The Bride's Secret

by Helen Brooks

  'Hudson, you said you wouldn't do this. You said—'

  'I want to eat you alive, Annie. Ravish you, taste you, turn day to night and night to day until you're so full of me you can't take any more. And then I want to do it all over again.'

  She shut her eyes at the dark enchantment his words called forth, and when she opened them again, their green depths shimmering, it was to see he had moved back slightly to look down into her face. 'But first you take a step of faith, and you're not there yet, are you?' he said softly. 'You don't trust me; you're afraid for some reason. I can read it in those great eyes of yours.'

  Afraid? Yes, she was afraid, but for him—not herself. And she trusted him—she would trust him with her life—but she couldn't very well say so. He was a man of integrity, honour, courage. And although she had killed his love for her she knew his physical desire for her body was still very real, but she wasn't strong enough to give herself to him for a brief interlude and then walk away.

  But she would have to. Those very qualities that made him the man he was also made him a target for the men Michael had been mixed up with, men who hated and feared—with good cause—the name of Hudson de Sance. Men who weren't worthy to lick his boots.

  'So I'll wait' He moved back further, his hands falling away from her face, but although she was free she sat in exactly the same position, her mind spinning. 'Until the time is right for me to take you,' he said with incredible matter-of-factness.

  'I don't want you to,' she whispered softly.

  'There's… there's no point in you waiting for something that's not going to happen.'

  'I don't agree.' He was quite still'

  'And it will happen.'

  'Hudson, we are nothing to each other now; you said so yourself—we aren't even friends. Why… why complicate things like this? I don't understand why you wanted me to come here with you. There must be hundreds of women who would be only too pleased to leap into your bed,' she finished miserably.

  'Thousands,' he agreed laconically, his eyes tight on her face.

  'Then why bother with someone who… who doesn't want to?'

  'Call it a whim if you like,' he said evenly.

  Marianne's stomach clenched and she lowered her gaze to her lap, her soft mouth unconsciously tightening. A whim? She had been reduced to a whim in his life? But then, whose fault was that?

  'But for now we'll take a stroll around a souk, perhaps explore some of the narrow alleys that thread the medina and find a keepsake we might like to take home, yes?'

  The last few words were like a punch in the chest as it hit her, with devastating painfulness, that if Michael had never come into her life the home Hudson had mentioned would have been their marital one. She would have been his wife. His wife.

  'Fine.' Her nod and smile were brittle and she didn't say any more—her acting ability only went so far.

  'And please try to relax a little,' he said coolly. 'This is supposed to be a holiday, after all; you've finished working now. You are allowed to enjoy yourself.' His eyes challenged her to take up the gauntlet but she ignored the dark gaze that held a wicked glitter in its depths.

  'I am enjoying myself,' she answered brightly. 'Very much.'

  'If this is you enjoying yourself very much, I'd hate to see you when you're making an effort,' he drawled sardonically. 'But, no matter, you'll relax. I'll make you,' he added silkily.

  She ignored that too.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Their hotel had formerly been a magnificent palace, built some two hundred years before by a Grand Vizier—a chief adviser to the sultan—and approached through a gate in the city wall. It was just after five when Marianne and Hudson walked across a hot and dusty courtyard, and, after going down several flights of shaded stone steps, emerged into a cool garden where banana trees, vibrant bougainvillaea vines and a riot of other flowering tropical plants flourished amid the gentle murmur of several small stone fountains.

  At the far end of the garden they passed through an imposing Moorish arch and into Reception, where a small and very charming Moroccan girl greeted them prettily, speaking quietly in perfect English with just the faintest trace of an accent.

  Marianne had had all afternoon to think about her plan of action when the double room, or suite of rooms, was mentioned. She would be cool and firm, polite, but quite adamant when she made it clear she was insisting on her own quarters.

  'Mr de Sance.' Hudson smiled at the receptionist, his handsome face portraying none of the agitation that was turning Marianne's stomach into a churning cauldron at the coming confrontation. 'I have made a reservation.'

  She knew it. She had known it all along. One room.

