Bound by a One-Night Vow Page 3

  But she hadn’t found anyone.

  Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to.

  Not because she didn’t want the money. Andrea knew she wanted that money more than anything. How else was she going to fund her lifestyle? She had an appalling employment record. The longest she’d held down a job was a month. But as much as she wanted that money, she wanted him as her husband even less. Or so she said. She would have no choice but to marry him and she knew it, which was why he’d already sorted out the paperwork. They would be married by morning or she would lose every penny of her inheritance.

  And once his ring was on her finger, and hers on his, he would be off the market, so to speak, so his business deal would be safe.

  Andrea saw her as soon as he walked into the restaurant. His body had sensed her three blocks away. She was sitting in the bar area, looking like a teenage boy’s fantasy in a skin-tight silver lamé mini dress that showed the creamy length of her slim legs. She had big hair and more make-up and flashy jewellery than a drag queen. He couldn’t help a secret smile. She knew she would have to accept his proposal, but she was making it as uncomfortable as possible for him. Did she think her wild child party girl outfit was going to put him off?

  She was twirling the little colourful umbrella in her cocktail but she turned on her stool as if she had sensed his arrival. Or his arousal. Or both.

  Her eyes sparkled with her usual defiance. ‘You’re late.’

  He perched on the stool next to her, fighting the urge to stroke a hand down the slim curve of her thigh. ‘I sent you a text.’

  Her chin came up and something about the tight set of her mouth made him want to loosen it with a slow, sensual stroke of his tongue. ‘I don’t like to be kept waiting.’ The words came out as cold and hard as ice cubes.

  ‘Understandable since you’ve so little time left in which to find yourself a husband.’ He hooked one eyebrow upwards. ‘Unless you’ve been lucky enough to find one in the last couple of hours?’

  Her glare was as arctic as her voice, making him wonder if he was going to get out of this without serious frostbite. ‘Not yet, but I haven’t given up hope.’

  Andrea picked up a loose curl of her hair and twirled it around his finger, holding her gaze with his. She didn’t pull away but her throat moved up and down over a small swallow and her pupils widened like spreading pools of ink. He could smell the exotic notes of her perfume—frangipani and musk and something that was unique to her. He carefully tucked the tendril of hair behind her ear and smiled. ‘So, here we are on our first date.’

  Her eyes flashed as if something exploded behind her irises. ‘First and last.’ She turned on her stool and picked up her cocktail glass and took a large sip. She put it down on the bar with a little clatter. ‘You’d better say what you came here to say and be done with it.’

  ‘I like your outfit.’ Andrea dipped his gaze to the delicious shadow of her cleavage. ‘I haven’t seen this much of you in years.’

  Her cheeks darkened into twin pools of pink and her mouth tightened until her full lips all but disappeared. ‘I thought it’d be appropriate, given what I suspect you’re going to say to me.’

  He stroked a finger along the back of her hand, the base of his spine tingling when he saw his darker skin against her creamy whiteness. He could resist her. Sure he could. But he couldn’t stop imagining her silky-smooth legs wrapped around his, her soft mouth beneath his own. His aching need driving into her warm, wet womanhood and taking them both to oblivion. ‘You need me, Isabella. Go on. Admit it. You need me so bad.’

  She snatched her hand away and used her index finger to poke him in the chest, each word like a heavy punctuation mark. ‘I. Do. Not. Need. You.’

  Andrea captured her hand and brought it up close to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. ‘Marry me.’

  Green and blue chips of ice glittered in her gaze and the muscles in her hand contracted as if his touch burned. ‘Go fry in hell.’

  He tightened his hold on her hand. ‘You’ll lose everything if you don’t find a husband by morning. Think about it, Isabella. That’s a heck of a lot of money to forfeit for the sake of six months living as my wife.’

  He could see the indecision on her face—the doubts, the fears, the calculations. She had grown up surrounded by wealth. She had wanted for nothing but seemingly had been grateful for nothing. She had wasted the education her father had paid for by getting expelled numerous times for rebellious behaviour and poor academic performance. She had frittered away or sabotaged all the opportunities her father had provided. She acted like a selfish and sulky spoilt brat who had expected to inherit her father’s entire estate without doing anything to earn it. It was no wonder she hadn’t been able to find a husband willing to marry her. Her reputation was of a hell-raiser who deliberately drew negative attention to herself.

  But lately Andrea had often wondered if there was more to Izzy than met the press’s eye. It was like she wanted people to think the worst of her. She took no steps to counter the negative opinions written about her in the media. It was like she was playing a role, just as she had done this evening, dressing in an eye-popping outfit that made her look like a wild child out on the town. But in spite of her garish look-at-me clothes and make-up, he could see tiny glimpses of insecurity in the way she carried herself when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  Andrea knew most people wouldn’t consider her ideal wife material, but he figured any wife would be better than no wife given the urgency of his situation with his business merger and the man’s upcoming wedding. Besides, he was confident he could cope with Izzy. She was like a flighty thoroughbred in need of skilful handling.

  And when it came to handling women, no one could say he wasn’t skilful.

