The CEO's Contract Bride

by Yvonne Lindsay

  At last. They’d made it.

  Declan stepped up closer to Gwen and with infinite care slid one hand around the back of her neck. She tilted her face towards his, her eyes massive in her ashen face. His thumb rested on her pulse and he couldn’t be certain if the wild beat he felt came from her, or from him. Slowly he brought his lips closer to hers and he heard her sharply indrawn breath as he stroked his thumb over her satin-soft skin. Her eyes flew to his, fear and need each in turn tumbling through them. He could wait no longer and took her lips in triumph.

  He moulded his lips to hers, coaxing them to gently part and to allow him access to the sweet recess of her mouth. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her, of the texture of her tongue against his. They’d done it. They’d succeeded.

  She was his.

  Gwen gripped the pen in her hand with white-knuckled fingers, and dragged the ballpoint across the marriage certificate. Married. She hardly believed it. Her face ached with the effort of maintaining a smile for the photographer. If he asked her to look lovingly at Declan one more time she would give him a single lens reflex all right, straight into the nearest floral arrangement.

  During the past four days she’d gone to hell and back, wondering if she could carry this off. She glanced up at the man who was now legally her husband. He was laughing at something one of his brother’s had said. A fist clenched around her heart.

  The feel and the taste of him were still imprinted on her lips. Gwen pressed her lips together to rid herself of the sensation that lingered. It didn’t work. Declan’s kiss, and her fiercely hidden reaction to it, were part of the show necessary to make this wedding look real. They were in it for what they could get—nothing more, nothing less. She had to remind herself of that.

  She was grateful the reception was being held in a marquee here on the grounds of Highwic House. Being forced into Declan’s close company in a bridal car right now was the last thing she needed.

  Two hours later, Gwen decided the reception appeared to be going well. Most importantly, they’d carried it off as hardly anyone had passed comment about the speed with which her original wedding plans, and groom, had changed. In fact, everyone seemed to adore Declan. He’d been at her side constantly during the course of the evening, and had charmed everyone with his wit and personality. The ease with which he did so made Gwen distinctly uncomfortable. No one seemed to even care that Steve had dropped out of the picture so suddenly, or perhaps they were too embarrassed to bring it up?

  Even Declan’s rather dour-looking father hadn’t been able to find a crack in their façade. Tony Knight hadn’t struck Gwen as the patriarchal nightmare that Declan had portrayed, but then obviously the Knight men were very good at hiding their true thoughts. Strange, Gwen thought, she’d imagined that his dad would have been less accepting than he appeared and certainly less friendly, since, by marrying his eldest son, she’d effectively diminished his control of Cavaliere Developments. His initial stony stare had broken into warmth when he’d welcomed her into the family with a hug and said, “So this is what my boy has been up to? I hope the two of you are very happy.”

  The string trio in the corner struck up a gentle waltz. Declan appeared at her side and took her hand in his.

  “Our dance, I believe.” He led her onto the dance floor and drew her into his arms. “Relax, look as if you’re enjoying this. It’ll be over soon enough.”

  Gwen tried to do as he instructed but with one hand resting lightly on his shoulder and the other held in his she was more aware of him than she’d allowed herself to be all day.

  The “tombstone”-style suit he wore with its long dark jacket and high neckline waistcoat emphasized his height and strength with a lethal rawness a more traditional dinner suit lacked. Combined with the collarless white Nehru shirt, fastened with an onyx stud at the neck, and his long dark hair tied tightly back, he looked invincible. She wondered if that’s why he’d chosen them for himself and his brothers. They’d looked like a posse of hardened lawmen as they stood assembled in a line when she’d come into the ballroom. She wondered what they’d have done if she’d followed her screaming instincts and done a runner instead of sedately walking in her bridesmaids’ footsteps to the front of the room.

