by Miranda Lee
Nick was not at his best when backed into a corner. He always came out fighting.
‘And you haven’t done the same?’ he counter-attacked.
‘I seem to recall your telling me in my study on Christmas Day that all you wanted from me was sex. Obviously that wasn’t the truth, was it? You want what you’ve always wanted: marriage. That’s why you’ve been so damned accommodating all the time. And why you’re so upset right now!’
Her face flushed with a shaming heat, her hurt eyes making him feel totally wretched.
‘If that’s what you really think, Nick,’ she choked out, ‘then I can’t stay here with you. I just can’t.’
In all his life, Nick had never felt so dreadful. Even when he’d been in jail. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? He was no good for her. Better they call it quits now before she got even more hurt.
‘If that’s what you want,’ he snapped.
‘What I want …’ She shook her head, her shoulders slumping as a soul-weary sigh escaped her lips. ‘I’m never going to get what I want. Not with you. I can see that now.’ She straightened, putting her shoulders back and lifting her chin up. ‘I’m sorry for throwing that book at you, Nick. Generally speaking, you have been honest with me. Quite brutally at times. I just didn’t want to hear what you were saying.’
Now Nick felt even worse, his heart like a great lump of iron in his chest. The temptation to jump up and take her in his arms was almost overwhelming. He wanted to tell her that he was the sorry one, that she was unique and special and that he did want to marry her.
But he resisted the temptation. Somehow.
‘I … I’ll move my things into one of the spare bedrooms for tonight,’ she went on, her eyes glistening. ‘Then first thing tomorrow I’ll see if I can get on a flight back to Sydney.’
‘Fine,’ he said, and threw back the sheet. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SARAH couldn’t sleep. Not only was she still very upset, but she was also hot. The weather forecast had been right: the temperature had risen sharply over the last few hours, so the air-conditioning was struggling in the higher humidity.
In the end, Sarah got up, put on the pink bikini she’d bought before Christmas, grabbed a towel and headed for the pool. Who cared if it was the middle of the night and pitch-black outside? The pool had underwater lighting.
The strength of the wind surprised her. She had to anchor her towel underneath a banana lounger to stop it from blowing away. The same banana lounger, she realised, that she and Nick had had sex on the day before. Wild, wanton sex, with herself a very willing partner.
Shuddering at the memory, Sarah dived into the water, and began stroking vigorously up and down, hoping to make herself so exhausted that when she returned to bed she would immediately fall asleep.
Fat chance, she thought wretchedly, but continued to punish herself with lap after lap. Finally, the lactic acid in her joints forced her to stop. Slowly, she swam over towards the lounger that was down near the far edge of the pool.
Sarah shivered as she hauled herself out of the water. The wind was much stronger than before. That storm couldn’t be far off now. Hopefully, it wouldn’t last too long. She didn’t want there to be any reason for the airport to be closed tomorrow. She needed to get off this island and away from Nick as soon as possible.
Sarah was bending to retrieve her towel when a wildly swirling gust of wind lifted a nearby table and umbrella off the tiled surrounds and hurled them against her back. She screamed as she was catapulted with tremendous force into the air and right over the horizon edge of the pool. She screamed again when she hit the water-catching ledge below with a bruising blow to her shoulder, another scream bursting from her mouth when momentum carried her right off the edge and into the void.
Nick was lying on top of the sheets, wide awake, when he heard Sarah’s terrified screams. He was off the bed in a flash, fear quickening his heartbeat—and his legs—as he raced in the direction of her cries.
The pool area.
The security light was already on, indicating that Sarah must have come outside here recently. But he couldn’t see her anywhere.
And then he saw them: the table and umbrella floating in the far end of the pool.
‘Oh, my God!’ he exclaimed, his first thought being that she was under them in the water, knocked unconscious and already drowning.
