Long-Distance Marriage

by Kendrick, Sharon

  ‘See how narrow and pale your hand looks, he mused. ‘And such beautiful long fingers, too...’ He touched them with his own fingers, and the stroking movement suddenly became the most erotic thing which had ever happened to her. ‘They are an artist’s fingers. Am I right?’

  He had even, she realised dazedly, used her own method of direct speaking. Her mouth grew suddenly dry. She tried to swallow but there seemed to be something constricting her throat. With the biggest effort she had ever made, she dragged her hand out of his with all the reluctance of a limpet being removed from a rock. She retreated to the safety of her chair, the large desk putting a welcome space between them, but more than that—her knees felt so ridiculously weak that she was half afraid they might give way!

  ‘Mr Calder,’ she began.

  ‘Cameron,’ he smiled, with the assurance of a man who would not hesitate to use his considerable charm without compunction.

  She gave him a brief smile in return, a smile which was supposed to tell him that she was not easily moved by charm. The only trouble was that he didn’t look suitably convinced.

  And neither was she!

  ‘Cameron,’ she conceded, since to use his surname and title would be bizarre; the advertising world was notoriously casual. ‘I’m afraid that I really can’t see you today.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘I assume that you’re considering using this advertising agency to promote Calder products?’

  ‘I am.’ Without asking, he pulled out the chair on the other side of her desk and comfortably arranged his long, elegant frame in it.

  ‘That’s marvellous!’ Trying to concentrate on the job instead of thinking how...how...superb he looked, sitting there in front of her, Alessandra flashed him her most professional smile to try and hide her thoughts.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ he mocked, as though he knew perfectly well what she was thinking.

  ‘But I always insist on at least a couple of hours with new clients, and I’m afraid—’ she glanced at her watch ‘—that I have a meeting at one-thirty.’

  ‘And in the meantime?’

  She smiled, and shrugged as she patted her flat stomach. ‘I have to eat lunch.’

  ‘Mmm. Me too. Let’s eat lunch together. We could talk then. I happen to know the most wonderful little Italian restaurant that’s only a few streets away from here.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ she answered patronisingly. She knew it too. All moody candlelight—even at lunchtime! —and soft music playing in the background; the owner was a notorious romantic! Although, she thought caustically, she doubted whether Cameron Calder was interested in romance. He had the lean look of the predator about him which indicated that sex might be the only thing on his mind! ‘But I’m not going out for lunch,’ she told him crisply.

  ‘Oh?’ A dark eyebrow was raised in arrogant query.

  ‘Most days I just order up a sandwich at my desk.’

  ‘That’s fine by me!’

  Was there no stopping him? ‘Cameron!’ she exclaimed sharply, and, oh, the word felt so right on her lips.

  ‘Mmm?’ He gave her a lazy look from those narrowed blue-grey eyes.

  ‘I am not having lunch with you. I will reschedule an appointment for you so that we can discuss business—’

  ‘No. There’s no need,’ he interrupted firmly.

  ‘Really?’ She gave him an acid glance. So! He was the kind of man who, in a fit of pique, decided not to use the best advertising agency in London just because she wouldn’t have lunch with him! How petty!

  ‘Really,’ he echoed mockingly. ‘You see, you’ve already convinced me.’

  ‘P-pardon?’ she asked in confusion.

  ‘To use Holloway’s.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Not just like that, no,’ he said, and she suddenly saw another side to him, saw the calm yet powerful authority which he could so effortlessly use to dominate...

  ‘I’ve seen your track record, and I’m impressed,’ he continued, in that deep drawl. ‘And it takes a lot to impress me—Alessandra,’ he added silkily as his eyes moved with slow deliberation down the top half of her body which was the only bit of her on show behind the desk, and she knew that the subject had shifted right away from work.

  She hadn’t given him permission to use her Christian name, but she couldn’t object, couldn’t do anything, because suddenly she was breathless with excitement at being the subject of that bold yet careless scrutiny.

