His eyes almost imperceptibly travelled the length of her body and she knew he was remembering not just what had happened but every last searing detail. Knew that as his eyes flicked to her breasts Zavier was tasting her all over again, that when he glanced at her feet, confined in the strappy summer sandals, he was remembering her undressing, the feel of her thighs wrapped around his solid torso…
Swallowing the port she was holding in her mouth, Tabitha resisted the urge to rush over to him, to bury her face in his chest and feel his arms tightly around her.
That night, that one stolen, decadent night. She had brought out the best in him. Oh, Tabitha wasn’t the world’s greatest lover—lack of experience put paid to that—but they had both brought out the best in each other. Their lovemaking had been wondrous—divine, even—and the memory of his touch, the gentleness she had glimpsed, gave her the confidence to broach a question.
‘Doesn’t it make you nervous?’
‘What?’
Her hands gestured as wildly as her eyes; she couldn’t believe he didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘This. This lie.’
He shook his head. ‘Why should it?’
‘What if they find out?’
‘They won’t—at least so long as you show a touch more discretion than you did with Aiden earlier.’
‘But what if they do?’ Tabitha insisted.
‘Then I’ll deal with it. Anyway, the Chamberses aren’t going to collapse because of another loveless marriage in the family. My father just wants me married; he never said anything about love.’ He was so confident, so arrogantly assured it annoyed her. Suddenly she wanted to see him squirm, wanted Zavier Chambers to admit to even a tenth of the fear that gripped her.
‘What if I don’t turn up? What if I just disappear with your money?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’d soon track you down. It was a generous amount but hardly enough to disappear on. Anyway, no doubt it’s already spent.’
‘But isn’t this eating you up inside?’ The anguish in her voice was evident, and Zavier looked at her thoughtfully before answering.
‘Look, Tabitha, you remember those people at the casino—sweating buckets, chewing their nails, clutching their chips, willing themselves on? I’m not like that.’
‘You’d set your budget,’ Tabitha reminded him, not sure where the conversation was heading. ‘You could afford to lose.’
‘Okay, then, take work. Every day I make billion-dollar deals, shuffle money. Whether it’s a gamble or an educated bet, I roll the dice every day, but the difference is that I can walk away. I’m not like the rest of the guys I work with—compulsively watching the stocks, swallowing ulcer tablets, imagining the worst. They’ll be burnt out by the time they’re forty, strapped to a cardiac monitor on the coronary care ward and wondering what the hell went wrong. Me, I’ll still be playing this game when I’m seventy.’
‘So where’s the analogy?’
His face broke into a grin. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Well, I’m assuming there is one. I’m sure this short sharp lecture on the exigencies of stocks and options is leading somewhere. I do read the business pages now and then,’ she added as he muffled a cough. ‘I don’t automatically turn to the horoscope page.’
‘Ah, but I will now.’ He laughed. ‘I can hardly wait to find out what’s in store for me tomorrow. You were right, actually. My mother did ask what star sign you were.’ His voice hardened then. ‘Don’t threaten me with mind games, Tabitha; nothing fazes me. If you’re there then we’ll get married—great. If you’re not I’ll survive.’ His face was menacingly close, his voice a silkily disguised threat, but despite his foreboding stance, despite her trepidation, the adrenaline that coursed through her system had nothing to do with fear.
She could feel the warmth of his body, his breath on her cheek, his eyes pinning her to the wall behind. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run and absolutely no desire to do either. The air was crackling with sexual tension as his hand brushed her arm. The tiny hairs stood up and her nipples jutted through the fabric of her dress, painfully greeting their master.
‘We get married in two days.’ Her tongue moistened her lips nervously, and she knew the innocent gesture had aroused him. ‘Maybe we should wait.’
‘Is that what you want?’
