Be My Bride: The Right Mr Wrong / A Most Suitable Wife / Betrothed for the Baby

‘So what do you want?’

‘A career. My business.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I was making headway before the divorce. Oliver hated that I was more successful than he was.’ The banking crisis had hardly been her fault. Hundreds in the city had been laid off—Oliver had been one of them. But for whatever reason, her little enterprise had gained traction. But after his affair and the divorce she’d lost it. Now she was back at the beginning. But she believed in it. In herself. ‘I want to build this up into something great. And to do that I need to finish this for Aurelie. That’s what I want. To have work coming out of my ears. For people to love my work.’

He was silent, his eyes boring into her, for a long moment. Then he glanced around her small room again. The plain, utility style room with her neatly lined tins and stacks of paper and materials.

‘That’s all you want?’ he asked.

‘That’s all I have time for.’

‘No time for anything else?’ He suddenly smiled, wicked-incarnate again. ‘Not even one night?’

‘Typical.’ She rolled her eyes, her good humour lifting at the swift return of his. ‘You just want to bang the one who got away.’

‘What, and you think you’re unaffected?’ he teased. ‘I see how you look at me.’

She averted her eyes immediately. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘But true nonetheless.’ He nodded. ‘Look, I respect your aims. And you’re right, you have no time. But let’s clear the air a little.’

In what way exactly? That wicked look in his eye was only growing.

‘I don’t think the air needs clearing,’ she said firmly. ‘One kiss,’ he tempted. ‘We never even kissed.’

That was true. She’d turned away. She still didn’t know how she’d managed it. But she was repeating it now— there’d be no kissing.

He laughed at her expression. ‘Don’t look so worried. It might be a huge let-down.’

‘I thought you were too much of a Casanova to let any woman down that way.’

‘You might let me down,’ he taunted.

‘You’re questioning my abilities?’ She winced at the high pitch of her attempted comeback. Not exactly sizzling.

His smile came so quick, so lethal it shot heat into her abdomen. ‘Well, how good are you?’

‘Better than you.’ She snapped the obvious answer straight back—smart all the way and unwilling to concede a thing.

His smiled broadened.

But hers faltered. She thought about what she’d said. Fact was she was more fizzle than sizzle. The fantasy was shattered. She wasn’t good at all. She’d had one lover in her life—Oliver. And he’d gone and found greater warmth with another woman.

‘Victoria?’

Liam’s smile had died. Was it concern that he was looking at her with? She looked away again. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want a pity kiss, she didn’t want to be a disappointment.

‘It’s not going to be good.’ She cleared her throat and then glued on a smile so he’d think she was feeling it as an easy joke. ‘So let’s just keep it as an unfulfilled fantasy.’

He muttered something, she didn’t know what. She just wanted him to leave now. She had a headache coming on, she had so much work to do. And the emotional spin he’d put her in? It was like going through the washing machine on heavy duty. Only he wasn’t washing away all those old emotions. He was hauling them out again— the stains of the past. Want and desire and silly things that she’d forgotten about.

Except she’d not forgotten. And it still wasn’t the right time. It never would be.

He touched her. His hand cupping, then lifting her chin. She couldn’t look at him. All that sass-talk of a few minutes ago fled, leaving her empty inside. Doubt flurried into the vacant spaces within. He might have stuck with only one girlfriend for a while, but he was still vastly more experienced than she. He’d laugh at how hopeless she was.

He stepped closer, into her space. ‘Look at me.’

She swallowed, trying to suck back the stupid pity moment. She lifted her chin herself, working her stiff mouth into some kind of smile, summoning the words to brush him off and escape this embarrassment. She didn’t need to be mortified. She didn’t need to kiss him and be exposed. He knew too much as it was.

‘Liam, I—’

He put his hands on her waist. Firmly. Her gaze collided with his and was captured. Whatever she’d meant to say slipped away.

Silence. Heat. Sensation.

Light from the late summer sun streamed through the window, encasing him in a golden glow. There was no hiding from his scrutiny, or his expression. And his expression revealed desire. Naked want.

Victoria blinked but couldn’t tear her focus away from the fire in his eyes. His hands slid over her firmly, shaping her hips. Her hands were useless—her fingers curled into fists. She held them pressed tight in the space just beneath her breasts. She stood as still as a small bird aware of a predator too close by.

