Wedding Fever

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘I wonder you don’t take advantage of that. It makes me an easy prey.’ The rash words were out before she could prevent them.

  For a moment he looked furious, but his voice was quite level as he said, ‘I can’t raise much enthusiasm when it comes to “easy prey”. I’d like to have a willing, or preferably eager partner, but, failing that, I’ll settle for a good battle.’

  Suddenly she recalled the little scene on the way to Gatwick when, refusing his offer of a truce, she’d thrown down the gauntlet, declaring that she’d prefer to fight.

  And, being a man who clearly enjoyed a challenge, he’d picked it up, telling her, ‘Then I’ll have to make sure that I win.’

  She knew him to be tough, with a many-layered hardness, yet he was also haughty and arrogant. He would want his victory to be a grand and sweeping one—a conquest he could gloat over.

  Having realised she was too shattered to put up much of a fight, his pride insisted that he leave her alone.

  When he’d waited so long?

  But one of the most nerve-racking things about him was his self-control, his ability to wait... Another was his penchant for doing the unexpected.

  A reprieve was what she’d wanted and hoped for, but, having been granted one, instead of being wholeheartedly relieved she found his forbearance strangely unsettling. It seemed to give him some subtle advantage.

  Taking the empty mug from her hand, he put it on the bedside cabinet. ‘Perhaps you would rather I made love to you tonight, so tomorrow you can claim you were too tired to resist?’

  Shocked by the way he could read even her subconscious thoughts, she flared, ‘I don’t want you to make love to me ever. Especially in this bed!’ she added distractedly.

  ‘Don’t you find it comfortable?’ His words mocked her.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with comfort. I just can’t bear the thought that—’ She broke off, unable to mention his dead wife.

  ‘That I shared it with Tina? Well, you can set your mind at rest on that score. No one else has ever slept in this bed with me.’

  The relief was so great that Raine’s green eyes filled with a sudden, unexpected rush of tears. She sat quite still, trying hard not to blink, but in spite of her efforts two teardrops escaped and trickled slowly down her cheeks.

  His face softening, Nick leaned forward, and with a gesture that held something of tenderness he used his thumbs to brush them away.

  She caught her breath at this intimate little action, and for some reason—perhaps because she was still overwrought, perhaps because just for a fleeting moment she saw how things might have been—she wanted to cry her eyes out.

  ‘Come on, now, there’s no call for tears.’ He put his arms round her and cradled her close, almost as though he cared.

  For a few seconds she abandoned herself to the delight of being held against his heart, before pride reminded her of the true situation and, struggling hard for composure, she pulled away, sniffing.

  Having rearranged the pillows, he settled her down as though she were a child, and, brushing a strand of black silky hair away from her damp cheek, threatened softly, ‘If you’re not asleep by the time I’ve showered, I might be tempted to change my mind and make love to you after all.’

  When Raine awoke it was to immediate recollection; her brain was instantly alert, warning her that she was sharing a bed with Nick.

  A cautious peep confirmed that she was alone in the big bed, though the impression of his head on the neighbouring pillow made it plain that he had slept beside her.

  The blue velvet curtains had been drawn back, and she could see calm morning sun slanting through the tall trees in the square, spotlighting the glorious autumn colours and turning the semi-transparent leaves to flame.

  Glancing at the small gold watch on her wrist, and adjusting the time difference, she saw that she’d nearly slept the clock round.

  The long rest had refreshed her. Her headache gone, she felt almost herself again—and ravenously hungry.

  As though the thought had conjured it up, the door opened and Nick came in carrying a breakfast tray. Freshly showered and shaved, dressed in casual trousers and a black polo-necked sweater, he looked fit and virile and incredibly handsome.

  Settling the tray across her knee, he asked, ‘Feeling better? ’

  Though her heart had begun to race, she answered with cool politeness, ‘Fine now, thank you,’ and wondered why he was waiting on her.

  ‘Hungry, I hope?’

  ‘Yes.’ She avoided meeting his eyes.