  She was wearing a neat suit in apple-green linen, but she might as well have been clad in some silky little scrap because she felt positively siren-like under the obvious appraisal which lit the blue-grey eyes consideringly.

  ‘So...’ And his eyes travelled up from her neat waist, visually caressing her lush, heavy breasts, and she thought that his voice sounded strangely unsteady.

  But that must have been an illusion, for he leaned across the desk and his hand moved to hover over her telephone. He gave her a questioning stare. ‘Shall I order for you? No, let me guess!’ He gave a frown of mock concentration. ‘Avocado and bacon on rye? Accompanied by a chilled and freshly squeezed orange juice?’

  Typical! He had just mentioned her very favourite sandwich! Was he psychic, or what? He was making her mouth water, and not just for food, she thought in alarm. With a huge effort, she somehow managed to assert herself.

  ‘Has anyone ever said no to you before?’ she asked him curiously, but she was unable to stop the small smile which creased her lips.

  He gave her a movie-star dazzle of a smile in reply. ‘Do you want the truth?’

  She leaned back in her chair and surveyed him. ‘I’d appreciate it.’

  He shrugged the broad shoulders. ‘Then no. At least, I can’t remember a time. Why?’ And here the eyes sparked with a definite challenge. ‘Do you plan to be the first?’

  She made her mind up in an instant. For heaven forbid that she should follow on the heels of the hordes who had doubtless just melted into his arms in the past. ‘Yes,’ she answered decisively, wondering why on earth she should be thinking about melting into his arms when the man had only asked her to have lunch with him! ‘I do.’

  ‘Interesting,’ he murmured appreciatively. ‘I always rise to a challenge.’

  Alessandra gulped, her mind immediately putting a frighteningly erotic connotation on his words. ‘I’m having a sandwich at my desk,’ she asserted. ‘Alone!’

  He remained unperturbed. ‘Quite sure? Because I fly to the States in the morning. And you won’t have another chance to see me for eight whole days.’

  Of all the arrogant cheek! Alessandra bristled with indignation, but she managed to hide it. ‘I’m sure I’ll survive,’ she said drily. ‘Goodbye.’

  But her heart stupidly and disloyally started to pound with disappointment as he rose with elegant grace to his feet.

  ‘Be seeing you,’ he promised softly.

  Those eight days dragged unbelievably and Alessandra was like a cat on hot bricks. Yet she despised herself for the jumpy way she was behaving and the way she was having to force herself to concentrate on work, having to push away the image which had emblazoned itself on her mind’s eye. And always the same image. An image of a face...with narrow blue-grey eyes and sensual lips, and dark, disarrayed hair.

  She actually found herself buying a copy of the magazine he’d been featured in, in the awfully named article ‘Marriageable Millionaires’, eagerly drinking in the two columns of print about him, and glaring at a photo of him taken outside a nightclub. It showed a woman with him, a woman wearing a dress which was held together by safety pins—revealing absolutely everything—who was clinging to Cameron’s narrow hips like a drowning man to a lifeline.

  The article was of the ill-informed variety, where the subject had obviously refused point-blank to take part in the interview, and was comprised almost totally of the opinions of a few anonymous ‘friends’.

  These had padded out the few available facts. That Cameron Cald
er was an only child. His mother had died when he was seven—and here Alessandra felt tears welling up in her eyes as she read—and he had been packed off to boarding-school. That he had inherited an ailing company on his father’s death, when he was only twenty, forcing him to leave Oxford, where he’d won a scholarship. And that he’d turned the fortunes of the company round to make Calder Incorporated one of the biggest in Europe.

  The article then went into amateur psychology mode, and hinted that the early loss of his mother was what made him so impervious to the lure of marriage, remaining resolutely single, despite squiring some of the world’s most beautiful women.

  Alessandra found herself counting off the days until his return, with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner ticking off the days to freedom. She despised herself for the rapid thudding of her heart every time her phone rang, both at work and at home. Because, even though she wasn’t listed, and even though she hadn’t given him her telephone number, she didn’t doubt for a moment that the enterprising Mr Calder would find a way to discover it.