  Her eyes suddenly hardened as if her resolve had shown back up for duty. Her hand pulled out of his and she began rubbing it as if it was tingling. ‘I can think of no worse torture than to be tied to you in marriage.’

  ‘It will be a paper marriage.’

  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. ‘A...a paper marriage?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  She blinked and then blinked again, slowly, as if her eyelids were weighted. ‘Do I have your word on that?’

  He held her look. ‘Do I have yours?’

  Her mouth thinned again to a flat white line. ‘You’re assuming I’m going to say yes to your proposal.’

  Andrea picked up her left hand and stroked her empty ring finger. Her body trembled as if his touch triggered a tiny earthquake in her flesh. Touching her triggered the same in his. He could feel himself tightening, swelling, his blood heating with want and need. A need he would continue to ignore because when he said it was to be a paper marriage, that was exactly what it would be. Even if he had to put his desire for her in chains. And a straitjacket. ‘You don’t have any choice but to accept and you know it.’ He let her hand go and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He handed her a velvet ring box. ‘If you don’t like it you can change it.’

  Her eyes flew from the ring box to his, narrowing to slits so only her hatred shone through. ‘You were so sure I was going to accept?’

  ‘I’m your only chance to get your hands on that money. Even if, by some chance, you found someone at this late stage, you wouldn’t be able to marry without the necessary paperwork. I’ve seen to it. I have a lawyer and a marriage celebrant on standby. Marry me or lose everything.’

  She opened the ring box and took out the diamond and sapphire ring. She spent time eyeing it, turning it this way and that. Her gaze came back to his and she gave him a tight little smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘You want me to wear this?’

  ‘That’s the general idea.’

  She slipped off the stool, standing so close to him he could smell the fresh flowery fragrance of her hair. Her mouth was still set and
her eyes as hard and blue as the diamonds and sapphires glittering in the ring. She picked up the tail of his silk tie and tugged him even closer, posting the ring down the loosened collar of his shirt. It bumped and tumbled down his chest until it lodged coldly and sharply against his stomach.

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ She gave his stomach a little pat as if to emphasise her point.

  Andrea captured her hand and held it against his abdomen, every one of his muscles contracting under her touch. ‘I’ll give you two minutes to make up your mind and then the deal is off the table. Permanently. Understood?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  TWO MINUTES? IZZY could feel that clock ticking in her chest like a pin pulled on a grenade. She wanted to walk away. Wanted to slap that confident smile off his face. Wanted to poke him in the eyes and kick him in the shins and stomp on his size twelve Italian leather–clad feet.

  But another part of her wanted to fish that gorgeous ring out from underneath his shirt and put it on her finger before her inheritance slipped out of her reach. For ever.

  He was offering her a paper marriage but his eyes and his body were promising something else. She could feel that erotic promise thrumming in her own body. If she married him she would never have to worry about money again. She could pursue her dream of buying back her mother’s childhood home and turning it into a happy place for other people, a place where families could go on holiday together during tough times, just as she and Hamish had done before he’d got cancer.

  She could set herself up for life. She would no longer have to work in underpaid jobs just because she hadn’t focused enough in school. Once the six months was up she would be totally free. At no one’s mercy. Under no one’s command.

  But if she married Andrea she would be thrown into his company. Sharing his life. And yes, in spite of what he said to the contrary, sharing his bed. She could see the desire in his eyes. She could sense it in his body. She could feel it in the air when he was near her.

  Could she agree to such a plan? Six months married to a man she hated and wanted in equal measure? His touch had evoked a fire in her blood that sizzled even now. He only had to look at her with those pitch-black eyes and her insides contracted and coiled and cried out loud with lust.

  Izzy met his gaze and knew she couldn’t possibly say no. She would have to trust him. More to the point...she would have to trust herself. He had her cornered. Trapped. She could not refuse him at this late hour and he knew it. He had it all organised. He had been so sure of her. So damn sure of her.

  Why hadn’t she tried harder to find someone? Why had she let it get to this? Why had she wasted her one last chance to get away from him?

  Maybe you didn’t want to.

  Izzy refused to listen to the prod of her conscience. She had wanted to get away from him. She hated him. She hated that he had received her father’s love and attention, not her. He was a rich self-made man who thought he could have anyone he wanted.

  Well, he was in for a big surprise because she would hold him to this paper marriage. She blew out a long breath and sat back on the stool and held out her hand. ‘Okay. Give me the ring.’

  His eyes held hers in a steely tussle. ‘Come and get it.’

  A shiver coursed down her spine at the thought of touching him again. His abs had felt like coils of concrete. And she didn’t want to think about the hardness that lay just beneath them.

  It was always this way between them—this tug of war of wills. She hated letting him win. It went against everything in her to allow him that much power over her. But the only way to handle him was to stand up to his challenges. Show him she was immune to him even if she wasn’t and never had been. She had acted her way out of situations in the past, especially with men. Pretending to feel things she didn’t. Faking it. She was an expert at fooling those she wanted to fool.

