After a moment the tautness relaxed, and he pursued, ‘What about our marriage?’
‘If there is such a thing as a marriage made in heaven surely it would be, as the name implies, something rare and precious? A gift only given to the lucky few who really belong together?’
Studying her face, he pursed his lips. ‘So you don’t think ours will turn out to be one of them?’
Wondering why he seemed to be deliberately tormenting her, she asked flatly, ‘Do you?’
‘It has the potential to be.’
‘Really?’ She made no attempt to hide her derision. ‘How can you tell?’
His eyes glinted. ‘Guess.’
Sarcastically, she suggested, ‘It must be because we got off to such a good start?’
‘Full marks.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me somewhere.’
‘The first night we spent together was wonderful… Now tell me it was merely sex.’
A tinge of pink appearing along her high cheekbones, she said, ‘I was about to.’
‘But good sex is the key. Get that right and everything else falls into place. If the physical side doesn’t work, nothing does.’
‘There are more important things than sex in a marriage.’
‘Such as?’
‘Respect, honesty, kindness, caring…’
‘They may be as important, not more important. And if you had married Brent how many of those would have been present?’
Why did he keep dragging Alan into it? she wondered vexedly.
Watching her face, one eyebrow slightly raised, he waited. Soft mouth set, she refused to answer.
With a little shrug, he went on, ‘And even with all those things, if the vital spark is missing it won’t work. Marriage should be based on passion, not reason or practicalities.’
When she remained silent, his face sardonic, he suggested, ‘But as our true forte is non-verbal communication, suppose I give you a practical demonstration of just what I mean?’
Cassandra bit her lip. This wasn’t how she’d wanted it to be. She had hoped they could find some common ground and become friends, or at the very least non-combatants.
But since the previous night his mood had changed. Then he’d been willing to comfort her, now he seemed bent on punishing her.
For what? Because he believed she’d been thinking of Alan while he’d been making love to her?
If Lang had cared anything for her, she might have wondered if he was jealous, but, convinced that all he felt was possessive, she guessed it was simply masculine pique.
He curved a hand around her cheek, his thumb moving caressingly. ‘As you’ve denied it was Brent you were dreaming of, perhaps you’d like to start the ball rolling by giving me a kiss?’
Pulling back, her voice carefully polite, she said, ‘No, I wouldn’t, thank you. I’d like to go to the bathroom.’
She got out of bed and, very aware that he was watching, pulled on the thin cotton robe she’d brought with her. Endeavouring to appear cool and unhurried, she headed for the bathroom on legs that trembled, and closed the door behind her.
For a second her hand hovered over the bolt, but somehow she resisted the temptation. He would almost certainly hear it being pushed home, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d managed to rattle her.
In any case what would be the use? It would only be a temporary reprieve. A matter of time before she was forced to face him again. She could hardly spend the day locked in the bathroom.
Her toilet bag had been placed on one of the luxurious vanity units and, having brushed her teeth, she pinned up her hair ready for the shower.
The water was good and hot, just how she liked it, and normally she would have been tempted to linger under it. But, very aware of that unbolted door, she showered as quickly as possible, and without her usual enjoyment.
Still wreathed in clouds of perfumed steam, she turned off the jet, slid open the frosted-glass panel and, soap in her eyes, was fumbling blindly for the towel, when she heard the bathroom door open and close again.
‘Having problems?’ Lang’s deep voice held a touch of amusement.
Naked and vulnerable, her eyes smarting, she said, ‘None that a towel wouldn’t solve.’
‘Then allow me.’ A moment later a towel was placed in her hand.
Hastily she rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times. When she was able to see again, she found his tall, muscular figure was completely blocking the entrance to the shower stall. He hadn’t a stitch on.
Reading her expression, he asked trenchantly, ‘Wishing you’d bolted the door after all?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, come on! You ran like a frightened rabbit.’
‘I did no such thing,’ she denied indignantly.