It wasn’t. Right now all she wanted was to be in his arms, for him to take her upstairs and for the skill of his lovemaking to obliterate the endless conundrums in her head, for him to take her to a place far away from the problems of the surreal world they had created. Picking up her hand, he ran it across his face, burying his mouth in it. She could feel his tongue running along her palm, working slowly along her life line, then up her wrist. Her knees were trembling; she was sure at any moment she might faint with longing. Suddenly he pulled her hand down to his groin. With a start she felt the weight of his arousal through his dark suit, angry and fiery under her fingers. He pushed her hand still harder against him.
‘Someone might see,’ she gasped, trying to pull away, but his vice-like grip only tightened.
‘It’s too dark outside for them to see.’ He was pushing her hand against him and he let out a low groan as her fingers moved independently, tightening around the velvet steel of his manhood. She was stunned at her own boldness, berating the clothing that separated their searing skin.
‘That analogy you wanted,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve made my bet; I’ve narrowed the odds.’ His hand pushed hers deeper into his groin. ‘That,’ he growled, but there was a breathless edge to his voice, ‘is the reason you’ll be there.’
His wicked eyes grinned mockingly into hers as she angrily pulled her hand away. ‘Who knows, Tabitha? You might be the world’s first bride to get there early.’
CHAPTER NINE
HER body ached with fatigue. Most of the night she had lain on tenterhooks, painfully aware of Zavier just a few feet away, aching for him and yet simultaneously dreading him coming into her room; wanting him to, yet terrified he might. Finally she had drifted into an uneasy sleep, only to be awoken what seemed like moments later by the sun. For a while she lay there, taking a moment to orientate herself. The lapping of the ocean was so close she felt as if she might reach her hand out of the bed and touch the cool water. How peaceful it all seemed, how serene compared with reality, with the Pandora’s box of lies they all were living. One wrong step, one misguided comment and the whole festering mess would burst forth.
Not that Zavier seemed bothered. Did nothing upset him? Did nothing worry him?
Slipping on some shorts and a T-shirt, Tabitha pulled some runners onto her bare feet. Creeping slowly through the darkened house, sliding the bolt, she slipped quietly out onto the driveway.
She had no direction, no purpose behind her steps, but instinctively she made her way to the beach. Slipping off her runners, she walked a while, trying to fathom the hows and whys, the impossible puzzle that was Zavier, until finally, with a moan, she sank to the soft sandy floor, the damp sand cool against her bare thighs, the lapping waves tickling her toes, rushing in up to her knees, skimming the top of her cotton shorts before being pulled back to the ocean, back to where they belonged.
He saw her first. Sitting there alone on the deserted beach, the rising sun catching her Titian locks, setting them on fire, her long limbs blending in with the water. She looked like some exotic surreal fantasy, an auburn mermaid washed ashore, cast out from the ocean and into the chaos of life on land.
Last night his façade had slipped. Despite what he had said he hadn’t slept on the plane, and that had been a bad idea. Whisky and jet lag were a dangerous mix, a lethal cocktail that had, for a moment, blinded him to what she was about, had made her seem appealing, tempting. She wasn’t a mermaid, she was a vixen—stealing her way in, menacing and dangerous—and it would serve him well to remember the fact. His face hardening, Zavier picked up his pace, running directly towards her.
He watched her face turn
, the set of her slender shoulders stiffen as she realised it was him, wariness filling those stunning jade eyes.
Bewitched, yet not in the way he had expected. The passion from before was gone; the calculated moves of yesterday had all evaporated. More bewitching, more achingly appealing, was the undisguised depth of despair in those calcite pools, and, gazing into them, Zavier found himself breathless, as if he had run the length of the beach and back.
‘Couldn’t sleep, huh?’
She shook her head, drinking in his presence. Dressed only in a pair of faded denim shorts, his hair for once tousled, he was unshaven, unkempt, but infinitely desirable.
‘Pre-wedding nerves?’
She forced a small brittle smile. ‘Something like that.’
As he lowered himself beside her the beach seemed to implode around them, and Tabitha moved sideways a fraction, as if making room for him to join her.
