The Marriage Takeover

by Lee Wilkinson

  She’d nodded, and said with forced cheerfulness, ‘Yes, I’m sure you are.’

  But, badly shaken by her own lack of response, what she’d seen as her failure as a woman, she had begun to worry in case she really was the frigid bitch Sean had called her.

  Now she knew she was anything but frigid, and if the circumstances had been other than they were that knowledge would have come almost as a relief, she thought wryly.

  The moment Lang Dalton had begun to make love to her she had forgotten everything, her pride and self-respect, her doubts and fears, even the fact that she was engaged to another man. A man she loved and had promised to spend the rest of her life with.

  She was filled with the most appalling guilt and shame. How could she ever face him again? How could she ever face either of them?

  Cassandra groaned aloud. She had dreaded this weekend, but never in her worst nightmares had she imagined herself ending up in Lang Dalton’s bed.

  His bed. His room. He could walk in at any moment.

  Galvanized into action by the thought, she pushed back the bedclothes and leapt out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the deep-pile carpet.

  Pulling on a short maroon silk robe that had been tossed over a chair, she tied the belt with shaking hands. The sleeves were far too long and the shoulders buried her, but at least it covered her nakedness.

  Breathlessly she gathered up her clothes and, clutching them to her chest, flung open the door into the living-room. To her utmost relief it was deserted.

  As though the devil himself were at her heels she fled into her own room and turned the key in the lock. Then thought with bitter irony that such a precaution had come far too late. It was akin to shutting the stable door after the horse had well and truly bolted.

  Her spirits heavy as a lead balloon, she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and shower. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she was surprised to see that apart from a certain paleness she looked just as usual, her face innocent, her green eyes clear.

  But what had she expected? That she would look different? Like a scarlet woman?

  She stepped into the shower and, as though trying to wash away all traces of the previous night, let the hot water flow over her for much longer than necessary, before drying herself.

  Lang Dalton had been a gentle, considerate lover, and though her slender body felt subtly different her clear, healthy skin bore no signs of the passion that had flared between them.

  Shivering at the thought, she put on an oatmeal-coloured sleeveless cotton dress and a pair of strappy sandals, and was just about to coil her hair into its usual neat chignon when there was a knock at the outer door.

  Momentarily she froze, then common sense told her that the owner of the suite wouldn’t need to knock. Letting the ash-brown silky mass tumble around her shoulders, she went to open the door.

  ‘Hi!’ Rob smiled at her. ‘Lang said he’d left you still fast asleep. He asked me to escort you to lunch if he wasn’t back in time.’

  Flustered by Rob’s casual acceptance of the implied intimacy, she said a shade stiffly, ‘Thanks, but there’s really no need. You must have plenty to do without being detailed off to play nursemaid.’

  Choosing to ignore the slight bite in her words, he said cheerfully, ‘I must admit I hadn’t regarded it in quite that light… As far as I’m concerned there’s nothing I’d rather do than sit opposite a beautiful woman over lunch… Especially as I hate eating alone.’ The last was added with a rueful grin that in spite of everything had her smiling back.

  Though she suspected that he was being diplomatic, she warmed to his charm, and, unwilling to hurt his feelings, gave in gracefully. ‘Well, in that case…’

  Instead of taking the elevator down, as she’d expected, he led her across the foyer to French windows that opened on to a roof garden.

  Alongside the wide, flagged terrace there was a Jacuzzi and a good-sized swimming pool and, beyond, an expanse of cool green lawn shaded by palms.

  It was hot and sunny, with a cloudless sky the colour of lapis lazuli. Beyond the Las Vegas sprawl, she could see distant mountains, hazy and insubstantial, shimmering in the desert heat like a mirage.

  Beneath a trellis of sweet-smelling vines a table had been set with a buffet-style lunch. A bottle of wine stood in a cooler, and next to it a large bowl of sun-kissed Californian peaches.

  Rob pulled out a chair for Cassandra, and when she was settled took a seat opposite.

