Gwen rose from the seat and with her arms wrapped about her torso as if holding in her pain, she paced back and forth before stopping in front of him. “You’d do that?”
Declan battled with the urge to shout “no.” To tell her to leave the guy where he belonged, in an unmarked grave where his deceit could be buried along with him. “If you want me to, yes.”
“And the money? Can they retrieve that?”
“By the sounds of things, yes.”
“Then we didn’t need to get married after all.” Gwen’s voice shook again, as if she was close to tears.
Declan clenched his jaw. Technically, they could both walk away from their marriage today. Over. Finished. “It’s not as simple as that,” he finally ground out. “Getting the money back could take months. Time we don’t have.”
“So we have to keep on with this—” she gestured widely with one hand, clearly lost for a suitable explanation.
“Yeah. We do.”
She bowed her head slightly and closed her eyes. What was going on in that pretty head of hers? Regret, he had no doubt, and probably a fair smattering of frustration. But what about grief? His blood boiled at the thought of her wasting a speck of emotion on Crenshaw.
Gwen drew in a sharp breath, her chin kicked up again and she turned to face him.
“Let Steve be buried by the authorities.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go home. I’ll get the concierge to call us a cab.” Declan watched as Gwen walked back to the bedroom to gather her things. He called her just as she reached the doorway. “Gwen? Are you okay?”
She stopped and hesitated a moment before answering. “I have to be, don’t I?”
Declan sat back on his heels to admire the finish on the blackened iron surround of the fireplace. He’d worked like a demon this past week—they both had—and this was the last job to complete the whole room.
They’d been lucky to find replacements for the cracked tiles that decorated the sides of the fireplace at a demolition yard on the other side of town. When she’d discovered them her face had lit with enthusiasm—the first genuine uncontrolled emotion she’d shown since the wedding and since the news of Steve Crenshaw’s death. A rueful smile tugged at his lips. He’d take her back there every single day if it meant he’d see that response on her face again. She’d sprung to life, full of energy, full of excitement—a complete contrast to the automaton who’d worked doggedly at his side the past seven days.
Her attention to detail had been flawless and spoke volumes as to the standard of work he could expect from her on the Sellers project—if they got it. The result of the tender would be announced tomorrow and he didn’t know what churned him up more. The hope they’d get the job and he’d get to work closely with Gwen on a daily basis, or the fear that they’d failed. He looked up as Gwen came into the sitting room, a tray with lunch in her hands.
“Hey, you’ve finished. The fireplace looks great.”
Declan wiped his hands on a rag towel and took the mug she proffered. “Yeah, we’re all done in here.”
She put a plate of sandwiches on the table and perched on the edge of the sofa, her slender fingers clasped around her mug. Declan reached over to snag a sandwich and bit into it as he looked around the room. The walls glowed with a welcoming, gentle golden hue, and a faint hint of the scent of fresh paint still hung in the air. The tall sash window frames were sanded and sealed, and a heavy swag of drapes hung on iron rods from the top. They’d been a struggle to get up, but between the two of them, they’d managed. The deep skirting boards had been brought back to their warm natural wood, as had the feature point of the room, the mantelpiece. Yeah, they’d done okay.
“If I couldn’t see it, I wouldn’t have believed we could have achieved this much in a week.” Gwen smiled, transforming the pinched, haunted look that lingered about her eyes to one of genuine pleasure.
“We make a good team. Do you want to light the fire tonight to celebrate?” Declan sat back to admire his handiwork.
“Could we?” she burst eagerly, a teasing twinkle uncharacteristically lighting her grey eyes. “It’s not really cold enough yet. Besides, it’ll make it all dirty and spoil your hard work.”
He snorted. “So I’ll clean it again. What do you say? I saw plenty of dry chopped wood in the shed out back.” It was great to see some life back in her face, however fleeting he knew it would be.
Gwen nodded. “I’d love to. I never imagined I’d be able to enjoy the fireplace so soon.”
“Well, you didn’t count on having a master renovator on the scene, now did you?” Ah, heck, now he’d gone and done it. Gone and put his foot firmly in his mouth with another stupid reminder of Crenshaw.
“No.” She looked pensive for a moment before her habitual impenetrable shield slid over her face. He hated it when she hid like that. Then, to his surprise, she looked up and met him squarely, eye to eye. “I haven’t thanked you for everything you’ve done. I…appreciate it. Everything.”
The watery shimmer in her eyes spoke volumes. He put his mug down and wrapped his hands around hers. Despite the warmth from her coffee mug, her fingers were chilled. Kind of like she’d been most of the week.
“Hey. We have a deal, right?”
“Yes, we do.” Gwen blinked away the moisture clouding her eyes and smiled back. “Are you on wood duty, or am I?”
“You are. I’m still busy.”
“Busy eating!” Gwen laughed and his insides clenched in response. He wanted to hear that laughter more often and, more than that, it forced him to acknowledge he wanted to be the one who instigated it.
All week he’d been pushing back how he felt about her, distracting himself instead in the satisfaction derived from the work they’d completed together. Even the little things, like anticipating her pleasure when he found a tarnished brass doorplate, still attached to a borer-ridden door, at the demolition yard and knowing it was a perfect match for the broken one already attached to the sitting room door.