When Nick dived in and found no sign of her, an even worse possibility came to mind. Swimming to the far edge, he peered over it to the ledge below, hoping against hope that he’d see her sitting there, waiting for him to pull her up into his arms.
The most appalling dread consumed him when the dimly lit ledge proved empty as well. The thought that she had fallen down to the rocky waters below was so horrendous that he could hardly conceive of it. For no one could survive a fall like that.
‘Nooooo!’ he screamed into the wind.
She could not be dead. Not his Sarah. Not his wonderful, beautiful, sweet Sarah.
‘Nick! Nick, are you there?’
Nick almost cried with relief. ‘Yes, I’m here,’ he called back, scrambling over the edge and dropping down to the ledge below. ‘Where are you? I can’t see you!’
His eyes were gradually becoming accustomed to the lack of direct light, but the wind was making them water like mad.
‘Down here.’
‘Down where?’
He leant right over as far as he dared, finally spotting her clinging to the cliff a few metres down under the ledge. No, not to the cliff but to a bush that was growing out of a crevice in the rock face—a rather straggly-looking bush.
Hopefully, the roots were tenacious.
‘Have you got a foothold?’ he called out to her.
‘A bit of a one. But I think this bush is coming loose. Oh, God, yes, it is. Do something, Nick.’
Nick knew she was too far down for him to reach. He needed something long that she could get hold of. But what?
Panic turned his head to mush for a moment.
‘Think, man,’ he muttered to himself.
The umbrella in the pool. It was quite large and its supporting pole was long.
‘Hold on, Sarah, I have an idea.’
Adrenaline had him leaping back up and into the pool with the agility of a monkey. He grabbed the umbrella, yanked it down, then jumped back with it to the ledge below.
‘Here,’ he said, and stretched it out towards her. ‘Grab this.’
She did so.
‘Hold on tight,’ he ordered.
Her weight surprised him at first. But he felt strong, stronger than he’d ever felt. And then she was there, in his arms, weeping and shaking with shock.
Nick held her close, his lips buried in her wet hair, his eyes tightly shut.
‘It’s all right,’ he said thickly. ‘I have you now. You’re safe.’
‘Oh, Nick,’ Sarah cried. ‘I … I thought I was going to die.’
Nick held her even tighter. He’d thought she had died. And it was the most defining moment in his life. He knew now what Jim had felt at that hospital. Because as much as Jim loved Flora, he loved Sarah. Oh, yes, he loved her. There was no longer any doubt in his mind.
But did that make any difference? Wouldn’t she still be better off if he let her go?
He just didn’t know any more.
‘I … I can’t stop sh-shaking,’ she said, her teeth chattering.
‘You’re in shock,’ he told her. ‘What you need is a warm bath, and a hot cup of tea with lots of sugar in it. But first, I have to get you up out of here. Very, very carefully.’
Sarah couldn’t stop thinking about the moment she’d fallen off that ledge. Couldn’t stop reliving the fear, and the split-second realisation that her life was about to be over.
It made one reassess things, facing death like that. Made one see what was important, and what wasn’t. Made one more prepared to take a risk or two.
‘Here’s the tea,’ Nick said as he came into the bathroom.
Sarah was lying back in a very deep, deliciously warm bath, her pink bikini still on. Nick, however, was still naked.
‘Do you think you could put something on?’ she said to him when he handed her the tea. Sarah knew she would find it difficult to talk to a naked Nick.
And she did want to talk to him. Sensibly and truthfully.
Nick pulled a towel off a nearby rail and tied it around his hips.
‘This do?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, thank you. No, please don’t leave. I … I have something I want to say to you.’
Nick crossed his arms and leant against the far wall whilst Sarah lifted the mug to her lips and swallowed, grimacing at the excessive sweetness. Finally, she put the mug down and locked eyes with him.
‘I’ve decided I don’t want to go home tomorrow.’
His eyes flickered momentarily. ‘And why’s that, Sarah?’