He took the towel from her nerveless fingers and tossed it aside. ‘Then you’re not scared?’
She lifted her chin. ‘Certainly not. Why should I be scared?’
‘Because seeing you standing there, naked and wet and gleaming like Aphrodite, is giving me even more ideas.’
‘I won’t let it worry me,’ she assured him mendaciously.
He raised a mocking brow. ‘My, you have got brave all of a sudden. How come?’
Her throat tight, she swallowed to relieve the tension. ‘You’ve already proved how good you are at self-control.’
‘You can’t expect a newly married man to exercise too much of that.’
‘You said you wanted me to be…’ About to say ‘willing’, she substituted, ‘Eager.’
Stepping in beside her, and sliding the panel closed, he smiled. ‘And you’re not?’
His eyes were on her breasts, and in response to that look she felt her nipples firm betrayingly.
‘No.’ Once more she was forced to swallow hard.
He reached out and drew her against the length of his body. Matching contour to contour. Hard male muscle against yielding female flesh.
‘You said—’ She broke off with a gasp as, bending his head, he nuzzled his face against her breasts, the sandpaper rasp of his bristles against the sensitive peaks almost unbearably erotic.
‘What did I say?’ He circled a damp pink nipple with his tongue.
Distractedly, she whispered, ‘I can’t remember…’
Shaken between passion and laughter, he assured her softly, ‘I never said I wouldn’t try to change your mind… Have you ever shared a shower?’
Her throat dry, she croaked, ‘No. I’ve led a very sheltered life.’
‘Then I think you should make up for it by having an exciting honeymoon. Starting now…’
It was an hour or more before, showered and dressed, they finally emerged on to the terrace. After the relative coolness of the air-conditioned suite, it was like walking into an oven.
Brassy sunshine poured down from a deep blue sky and the heat hung motionless, golden and sticky as melted honey.
‘We can eat inside if you like?’ Lang suggested.
The remembrance of what had gone before making her feel shy, Cassandra answered without looking at him, ‘I’d much rather be outside, if that suits you?’
‘Yes, I’ve always preferred to eat alfresco.’
Leading her over to the vine-shaded table, where a buffet-style lunch was waiting, Lang pulled out her chair and helped her to seafood and salad, before sitting down opposite.
Several fans placed in strategic positions wafted cooler air and made what would have been a desiccating temperature pleasant.
‘Not too hot?’ he queried.
‘No, it’s wonderful. I’ve always loved heat and sunshine.’
‘Nina couldn’t stand the sun,’ he said abruptly, ‘and she disliked too much heat. That was one of the reasons she preferred San Francisco. It tends to be cooler further north.’
Feeling as if she’d been slapped, Cassandra picked up her knife and fork. Only a short time ago Lang had been making passionate love to h
er, but already he was thinking of his first wife.
Was he still missing her? Had he been comparing the two of them? Finding her sadly wanting?
Alan’s description ran through her mind. ‘He married a woman the media once described as “America’s most beautiful socialite”. I gather she comes from one of California’s top families, the kind who hobnob with film stars and presidents.’
Cassandra was pierced by a sharp pang of envy, not for Nina’s position or beauty, but simply because Lang had loved her.
Instantly she felt ashamed. She couldn’t possibly be jealous of a dead woman. It was almost obscene. And, as she’d reminded herself earlier, to be truly jealous one had to love, and despite her dream all she felt for Lang was a strong physical attraction.
She certainly didn’t love him. How could she? Yet the thought that she might be having his child no longer scared her half to death. If she was, it would create a bond between them…
Busy with her thoughts, she pushed her food around her plate, her eating a mere pretence, until Lang broke the silence to remark, ‘I thought we’d stay in these parts for our honeymoon, unless there’s anywhere else you’d particularly like to go?’
‘Honeymoon?’ she echoed.
‘You sound surprised. Weren’t you expecting a honeymoon?’
‘No.’ In truth, things had happened so fast she had never given it a thought.
‘Hadn’t you and Brent planned a honeymoon…?’
