Surrender to Marriage

by Sandra Field

  “You’re a woman with needs of her own.”

  “I can’t afford those needs,” she cried. “Jake, go home, back to your motel. Back to New York or Singapore or wherever it is you hang out.”

  “I’m in no state to walk out the door.”

  She flushed scarlet, turned to the sink and plunged her hands in. “My life was nicely in order until you turned up. But now I don’t even know which way’s up.”

  Entranced, Jake said, “Is that what you want on your tombstone? ‘I had an orderly life’?” As she plunked a couple of plates into the rack, he added, “Fantasizing about breaking those over my head?”

  “It’s the other fantasies I can’t deal with.”

  Legally wed,

  But he’s never said….

  “I love you.”

  They’re

  The series where marriages are made in haste…and love comes later….

  Watch for more books in the popular WEDLOCKED! miniseries coming soon. Available only from Harlequin Presents®

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  The Australian’s Marriage Demand

  by Melanie Milburne

  #2449

  Sandra Field

  SURRENDER TO MARRIAGE

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  JAKE REILLY pulled over to the side of the road and got out of his vehicle. His leather loafers crunching on the dirt shoulder, he walked to the crest of the hill, where the sea wind tugged at his thick dark hair. The ocean stretched as far as he could see, a white lace of surf edging the cliffs and the island at the mouth of the cove.

  The island where, long ago, he’d made love with Shaine.

  His mouth tightened. Almost against his will, his gaze dropped from the dark turquoise water to the little Newfoundland village huddled along the shoreline, surrounded by a dark ruff of spruce and fir. He’d been away for thirteen years, yet he could have named the owner of each of the neatly painted houses, with their picket fences and chimneys breathing blue wood smoke. But it was the house nearest the cliff path that drew his eyes like a magnet. The house where Shaine had lived. Shaine, her parents and her three brothers, Devlin, Padric and Connor. Redheads all of them, although none like her, whose hair had been like the flames of driftwood burning on the beach, vivid and glinting with gold…

  Jake jammed his hands in his pockets, swearing under his breath as he forced himself to look away from the yellow-painted house that belonged to the O’Sullivans. The bungalow where he’d grown up, as an only child, was closer to the road; his mother had sold it after she’d moved to Australia and remarried. She’d phoned him, Jake remembered, to make sure he didn’t want to keep the place for himself. “Are you kidding?” he’d said. “I doubt I’ll ever go there again…there’s nothing in the village for me, why would I go back?”

  Why, indeed. So what was he doing here now? Why, on a sunny day early in September, was he standing like a lump of granite by the side of the road that led to Cranberry Cove, when he could have been anywhere else in the world? Windsurfing off the beach of his luxurious mansion in the Hamptons on Long Island. Going to the theater in New York City, then staying at his equally luxurious condo that overlooked Central Park. Wandering the streets of Paris, where he had a flat within walking distance of the Louvre. Or, in a more practical vein, doing business in any of a hundred locations that ranged from Buenos Aires to Oslo.

  Shaine, he was certain, would have left the cove years ago. Shaken its dust from her feet much as he had. So he hadn’t come back to see her.

  He’d probably bump into her brothers, though. If he wanted to, he could ask where she was.

  What would he do that for? He didn’t want to see Shaine again any more than she’d want to see him. After all, she was the one who’d refused to leave Cranberry Cove with him thirteen years back; who, despite his passionate out-pouring of love, had stayed behind in the village where she’d been born, so that he’d had to leave on his own.

  Would he ever forget the raw agony of that rejection?

  Maybe, Jake thought slowly, that was one reason why he’d come back here today. To revisit the place where the only woman he’d ever loved had turned her back on him and walked away. As clearly as if it were yesterday, he could see the flutter of her blue dress in the breeze, the tumble of her vivid hair down her back…

  Furious with himself, Jake strode back to his rented car and got in behind the wheel. He’d drive around the village, chat with a couple of people and leave this afternoon. He could be back at the airport in time to fly home tonight, this whole ridiculous expedition behind him. His past safely in the past. Where it belonged.

  The descent to the village, down Breakheart Hill, took longer than he wanted. For a moment, at the very edge of the houses, Jake stopped again, parking by the curb. He could turn around and hightail it to the airport without anyone even knowing he’d been here. Wouldn’t that be the smartest thing to do?

  Coward, a little voice sneered in his head. Scared of a few memories? Afraid you’ll meet one of Shaine’s brothers and find out she’s happily married with three or four kids? What kind of a man are you?

  To his huge dismay, Jake realized he was afraid. His heart was beating fast in his chest, his fingers knotted around the wheel. The exact same symptoms he’d had each time he’d gone to the O’Sullivans’ house to pick up Shaine for a walk along the cliffs, or for a shopping trip in his mother’s car into Corner Brook. Had there ever been a woman as beautiful as Shaine O’Sullivan at eighteen? Poised on the threshold of womanhood, innocent and un-awakened, yet with an unconscious sensuality that had made his throat ache with longing and his body surge with the need to possess her.

  He had possessed her. Once, to be exact.