  'Ah, yes, Mr de Sance.' The girl smiled back, clearly thoroughly appreciating every inch of the lean, finely honed body in front of her. 'We have been expecting you both. A table for dinner has been reserved in your name and it is entirely up to you when you eat, but dinner is served from seven o'clock onwards… '

  As the receptionist continued to give the practised speech, her voice soft and welcoming and the dark brown eyes flirtatious, Marianne nerved herself for the moment it would finish. How dared he, how dared he just assume she would fall into his hands like an overripe peach at the first opportunity? She hadn't seen him for two years, for goodness' sake. Did he really think she was that easy? Anyone would think they had just seen each other last week!

  Two years—and whose fault is that? The inner voice spoke with devastating clarity and she felt a moment of searing guilt before she answered silently, Not mine, not really; it isn't.

  But Hudson doesn't know that. Again it intruded when she least needed it, and now her reply was sharp and strong when she thought, Too late, it's done. And it's for the best—for him anyway.

  The bellboy will show you to your suites if you're ready?'

  Marianne heard the last sentence through the turmoil in her mind, but indistinctly, like a faint drone. 'Did you say suites?' she asked carefully, vitally aware of Hudson at the side of her as she spoke directly to the girl, her voice quiet.

  'Yes.' There was a moment's pause as the receptionist's dark eyes flickered towards Hudson. 'This is right, is it not? Two suites overlooking the city? This is what you required?'

  'Perfect.' He turned to Marianne now, his eyes wicked as he added, 'Just perfect, wouldn't you say, Annie?'

  'I… Yes—yes, of course—' She stopped the stammering abruptly. He had known exactly what she was thinking and he'd set her up for this embarrassing episode, she thought irritably. He was always one—no, ten, a hundred—steps in front of her, and there wasn't a darn thing she could do about it.

  'Good.' All mockery had died from his eyes and his mouth was straight, almost grim, as he gave her one last look before turning to where the bellboy was standing waiting with their cases. Marianne didn't know what had wiped the amusement from his countenance and at that moment she found she didn't care; all her emotions were taken up with the fact that Hudson hadn't intended to share a room or a suite with her. It hurt. Ridiculously, it hurt.

  She knew it was unreasonable—if he had suggested it she had been all ready to refuse—but the fact that he hadn't wanted to had hit her hard. And she didn't like that either.

  The two suites were next to each other, and as the bellboy opened the door leading to Marianne's lavishly decorated rooms she couldn't stop her gasp of surprise. The large sitting room was gloriously opulent, the walls draped with rich swirls of dark green and turquoise silk and the low cream divans scattered with piled cushions of the same material. It had the appearance of a princely desert tent, and the effect was continued through into the beautiful bedroom, its sunken bed and exquisite furnishings leaving her breathless. Arabian Nights in miniature.

  What on earth did a suite like this cost a night? she asked herself as she peered in at the sumptuous bathroom, which was all marble and mirrors. She couldn't let Hudson pay, but she didn't know if she could afford to pay either! She just hadn't expected anything
like this. She sat down rather suddenly on one of the divans as the bellboy led Hudson to his own suite, and was still sitting there in a daze some moments later when a knock came at the door, and had to force herself to get up and answer it.

  'Dinner at eight?' Hudson was leaning against the stone wall of the corridor when she opened the door, his big, lean body indolent and relaxed and his eyes hooded as he surveyed her on the threshold. 'That will give you time to bathe and rest before we eat'

  'Hudson, how much is this hotel costing?' she asked abruptly, her agitation doing away with any finesse.

  'Why? Don't you like it?' His hands were thrust in his pockets, the material tight over his hips, and the very masculine posture did nothing for her composure or her pulse rate.

  'I think it's gorgeous, but it must be very expensive,' she said a trifle breathlessly. 'You pay a fortune for this sort of ambience.'

  'Do you?' he drawled easily. 'I wouldn't have said so.'

  'Hudson, I want to know how much it is,' she insisted.