‘I love you, Nick. I’ve always loved you. You were quite right about why I came here with you. I had this romantic dream that if we spent quality time together, you would discover that you loved me back. And then there was the ultimate fantasy of your asking me to marry you.’
Now he did move, his arms uncrossing as he levered himself away from the wall, his high forehead drawing into a frown. ‘Sarah, I—’
‘No, no, let me finish, please, Nick.’
‘Very well.’
‘You may have been right about my reasons for coming here with you. But you were wrong when you accused me of using sex to try to get what I wanted. Not once have I said yes to you sexually with that agenda in mind. I love it when you make love to me. I’ve never experienced anything like it before in my life. I can’t describe how I feel when you’re inside me. I don’t want to walk away from that pleasure, Nick. So if you still want me, I’d like to stay. I … I promise I won’t put on any more insanely jealous turns. I just want to be with you, Nick,’ she finished, a huge lump having formed in her throat during her brave little speech. ‘Please … I …’
When her eyes filled with tears, Nick couldn’t stand it any longer. How could his sending her away be the best thing for her? Or him? Seeing her like this was killing him.
‘Don’t cry,’ he choked out as he fell to his knees by the bath. ‘Please don’t cry.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s just … I … I love you so much.’
His hands reached out to cup her lovely face. ‘And I love you, my darling.’
She gasped, her eyes widening.
‘I knew it tonight when I thought I’d lost you. I love you, Sarah. And I do want to marry you.’
Her eyes carried shock, and scepticism. ‘You … you don’t mean that. You can’t. You always said …’
‘I know what I always said. I thought I wasn’t good enough for you.’
‘Oh, Nick. That’s just so not true.’
‘Yes, it is,’ he insisted. ‘But if you will trust me with your life I vow that I will do my best never to hurt you, or let you or your father down. I will be faithful only to you. I will love you and protect you. And I will love and protect our children.’
Her already shocked eyes rounded further. ‘You’re prepared to have children?’
‘I’ll have your children, my darling, because I know that any shortcomings I have as a father will be more than made up for by your brilliance as a mother.’
‘You … you shouldn’t say such sweet things to me,’ she cried.
‘Why not? I mean them.’
Her tear-filled eyes searched his. ‘You do mean them, don’t you?’
‘I surely do.’
‘I … I don’t know what to say.’
‘Yes to marrying me would be a good start.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, and he kissed her. When his mouth lifted she was smiling.
‘I’m glad to see I was right,’ she said.
‘About what?’ Nick asked.
‘The heroine in a romance never dies.’
EPILOGUE
‘DON’T you think people might think it’s odd,’ Flora said, ‘having a sixty-one-year-old bridesmaid?’
‘Who cares what people think?’ Sarah countered. ‘Besides, you look absolutely beautiful.’ She did, too. A few weeks of healthy eating and exercising had done wonders. So did her new blonde hair. Flora looked ten years younger.
‘Not as beautiful as the bride,’ Flora returned with a warm smile. ‘I’m so happy for you and Nick, love. If ever a couple were made for each other it’s you two. Ray would have been very pleased. Pleased about the baby, too.’
‘I think so,’ Sarah said, beaming with happiness.
She’d forgotten to take the Pill the morning after that traumatic night on Happy Island, and had fallen pregnant. At first she’d been a bit nervous about Nick’s reaction, but he’d been absolutely thrilled.
It seemed mother nature knew what she was doing.
Now here she was, almost four months pregnant, about to marry the father of her baby and the only man she’d ever loved. She was not, however, a super-rich heiress. The day before her twenty-fifth birthday, she’d discussed her feelings over her inheritance with Nick and decided to do what he’d once said her father should have done in the first place: give all the money to charity.
So she had, dividing up the many millions in the estate between various charities that supported the poor and the needy.
Of course, she wasn’t exactly broke. She still owned Goldmine, which was worth a conservative twenty million. Not that she would ever sell it. And then there were the royalties from Outback Bride, which would continue to flow in, the movie having been re-released after the worldwide success of its sequel. Nick had been so right about that tear-jerker ending.