  ‘That’s good. Otherwise I was going to have to force-feed you.’

  In spite of the smile that accompanied his words, she felt certain that he wasn’t joking.

  Lifting the cover from a dish of fluffy scrambled eggs with thin strips of crispy bacon, accompanied by a pile of palm-sized buckwheat pancakes and a small brown jug of maple syrup, he invited, ‘Make a start.’

  Apart from twin coffee-cups, the tray was set for one. Uncomfortable at the thought of him just sitting there watching her, she asked, ‘Aren’t you eating?’

  ‘I had breakfast an hour ago. But I’ll have some coffee.’ He filled two cups with the fragrant brew, and, carrying his over to the window, stood, his broad back to the room, looking out across the square.

  Grateful for his tact, Raine tucked in with a will. She had eaten most of the eggs and bacon and, not caring to mix sweet and savoury in the way most Americans did, was finishing off with a syrup-doused pancake before he turned.

  Replete, mouth and fingers delectably sticky, she sighed. ‘Mmm . . . that was delicious.’

  He put the tray on an occasional table and came to sit on the edge of the bed. Suddenly he was too big, too male, too nerve-rackingly close.

  Lifting her hand, his eyes holding hers, he separated her index finger and took it between his white teeth for a moment, before sliding it into his mouth and sucking the sweetness from it with leisurely enjoyment.

  She gasped, and her eyes widened.

  Her thumb and middle finger got the same erotic treatment, while her stomach clenched and her nipples tingled.

  Seeing his gaze drop to her mouth, she swallowed convulsively. Leaning forward, he licked along her bottom lip with delicate little flicks of his tongue that made her start to tremble.

  Then his mouth was brushing hers, teasing, tantalising, sucking and nibbling at the sweet velvety softness of her lips.

  But when they parted for him he said softly, ‘I’m giving you fair warning. If I kiss you once I shall come back to bed and spend the day making love to you... Do you want me to kiss you?’

  Though her whole being cried, Yes, oh, yes, she managed to bite back the words. Why was he giving her the option? If he’d just carried on she would almost certainly have been putty in his hands.

  Though he’d said how much he wanted her, and that he intended to win the battle, he seemed to be bending over backwards to avoid any accusation of coercion.

  But if he could force her to admit that she wanted him, then surely the battle was won? And she did want him. So much so that if he once made love to her she would be lost. A plaything he could use and discard at will. A toy he could break.

  So the last thing she must do was admit it

  ‘Well, Raine?’

  ‘No!’ she cried hoarsely.

  He drew back, and, his voice cool, almost casual, remarked, ‘Then we shall have to find some other way to fill the day. What would you like to do?’

  ‘I’d like to walk out of here and never have to set eyes on you again. Failing that, I really don’t care.’

  Controlling his irritation, he said, ‘You’ll need some more clothes—I told Martha to pack only the essentials—so I suggest we go shopping, and you can reacquaint yourself with Boston.’

  Her earlier resentment at the fact that he’d deliberately chosen a place he must know she dreaded revisiting flared up. ‘I’d rather not,’ she said shortly, and looked away.

  Studying he
r half-averted face, he remarked, ‘I take it you don’t care overmuch for your honeymoon destination? ’

  Reacting to his mocking tone, she asked sweetly, ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

  ‘You don’t exactly look delirious with joy at the prospect of seeing it again.’

  ‘Did you imagine I would be?’ Her voice was brittle.

  Nick smiled bleakly and, probing her reluctance, remarked, ‘As far as I recall, the only place you actually vetoed was Paris. The first time you came to Boston you enjoyed it...’

  ‘But this time it was meant to be a punishment,’ she said resentfully.

  ‘It was meant to be in the nature of a breathing-space—a day or two alone to—’

  ‘The last thing I want is to be alone with you,’ she broke in coldly.

  His face hardened. ‘I thought it would give you a chance to come to terms with the situation.’

  She laughed harshly. ‘You expect me to come to terms with the fact that I’ve been forced to marry a man I loathe and detest?’

