Hannah’s mouth trembled. What future? she wanted to say, but she knew better than to give herself away.
‘It’s foolish to put it that way, Grant. I’m not “escaping” anything. I just want to get back to San Francisco so I can get——’
‘—back to your life. Yes. A charming phrase. But what does it mean?’
‘I should think it’s obvious what it means. I need a job, and a place to live.’
‘A return to your much coveted independence,’ he said coldly.
‘Yes. That’s right.’
‘And you don’t want to have an affair with me. Let’s not leave that out.’ He rose and poured himself a cup of coffee. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s polite to wait for an invitation before you turn it down?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You gave me your decision even before I’d asked you anything.’ He gave her a chill smile above the rim of his cup. ‘But then, you always were most perceptive, Hannah.’
Her face flushed. ‘Come on, dammit! I’m not a fool. I know what you have in mind.’
‘Amazing, isn’t it, how you always seem to know what I’m thinking?’
She stared at him, at the unyielding grey eyes and harsh mouth. ‘That’s hardly true,’ she said, her voice shaking just a bit. ‘I’d never have got myself into this mess in the first place if I did.’
His teeth flashed in a cold smile. ‘I take it you’re referring to our marriage.’
‘Yes. If I’d known what you expected of me, I’d—I‘d——’ She broke off and turned her back to his chill stare. ‘Look, this is all beside the point. I want to go home. End of story.’
‘You mean, if you’d known I expected you to behave like a woman and not a machine, you’d never have agreed to marry me.’
‘What about what I expected?’ Hannah swung around, glowering.
‘Oh, I know what you expected, Hannah.’ His voice was like silk. ‘You thought you’d get everything and give nothing in return, that you could have all the benefits of the arrangement without participating in it.’
‘I didn’t want an “arrangement”, damn you!’ Tears rose in her eyes.
‘Of course not. Why would you want to be reminded that there are a woman’s needs and desires tucked away inside that block of ice you call a heart?’
Hannah slammed down her cup. ‘Now I understand. The great Grant MacLean thinks he awakened my libido, and now he expects to be properly thanked.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you. You didn’t awaken anything. What happened last night had—had nothing to do with you.’
‘Didn’t it?’
His voice was ominously soft, but Hannah was beyond hearing anything but her own anger and pain. She rose to her feet and faced him, her face pink, her hands on her hips.
‘You’re right,’ she snapped. ‘I suppose I do have certain needs. Who doesn’t? You were just in the right place at the right time.’
He stepped forward swiftly and clasped her wrist tightly. She cried out as he twisted her hand up between them, until her fingers were spread before her eyes.
‘What do you see?’ he grated through his teeth. Hannah stared at him. ‘Let go!’
‘Answer the question!’ His head shot forward. ‘Tell me what you see.’
‘I don’t——’
‘A ring. A circle of yellow gold.’ His smile was frigid. ‘And I’m the man who put it there.’
‘Much to my regret,’ Hannah snapped.
Grant laughed. ‘Such sweet words for a bride to whisper to her husband after their first night together, darling.’
‘Stop this nonsense! You are not my husband.’
‘I am whatever the hell I say I am,’ he snarled. Their eyes met. ‘And I say we’re still married.’
Hannah stared at him. ‘But you said—last night——’
‘To hell with last night!’ His words were taut with barely contained fury. ‘I’ve had it with jumping through hoops.’
‘What?’
His mouth narrowed. ‘You’re going to have to find yourself the best attorney money can buy if you want out of this marriage.’
‘It’s not a marriage,’ she said quickly. ‘You know that. It was an arrangement.’
Grant’s face darkened. ‘Tell it to the judge.’
He let go of her wrist, brushed past her, and stalked into the house without so much as a backward glance.
Hannah stared after him. How could she ever have deluded herself into thinking that she loved him?
CHAPTER TWELVE
AT LEAST Grant came to his senses long enough to agree that there was no point in staying in Mexico. It was a small victory, but by then Hannah was willing to take whatever she could get.