  Jake yanked the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. It was an unpretentious car, one of the smaller models available at the airport rental agency, and nothing like his beloved silver Ferrari that he kept in his garage in the Hamptons. Just as the clothes he was wearing were also unpretentious. Jeans, an open-necked shirt, and a leather bomber jacket he’d owned for at least five years.

  He hadn’t wanted to stand out, or to scream his success to anyone he might meet. There was an enormous gap between his lifestyle and that of the villagers whose homely little houses were perched along the cliffs; there was no point in thrusting that gap in their faces. But what Jake was forgetting was the hard-earned aura of confidence, success and worldliness that clung to him like a second skin. Coupled with this was the subtle sexuality of his tautly molded cheekbones, determined jawline, and smoldering blue eyes, deep-set under hair that had the patina of burnished leather. He could do nothing about any of these externals; so he tended to ignore them as if they didn’t exist.

  He took a deep breath, his lungs filling with the clean, sharp tang of the sea. Closer, wood smoke from someone’s stove mingled with the warm yeasty odour of freshly baked bread. The years kaleidoscoped. He was seventeen again, desperate to escape the confines of the village for the wider world of university. When he was seventeen, Shaine had been thirteen, a girl he’d casually befriended because she, like himself, was different, a misfit in the village, a loner.

  He’d gotten away. But then he’d come back five years later, and that was when he’d fallen in love.

  Jake started off down the street. Three doors down, an old man was sitting on his front porch in a squeaky rocking
chair, the fumes from a foul-smelling pipe overriding the salt-laden breeze. Jake cleared his throat. “Hi there, Abe. Remember me? Jake Reilly. I used to live six houses north of here.”

  Abe spat accurately into the dahlias that were staked to the porch. “You scored that winning shot against the St. John’s team. Won us the provincial hockey trophy.” He cackled uncouthly. “There was one helluva party at the legion that night, I’ll tell you.”

  Jake grinned. “First time in my life I got royally drunk. Black Horse beer. I paid for it the next morning—the worst hangover I’ve ever had. But it was worth it.”

  “That was some goal,” Abe said contentedly. “The stands went wild…so what brings you back to these parts, boy?”

  “Just wanted to see the old place again,” Jake said vaguely. “Fill me in on all the gossip, Abe.”

  Abe tamped more tobacco in his pipe, and for the better part of half an hour talked nonstop, going from house to house in a colorful recital of who had married, been born, or died, with a good many libellous details along the way. The last house on the cliffs was the O’Sullivans’. Jake found he was waiting, his heart once again thudding in his chest.

  “The three boys, now they all done fine. Devlin’s lobster fishing, Padric’s a carpenter and Connor’s just out of school, thinking to do one of them fancy computer courses in town. You knew their mum and dad died? Not long after you left, I reckon that would be.”

  “Shaine’s parents died?” Jake croaked.

  “That’s right. Car skidded on black ice on Breakheart Hill.” Abe shook his head. “Broke the gal’s heart. She’d gone away to university. But she came home, raised the boys.”

  Abe shot him a keen glance from beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “You didn’t know ’bout any of that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, now. There’s always a surprise or two when a fella stays away too long.”

  Jake glanced up sharply. But Abe was busy with his pipe again, scouring the bowl with his pocket knife. “You figure I should have come home sooner?” Jake said, inwardly disconcerted with how easily the word home slipped from his tongue.

  “I never said that,” Abe remarked. “You going to see Shaine?”

  Jake’s jaw dropped. “See her? Where?”

  “She still lives in her parents’ house. Owns a craft shop at the other end of the street. Doing fine, so I hear. Not much into that kinda stuff myself.”

  His head reeling, Jake said, “I figured she’d be long gone.”

  “There’s things keep a woman home,” Abe said, with another of those unexpectedly shrewd glances. “Now you always had the bug to leave. To go find something you couldn’t find here.”

  “That’s right enough.”

  “So did you find it?”

  “You sure ask tough questions,” Jake said, not entirely in jest. “I guess I did. Of course I did.”

  “Make a buck or two?”

  Many million, thought Jake. “I’ve done okay.”

  “Go buy yourself something from her craft shop then,” Abe said. “Wouldn’t hurt you one bit.”

  There was an edge to the old man’s voice that Jake didn’t understand. “Support the local artisans?” he said lightly.

  “That’s one way to put it.” Abe hauled himself to his feet. “Gotta go, boy. Nice talkin’ to you.”

  “Thanks, Abe. Good to see you again.”

  As Abe limped toward the door of his house, Jake set off down the street.

  Shaine still lived in Cranberry Cove. She’d brought up three young boys to adulthood and owned a craft shop.

  His feet were now carrying him straight toward that shop.

  He’d never known that her parents had died.

  He’d never asked.

  He could turn around right now, and head for the airport. Nothing to stop him and every nerve in his body telling him to put as much distance as he could between himself and any possibility of meeting Shaine O’Sullivan.

  Ahead of him, he saw Maggie Stearns climb the steps of her house and go in the front door. When it came to gossip, Abe was a rank amateur compared to Maggie. In no mood to meet her, Jake hurried down the street, and saw a classy carved wooden sign that announced The Fin Whale Craft Shop.