  Holding onto his patience, ignoring the deliberate provocation, he told her, ‘We don’t need to stay in Boston. If you want to we can leave today...’

  Soft lips pressed together, she refused to answer.

  Though plainly exasperated by her silence, he said reasonably, ‘There’s no point in making things worse. All I’m asking is a little co-operation in order to make our honeymoon as pleasant as possible. If you’ll just tell me where you’d like to go...’

  When once again, her expression sardonic, she failed to respond, he took her shoulders and shook her slightly. ‘Look, Raine, I don’t want you to hate me any more than you already do, so if—’

  Sensing that he meant it, she tried deliberately to wound him. ‘That would be impossible.’

  With a kind of bitter self-mockery, he said, ‘Then what have I got to lose?’

  ‘Not a thing.’ She twisted the knife. ‘And it doesn’t matter where we go for our so-called honeymoon. As far as I’m concerned, one hell is as good as another.’

  For a moment his fingers tightened painfully, then, as though he didn’t trust himself not to hurt her, he let her go and stood up.

  ‘Very well.’ He was coldly, quietly furious. ‘If you’re determined to go on fighting, and you want it to be hell, I’ll do my best to oblige.’

  Shaken by the undercurrents of barely restrained violence she sensed m him, she retorted, ‘That way at least I’ll keep my self-respect.’

  ‘We’ll see, shall we?’

  There was a tacit threat in the softly spoken words that terrified her, and her blood seemed to turn to ice in her veins. Realising she’d pushed him too far, she began, ‘Nick, I...’

  But he was gone, the door closing behind him with a decisive click.

  Trembling in every limb, she got out of bed and, taking clean undies, a patterned wool dress and a pair of high-heeled court shoes from her case, went into the bathroom.

  Strangely, for a man normally so tough and ruthless, Nick had made every effort to keep things from escalating into open warfare. But now, due to her own stupidity, her inability to keep her mouth shut, that very thing had happened, and someone—no, not someone—she was liable to get hurt.

  As she cleaned her teeth and showered she decided that the only thing to do was to try and cool the situation, and the best way to do that might be to go along with his suggestion of a shopping trip and a look around Boston.

  Then, if she agreed to meet him halfway, they might at least establish some kind of uneasy truce and avoid the kind of blow for blow confrontation that had just taken place.

  As soon as she was dressed, she twisted her long black hair into a knot and secured it on top of her head, then, her face pale but determined, she set off to face Nick.

  She was halfway across the bedroom when she realised that her case and all her other belongings had vanished, and she felt a sudden, inexplicable stab of apprehension.

  Don’t be a fool, she told herself impatiently. The maid or Mrs Espling must have been up and put everything away.

  As she made her way down the stairs Nick appeared in the hall wearing a black leather jacket, with her three-quarter-length coat and shoulder-bag over his arm.

  ‘Excellent timing,’ he said smoothly, and, his raw-boned face impassive, he helped her into the coat before handing over her bag.

  Either he’d read her mind or he’d decided to make the trip into the centre anyway, she thought with relief as he escorted her out to a high beige and brown four-wheel drive vehicle waiting by the kerb and helped her in.

  Though the leather upholstery was extremely comfortable, and the air-conditioned vehicle obviously belonged in the luxury class, it was not as stylish as the sleek car he’d driven previously.

  For a while Raine looked out of the window as Nick, his heavy-lidded eyes intent, his profile hard, hawk-like, headed north-west through the picturesque streets of Beacon Hill.

  Something in his manner made her wary, and her earlier relief slowly drained away to be replaced by a growing unease as she realised that beneath his veneer of calmness there was still a core of cold, deadly anger.

  .The silence became nerve-racking, oppressive.

  Needing to break it, to establish some kind of contact, she asked the first question that came into her head. ‘This isn’t your usual car, is it?’

  ‘It’s one I bought for winter travelling,’ he answered shortly.

  ‘What kind is it?’

  ‘A Cherokee Chief.’