It took all her determination to sit silently beside him while they drove to the airport; she knew that any pleading, even any further show of anger on her part, would only deliver more control of her life into his hands. She had nothing to go home to: no job, no flat, no money. She was tied to him by a certificate of marriage and his insistence on holding her to a contract made in hell.
Once they were seated in the first-class cabin of the jet bearing them back to the States, he turned to her.
‘I telephoned Marilyn,’ he said crisply. ‘I told her the same thing we’ll tell anyone else who asks—that I was called home by unexpected business.’
Hannah stared straight ahead. ‘Tell them what you like.’
‘Just be sure you have the story straight, Hannah,’ he said coldly.
She looked at him. ‘I hardly think I’ll be talking to anyone who gives a damn.’
‘People will expect to see us together for the next few weeks,’ He smiled tightly. ‘After all, darling, technically, we’ll still be on our honeymoon.’
Hannah glared at him. ‘Only because you decided to extend it.’
‘Yes.’ A muscle knotted in his jaw. ‘One of my many errors, and too late to do anything about now.’
‘It’s never too late,’ she hissed. ‘You’re just afraid your damned ego will take a beating if——’
‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ he said, his harsh voice cutting across hers. ‘For the next few weeks you’ll be seen in public with me, you’ll entertain guests in our home——’
‘If you try and—if you touch me,’ she said in a shaky whisper, ‘I promise you, you’ll regret it.’
His mouth became a thin slash in his dark face. ‘I already do,’ he said coldly, and then he looked away from her, folded his arms across his chest, and laid his head back against the seat.
Hannah didn’t answer. She hadn’t meant to say that; it was foolish to let him see her fear. Besides, what was there to fear, anyway? She had never been afraid of him forcing himself on her and she still wasn’t. The danger had been in his seducing her, but that was finished. She’d never tumble into his bed again. Never!
If only she had someone or somewhere to run to. But she’d kept to herself since her divorce; Sally was the closest she had to a friend, and she could never drag her into the middle of this disaster. Grant could be vengeful; he’d not hesitate to destroy anyone who came to her assistance.
He didn’t want her, he never had, except in the terms of their contract. All this was an exercise of power, and the ache deep inside her that would not go away had nothing to do with caring about him. It was about—about hating him.
‘Madame?’ She looked up. The flight attendant was offering a brilliant smile along with a glass of champagne. ‘What may I get you?’
My life as it was, before Grant MacLean took it over, Hannah thought.
‘Nothing,’ she said with a quick shake of her head, ‘nothing, thank you.’
‘Nor for me,’ Grant said in clipped tones.
It was the last either of them spoke until their plane had landed.
Hannah knew that Grant lived in a large penthouse apartment. She had expected it to be elegant, even opulent. But, when the doors to the penthouse’s priv
ate lift slid open, what she saw took her breath away.
An enormous marble entry-foyer stretched before her, illuminated by a glittering crystal chandelier that hung from a ceiling that stretched three storeys high. Hannah craned her neck up. Paintings hung on the walls, of a sort she’d only seen in galleries and museums, and above them rose the shadowy second-and third-floor balconies. She looked down again, to where a statue that looked suspiciously like a Brancusi stood in solitary splendour in the far corner.
‘I trust you’re not waiting for me to carry you across the threshold,’ Grant said coldly.
Hannah took a quick step forward. ‘I’m too tired to play games,’ she said. ‘If you’d just tell me where my rooms are… ?’
‘The master suite takes up the entire third level.’ She swung towards him. ‘I said my rooms, Grant! You promised me I’d have my own quarters.’
His teeth bared in an unpleasant smile. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘What do you mean, you’ve changed your mind? You can’t possibly think I’d——’
‘Good evening, sir.’ Hannah turned. A manservant was striding towards them, smiling politely. ‘Welcome home. And a special welcome to you, Mrs MacLean.’
Grant nodded. ‘Hodges. How are things?’