He swept a hand to the small of her spine and then downwards. He pressed her forward, until her hips collided with his. She trembled at the searing impact—the shocking, undeniable proof of his attraction. That big bulge pressed against her—instantly scattering some of her doubt. Her dry lips parted so she could draw in a shaky breath. He stared, his focus fixed on her eyes.

They must have shown him something good, because his mouth eased, one corner lifting slightly.

He pressed her closer, then eased the pressure before pressing her against him again. He didn’t break contact with her, but the rippling rhythm intensified the sensations cascading through her. Her skin felt scalded—as if she’d been plunged into a pool of boiling water. She couldn’t look away from him, from the way he was watching her so intently. Lulling her. Inviting her. Making her feel as if it was all going to be okay.

It was going to be more than okay.

Breathing became difficult, as if the heat between them had burned all the oxygen. She tried to draw more air in. But breathing deeper took her chest closer to his. She lifted her hands—pushing them against his rock-hard heat. But slowly, unable to resist the urge, she stretched out her fingers to splay them over his broad chest. Through the navy cotton she could feel his skin burning, and she could feel the strong, regular drive of his heart. She pressed her lips together again—firmly, trying to ease the swollen feeling of them as her blood pulsed faster to all her most sensitive extremities.

He shifted, planting his feet wider. Both his hands were at her back now. Bending her into his heat. Saying nothing in words but everything in actions. She felt the impact right to her toes.

I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.

She heard the words in her head though his mouth hadn’t moved. Nor had hers. Did he say it? Did she? Or had she just dreamed it?

Her throat was tight; she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried. But she felt the most intense yearning deep within herself. And within him.

She was so hot. And that heat slid in greater waves over her skin as he teased, pulling her closer, closer, closer. Stringing out that searing tension. Tormenting her with his steel-strong body.

Until she could no longer bear it.

Until she lifted her chin.

Until her lips broke apart as she gasped in defeat.

Until in hunger she pressed her mouth to his.

He instantly moved, wrapping his arms right around her, locking her fast into his embrace. One hand held her core against him, his other swept firmly up her spine, to her neck and into her hair. Tangling there. His lips rubbed over hers, firm and warm and possessive. His tongue teased—a slide across her mouth, then a stroke inside—tasting, taking.

She quivered at the intimacy. Her nerve endings sent excitement hurtling along her veins and deep into her belly. She slid her hands over his shoulders, exploring their breadth before smoothing her palms on the back of his neck, his head. Holding him. She’d dreamt of holding him so many times—but never had she imagined she’d feel as hot as this.

Her breasts were pressed to his chest. She shivered in delight as her taut nipples rubbed against him. Her pulse sprinted. It was too quick, her heart thumping too fast, too hard. She couldn’t breathe at all. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to break the seal of her lips to his. The moan came from some place buried a mile within her.

Such a long time.

The kiss grew hotter, wetter. So did she.

Her body weakened, strengthened, slid. She wanted to fall to the floor and lock her legs around him. Wanted the weight of him, all of him on her, inside her. Most of all she never wanted it to stop.

He held her close, taking her weight with his large, strong hands. Kissing her the only way a woman should be kissed in France—stroking her tongue with his, nip-ping her lips. She felt the spasms inside, the precursors to physical ecstasy. It wasn’t going to take much—but she wanted it all.

She felt flayed, so hot it felt as if her skin could be peeled from her. It was so much more than a kiss.

Nothing sounded in the room but roughened breathing and the occasional moan pulled from that locked place inside her. It threatened to burst out of her completely. He pulled her closer, crushing her against him. Her fingers tightened on him as uncontrollable desire smashed into her. She wanted him. Everything. Now.

‘Liam.’

He broke away, his head snapping back with a violent jerk. His eyes went straight to her mouth. ‘I’ve bruised you.’

He hadn’t. She liked the kissed-to-full feeling. She wanted more of it. She wanted him to fill her in every way imaginable.

His eyes were wild and wide, but his face was surprisingly pale. He coughed. ‘I’m leaving now.’ His breath came fast and uneven.

