happy that someone will pick up the pieces—not that there are any pieces to pick up. I’m just sorry that the man in question happens to be your man.’

  ‘Henri is not my man! He’s a friend! Some of us do have friends of the opposite sex, in case you hadn’t noticed!’

  ‘A very good friend, from the looks of it…’

  ‘So you were spying on us!’

  ‘I happened to see you at the start of the play and naturally I found myself glancing over every so often!’

  ‘Who were you there with, anyway?’ Destiny asked suspiciously.

  ‘Office people. Finished eating?’ He cleared away the table and had to deliver a stern lecture to himself to lighten up. Hadn’t she told him what he had already known? That the wimp with the spectacles was nothing more than a friend? Yes. Then why did he still feel jealous? Course, he knew why. He felt jealous because she had admitted that he was a good friend, and now his head was rife with images of them sharing long, intimate conversations, the likes of which she would never share with him because she viewed everything he said and did with a liberal pinch of suspicion.

  ‘No dessert,’ he said brusquely. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’ll help you wash up.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  ‘It’s no bother.’ She came to the kitchen sink and stood next to him, waiting till he filled a bowl with warm, soapy water. His kitchen overlooked a private back garden, now wreathed in darkness. It was far more private than where she was living but, on the other hand, it was also further out of central London, which was much nicer, she thought. Quieter, less frantic. Large French doors led out of the kitchen into the back garden, so that there was an impression of airiness about the room.

  ‘You don’t expect me to believe that you and this…man…are…were…just good friends, do you? Despite what you say about having friends of the opposite sex, you’re a big girl. You must know that such a thing doesn’t exist.’ Instead of washing, he plunged both his hands into the soapy water and stared at the distorted image they created.

  He shouldn’t be pursuing this. He knew that she wasn’t involved with the man sexually. Dammit, he had eyes in his head and had seen all the signs for himself, but he wanted to hear her say that Henri meant nothing to her. He wanted to be told that he was more interesting, more engaging than his bespectacled and unknowing rival.

  Destiny didn’t say anything and he turned to look at her, wondering whether she’d even heard what he’d asked. He found her looking right back at him, her green eyes curious and comprehending.

  ‘Are you jealous of Henri?’ she asked in a faltering voice, at which he forced a bark of laughter out.

  ‘Me? Jealous? I’ve never been jealous of anyone in my entire life and I certainly don’t intend to start now!’

  The blue eyes that met hers were fiercely proud, but she knew. She knew that he had been jealous, even if his jealousy was only based on the sheer egotistical physical grounds of not liking the idea that someone else might have touched her when he was still interested, and the knowledge made her heart flutter wildly inside her.

  She wanted to tell him that there was no need, that she’d only ever loved one man and that was him. The admission whipped the breath from her throat and she stared back glassily at him, her lips slightly apart. She turned away, but not before he’d seen that brief flash of hunger that mirrored his own.

  ‘Does it make you feel good?’ he taunted softly. ‘That a big, strong man like me might be reduced to a pitiful emotion like jealousy?’ He lifted one hand out of the water and swung her head to face him. One side of her face was now wet and slippery.

  ‘Yes,’ she threw back honestly. ‘It makes me feel good.’

  Now both hands were out of the water and cupping her face, stroking her cheekbones, and she could feel all her good intentions disintegrating like sand through a strainer. She couldn’t fight him any more. What she felt was powerful enough to destroy every item in the
feeble armoury she had in reserve. She was sick of looking at him and wanting to touch him and telling herself that she shouldn’t, that it was wrong. She was sick of being scared and out of her depth. She loved him and she wanted him and if he was only aware of one of those two things, then that was enough. She would leave England all too soon. Why leave with regrets for things undone?

  She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, aware of the rampantly sexual come-on signal she was giving and, when he bent his head towards hers with a groan, she sighed and offered herself to him with abandonment.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘WHY don’t we leave all these dirty dishes and go upstairs?’ he murmured into her ear, and she gave a whimper in response. She really didn’t care where they were, just so long as she could feel his hard body pressed against hers.

  They walked up the stairs to his bedroom, with Destiny noticing absolutely nothing on the way. If someone had asked her what the colour of the wallpaper was on the walls, or whether she was walking on carpet, wooden flooring, tiles or red hot coals, for that matter, she would not have been able to give an answer. In fact, she felt as though she were floating, and his fingers laced through hers were like fire against her skin.

  By the time they finally made it to his bedroom she knew that she was shaking like a leaf, a combination of excitement and nerves, and she raised her eyes hesitantly to his. At the door, she paused wordlessly.

  ‘I suppose you must be accustomed to this…sort of thing…’ Her voice was barely above a whisper and he gazed at her softly.

  ‘I’m not celibate, if that’s what you mean. And there’s no need to be scared…’

  ‘You don’t mind that… I mean, with all your experience… Does it bother you that I’m a…?’