The Tycoon's Marriage Deal Read online

  He kept his expression blank. ‘We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.’

  She slipped her dress over her head without putting on her bra, smoothing the fabric over her hips that minutes ago had been pressed against his. Her features relaxed on a confessional sigh. ‘I was never the popular girl at school. I made friends easily enough, but because we moved every few years I had to leave them and start all over again. I taught myself to fit in where I could.’

  ‘That would’ve been tough on a shy girl.’

  Tillie gave a little you-can-say-that-again eye-roll. ‘It was. But when I met Simon when I was sixteen...well, I gravitated towards him because he seemed sensible compared to the other boys at school. He wasn’t into drugs or partying and he had strong values. He was conservative, yes, but I liked that about him. It was what I grew up with so it was familiar. We started hanging out together and then we became a couple and were together until the day of the wedding.’

  ‘When did he propose to you?’

  She bit down on her lower lip and averted her gaze to scoop up her knickers off the floor. She bundled them into a ball and held them in one hand. ‘When I was twenty-one, but it wasn’t a proposal as such...more like a discussion.’

  ‘You never had doubts he wasn’t the right one for you? Especially given his parents were mostly negative about you?’

  A shadow of something that looked like regret passed over her face. ‘Looking back, I think I ignored all the things that weren’t working between us and focussed on what was working. I wanted him to be my soul mate so I only looked for things to confirm that and disregarded anything that didn’t.’ She did a cute little self-deprecating lip twist and asked, ‘I guess you don’t believe in everyone having a soul mate?’

  Blake thought of his father and mother. They had been a solid unit, a perfectly balanced couple who had always brought out the best in each other. He often wondered if things had happened the other way around—his father dying instead of his mother—would his mother have struggled as much as his father? He got off the bed and stepped back into his trousers. ‘If there is such a thing, I’m not sure I’d want one for myself.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Blake shrugged, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. ‘I just don’t, that’s all.’

  Her smooth brow furrowed into fine lines. ‘Because of what happened to your father when your mother died?’

  Bang on the money, sweetheart.

  He kept his expression masked but he could feel Tillie’s brown gaze bearing down on his resolve to keep that part of his life closed off like a persistent file picking at a lock. ‘Hey, I thought you were going to cook me dinner?’ He kept his tone light, even managed to crank out a smile.

  She continued to hold his gaze. ‘You don’t like talking about her, do you?’

  Damn right I don’t.

  What good did talking do? It hadn’t changed a thing in twenty-four years. As far as he was concerned, two people had been put in that coffin that day and he had been left to carry on alone. His dad had all but died with his mother and Blake had had to grow up overnight. He had borne way too much responsibility for a child of that age.

  And that responsibility had continued well on into adulthood.

  He didn’t tie himself down to any one place or any one person because of it. For he knew, at a moment’s notice, his dad might need him.

  He never wanted to need someone like that.

  As his dad had needed his mum. Having a soul mate might sound great in theory, but in practice it sucked if and when that person left you or died.

  Blake was the one who left his relationships. He started them. He ended them. He moved on from them without regret.

  But something about Tillie’s gaze got to him. The way it was both soft and direct, as if she knew how painful his past was and yet was determined to get him to air it like a musty sweater that had been shoved at the back of the wardrobe.

  He let out a long sigh that made something tightly knotted in his chest loosen just a fraction. ‘No. I don’t.’

  Tillie came over to sit on the bed right in front of where he was standing, looking up at him with those doe eyes. In spite of the sombre nature of their conversation, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact she wasn’t wearing underwear under her dress.

  ‘I’ve often wondered if it’s harder to lose a mother you’ve never known or one you knew and loved,’ she said.

  Blake blinked away the memory of his mother’s death. How he had stood outside ICU the day her life support machine was turned off—because everyone had thought he was too young to be in there with her in her final moments—and prayed for and willed her to keep going even though the doctors said it was hopeless. But when his father had come out, Blake had known prayers rarely, if ever, got answered.

  But then he thought of what Tillie said, and realised she must have lost her mother even earlier.

  ‘It’s hard on both counts,’ he said. ‘At least I have some memories. Do you have any of your mother?’

  Her mouth rearranged itself into a wistful, almost-smile and her fingers absently plucked at the bedcover. ‘She died within hours of my birth. I know it sounds a bit weird since I don’t remember her at all, but I miss her. I miss the concept of her. My stepmother is lovely and all that but she can’t tell me what it was like to carry me for nine months. What it was like to find out she was pregnant and all the hopes and dreams she had for me while she carried me in her womb. No one can do that but my actual mum. Every time Mother’s Day comes around I feel like something—someone—is missing. It used to be awful at school when we made gifts for Mother’s Day. I was always the only one without a mum. I would always make something I could leave on her grave, flowers and card or, once, a little pottery vase. Not that we visited her grave much. I think my dad found it difficult. Understandable, I guess. It wouldn’t have been easy to lose his young wife that way.’

  ‘Do you have any half-siblings from your father’s marriage to your stepmother?’

  ‘No. My stepmother couldn’t have children,’ Tillie said. ‘She was so grateful for the chance to be a mum to a small child. I’m sure she was more in love with me than my dad at first.’