  As if by magic a smartly turned out manservant appeared at his elbow.

  Cocking a brow at Cassandra, Rob asked, ‘Would you like anything hot? Steak, or enchiladas, perhaps?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just a little green salad and coffee, please.’

  Rob nodded, and said, ‘I’ll have the same.’

  The manservant disappeared round the side of the terrace, to return quite quickly with a bowl of crisp salad, a basket of warm rolls, and a pot of coffee.

  Having filled their cups, he queried, ‘Will that be all, Mr Laski?’ His voice was quiet, educated.

  ‘Yes, thanks, John.’

  Watching him walk away, Cassandra helped herself to salad and a roll, and, her winged brows drawn together in a frown, remarked, ‘His eyes are sad. He looks…I don’t know…as if he’s had troubles…’

  ‘You’re very astute. John was once a brilliant accountant working for a top firm. He had a nice home, a wife he adored, and a baby son.

  ‘Then somehow he began to mix with the wrong crowd and got hooked on drink and drugs. He lost everything and narrowly escaped a prison sentence when they discovered he’d been “borrowing” money from the firm to pay for his addiction. Things went from bad to worse when his baby son died of meningitis. He blamed himself…

  ‘Less than a year ago he was a drifter, a drop-out, a no-hoper. Lang found him unconscious on the sidewalk, brought him back here, sobered him up, and offered him a second chance. Which he had the sense to take.

  ‘In the past ten months, with Lang’s help, he’s managed to wean himself off drink and drugs, and pretty soon he’s planning to go home to Carson City. His wife still lives there, and he’s hoping for a second chance.’

  ‘Will she have him back, do you think?’

  With a slight shrug, Rob admitted, ‘It may not work out if she does. He still feels that in some way the child’s death was his fault. That kind of loss can take some living with…

  ‘Even Lang, who’s the most stable of men, took Nina’s death very badly. He’s still cut up over it, and I’d begun to wonder if he’d ever look at another woman…

  ‘One way and another he’s had more than his fair share of grief. That’s why I was so damn glad when he told me about you.’

  At a loss, Cassandra began, ‘I don’t really know what—’

  ‘Ah, talk of the devil…’

  Catching her breath, she glanced round to see Lang coming towards them looking vital and attractive. He was dressed in stone-coloured trousers and a white cotton-knit shirt, a pair of Polaroid glasses pushed into the top pocket.

  In some strange way the casual garb only served to accentuate his aura of power and authority, his cool air of command.

  Put a man like Lang Dalton to sweeping a floor, she found herself thinking, and without effort he’d manage to look as if he owned not only the building, but the entire block.

  Pausing by her chair, he smiled down at her, teeth gleaming white against his tan. ‘Had a good sleep?’

  Her composure, fragile as glass armour, shattered into a million pieces and she prayed for the ground to open and swallow her up.

  Bending over, he brushed his lips against hers. Though his kiss was light as thistledown, his impact on her senses was devastating. Her whole body tensed and flooded with heat.

  Through her pink-cheeked confusion she was aware that Rob had risen to his feet and was excusing himself.

  At the same instant John appeared with a fresh cafetière and another cup, and asked, ‘Is there
anything special you’d like, Mr Dalton?’

  ‘No, thanks, John, I’ll stick with fruit and coffee.’

  As the man walked away, Lang dropped into the chair Rob had just vacated, and queried, ‘More coffee?’

  She shook her head.

  He filled his own cup and drank, watching her over the rim, his dark blue gaze assessing. ‘I hope Rob’s taken good care of you?’

  When, unable to find her voice, she remained silent, he continued, ‘I’m sorry I had to leave you to wake up alone. I’d have liked nothing better than to stay and make love to you all over again, but I had some arrangements to make…

  ‘However, they haven’t taken as much time as I’d expected, so we could still go back to bed if you—’

  ‘I’ve no intention of ever being in your bed again,’ she broke in hoarsely.

  He raised a quizzical brow. ‘I rather got the impression you enjoyed it?’

