‘I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear it, Danny, but if I didn’t care then I wouldn’t bother saying anything...’
‘What do you mean care?’ Words were fired out like thunderclaps. ‘Care isn’t part of the deal, Georgia. You’re not sitting in the back of my car because we care about each other. You’re here because you’ve entered into a business deal. There’s no place for emotions here.’
In the pause that followed they stared at each other.
‘Sorry. I’m sorry. That was an appalling thing to say.’
‘No, you’re quite right,’ she managed to reply. ‘You’re absolutely right. But you’re letting yourself be crucified by anger. And that’s emotion, Danny. Whether you recognise it or not. And being like that is not going to help you, your business, or anyone else around you—whether they care about you or not.’
The words said, she sat back. If she could have got out right there on the road she would have. But she was in the middle of a scene that she’d signed up to, as well as in the middle of a six-lane highway in a luxury car, with a luxury man who, despite what he said, had more emotions running through him than a river in torrent.
His words had been well timed. Just when she’d begun to fear that she might actually fall for him!
There was no doubt that she was vulnerable just now. She’d barely shed a tear after Nick. And even realising that she’d be stuck here working for the next two years at least hadn’t really upset her at the time—she’d just got on with it. But this?
This past twenty-four hours had sent her into an emotional vortex in which everything was spinning, dredging up feelings she hadn’t even known she had. Loneliness, self-pity, and—more worryingly—this strange vulnerability she was developing with a man who could hurt her more with his words than Nick had with a broken engagement.
* * *
‘I said I was sorry and I meant it. I don’t expect you to understand what happened back there and I—I can’t go into it just now. But I am sorry. I don’t want to hurt you and I do appreciate that you care. I really do.’
He tried to reach across for her hand. She really didn’t deserve to be treated as anything other than precious and he’d totally screwed this up. Sure, this deal was time-limited, but being with her was great—the best. He closed his fingers round her hand, felt the sharp ridges of her engagement ring dig into his palm. He turned her hand round, looked at it. Tilted it to catch the streetlights as they passed. Tried to understand the crazy mess his head was in right now.
The car rolled to a halt. She tugged her hand free, grabbed up her bag and got out without waiting for the valet to open the door.
Damn this situation. Damn that comment by Ciaran.
Maybe he hadn’t meant it. And heaven knew why it should still be raw—but, hey... At least there was some progress. The words had still burned. But much less than they had before. Ten years ago if anyone had said anything about Mark and Maya he would have thrown a punch. At least now he could just seethe and leave.
Progress, he thought bitterly. Little by little. His therapist would be so proud.
He exited the car and walked behind Georgia. Her pride was magnificent to watch. Everything about her was self-contained. It came naturally to her, but manufacturing his own self-containment had taken years.
‘Georgia—wait.’
She was striding away. Out through the lobby and into the courtyard garden. Another couple sat deep in the shade of a tropical pergola but he barely registered anything except the tilt of her head and the stretch of her shoulders.
‘Please, Georgia—wait.’
She quickened her pace. He lengthened his stride. Caught her wrist and pulled her back. She turned her face away—towards the ocean, away from his touch. He clasped her arms. Still her face was turned. He cupped her chin, swivelled it. Soft, beautiful cheeks streaked with tears. Caused by him.
It was like a sucker punch to his stomach. He felt worse than ever. What had he done?
He grabbed her in close. Held her rigid body against him. Felt the moisture of her tears soak his shirt. But she was firm as white marble. Unflinching.
‘I’d really like to get some rest now.’ She spoke to the rolling waves, to the vast empty sky. ‘If you really need me to come to the Sheikh’s palace then I will.’
His mind whirred. She was actually thinking about walking out now? He felt that sensation again—not anger...but what?
‘I want you to come. I’ve told him all about you. He’s expecting you.’
‘Then I’ll come. I’ll not let you down.’
Weariness sighed through her, making him even more alert.
‘Okay.’
She had to come. He’d planned all this in his head now—worked out all the angles. got the story watertight. And, damn it all, he was enjoying being with her.
Having to get married to keep this project on course had been the biggest gamble he’d ever taken, but it seemed it was all working out perfectly. And he could keep a lid on his anger—he’d show her that. Until this weekend it had been months, years since he’d lost control like that.
She pulled out of his arms. ‘I need to sleep now. It’s been a long day.’
He let her slide out of his grasp but held on to her hand, walked by her side to their suite. Maybe from a distance they looked like a honeymoon couple. They looked good together. He liked the way she suited him. Liked her long-legged stride, her straight-spined hauteur. Head up, shoulders back—she took on the world.
But her stride tonight did not have the confident cut that had so struck him at the Al-Jafar. Tonight—her wedding night—she was walking as if to face some dreaded news.
