Responsibility. The word snagged in his throat like a fish bone. Feeling responsible hadn’t been part of the equation when he’d come up with the idea of marrying Daisy. It made him feel tense, with its implication of commitment, that somehow there was a bond between them.
Frowning, he ran a hand wearily over his jaw, feeling the scrape of stubble against his fingertips. But was it really such a big deal? All business transactions needed a bond to function. And that was all this was. A transaction. All the rest was just tiredness making him paranoid.
Sighing, he leaned forward, picked up his jacket and gently draped it over her shoulder. She shifted in her sleep, murmuring, fingers splaying apart, and he held his breath. But she didn’t wake and finally, after one last look, he turned and walked slowly away.
* * *
Waking, it took Daisy a moment to realise where she was. Drowsily she twisted over, sensing daylight, wondering why she had forgotten to draw the curtains in her bedroom. And then her eyes snapped open and instantly her body stilled as she remembered exactly where she was. And why.
Heart beating fast, she lay rigid, the breath trapped in her throat, her limbs stiff, until her muscles began to ache and finally she forced herself to sit up. She gazed warily around the huge living room. There was no sign of Rollo, but her relief was tempered with a slight sense of uneasiness for she could still sense his presence.
Glancing down, she instantly realised why. Someone, presumably Rollo, had covered her with his jacket while she was asleep. Tentatively she picked it up, and inhaled the clean citrus scent of his cologne from the fabric.
The thought of his cool green eyes watching her while she slept made her feel edgy, exposed. He was the enemy, and yet he had seen her at her most vulnerable. It was unsettling. Almost as unsettling as the idea that he had tried to make her comfortable. It seemed a strangely caring gesture from a man who was entirely lacking in empathy.
Her phone vibrated inside her pocket and, pulling it out, she forgot all about Rollo. It was a text from David, along with two earlier messages she had missed.
Scrolling down, she read them slowly, a lump swelling in her throat as she realised how completely her brother trusted her. Not only had he believed her explanation for why he was being allowed to keep his job, but he was almost unbearably grateful to Rollo for being so ‘understanding, compassionate, forgiving...’
Remembering her hurried phone call to him from the limo, she sighed. It hadn’t been her most convincing performance, only David had been too exhausted and relieved to notice the strain in her voice or question the credibility of her story. But she knew he might not be so easily persuaded the next time so she’d agreed with Rollo that it would be better not to speak to him in person again for a couple of days.
Leaning forward, Daisy tried to ease the sudden thickness in her throat. She loved her brother. Only right now and for the first time ever, she was glad not to have to hear his voice.
Of course, she was relieved and happy that her brother’s life was back on track. He would keep his job and with his debt almost cleared, he could put everything behind him. But a small, whining voice inside her head kept on asking the same question.
What about me? What about my life?
Her stomach gave a low, protesting rumble, as though it was objecting to her selfishness, and sliding her phone back into her pocket she took a deep, calming breath.
What was done was done. And what was more it had been her choice, not David’s, to go along with Rollo’s crazy suggestion. David knew nothing about it and there was no way she was going to tell him either. She knew her brother—he would want her to call the whole thing off or, more likely, she would convince him to let her carry on and the guilt would destroy him.
Far better just to let him think that everything was back to normal. And then, at some unspecified point in the future, she would tell him and her parents, her friends—the whole world, in fact—about her ‘relationship’ with Rollo. The thought made her breath hitch higher in her throat.
David was her twin. They told one another everything. Lying to him, and about something so personal and important, was going to be difficult—especially when the shock of it was still so new to her.
Her stomach grumbled again more loudly.
But right now, though, there were more pressing matters to address. Like the fact that if she didn’t eat soon, she would probably keel over. She needed some food, and then maybe she might take a look around her new ‘home.’
And standing up, she went in search of the kitchen.
Later, having eaten, she walked slowly through the apartment, trying to shift the feeling that she was a guest at best, an intruder at worst. Her family’s house was large and comfortable, if a little shabby. But with each step here she felt increasingly out of place.
In daylight the apartment was breathtakingly beautiful. Pale wood floors added warmth to the clean white walls and stark, architectural furniture, and huge windows offered striking views of Central Park and the city. The size and the stillness were dazzling, and without Rollo’s reaction to consider she simply stood and gazed in speechless silence.
But it was the outdoor space that left her groping for adjectives. Impressive, stunning, jaw-dropping... None did justice to the tile-covered terrace that stretched uninterrupted towards the skyline. Nor could she find a word to capture the impossible luxury of the infinity pool, its mirror-like surface reflecting nothing but sky and the odd passing aeroplane.
And yet, aside from marvelling at the opulence, Daisy found herself oddly unmoved by the apartment. It felt more like a hotel than a home. There were no personal effects to suggest anyone actually lived there. Certainly no sign that Rollo was the owner. It could have belonged to anyone. Or no one.
In which case who was she marrying? Daisy thought nervously.
Stepping into yet another stylish room, she stopped in the doorway. There was something different about it. It was still grand. But it had a sense of being ‘used’ that the other rooms lacked.
