His Blackmailed Bride

by Sandra Marton

  She looked up. Quinn was watching her; she could feel the heat of his gaze. Beneath the table, Ward was moving his foot against hers in a steady rhythm, but she was unaware of it. She was conscious only of Quinn. His eyes were hooded, unreadable. Her cheeks flamed. What was he thinking? What was behind that dark intensity?

  ‘… tell your fortune.’

  She blinked. ‘What? Did you say something, Mr Ward?’

  The man smiled wetly. ‘It’s Jack, sweetie. I said, if you give me your hand, I’ll tell your fortune. An old gypsy taught me.’

  ‘No, thank you very much, Mr Ward, I…’

  Ward grasped her hand and drew it towards him. ‘Come on, don’t be such a stick. Let’s take a look at your love line.’

  Paige looked up again. Ward was still talking, but she had tuned him out. Quinn was listening to Mrs Ward, his head bent attentively towards hers. Why had she ever thought his mouth hard? she wondered. It wasn’t hard at all, it was sensual. And his eyes—there was nothing cold about them. They were the colour of the sea, yes, but it was the southern sea, where the water sometimes felt as warm as blood.

  Quinn’s head turned slowly towards her. His eyes settled on her face, on her mouth. She felt the heat of his gaze, and she touched her tongue slowly to her lips in an unconscious acknowledgment of desire. A terrible look stole over Quinn’s face. Was he angry? No, he couldn’t be.

  She blinked again. ‘For heaven’s sake, Mr Ward,’ she said irritably, pulling her hand free. ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘Do what?’ Ward asked innocently.

  Paige shuddered and wiped her hand against a napkin. She’d been concentrating so hard on Quinn that it had taken her a while to realise that Ward was running his index finger along her palm. Some day, she wanted the pleasure of telling him that it wasn’t a sexy gesture when he did it; she felt as if a snail had crawled across her flesh and left a slimy trail behind. But not tonight. Tonight, she was too busy with the flood of discoveries she was making about Quinn. About her husband.

  ‘Come on, sweetie. Let’s show these two what dancing’s all about.’

  Ward pulled her chair from the table and, before Paige could protest, she was locked in his arms and they were moving across the dance floor.

  ‘I don’t really feel like dancing,’ she said, trying to hold her body away from his. ‘Please, Mr Ward…’

  ‘Jack,’ he said again. ‘Why are you so stiff, lovey? Didn’t anybody ever teach you to dance?’

  ‘I’m not stiff,’ she said grimly. ‘I just don’t like to be held so closely.’

  But she forgot about Ward when she saw Quinn over his shoulder. He had led Mrs Ward out to the middle of the dance floor. She watched as his arms went around the woman and they began to move to the music. Quinn held her at a polite distance, but Paige felt a tight knot of jealousy balloon beneath her breast. He hadn’t danced with her at all. This was her third dance with ‘good old Jack’, and Quinn’s second with Mrs Ward, but…

  Jack’s embrace tightened, and Paige pushed against him. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said irritably.

  ‘Come on, dearie. You can be nicer than that.’

  ‘I said, don’t do that,’ she repeated. Ward smelled of sweat and cigars, and he was holding her much too closely. What a fool she’d been, she thought suddenly. Quinn would never have wanted her to let Ward paw her, not for any number of orders. He was too decent, too good, too caring…

  Ward pulled her against him. ‘Stop it,’ she snapped, and, as she put her hands on his chest and tried pushing him from her, his feet tangled with hers. Paige stumbled, clinging to Ward’s neck to keep from falling.

  ‘That’s the girl,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  The press of his body against hers was sickening. ‘Let go of me.’

  ‘Don’t go all coy and girlish on me now,’ he whispered, and she felt the wet brush of his mouth on her cheek. His body ground against hers again. ‘Why don’t you meet me at my hotel tomorrow, hmm? I’ll send the wife out shopping for a couple of hours. I’ll…’ His voice rose in alarm. ‘Hey! What’s going on?’

  Paige’s eyes widened as Jack Ward fell away from her. Quinn had appeared from out of nowhere, and he stood between them, unmoving, unsmiling, as if he’d been carved of stone.