  'Annie, why worry about the cost? I thought you realised all that was covered,' he said as he levered himself off the wall. 'We're on the road again tomorrow; it's just for one night'

  'You're not paying for me as well as yourself if that's what "covered" means,' she said firmly. 'I intended to do this trip, you know I did, and I'd put money aside for expenses and so on—'

  'Which now won't be needed,' he cut in smoothly. 'End of story.'

  'Hudson, there's no way I'd agree to you carrying all the expense; I never imagined you'd think I would. I think even a date should be fifty-fifty, let alone a trip like this.'

  'Do you?' It was resigned and a trifle weary. 'I suppose I might have guessed, you being such a thoroughly modern woman, but we never got round to little things like that two years ago, did we? We were too occupied with other things.' A sardonic eyebrow quirked, but she was determined not to give in and stared back at him without smiling. 'Well, sorry to disappoint you but I'm old-fashioned enough to believe that certain things never change,' he continued easily, although she noticed a touch of steel in the cool voice now. 'And paying for the lady is one of them.'

  'I'm not a lady—well, not in that sense,' she added quickly as the eyebrow rose higher. 'I'm a companion, the same as a man. Think of me like that if it makes it easier,' she said stoutly.

  'Annie, sweetheart, whatever else, I could never think of you as a man,' he said with extreme dryness. 'And I am not prepared to argue with you on this. For once, just once,' he emphasised softly, 'don't fight me. Accept defeat gracefully… please?'

  'I don't want to fight you—'

  'Good, that's settled, then,' he cut in immediately.

  'But I can't agree to this,' she continued irritably, ignoring the interruption as though he hadn't spoken. 'Surely you can see my point of view? It puts me under an… obligation. I don't like it'

  He looked at her for a long moment, his shirt open at the dark bronze of his neck and the lethal eyes narrowed on her troubled face, and the magnetism that was an essential part of his brooding attraction touched her senses, causing her to shiver deep inside.

  'Annie, Annie… ' He reached out and caught her wrist, drawing her towards him. 'There's not one other woman of my acquaintance who would really mean what you've just said. They might voice it for appearances' sake, the requisite social nicety, but they wouldn't object too hard,' he said with the touch of cynicism that was habitual with him, 'in case I took them at their word.'

  'I mean it' She wanted her voice to sound firm and controlled but it failed her miserably. 'I can assure you I mean it.'

  'I know you do,' he said softly. 'And it's very nice of you.'

  'So you agree?' she said quickly. 'I'll pay my half?'

  'No.' He was suddenly very quiet, his face serious as he said, 'This is a brief sojourn out of real life—an illusion, a fantasy. Don't spoil it, Annie. Just… go with the flow.'

  His lips covered hers as he pressed her back against the wall, his powerful body taut and hard as his hands moved over her softness and his mouth plundered hers.

  The embrace was so unexpected, and so pleasurable, that she couldn't stop the gasping little whimper that escaped her throat, and as he heard the unmistakable sound of her desire he growled softly, the reverberation primitive and rough. The moment lengthened, stretching into pleasurable minutes.

  His mouth searched hers intimately as his hands lowered to her hips, moving her against him in a way that fanned the flames of passion into a raging inferno for them both. 'Annie… What you do to me… ' His voice was deep and husky, and she had no defence against it or the magic of his lovemaking. 'I only have to touch you and you turn to fire in my arms. How can you deny us both… ?' he murmured softly. 'It's too cruel.'

  'Hudson, stop… ' Her voice was a shaken whisper as she twisted in his arms, and she could feel his heart pounding with the force of his desire when he kissed her again—deeply, intimately, until it was a kind of consummation in itself, the thrust of his tongue erotic and savage until she pushed frantically against him.

  This time he stopped—his mouth tearing away from hers with a groan that was echoed in the heart of her. He was breathing hard, his massive chest rising and falling for long moments under the thin material of his shirt as he fought for control. He let her go slowly, placing his hands on the wall, his arms outstretched and his head hanging down as she backed away from him into her room and shut the door with hands that trembled.