A silence followed, but it wasn’t painful. They both drank in the stunning view, the endless curve of the bay, watching the liquid gold reflections to their right as the rising sun hit the ocean, the pier filled with fishermen, the waves dotted with surfers, taking advantage of the early-morning swell, riding the waves with skill and precision mixed with overwhelming abandonment, in tune with nature. Tabitha fought to focus, to stem the tide of lust his mere presence summoned. And when the silence had stretched on too long, when something finally had to be said, it was Tabitha who broke it, saying the second thing that came to mind.
The first would have been her undoing.
‘I wonder if it’s like working in a chocolate factory?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Apparently, if you work in a chocolate factory they let you eat as much as you want. After the first few weeks of gorging yourself, sooner or later you get sick of it.’
‘I’m still not with you.’
‘This—’ She gestured to the ocean. ‘I wonder if you lived here whether one morning you’d open the curtains and not notice the view; if you’d become blasé about it?’
He nodded his understanding. ‘God’s own country, isn’t it?’
The sun was up now, the red and gold hues that had filled the air over till the next time. The sky was blue, dotted with tiny wisps of white cloud that would surely burn away within the hour. The beach was no longer deserted. Joggers were starting to appear, and the occasional dog, diving into the sea, retrieving sticks, swimming with pink tongues lolling, seemingly grinning at the splendour of it all.
‘Morning, Zavier. Good to see you back.’
An elderly couple walked over to them, their wrinkled hands entwined, an air of peace and contentment about them. Zavier greeted them warmly, introducing her as his fiancée. The pride in his voice fooled even Tabitha for a moment.
The gentleman smiled at her curiously. ‘We actually read about it in the paper. We’re so pleased for you both. And may I say, Zavier, what marvellous taste you have. The newspaper certainly didn’t do your bride justice.’
‘The wedding’s pretty much family, really, but it would be great if you could come and join us for a drink afterwards.’
‘We’d love to.’ A dog bounded up to them, dropping a stick, his breath panting from joyous exertion. ‘I think we’re being summoned. We’ll look forward to Saturday, then.’ Picking up the stick, the man tossed it into the air before taking his wife’s hand and ambling on along the beach.
‘There’s your answer.’ Zavier’s voice echoed her own thoughts. ‘They’re here every morning—at least every morning that I’ve been here, for the past thirty years or so.’ His eyes were squinting as the sun hit them, sparkling now, his teeth white as he smiled, more to himself than to her. ‘Every time they tell you what a great morning it is. Rain, wind or shine, they’re walking hand in hand, loving every moment.’
‘Loving each other,’ Tabitha said slowly.
It dawned on her then: she had always known she wanted him, adored him—loved him, even—but the full magnitude of her love hit her then, as her eyes flicked down to her hand, down to the gleaming ruby on her ring finger. It wasn’t just the ruby ring she wanted; it was the necklace and the forty years that came in between. To walk along the beach hand in hand with him every morning, their children running ahead.
And later, when the lines around his eyes had deepened, when the jet of his hair was sprinkled with silver, when it was grandchildren playing at Zavier’s feet, vying for his attention, she wanted so much to be there, wanted her past to be bound to his, their legacy to last.
Wanted to be the one.
‘Why the pensive face?’
She swallowed hard. How could she tell him that she loved him? Always had. That from the second he had walked into the church, into her life, his name had been indelibly scored into her heart. How could a man whose life was run by fact, deadlines and contracts understand something as simple, yet as inexplicable as love?
But how could she not?
The crashing of the waves swirled in time to the pounding in her temples as Tabitha fought for eloquence, struggled to articulate what was written in her soul. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Sounds serious.’
His flip remark only unnerved her further; the magnitude of her feelings truly terrified her. ‘It is.’