  ‘We’re leaving,’ he said to Paige. His voice was quiet, his eyes on her steady and dark. ‘Get your things.’

  ‘What the hell is this, Fowler? Your wife…’

  Ward’s face paled as Quinn’s hand tightened on his arm. ‘Exactly,’ he said in a malice-filled voice. ‘My wife, Ward. Not yours. Not anyone’s. She belongs to me.’

  She belongs to me. A tremor raced along Paige’s skin. During the past couple of weeks, she’d forgotten that deadly possessiveness. It had frightened her that first day in London; now, it thrilled her. She did belong to him, and it was what she wanted. It was what she’d always wanted.

  Quinn’s eyes slid to hers. ‘How long has he been pawing you?’

  Paige swallowed. ‘Quinn, it’s all right. I…’

  ‘Did you hear what she said, Fowler? I…’

  Quinn’s eyes flashed. ‘I asked my wife the question, Ward. Not you.’ He looked at Paige. ‘Answer me,’ he said. ‘Has it been going on all night?’

  ‘Yes. But…’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  She looked at Ward’s pale face. ‘I thought about it. But he’s your client. He…’

  ‘Mr Ward,’ Quinn said with sarcastic deliberation, ‘is a son of a bitch, and he’s lucky I don’t slam his head through the wall. Now, get your things and meet me at the door.’

  Paige nodded and moved quickly past Jack Ward. She could almost smell the man’s fear, and she couldn’t blame him for it. Quinn was a formidable enemy. To face his anger was terrifying. But he wasn’t angry at her; he’d only sounded that way. He had no reason to be angry at her, unless…

  Has it been going on all night?

  Why didn’t you tell me?

  Mrs Ward looked up as Paige reached their table and took her things from the chair.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Paige began, and the woman shook her head.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said with weary resignation. ‘Jack’s always been like that. He never thinks anybody knows what he’s up to.’ She looked across the dance floor to where Quinn and her husband still stood. ‘Your man’s going to cramp his style for a while, anyway. Jack looks as if he might die of fear.’

  Paige nodded. There was nothing she could think of that seemed right to say, and by now she could see Quinn striding towards the door. She hurried towards him, watching as he stuffed a handful of banknotes into their waiter’s hand.

  His arm slid around her when she reached him. He held her so tightly that she almost cried out. But being held against him was a comfort. She looked up at him as they stepped out into the dark night.

  ‘Poor Mrs Ward,’ she said. ‘I feel so sorry for her.’

  There was no answer. Quinn opened the door of the Jaguar and she slipped into the seat, watching as he came around the car and got in beside her.

  ‘She said he’s done that sort of thing before. She said she hopes you cramped his style. She…’

  Metal ground against metal as he jammed the car into gear and pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘I’m delighted that Mrs Ward approved of my behaviour.’

  Paige looked at him. His voice was filled with cold anger. She reached across the console and put her hand on his as it lay on the steering wheel. It was the first time she’d ever touched him of her own volition.

  ‘Quinn,’ she said hesitantly, ‘are you—are you angry with me?’

  His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘Why should I be?’

  His answer was the one she wanted. But there was something in the way he’d given it that made her uncomfortable. She looked at him and then at the dark street. What she needed was a hot shower. She could still feel the slither of Ward’s hands on her, and the
memory made her shudder. Yes, a shower first. And then… and then…

  Her heart turned over, and she glanced at Quinn shyly. What would happen between them tonight? She trembled as she thought of those breathless moments in his arms the night before. Yes, she thought, yes, it would be like that again. Only, this time she wouldn’t send him away. This time…

  The Jaguar slid to the kerb in the silent mews. Quinn shut off the engine, and the sounds of the night closed around them. Paige’s mouth was dry with anticipation.

  ‘Remind me to send good old Jack a box of cigars tomorrow.’

  His remark was so unexpected that she laughed. ‘Jack?’ she said, turning towards him. ‘His wife’s the one who deserves a gift, not him. A dozen roses, at least, for being so long-suffering.’

  Quinn stepped from the car and came around to her side. ‘I wonder what kind he smokes?’ He held his hand out and Paige took it as she stepped on to the pavement. ‘Do you happen to know?’