  For a big man Declan danced beautifully, and she moved with him in time to the music without sparing a thought to the mechanics of what they were doing. What his proximity was doing to her was another thing entirely. The spicy, musky fragrance he wore subtly threaded around her, drawing her into his aura in such a way that they could have been the only two people in the marquee. She was afraid to breathe him in too deeply, to let him too far past the barricades. She needed some space between them.

  From the corner of her eye, Gwen saw Mason lead Libby onto the floor and then Connor, after pausing to briefly kiss his wife, Holly, do the same with Mae. She groaned inwardly—escape wouldn’t happen any time soon by the looks of things, as all the traditional formalities were being observed. Everything about the wedding had been textbook perfect—on the surface at least. A tiny sigh escaped her lips.

  “Had enough?” Declan whispered in her ear.

  “Yes.” Oh, yes.

  “Let’s slip away then.” He took her hand and they worked their way through the growing crowd on the dance floor and toward the door.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Mason cut in on his brother. “No sneaking her away until we’ve each done our duty, big brother.”

  “Mase—” Declan protested and moved to block his brother’s intention.

  “Its okay.” Gwen put a placating hand on his sleeve. “As much as we’d like to escape, everyone would think it odd if we left so soon, anyway.”

  “Are you sure?” Declan’s eyes narrowed.

  “Of course. I’ll be fine.” Gwen allowed Mason to twirl her away from her new husband.

  It was strange how three brothers could look so similar and yet feel so different. Gwen had to pull her thoughts together as she danced with Mason, then Connor, before Declan reclaimed her.

  “Regrets?” Declan asked as they circled the dance floor.

  “Do I have that luxury?” Gwen hedged.

  Declan laughed, a forced sound out of sync with the celebrating people swirling around them. He looked over her head and scanned the room. “Dad seems satisfied, so far. He’s planned a surprise for us tonight. He’d skin me if he knew I’d told you about it but I thought you’d prefer to be forewarned.”

  “Surprise?” Gwen’s stomach plunged. Why did she get the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to like this?

  “Does the phrase ‘honeymoon suite’ ring any bells?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yeah, when he found out we weren’t planning to go away he was a bit surprised we hadn’t at least organised a weekend honeymoon. So, being Dad, he organised one for us.”

  Gwen swallowed. “You couldn’t change his mind?”

  “Should I have tried? We need this to look like a normal marriage, for your sake as much as mine.”

  “Yes.” A lump of lead settled in her chest at the reminder. “What about our things? Did he think of those, too?”

  Gwen wondered whether she’d be forced to spend the rest of the weekend in her wedding gown. Her thoughts skidded to a sudden halt. Of course, under normal circumstances, clothing would be the last thing they’d be thinking of.

  “Don’t worry. I found out after you and Libby had left the rehearsal, so I asked Mae to come back to the house and pack some things to send over to the hotel for you.” Declan looked around the room again. “I think we might be allowed to make it this time. Are you ready to leave?”

  “Definitely.” The vehement response drew a raised eyebrow from Declan, but Gwen ignored him, instead returning to the top table to collect her bouquet.

  “More tradition?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

  “Just keeping up appearances,” Gwen replied acerbically.

  “Look! They’re leaving!” a shout came from the side of t
he marquee.

  Gwen was surprised by a laugh bubbling over her lips as everyone jostled into position to catch the bouquet. She turned her back to the crowd and tossed the flowers in a graceful arc through the air.

  A collective “ah” of disappointment brought her spinning around to face everyone. A wide grin split Declan’s face as Mason stood juggling the bouquet, looking for all the world as if he wished the ground would simply open up and swallow him whole.

  “Let’s get going while the going’s good,” Declan said, as he grasped Gwen by the hand and together they slipped out the marquee. The white stretch limousine that had brought Gwen and her bridesmaids to Highwic waited patiently now to take them to their hotel. Joyful well-wishers spilled out behind, tossing a flurry of flower petals as Declan handed Gwen into the glowing interior of the car. She gave a final wave through the back window as the car swept away. Her life would never be the same again. Everything she had been, everything she was, had changed forever.