Despite the heat of the morning Tabitha suddenly felt chilled to the bone. Telling him now would surely change everything. Zavier wanted a woman he could discard with ease when the allocated time slot was over. Love wasn’t on his agenda, and telling him now might end everything. It was a business deal, for Zavier at least, and a declaration of love could only spell the end, but her back was to the wall now and something needed to be said. ‘I don’t have a gambling problem.’ Okay, so it wasn’t the big one—fireworks didn’t suddenly start whizzing through the air and cupid’s dart might have missed its mark for a moment—but if Tabitha couldn’t tell him what was truly in her heart right now, she wanted at least a semblance of honesty between them.
If her revelation was somewhat an anticlimax Zavier didn’t notice. He let out a low hiss. Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the sky, his eyes squinting in the glare before he snapped them closed. ‘I don’t want to go into it again, Tabitha. We’ve already covered that.’
‘But I don’t—’
‘So you keep saying. I can’t make you admit it—it has to come from you.’ He let out a low laugh. ‘I’ve been reading up on it.’
His eyes remained closed, effectively shutting her out, but Tabitha carried on talking, her voice breathless. ‘I’ve tried to tell you. It’s my grandmother that has the problem.’
‘Well, thank God I covered babies in the contract; your affliction must be hereditary.’ His eyes were still closed, his voice a sarcastic bored drawl. ‘You’ll be telling me it’s not your fault soon.’
‘You don’t understand.’ He wasn’t making this easy. Zavier’s absolute refusal to accept the truth had Tabitha wondering if it was even worth it, yet suddenly it was imperative she tell him this. If he couldn’t know that she loved him, she at the very least needed to walk up the aisle with as few lies between them as possible. ‘I’ve never had a problem, and if you won’t believe me—keep refusing to listen to me—then I can’t go through with tomorrow.’
His eyes flicked open. Rolling onto his side, he eyed her slowly as she stared fixedly ahead. ‘Does Aiden know?’
She gave a small, hesitant nod.
‘So why the hell didn’t he tell me?’
‘I asked him not to.’ Her voice was a strained whisper, her eyes screwing tightly closed as she struggled with his questions. ‘Anyway it probably didn’t seem relevant at the time whom the gambling debt belonged to.’
‘Didn’t seem relevant?’ For the first time ever she heard Zavier raise his voice. She had seen him angry, livid, even, but always, always in control.
Until now.
Black eyes were blazing at her, a muscle leaping in his cheek, his neck and shoulders absolutley rigid
with tension.
‘Didn’t seem relevant,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll tell you why it didn’t seem relevant—this is just another one of your lies, another one of your…’
‘It’s the truth, Zavier.’
Her small voice did nothing to stop the tirade, and still he steadfastly refused to believe her. ‘At the casino…’ his hand was on her chin now, jerking her head around, forcing her to face him. ‘You were suddenly so alive, so vibrant.’
So in love.
Still her eyes were screwed shut. How could she look at him and lie about the one thing that mattered? But if she wanted to keep him, wanted her shot at paradise, lying was her only option. ‘It had nothing to do with the casino, Zavier, nothing at all. If I was suddenly happy it was down to the fact I had the best part of a bottle of champagne inside me and more than a few years’ wages in my bag with a promise of more to come. Is it any wonder I felt so good?’
It was the hardest thing she had ever done, the most vile lie of all, and if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own angst maybe she would have registered the pain in his eyes, the drop of his hand from her chin as he sat there in silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered when Zavier didn’t say anything. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ Unshed tears sparkled in her eyes, the aftertaste of her words still bitter in her mouth. ‘Pleased that I wasn’t a gambler.’
‘What? Were you expecting a round of applause? Some noble little speech about what a wonderful woman you are, saving your grandmother from the loan sharks with no thought for herself?’
Tabitha looked up sharply. ‘No. I just thought it would help us if you knew the truth.’
‘The truth is that this is a business deal.’ His words were harsh, angry. ‘I don’t care about your grandmother—or you either, come to that—so save the little speeches, Tabitha. Save the guilt trip and the dramas. The only person getting worked up about this wedding is you. And as for the gambling debt, you were right—who it belongs to isn’t relevant.’
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