  ‘Are they still happy?’

  ‘Very,’ she said. ‘They have a lot in common. They both have strong faith and love working abroad on the mission field. They both felt called to do it since childhood.’

  There was a small silence.

  ‘I couldn’t drag my father away from my mother’s grave the first time we visited after the funeral,’ Blake said. ‘I didn’t come with him much after that. I couldn’t bear seeing him in so much distress. Once I was old enough to drive I came alone. I felt guilty about it. I still feel guilty about it, but I just couldn’t hack it. Every birthday, every Christmas, every anniversary, every excuse he could think of, he’d want me to come down with him. I would’ve gone if I’d thought it was helping him. But I had my doubts.’

  Tillie stood from the bed and slipped one of her hands into one of his. ‘You shouldn’t feel guilty. You did all you could to support him. Anyway, you were just a child. And having to be strong all the time wouldn’t have helped your own grieving process.’

  ‘No,’ Blake said, vaguely registering how good...how freeing it felt to talk so openly about something he had locked away for so long. ‘It didn’t. I couldn’t mention my mother without it causing my dad to fall into a deep depression that would last for days, if not weeks. I more or less taught myself not to think about her. It was as if she had never existed.’

  Tillie moved closer so that the front of her body brushed against his, her arms going around his waist. ‘Thanks for telling me about her.’

  Blake wrapped his arms around her to draw her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. ‘It felt good. I haven’t spoken to anyone about her, including my father, for a long time.’

  She tilted her head back to look at him. ‘Does he know you’re trying to buy back M
cClelland Park for him?’

  ‘No, I’m keeping that as a surprise,’ Blake said. ‘I didn’t want to get his hopes up if it falls through. But I think it will be the key to his full recovery. He never forgave himself for losing this place. If he gets it back, I’m hoping he’ll get his mojo back as well and finally move on with his life.’

  She stroked a hand from the hinge of his jaw to his chin. ‘I hope Mr Pendleton sells it to you. He doesn’t have a direct heir because his only daughter died when she was sixteen in a car accident with her boyfriend. He has a couple of nephews but they never visit him. I’m going to try and convince him you’re the only one who should own McClelland Park.’

  ‘Let’s hope he agrees, otherwise all this will have been for nothing,’ Blake said.

  Something flickered across her features and her arms around his waist loosened slightly as if she was withdrawing from him. ‘All this? You mean...us?’

  Maybe his choice of words could have been a little better, but there was a part of him that felt worried he had stepped over a boundary too far. He gave her waist a quick squeeze before he released her from his hold, stepping back to allow her some space...or maybe it was him that needed space.

  ‘I can’t help feeling you’re the one who’s going to lose in the end,’ he said.

  ‘Why would you think that?’ she said. ‘We agreed on the terms. You paid off my debts so I would pretend to be your fiancée for a month and a month only. The only thing I’ve lost is my virginity, which is exactly what I wanted to lose.’

  Blake searched her features for a long moment. Her eyes were clear and honest, her expression open and unguarded. Was he worrying about nothing? Why then this little niggling sense of unease? ‘What if you fall in love with—?’

  ‘Will you listen to yourself?’ she said with a half-laugh. ‘Does every woman you have a fling with fall in love with you?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then you don’t have to worry about me.’ She gave him a pert little glance. ‘Or maybe it’s not me you’re worried about. Maybe it’s you.’

  Blake gave his own version of a that-will-never-happen-to-me laugh but somehow it didn’t sound half as convincing as hers.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TILLIE AND BLAKE enjoyed dinner together in the dining room with Truffles sitting at Blake’s elbow waiting politely for titbits. They hadn’t returned to the subject of Blake’s concern over her falling in love with him during the course of their short fling. She was quite proud of the way she’d handled his concern with a quip that flipped his question back at him.

  She liked him.

  She liked him a lot.

  He was the dream fling partner: kind, funny, generous, sexy and intelligent. But falling in love was something she was guarding against. Blake wasn’t interested in commitment and nor was she. She had spent too many years of her life in a relationship she believed was the real thing only for it to fall over when she least expected it.

  Or had she expected it?

  It was an unsettling thought, but a part of Tillie—a secret part—hadn’t been one bit surprised when she’d received Simon’s text just as she’d arrived at the church. Hadn’t she felt for weeks, if not months, he was moving away from her? But she had doggedly continued with the wedding arrangements, ignoring the fact Simon wasn’t as involved in the plans as he had been. That he spent more time at his parents’ house than he did at the cottage with her. That he always had something pressing he had to see to on their date nights. All the clues were there but she had refused to see them. For the last three months she had been angry with him for leaving her, but now she was angry with herself for allowing things to go on so long without speaking up.

  But not this time.

  This time Tillie and Blake were in mutual agreement on the course of their fling. One month. No one was going to get hurt. No one was going to shift the goalposts. They were both gaining from the arrangement, and contrary to Blake’s concerns, there wouldn’t be a winner or a loser when it came time to end it.