‘Okay.’ Her wits were completely scattered. And it wasn’t okay. She didn’t want him to go.

He cleared his throat. ‘You have to work.’

Work? Oh, yeah. She did. ‘Okay.’

‘So I need to go. Because if I don’t go now…’ He looked at her.

‘Okay.’

‘Victoria?’

‘Okay.’ She just sat where she was, landing on her miserable, single bed. Her legs felt wobbly, her brain fried.

He hunched down in front of her and looked into her face. ‘Okay if I stay or okay if I go?’

She stared at him. Then her glance slid past, to her table—and she remembered all the ink and pens and pretty card she had to spend hours over.

‘I’m going to go,’ he repeated roughly, standing.

She looked back at him—encountering his long, strong, legs. ‘Okay.’

Cold descended on her. If he hadn’t made that decision, if he hadn’t pulled back, she’d be beneath him right now and not caring at all about the deadline hurtling towards her. Well, not ’til she’d come floating back to earth.

Then she’d feel bad.

‘Your timing is so lousy,’ she said softly. ‘It always was.’ He whirled away, scooping up her small bag from where she’d slung it on a chair when they’d first got in.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

He’d unzipped the bag and pulled out her phone. Now he tapped the screen. ‘If you don’t want people playing with this, you should put a password lock on it.’

‘That slows me down.’

‘And you don’t like to go slow?’ A whisper of a chuckle. ‘We’re not so different, you and me.’ He tapped the screen a few more times, then walked closer, stretching out his arm to hand her the phone but staying well out of touch zone.

She took it, watching his face but unable to determine a thing.

He looked back at her. With a small sigh he took one step closer and ran a finger along her lower lip. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘Okay.’ Victoria tossed the phone onto the bed before she dropped it from her trembling fingers. How was she supposed to work now? How could she possibly hold her pen with a steady hand? She clenched her fists.

He’d gone already. The door banged, she could vaguely hear the thuds as he headed down the kazillion steps. And what was she doing sitting here like a lemming?

All she’d been able to say was okay. Okay, okay, okay.

She punched the jelly feeling from her legs and stood. She was as pathetic as she’d been all those years before. So meekly acquiescent. All her progress had been obliterated in less than a minute. From what—some kissing? To just swoon in his arms and say okay? It was beyond pathetic.

Why hadn’t she shoved him away and said enough? Or, given she’d really wanted it, why not haul him close and have him completely? What was with the passivity? Why had she let him make the decision for her?

She wasn’t the malleable, eager-to-please girl she’d once been. She couldn’t revert to that type. She had more focus and strength than that now. But that weak part of her whimpered—so good. It had been so good.

Fantasy, she told herself. Just fantasy. Even though she’d blocked him from the forefront of her brain, she’d built him up. Finally being in his arms, it was sensory overload. Anyway, it had been so long since she kissed a man. Over a year. Maybe it wasn’t him; maybe it was hormones? Her body saying she needed to get out more, score herself something of a social life?

Or just score.

She closed her eyes and pulled on some strength. She’d work. She’d fake it. That was what she did these days. She’d get this work done. Then she’d find a love life.

And she’d never see Liam Wilson again.

FOUR

Cold showers. Many, many, cold showers. Showers to wake her up, showers to keep her awake and—most importantly—cool her down and keep her thoughts from straying into the forbidden hot zone. But that part of her feeling socially deprived needed some happy thoughts, so she mentally planned, listing the nightclubs she’d go to once the job was done. She’d head out on Saturday night when Liam was at that wedding. There’d be hotter looking guys than him at those clubs.

Liam.

Damn, she was thinking about him again. She bent closer to the huge sheet of card in front of her, narrowing her eyes as she prepared to write the next, the forty-fifth, name on the seating plan. She almost had the nib down when her phone rang.

Surprised, she lifted her pen quickly and checked. No blot or mark. Good. She scooped up her phone and put on her ‘professional’ voice.

‘Victoria Rutherford Design.’

‘How many have you done?’

She squeezed the phone hard so it wouldn’t slip from her fingers. Her heart squeezed harder. He’d always been an early riser and even over the scratchy connection she could hear his smile. ‘Pardon?’

‘Names on the table plan. How many?’

‘A few.’ Not enough.

