The CEO's Contract Bride

by Yvonne Lindsay

  Declan slid out of his jacket, slung it over one shoulder and walked a few silent paces beside her. “We’re marrying for the right reasons.” His voice rumbled across the night air.

  “Right reasons?” Gwen was startled. To her the right reasons were love, honour and respect. But then had she had all three in the forefront of her mind when she’d agreed to marry Steve? No. Safety, security and sameness. They’d been in the forefront of her mind, and look where that had got her. An ironic burst of laughter broke from her throat. “Care to name them?”

  “Respect is one.”

  Her eyebrows lifted as he verbalised the one word she felt sure could never describe their relationship. “Respect? After…? No, sorry, you’ll have to try harder than that. How can you say we have respect for one another?” The word couldn’t be further from the truth—loathing on his part maybe, but respect? No way.

  “I respect your professional integrity. That’s what’s important here. As for the rest, we know exactly where we stand. Both of us know it isn’t a grand passion and we know it isn’t forever. No broken promises, no broken hearts.”

  Gwen caught her lip between her teeth and stared out at the lights from the naval base blinking across the harbour. The burn of bitter rejection rose from her stomach. Could she do this? Oh, God, she hoped so. She couldn’t afford not to. A sudden sheen of frustrated tears filmed Gwen’s eyes. She blinked them away, furious at herself for almost exposing such weakness. She took a deep, steadying breath, then another. Finally satisfied she had her emotions under control she faced Declan. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I’d like to go home now.”

  In silence they walked back across the road and to the ramp leading to the car park. As they approached the parking area Gwen halted in her steps.

  “I’ll take my own car home. Everyone saw us leave the party together so you don’t have to worry about anyone suspecting that we didn’t go home together, too.” A strong hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

  “I said I’ll take you home and I will.”

  “But it isn’t necessary. My car’s here and I’ll have to come back tomorrow to get it, anyway.”

  Declan slid his arm around her waist and turned her towards where his car waited. “Don’t argue with me, Gwen. I always do what I say I’ll do. We’ll sort out your car tomorrow after we’ve seen Connor to iron out our contract.”

  While his vintage sports car ate up the distance to her home Gwen’s mind raced as she mulled over the turn her life had suddenly taken. Her lips twisted ruefully—not even her mother could claim to have been engaged to two men in the same day. Okay, she decided, marrying Declan would suit her purposes—for now—and, quite clearly, would suit his also. Yes, it was cold-blooded to go into marriage like this, as if they’d brokered a deal, but once he’d uplifted his trust fund and she’d sorted out this financial mess Steve had left her in they could drift apart, and when they divorced no one would be hurt. Would they?

  Sandpaper bit into her fingers as Gwen applied more pressure than was strictly necessary. One way or another she was going to make a difference to the carved mantelpiece she’d pried from her sitting room fireplace early this morning. Maybe, if she rubbed hard enough, she could erase not only the layers of paint that masked the natural native timber she hoped dwelled beneath, but also the fact her hard-won and carefully structured life had spiralled out of control.

  Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip, sending a distinct reminder that skipping breakfast hadn’t been such a wonderful thing to do.

  Last night hung in her memory. She’d gone over it and over it in her mind, trying to see how she could have handled things differently. How she could have said “no.” But no matter how many different scenarios she’d played, the outcome had remained the same.

  During the ride to her Epsom home last night Declan had been quiet, only acknowledging her directions to find her house with the minimum of conversation. He’d seen her to the door but hadn’t lingered. Gwen had half expected him to try and kiss her goodnight—only in the interests of maintaining the closeness they were going to have to make look natural, of course—and had suffered an odd pang of disappointment when he hadn’t. A pang she certainly didn’t want to examine too closely.

  With a rueful sigh Gwen set the sandpaper aside—she was doing more damage than good with it, anyway. The years of paint layered on the mantel definitely required chemical intervention. She pushed a loose strand of hair from her face. If only heavy-duty paint stripper would solve all her problems.