A perfect match. Would she ever see him any differently? Did he even want her to? He’d loved Renata for so long and still missed her with a physical pain, but day by day he was forced to recall her face and the sound of her voice, to rid his thoughts of images of Gwen. He’d avoided trying to understand why his thoughts had taken that crazy path on their wedding night when he’d confused lust with love. The lust was still very definitely there, though. Simmering beneath the surface like molten lava just waiting to push through the earth.
He stole a look at Gwen. She was too thin. The last couple of weeks had taken their toll and the week to come was set to be equally as tough. Declan didn’t want to dwell on what would happen if he didn’t win the tender or where it would leave this empty shell of a marriage. Logic told him to give it up. To remember their contract and to stick to it. Remember the reason why they were even together at all. Yeah. He remembered all right, and it left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. A taste he wanted to be rid of.
He put his mug and plate back on the tray. “Why don’t we order dinner in tonight and open a bottle of wine to christen the room?”
“I’d like that.” Gwen put her own unfinished lunch on the tray next to his empty plate and gathered up the tray. “I’ll go and grab some wood for the box, while you finish up.”
Dinner finished, a contented sigh slid past her lips as firelight gleamed through the rich garnet-coloured Shiraz in her wineglass. It seemed fitting that Declan share this moment. Her sitting room looked as she’d always imagined it would with the addition of a multistemmed wrought-iron candelabra, a wedding present from Connor and Holly, taking pride of place on the mantelpiece, the votive candles flickering golden light across the walls while floating candles in a red and gold patterned glass dish on the coffee table cast a subtle gleam over the rest of the room.
“Happy?” Declan’s deep voice interrupted her train of thought.
Was she? Gwen p
aused to reflect for a moment and realised with surprise that for the first time in forever she truly felt happy. “Yes,” she answered, feeling the deep-seated contentment expand through her chest.
“A toast then?”
“Sure, what shall we toast?”
“To the continued success of Mr and Mrs Knight.” His tone was light, teasing, but there was a glimmer of something more in his eyes. A glimmer she neither wanted to acknowledge nor answer.
Gwen hesitated for a moment. She couldn’t, and didn’t want to, get used to the moniker—Mrs Knight. All too soon she’d be plain old Gwen Jones once more. Declan’s glass was still upraised to meet hers, the light in his eyes firing into a dark challenge.
“To us,” she amended and clinked her glass against his before taking a sip of her wine.
Despite the fact the dust covers were finally, permanently, off the furniture, Gwen and Declan sat on the thick carpet rug in front of the fireplace. Heat from the fire caressed her skin while a warm glow from the wine grew inside her. It was probably extravagant to have lit the fire so early in the season, with summer still clinging to each day, but Gwen didn’t care.
This was homage to the realisation of part of her dream. Her home. And she’d never have achieved it without the man at her side. How he’d found the patience to deal with her all week was beyond her. Steve would never have tolerated her melancholy. Never have striven, daily, to surprise her out of her mood.
No. Declan was different. And not only in appearance. There was a sensitivity, a softness, about him. A need to protect and provide that he usually kept well hidden from view. She was beginning to understand why. He’d talked a little about his mother this week as they’d worked together. How young he’d been when she’d died. How he’d assumed responsibility for his brothers while their father had buried his grief in work and, occasionally, in drink. That responsibility had carved him into the man he was today. Her husband.
They’d worked as a team, anticipating one another’s actions. Anticipating one another’s needs. As hard as she’d fought it, she was losing the battle to keep him at arm’s length.
He wore his hair loose tonight. It lay like a black river down his back. Firelight bronzed his skin. Instinctively Gwen used her free hand to stroke the length of his hair, its softness making her palm tingle. She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed to touch him, until now. Declan turned his head, his lips finding the point at her wrist where her pulse beat with a steady throb.
“Yeah. To us,” he echoed.
He reached up and took her glass from her hand and set it on the table behind them. Her heart skipped a sudden fast beat, then settled. He was going to kiss her. She knew it and, while common sense shrieked at her to pull away, she didn’t want to stop him. Not now. Not ever.
Bit by tiny bit, he’d worked his way under her skin and permeated her world. A gentle touch here, a smile there, and all the time deep consideration for her. At one stage she wanted to scream because he treated her so gently, but she’d slowly realised he was giving her time. Time to let go of the past—let go of Steve.
But was it time to look forward to the future? The future raised so many other questions. They would part at the end of six months. She’d be alone, again. Couldn’t she just have the here and now?
They’d been married a week, and she felt more comfortable with him than she had with any other person her whole life. With a single glance he heated her blood. The accidental brush of his fingers set her pulse racing and her nerves to tighten and tingle. When she’d agreed to marry Steve she’d chosen not to experience the feelings Declan Knight built within her. She’d been a fool to think such an option would have satisfied her. That to hide from emotion, from the heat of passion, was better than to embrace the vulnerability that answering her body’s clamour would surely bring her.