  Shaine had always loved whales. When three humpbacks had breached offshore that day on Ghost Island, he’d seen it as a good omen.

  Which just went to show how wrong a man could be.

  The sign hung over the door; it was swaying gently in the wind. Shaine’s intelligence had been one of the many things he’d loved about her, and he had no doubt that she’d make a success of any venture she embarked upon.

  He came to a sudden halt in front of the window. Placed on an easel, with a light behind it, was a stained glass panel of a whale breaching, the glass blending blues, greens and all the shades in between, the spray a dazzling white. Jake knew, immediately and instinctively, that it was Shaine’s work; and couldn’t have said where that knowledge came from, other than that she’d always been artistic.

  The panel was very beautiful. He knew people in the Hamptons who’d be happy to have it hanging in one of their windows, and who’d pay good money for the privilege.

  He wouldn’t mind owning it himself.

  He put his hand on the door and walked inside.

  In a split second he gained an impression of well-crafted objects displayed to their full advantage. Then his attention flew to the woman standing behind the counter. She was reaching up to put some boxes on the shelves, her back to him. But as she heard the bell tinkle over the door, she half turned. “I’ll be right with you…”

  Her voice died away. The color fled from her cheeks; the boxes tumbled to the floor. She grabbed for the counter with one hand, swaying on her feet as the sign had swayed in the wind. Her eyes, those green eyes he’d never forgotten, were huge, filled with an emotion he could only call terror. As her hand slipped from the edge of the counter and her eyes rolled up in her head, Jake crossed the floor in four quick strides, pushing aside a chair so he could get behind the counter.

  He grabbed her by the waist just before she fell. “It’s okay,” he said, “I’ve got you.”

  She slumped against him, her body boneless, her head butting his chest. Even though she was slimmer than he remembered, he had to brace himself against her weight. As gently as he could, he lowered her to the chair, easing her head between her legs. Her dress was a vibrant green, with swirls of tropical fish in all hues of the rainbow; Shaine had never been one for sedate colors.

  The feel of her skin against his fingers jolted through his body. Had it always been so smooth and silky, creamy like the milk from the Jersey cow his father had owned? Her scent was flowery, subtle and complex without being overpowering; her hair was shot with gold from the overhead light.

  Her nape, slender and delicate, aroused in him such a confusion of emotion that again Jake was seized with the urge to run for his life.

  He stayed where he was. She made a small sound of distress, her voice muffled. Kneeling beside her, Jake repeated, “It’s okay, Shaine, you nearly fainted, that’s all.”

  She’d fainted, he thought, because the sight of him had terrified her. Reluctantly his brain began to work. Why terror? Anger he would have understood. Or disdain. Even just plain indifference after all these years. But terror?

  She was pushing her hands against her knees, slowly raising her head; her fingers, nicked with many small white scars, were ringless. No wedding band or engagement ring. Jake said the first thing that came into his mind. “You’ve cut your hair.”

  At eighteen, her hair had rippled down her back in unruly waves. Now it hugged her scalp in an aureole of fire, baring the long line of her throat and the fragile bones of her face. She was breathing in shallow gasps. He added urgently, “Take your time, there’s no rush.”

  For the first time she looked right at him. “It is you,” she said in a thin voice. “Jake. Jake Reilly.”

  “I didn’t mean t
o frighten you.”

  She straightened, easing her spine against the back of the chair, then pushed away his hand, which had been resting on her thigh. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was on business in Montreal, and figured I was close enough to Newfoundland I should come back and see what was going on,” he said with an ease that sounded totally fake.

  “After thirteen years.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said. Abruptly he pushed himself to his feet, needing to put some distance between himself and her. “I thought you’d have left years ago.”

  “We’ve nothing to say to each other. And I can’t imagine you’d have anything to say to anyone else here, either.”

  He said with awkward sincerity, “Abe Gamble told me about your parents, Shaine. I’m really sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.” Fear, stark and unmistakable, flickered in the green depths of her irises. “What else did he tell you?”

  “That you came back from university to bring up your brothers. Under any other circumstances, I can’t imagine that would have been your choice.”

  “You know nothing about my circumstances. Or about me,” she said inimically.

  But Jake had been doing arithmetic in his head. “Connor’s out of school, Abe said. He must be, what—eighteen now? So why haven’t you left, now that they’re all grown up?”

  “It’s not as easy to get away as you might think,” she flashed. “I’ve sunk all my money into this shop, I can’t just pick up like you did and disappear.”

  “You wouldn’t come with me!”

  “I did the right thing,” she said with a stubborn lift of her chin. A chin that in its very feminine way was every bit as determined as his own.

  “I’m glad you have no regrets,” he said with a good dose of sarcasm and a total disregard for truth.

  Shaine stood up herself, gripping the counter with one hand. Then she looked him up and down with deliberate hauteur. “You don’t belong here anymore—you stand out like the rest of the city slickers who come here every summer. Cranberry Cove’s not home to you. But it’s home to me, and I don’t want you here.”