Mediterranean Men Bundle

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Bryony had never been kissed before and wasn’t quite sure how to react. Part of her insisted she pull away at once, but the lure of finding out what a real man’s kiss tasted like won. She closed her eyes and gave in with a soft sigh of pleasure at the feel of his mouth discovering the moistness of hers with a determined probe of his tongue. She could taste the metallic saltiness of his blood where it had come into contact with his mouth and a new and totally alluring sensation unfurled low in her belly, making her cling to him unashamedly.

  He suddenly pulled away from her with a jerky movement that made her lose her footing. She went sprawling backwards, landing ungainly on her bottom in the mud, the murky water lapping her chin as she glared up at him in outrage at being released without warning.

  He offered her a hand at the same time as her other hand came upon a rock under the water, her fingers curling around it as he hauled her inelegantly to her feet.

  It was his smile that made her do it.

  Without really thinking of the consequences, she raised her hand and smashed the rock in her tightly clenched fist against that sneering mouth…

  CHAPTER THREE

  BRYONY blinked herself back out of the past and stared down at the now still surface of the lake, surprised the water wasn’t still red even after ten long years.

  She hadn’t thought an injury could bleed so much.

  She hadn’t thought she’d been capable of such a despicable action.

  She hadn’t thought he’d wait for ten long years to have his revenge…

  She drove back to the city that night, unable to stay a minute longer now she’d disturbed the vault of her memory. Her parents hadn’t questioned her decision to leave. Her father hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye but her mother had more than made up for it by standing on the marble steps at the double front door, tears streaming down her face as she’d waved her off.

  Bryony turned on the music system and hoped the heavy strains of a Mahler Symphony would distract her from what lay ahead, but even as she pulled into the garage of the apartment block two hours later she knew there was no escaping her nemesis.

  Fate had written the script of her life ten years ago and now it was finally time for her to take her place on the stage…

  By the time Bryony arrived at the studio on Monday, Pauline LeFray, her teaching partner, had already finished her warm-up stretches.

  Pauline wiped her hands on a small towel, her brow furrowing at the look on her partner’s beautiful face.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Bryony slipped off her wraparound skirt and reached for the barre, easing herself into her pre-teaching routine.

  ‘It would take me a decade to tell you,’ she said, stretching her calves.

  Pauline glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘We’ve got ten minutes until the five-year-olds arrive. Want to quickly summarise?’

  Bryony eased her hamstrings into action as she met her friend’s interested gaze. ‘I’m getting married.’

  ‘Married?’ Pauline gasped.

  Bryony lifted her right leg to the barre and bent her head to her knee, staring at the wooden floorboards below as she spoke. ‘Married as in wedlock, matrimony…’ Jail, she added silently.

  ‘This is a bit sudden, isn’t it?’ Pauline asked. ‘I mean…I didn’t know you were even seeing anyone. Have you been seeing someone?’

  Bryony changed legs and repeated the exercise, again staring at the floor. ‘No.’

  Pauline’s frown deepened. ‘You’re not making a whole lot of sense, Bry. You haven’t had a date in years and now you tell me you’re getting married. Call me thick if you like, but how does that work? You’re not doing some crazy mail-order or Internet hook-up thing, are you?’

  I wish, Bryony thought. Better to marry a perfect stranger than someone you couldn’t bear to look at because…

  ‘It’s nothing like that,’ she answered as she straightened. ‘I know it’s sudden but he’s someone from my…past and we just hit it off, so to speak.’

  ‘Hit it off?’

  Bryony gave her a false smile and hoped it would pass for pre-wedded joy. ‘He’s tall, dark and handsome and disgustingly rich.’

  ‘Rich?’ Pauline stared at her. ‘You don’t do rich, remember? The last guy you dated, what was it…three years ago, didn’t even have a job!’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Hello?’ Pauline waved her arms in the air at her. ‘It’s me—Pauline. You can’t seriously expect me to believe you are attracted to a guy because of the size of his wallet.’

  ‘OK, so it’s not his wallet I’m attracted to.’ Bryony avoided her friend’s eyes in the wall-to-wall mirror as she stretched her arms.

  ‘Now you’ve got me even more worried. What else did this guy show you apart from his wallet? Don’t tell me you’ve finally done the deed?’

  Bryony felt a trickle of warmth leak into her belly at the thought of Kane’s body possessing hers and in spite of the air-conditioning of the studio her whole body grew hot.

  ‘Have you?’ Pauline probed when she didn’t answer.

  Bryony turned around and reached for her towel. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Not yet? What do you mean, not yet? If you’re going to marry him, don’t you think you should check out if everything’s in good working order?’

  ‘I’m perfectly healthy and—’

  ‘Not you, dummy.’ Pauline rolled her eyes. ‘Him. He might be a complete dud for all you know. Would you buy a car without taking it for a run first? It’s the same with men. Take it from someone who knows about these things. If he’s not good in bed the relationship is dead.’

  Bryony considered telling her the truth about her relationship with Kane but decided against it at the last minute. It was too complicated to explain, even to a close friend. It was better to let Pauline think it was a match made in heaven rather than reveal the true hell of her situation.