  Dinner was a painful affair for Marianne—at least at first Hudson had dressed up as befitted the superior restaurant—resplendent in black dinner jacket and tie—and when she opened her door to his knock at five minutes to eight she went weak at the knees at the sight of him. 'You look very lovely,' he said softly, taking her arm in a manner so relaxed and natural that if she hadn't known the heated episode of a couple of hours ago had definitely taken place she would have thought she'd imagined it. 'Very lovely indeed.'

  'Thank you.' Her voice was shaking but for the life of her she couldn't match his cool control. She had dressed carefully for the evening ahead, knowing she needed every little bit of help she could get to appear composed and unruffled. Her above-the-knee, long-sleeved, high-necked cocktail dress in a pale shade of green was made of a silky-soft material that clung in all the right places, but at the same time kept everything covered. She really couldn't have faced having an inch of skin exposed to Hudson's dark gaze that night, although she knew it was foolish of her.

  However, Marianne was completely unaware of the provocativeness of the demure style when linked with the soft, clinging silk, and the fact that it was far more sexy to the discerning male than any blatant show of flesh. And Hudson was a discerning male…

  She was overwhelmingly thankful for the two cocktails they enjoyed in the little bar off Reception. The pale amber liquid looked innocuous enough but had the kick of a mule, and enabled her to respond to Hudson's conversation more or less coherently, in spite of the whirling agitation and panic that the big, dark body induced without any effort at all.

  By the time they walked through to the restaurant she had begun to relax, and as Hudson chatted over their first course, his conversation easy and inconsequential, she relaxed still more. By the time dessert was served Marianne had realised she was actually enjoying herself, and it was all due to Hudson. He had set himself out to be amusing and non-threatening, teasing her, making her laugh, his air one of lazy comfortableness.

  'Oh, I love all the pastries they do out here,' Marianne said happily, digging her spoon into the layers of thin, flaky crust held together with cream, fruit and thick syrup with childish satisfaction, and closing her eyes for a moment at the first taste. 'They're gorgeous, just gorgeous.'

  Damn it, how he wanted her… Hudson's loins tightened as he watched her small pink tongue lick a morsel of pastry from the corner of her mouth, the action sensuous and cat-like. She was relaxed now—she had been like a cat on a hot tin roof when she'd first opene
d the door—but one wrong move from him and that formidable drawbridge would be hoisted into place. He wanted her, he intended to have her, but only when the time was right. He'd waited two years to possess her; he could wait a while longer—in spite of the battering his ego took every time they connected.

  What was it about him that she found so hard to take anyway? he felt the familiar rage and bitterness begin to flavour the moment and forced them back into the dark recesses of his mind. No matter. He was trained in breaking down defences and getting what he wanted, and time and circumstances were on his side. He only had to be patient. The word mocked him.

  'You'll get fat.' His smile was amiable and soothing, his eyes hooded as he watched her finish the dessert, and again, as she licked the spoon clean, he felt his loins stir.

  'I know.' She smiled back, the cocktails and two glasses of wine she had consumed with the meal mellowing her voice. 'I don't care. I'm one of those people who live to eat, not eat to live.'

  'Dangerous talk.' He leant forward, tilting her small chin with his large hand as he said, 'No signs of a double chin yet, but beware the demon pastries.' His fingers lingered on the velvety-soft skin for a second longer than was necessary, before they moved caressingly across her throat and brushed the pale green silk as they reluctantly left, but when her startled green eyes met his, his expression was mild and benign, even tranquil.

  She smiled again, but nervously this time, her confusion evident in the slight flush in her cheeks and rapid pulse in the silky skin he had just touched. 'You… you don't like plump women, then?' she asked with forced lightness.

  'I didn't say that.' His eyes were smoky and as dark as charcoal. 'I have no particular leaning one way or the other beyond that they are blonde—a pale, golden sort of blonde—with emerald-green eyes that hold flecks of sunlight in the depths of them, and a mouth… a mouth that begs to be kissed,' he finished huskily, his gaze moving to her lips where it caressed her skin lingeringly.