Innocent's Desert Wedding Contract

by Heidi Rice

  The inevitable shot of heat hit as he skirted the car and got behind the wheel. Just as he was about to switch on the ignition though, she murmured, ‘I made such a mess of things tonight, I wouldn’t blame you a bit for wanting to sack me.’

  He stared at her—the urge to defend her so swift and strong it was as confusing as everything else that had happened tonight.

  But seriously, what on earth made her believe she had messed up? And at what exactly? Convincing people their engagement was real? Because she’d been too damn convincing at that, so convincing in fact he’d begun to believe it himself.

  Even though a part of him knew he should take her up on her suggestion, and call a halt to this charade—because it had already become more complicated than it was ever meant to be—he couldn’t do it.

  So he turned on the ignition, peeled away from the kerb and asked the question that had been bugging him as soon as she had told him about her connection to Quinn.

  ‘Why do you call him Pat? Do you still have feelings for that bastard?’ Why the hell that should matter to him, he had no idea, but still, he wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, no, not at all,’ she said, the surprise in her voice and the instant reply mitigating at least some of his anger. ‘The truth is I haven’t thought about him in years.’

  ‘How did it end?’ Even as the probing question came out of his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have asked it—any more than he should want to know the answer. Her previous affairs were no business of his. But he’d be damned if he’d take it back.

  Surely, he could be forgiven for being curious? After all, she had been engaged to that bastard when she was only seventeen. The man had most likely been her first lover.

  He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, jerked the gear shift into second to take the turn into Shaftesbury Avenue waiting for her reply—which didn’t come nearly as quickly as her previous answer, he noted. His impatience mounted as the car sped past the row of theatres, their doors closed now, and the paper lanterns of Chinatown speckled light onto the hood.

  ‘We were very young,’ she said at last as he braked at the lights on the junction with Haymarket.

  He glanced her way, hearing the hesitation in her voice.

  ‘And we eventually figured out we just didn’t suit,’ she finished. But he could see the flags of vivid colour on her cheeks. She was lying, he was sure of it—there was more to it than that.

  The questions cued up in his head.

  How long were they together? Why did it really end? Had that bastard touched her roughly then too, the way he had tonight? But as the night air cooled at least some of the heat churning in his gut, he forced himself not to ask any of them.

  Whatever had happened between Orla and Quinn in the past, once he had dealt with the man, Quinn certainly would not make the mistake of hurting her again.

  And her past really did not concern him.

  They made the rest of the drive in silence.

  Unfortunately, as his fury began to cool, the hunger, and heat that had dogged him all night returned. He could sense the charge between them now like a living, breathing thing, and was sure she could feel it too.

  Was it why he didn’t want to let her go?

  After he parked the car in the garage behind the house, she leapt out before he had a chance to open her door.

  ‘Will you want me tomorrow?’ she asked, backing away from him towards the house.

  I want you tonight.

  He cut the thought off, forced himself not to act on it. ‘No,’ he said.

  Space and distance were necessary, until he could control his reaction to her in every respect.

  ‘Would it be okay if I returned to Kildare for a few days, then?’ she asked, the colour on her cheeks still vivid as her back hit the door.

  ‘No, it would not be okay,’ he said, a lot more forcefully this time. Maybe space and distance were required, until they got this hunger under some semblance of control, but he’d be damned if he’d let her leave the country. ‘We’re supposed to be engaged, Orla,’ he added. ‘Leaving so soon won’t fit the narrative.’

  Nor would it improve his mood.

  ‘But if you don’t need me here, I’m sure there’s lots I could be doing there…’ Her breathing speeded up again and drew his gaze back to her cleavage, where the material shimmered and glowed and he could see the slope of her bare breast at the side of that damn gown that had been playing peek-a-boo with him all night… ‘To brief your team when they—’

  ‘I said no.’ He interrupted the far too eager stream of suggestions. ‘I’ll be travelling to the stud next month, you can accompany me then. But I’ve already hired a new manager to take over the day-to-day running of the facility.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked crestfallen. ‘I see.’

  He refused to feel guilty about it. This was what they’d agreed. She shifted out of his way as he approached the door—tense and skittish.

  ‘I’ll contact you when I require you to attend an event with me,’ he said, trying to keep his mind on business and off the soft sway of her unfettered breasts.

  She nodded. ‘Okay. But what am I supposed to be doing in the meantime?’ she asked.

  He could think of far too many answers to that question. Every one of them only making the visceral need that had been riding him all evening increase, so his reply was sharp enough to make her jump.

  ‘Waiting for my instructions.’

  He unlocked the door and held it open for her, getting a lungful of that provocative scent for his pains that seemed to stroke the erection growing in his pants.

  ‘Do you understand?’ he asked.

  He saw the mutinous expression in her eyes, and hated himself even more for noticing how it turned her irises to a rich emerald.

  ‘Of course, Your Highness,’ she said, but before he could take her to task for the mocking comment, she shot past him into the house.

  He closed the door as he watched her disappear down the hallway.

  The urge to go after her clawed at his gut. But just as vivid was the memory of her eyes—so wary, so vulnerable—as he’d carried her out of the ballroom. Something tightened in his chest as he remembered how she’d clung to him for that split second as trusting as a child.