  If he wanted to, she reminded herself.

  She dreamt about him, and when she was awake he filled her thoughts. And two days after he was due back she had still heard nothing from him.

  ‘Blast the man!’ she said to an empty office then eagerly snatched up the phone which was shrilling on her desk. ‘Yes?’ she said, affecting disinterest.

  It was Janice.

  Alessandra’s heart sank like a stone. ‘Yes, Janice?’

  ‘Er—Mr Calder is here.’

  Alessandra’s heart was resurrected. ‘And?’ She gulped.

  ‘He’d like to see you.’

  Alessandra steadied her breathing as Janice resumed speaking.

  ‘Only, he isn’t sure whether he’s allowed in or not, since—or—he hasn’t got an appointment.’

  Alessandra’s heart warred with her conscience. She could just imagine him standing by her secretary’s desk with a smug, self-satisfied smile spread all over his arrogantly handsome face as he waited for her to admit him!

  She took a very deep breath. ‘No, you’re quite right, Janice. He hasn’t. Schedule him in for some time next week, will you?’

  She heard Janice’s squeak of indignation, the sound of a door opening and shutting and low, mocking laughter as Cameron stood leaning elegantly against the closed door of her office.

  ‘Miss me?’ he queried softly.

  ‘No,’ she answered firmly, praying that by letting her eyelashes partially cover her eyes he’d be unable to read the message there.

  ‘Liar!’ he taunted on a smoky whisper, then gave her a rueful little smile. ‘Looks like we won’t be able to do business together after all,’ he murmured. ‘Pity.’

  Alessandra forced herself to remain calm, even though her heart was sinking at the thought of never seeing him again. ‘Oh?’ she queried. ‘You’ve decided you don’t like our work?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ he demurred. ‘I like it very much.’

  Alessandra frowned. ‘Then—?’

  ‘It’s just that I don’t mix business with pleasure,’ he told her, a wicked glint dancing in his blue-grey eyes. ‘Ever.’

  Like an open-mouthed fool she watched him walk towards her, her hand still foolishly holding onto the telephone receiver, which he took from her and calmly replaced in its cradle.

  ‘What do you think you’re—?’ spluttered Alessandra as he came round to her side of the desk and pulled her to her feet and into his arms.

  ‘Doing?’ he prompted huskily. ‘Why, doing what I should have done the very first time I saw you.’ He began to lower his dark head tantalisingly towards hers, and Alessandra’s eyelids automatically fluttered to a close in blissful anticipation. Only to flutter open again to find him staring down at her with wicked amusement dancing in his eyes.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ he said softly. ‘I like the fact that you played so hard to get.’

  Ten days was hard to get? Maybe she should have fended him off for longer! Alessandra opened her mouth to protest, but by then it was too late.

  By then he was kissing her.

  What happened in the next two months Alessandra had imagined only happened in films or books. Cameron, the gorgeous and arrogant ‘Marriageable Millionaire’, pursued her with all the ruthless intent of a prospector out to find gold.

  He wined her and dined her. Took her to theatres and the opera. They agreed on some things and disagreed on many others, but every single argument they had was passionate. His mind, she recognised, was razor-sharp, and she loved pitting her wits against him, adored seeing the reluctant admiration which lit those penetrating eyes whenever he had to concede a point. He was, she recognised shrewdly as she remembered his words to her, the type of man who needed to be constantly challenged.

  They ate picnics in the country and candyfloss by the sea. He took her bowling and swimming and taught her how to play golf. It was the most idyllic time of her life.

  The only fly in the ointment was geographical. Cameron’s factory was in Manchester, where he owned his main residence, and her work was in London. Moments together were snatched. Never had she longed for the weekend so much, when they would have a whole two uninterrupted days together, usually in his luxury London flat, which wasn’t too far away from her own.

