Liz Fielding - Secret Wedding.txt
Page 2
Tom leaned towards her, his jacket brushing against her sleeve in a gesture of such intimacy that she felt naked. He could do that to her with just a look. His eyes were so eloquent. They said, I see you — in my mind I’m touching you…
As her fork clattered to the floor, he caught her hand, held it to still her shaking fingers.
“Nervous, Mary?” he asked.
“Not nervous. Angry. And don’t call me that.”
“It’s your name. Mollie — ” he shrugged, ” — is just the baby name your mother persisted in calling you, long after it was obvious to anyone with eyes to see that you weren’t a baby anymore.”
He was still touching her… She’d tried to forget how good that felt, blot him out.
She should hate him. “Leave my mother out of this. I haven’t…” No. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him that.
“What?” His gaze held hers remorselessly. “What haven’t you done?”
“Nothing. Just… I’m Mollie, that’s all. Always have been, always will be.”
Chapter Three: Page Three
“Oh, terrific,” she said.
“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, his grin doing nothing to help. “Mollie.”
She wished. It was the sexy way he’d said her name that had got her into trouble in the first place. Still could, she realized, belatedly snatching her hand away. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the weekend with him there, watching her through narrowed, knowing eyes. Remembering how it had been.
Deliberately she turned away, engaging the woman opposite in conversation.
***
The evening workshop went well, but it was a relief to escape while Tom was busy chatting up the press. Well, he’d got a lot to tell them. She just hoped they remembered he wrote fiction.
“My key, please,” she said at the front desk, as the receptionist looked up.
“And mine,” Tom said, over her shoulder.
The receptionist beamed at them both. “Rachel explained about the mix-up and we’ve moved you into the Windsor suite — “
“No! No really,” Mollie said firmly, “that isn’t necessary. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“No problem. The housekeeper supervised the move while you were at dinner.”
“But — “
“Rachel said she’d cleared it with you.” The young woman was clearly growing a little puzzled by their reaction.
Tom’s hand closed warningly on Mollie’s shoulder. “Yes,” he said. “She did.”
“Not with me she didn’t,” Mollie hissed as, with his arm firmly about her shoulders he directed her towards the stairs.
“You weren’t listening.” Neither of them had been listening to Rachel Gibson, but it had been him who’d filled in her expectant pause with a thoughtless, “That’ll be fine…”
“You agreed to this?” She dug her heels into the thick carpet and forced him to stop. “Just what do you think you’re playing at?”
He glanced around. The furiously muttered interchange had attracted attention. People were staring. Not good. “Right now, sweetheart? I’m doing you a favor and playing at being a loving husband.” And by way of demonstration, he lowered his mouth to hers and before she could protest, he kissed her.
Chapter Four: Page One
A hero has to be strong, tender, a man who would never let down the woman he loved. But he has to be flawed. If he were perfect there would be no story.
— Mollie Blake’s Writing Workshop Notes
***
Kissing Mollie was the best idea he’d had all evening Tom Garrick decided. And the worst. He’d caught her off guard, she’d had no chance to put up barriers, mental or physical, and her mouth was as soft and sweet as in the dreams that had never ceased to torment him.
But dreams were transitory things that were banished in the harsh light of day when it was easy to remind himself that the sweetness had been an illusion. That when it came right down to it, her genes ran true to type.
This wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t about to wake up and get a reality check.
Mollie had dreamed of this. Night after night she’d dreamed that Tom would find her, come for her, take her in his arms and kiss her like this. It was only after she’d finally accepted the truth that she’d stopped seeking the solace of dreams and had fought to stay awake any way she could.
Sitting up, night after night, writing the fantasy — the hero who would cross continents, brave fire and flood for the woman he loved. Pouring her breaking heart out onto the paper.
This wasn’t a dream. Tom wasn’t her hero, far from it, and she pulled back sharply, stumbling a little as she realized too late that his hands were not holding her, or compelling her, but simply offering support. That she could have stopped the kiss at any moment she chose… But she’d lingered, clinging to him like a drowning man to a shipwreck.
“You shouldn’t — ” she began, her voice little more than a croak. “I didn’t — “
“I know,” he said, softly, putting a finger to her lips in a gentle warning to be silent. “But save your feelings until we’re somewhere more private. I’ve just about managed to convince the local reporter that she doesn’t have a story.”
He smiled wryly at that. “The national newspapers aren’t interested in boringly happy celebrities. Don’t ruin all my hard work by throwing a fit in public and giving her a tabloid headline.”
Tom let out a breath of relief as Mollie groaned softly, let her head fall against his shirt front and allowed him to usher her up the stairs, out of sight of prying eyes. “The Windsor Suite,” he said, approaching the door, sliding the key into the lock, ushering her resisting body through the door. “Do you suppose…?” He stopped as they stepped over the threshold. Yes, there was. He could see the majestic four-poster bed through the double doors that opened into the bedroom.
“Don’t!” She stepped away from him, holding up her hands as if to ward him off. “Don’t even think about it — “
“What? Oh, the bed…” And he paused just long enough to let her think about it.