  ‘We’ve only just become engaged,’ she said instead. ‘It’s all happened so fast but I’m sure we’ll…er…get around to it.’

  ‘Yeah, well see that you do,’ Pauline advised as the outer door opened and ten little girls traipsed in dressed in tiny tutus and ballet slippers.

  Bryony plastered a welcoming smile on her face as she faced the girls and hoped that by the end of the afternoon Pauline wouldn’t return to the topic of her sex life.

  She didn’t have a sex life and, marriage or no marriage, she wasn’t going to have one if she could help it.

  It was three days until Kane contacted her.

  She knew it was him even before she picked up the receiver on her bedroom extension.

  ‘Hello, Bryony.’

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked, pretending not to recognise that unmistakable deep velvety voice.

  ‘You know who it is.’

  ‘How am I supposed to know who it is if you don’t identify yourself? Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s polite to announce your identity when you call someone?’

  ‘My mother taught me many things,’ he said, ‘and I intend to act on all of them.’

  She wasn’t sure she wanted him to elucidate on just exactly what he meant so she changed the subject.

  ‘Why did you call?’

  ‘I think it’s time we went out on a date.’

  ‘A date?’ She frowned. ‘Save yourself the time and bother, Kane. You don’t need to wine and dine me; you’ve paid for me already, remember?’

  ‘As you wish.’

  She knew it was inconsistent of her to be disappointed by his ready agreement but she just was.

  ‘I guess we can discuss the wedding arrangements just as easily over the telephone as we can over a dinner table somewhere,’ he continued. ‘I’ve decided we’ll have the ceremony conducted at Mercyfields overlooking the lake.’

  Her hand around the receiver tightened until her knuckles went completely white.

  ‘Your mother will appreciate you being married at your home,’ he added when she d
idn’t speak.

  ‘It’s no longer my home,’ she pointed out somewhat sourly. ‘It’s yours.’

  ‘It will belong to both of us. Your parents’ things will be moved out while we’re on our honeymoon.’

  ‘Honeymoon?’ she choked.

  ‘That’s what newly married couples usually do, is it not?’

  ‘Yes…but…’

  ‘I’ve arranged a week on a private beach on the south coast.’

  ‘The south coast?’

  ‘You do know where that is, don’t you?’ he drawled.

  ‘Of course I do, but I—’

  ‘It will be slightly cooler there than the city but the water is warm and the beach long and lonely.’

  ‘You sound like a travel journal,’ she said with a touch of scorn.

  His rumble of laughter sent a shiver over the surface of her skin.

  ‘I like to get away from the hustle and bustle of high city life,’ he said. ‘I go there quite a lot. It’s just about the only place you can still have the beach to yourself, no jet-skis, no crowds, just the sound of the waves beating along the shore.’

  Bryony could almost smell the sea-spray. She loved the beach but it had been months since she’d felt the sand between her toes.

  ‘Your parents will leave for a month-long cruise of the Pacific Islands the day after our wedding,’ he informed her, apparently undeterred by her lack of response. ‘Until I settle all his debts over the next few weeks, your father needs to keep his head down. Your mother, quite frankly, needs a holiday.’

  It was difficult not to voice her agreement but somehow she managed to remain silent.

  ‘It will take me the best part of that month to sort out the mess your father has made,’ he went on. ‘I have to wait until I get clearance of some international funds to relieve the situation.’

  That did get her attention.

  ‘International funds? What international funds?’

  ‘I recently inherited my maternal grandfather’s estate in Greece. I have to wait until the bank clears the funds to access them.’

  Bryony’s forehead creased in a frown. His maternal grandfather had been wealthy? It didn’t make sense. Why then had his mother worked her fingers to the bone cleaning?

  ‘I thought you didn’t know any of your relatives.’

  ‘I don’t, nor do I wish to. They didn’t help my mother when she most needed it so I don’t see why I should pay them any attention now.’

  ‘But surely if your grandfather left you his entire estate you must feel some sort of obligation to go and see the rest of the family and—’

  ‘My grandfather’s money is nothing more than guilt money. I’ve made my own fortune without it.’

  ‘Then why are you using it to sort out my father’s debts?’

  ‘You’re not listening, Bryony,’ he chided her. ‘I told you, my grandfather’s money is guilt money. I think it’s highly appropriate if I use it to dig your father out of the hole he dug for himself.’

  Guilt money.

  Her stomach churned as she thought about it.

  ‘Exactly whose guilt are we talking about here?’ she asked.

  ‘I think you know whose guilt we’re talking about,’ he answered.

  She took a breath and hoped he didn’t hear the way it snagged in her throat.

  ‘What sort of outfit should I wear to the ceremony?’ she asked for the want of something to say to steer the subject away from the topic of guilt.

  ‘It’s a wedding, Bryony. Your mother will expect you to look like a bride.’

  He really knew how to press her buttons. Her mother had been planning her wedding since she’d been five, her enthusiasm undaunted by her daughter’s flat refusal to select herself a groom.

  ‘I don’t look good in white,’ she said. ‘It’s not my colour.’