  In the softly lit interior Declan observed the silent creature who was now his wife. A fierce and unexpected stab of pride and possession hit him fair and square.

  “Would you like some champagne?” he asked.

  “Yes. I think that would be a good idea.” The strain in her voice encouraged him to agree and he dealt with the cage and cork of the wine, which had awaited them in the back of the limo, in quick order. She needed to relax, they both did, and maybe this would help.

  “Aren’t you curious about where we’re going?”

  “Would it make any difference?” She continued to stare out the window, breaking her concentration only to accept a frothing glass of champagne from him.

  Their fingers collided and Declan was struck by the surge of electric awareness that jolted him. He liked the sensation. More than liked it if he wanted to be truthful. His wife was becoming addictive. The admission was an unexpected, and unwanted, complication.

  “No.” His voice was rough. He named the exclusive inner-city harbour-side hotel Tony Knight had booked for them, using every ounce of his considerable power in the marketplace to secure the accommodation at such short notice. “He’s booked a suite so we’ll have plenty of room.”

  Gwen remained nonresponsive. A trickle of annoyance ran down Declan’s spine. She was getting something out of this, too—her home and the promise of a long-term job contract once the Sellers project confirmed—so why the continued cold shoulder? They’d done what they had to do so far. Surely she could relax now.

  The ride downtown was swift in the late Saturday evening traffic, and in the fifteen-minute drive they’d barely had time to sip their wine. At the hotel a doorman came to open Gwen’s door and help her alight.

  “Good evening, Mrs Knight. Mr Knight.”

  Declan smiled and placed his arm around Gwen’s slender waist, ignoring the way her body stiffened at his touch. At the front desk the concierge beamed widely and after observing the necessities for check-in saw them to their seventh-floor suite overlooking the harbour himself. After he’d extolled the virtues of the room he opened the champagne in the ice bucket, poured two glasses, then withdrew.

  “Hmm, with all this champagne, maybe we should be celebrating?” Declan commented.

  “Is this how you celebrate all your business deals? With French champagne?” Gwen responded, her mouth twisted in a wry smile.

  “No, but this one is rather special, don’t you think?” He wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. “Magnificent harbour. Funny how we live and work here but rarely take the time to enjoy it.”

  “Most people don’t make the time.”

  “We can make the time, now.” Declan gestured to the expanse of the large suite. “What else do we have to do?”

  What else indeed? Colour stained Gwen’s cheeks. Did her mind follow the same track as his? Declan thrust his fists into his trouser pockets before he did something stupid like reach out and grab her. She’d already made it obvious downstairs that his touch was anathema to her. He needed to keep his inner Neanderthal under control.

  “I have to get out of these clothes for one thing,” she said bluntly, plucking at the skirt of her gown. Gwen spun on her heel and in a swish of satin and chiffon she stalked to the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. The distinct click of the lock drew a laugh from Declan, a laugh he quickly stifled. It was no laughing matter, although he had to admit he loved it when she got all snooty like that.

  In fact he…Shock reverberated through him as he fought to push realisation back where it belonged but cold fingers continued to pluck at his heart, piece by piece peeling away the reinforced shell he’d so carefully erected after Renata died. Declan sank heavily into a leather sofa. His hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips, spilling the golden liquid on the cuff of his jacket. He stared as the wine soaked into the dark fabric, then slowly replaced his glass on the coffee table.

  He had done the impossible.

  He had fallen in love with his wife.

  Nine

  Declan stared out the window as the last of the summer yachts motored back to their marina berths near the Harbour Bridge in the dusky late evening waters; the vision gave him no peace.

  In love with Gwen? No. He had to be crazy. This was a business arrangement and only that. He would not—could not—be in love with her. Wasn’t it bad enough he’d betrayed Renata’s memory with her? This was supposed to be the safe option—one designed to get them both what they wanted with no messy complications. To be in love with Gwen would definitely be a complication. He clamped down hard on his crazy thoughts, shoving them back deep inside where they belonged. Where they couldn’t be real. He was confusing love with lust, and lust for Gwen Jones was something he knew all too much about.