Chapter Four: Page Two
“Quit wondering. Just collect your things and go.”
“Go where? You want me to go back down there and tell them the truth?”
“The great Tom Garrick admit that his wife threw him out of their room? I don’t think so. You love your car so much, sleep in that.”
“Cold and uncomfortable.” He knew all about that. Sitting outside her home day and night, refusing to go away despite the threats. Then her father had called the police and he’d been arrested “on suspicion”. When he’d been released the house was empty. And all that remained of his car was a crushed cube of metal at the side of the curb. Mollie’s note had arrived in the post the next day.
“So, it’s cold. You should have thought of that before you rearranged the accommodation.”
“I didn’t — ” he began, then let it go. In her position he wouldn’t have believed him either. “I’m trying to keep things civilized, Mollie. I don’t want to share your bed.” It wasn’t a lie. His body would catch up with his head eventually.
Mollie’s fingers curled into her palms, the nails cutting into her flesh. Had it been so difficult for him? Had bedding the innocent virgin been a real bore? It hadn’t been like that for her. He’d made her feel like a princess, so special…Had even that been faked?
She dug her nails in harder. “You don’t have any say in the matter.”
He held up his hands. All innocence. “You know me, darling. I never went where I wasn’t invited.” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she remembered. Saw that he remembered. “Did I?” he pushed, forcing her to acknowledge a desire beyond reason.
She had to be strong. Forget the kiss. Forget the spiraling desire that had blotted out five years in an instant. Tom had always been trouble. She’d known it from the moment he’d walked into that party, turning heads of girls who practically fell over
themselves to get at him. She’d looked, she wasn’t made of stone, but she’d known he wouldn’t be interested in her.
Chapter Four: Page Three
“Mollie?”
He was doing it again.
“Please, don’t…”
“You loved it when I said your name like that,” he persisted. He was closer. She could feel his breath on her face.
“That was before I knew…”
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and her cheek welcomed the touch, longed to nestle against his palm.
“Before you knew what?”
This was dangerous. She needed to keep a clear head. To remember…“That you’d made a virtue out of your mistake. You didn’t know then that I had a pet name. You just knew I was Mary Harrington. The only child of Sir Charles Harrington. Landowner. Banker. Millionaire. You saw me being harassed by some lout at a party and you thought…bingo.”
“You believed that?”
She hadn’t wanted to. She’d protested that Tom loved her — would do nothing to hurt her.
“You really believed that?”
“I didn’t want to, Tom.” At first she’d refused to believe it. So her father had set about proving it to her.
It could so easily have destroyed her, and indeed came close. But as she’d held her baby in her arms she’d felt only strength, the overwhelming rush of love, joy that she’d gotten this one thing right. She wasn’t going to ruin it all simply because, despite everything, she’d never been able to stop loving Tom Garrick. “But we both know that it’s true.”
Chapter Five: Page One
Sexual tension is not just about getting naked. It’s about wanting something and knowing it’s out of reach. It can be a look instead of a touch.
— Mollie Blake’s Writing Workshop Notes
***
“You believed I wanted you for your money?” Tom asked again. Mollie said nothing, which was answer enough. Stunned, not because her family had lied to her about him, but that she’d believed them, Tom let his hand fall to his side. “Why would I need your money? I had a contract for three books, film options — “
“Please! Don’t treat me like a fool all over again, Tom. It had taken you five years to get published, five years of living hand-to-mouth, doing anything you could to pay the bills — ” It took a will of iron to survive, to keep going through the rejections, hold on to the self-belief.
Mollie hadn’t had to starve in a shack, but once she’d refused to go along with her father’s plans to put her life back together, it had been hard enough. She broke off as the phone beside the bed began to ring. She turned away from him, picked it up, rapped out her name.
Dear lord! She had so nearly told him that she understood. That she knew how hard it was, that she didn’t blame him. Of course she blamed him. Not for taking advantage of a stupid, naïve young girl who’d allowed herself to believe the fairy tale. She blamed him for not caring whether he’d had a son, or a daughter.
Even now he hadn’t asked about their child. It was as if he’d forgotten that she’d ever been pregnant. She glanced at him and frowned. Did he think she’d swept the whole thing under the carpet? Had their son adopted? Was he waiting for her to say something first?
“Mollie, dear?” Her caller prompted.
“What?” she asked, distractedly. Then, “Oh, sorry — “
“Are you all right? You sound tense.”
Angie Blake knew her too well. Mollie forced herself to smile before she answered.
Tom picked up his bag. It was empty. They hadn’t just been moved, they’d been treated to a full valet service. Great. He really needed to hear her getting cozy with the owner of the Porsche as they cootchie-cooed goodnight. He pulled open a drawer, started to fling his clothes in the bag as she sank to the edge of the bed, kicked off her shoes, her mouth softening into a smile.
“No, I’m fine, really. How are things at home?”
Home? They lived together? His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He felt…jealous. Hurt. Angry. That should have been him, at home taking care of their kids, while she did her great novelist thing…
Chapter Five: Page Two
He didn’t fit the image they had of a suitable husband for their daughter, so they’d isolated her, lied to her, alternating between coaxing and bullying to get her to agree to an abortion, ending the precious life they’d made together. She must have felt so alone and frightened.