  As he made his own way through the dark house, the antique grandfather clock in the vestibule chimed midnight.

  Taking this any further would be a mistake.

  Sex was one thing, intimacy another, and he would never risk mixing the two.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘ORLA, I CAN’T believe you’re actually engaged to a prince—that’s mad.’ Dervla’s shocked voice made Orla’s fingers tense on her phone in the upstairs lounge. ‘I mean, I know he’s super-hot and all, but I didn’t think you were actually serious.’

  ‘Dervla, I told you we’re not really dating,’ Orla whispered, worried that the staff might overhear her. Although she suspected they had realised she and Karim were not a real couple by now. After all, they had to have noticed the two of them had never shared a bed and she’d been living in his house for a week. ‘It’s not a proper engagement,’ she added, even though it didn’t feel entirely in name only either any more.

  Not after their first—and only—event together as a couple.

  ‘But I saw the pictures of him carrying you out of the Jockeys’ Ball. It’s in all the magazines over here.’ Dervla sighed. ‘It looks so romantic. Are you sure he hasn’t fallen hopelessly in love with you by accident?’

  Orla felt the familiar pang in her chest and swallowed down the foolish lump of emotion that had derailed her a week ago when he’d come to her rescue like an avenging angel… Or a protective fiancé. And the times she had run the memory of those moments through her head. But in the days since, it had become clear, whatever had happened that night, it wasn’t going to be repeated.
She’d hardly seen him—but for the two breakfasts they’d shared.

  Karim had been distant and pragmatic both times she’d managed to catch him before he disappeared for the day, keeping any conversation to a minimum. And when he did speak to her, the discussion was about the horses, never anything more personal. He had been picking her brains for everything she knew about the sport and the stock at Calhouns. She’d found the two discussions they’d had surprisingly stimulating—Karim knew much more than she’d assumed, his decision to buy the stud and establish himself as an owner of superior bloodstock not a vanity project after all. As much as she had regretted having to sell her family business, she could see Karim was going to invest and build on the work they’d done there. That he had chosen to keep the Calhoun name had also pleased her. But those breakfast meetings had still been extremely disconcerting. She’d felt his gaze on her, and that masculine magnetism that had tripped her up before. The events at the Jockeys’ Ball and even the one kiss they’d shared had played through her mind whenever she was with him—and the many hours she was not.

  But it was three days now since she’d last seen him. And she’d felt the sharp sting of disappointment each morning as she’d walked into the breakfast room and found it empty.

  She’d tried to be philosophical about that. It wasn’t really him she missed, surely it was just that she felt so rootless here, her life in the last week so far removed from her daily routine in Kildare. When she’d agreed to this arrangement, she really hadn’t factored in what it would mean to be the trophy fiancée of a man as rich and powerful as Karim Khan. She’d never felt so useless in her life. Not only did she miss the horses desperately, but Calhouns and the work there had given her life purpose and meaning, and it was clear she had no purpose or meaning here.

  With no horses to exercise, no final demands to juggle, no stud business to deal with, no bank managers to placate or stalls to muck out, and no mention of any events to attend with Karim, she’d struggled to find anything to do. The house was run like a well-oiled machine, the staff so efficient all her offers to help out had been met with puzzled frowns followed by polite refusals.

  The truth was, the yearning she felt when not seeing Karim at the breakfast table was probably just disappointment. Because without that shot of adrenaline to liven up her morning—and the chance to at least talk about the business she loved—she’d become unbelievably bored.

  She had no idea what she was even doing here any more, or why Karim continued to refuse to allow her to return to Kildare.

  ‘No, he hasn’t fallen in love with me,’ Orla murmured to her sister. She’d explained the circumstances of the engagement to Dervla a week ago—in the scant twenty minutes Karim had allowed her before they left—and every time she’d spoken to Dervla since. But Dervla didn’t believe her.

  Orla had always been the realist and Dervla the drama queen, but her sister’s ludicrous romanticism—her determination to make this engagement something it wasn’t—wasn’t helping Orla keep everything in perspective.

  As a result, she’d started screening her sister’s calls—which was a pain. Because the conversations with Dervla, however aggravating her attitude towards the engagement, were one of the few bright spots in her monotonous days in London. She was desperate for news of what was going on at the stud, something she couldn’t quiz Karim about—because he was never here.

  ‘How’s everything going at Calhouns?’ she cut into Dervla’s continued dreamy dialogue about how hot the photos of her and Karim were in her magazines. Time to change the subject before Dervla drove her totally nuts.

  ‘Oh, it’s marvellous,’ Dervla said. ‘They’ve started work on repairing and updating the stable block and the training facilities this morning. They even got an architect in to do designs for the remodelling. Can you believe it?’ Dervla’s voice was hushed with awe. ‘I didn’t even know there were architects for horse barns. Did you? It’s gas.’

