A Scandalous Marriage

‘Mike,’ he said. ‘Call me Mike.’

‘Mike,’ she repeated, her mouth pulling back into a plastic smile. ‘Well, come on in, Mike,’ she said, waving him past her into the hallway. ‘The first room on the left. Go right in and find a place to sit.’

Natalie pressed herself hard against the wall as he stepped inside. No way did she want his broad-shouldered body accidentally brushing against her chest as he walked along the narrow hallway. But once he did move safely past her, she watched his back view far too avidly and for far too long before she pulled herself together and flung the front door shut, rolling her eyes at herself as she followed him into the living room.

By this time he was settling himself in the middle of her sofa, his long legs stretching out in front of him whilst he leant back and glanced around.

Natalie knew it was an oddly furnished room, filled with pieces that didn’t match but that she personally liked. There were three large squashy armchairs covered in an assortment of prints, plus a seductively long brown velvet sofa, which stretched across under the front window and on which her client had just made himself very comfortable.

On the wall opposite the sofa was a state-of-the-art home theatre system, which she was still paying for. The wall to the right of her visitor had built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, in front of which sat an ancient mahogany desk, with the latest laptop sitting on one end and an old-fashioned green desk lamp on the other. The floor was polished boxwood, a colourful circular rug providing warmth and a touch of the orient.

There was no coffee-table to bump into, just an assortment of side tables in all shapes and sizes on which sat ornaments and curios bought from flea markets and garage sales. Two standing lamps with gold-fringed lampshades flanked the sofa, providing subtle light at night when she was watching TV.

A friend had once commented to Natalie that the décor of her living room was very much as she was. Hard to pin down.

‘You’re very punctual,’ she said brusquely, glancing at her watch as she headed for the upright chair behind her desk. It was right on five, the time they’d agreed upon for his interview.

‘I’m always punctual when I’m not working,’ he replied.

Natalie ground to an instant halt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said sharply. ‘But I don’t take on male clients who are unemployed.’

Again, he looked her up and down, his expression this time annoyingly unreadable.

‘I didn’t say I was unemployed. I said I wasn’t working at the moment. I am self-employed. I own a computer software company.’

Natalie could not have been more surprised. He didn’t look at all like a man who spent most of his life sitting at a computer. He was far too fit-looking. Far too tanned.

As Brandon had been.

His reminding her of Brandon sent her irritation meter up even higher.

‘I see,’ she bit out. ‘Sorry,’ she added before proceeding over to her desk, where she sat down and turned on the laptop.

Natalie took her time pulling up the page into which she would enter his personal details and requirements, not looking up till she was good and ready.

‘So what happens where you are working?’ she finally asked.

‘I sometimes don’t show up at all,’ he returned.

Charming, she thought.

It seemed men who looked like this were true to type.

Brandon had never been on time for anything. There again, Brandon had had lots of reasons for running late for his dates with her. Or for not showing up at all.

His job as an anti-terrorist agent for one. Plus the wife and two children that she’d never known he had, came the added caustic thought.

She wondered what Mike Stone’s excuse was.

‘Sounds like you’re a workaholic.’

‘It’s not the first time I’ve been called that,’ he replied with an indifferent shrug.

Natalie liked him less with each passing second. ‘Is that why you haven’t had much luck finding a wife so far?’ she asked rather waspishly.

‘No. I could have married any number of women.’

‘Really.’ Natalie added outrageously arrogant to his rapidly increasing list of flaws.

Finding Mike Stone a wife was going to prove difficult, despite his impressively masculine physique. Her girls all wanted amenable husbands, not up-themselves egotists. Most of them had had unhappy relationships in the past, with difficult and selfish men who hadn’t delivered. By the time they came to her, they usually knew exactly what they wanted, and had no intention of settling for anything less.

Natalie suspected that the likes of Mike Stone would not find favour with any of them.

But it wasn’t her problem if none of her girls wanted to marry him. She charged her male clients five thousand dollars up front, whether they found a wife at Wives Wanted, or not.

For his money, Mr Stone would be matched and introduced to five very attractive and intelligent women who fitted his criteria the best, and vice versa. After that, it was up to him.

But he’d have to show a bit more charm on a date than he was currently showing if he wanted a wife. Just being sexy was not enough for her once-bitten, twice-shy girls.

Still, that wasn’t her problem.

‘Since you own a computer software company, Mike,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘you’ll be familiar with the type of program I use to match up my clients. It’s quite basic, really. Mine, however, does have a security check built in, which validates that my clients are exactly who they say they are. I presume you have no objection to that?’

‘Nope.’

‘Good. Let’s get started, then. Your full name.’

‘Mike Stone.’

‘No, your full name,’ she said, a touch of exasperation creeping into her voice. ‘The name that’s on your birth certificate and driving licence.’

‘Mike Stone.’

Natalie gritted her teeth. ‘Not Michael?’

‘Just Mike.’

‘Fine. Your address and phone number, please? Mobile as well.’