  ‘Last night should never have happened.’

  ‘Regretting it?’

  ‘Of course I’m regretting it. The whole thing was a terrible mistake. If I hadn’t been tired and had too much to drink…’

  Wryly amused, he observed, ‘I think there was a little more to it than that.’

  There was a lot more to it, but, unable to come to terms with her own uninhibited response to the sexual chemistry between them, she strove to deny it.

  His smile deepened and, filled with a burning shame, she covered her face with her hands. ‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to tell Alan.’

  After a moment, his voice casual, Lang enquired, ‘You’ve decided to tell him?’

  Her hands dropped into her lap. Dully, she said, ‘It wouldn’t be fair not to when we’re going to be married—’

  ‘Then you’re still hoping to marry him?’ Lang broke in swiftly.

  ‘If he’ll have me, when he knows what’s happened.’

  Lang passed lean fingers over his smoothly shaven jaw. ‘How do you think he’ll take it?’

  In truth, she didn’t know.

  Yesterday she had felt relatively confident, secure in Alan’s love. But last night had marred and undermined their relationship, destroying her certainty and threatening their chance of happiness.

  But surely, when he’d got over the shock, he wouldn’t let one act of stupidity spoil their whole future together?

  Her voice scarcely above a whisper, she admitted, ‘He’s bound to be surprised and shocked… Bitterly disappointed in me.’

  ‘I gather it won’t be the first time?’

  ‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she faltered.

  ‘You mentioned a visit to Paris. Wasn’t he disappointed then? Didn’t he go there expecting to be your lover?’

  Her expression was answer enough.

  ‘So why didn’t you sleep with him?’

  ‘How do you know I didn’t?’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ He laughed as if genuinely amused, and watched her flush deepen. ‘I admit to being surprised. A twenty-two-year-old virgin was the last thing I’d expected…’

  And that was the truth. When he’d further discovered that she responded with a white-hot, passionate sensuality, he’d wondered how and why she’d kept both her previous would-be lovers at bay. There was something strange, something he hadn’t taken into account.

  ‘Don’t you believe a woman should exercise her sexual freedom?’

  Stung, she retorted, ‘That’s exactly what I did. Any woman should have the freedom to say no if she wants to.’ A little wildly, she added, ‘I chose to work and wait for love rather than just sex.’

  ‘But you told me you loved Brent.’

  ‘I do,’ she said in a strangled voice.

  ‘Yet even when you became engaged you still kept him at arm’s length. Why?’

  ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that I might have been holding out for a wedding ring?’

  ‘Were you?’

  Suddenly defeated, close to tears, she silently shook her head.

  ‘That may be just as well.’

  ‘You don’t think he’ll go ahead with the wedding?’

  Lang put the ball back in her court. ‘Do you?’

  ‘I hope so… Alan loves me…’ She needed to reassure herself.

  ‘He may love you, but I strongly suspect that he loves himself more. You’ve kept him dangling on a string, kept him waiting…’

  She denied, ‘It wasn’t like that…’ and was aware she sounded defensive.

  As though she hadn’t spoken, Lang went on, ‘So he isn’t going to like the idea of you falling into another man’s hands like a ripe plum.’

  Swallowing hard, she managed, ‘If I explain the circumstances I think he’ll understand how and why it happened.’

  It didn’t need her companion’s sceptical, ‘Do you?’ to make Cassandra realize how very unlikely that was. She didn’t fully understand herself.

  His smile sardonic, Lang went on, ‘And in the unlikely event of Brent being so wonderfully understanding, do you really think he’d ever be able to forgive and forget?’

  Trying to sound sure, she said, ‘I believe he’d try.’

  ‘Even if he was willing to try, I doubt very much he’d succeed.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I shouldn’t tell him?’

  ‘I was merely pointing out the consequences if you do.’

  After a moment, a deep-rooted conviction of what was right made her say, ‘But I couldn’t possibly marry him without telling him. As my future husband he has a right to know.’