  ‘Where are the horses while all this is going on?’ Orla asked. She hadn’t expected them to start work so soon. The stables had been in desperate need of repairs, that was true, but didn’t the new manager know they had to be careful not to disturb the horses? These were thoroughbred, highly strung animals and any noise or disruption could seriously damage their—

  ‘They’re stabling them at the Quinns’ until the work is finished,’ Dervla interrupted Orla’s panicked thoughts. ‘They moved them all yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, I see, that makes sense.’ Orla frowned, the twist of disappointment in her belly making her feel small and petty. Why should she begrudge her neighbours the business, just because Patrick had acted so appallingly at the ball? Karim had no loyalty to her, not really, especially where his business was concerned. ‘I expect the Quinns’ll be glad of the business,’ she added, knowing the family had struggled in recent years because their horses hadn’t had the same results as Calhouns on the track.

  ‘I expect they would if they still owned the place,’ Dervla said.

  ‘What?’ Orla asked.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you already? Someone bought their business in a hostile takeover… And kicked them off the land. Two days ago.’

  ‘No, you did not mention it,’ Orla said, her fingers gripping the handset. How could Dervla have forgotten to mention something so important? The Quinns had been a premier Kildare racing family for generations, just like the Calhouns.

  ‘Ah, damn, I meant to tell you all about it yesterday. It was all over the pub on Sunday night, happened very suddenly, Maeve said. Her husband works at Quinns, you know. Apparently they kept all the staff on. Even increased their wages as a loyalty bonus. Maeve said Dermot’s pleased, he thought Patrick had been running the place all wrong for years. The new owner’s already made improvements.’

  ‘Who is the new owner?’ Orla asked, shocked despite the fact she would have agreed with Dermot on Patrick’s handling of the stud since he’d taken over.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you now, the best bit of gossip?’ Dervla said, her voice rising with excitement.

  ‘No, what?’ Orla asked, thinking her sister was going to give her an aneurysm if she didn’t get to the point.

  ‘So no one knows who the new owner is for sure—it was all done in a secret sale. But the very next day, Carly, the new manager here, announced Calhouns horses were being rehoused there, during the remodelling, so everyone got to thinking, it must be him.’

  ‘Him who?’ Orla asked, thoroughly frustrated now. Why couldn’t Dervla ever give her a straight answer about anything without dressing it up in loads of fanciful nonsense?

  ‘Him as in your fiancé. Maeve and Dermot and everyone else think he’s the new owner for sure.’ Dervla’s voice lowered with even more unnecessary drama. ‘And that he probably did it for revenge—isn’t that so cool?’

  ‘Revenge for what now?’ Orla asked, but the weight in her stomach had already begun to twist and turn at the memory of Karim’s fury, and the words he’d ground out.

  ‘I’m going to teach that bastard a lesson he won’t soon forget.’

  ‘Don’t be dense,’ Dervla cut back in. ‘For revenge against Patrick Quinn, of course, for daring to put his hands on you at the ball. And you keep saying he doesn’t love you.’ Dervla scoffed. ‘Why would he do such a thing if he wasn’t mad about you?’

  ‘That… It can’t be true…’ Orla said, so shocked she didn’t know what to think let alone say—the weight in her stomach now dancing a jig. Would Karim really have done such a thing? He’d talked about retribution at the ball for Patrick’s behaviour, in the heat of the moment, but he’d calmed down once they were in the car on the way home. And after she’d told him an edited version of her break-up with Patrick, he hadn’t mentioned the incident, or her former fiancé, again.

  What shocked her more though was the spurt of something heady and exciting at the thought he might have done such a thing for he
r. But as soon as she acknowledged the feeling, she felt ashamed of it.

  If Karim really had done this, it wasn’t because of his feelings for her, because he clearly didn’t have any. He’d barely acknowledged her presence in the last week. She hadn’t even seen him for three days now. In truth, he didn’t even seem interested in maintaining the charade any more that they were actually an item.

  And while it was true Patrick had been unnecessarily cruel to her all those years ago, cheating on her the whole time they were engaged, Karim knew nothing of that. Patrick might have behaved very badly at the ball too, but he’d been drunk. And yes, his family had blamed her for the breakdown of the engagement, but did they really deserve to lose a family business they’d spent years building because Patrick had had one too many whiskies?

  ‘Well, I reckon it’s true. And I think it’s super romantic,’ Dervla added, unhelpfully. ‘It’s just what Patrick deserves—he was never as good with the horses as you are. And he knew it, that’s why he was so mean to you. And now he’s out of racing for good. No one will give him a job if they think your fella won’t like it. So he’ll have to find something else to be bad at. At least you won’t ever have to see him at another official event. Are you sure you don’t know anything about it? I told Maeve I’d ask you.’

  It took several minutes of deflecting Dervla’s increasingly probing questions, but Orla finally managed to get her sister off the phone. She put the receiver down, her fingers trembling as the confusion and anxiety built under her breastbone and began to tangle with the weight in her stomach.

  Surely Karim couldn’t have done something so… Well, so vengeful? And for a woman he didn’t really care about. It made no sense. But even as she tried to reassure herself, her heart began to beat two to the dozen.

  Should she ask him? If he had bought Quinns? How could she not? And yet how did she even bring up a question like that? When the last thing she wanted to do was discuss Patrick with him again? And, anyway, when was she even likely to see him next?