  ‘Wear cream, then.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I be wearing black?’ she asked. ‘After all, isn’t this the end of my life as I now know it?’

  ‘Quite frankly, I don’t care what you wear,’ he said with the first sign of impatience in his tone she’d heard. ‘Your job is to appear at the right time, say the right words and do what you’re told. If you don’t your father and mother will be cruising the exercise yard of whatever correctional facility they’re sent to instead of the Pacific Islands.’

  Bryony stared at the buzzing receiver in her hand as he ended the call with an abruptness that left her feeling somehow deflated.

  Her mother rang the next morning and arranged a time to meet her in the city to select the wedding finery. Bryony had to give herself a mental shake once or twice to remind herself that this wasn’t going to be a normal wedding in any shape or form, because her mother was quite clearly on a mission and had been waiting years to execute it.

  ‘I don’t want a huge bouquet,’ Bryony insisted in the florist’s shop.

  ‘You must have a big bouquet,’ Glenys said, thrusting yet another design under her nose. ‘This is the most important day of your life; you have to have everything perfect.’

  Bryony stared down at the various floral arrangements in the brochure in front of her and wondered what had ever been perfect in her parents’ marriage. Her mother continually danced around her father’s demands, subsuming her own needs into the satisfaction of his. What was perfect about that?

  ‘I’ll have the roses,’ she told the hovering assistant. ‘Cream, not white.’

  They left the florist to do yet another round of the bridal boutiques as she had been unable to find anything that suited her colouring or her figure.

  ‘I need to go on a diet,’ she lamented at the fifth boutique, her hands pushing against her tummy where the satin of the gown she was trying on was showing too much detail of her Christmas indulgences.

  ‘You worry too much about your figure,’ her mother remonstrated as she eyed the gown. ‘I was at least ten pounds heavier than you when I got married.’

  ‘At least you were marrying the man of your choice,’ Bryony said.

  There was a funny little silence.

  Bryony twirled around to face her mother, the rustle of the garment she was wearing the only sound in the changing room.

  Glenys bent to the hem of the gown, fussing over some little detail which Bryony hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes, darling?’ Glenys straightened and gave her an absent look.

  Bryony rolled her lips together and, taking a breath, took one of her mother’s thin hands in hers, the tendons on the back reminding her of the struts of an umbrella.

  ‘You do want me to marry Kane, don’t you?’

  Glenys gave her a watery smile. ‘I know you don’t think much of him but he’s doing us all a favour by marrying you.’

  ‘You make me sound like some sort of white elephant you can’t wait to get rid of,’ Bryony said indignantly.

  ‘I don’t mean to, darling, but your father has…’ She inserted a little choked sob. ‘Your father hasn’t been the same since Austin…left us.’

  Bryony felt like screaming with frustration.

  Why couldn’t anyone in her family say the words?

  Austin had died.

  He hadn’t passed away.

  He hadn’t left.

  He’d died.

  She sighed and, reaching out, gave her mother a consoling hug, catching sight of herself in the mirror opposite, the outfit she was wearing making her look like a meringue without the cream and strawberries.

  ‘I hate this dress.’ She released her mother and began stripping off the gown. ‘I want something simple and elegant. Is there nowhere in Sydney where I can find what I want?’

  She found it in Paddington.

  It was cream, it was long and voluminous, it was elegant—it was perfect.

  Even if her groom wasn’t.

  He rang that night as if he’d somehow sensed she’d found what she was looking for.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Bryony.’

>   She pursed her lips sourly. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘You know who I am, so stop playing games.’

  ‘I’m not playing games. I just wish you’d identify yourself when you call.’

  ‘Don’t you have caller ID?’

  ‘I still like to know who is speaking. Numbers mean nothing to me.’

  ‘You’re definitely your father’s daughter then.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  She heard the rustle of papers before he spoke. ‘Your father has made the most God-awful mess of things. There are creditors breathing down my neck as we speak.’

  She wasn’t sure how to respond. Should she thank him for what he was doing, even though he was taking away her freedom by doing it?

  ‘I had no idea…’

  ‘No, I imagine not,’ he said. ‘Are you doing anything right now?’

  She tried to think of something that could be legitimately occupying her time at seven-fifteen in the evening but she’d already washed her hair that morning.

  ‘No…’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘But—’

  The receiver buzzed in her hand for the second time in twenty-four hours. She put it back in its cradle and stared at her reflection in the mirror, wondering why it was that her mouth suddenly felt the urge to smile.

  Bryony opened the door fourteen minutes and twenty-one seconds later to find Kane standing there dressed in a black dinner suit, his thick hair still showing the grooves of a recent comb.

  ‘Ready?’

  She nodded, not sure what to expect but resigned to go along with whatever he had planned.

  ‘I have tickets,’ he said once they were in his silver Porsche.

  ‘What for?’

  He gave her a quick inscrutable glance as he turned over the engine, ‘The ballet.’

  She turned back to the front of the car and hustled her thoughts together.

  The ballet?

  He was taking her to the ballet?

  She toyed with the catch on her evening purse. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a ballet man.’