  It didn’t take long for her to realise that she was in love with him; indeed, she suspected that she had fallen in love with him the first time she’d ever set eyes on him. But she had seen from her mother’s example how love could destroy ambition. She didn’t want to be in love, and she certainly didn’t want to be in love with a man as eligible as Cameron Calder!

  It didn’t help that he was the most perfect man she had ever met in every way. Physically, Alessandra had never met a man who could reduce her to such a boneless state of longing just by a mere glance. Every time she saw him he kissed her to within about an inch of her life.

  He wanted her, and made no attempt to hide it, though he was the only man she had ever met who did not try to rush her.

  She wanted him too, but did her very best to hide it. She was terrified of something that she dared not admit, even to herself: that once she’d been to bed with him she’d be discarded like all the others. That playing hard to get was the only way to keep him. So that was what she would do, she decided. It was a dangerous game, but she didn’t care.

  One Friday night, about a month after they’d met, Cameron was in her flat; he’d arrived on the shuttle from Manchester in time for the dinner she had prepared for him. He had been lavish in his praise of her spinach soufflé and the prawn risotto followed by fresh fruit salad. He’d finished his coffee and was lying with his head in her lap, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling. Probably planning another major business coup, thought Alessandra, who, even after four weeks, was full of admiration for the gently ruthless way in which he did business. And, like him, she was not easily impressed.

  Softly, she ran her fingers through his thick dark hair, and he turned to reach up for her and brought her head down so that he could kiss her.

  It was heaven. She simply couldn’t get enough of him, and, minutes later, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, lying side by side on the sofa, their faces touching as they gazed longingly into each other’s eyes and fought for breath.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he whispered urgently against her lips.

  Alessandra dragged her mouth away with huge reluctance. Being kissed by Cameron was like bringing cream cakes into a dieter’s meeting, she thought. Or lakes to the desert. ‘No,’ she murmured indistinctly, trying to convince herself that she was making the best decision, when his next words stilled her.

  ‘Don’t you know that I love you?’ he asked, but so lightly that she didn’t believe him. She struggled to free herself from his embrace, but he wouldn’t let her, studying her mulish expression intently.

  ‘No?’ he queried. ‘Oh, hell—then I guess I’ll just have to make a decent woman out of you, won’t I? Marry
me, Alessandra.’

  Alessandra froze. She’d always thought that she was against marriage, but meeting Cameron had made her think again. In her more crazy moments she couldn’t deny that she had fantasised about him asking her, but not like that! Not as a last, desperate measure because all else had failed to get her into bed with him!

  And in her less crazy moments she had also thought about the reality of marriage to a man like Cameron, a man who was intelligent, funny, rich and sexy. Of what it would be like trying to keep the interest of a man like that. Impossible, that was what it would be!

  She made her mind up then. She loved him and she wanted him, and to hell with anything else! She would live in the present and not care about the future. She didn’t need marriage or games! Game-playing simply wasn’t for her, she had decided—not when the stakes were so high. This wasn’t a game—this was real life she was coping with, and a real relationship! She liked and respected Cameron far too much to indulge in the kind of moral blackmail she had always despised—of staying out of his bed just to keep his interest.

  ‘No,’ she answered huskily, shaking her head emphatically as her fingers crept down to begin to unbutton his shirt.

  It was the first time she had seen him look perplexed. ‘No?’ he echoed, as confused as if a lottery winner had just refused to accept the jackpot Which, in a way, it was, she supposed with somewhat wry amusement as the buttons flew free of their holes, laying bare his magnificent torso.

  ‘No, I won’t marry you,’ she told him in a tone as light as the one he’d used when he’d said he loved her. She bent her soft mouth to kiss the hollow of his neck, and allowed her fingers to trickle slowly down his chest.

  Her wrist was clamped by a grasp of steel as his hand halted her progress.

  ‘No?’ he demanded again, only this time his eyes were unrecognisable. He wasn’t used to being turned down, she realised. And he didn’t like it one bit. Well, that was too bad!

  ‘And what have you got against marriage?’ he asked casually. ‘Or is it just me?’