  “Declan?”

  He shot to his feet. He hadn’t heard her unlock the door. She stood next to the couch, presenting her semi-bare back to him, the shoestring-thin straps of her dress drooping off her smooth shoulders.

  “Can you help me with these buttons? I can’t reach them all.” Her tone left him in no doubt that she’d rather have called housekeeping for assistance.

  “Sure.” He willed the tremor in his hands to settle and reached for the row of tiny pearl buttons.

  It was both agony and ecstasy touching her warm, bare back, painstakingly sliding each wee fastener through its tight satin loop. Again, her subtle floral fragrance teased his nostrils and infiltrated his senses with intoxicating purpose. It would be so easy to place his lips to the nape of her neck, to drink deeply of her essence and luxuriate in her scent. His hands itched to spread wide beneath the fabric of her gown and push it aside so he could sweep his hands around to the front and relish the softness of her luminous skin and to cup her breasts.

  One by one another button was undone, another inch of her revealed. His breath disappeared, as if sucker punched, when he caught a glimpse of the pale, rose-pink silk torselette she wore beneath her dress. The kind of thing that had multitudinous hooks and eyes. Oh, yeah. Exquisite torture. And totally out of bounds.

  “Thanks, I think I can manage from here.” Gwen stepped out of his reach and gathered the gaping bodice to her chest with fisted hands. “I’ll be quick in the bathroom in case you want to take a shower,” she said over her shoulder as she walked back to the bedroom.

  “Shower. Yeah. Thanks.” His mouth was as dry as the Sahara and his body broiled with a different kind of heat. Staying here was not an option. Not until he was at least so exhausted that he could fall asleep on the sofa bed in the sitting room and know that he wouldn’t attempt to affirm his wedding vows in the bedroom he’d already mentally declared off limits.

  “Hey, Gwen!” She halted in the doorway. “Toss my bag out here would you? I’m gonna hit the gym for a bit.”

  “Sure.”

  She brought his duffel bag through and put it on the sofa, holding the bodice of her dress carefully to her body the whole time. All it would take was a tiny tug in the right place a
nd that sinfully sexy piece of lingerie would be exposed to his hungry eyes.

  “Will you be long?” she asked as she went back to the bedroom.

  As long as it took. “An hour or so maybe,” he grunted, as he peeled off his coat and waistcoat and unbuttoned the neck of his shirt. Maybe a lifetime.

  “I’ll see you later then.” She slipped through the door. She’d left it ajar this time. He didn’t know what was worse. Knowing he couldn’t simply walk in and see her, or knowing he could.

  When he got back from his workout, and it would be a killer—he could tell that right now—he’d order up room service. He wasn’t sure about Gwen, but for once he’d hardly been able to eat despite the range of tasty food at their reception, and he was ravenous now. Ravenous in more ways than one. Which was why he’d be denying both appetites until he could recover some control.

  He cast a narrowed glance at the bedroom door. The temptation was almost overwhelming. With an exasperated sigh he peeled off the rest of his clothes and slid into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. It was going to take one hell of a lot to take the edge off that particular hunger.

  Gwen stepped out of her wedding gown and looped the straps over a coat hanger before hanging the dress in the wardrobe. She felt empty, deflated. This wasn’t how her wedding day was supposed to have gone. Her fingers lingered over the beaded bodice work before she slid the door closed and turned her back on it.

  A small case waited on the luggage rack next to the wardrobe. She unlocked it and lifted the lid. The garment at the top was wrapped in tissue and sealed with a label from one of Auckland’s premier lingerie outlets, the same place Libby and Mae had insisted she purchase her wedding lingerie from. A small card nestled on top. Gwen tore open the envelope and read it, “We couldn’t resist, and hope he won’t either!” The card dropped from her fingers unheeded as Gwen pushed aside the tissue. What had her friends bought?