She’d given in to Declan once. The shattering fallout of that union had been enough to send her scuttling back to where only she could heal her wounds and, with that healing, vow to never allow her heart to be so exposed again. She didn’t know if she could rip open the healed skin of that wound again. The finite period of this marriage was set. The boundaries were drawn. But maybe now it was time to overstep them. To relinquish past dreams, past failures. Time to believe in herself. And who better to do that with, but Declan.
As his lips closed over hers she let her eyes slide shut. He took her lower lip gently with his teeth and his tongue slid, hot and wet against the tender skin. He tasted of wine, of him, of forbidden dreams.
She let her tongue sweep against his and drew deep satisfaction from the sigh that filtered from him. She had the power to do that. To draw a response from deep within and past the barriers she recognised she wore herself. The realisation she affected him so strongly gave her a surge of power. She could control this. She could let this lead them wherever they wanted.
Gwen knew in her heart that if she asked him to stop now, he would withdraw. This was up to her entirely. She opened her mouth a little wider, drew in a little closer to him. Her hand reached up and tangled in his hair, and she kissed him as she’d kissed no other man.
He let her lead the way, set the pace. The thrill that gave her sent an electric dart of pleasure through her body. Without letting her lips break contact she rose and straddled his hips, relishing the heat that emanated from his body in front of her while through the thin fabric of her T-shirt the fire warmed her back.
Still he didn’t touch her directly. If he hadn’t relinquished that sigh of pleasure she would have pulled back. Removed herself from a situation that might only serve to reiterate her failures.
She was hot. Too hot. She drew back from him long enough to slip her T-shirt up over her torso and off. His eyes glittered like black diamonds in the flickering firelight as she bent towards him and pushed him gently backwards onto the floor. She pressed her lips to the strong column of his neck and let her tongue trail a fine path to the base of his throat. To the spot she’d dreamed of tasting again. Her hands stroked his chest through his shirt and through the fabric she could feel his nipples harden. Satisfaction at his reaction pulsed through her. She could conquer anything, anyone. Even him.
The need to touch him, flesh on flesh, overwhelmed conscious thought. Buttons slid excruciatingly slowly from their holes until finally she eased the fabric away from his body and could indulge in the sheer pleasure of stroking the pads of her fingers across his skin.
Tiny goose bumps rose on his flesh at her tender touch and she smiled at his reaction. She wet one finger in her mouth, drawing it slowly from between her lips, watching him watching her. The expression on his face did crazy things to her insides, making her clench and release muscles throughout her body in a vain attempt to cap the sensations that threatened to take her over.
With gentle pressure she circled one taut brown nipple with her dampened finger, then repeated the exercise with its twin. She leaned forward, letting her hair brush against him, then blew a cool stream of breath across the moistened discs. To her delight they tightened further, and she felt an answering constriction in her own as they pressed against the fine lace of her bra. The pleasure pain of the friction of her nipples against the fabric drew a small shudder through her body. She reached behind her and unclasped the hooks that fettered her, letting the straps drop down her shoulders and her bra fall forward, loosing her aching breasts to Declan’s glazed, half-lidded stare.
“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was raspy, as though talking was an effort.
“Shh,” Gwen commanded as she bent towards his lips once more.
She traced their outline with the tip of her tongue, her breasts barely touching his chest until she could bear it no longer. She leaned against him, harder, until her soft flesh pressed against his. Instead of relieving the throb it only intensified. A small sharp cry fell from her mouth as need pounded through her. She reached down and unsnapped the button fly of her jeans, rolling away from Declan only long enough to shimmy free of
the restriction of the denim.
Everything in Declan urged him to take control. She was killing him with her gentle assault on his body. But for the life of him he couldn’t think of a better way to go.
The tiny triangle of lime-green bikini panties glowed like a fresh spring leaf against the incandescence of her skin. As enticing as they were, they had to go. His hands twitched as if of their own volition they could drag them slowly from her body. But this was her game, he reminded himself. A game to be played by her rules. He sure as hell didn’t want to throw her off her stride.
A pang of need shot to his groin and set up a pulse as primal as a jungle beat radiating through him as she slid the scrap of lingerie down those glorious long legs of hers. The fire cast a halo around her. She looked sinfully beautiful—a fallen angel. Her long, fine hair slid across his stomach, setting up a chain reaction of goose bumps flowing over his skin, as she bent to loosen the button fly on his trousers. Declan stifled another groan. If she didn’t get these pants undone soon she’d have to cut them off him. Then, wonderfully, oh, yeah, he was free. His swollen flesh sprang from the torture of his clothing. He was ready for her. So ready he thought he would lose control.
He lifted his hips as Gwen pulled his trousers and boxers down and finally off. Gracefully, she hooked one leg over him again, her knees clenched at his sides. Rising slightly she guided him to the hot entrance to her body and as their eyes locked in silent duel he knew she gave him far more than entry to her body. She gave him her trust.
Her eyes had darkened to charcoal and the hot flush of desire streaked her cheeks and across her chest. She stared at him, a tiny smile curving her sensuous full lips, as she slowly lowered her body over him, accepting him within her. A long, slow shudder shimmered through her as she sank down the full length of him. He could feel her, hot and wet, stretching to adjust to his size. God, she felt so right he almost lost it right there.
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