He was talking as if she had agreed, as if the result was a foregone conclusion, and Tabitha’s bemusement turned to anger. ‘You really think I’m going to say yes to this ludicrous proposition?’
‘Of course you are,’ Zavier replied assuredly. ‘This amount of money will change your life.’
‘I’m quite happy with my life, thank you very much.’
‘How long do you think you can carry on like this, Tabitha?’
She braced herself for a short, sharp lecture on the pitfalls of gambling, smugly confident that Zavier didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but when he spoke, the words that came from his lips literally floored her, chilled her. Every raw, shredded nerve, every silent fear, every sleepless night, were all summed up in one callous sentence.
‘How much longer will you be able to earn a living from dancing?’
‘I’m only in my twenties,’ she said indignantly. ‘You make it sound as if I’m shuffling around the stage on my Zimmer frame.’
‘You’re nearly thirty,’ Zavier pointed out mercilessly, ignoring her reddening cheeks. ‘And furthermore you’ve been asked to audition for a part that up until this point would have been yours as a matter of course.’
‘It’s just a formality,’ Tabitha spluttered. ‘And Aiden had no right even discussing it with you.’
‘We’re brothers.’ Zavier shrugged. ‘And it was hardly an in-depth discussion. I just happened to read in the paper about the glut of talent in Melbourne, about the plight of dancers looking for work…’
‘I don’t recall any such article,’ Tabitha retorted, her eyes narrowing. ‘And for your information I do read the papers now and then; I’m not a complete airhead.’
‘Ah, but my brother is. You’re right—there was no such article. But the suggestion of one was all it took for Aiden to sing like a bird, to tell me how hard it was for his dear, ageing Tabitha, how cruel the world of theatre was for a delicate creature like yourself.’
‘But why would my career—’ she gave a sharp laugh ‘—or lack of it, interest you?’
‘It doesn’t.’ He tapped the side of his temple. ‘You know what they say—knowledge is power. Before that, for all I knew agents could have been clawing at the door to get your signature on a contract.’ He held a mocking hand up to his ear. ‘Quiet as a mouse. So now I know how precarious your situation is: you need money, and to boot your work’s not exactly secure.’
‘I could get a job in an office,’ she flared.
‘Wearing that?’ His eyes ran the length of her body, taking in the ridiculously short skirt, the long expanse of pale, freckled thigh. ‘The dress Aiden bought you might see you through Monday, but on your current form I doubt a night at the casino is going to stretch to a full wardrobe.’
‘But why me?’ Tabitha asked, more to herself than Zavier, her green eyes only finding him once the words hung in the air. ‘Why me? Why would you risk your reputation…?’
‘My reputation can take it,’ Zavier said darkly. ‘It would take more than a showgirl with a gambling problem to ruin it. Anyway, marry me and the casino’s out of bounds; it’s all been taken care of in the contract.’
‘Why didn’t you ask Amy? It was what she wanted, after all.’
‘Because Amy wanted to pretend that love came into it,’ Zavier answered irritably. ‘Amy wanted the works. You might think this is a big figure, but my real wife—the mother of my children—would stand to gain a lot more. With you, Tabitha, it would be entirely a business agreement. You’ll walk away independently wealthy and my father will die knowing one of his sons is married and with a tangible hope that grandchildren are on the horizon.’
‘Am I supposed to produce a baby?’ Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, loaded with scorn. Not for a moment did she expect him to take her question seriously. But again she had misjudged him. Not only did he have an answer; he had it typed up and leatherbound.
‘Absolutely not. There will be no children. You might be happy to gamble your life away, but we’re not gambling with the life of a child. I expect you to take adequate precautions, and before you accuse me of being chauvinist, we both know there’s an undeniable attraction between us—our previous lovemaking showed no restraint, and certainly birth control wasn’t on either of our agendas. I need to know if there have been any consequences from that night before we go any further.’
‘Consequences?’