If only she’d had faith in him, believed in him, trusted him, held on. He’d loved her so much, would have died for her — had died, inside, where it really counted.
He stopped stuffing his clothes into his bag. If only he’d understood at the time just how ruthless they could be.
“Don’t fuss!” She was laughing now as this man worried about her, fussed over her. He wouldn’t have believed it was possible how much that hurt. She was still his wife. She’d held out against divorce at least…
He stared at her frowning. Why? What had been the point?
That was it! There was something wrong about this whole set-up and he was going nowhere until he’d got to the bottom of it. He crossed the room and plucked the receiver from her fingers, just as she was telling her lover about the idiot who had rear-ended her car.
“I’m not some idiot,” he said, into the mouthpiece. “I’m Mollie’s husband — “
“Tom!” she protested.
“And we have a great deal to talk about.” Then he cut off the call.
“Tom! You can’t do that!”
“Mollie,” he said, very quietly. “I just did.”
“But — “
“But?” He waited but there was no further reproof. Only her breast rising and falling too quickly, the heat building in her eyes until the silver was molten with desire, the telltale flush that heated her cheeks, betraying her deepest need. He recognized it instantly — because it was his deepest need too…
The years melted away as he touched her face, his fingers cool against her cheeks and Mollie whimpered softly, unable to catch the telltale sound. But then she’d always known how it would be. That there could be never be anyone else for her.
Chapter Five: Page Three
“’Til death us do part,” she murmured. Nothing had changed.
“Mollie…”
His voice brushed velvet against her skin. His eyes were liquid dark with a desire that he couldn’t hide. No other man had ever looked at her like that, making her feel worshipped and deliciously wicked, all at the same time.
Whatever else he’d wanted, she didn’t doubt that at that moment he desired her as deeply as she yearned for him. Maybe they could turn the clock back, put right the mistakes they’d both made. All it took was courage. And putting her heart on the line, she stepped into his arms and kissed him, boldly, her arms curling around his neck, offering him a second chance.
Mollie’s mouth was warm, her tongue silky sweet, intoxicating, her body pressed against the length of his. It required Tom’s total concentration to hold back, let her set the pace, take control of where this was going.
When her mouth trailed moist kisses from his mouth to his throat, her fingers loosening the buttons on his shirt, he was pleased to play follow-the-leader. When her tongue teased at the hollows in his shoulder, her teeth nipped at his skin, he was just half a step behind.
But concentration was tougher with every passing moment. He was learning fast that following rather than leading, letting her decide what happened next, teasing him as he tried to anticipate her next move, was blowing his mind. The thought that had snagged at his memory in the moments before she’d kissed him was completely forgotten in the heat of their passion.
If this was getting in touch with his feminine side, he was a convert.
“Tom…” she whispered, her voice no more than a caress…
She said his name as he’d once said hers and his last coherent thought was that the past didn’t matter…
Chapter Six: Page One
Every story will have a moment when explanations, an air-clearing talk, will offer the way to a happy ending. Never let this happen.
— Mollie Blake’s Writing Workshop Notes
***
Tom woke feeling different, strange, and for a moment couldn’t think why. Then Mollie’s head shifted against his shoulder and he knew. This strange, almost forgotten feeling was happiness.
For a while he watched her, sleeping within the circle of his arm. It was a perfect moment. Asleep she was totally his. Once they were awake he’d have to contend with the real world and the owner of the Porsche.
Mollie woke with a slow, blissful drift into consciousness from a state of pure happiness. There hadn’t been many moments like it in her life. The few precious weeks when she’d first met Tom. The first time she’d held Harry. This moment. Maybe. She opened her eyes and saw that Tom was already awake, looking at her with an expression of such tenderness that she caught at her breath.
“I thought I must be dreaming.”
“Better pinch yourself to be sure,” he suggested, the tenderness transposing itself into the wickedest of grins. “Or maybe I can help.” His hand stroked softly over her hip, her thigh, as if seeking a suitable place for his demonstration, but since he was also kissing her it took a tap at the door to convince her that she was awake.
“Ignore it,” he said. “It’s just tea and the paper.”
“Tea? Dear lord, what time is it?”
“Relax, sweetheart.” He resumed the tender trawling of her neck with his lips, but she grabbed his wrist so that she could see his watch.
“Oh, heck. Let me up, Tom. Please. I’ve got a workshop in half an hour.” He surrendered to the inevitable and rolled over onto his back to watch her as she grabbed her robe and tied it around her waist.
Mollie tried to marshal thoughts that seemed determined on doing their own thing. With Tom. She had to stop looking at Tom, thinking about last night…the rest of her life. She had to phone home, she reminded herself forcefully. Right now. Harry would be hopping around, driving Angie mad waiting for her call. She headed for the phone. Then she’d grab a quick shower — with Tom? No! She’d read her workshop notes over a cup of tea, there was no time for breakfast…