  But when Blake reached across to refill Tillie’s wineglass, something about the way his grey-blue eyes caught hers made her heart trip like a foot missing a step. She glanced at his hands—those clever, capable hands that had explored every inch of her body—and her belly fluttered like a breeze moving over the pages of an open book. She pressed her knees together under the table, the tiny twinge of discomfort an erotic reminder of the workout her inner muscles had been given.

  He must have read something on her expression for he put the wine bottle down and frowned. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  His frown stayed put and he narrowed his gaze and reached for her hand, stroking it so gently it was as if he were petting a tiny, much-adored kitten. ‘Sure?’

  Nerves Tillie hadn’t even known she possessed danced under his touch. ‘Do you know something funny? Simon always called me “dear”. Like we were an old married couple in our eighties or something. It used to really annoy me, but for some reason I never said anything. Kind of pathetic, really.’

  Blake’s thumb stroked each tendon on her hand in turn. ‘Why did you feel you couldn’t express yourself with him?’

  Tillie gave a one-shoulder shrug. ‘I guess because deep down I was worried about him leaving me so I put up and shut up. I’m not going to make that mistake in future relationships. I’m going to speak up if something’s worrying me.’

  ‘Does it bother you when I call you sweetheart or babe?’

  ‘No,’ Tillie said. ‘I like it. And anyway, you have to sound convincing if others are around so it’s probably a good idea to keep doing it.’

  ‘My dad called my mother darling,’ he said after a long moment. ‘I don’t think I ever heard him call her Gwen—not until after she died.’

  ‘What did she call him?’

  A smile flickered across his mouth. ‘She called him darling, too. But occasionally she called him Andrew if she was annoyed with him. Not that they argued much. I only saw them disagree about something a couple of times, or maybe that was because they mostly discussed stuff in private.’

  ‘Were you an only child by choice?’ Tillie asked.

  ‘No.’ He let out a sigh. ‘Apparently my mother lost a baby—a little girl—seven months into the pregnancy when I was two. I don’t remember anything about it, as I was too young.’ A frown interrupted his features like a wind pattern on sand. ‘My mother used to talk about her now and again. I realised later that would have been on my sister’s birthday each year. She was called Lucy. After she lost her, Mum had to have a hysterectomy. I think it grieved her terribly. She was the sort of woman who would have loved a large family. But my dad used to always tell her he would rather have one child and her than to have more children and lose her. And then guess what happened.’

  Tillie was glad he was talking more openly about his tragic background. It gave her the sense he was starting to trust her. That he was feeling close to her. Somehow that was important to her. They might be having a simple fling but it made her feel better to think he was not treating her as a come-and-go lover, but as someone he shared not just his body with but his thoughts and feelings and disappointments, too. In spite of his charming laugh-a-minute persona, she suspected he was quite a lonely man inside. Used to keeping his own counsel. Having to be strong for his father, to cope and shoulder far more responsibilities than he ought to have done. Had it isolated him? Made him lock down his emotions so no one got close enough to truly know and understand him?

  ‘How did your dad deal with the loss of your sister?’ she asked.

  Blake examined the contents of his glass. ‘A lot better than he handled Mum’s death, that’s for sure. He hasn’t mentioned Lucy in years. But I guess it’s different for expectant fathers. They aren’t as closely bonded to the child as to the mother who’s carrying it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Tillie said and paused for a beat. ‘You don’t see yourself becoming a father one day? Eve
n if you don’t officially marry someone?’

  He did a lip movement that was part-smile, part-grimace. ‘It’s not something I’ve thought about too much. I’ve had to concentrate on taking care of my father for so long I can’t see myself signing up for more caretaking duties in a hurry.’

  ‘You don’t want an heir to inherit McClelland Park?’

  ‘That’s assuming I get it back. Nothing is certain yet.’

  ‘But if you do,’ Tillie said, ‘wouldn’t you want your own flesh and blood to carry on ownership rather than to have it sold to someone outside the McClelland family again?’

  His expression lost some of its openness; it was as if shutters were being drawn down over a window. ‘My goal is to get the Park back for my father. That’s all I’m focussed on right now.’

  Tillie could sense he wouldn’t be pressed further on the subject. She wondered if his reasons for not settling down and having a family were because of his sad background or whether he truly didn’t want to be tied down. A lot of modern men were fronting up later and later in life for fatherhood. But while men had the luxury to become fathers at just about any age, the issue was much more pressing for women. She didn’t feel the pressure just yet, but she knew once she turned thirty it might be a different story. There had been a time when getting married and having a family were all she could think about. But now she wanted to concentrate on building up her business and getting her life back on track.

  Blake pushed back from the table and began clearing the plates. ‘Why don’t you take Truffles out for a walk and I’ll join you once I’ve cleared away here?’

  Truffles sprang up from the floor and did a mad spin and gave a loud volley of barks as if to say, Yes, please. Take me for a walk!

  The moon was a golden ball shining over the lake, a light breeze crinkling the surface of the water like wrinkles in a bolt of silk. An owl hooted and in the distance Tillie heard a vixen fox calling for a mate. Truffles had her nose to the ground and her tail in the air as she followed a scent in the garden and Tillie followed so as not to lose sight of her.