  Gwen jumped as a shadow fell over her shoulder.

  “I knocked, but you obviously didn’t hear me.”

  Declan! Gwen stood abruptly, too abruptly as the blood drained from her head and grey spots danced before her eyes. She blinked to clear them and took in a deep breath. Bad move, she scolded, as the enticing fragrance of man and subtle spice enveloped her senses. The scent of him had lingered with her long after he’d seen her to her front door last night. It had plagued her as she’d tossed about in her sheets, futilely seeking the refuge of slumber.

  “You’re a bit pale today,” he commented, assessing her through narrowed eyes. “Not enough sleep?”

  There was nothing wrong with his complexion nor, she noted in annoyance, anything else about him. He looked enticingly debonair in a black, short-sleeved cotton shirt and charcoal-grey trousers. He’d tied his long hair back, exposing the broad plane of his forehead and the cheekbones that should have looked ridiculous on a man, yet on him just served to make him look even more compelling.

  She tried to ignore the way the fabric of his shirt draped across his shoulders and over his chest. The memory of how what lay beneath that finely woven fabric felt against her was still all too vivid. A millennia could pass and she’d still know the feel of him as intimately as she knew her own body.

  “I suppose you slept like a baby?” Gwen snapped in retaliation.

  “I did.” His response left no doubt all was well with his world. “You’ve been busy this morning, I see.” He raised his thumb to Gwen’s cheek. “You should be wearing a mask, you know. That could be lead-based.”

  Fire branded her skin at his gentle touch, and she jerked her head back. “Most of my gear is in the back of my station wagon. I take it you’re here to help me collect it?” She swiped her hands on the seat of her jeans before dusting her face, removing all remnants of the paint dust and the lingering trace of his touch.

  “Later. We’re going ring-shopping first.”

  “Ring-shopping?” Gwen took a step back. “Whatever for?”

  “Our engagement, perhaps?” Declan raised one eyebrow.

  “I don’t need a ring.” She had agreed with Steve a ring was an unnecessary purchase even though in her heart of hearts she would have enjoyed the possessive declaration of promise wearing his ring would have given her.

  “Need doesn’t come into it. We have to make this look believable and we don’t have a lot of time. I’m buying you a ring. Why don’t you go and get changed? Unless, of course, you’d prefer to go like that?” He gestured at her paint-stained shirt and faded jeans.

  An imp of perversity almost induced her to insist on going in her work clothes. If she truly thought it would bother him, she would have done it. However, Declan didn’t look at all perturbed by the idea. His attention had been grabbed by her current project.

  “You’re doing a good job on this mantelpiece. Are you going to brush paint stripper into these carvings?”

  “Eventually. The stripper’s in the back of my car.” Gwen’s lips thinned. If he hadn’t insisted on bringing her home last night she could’ve made greater inroads on the mantel than she’d managed thus far.

  “We can swing by Libby’s and pick it up after we’ve been shopping. I’ll follow you back and give you a hand if you like.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better hit the road. The jeweller doesn’t usually open on a Saturday and he’s making an exception for us today.”

  Give her
a hand? Gwen reassessed his muscled shoulders. She may as well resign herself to the fact he was going to be around and put him to good use. There was nothing distinctly romantic about renovation. So far, and with little help from Steve, who’d preferred to keep his apartment when they’d become engaged, it had been sheer hard graft. Besides, she reasoned, it would serve to desensitise her to the crazy lurch she felt deep inside every time Declan came within three feet of her.

  Gwen’s stomach growled, loud enough to tease another half smile from Declan’s lips.

  “Maybe I should feed you first?”

  “I’m fine,” she retorted. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  After choosing and discarding at least six different outfits, she was ready in fourteen.

  “Let’s get this over with.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and reached up to twist her hair into a silver clip. Dressed in shades of lavender and deep plum Gwen knew, aside from the shadows under her eyes even concealer couldn’t hide, she looked good. And for reasons she didn’t want to examine too deeply, it was important that she did.