‘Are you already pregnant? If you are then that puts an entirely different light on the subject.’
‘The deal would be off?’ she sneered.
‘Let’s say it would make things more complicated. Although I wouldn’t deliberately put a child into this position, if it’s already happened then naturally I’m prepared to stand by my responsibilities and address the issues. So are you?’
Tabitha flushed. Discussing her monthly cycle with Zavier was the last thing she had expected to do—or almost the last, she conceded. Discussing marriage in such businesslike tones hadn’t even figured as a distant possibility. But hearing those words—however crudely said, however impossible the dream—hearing Zavier discuss marriage and babies in the same sentence had her senses reeling, her mind wandering, dancing in the delicious faraway realms of impossible fantasies.
Zavier’s seed planted inside her. Dark-haired children the image of their father coming from inside her. Zavier’s body lying beside her at night, awakening her with its arousal in the morning, the bliss of yielding again and again to his touch.
‘Tabitha.’ He snapped her back to reality; the surreal reality he had forced upon her. ‘Are you pregnant?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Do you want me to pop out to the chemist and buy a kit?’
‘That might be the most sensible thing to do, but I’m going to take your word for it.’
Again he deflected her sarcasm; again he floored her.
‘I’m sure you will agree that as we will be sharing a bed for the next six months there are bound to be repeats.’
‘You’re sure, are you?’ Her comment was sneering, as if the answer was negotiable, but when Zavier answered she knew her attempts were futile. The fact they would make love again was as inevitable as breathing.
‘Positive.’ His eyes met hers. He looked so removed from the man who had held her, loved her, but the essence of him still moved her, still made her feel more sexually alive, aware, more feminine than she had ever felt in her life. He wasn’t being arrogant, just truthful. Sharing a bed with Zavier and not touching him, holding him, sleeping beside him and not moving her body against him would be equivalent to being told not to breathe for the next six months. Even if she were superhuman, could somehow restrain herself while awake, what would happen as she slept? When the self-imposed barriers slipped and only her subconscious remained, her body would respond to him like a petal reaching to the sun. Her resolve would be dashed the second she closed her eyes.
‘I’m asking for six months, Tabitha. Here.’
Snapping her mind back, she realised he was handing her a pen.
‘You expect me to sign, just like that?’
‘Of course not,’ he answered irritably. ‘I want to go through the whole document with you. No doubt you’re going to demand a few changes, but I warn you I’m no push-over.’
The warning was absolutely unnecessary, but with a jolt Tabitha realised the conversation had shifted. From her initial abhorrent reaction, her absolute rejection of this most preposterous idea, slowly, unwittingly the tempo had changed. It was more a matter of when than if.
How, rather than not.
Her mind reeling, she sat down, trying to ignore the trembling undercurrents as he shifted his chair around the desk so they were sitting side by side, for all the world trying to concentrate on the contract that would change her life.
‘We’d be married in four weeks. My family owns a holiday home in Lorne. It’s right on the beach, very pretty, and my father has a lot of fond
memories and ties to the place. We’ll hold the service there, unless of course you’re strongly opposed. I don’t know if you’re religious and would rather get married in a church?’
She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. ‘Even if I am, given the circumstances it would hardly be fitting.’
‘Good—at least we agree on something.’
With a small wail she flicked through the contract. ‘It’s twenty pages long. Are we supposed to discuss everything?’
‘It’s for your protection as well as mine,’ Zavier answered, unmoved by her protests.
‘Can we at least go out to eat and do it? I’m starving.’
‘One thing you’d better realise before you agree to this, Tabitha: you’re no longer anonymous.’
She stared at him, nonplussed, and he didn’t make any comment when her teeth distractedly nibbled on the end of his expensive pen.
‘The second we become engaged you’ll be a Chambers in everything bar name, and this time next month even that detail will be taken care of.’
‘Which means?’