  ‘Your honesty does you credit.’ Lang’s voice was cynical. ‘Of course, if you decided not to go ahead with the wedding, that changes everything. There would be no reason to tell him.’

  ‘But I want to go ahead with the wedding.’

  His eyes narrowed against the glare, Lang looked at her thoughtfully. ‘After everything that happened between us last night?’

  Trying to avoid his penetrating gaze, she moved uncomfortably. ‘It was just sex.’

  ‘You mean as in a casual one-night stand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I had the impression it was more than that. It seemed to me we shared something rather rare and wonderful. Or don’t you agree?’

  Oh, yes, it had been wonderful! But she hadn’t expected it to mean that much to a sophisticated man like Lang Dalton, and his words totally threw her.

  When she failed to answer, he insisted, ‘Think about it.’

  Thinking about it was the last thing she wanted to do, but she was unable to help herself; it was all there in her mind.

  She recalled his lean, tanned body flexing over hers, bringing a delight she had never even dreamt of, while he told her of his own pleasure in words that heightened the exquisite eroticism of the act…

  And, above and beyond that, a closeness, an intimacy that ordinary everyday communication could have taken weeks or months to achieve.

  The kind of closeness that in the past she’d dreamt of. The kind of closeness it would be quite impossible to forget.

  But somehow she would have to try.

  Huskily, she repeated, ‘It was only sex.’

  ‘Well, don’t knock it. Sex is an important part of life, and we have the right kind of chemistry, the vital spark that makes it good between us. Special.’

  He smiled at her with such charm that her heart lurched and seemed to miss a beat, before picking up and starting to race.

  Taking a deep breath, she countered, ‘What makes you think it wouldn’t be even better with Alan?’

  ‘Because he’s basically a cold fish…’

  A cold fish… It was ironic that Alan had once described Lang in exactly the same terms.

  ‘And selfish into the bargain.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ she cried indignantly. ‘You don’t really know him.’

  ‘But I know the type, and I know how ready he was to put his own interests ahead of yours. Believe me, he’s the wrong man for you. He’s shallow and self-centred, incapable
of caring deeply for anyone but himself.’

  Desperately clinging to the rocks of sanity in a world where everything she had thought stable was shifting, she shook her head. ‘I don’t happen to think so. I love him. I want to be his wife, to enjoy the future we’ve planned together…’

  Lang sighed. ‘I thought you’d decided you couldn’t marry him without telling him about last night? And if you do that you’ll end up ruining any chance of happiness for either of you.’

  ‘No!’

  Ignoring her desperate protest, Lang went on, ‘He’d find it impossible to forget that I’ve slept with his wife and he’d hate my guts. ‘The mere fact that I’m his boss and always there in the background would make his position intolerable. He’d never feel able to trust either of us again. Every time his back was turned he’d wonder what we were up to.

  ‘Eventually the strain would tell. Both his career and the marriage would fall apart…’

  Knowing that Lang’s assessment was probably only too true, she felt a bleak despair. How could she possibly inflict this on the man she loved?

  ‘And we’d all end up losers—’

  Her voice bitter, impeded, she broke in, ‘I fail to see why you’re including yourself.’

  ‘I’d end up losing a valuable member of my workforce… But it goes without saying that the worst hit by far would be Brent; his entire life could well be wrecked.’

  It was plain that Lang thought she should keep quiet, and perhaps, for Alan’s sake, she should.

  Making up her mind, she said jerkily, ‘Then I won’t tell him.’

  ‘If he’s expecting a virgin bride, won’t he start asking awkward questions?’

  ‘I’ll just have to take that chance…’ And live with the guilt, she added silently.

  ‘So you’ve made up your mind to marry him and hide the truth?’

  ‘Thinking about it, I don’t see what else I can do.’ Something in Lang’s expression made her add uneasily, ‘It is what you want, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all. You admitted that as your future husband he has a right to know, and I agree. In fact if you try to go ahead with the wedding without saying anything I’ll be forced to tell him myself.’