  “You make it sound like pulling teeth would be more fun.” Declan pulled his keys from his pocket but didn’t make any move to leave.

  “You said it, not me.”

  “Why are you so angry?” He barred the doorway with one arm, effectively preventing her from avoiding the question. “It’s only a ring.”

  “Shall we go?” Gwen gave him a pointed stare before ducking under his arm and taking swift steps down the hall to the front door.

  “Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it.” Declan followed with a measured tread. “You know, it would make things easier if you’d relax a little.”

  “I’m perfectly fine.” She held the door open as he passed through and took her time securing the deadlock.

  Declan laughed. “If you say so.”

  At the kerbside his car gleamed—dark, long and low. He had the top down today, making the most of the calm fine weather. He held her door open until she was settled, lifted the trailing hem of her skirt, tucking it gently by her legs. In the confines of the passenger seat it was impossible to pull away from him. She tried to ignore the way her heartbeat had accelerated at the brush of his fingers against her calf.

  The car was a beauty. Last night she’d been too lost in her own thoughts to pay much attention to the vehicle or observe its power—cloaked in sensuous sleek lines much like its owner’s—or to recognize how perfectly it matched him.

  Classical beauty. Power. Danger.

  Steve had driven a company sedan. Practical, he’d said when he’d driven it home. But even then she’d seen how he’d eyed Declan’s car—his resentment carefully veiled beneath the surface, she realised now.

  Gwen stroked the soft leather seat. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah.” Declan settled behind the wheel, his eyes trapping her with dark intensity as he faced her. “She is.”

  Gwen didn’t quite know where to look, or what to say. Her fingers curled into her palms, her short sensible nails pressing into her skin with increasing pressure until he turned and slipped the key into the ignition and brought the engine to roaring life.

  Her eyes widened a short while later when she recognized the scripted gold lettering on the rich burgundy-coloured awning outside the jewellers’ store.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she protested as Declan rolled the Jag to a halt.

  “Why not?”

  “This place…” she hesitated, lost for words.

  “Yeah?” he prompted. “What about it?”

  “It’s too expensive—can’t we try somewhere else?” She suggested a popular chain of jewellers, noted for their mass-produced designs.

  “If we’re going to do this, and convince everyone it’s real, we have to do it right. C’mon, it’ll be okay. I promise you won’t see a price tag anywhere.”

  “That’s the trouble,” she muttered under her breath as he came around the car and opened her door.

  Inside, the store was elegant and serene. Faint strains of Vivaldi penetrated the air. Carefully designed lighting accented the select number of stunning pieces on display.

  “Ah, Declan! Congratulations my friend and, of course, you also, mademoiselle.” A tall, thin man with slightly stooped shoulders strode through the showroom. “I was beginning to despair my old friend would ever take advantage of my expertise.”

  “Give it a rest, Frank.” Declan accepted the other man’s proffered hand and gave it a quick, solid shake. “Let me introduce you both. Gwen, this is my old school buddy, Frank Dubois. Frank, meet my future wife, Gwen Jones.”

  “Enchanté, Miss Jones.” The jeweller smiled, warmth lighting his eyes.

  “Please, call me Gwen.”

  “And you must call me François. Don’t listen to this cretin, he refused always to learn French correctly.”

  Gwen struggled to hide a laugh. She’d never heard anyone refer to Declan Knight as a cretin.

  “Hey, enough of the disrespect, Frank. I’m a customer today,” Declan reminded him.

  “Yes, and I’m certain I have just the thing you might be looking for. A platinum setting I think, with Gwen’s colouring. Yes, come with me.”

  François led them to a back room, where he removed a tray of rings from a locked drawer.

  Gwen was temporarily dazzled by the display of coloured stones all in a variety of settings. François picked an oval-cut pink sapphire ringed in brilliant diamonds.

  “No,” Declan stated flatly. “That’s not it. I want her to have diamonds only.”

  The jeweller nodded slightly and replaced the tray in its drawer before sliding another under Declan’s watchful gaze.