He should be pausing now, spinning her in his arms, tilting her back. She should be laughing up into his face, her eyes dancing with the promise of what was about to happen. And then he should be scooping her up as she threw back her head, locked her arms round his neck and slid into his embrace with love in her heart and desire in her blood.
Not quite.
They stopped at the threshold. She looked away. He fumbled with the door. Eventually it swung open. The staff had been in, of course. It was like a fairyland. Little candles flickered like fireflies, floating in all corners of the room. The huge white bed, veiled from the ceiling, was covered in flowers and scents. Petals on the sheets.
That was all he noticed—he didn’t want to see any more. He swallowed. For once in his life words stuck in his throat like unswung punches.
‘You’ll have the bed, of course.’
She slanted a look at him, avoiding his eyes. ‘Of course.’
She moved away, this beautiful woman who’d fallen into his path, who’d rightly or wrongly become his wife for the week. He’d given her the best terms he could because she was trading something that she valued so highly. And it was all in the name of the deal. Everything was in pursuit of the deal.
He must not lose his focus on that now. It was crucial that he closed this. So much was riding on it. Huge. It was huge. His pride, his reputation and his word. His stocks and shares and his CEO profile. And politically, morally, it meant the betterment of conditions for thousands of immigrant workers.
And the true glittering prize would be the satisfaction of knowing he’d done it all by himself. No other Ryan at his back. Not a whiff of the nepotism he so despised.
* * *
She was running. Fleeing. Through the park, past the pond. She could see her friends on
swings, flying high in the air. They couldn’t help her. She could hear the horrible words like spears in her back: ‘Little orphan Annie, hasn’t got a daddy.’ Sing-song and nasty.
She could see the roofline of The Tavern, getting closer and closer. But there was no doorway. Just windows—people inside smiling, Babs pulling pints of frothy beer, passing them across the bar. She rattled the windows—no one could hear her. She went round and round the building to find the door and the words rained down on her back. Mocking, laughing. Sharper than blows.
Georgia sat up. Dark. Hot. A sheen of sweat between her breasts. That dream. She hadn’t had that dream since she was a child. She panted. Slowly stilled her breathing. How strange.
It had been so vivid. It had been common back then, and she would wake screaming and run to Babs, climb in beside her and snuggle under her arm as her big sister soothed her better.
‘Don’t worry about what they say. They don’t have what we have, Georgia,’ she would say. ‘We’ve got each other and no one’s love is stronger.’
If the cuddles didn’t work Babs would warm some milk and dollop in honey, choose a fairy story from the shelf and read to her about princesses in faraway lands where handsome princes would cut through forests and kill wild beasts to save them. And then she’d drift off to sleep, dreaming that one day her very own handsome prince would be there to rescue her.
Light. A phone screen suddenly illuminated.
The rest of the room was dark, but for the satiny sheets and the tumble of rose petals that spilled from the bed to the floor.
Danny. She could sense him. Even in sleep the low glow radiated. She got out of bed and padded over. Lifted the phone—Danny’s phone. A message from his sister Frankie.
Mum’s desperate to see you. And Georgia ;-) She must be some girl to put up with you. Mark sends his best, as ever. Take care x
She put the phone down. Hadn’t really meant to read the message. She wasn’t a snooper but she did care for him—no matter how hard he tried to fend her off. He was afflicted by something from his past. Something had driven him out and was still driving him on. The relentlessness was almost palpable.
Of course he wouldn’t thank her for caring. Not at all. But she couldn’t help herself. She was a nurturer by nature—always wanting to fix things, to make things better.
That was another of the reasons why she longed to get back to London and all its bleak bustle. Her East End kids had none of the advantages of the children of diplomats and industrialists. East End kids needed to know that they could dream and they could achieve. She loved watching them grow and develop. It was so fulfilling. Her Dubai international children were lovely too—of course they were—but they had so much already, and parents who would do anything for them—anything money could buy, that was.
Not for the first time she wondered about Danny’s mother. She must miss him terribly. And, whatever it was that had broken her heart, to be deprived of her son...so far away and still hurting so much...must make it almost impossible to mend.
The phone’s screen faded. There was the low thrum of air-conditioning. Breathing.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw his outline, lying by the sofa, on the floor. She walked closer. He was face-down, the line of his back and his legs just visible, like a streak of gold. His head was on bent arms, cradling a cushion. His breathing was deep and even. He was so, so perfect in slumber. She felt the urge to lie down beside him, touch him, inhale him, get lost in him...
Their lives had collided for now. Just for this week. Soon they would be in their separate domains again. She back in London with Babs and he here—king of his corporation, issuing his orders and building more and more of his empire.
What she was going to be able to do for Babs was priceless, though. To lift her from the misery of all that debt and offer her the chance to retire, if that was what she wanted. She could sell the pub—maybe buy a house in the country. Georgia could go and stay with her at weekends. It didn’t matter—they’d have plenty of time to plan it all out when she got back. It would be amazing. She should be looking forward to it!