‘How many?’

‘Who do you think you are?’ she said, trying to recapture some smarts. ‘I don’t have to report to you.’

He chuckled. ‘You never used to argue back. I remember you used to do everything anyone asked of you. Obedient and unquestioning. Eager to please.’

Victoria braced herself against the subtle suggestion in his last sentence. She hadn’t done what he’d asked her to. But she was hardly going to remind him of that. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve grown up a bit since then.’

She only did what others asked of her now if she wanted to. Like this work for Aurelie. Ultimately it was Victoria’s choice. But she knew part of her was still eager to please. She’d been so weak in Liam’s arms last night. If he’d asked she’d have done everything, and let him do anything. She’d wanted to please—and be pleased.

Not going to happen. Not with him. Not at this time. She straightened up from bending over her desk and twisted from side to side to ease the kinks and literally strengthen her spine.

‘Do some stretches,’ he instructed.

She froze. ‘Pardon?’

‘You’ll get stiff if you don’t take regular breaks. Walk around the room while you’re talking to me.’

She immediately bent back over her desk. ‘I just told you I don’t do everything anyone asks of me now.’

‘But this is for your own good.’ His amusement sounded louder. ‘Don’t take the independence thing too far. Just because it’s not you but someone else who suggests something doesn’t automatically make it a bad idea.’

Victoria tried to stiffen, to resist the sound of his smile. Him calling her like this was not good for her. ‘You don’t need to do this, you know.’

‘Do what?’

‘Act like you’re interested.’

‘Victoria,’ he chuckled. ‘It’s no act.’

Yeah, but it was only the one thing he was interested in. One thing, one night. He couldn’t have made it clearer. ‘Well—’ she gritted her teeth ‘—I’m only interested in finishing my job. And I need to get back to it now.’

She ended the call, afraid that if she didn’t she’d say something she shouldn’t. She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out in a sharp, frustrated sigh. She didn’t want him to phone and distract her. Yet part of her was glad he had. That part of her wanted him to think of her. To want her.

Because she still wanted him.

Fool.

She mocked herself. She wasn’t going to act on it. Instead she looked at the board.

One letter at a time.

Three hours later her phone rang again.

‘Time for another break,’ he said before she’d finished giving her name.

She pressed a fist to her chest, as if the pressure could settle her skipping heart. ‘What makes you think I haven’t been taking regular breaks already?’

‘I know the lengths you’ll go to, to keep someone happy. I remember you staying up almost the whole night to make enough streamers for Oliver’s mother to hang in the hallway.’

Oh, Lord. Victoria chuckled. She remembered that. The endless rolls of crêpe paper had nearly killed her. In the end Liam had come and helped her. He and Oliver and the others had gone down to the local pub for a few. Victoria had opted to stay and help. She’d needed some space from the stranger who made her feel so self-conscious with the way he watched her, teased her, tempted her.

The boys had got home late. Oliver had staggered straight up the stairs to his bed, drunk. Liam hadn’t. He hadn’t been drunk. He hadn’t left.

Victoria had determinedly kept on going with the darn decorations, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. But Liam hadn’t let her. He’d chatted—easily maintaining a one-sided conversation for the first fifteen minutes, until she’d got over herself and actually giggled. Then it had been a fun tease.

Until she’d tried to move out of the chair. She’d not realised how stiff she’d got sitting still so long, folding ribbons of the thin paper over and over.

That was when Liam had come to help. That was when he’d rubbed her shoulders to ease the ache. That was when he’d stood too close and touched too much and that ache had become a burn.

That was when he’d turned her in his arms and looked at her—

Don’t.

Victoria closed her eyes and banished the memories. ‘I’ve learned to take care of myself better now,’ she said briskly. ‘I even use a timer.’

‘So efficient.’ The old amusement was audible.

She didn’t want to hear that tease. It had always melted her, always made her smile. She should hang up—but she couldn’t yet. ‘How is your holiday going?’

‘It’s pretty frustrating.’

‘Oh?’ Her heart slammed against her ribcage.

‘There’s no water.’

‘Are you drowning on dry land?’

‘Pretty much.’

She laughed. ‘You get itchy when you’re away from the water too long.’

‘Yep.’