Hesitantly, her legs quivering with tension, she walked over to the desk. There was a striking silver bowl on top of the smooth dark wood. Breathing in, she reached out and touched it with a hand that trembled in time to the beating of her heart as, finally, her brain caught up with her feet.
It was an office. Rollo’s office.
Now she really did feel like she was snooping! Her muscles twitched involuntarily and, despite having only just eaten, she felt a pit open up in the bottom of her stomach.
It was his private space.
‘That didn’t take long.’
And his voice.
Her fingers jerked back and, muscles tensing, she turned slowly to where Rollo stood watching her, his shoulder pressed against the door frame.
Her heart had stopped beating and for a moment she stared at him in silence, the only sound her breath fluttering in her throat like a moth against a lampshade.
Even in an entire apartment filled with works of art there was nothing that could compete with the flawless symmetry of his face. But it wasn’t his face that was making her legs tremble like blancmange. It was the fact that he was wearing a pair of black running shorts.
Just a pair of black running shorts.
Clearly he’d been to the gym; his hair was damp and a towel hung loosely around his neck. Or maybe he always walked around like that, she thought desperately, heat wrapping round her throat and her shoulders like a heavy scarf.
Any ordinary seminaked person would have been unnerved or embarrassed when confronted by someone fully clothed. Rollo, however, seemed not to care. But then why should he? Her gaze roamed furtively over the smooth muscles of his arms and chest. He was gorgeously, unashamedly male and he knew it.
Tearing her eyes away from the hard definition of his taut, golden stomach, and her imagination from what lay beneath the shorts, she looked up at him warily. ‘What didn’t take long?’
He didn’t reply. Instead his dark green gaz
e fixed on her face as he stepped into the room. His body filled the doorway so that Daisy had a sudden vivid flashback to the night before.
‘You didn’t. Stealing the family silver and it’s only day one.’
His voice was so quiet, the tone so conversational, she might have thought he was joking. But nothing could disguise the cool contempt in his eyes.
‘I should warn you the paintings are a lot heavier than they look, even when they’re rolled up.’
Breathing in sharply, she felt her cheeks grow cold, then hot. ‘I wasn’t stealing anything—’
‘Of course you weren’t. Let me guess.’ He interrupted, his mouth curling into a sneer. ‘You just wanted to have a look?’
Her temper flared. ‘Yes. I did. And why shouldn’t I? I live here, and at some point in the future I’m going to be your wife. So, yes, I was having a look.’ She stared at him pointedly. ‘Although, frankly, I think I’ve seen a lot more than I wanted to.’
There was a sudden strained silence.
‘Is that right?’
The sudden harnessed tension in his voice made her stomach shrivel with panic, but she lifted her chin.
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
She wanted it to be true. Wanted to prove that she was immune to him. Wanted to make a dent in that armour-plated arrogance. But almost instantly she regretted her words as, eyes narrowing, he began slowly walking towards her.
She took a hurried step back. ‘What are you doing?’
Her eyes widened... Her voice was high and panicky. But he was still moving forward and frantically she held out her hands.
‘Stop. Stop it!’
Finally, thankfully, he did so. Only now they were close enough to touch—so close she could feel the heat of his skin. Too close, she realised. Too late. With no physical distance between them there was nowhere to hide from that beautiful sculptured body. Or the seductive curving lips. Lips that had kissed her with a fierce, sensual passion she had never experienced before, rendering her both helpless and hungry.
And now that hunger was rising inside her, dark and treacherous as a storm tide, pulling her under.
‘Stop what?’
His voice—cool, blade sharp—sliced through her brain.
‘All the name-calling, the snide remarks.’ Her own voice was shaking and she hated herself for sounding so weak.
Hated her body for responding when it should be rejecting him. But she hated him more for taking over her life. Breathing in sharply, she folded her arms. Only how was anyone going to believe they were in love if there was only hate?
‘This is not going to work,’ she said as firmly as she could manage. ‘Us, I mean. I know in theory it sounded like it could, but—’
Her words vaporised on her lips as his eyes slammed into hers.
‘Let me remind you of why you might want to make it work in practice. It’s the only way you and your brother are avoiding criminal records.’
Her chest was hard and tight; her throat felt as if it was closing up.
‘But I can’t live like this for the next twelve months.’
‘I don’t care.’
She stared at him, her body trembling not with desire now but with anger.
‘Oh, I know you don’t care!’ She glowered at him, furious responses whirling inside her head like sparks from a Catherine wheel. ‘You don’t care about me or my feelings. You made that clear from the moment we first met—and, yes, I know I was breaking into your office, so you can spare me the part about how I brought it on myself,’ she snapped.
His face was hard and impenetrable, like a castle wall, eyes narrowed like arrow slits.
‘I’m warning you, Daisy, I’ve had just about enough of—’
His voice was like a whip crack, but she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.
‘Of what? Of me being a human being? With feelings? You can’t call me names and—’
‘Call you names!’ He shook his head incredulously.