  She looked up at him as his arm encircled her waist. ‘How would I know what Mr Ward smokes, Quinn? I don’t know why you’d send him anything, after what he did.’

  The front door slammed shut behind them, and Quinn pressed her back against it. His hands cupped her face and tilted it to his.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart, we both know what he did,’ he said in that soft, dangerous voice she knew so well. ‘Good old Jack got you warmed up.’ His teeth flashed whitely. ‘He deserves a little something for that, don’t you think?’

  She froze. ‘Got me warmed… ? Quinn, what are you talking about?’

  His arms closed around her. ‘You must think I’m blind,’ he growled. ‘But why wouldn’t you? Hell, I acted as if I were, these past weeks.’

  Her eyes rounded with disbelief. ‘These past weeks were wonderful. They…’

  ‘I’ll bet they were. How does playing at being Mrs Quinn Fowler feel?’ She gasped as his fingers dug into her flesh. ‘What’s it like, playing a game by your own rules, darling?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘it… it wasn’t like that, Quinn. You know…’

  ‘I know what I saw tonight,’ he snarled. ‘You have no shame, have you? Coming on to Ward in front of his wife, in front of me…’

  Paige shook her head. ‘No. It’s not true. He…’

  ‘Come on, Paige, don’t waste my time with lies. I saw you. I saw your eyes begin to darken while you played footsie under the table. I saw the tremor that you couldn’t keep from your lips when he caressed your hand.’ Distaste twisted his mouth. ‘Jesus, the way you ground against him on the dance floor…’

  She stared into his face, waiting for him to laugh and tell her it was all a dreadful joke. But his eyes blazed with fury. There had to be a way to make him understand.

  ‘Quinn, I beg you—listen to me. Ward forced himself on me. He…’

  ‘The way I did, right, baby?’ The sound of his laugher turned her blood to ice. ‘Hell, let’s not let all his efforts go to waste, Paige.’

  She cried out as he swung her up into her arms. ‘What are you doing? Quinn…’

  His arms tightened around her. ‘We’ve said too many goodnights at my bedroom door, sweet Juliet,’ he said softly. His mouth swooped to hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her. ‘Not tonight, Paige.’ His voice roughened as he stared up the dark stairs. ‘Tonight, you’re not going to send me away.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘QUINN, no…’

  Her cry was silenced by his kiss. His mouth bruised hers as his arms locked her to him. Helpless against his rage, Paige could do nothing except beat her fists against his shoulders as he carried her through the darkness.

  How could things change so quickly? Moments ago, she’d been filled with anticipation of what lay ahead. Now, fear sent her pulse racing. This couldn’t happen. Not now. Not when they were so close to finally capturing again what had begun between them that long-ago night.

  A path of moonlight arrowed from the bedroom door to Quinn’s bed, the bed in which she’d slept alone for so many nights. He dropped her into its centre and looked down at her.

  ‘Quinn,’ she said quickly, ‘listen to me. I…’

  He opened his jacket and turned away. ‘Get your clothes off.’

  His voice was rough, the words flat with menace. She watched as he walked to the door, slammed it shut and locked it. The message was clear, and it sent a wave of fear rippling through her.

  Nothing would stop him tonight.

  Slowly, he began walking towards her. She could see pinpricks of icy light dancing in the stones that were his eyes. He loosened his tie, then undid the top button of his shirt.

  ‘Get undressed, dammit.’

  Paige scrambled back against the headboard. ‘Quinn, for God’s sake—listen to me. You can’t think I was flirting with that man. You can’t still think I’m…’

  ‘Flirting?’ He laughed. ‘Is that what you call it?’ He shrugged his jacket from his shoulders and tossed it aside. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’re wasting time.’

  ‘I’ll call for Norah.’

  He laughed again. ‘Norah’s gone to visit her sister.’

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘If you’re trying to frighten me, Quinn…’

  His eyes fixed on her face. ‘You’re wasting your breath, Paige. Get your clothes off and make it fast.’

  ‘What about us?’ she whispered. ‘You can’t pretend…’

  ‘Us? Us?’ The cold smile vanished. ‘The only “us” there could possibly be is in that bed—and you’ve done one hell of a job keeping me out of it.’