‘Mess up or play up and, much as you might want to forget about it, there’ll be some journalist only too happy to remind you of your misdemeanours. And sitting in a restaurant going through a prenuptial agreement would be over the newspapers in a matter of hours. It’s the way it is for us. It’s the rule we live by daily.’
‘Aiden doesn’t,’ Tabitha argued.
Zavier shook his head. ‘God, are you just a good actress or are you really so naïve? Aiden’s scared to cough in case Dad finds out. Why do you think he dragged you along to the wedding? The press have already made a couple of comments about his lack of partner at social occasions—did you really think he wanted you there for your sparkling repertoire?’
‘Actually, yes.’
‘Please.’
‘I know you might find this impossible to fathom, but Aiden actually likes me for me. So don’t try and belittle our friendship; that’s one argument you’re never going to win. I have no doubt if his family were less judge-mental and less critical there would have been no need for me to be there.’
A tiny smile was tugging at the edge of his lips, embroiling her in further anger. ‘I notice you didn’t add “present company excepted” to your little outburst.’
She held his gaze, her tiny face taut and defiant, her eyes wary but with a fire that burned brightly.
‘I assure you the omission was intended.’
Even conjugal rights were addressed, right there on page eighteen, with an endless ream of sub-clauses.
Mutual consent…adequate protection…no indicator of the marriage’s longevity; the words blurred before her eyes. How could something so beautiful, so intimate, be relegated to a sub-clause in a contract?
Even Zavier managed a small cough of embarrassment as he read out the details. ‘I’m sorry, but this had to be put in. As I said, we’re kidding ourselves if we pretend it’s not going to happen.’
She nodded, a small, sharp nod, not trusting herself to speak.
‘It would only complicate things if the legalities weren’t addressed now.’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I think that just about covers everything. Do you have any questions?’
How austere and formal he sounded, as if he had just concluded an interview rather than arranged their marriage.
‘Just the one,’ Tabitha said with false brightness to hide her nervousness. ‘What star sign are you?’
‘Pardon.’ He looked back at the contract and Tabitha actually laughed.
‘You won’t find the answer there. We need to know each other’s star signs.’
‘Why?’ he asked simply.
‘Because we’re supposed to wake up and turn to the horoscope page in the newspaper to find out what the other one’s thinking, to find out what sort of day we’re going to have, to see if the other’s in the mood for romance. You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you?’
For once Zavier was only too happy to agree he was none the wiser.
‘One of the first things Marjory will ask is what star sign I am.’
‘Of course she won’t. It’s all a load of rubbish,’ he answered irritably. ‘I know my mother.’
‘I’m sure you do. But she’s not only a mother, Zavier, she’s a woman, and women do these things. When she asks—which I can practically guarantee she will—if you don’t know the answer then an Oscar-winning performance isn’t going to save us.’
‘Libra.’
‘Oh.’ The surprise in her voice was evident. Librans were supposed to be warm, loving, tender. ‘Were you premature?’
‘I was actually on time—to the very day,’ Zavier added. ‘So what sign are you?’
‘Virgo.’
He gave a low devilish laugh. ‘Which proves my point: it’s a load of rubbish.’
And suddenly there were no pages left. No ‘i’s to dot or ‘t’s to cross, just a big space for them to sign and date. And as complicated as it was, as intricate as the details were, even Tabitha, with the legal brain of a gnat, understood the gist of the black writing on the wall. She would love him and adore him, in public at least, never embarrass him or jeopardise his status, never waver from the dictated path of the contract. She could have it all—riches, respect, his body, his bed. But there was just one thing the contract left out. One small detail that hadn’t been addressed by the nameless lawyers who had created this document.
Love.
The one thing that couldn’t be defined, legalised, or rationalised was the only thing missing.
‘It’s a business deal, Tabitha.’ Zavier seemed to sense her hesitancy; his words were surely meant to make her feel better, so why then did her eyes unexpectedly fill with tears?
‘I loan out my heart; you pick up my bills?’