‘Yes. Call. Me. Names.’ She punctuated each word clearly and firmly, like Morse code. ‘You do it all the time. And it’s not fair—’
‘Fair?’ His face hardened like water turning to ice. ‘I’ve been more than fair. I could have just handed you and your brother over to the police, but I didn’t.’
She gave a small strangled laugh. ‘That’s your idea of being fair? Blackmailing me to be your wife? You weren’t being fair—just self-serving.’
The skin across his cheekbones grew tauter, his eyes glittering like splinters of glass.
‘I see it more as a strategic response to a business opportunity.’
His words should hardly have surprised her, let alone upset her—after all she’d agreed to this relationship partly to avoid anything emotional and meaningful. And yet the knowledge that she was just a means to an end still smarted.
‘It’s a wonder you even have a business if you put this little effort and commitment into all your other deals,’ she said stiffly. ‘Let me tell you something, Rollo, you might not care about me, or my feelings, but you do care about this deal. You must, or why else would I be here? But I’m an actress—not a miracle worker. And no one—certainly no one sane and rational—will ever believe our marriage is real if you carry on behaving like this.’
Surely he could understand what she was trying to say. That normal people in a normal relationship needed a level of trust and respect for one another to make it work.
She sighed. ‘I know you think it doesn’t matter how I feel. That I deserve it even. But it does matter because I can’t just ignore all the nasty things you say in private and then act all lovey-dovey in public.’
‘Why not? Surely that’s what acting is.’
His dismissive statement grated over her skin like a serrated knife.
‘What, like business is just people signing bits of paper?’ She shook her head dismissively, her brown eyes flashing with scorn. ‘I’m an actress. So trust me when I say that if you want an audience to believe in your performance, you can’t just pretend. You have to believe too. It’s not enough just to say you want me to be your wife. You’re going to have to act a little yourself. And commit to the part.’
She exhaled slowly.
‘So, even though you don’t like me or approve of me, can you just stop sitting in judgement of me and my brother? Otherwise we’re not going to be able to pull this off.’
His gaze rested on her face. ‘You broke into my office and he stole my watch. Doesn’t that give me some right to judge?’
‘No. It doesn’t,’ she said with spirit. ‘All you know about David is that he’s tall, twitchy and took your watch.’ Picturing her brother, she felt her hands start to tremble. ‘But you don’t know the real David. The David I know. He’s never done anything like this, ever. He’s the most law-abiding person you’ll ever meet. And the sweetest.’
Watching her eyes soften as she defended her brother, Rollo felt a tightness in his chest. There was something about Daisy and her devotion to her brother that touched him. Something he’d consciously chosen never to imagine. Only now it was here—inside his head, inside his home.
And it made him feel jaded and hollow, so that for a moment it was as though they’d traded places and he was the one creeping through a darkened office. Only he was intruding on something far more personal and private than an empty building.
She might not know truth from fiction, but her love for David was real and pure and unassailable.
His shoulders tightened, muscles setting.
Unassailable and undermining.
He clenched his jaw. Forget drugs and alcohol. Love was a far greater threat to health and happiness; it turned perfectly rational people into fools and strength into weakness. Love betrayed those it should protect and protected those who betrayed others.
He knew that from personal experience. His father’s total and unswerving love for his mother had been rewarded not with loyalty but defection. Worse, he had watched his mother weep, felt h
er pain as his own, only to realise that what he’d taken for misery had actually been self-pity and frustration. Only there had been no way of knowing that until it was too late. When all that had been left was a letter on the kitchen table.
It was why he’d sworn never to make the same mistake as his father. And why, when opportunity presented itself, he was choosing to ‘marry’ Daisy—a woman he didn’t and would never love.
Jaw tightening, Rollo stared past her, his guarded expression giving no hint of the turmoil inside his head.
‘If he’s so law-abiding and sweet, why did he steal my watch?’
Daisy blinked. Her palms were suddenly damp. It was a reasonable question, and she wanted to tell him the truth. Only how much should she tell? The little she knew about Rollo didn’t exactly encourage her to expect a sympathetic reaction. But, glancing up at his set, still face, she realised it was a risk she was going to have to take.
‘He needed the money. He’s been gambling online. And losing. A lot.’
Saying it out loud, she felt shock again. The same stomach-plunging mix of terror and denial she’d felt when David had finally broken down and told her the truth. Remembering the sharpness of his breath, the fluttering panic in his eyes as she’d tried to calm him down, she felt her vision blur and her stomach cramp around a hard, cold lump of misery.
‘I think it was fun at first,’ she said quietly. ‘Something to do when he couldn’t sleep. And then suddenly he had this huge, horrible debt.’
She could feel the misery spreading out and over her, like dark clouds blotting out the sun.
‘And now?’
She looked up.
‘He didn’t sell the watch, so is he still in debt?’ He was staring at her impassively—watching, waiting—but for the first time since they’d met, she felt he wasn’t judging her.
‘I paid most of it off with my savings,’ she admitted. ‘I did a few commercials last summer. They’re not really acting, but they pay well.’
He nodded. ‘And has he spoken to anyone about his problem? Other than you, I mean. Friends, maybe? Your parents?’
Blackmailed Down the Aisle Page 5