‘Very well, sir. Shall I take your luggage up?’
‘Not mine,’ Hannah said sharply. ‘Take my things to the guest room, ple…’ Her breath hissed as Grant’s hand closed tightly on her arm.
‘Take everything to my rooms,’ he said through his teeth. ‘My wife and I will be in the study. And we don’t want to be disturbed.’
‘I’m not going with you,’ Hannah whispered fiercely, but Grant was half lifting her to her toes, hurrying her through the foyer, then through a pair of carved doors that swung shut after them with finality.
He swung her towards him. ‘What the hell kind of a performance was that?’ he demanded in tight-lipped fury.
‘I am not sleeping in your bed,’ Hannah said just as angrily. ‘If you think, for so much as a minute, that——’
She cried out as his fingers dug into her flesh. ‘But you are, my beloved wife. There’s the matter of a contract to be adhered to, remember?’
Hannah flung up her chin. ‘You cannot hold me to that ridiculous arrangement, and you know it!’
‘No?’
“No! And if you try——’
‘I told you, sweetheart, get yourself an attorney. And he’d better be a damned good one, because I’ll fight him every step of the way!’ Grant let go of her and stalked across the room. ‘In the meantime, you’ll obey the rules.’
‘Rules?’ She stared at him as he threw open the doors to a mahogany secretaire, revealing a built-in drinks cabinet. ‘What rules?’
‘Actually,’ he said as he wrenched the top from a decanter, ‘there’s only one rule.’ Amber liquid splashed into a cut-glass tumbler. He raised the glass to his lips and tossed half of it down. ‘You will remember who you are——’
‘A woman who wants her freedom! You’d better remember it, too.’
‘You are my wife. And you will behave properly. At all times.’
Hannah laughed. ‘What does that mean? Am I expected to curtsy?’ She marched towards him. ‘Or will a simple kowtow do?’ Her jaw shot forward. ‘You’ll wait till hell freezes over before——’
‘You will never, ever pull a scene like that one again.’ Grant slammed his half-empty tumbler down and clasped her by the shoulders. ‘Is that clear?’
‘Why?’ Hannah tossed her head. ‘Is your poor ego so fragile that you can’t face letting the world know that our marriage isn’t a marriage at all?’
A fleeting darkness swept across his face. ‘I keep telling you, I don’t care what the world thinks.’
‘Or is it because you refuse to admit that, for once in your life, you’re not going to get what you want?’
The darkness came again, this time settling in his eyes. ‘If I don’t,’ he said, after a moment, ‘it won’t be for lack of trying.’
Hannah flushed. ‘Would you really stoop so low? Is getting your own way so important that you’d force me to sleep with you?’
His hands tightened on her. ‘Damn you, Hannah,’ he said fiercely, ‘damn you to hell!’
He pulled her into his arms and his mouth fell on hers. His kiss was harsh, a reflection of anger, not desire. Hannah struggled against it, trying to twist her face away from his, but he thrust his hands into her hair and held her fast.
‘Stop pretending you’re made of ice, dammit! We both know you’re not.’
He kissed her again, his mouth grinding against hers. She stood absolutely still, receiving the kiss as if she were made of stone, determined not to let him see how bleak her despair was.
This was the man who’d held her in his arms and made love to her with tenderness and warmth. This was the man she’d been fool enough to think she loved…
He let her go, pushing her from him, his eyes dark and cold. ‘It seems I was right about you, Hannah,’ he said. ‘You’re not a real woman at all.’
The words stabbed into her heart, but she didn’t so much as flinch. Grant went on looking at her, and then he strode to the door and threw it open. ‘Hodges!’ he bellowed. ‘Move my wife’s luggage to the guest suite.’
Without so much as a backward glance he vanished up the stairs.
The days passed, and the weeks. Life fell into a routine. Hannah rose early, breakfasted in her rooms, then looked for ways to make the hours go by, but there were only so many art exhibitions and museums you could attend, especially when you had to feign interest to begin with. She had little interest in anything. How could she, when she lived like a prisoner, even if her prison was a beautiful penthouse filled with exquisite things?