Generally speaking, however, Nick would be the main provider for their family, an excellent source of motivation for him to keep working hard and feeling good about himself. Sarah vowed to never forget that underneath her husband’s façade of confidence lay a damaged child who constantly needed the healing power of love. Her love.
A loud knock on her bedroom door was accompanied by a familiar voice. ‘Time for the bride to make an appearance downstairs. We don’t want the groom thinking things, do we?’
Sarah was smiling as she opened the door.
‘Wow!’ Derek said, looking her up and down. ‘It’s at moments like these I wish I weren’t gay. And I’m not just talking about the bride.’
‘Oh, go on with you,’ Flora said, but with a big grin on her face.
Derek had become a frequent visitor to Goldmine, with Nick even warming to him. Derek had been delighted—and touched—when Sarah had asked him to give her away.
‘OK, girls,’ he said, linking arms with Sarah, ‘it’s showtime!’
‘Goddamn!’ Jim exclaimed beside Nick when an elegantly dressed blonde lady walked sedately down the steps into the rather crowded family room. ‘Is that my Flora?’
‘Indeed it is,’ Nick informed his best man. But his own admiring eyes moved quickly to the radiant bride following Flora, his heart filling with emotion as he watched Sarah walk towards him with the most glorious smile on her face. It was a smile of total love and trust, that love and trust which had soothed his soul and brought it out from the dungeon into the light.
Nick still found it hard to believe sometimes that he was happy about becoming a husband and father. Still, anything was possible with Sarah by his side.
‘You look amazing,’ he said softly to her as he took her hand and they turned to face the celebrant.
‘You do, too,’ she whispered back.
‘Ray would have been so proud of you.’
Her hand squeezed his tightly. ‘You, too, my darling heart. You, too.’
The Sicilian’s
Christmas Bride
Sandra Marton
About the Author
SANDRA MARTON wrote her first novel while she was still in elementary school.
Her doting parents told her she’d be a writer someday and Sandra believed them. In high school and college, she wrote dark poetry nobody but her boyfriend understood, though, looking back, she suspects he was just being kind. As a wife and mother, she wrote murky short stories in what little spare time she could manage, but not even her boyfriend-turned-husband could pretend to understand those. Sandra tried her hand at other things, among them teaching and serving on the board of education in her home town, but the dream of becoming a writer was always in her heart.
At last Sandra realised she wanted to write books about what all women hope to find: love with that one special man; love that’s rich with fire and passion; love that lasts forever. She wrote a novel, her very first, and sold it to the Mills & Boon® Modern™ line. Since then, she’s written more than sixty books, all of them featuring sexy, gorgeous, larger-than-life heroes. A four-time RITA® Award finalist, she’s also received five Romantic Times BOOKclub awards for Best Mills & Boon® Modern™ of the Year and has been honoured with a Career Achievement Award for Series Romance. Sandra lives with her very own sexy, gorgeous, larger-than-life hero in a sun-filled house on a quiet country lane in the northeastern United States.
Sandra loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her or visit her at www.sandramarton.com.
Dear Reader,
I think we all have special memories, don’t you? One of my favourites has to do with Christmas. When I was five or six, we spent Christmas in a beautiful old house in upstate New York. I, a child of Manhattan, had always worried how Santa would find me in our big apartment building. And we had no chimney. How would he get into our living room? Somehow, it always worked out but, still, I was never quite sure that it would. That Christmas, so far from home, I had a new concern. Would Santa know we weren’t in the city?
As my mother tucked me into bed Christmas Eve, she assured me that he would. She read me The Night Before Christmas, a tradition I would also keep years later, when I became a mum. After, I lay awake, wide-eyed, watching the snow fall outside the window, wondering about Santa and his reindeer. I was determined not to fall asleep …