There it was again, she thought with a sigh, like probing a sore tooth.
‘Weren’t you going somewhere wildly romantic?’
Ignoring the taunt, she said flatly, ‘Because the wedding date had been brought forward, we’d decided to do without a honeymoon.’
In fact the decision had been unilateral. Though not short of money, Alan, who had a careful streak, had insisted that they spend what they could afford on refurbishing his parents’ house rather than ‘squandering it on something we don’t need.’
‘No honeymoon?’ Lang tutted. ‘Well, with a change of bridegroom, you get a change of plan,’ he told her, the mockery evident.
She squared up to him. ‘I’m surprised that a man who’s so busy making money can find time for a honeymoon.’
Unruffled, he said, ‘I find time for anything I want to do. Any man in my position who doesn’t can be called a fool.’
‘Well, I might call you a lot of things,’ she muttered, ‘but that wouldn’t be one of them.’
‘You intrigue me.’ His gaze caught and held hers. ‘What would you call me?’
His eyes were very dark blue with darker rings to the irises and, radiating from the pupil, like sunshine trapped in the depths of water, tiny rays of gold.
Looking into those eyes made her strangely dizzy.
Somehow she tore her gaze away and answered, ‘Cool, determined, ruthless, arrogant…’
But he was also warm, generous, and human. A tough man who, at times, seemed oddly vulnerable.
‘Hardly a catalogue of virtues,’ he remarked dryly. ‘Anyone might think you hated me.’
‘Anyone might be right.’
‘Married to a man you think you hate,’ he murmured musingly.
‘I don’t think, I’m sure.’
‘Well, I’ll have to see what I can do to change your mind. That should make for an interesting honeymoon.’ Then, like a rattlesnake striking, he said, ‘And it might be better than being married to a man you thought you loved.’
Why did she take him on? she wondered bitterly. In a battle of words, with a quicker brain and a sharper wit, he always emerged the clear winner.
Throwing in the towel, she said, ‘This honeymoon you keep mentioning… How long were you thinking of?’
He poured coffee for them both before answering, ‘A month.’
‘A month?’ She’d expected him to say a few days. A week at the most.
‘You sound less than thrilled at the prospect.’
‘There’s a problem.’
‘Oh?’
About to say she’d left her trousseau at home, she changed it to, ‘I’ve hardly any clothes.’
‘I don’t see that as a problem.’ A smile tugging at his lips, he added, ‘As a matter of fact I much prefer you without clothes… And as I personally regard the ideal honeymoon destination as bed—’
‘We can’t spend a month in bed,’ she broke in, her face growing hot.
‘Oh, I don’t know… But just in case we do want to venture out a spot of shopping might not be a bad idea… In point of fact,’ he added slyly, ‘I’d made it the second thing on the afternoon’s agenda.’
Afraid to ask what the first one was, she remained silent.
Apparently reading her thoughts, and hell-bent on tormenting her, he said, ‘Just at the moment I’m a bit bushed, but in a little while if you’d like to…’ Leaning forward, he whispered a suggestion in her ear that deepened her flush to scarlet.
Her pulses leapt wildly and, putting her cup down with a clatter, she said huskily, ‘No, I wouldn’t!’
‘Ah, well,’ he sighed theatrically, ‘it’s early days yet.’
For a moment or two he studied her burning face, then, taking pity on her, changed the subject to say briskly, ‘Yesterday you mentioned a flatmate… Penny…? Won’t she be expecting you back sometime tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes…’
‘In that case it might be a good idea to give her a call and put her in the picture.’
‘Yes, I—I really ought to,’ Cassandra agreed weakly, wondering how on earth she was going to put Penny in the picture without the other girl thinking she’d gone stark, staring mad.
‘Let’s see.’ Lang consulted his watch. ‘Allowing for the time difference it should be about nine-thirty p.m. in London. Is she likely to be home?’
‘Yes.’
