No other man had ever affected her the way he did.
No other man had ever reached inside her heart to make her instinctively trust him, care about what happened to him.
If their marriage ended the way she had planned it should, and he disappeared from her life, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
She wasn’t going to let that happen. She knew now that she couldn’t let it happen. He was already her husband. She was going to make him her mate. The fact that he had nothing, apart from the cheque she had given him, didn’t mean a thing.
Jethro Cole had enormous potential. He wore an aura of strength and purpose, though he probably didn’t know it. Together they could tap into it; together they could achieve anything!
She stood up, her spine erect, a soft smile teasing the corners of her mouth as she walked into the house. As of tonight, their marriage was going to be a real one—something worthwhile, something lasting.
She had the courage.
Jethro stared out of the master bedroom window, but it was dark and he couldn’t see a damned thing except his own reflection.
He swung away from the gaunt, brooding-eyed image impatiently and pulled his shirt over his head. He might as well shower and turn in. Hanging around, trying to second guess what was going on in her mind, would do nothing but give him a pain in the head.
So much for giving her time to get to know him, to make himself so much a part of her life that she couldn’t contemplate a future without him, he thought on a spurt of savage self-disgust. So much for his carefully laid plans. He’d kicked them out of shape so many times there was nothing now that could be salvaged.
Trouble was, around Allie his brain stopped functioning and his heart took over. And after what he’d said tonight there was no going back, no pretending it hadn’t happened. He’d laid himself open to her. Accept his love, or reject it. But she wasn’t willing to open her heart and soul to him. And he wasn’t willing to take her body, even though he knew he could have done, without that much deeper commitment.
A commitment she couldn’t give because he hadn’t given her time.
Muttering a string of oaths, he strode down the silent corridor to the bathroom. She was probably tucked up in bed, he decided rawly, planning her escape route. Probably deeply ashamed of her sexual response to a man she couldn’t love, and mortified, too, because what she’d offered had been rejected.
Hell! Why hadn’t he taken what had been on offer? She’d wanted sex with him and he could have given her sex. Good sex. Good enough to build on? So why, in the name of great balls of fire, did he have to have principles!
A hot shower did nothing for his state of mind, the cold one that followed even less. Tension was knotting up the muscles of his neck; the sheer frustration of knowing his bull-headed tactics had probably alienated the only woman he would ever love was making his temples throb.
Sleep was definitely out of the question. He knotted a towel loosely around his hips. If he’d had the Jaguar he would have burned up a hundred miles or so to release his tension, returning in time for breakfast and some sort of apology for his behaviour.
But the beat-up old van—no way! He’d just have to tough out the night—dress, pick up a flashlight and walk until dawn.
His jaw set, he stalked out of the bathroom. How the hell could he have been so bloody arrogant? He’d as good as commanded her to fall in love with him, called her a coward if she couldn’t! He wouldn’t blame her if she tried to get him certified!
His bedroom was in darkness. He was sure he’d left the lights on. Had all the bulbs blown? Hardly likely. Probably a fuse. He moved to the wall switch, but before his fingers connected Allie said, ‘What took so long?’
The soft rustle of cotton sheets came from the huge double bed and he wondered if she could hear his heart beating. He could. It sounded like thunder in his ears.
‘Allie?’ He sounded as if he had the croup. Badly.
There was a breath of laughter in her voice as she murmured in the darkness, ‘Who else were you expecting?’
His eyes were adjusting to the lack of light. He could just make out the shape of the bed, the piled pillows. He walked over to her, hardly daring to breathe now.
No questions, because this was the most important moment of his life. What happened now, what was said, would affect both their futures—his and hers. He so desperately wanted that future to run together. So far he’d made a pig’s ear of their relationship. It was down to her. He’d keep his big mouth shut and hope she’d make a better fist of this than he had done.
He could control his vocal cords but he couldn’t control his thoughts. Earlier she’d been fully aroused, his for the taking, and he despised himself now for his deliberate arrogance in demonstrating how easily he could make her want him.
So was she still burning with frustrated need? Was that why she had come to his bed? To make sure he finished what he’d started? And would that be enough? Could he take that crumb and hope to build something beautiful, strong and enduring?
Reaching out to flick on the bedside light, he noted, almost distractedly, that his hand was trembling. He needed to see her properly, to look into her beautiful eyes and discover what was going on in her mind.
The soft light caressed her, darkened the huge pools of her eyes to purple. His throat tightened. Her glorious hair was spread in silky golden tendrils over the pillows she’d piled up behind her, and she was clutching the hem of the sheet under her chin.
He waited. Her eyes moved slowly—lovingly?—over his near-naked frame, sweeping languorously across the width of his shoulders, his chest, following the rough haze of dark body hair to where it disappeared beneath the towel around the jutting bones of his pelvis.
The breath tightened in his lungs and still he waited. Her naked shoulders gleamed like fine ivory above the apricot-coloured percale sheet. He swallowed around the hard lump of rock that had formed in his throat. He ached to touch her, but his need to know what had brought her to his bed was greater.