  “Yes. This is it.” Declan sounded well satisfied.

  From the bed of black velvet he picked out a large marquise-cut diamond ring, set with three tapered-baguette diamonds on each side. It was a stunning piece and she watched, mesmerised, as he slid the ring on her finger.

  “Perfect fit,” he pronounced. “What do you think?”

  “It’s…it’s…” Gwen faltered.

  “There’s a matching wedding band.” François extracted a channel-set baguette diamond wedding band from the tray.

  Gwen was overwhelmed. The rings were stunning pieces of workmanship. But they simply weren’t her. Words failed her but actions didn’t. She pulled her hand from Declan’s and tried to remove the ring. It fit so snugly she had difficulty manoeuvring it back over her knuckle.

  “I don’t think so,” she finally managed.

  “No?” Declan asked. “You’d prefer something bigger?”

  “Oh, no! Definitely not. The ring is lovely, in fact they all are, but I don’t feel right about any of them.”

  “Okay.” Declan took the ring from her and handed it back to François. “Sorry, mate. Looks like we opened you up for nothing.”

  “Don’t worry, mon ami. We’re expecting a new shipment of diamonds early in the next week. Perhaps we can design something special for you both.”

  Gwen wandered back into the showroom, where brightly lit display cases showcased certain items.

  “Oh,” she sighed involuntarily as she caught sight of a ring so beautiful in its simplicity it called out to her.

  “Have you seen something you like?” Declan joined her at the display case. “Frank, come over and open this up.”

  “Ah, one of our estate pieces bought in Europe last month,” François explained as he disarmed the sensor in the case and removed the plain, emerald-cut diamond ring from its pedestal. “If you like antique pieces I have many more I can show you.”

  “No,” Declan said, with a watchful eye on Gwen’s face as she tried on the ring. “This is the one, isn’t it?”

  Only a ring, he’d said back at the house. That’s all it was. Only a ring. So why did her heart absolutely sing with pleasure at the sight of it? Why did it feel so right on her finger?

  “Gwen?” Declan prompted.


  “Yes. I love it.”

  “It’s yours, then, and a wide plain wedding band, too, I think Frank.”

  “And what about you, mon ami? Are we looking for a band for you also?”

  Gwen held her breath. Would he, too, wear a ring? Steve had refused one, saying they didn’t need the added expense. Suddenly the prospect of her wedding loomed large and real in her mind. Could she go through with sealing her vows to a man she barely knew, before friends and family, by giving him a ring?

  “Of course.”

  Gwen’s eyes shot to his face. Of course? What was he? Some kind of mind reader? He didn’t bat an eyelid as their gazes locked. Her mouth dried as she saw the smouldering heat in his eyes—at the challenge that lay in them.

  François hurried to present a tray of men’s wedding rings. “Gwen, perhaps you’d like to choose for him?” he remarked as he placed the tray in front of her.

  She cast her eyes over the variety of rings, some grossly ornate, others completely plain. She really didn’t want to do this. It was just another symbol to mock how superficial their relationship would be. Her hand hovered over the rows of rings before she snatched one from its velvet bed. Also in platinum, and with a broad domed shape, the ring boasted a discreet diagonal curve of small, but brilliant, diamonds.

  “This one’ll do.” She handed it to Declan.

  To her discomfort, instead of taking the ring from her and trying it on, Declan put out his left hand, palm down and fingers slightly spread.

  Her heart pounded in her chest and blood roared in her ears. Oh, God! She couldn’t do this. Not now, not ever.

  “Put it on me, Gwen.” Declan’s voice was soft, but there was no denying the determined order in his tone.

  Taking a deep breath, and with a trembling hand, Gwen slid the ring onto his finger. There, it fit as though it had been made for him. Unbidden, a sudden and unwelcome surge of possessiveness coursed through her. A surge she rapidly quelled. What was she thinking? This was a sham. What he and Renata had had was real. This was nothing more than a financial decision, and she’d do well to remember it.