He rose. ‘Then better get it over with.’ Taking both her hands, he pulled her to her feet and followed her back into the penthouse.
Picturing Penny’s surprise and sheer incredulity when she told her the news, Cassandra reached for the phone.
‘Mind if I listen in?’ Lang queried blandly.
Though she had no intention of telling Penny the whole story, she would have preferred a private conversation. But, feeling unable to say so, her voice dry, she agreed, ‘Be my guest,’ and tapped in the number.
Lang flicked on the microphone button and, sitting down, pulled Cassandra onto his lap, holding her there when she would have wriggled free.
After a few second’s delay, Penny answered, and, sounding surprised, said, ‘Cass? I thought you’d be on the plane by now.’
‘Well, I would have been, only everything’s changed…’
‘So where are you? Still in San Francisco, I presume?’
Very conscious of the muscular thighs beneath her buttocks and the firm stomach her hip was resting against, Cassandra broke out in a hot sweat. ‘No, I’m in Las Vegas,’ she managed.
‘Las Vegas? What on earth are you doing in Las Vegas?’ Before Cassandra could answer, Penny gave a sudden squeal. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve gone and got married?’
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘Good for you! I didn’t know Alan had it in him. Of course I’m disappointed not to have been there but I don’t—’
‘It isn’t Alan I’ve married,’ Cassandra broke in desperately.
There was dead silence. Then, ‘Say that again.’
‘It isn’t Alan I’ve married.’
Sounding as though she thought the whole thing was some kind of joke, Penny asked, ‘So who is the lucky man?’
‘Lang Dalton.’
‘Pull the other one, it’s got bells on it.’
‘I’m not kidding.’
‘Crikey! Then tell me all.’ Now she sounded breathless with excitement.
‘It’s a long story and not easy to explain over the phone—’ the fact that Lang was kissing his way down the side of her neck and shoulder was making it even harder ‘�
�but I changed my mind about marrying Alan.’
‘I’ve no quibble about that. It may be the most sensible thing you ever did…’ Penny had never tried to hide her lack of enthusiasm for Cassandra’s choice of future husband. ‘So long as you haven’t jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire… So what’s happening?’
‘Alan’s got his ring back and he should be on his way home…’
‘And you’re in Las Vegas with Lang Dalton?’
‘Yes.’
‘He must be a fast worker! Just a minute, we are talking about the Lang Dalton?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve always wanted to have a friend who’s married to a millionaire… But seriously, Cass, I hope you’ll be very happy.’
‘Thank you… I’m afraid it will mean you having to get a new flatmate…’ Cassandra’s voice wobbled dangerously. For the first time it was really sinking in that she wasn’t going back to London, that that chapter of her life had ended.
‘I might see if I can manage the rent without. I don’t fancy sharing with just anyone…
‘But before I burst with curiosity, tell me how you came to be Mrs Dalton…’ Then she said sharply, ‘Wait a minute; didn’t I once hear he was married…?’
Wits scattered, Cassandra was wondering what to say, when Penny added, ‘I just hope he isn’t trying to take you for a ride…’
Removing the receiver from Cassandra’s unsteady fingers, Lang said smoothly, ‘Hello, Miss Lane… Lang Dalton speaking…’
There was an audible gulp from the other end.
‘I feel I should assure you that Cassandra and I really are married, and that everything is above board.’
Clearly embarrassed because she hadn’t realized he was listening, Penny said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Dalton, but I’m fond of Cass and I—’
‘There’s no need to apologize,’ he assured her pleasantly. ‘I appreciate your concern for your friend. As you rightly said, I have been married previously, but my first wife died some six months ago, so when I met Cassandra—’
Breaking off, he queried, ‘Tell me, Miss Lane, do you believe in love at first sight?’
‘It’s the only sort I do believe in,’ Penny answered, sounding herself again, ‘apart from the more placid kinds of affection, that is. But if you see someone and you think Wow! that kind of chemistry is usually right.’
The Marriage Takeover Page 13