And she would—she really would—as soon as the Sheikh’s deal was signed. As soon as Danny left her in London.
‘Are you all right?’
Startled, she put her hand out to grip the back of the sofa. His voice was gravelly from sleep. He turned. Rested on one elbow.
‘Yes. Your phone went off—a message from Frankie.’
She passed it to him and watched the sleep-softened lines of his face light up as he read it. His eyebrows rose slightly, but that was all he gave away.
‘Would you like to sleep on the bed? I hate to see you on the floor. It’s not comfortable.’
He smiled a little at that, clicked off his phone, looked at her.
‘Kind of you, but I’m fine—I could sleep on the edge of a knife.’
‘I’m sure you could—there doesn’t seem to be anything you can’t do—but, honestly, the bed’s huge. You should get a good sleep before tomorrow.’
He sat right up. The dawn light was filtering in and it washed him in more gold. He rested his elbows on his knees and cocked his head. Was it possible there was a sexier man on this earth? She didn’t think so.
‘Georgia, if you invite me into that bed there is no chance in hell that I’ll be able to keep my hands off you—you know that, right?’
‘I...I honestly wasn’t thinking that.’
It sounded like a lie. But she truly hadn’t meant to invite him to sleep with her. Distance—it was all about distance. She’d had some fun with him and look where that had got her. The bruises that she’d thought had cleared from her heart had bloomed again. And she knew without question that it would be much more than sorrow she would feel if she let herself get any more involved with him.
She also knew that even having this short time with him had wasted her for any other man to come after. Who was going to measure up? The only thing—the only imperfection—was his dark anger, and even that drew her like a moth to a flame. She wanted to help him past it. Yes, she was on a very choppy sea in a very tiny life raft.
So sharing a bed...
‘You’re right. It wouldn’t be a good idea.’
He laughed. ‘I didn’t say that. In fact I think it would be a great idea. And we’re going to have to work out a game plan for the Sheikh. I don’t imagine he will think that us newlyweds will want twin beds.’
‘No, I suppose not...’
He raised his eyebrows. A chuckle rolled over his face for a moment, then he was serious and solemn. ‘No. And that’s when it will count.’
He stood up now, gave a fluid, powerful stretch, and walked long-limbed and purposeful to the bar. Naked apart from the tight black boxers that moulded his glutes and drew her hungry gaze. She looked away. He reached into the chiller and took out two bottles of water.
‘You awake enough to talk now? It’s almost five anyway.’
‘’Course.’ She was awake. And talking was good.
He handed her a glass of water. She sat cross-legged on the bed. He sat opposite her.
‘I said it last night but I want to say it again—apologies for my reaction to Ciaran’s question. Georgia, I have an issue with my brother—Mark. It goes way back. I thought I had completely moved past it, but—well, as you saw last night. it still rankles.’
She nodded, sipped her water, tucked her hair behind her ear, watched him.
&nbs
p; ‘I can’t afford to be anything other than in the game when we get to Salim’s. So I owe you a bit of back story and then we can prep this—work out the angles and manage any risks. You okay with that?’
‘You know I am. I’ll do what I can to help—as long as you do what you can to keep calm. Danny, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I honestly would go with you to Salim’s, if it helped, without the extra money. I hope you know that? You’ve changed my life and Babs’s life for ever.” More than he would ever know.
He nodded, took a swift swig of water. ‘Good. Thanks. But you’re doing me a favour too, remember? Salim might have backed off the whole deal if he felt I wasn’t the type of guy he wanted to associate with. And, yeah, there’s no doubt that emotions have surfaced in me with you being around. But you’re not the cause—I am the cause, Georgia. I might not have completely mastered them, but that’s nothing to do with anyone other than me.’
He reached across for her hand, squeezed it, smiled. Squeezed her heart too.
‘So...the Sheikh.’
‘The Sheikh?’ she repeated.
He raised his eyebrow and the serious cast of his face slipped into place. The soft lilt was sharpened. ‘I’ve been courting this deal for years. Three, to be exact. And even before that, I suppose, in terms of building links to get close to him. This project is to build state-of-the-art sport and leisure facilities—stadiums, arenas, indoor lakes...you name it. There will be international events located there and we want to be ahead of the madness when the contracts are awarded.’
‘Wow—sounds ambitious, even for Dubai.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes, but it’s completely doable, and when the construction starts I want there to be more beneficiaries than just the fat cats.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Manual workers. Immigrants. You know how badly they can be treated out here, Georgia—and that doesn’t sit well with me. Never has. I can’t stand those who bleed others dry to get a few extra bucks.’
The Scandal Behind the Wedding Page 10