  Tears filled her eyes. ‘Quinn, I beg you…’

  His voice cut across hers. ‘You will beg me, before this night ends.’

  With a certainty that chilled her, Paige knew that he was telling the truth. In one lithe motion, she rolled across the bed and to the other side. She was quick but he was quicker, and he was on her before she’d taken a step, his hands clamped tightly to her shoulders.

  ‘We can do this the easy way or the hard way,’ he said, the words purring with malice. ‘Do you like it a little rough? Is that it? Hell, I can oblige, if that’s what you want.’

  Cruelty came so easily to him. How had she forgotten that? Anger began to displace the fear, not just at Quinn but at herself.

  ‘You can’t do this, damn you! There are laws…’

  ‘Against what? I’m your husband, Paige. What court would deny me the right to sleep with my wife?’ His hands clasped her shoulders and he pulled her against him. ‘I told you I’d be here when you wanted a man,’ he whispered. ‘Well, here I am, baby. Ready and able.’

  ‘Quinn, please…’

  ‘What’s the matter, Paige? I turned you on when we met.’ His eyes blazed into hers and he laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the charm of that evening. It was so old-fashioned, so romantic.’

  Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘It was wrong. I know that. But I felt… I’d never…’

  His hands fell from her. ‘Save your breath,’ he growled. ‘I remember the whole act.’ Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he began to unbutton his shirt. ‘Watching you with Jack Ward was an encore performance.’ The shirt fell open, revealing the dark hair on his muscled chest. ‘No wonder he fell all over you.’

  ‘I didn’t do…’

  He grinned wolfishly as he threw the shirt aside. ‘Hell, it’s a good act. A beautiful woman convinces a guy that she’s on fire, and wouldn’t he just like to play fireman.’ The terrible smile faded from his face. ‘I’ll bet it’s never failed you yet.’

  ‘I told you, I’d never…’ Her hands flew to her breast as he reached to her. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Undressing you,’ he said flatly, pushing her hands aside. ‘It’s what I should have done weeks ago.’

  Her mouth turned dry. ‘We’re not the same people as we were then, Quinn. We…’

  ‘We’re precisely the same,’ he said, while the buttons on her dress opened beneath his finger
s. ‘We’re husband and wife—and we still haven’t shared the same bed.’

  The dress parted and he pushed it back on her shoulders. His hands curved around her arms and he stared at her.

  ‘How the hell can you look so innocent?’ he whispered. ‘If only…’

  A sob caught in her throat as he pulled her to him and kissed her. His lips moved on hers, demanding response. But she felt nothing. Once, Quinn had held her in his arms and the heat of a thousand suns had blazed in her blood. Now, the chill that had held her captive for so long was reclaiming her heart.

  Tears stung her eyes. What dark Fate had sent Quinn to her? He was the man who’d freed her from her prison of ice—and now he would be the one who returned her to it for ever.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her. His breathing was ragged, his eyes cold stars.

  ‘Playing the Snow Queen won’t stop me tonight, Paige.’ His fingers played idly with the lace border of her chemise. ‘You might as well make it easy on yourself. Pretend I’m Ward. Close your eyes and enjoy it.’

  Her heart thudded against her ribs. ‘If there’s a shred of decency in you…’

  ‘Decency?’ He cupped her shoulders in his hands and lifted her to her toes. ‘Who are you to talk about decency? You don’t know the meaning of the word. Christ, if poor Alan had only seen through you. If he’d realised what a scheming bitch you are…’

  ‘I wish to God I’d never met your brother,’ she sobbed. ‘I wish I’d never met you. I…’

  He growled as he pulled her against him. ‘But you did.’ His voice held the finality of doom. ‘We made an agreement,’ he whispered, lowering his head to hers. ‘And I’ll be damned if I’ll let you forget it.’

  She stood within his arms like a marble statue. Immobile, cold, beyond feeling, she waited for him to finish what had become inevitable. His lips moved roughly over hers, then to her cheek, her throat, to the shadowed softness of neck and shoulder. She closed her eyes when he caught her chemise and pulled it away from her breasts.