  Izzy decided to brazen it out. She would prove she wasn’t his for the asking. She would marry him but it would be a hands-off affair... Well, it would be once she got that wretched ring out of his shirt. She took a steadying breath and stepped between his thighs, every cell of her body intensely aware of his arrant maleness. She took the end of his tie and flipped it over his left shoulder. She undid the middle button of his shirt just above his belly button, revealing tanned muscled flesh sprinkled with jet-black hair that tickled the backs of her fingers. She undid another two buttons, breathing in the warm musky scent of him, her senses reeling like stoned bees in an opium field.

  She chanced a glance at his face, her breath locking in her throat when she saw the dark satirical gleam in his eyes. His lean jaw was liberally dusted with stubble, making her want to trail her fingertips across its sexy prickliness. His hands settled on her waist and something in her stomach fell from a shelf and landed with a soft little thud that sent a shivering shockwave to her core.

  ‘You’re getting warm.’ His voice was husky and low. ‘Warmer.’

  Izzy had to remind herself to breathe. His thighs moved closer together, brushing against the outside of hers like the slowly closing doors of a cage. She undid another button on his shirt and dipped her hand into the opening to search for the ring. He sucked in a breath and gave a slight shiver as if her touch electrified him. She knew the feeling. The feel of his hard warm body against her hand was enough to send her ovaries into spasm. The press of his hands on her hips were melting her bones. Sending tongues of fire to her secret places. She located the ring and drew it out of his shirt and stepped back but his powerful thighs gripped her tighter.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was breathless. Too breathless. I’m-not-immune-to-you breathless.

  He held out his hand for the ring, his eyes tethering hers. ‘I believe it’s the man’s job to put the ring on his future bride’s finger.’

  Izzy dropped the ring into his palm before she dropped it on the floor. He slid it over her ring finger, gently but firmly pushing it into place, and gave her a smile that made something dark and dangerous glint at the back of his eyes. ‘Will you marry me, Isabella?’

  Izzy had never hated him more than at that moment. He was making a mockery of one of the most important questions a man could ever ask a woman. He was grinding her pride to powder. Pummelling it. Pulverising it. Relishing in the chance to overpower her.

  To control her.

  ‘Yes. I will marry you.’ The words tasted like bile and Izzy wanted to wash her mouth out with soap. Buckets and buckets of soap.

  He relaxed his thighs and she was suddenly free. Well, apart from his ring on her finger. The ring was as effective as a noose. He had her where he wanted her and there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop it.

  He rose from the bar stool and offered her his hand. ‘We have a date with a lawyer and a marriage celebrant in fifteen minutes. Once that’s done we can come back and have dinner to celebrate our marriage.’

  Izzy glanced towards the restaurant, desperate to stall the inevitable for as long as she could. ‘Don’t you have to let the maître d’ know to hold the table?’

  Andrea’s smile made something prickle across her scalp like millions of miniature marching feet. ‘I’ve already told him.’

  * * *

  Izzy stood like an ice sculpture beside Andrea as the female marriage celebrant took them through the short ceremony. Five minutes before she had signed a prenuptial agreement in front of Andrea’s lawyer. She hadn’t minded signing...not really. Did he really think she would come after his money once their marriage was over?

  She didn’t want his money. She wanted hers.

  Izzy tried not to think of the importance of the words they were saying to each other—the vows that were meant to be sacred and meaningful. And the fact she was dressed like a party girl while saying them. Why had she been so headstrong and stupid? She should’ve known he wouldn’t let a silly look-at-me outfit get in the way of his plans. Anyway, why should she
care she was mouthing words she didn’t mean? Andrea didn’t mean them either.

  She tried to think of the money instead. Heaps of money that would help her finally buy back her grandparents’ house and turn it into something special, something healing and special so that her mother’s and Hamish’s death weren’t in vain. Izzy’s grandparents’ house had been sold after their death in a car crash not long after Hamish had died, because her father insisted on using the money to prop up his business, even though he knew Izzy’s mother didn’t want to sell it. Even when they were first married, her father had used her mother’s wealth to build his empire and then told everyone he had done it on his own. Her mother hadn’t had the strength to stand up to him. She had handed over everything—her money, her pride and her self-esteem.

  But Izzy was not going to be that sort of wife—the sort of wife who said yes when she meant no. She would not bend to Andrea’s will the way her mother had to her father.

  She would remain strong and defiant to the bitter, inevitable end.

  Andrea slipped the white-gold wedding band on her ring finger. His dark gaze seeming to say, Mission accomplished.

  Izzy was surprised he’d been prepared to wear one himself. She placed it over his finger as instructed by the celebrant and repeated the vows in a voice that didn’t sound like hers. It was too husky and whispery so she made sure her gaze counteracted it.

  ‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ The celebrant smiled at Andrea. ‘You may kiss the bride.’

  Andrea dropped his hold of Izzy’s hands. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  Izzy stared at him, desperately trying to conceal her shock. Or was it relief? No. It wasn’t relief—it was rage. Red-hot rage. Why wasn’t he going to kiss her? They might not have meant the vows, but surely for the sake of appearances he would have kissed her? She glanced at the celebrant but the older woman seemed unsurprised. Perhaps the celebrant had witnessed dozens of impersonal marriages and thought nothing untoward of a groom who refused to kiss his bride.