He closed his eyes briefly and muffled a groan, and she told him huskily, ‘I thought about what you said, and when I stopped calling you all the nasty names I could think of I decided you were right. It’s past time I stopped being afraid of having emotions.’
Her perfect breasts were rising and falling rapidly beneath the light covering which did nothing to hide the tight, hard peaks. She seemed to be having difficulty with her breathing, and when she laved her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue a great shudder racked its way through the entire length of his body.
And still he waited, forbidding himself to ask questions, to ask for more than she was willing to tell him.
‘So I’ll risk it,’ she told him on a note of rising agitation. Her eyes skidded away from his, long lashes swept down to hide them, and she sucked on a corner of her mouth. ‘I’m making a mess of this.’ Her brows drew together in a frown. ‘What I’m trying to do is tell you I agree with your suggestion that we make this marriage a real one.’ She pulled in a sharp huff of breath, then lobbed him a look that was almost ferocious. ‘You’re not making this easy! Can’t you say something? Or join me?’
He noted the bubble of exasperation at the back of her voice and reined back the impulse to climb straight in there with her. He had to know. Had she decided she wanted a lifetime with him, or merely thought they might as well have some fun while they waited for the year of their marriage to pass? If she’d opted for the latter it would tear him to pieces.
‘Why?’ he questioned tightly, his body going very still. So much depended on the way she answered him.
She made a sound that was halfway between a choke and a sob. ‘Ask a stupid question! Why do you think?’
‘I’m not talking about getting into bed with you,’ he said rawly—and God only knew how he was holding back. ‘But why change your mind about trusting your future happiness to me? We are talking about long-term future, I take it?’
She nodded in silent ackno
wledgement of that final, tight-lipped question, her head drooping forlornly. She couldn’t have made a bigger mess of this scene if she’d tried. Then she heard him repeat his earlier query, but more gently this time, as if he knew how her newly found courage was slipping away from her. ‘Why?’
‘Because—’ Her voice faltered. Suddenly she didn’t know how to find the words to tell him how she felt, but the prospect of losing this man before he had really been hers made her push on staunchly. ‘If love means wanting you until my whole body is burning for the touch of yours, or the thought of any harm coming to you sends me into a blind panic, or the prospect of saying goodbye to you and never seeing you again terrifies me, then I guess I can say I love you.’ Her fingers were pleating the hem of the sheet, her knuckles gleaming palely beneath the tan of her skin.
He stood so still, his beautifully proportioned body tense, his golden eyes hooded, broodingly intent on hers, and she was afraid she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.
The memory of how he’d rejected her when she’d implored him to touch her flooded back, shaming her. And now she’d put herself in his bed and he wasn’t interested. Did he have to be the one who made all the advances? Did he find women who did the offering an instant turn-off?
Had he been lying when he’d said he loved her?
A whimper of distress escaped her. She’d tried to hold it back but hadn’t been able to. He moved then, as if the small sound had broken the trance that had held him immobile. The towel he wore was hastily stripped away, flung heedlessly into a corner of the room, as he slipped in beside her in one fluid movement.
His arms enfolded her and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his breath warm against the petal-soft skin. ‘I’ve been aching to hear you say that. I can’t tell you how much.’ His voice sounded raw in his throat. ‘Say it again.’
‘I love you.’ Just saying the words flooded her with joy, released something inside her that made her feel intensely alive. She said it again, her voice shaking with happiness. ‘I love you, Jethro.’
He propped himself up on one elbow to look deep into her eyes and his voice was rough with passion. ‘I swear to you, you’ll never regret it. I’ll make you happy. I’ll always be with you, loving you, adoring you.’ His gaze swept to her parted lips. ‘I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. You’ve become an obsession, filling my heart and mind. My sweet Allie—’ He bent to kiss her and her willing mouth surrendered to his passion, her hands exploring his hard male body, sliding over his smooth, hot skin, matching his urgency as he pushed a hair-roughened thigh between the melting softness of hers and cupped her breasts in his hands.
He broke the kiss, saying her name raggedly, then pulled in a breath between his teeth. ‘I don’t normally have such a lack of finesse. But you shatter my control. You drive me wild.’
He was breathing heavily, his muscles tight with the effort of holding back, and she swallowed on a hot shaft of jealousy. Of course there had been others. He was a normal, highly potent male, and women would find him irresistible.
But that was in the past, and she wasn’t interested in that, only in their future. She was his wife, and he loved her. She tangled her fingers in the thick dark softness of his hair, the urgent thrust of his manhood against the curve of her tummy making her giddy, the ache of need deep inside her impossible to bear a moment longer. But there was something he ought to know.
‘You might be disappointed. I’ve—I’ve never made love before.’ There, it was said. No need to feel embarrassed or faintly ridiculous. She was glad she’d waited for love. For him.
‘Allie?’ There was a catch in his voice. ‘You’re a virgin? Such a gift you bring me—second only to the gift of your love.’
He pulled her gently into his arms, and the touch of his skin on hers was fire and silk, and the touch of his hands on her woman’s body was sensual, unhurried now, deeply erotic, her shudders of response making his body shake as the slow seduction of her senses had her writhing in his arms.