‘Why is that?’

He was silent for a moment and she knew he was actually seriously considering the question. ‘It’s my home.’

‘You’re a merman? Mr Atlantis?’ she joked lamely.

‘It’s where I’m free. It’s where I can be in control of my own destiny.’

‘You can’t be in control of your destiny on land like normal people?’

‘On land there are other people. In my boat, I’m alone.’

Solo sailor. He’d gone for months at a time without seeing anyone as he’d circumnavigated the globe solo. In his team events, he was the captain. Reliant on his crew, yes, but ultimately the one in charge.

‘You don’t want to have to factor anyone else into your life?’

‘I am that selfish, Victoria.’ There was none of the tease now, none of the amusement. It was a warning—as loud and clear as a foghorn.

But she didn’t know whether to truly believe him. The Liam she’d met five years ago had been fiercely competitive, fiercely determined. But he’d also been helpful. Yes, he’d been on the fringes, watching how Oliver’s family— and her family—played out. But he’d helped, he’d wanted to be involved. Was it merely to have something to do?

‘Why don’t you ask Aurelie if there’s something you can do to help her get organised?’

‘Not necessary. There’s a wedding planner here. She’s scary.’

‘Scary?’ Victoria chuckled. As if Liam would ever be intimidated.

‘Seriously scary. Check this out.’

A second later her phone pinged. She swiped the screen and smiled. He’d sent her a picture of the chateau. Uniform-clad minions were busy constructing a big marquee. There were white chairs everywhere. There was one ultra-efficient-looking woman in the middle of it all with clipboard in hand, wireless phone piece in her ear and her hair ruthlessly scraped back. She was very attractive in a headmistress sort of way.

‘She’s not scary.’ Victoria cleared her throat. ‘She’s gorgeous. And she looks like she’s fabulous at her job.’

‘She’s a robot,’ Liam answered shortly. ‘And she has everything under control. There’s nothing that needs doing.’

‘It looks like it’s going to be amazing,’ Victoria said.

‘It will be.’ He suddenly sighed. ‘So you’d better get back to your writing.’

Victoria held onto the phone for a couple of minutes after he’d rung off. Was his abrupt switch from joke to sigh because of that in-his-face wedding scene? Because of Aurelie?

Her skipping heart ached.

* * *

A few hours later Liam couldn’t help placing another call just to hear her voice. Over the phone she sounded blood-pumpingly breathy yet brisk at the same time. Just hearing her got him hard and he couldn’t resist it any longer.

‘I think you should take twenty minutes and come and see me,’ he said the second she answered. And what he really wanted was to see her come.

He’d been deliberately bold the other day. He’d wanted to bait her. Get a reaction from the woman who provoked him to insanity with just a glance. Get her to admit the vibe between them for once.

But he’d done more than provoke. He’d unleashed them both. He’d had to stop when he’d realised she wasn’t going to say no. It had nearly killed him to pull back, but it hadn’t been the right time. He didn’t want either of them to have regrets. But the right time was going to have to be very soon.

‘Twenty minutes?’ Victoria answered in an unim-pressed tone. ‘That’s all you want?’

He grinned. It’d be more like two given the state he was in. And frankly? He’d settle for anything now.

‘For the first round,’ he amended for form’s sake. ‘Then we could settle in for the rest of the night.’

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘You know I don’t.’ The way his father had drunk? Obliterating reality from his mind? He hadn’t been an abusive father in a physical sense, he’d simply been negligent. Never there. Either at the wharf or at the pub, he couldn’t have been less interested in his only child. Liam shook off the memory and focused on his much more appealing immediate future. ‘Why try to ignore the fact that the genie is out of the bottle?’

She’d said yes the other night. Not in words, but in actions—she was all the way to yes.

‘Throw another cliché my way,’ she answered snappily. ‘That one doesn’t work for me.’

He laughed. ‘When did you get so tough?’

‘I told you, I finally grew up.’

Had she? She’d been so sweet back then, soft and pretty and pleasing. She’d been all things to all people. She’d had to be—her parents had demanded perfection. Liam looked out over the gardens, his eyes narrowing as he wondered about how that whole thing had played out for Victoria. ‘How are your parents? Do you see them?’