‘Something like that.’ His voice was unusually gentle. Reaching forward, he caught her face in his hand, a heavy thumb smudging away a stray tear that had splashed on her cheek. The surprisingly intimate gesture confused her almost as much as the contract itself. ‘But it is a good deal, Tabitha. Nobody loses.’
Nobody loses. He watched as a frown flickered across her face. How could he say that? How could he look into her eyes and tell her there would be no losers when six months from now she had to walk away?
‘Don’t we need a witness?’ Tabitha asked, stalling at the final hurdle.
‘No,’ Zavier said slowly. ‘We need time.’
The businessman was back. Clicking into action, he stood up, shuffling the contracts together before tossing them into his briefcase. The strangest thud of disappointment resounded in her chest as she realised he didn’t expect her decision just yet, and the thud was coupled with a start of astonishment at her own willingness to sign.
‘Sleep on it,’ he offered. ‘I don’t want you feeling forced into anything.’
Picking up the cheque, Tabitha handed it to him, noticing the tremor in her hand as she did so. ‘You’d better take this.’ She gave a slightly shrill laugh. ‘After all, I might just run off with your money.’
But Zavier merely shook his head, refusing the cheque in her outstretched hand. ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that.’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and though his voice was still soft Tabitha heard the warning note behind it. ‘You wouldn’t be that stupid, now, would you?’ But just as suddenly as the hairs rose on her neck, just as she felt the confines of the contract closing in, heard the warning bells start to ring again, his features softened, an easy smile instantly relaxing his face. ‘Come on, you, I’m starving; get dressed and we can go and eat.’
‘But I am dressed.’ Tabitha shrugged, glancing down at her long bare legs, her pink cleavage spilling out of her wrap-over. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t I make a very good fiancée?’
Zavier laughed, really laughed, and for once it was with real mirth.
‘On the contrary, you make a wonderful fiancée. I’m just wondering how I’m going
to survive a three-course meal with you looking so appetising.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WHAT would we tell Aiden?’ They were sitting in a sumptuous restaurant, with waiters fluttering like butterflies, filling her glass, placing vast white napkins in her lap.
‘You’ll tell him nothing.’
Which helped not one iota. Tabitha made a mental note to ring Aiden first thing; the news could only be better coming from her.
‘Or tell him an offer you simply couldn’t refuse came up.’
‘Can I at least tell him the truth—that it’s a business deal?’
Zavier’s eyes narrowed.
‘He’ll know,’ Tabitha insisted. ‘After all, it was his idea in the first place.’
‘Okay,’ Zavier relented. ‘But only Aiden. I mean it, Tabitha, no one else can know. Not your best friend, not your hairdresser, not even your parents.’
Tabitha’s hands tightened around her glass. ‘My parents are both dead.’
If she had expected sympathy she didn’t get it. ‘Well, at least you won’t have to lie to them.’
Shocked at his callousness, she opened her mouth to protest. But Zavier was in full swing. ‘No wonder you and Aiden are friends. You’re exactly like him.’
‘We’re nothing alike,’ Tabitha protested.
‘Oh, yes, you are. Neither of you have ever had to worry about meeting a mortgage payment—no doubt you inherited your house?’
‘What on earth has that got to do with anything?’
‘Well, it goes some way to explaining why you have such a reckless attitude to money, why you’ve spent your life to date indulging your fantasies. It must be pretty easy to call yourself a dancer when you don’t have to worry about mortgage payments—worry about keeping a roof over your head.’
‘You’re so bitter,’ Tabitha snapped, but Zavier merely shrugged.
‘I’m a realist.’
‘A bitter realist.’
‘Perhaps.’ Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. ‘We met at the wedding, we fell head over heels in love, we’re as stunned as we are delighted.’ Tapping his fingers, he reeled off the platitudes then leant back in his chair. ‘That’s the story we’ll tell everyone. No wavering, no deviation—not without discussing it with each other first.’
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