And when at last he took her into the wild heaven of sheer ecstasy she knew she was fused to this man for ever, body and soul.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘NOT even heaven could be this good!’ Allie said as they slowly made their way from the honeysuckle-covered gazebo back to the house.
‘No contest!’ His fingers tightened on hers. Soon he would have to tell her who he was, but not just yet. He knew Allie’s gorgeous head wouldn’t be turned when she learned she’d married serious money. His sweet darling loved him for himself, not for the luxurious lifestyle he could give her, so it wasn’t that that was holding him back. He simply didn’t want anything of the outside world encroaching on their private paradise.
Ten perfect days. Day of making love, discovering each other, the people they really were beneath the trappings of success. Two loving people.
His heart swelled inside him and he swung her round, gathering her into his arms, kissing her with all the depth of his passion, and when she surfaced for air she was breathless, clinging to him, her eyes that lovely shade of misty amethyst that told him more plainly than any words that she wanted him.
She moulded the shape of his naked shoulders with the palms of her hands, her head tilted, her hair sun-bleached and wild where he’d tangled his fingers in the long silky strands. ‘We don’t really want supper, do we?’ she suggested, her voice a sultry invitation. Already her body, naked beneath the cotton shirt of his she was wearing, was unbearably sensitised. She dug her bare toes into the cool green grass, stretching up to fit the apex of her thighs against the surge of his arousal that the brief shorts he was wearing did little to contain.
‘Not yet awhile.’ His eyes gleamed into hers as he moved against her provocatively. ‘Bed calls, don’t you agree, sweet wife?’
She was too far gone to answer, and curled her arms around his neck, nibbling his tanned shoulder as he swung her up and carried her back to the house. But the phone was ringing—an unprecedented event since they’d been here, an unwanted intrusion.
‘You’d better take it—it’s probably for your friend,’ she told him as he slid her down to plant her on her feet.
‘Or ignore it?’ he suggested, his eyes wicked, teasing her as she shook her head. ‘Well, if you insist—just don’t change your mind about going to bed.’
‘As if!’ She lifted her hand and put two fingers briefly and tenderly across his mouth. ‘Answer it, before it explodes! Give me a shout if it’s my mother.’ She wandered towards the kitchen, the tail of the borrowed cotton shirt brushing against her thighs. She had never been so happy in her entire life.
She took a carton of apple juice from the fridge and poured herself a glass, hanging around in case the caller was her mother. She’d spoken to Laura shortly after they’d arrived, to let her know they’d got here safely, that the old van hadn’t fallen to pieces on the way, that the house and surroundings were idyllic.
She would have to persuade Jethro to change the wretched vehicle for something that promised more reliability. She sipped her cold drink and decided that stuff like that could wait.
When they’d set up home in her tiny flat they could discuss how he could best use the money she’d paid him. If he wanted to carry on cleaning windows, that would be fine by her. She’d have to talk to him about keeping proper books, advertising his services, getting proper insurance. But it could wait.
They had two days left before their two weeks were up and she meant to make the best of them, not start wittering on about his work prospects, how they would manage when she had to give up work when the child they both wanted was on the way.
The line of his shoulders was tense and irritable when he walked into the room. She rinsed out her empty glass and said, ‘It obviously wasn’t my mother. Would you like apple juice?’
He shook his head to both, but he didn’t elaborate on who the caller had been. ‘I’ll go for something stronger.’ He reached the chilled white wine from the fridge. ‘Like
some?’
She watched his long, lean fingers deal with the foil round the neck of the bottle, insert the corkscrew. The simple task surely didn’t merit that grim look around his mouth.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked. He seemed, suddenly, to have gone away from her. ‘Tell me if there is.’ It had to be that phone call. Could it have been the owner of the house, his old schoolfriend, asking him to leave because he needed the place himself? Was that why he was looking so impatient?
‘Of course there’s nothing wrong.’ Nothing but Chloe’s rotten timing. Determinedly, he put his sister’s phone call—the ramifications of which could mean trouble—to the back of his mind. For what was left of their time here his priority was Allie.
‘Why should there be?’ He drew the cork, tucked two glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other. It would be their last night of being just themselves in this paradise; nothing was going to spoil it.
The real world of big deals, boardrooms, chattering faxes, business meetings on the other side of the world, his sycophantic entourage of secretaries, managers, assistants and minders would encroach soon enough. He would explain everything to her tomorrow. Tonight was for them, and only them.
He gave her the slow, intimate smile that always turned her spine to water. ‘I believe, Mrs Cole, that you and I have a date with a bed.’
And so the incident was temporarily forgotten.
Very much later she stirred in his arms. He was stroking her hair. Maybe he hadn’t slept. She had. His lovemaking had reached new heights of intensity; she couldn’t believe anything, ever, could get better than that. She turned her head drowsily. ‘What time is it?’
‘So Sleeping Beauty finally wakes.’ His fingers traced the line of her profile. ‘Almost dawn.’ The pads of his fingers rested on her mouth. ‘We’ll leave today, head for London.’
Allie twisted her head to look at him. In the grey pre-dawn light his features looked sombre, his eyes shadowed, unreadable.
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