Sally phoned once, and they met for lunch. But Sally’s usual giggles had given way to a kind of awed nervousness, until finally Hannah threw down her napkin in disgust.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ she said sharply, ‘what’s wrong with you?’
‘Well—well, it’s different now, isn’t it? I keep thinking, she’s not Hannah Lewis at all, she’s Hannah MacLean. And——’
‘That’s nonsense. I’m still me, the same as always.’
‘Sure,’ Sally said, after a moment, ‘the same as always.’
But they had not seen each other again. And that was just as well, Hannah knew, not because of any difference in status but because, sooner or later, the sharp-eyed Sally would surely have picked up on what Grant’s sister had already noticed. They had only spent one evening with Marilyn and her husband, after Marilyn had cheerfully threatened to show up at the door unannounced if Grant and Hannah turned down one more invitation to dinner, but that had been enough for the other woman to sense that something was wrong between her brother and his bride.
‘Grant can be a difficult man,’ Marilyn said softly, as she and Hannah got Tommy ready for bed.
Hannah picked up Brian the Lion and stroked his mane absently as she groped for an answer, watching as Marilyn bent and pressed her lips to her son’s tousled curls. Her throat constricted. Yes, she thought, you’re right. Your brother only married me so he could have a child. And—and I would have loved to have had that child. His child. Grant’s…
‘Hannah?’ Marilyn straightened and put her hand on Hannah’s arm. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Hannah forced a smile to her lips. ‘No, nothing. We’re just—we’re just learning to live together. You know how it is.’
Marilyn nodded. ‘So long as you love each other, everything will turn out fine.’
But we don’t love each other, Hannah thought. He doesn’t even like me. And I—I certainly don’t—I don’t…
Without warning, tears sprang to her eyes. She turned away quickly and wiped her palms across them. Grant, Grant, she thought…
And, as if her thought had summoned him, there he was, in the doorway. They stared into each other’s eyes, and then Hannah lifted he
r chin, set her mouth, and swept past him.
‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘And I’m tired. I’d like to go home.’
It was the last they saw of Marilyn and her family. Grant was busy, he said, too busy to spend much time anywhere but at the office or in his study at home, but Hannah knew he simply wanted to avoid her. He was beginning to resent her intrusion into his life. He had married her for one purpose, and she was not fulfilling it. Despite the implied threats he’d made that first evening, he had not tried to force her into his bed.
All that kept him from letting her go, Hannah was certain, was his refusal to admit that he’d made a mistake in convincing her to marry him. She told him that whenever she could, each time ending with a plea that he put an end to their marriage.
His answer was always the same. ‘I will, when I’m good and ready.’
And that would end it.
The only times they spoke cordially to each other were on those occasions when she had to go with him to a business dinner or play hostess to one in his home. She even had to endure the light pressure of Grant’s arm around her waist, the smile that seemed warm but had no meaning, the light brush of his mouth against her cheek.
Aside from those evenings, their paths rarely crossed.
It was, she thought late one afternoon, as she stepped from the lift after another empty day, as if she had ceased to exist for him. And that was just fine with her. It meant that, any day now, Grant would call her into his study, fix her with that unnerving stare, and tell her that this impossible masquerade was over.
Which was what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted. Then why did the thought bring such a sense of despair?
‘Mrs MacLean?’
‘Yes, Hodges?’
‘Mr MacLean phoned while you were out, madam. He said to tell you he’d be bringing some guests home for dinner.’
Hannah’s face fell. Another artificially cheerful evening for important clients. She felt exhausted at the thought. It was getting harder and harder to smile and pretend for strangers.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of speaking with Cook. I hope that’s all right…?’
Hannah nodded. She had no hand in running this house. It was Grant’s home, not hers; she was little more than a non-paying boarder.
No Need for Love Page 17