  Trying to ignore his cool, intimidating manner, she remarked with determined brightness, ‘I just thought that it seemed a strange car to take shopping.’

  ‘We’re not going shopping.’

  Realising he’d thrown away the kid gloves, her previous apprehension turned into a very real fear. Sharply, she demanded, ‘Where are we going?’

  He glanced at her from beneath long, curly lashes, several shades darker than his hair but tipped with gold. ‘On our honeymoon.’

  So that was why her case and everything had vanished! The shock was like walking into a plate glass window. Yet she should have seen it coming.

  Her heart banging against her ribcage, hoping against hope that she was wrong in her sudden certainty, she croaked, ‘Where?’

  A cruel little smile twisted his lips and his dark blue eyes were mocking. ‘Guess.’

  No, she thought violently, she couldn’t go back to Owl Creek. Though a year ago it had seemed as close to paradise as she was ever likely to get, now it held memories that she couldn’t bear to relieve.

  Panic-stricken, she cried, ‘Oh, no, Nick...’ Then, in desperation, ‘I’d rather go anywhere but there...’

  ‘You had the chance to choose,’ he reminded her remorselessly as they crossed the Charles River and headed for the 195 that ran up the New England coast to Maine, ‘and you said one hell was as good as another. So, my darling wife, hell is what I intend to make it.’

  Raine shuddered violently, but, well aware that she’d brought it on herself, she bit her lip and remained silent.

  ‘Aren’t you going to plead with me?’ he queried sardonically.

  ‘Would it do any good?’

  ‘No, but I’d derive great satisfaction from hearing you beg.’

  One of Margo’s expressions popped into Raine’s mind, and without stopping to think she snapped, ‘On your bike!’

  To her surprise he laughed, and sounding grimly amused he remarked, ‘I like a touch of spirit. It promises to make taming you all the more enjoyable, and when I’ve succeeded—’

  ‘What makes you think you’ll succeed?’ She tried to fight back.

  Smiling, he flicked the whip. ‘Up at Owl Creek we’ll be completely alone—not another soul within miles...’

  ‘You’re trying to frighten me,’ she accused him hoarsely.

  He slanted her a glance. ‘And succeeding, by the look on your face.’

  After a moment he added silkily, ‘But it’s
too soon to start worrying. Sit back and relax. It’ll take approximately five hours to drive up to Bangor, and then some time after that to reach our destination.’

  Thinking of the lonely roads that were only used by logging trucks, of the wildness and desolation, she objected anxiously, ‘But surely it will be dark long before we get there?’

  He shrugged, drawing her unwilling attention to the width of his shoulders.

  Memory spotlighted those shoulders, bare and gleaming, poised above her, recalled the driving force of his body, her own little cries of ecstasy...

  Clenching her hands until the nails bit painfully into her palms, she heard him answer laconically, ‘We have good lights, and I’m used to the backwoods.’

  That fact never failed to surprise her. He always seemed so sophisticated, so much the city-dweller. Yet her uncle Harry had told her that as a young man Nick had spent a lot of time in the lumber camps, developing muscles, building up a magnificent physique with hard, grinding labour, and earning the respect of his future employees by the sweat of his brow.

  Harry, too, had loved the outdoors, and in years gone by the pair of them had spent a lot of time trekking and canoeing in the wilderness.

  Wilderness... The emotive word made a shudder run through her.

  Gathering her courage, she reminded herself that she had five hours. If, during that time, she could find some way of changing his mind, some way of persuading him to stay in Bangor for the night, his anger might evaporate by morning.

  ‘Plotting something?’ he enquired softly.

  Feeling her face grow hot, she was glad he was looking straight ahead. ‘I was wondering why you’re going by road,’ she said mendaciously. ‘I mean, why not by air as we...as we did last time.’

  ‘We could have got a flight to Bangor, but the company plane is in use.’

  ‘What is it normally used for?’

  ‘To ferry people into and out of places inaccessible by road.’

  ‘Who usually flies it?’ She needed to keep him talking, to thaw some of that icy anger.