She typed them in as he rattled them off, thinking to herself that his address of an apartment in Glebe could be good news or bad news. Glebe had become a trendy suburb of late. Its proximity to the inner city and Sydney University was highly valued. But some parts of it were still a bit dumpy.

‘Your work address?’

‘I work from home.’

Oh-oh. Now that was definitely bad news. Okay, so there were some small businesses that were quite successful. But not too many.

‘Age,’ she said.

‘Thirty-four.’

Now her eyebrows lifted. She’d thought him older. There was a wealth of life’s experience within those eyes.

‘I’ll be thirty-five in December,’ he added. ‘December the fifteenth.’

‘So you’re a Sagittarius,’ she said as she tapped in that information.

‘I don’t believe in crap like that.’

‘Really.’ She should have known. Brandon had said something very similar when she’d claimed the stars deemed them a reasonable match. She was a Virgo, which wasn’t a bad match with a Scorpio.

But Natalie wished she’d taken notice of the part that said Scorpio was the sign of dark secrets.

‘Marital status?’ she went on.

‘What?’

‘Have you ever been married?’

‘Nope.’

‘Lots of my clients have been,’ she remarked.

‘Not me, sweetheart.’

Natalie stiffened before shooting him a wintry glance. ‘My name is Natalie,’ she said in a voice that would have cut frozen butter. ‘Not sweetheart.’

His black eyes glittered for a moment, as though her correction amused him. ‘My mistake. Sorry.’

She could see he wasn’t. Not at all. But at least she’d made her stand. She couldn’t bear men who called women generic names liked sweetheart and honey. It was condescending and demeaning.

‘Well, nothing has come back to say that you’re not who you say you are,’ she told him after a few seconds’ wait. Neither was there a warning that he’d ever been arrested, or in prison. ‘Now on to your physical description. I can see for myself that your hair is dark brown and very short, and that your eyes are black.’

‘They’re not black. They’re dark brown. They just look black because they’re deeply set.’

Deeply set and infuriatingly sexy.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Height?’

‘Six four. Six five, maybe.’

‘What’s that in centimetres?’

‘Lord knows.’

‘Never mind. I’ll put six five. I’m five ten and you’re a good bit taller than me.’

For weight/bodytype, she typed in ‘fit and muscly’. She wasn’t the only female in the world who liked well-built men.

‘Do you smoke?’

‘Nope.’

‘Do you drink?’

He laughed. ‘Do ducks swim?’

‘How much do you drink?’

‘Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On whether I’m working or not. I don’t drink when I’m working.’

Natalie sighed. ‘And when you’re not?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m a scotch man. But I like a nice red with evening meals and a cold beer on a hot day.’

‘Would you classify yourself as a problem drinker?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Hobbies.’

‘Hobbies?’ he repeated.

‘What do you enjoy doing during your leisure hours?’ she asked, and looked up from the laptop.

Their eyes met momentarily before his left her face to drift down to where her jacket was straining across her breasts.

‘Besides that,’ she snapped.

His eyes narrowed on her, and she wondered if he was wondering why she was letting him get under her skin so much.

‘I like to work out,’ he replied. ‘And to go out.’

‘Where to?’

‘Clubs. Pubs. Wherever I can have a drink with my mates and meet women.’

He’d have no trouble picking up women, Natalie conceded. He wouldn’t even have to speak. His hard, sexy body and those hard, sexy eyes would do all the talking for him.

‘Are you a good lover?’

The question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. It was not one of her usual questions. But, thankfully, he didn’t know that.

‘I’ve never had any complaints,’ came his nonchalant reply.

She almost asked him how much sex he would want from his wife, but she pulled herself up just in time. She’d already overstepped the mark.

‘Religion?’ she asked instead.

‘Nope.’

‘An atheist?’

‘Nope.’

‘What, then?’ she asked through gritted teeth.

‘The Lord and I haven’t had much to do with each other so far, but who knows what the future might hold?’

‘Fine. I’ll put open-minded on the subject of religion. Education?’

‘Not much.’

‘Could you be more specific than that?’

‘I attended school till I was seventeen, but I didn’t sit for my school certificate or my HSC. I’ve never been to college or university. I’m a self-taught computer genius.’

‘Genius? My, let’s not be too modest here.’

‘I’m not being modest. I’m saying it as it is.’

‘Fine. But I think I’ll enter computer expert. You wouldn’t want to put off a potential wife by sounding a little…shall we say…arrogant?’

‘I’m not arrogant. I’m honest. But put what you like.’

She intended to. Lord, but he was the most irritating man. ‘What’s the name of your software company?’

‘Stoneware.’

‘Stoneware?’ She rolled her eyes at him.

‘The name amused me,’ he said, and actually smiled.

Not a big smile. More a lifting of the corner of his mouth.

‘You do have a sense of humour, then?’

‘It’s not one of my best qualities.’

‘Somehow I gathered that,’ she muttered. ‘Now, Mike, I will understand if you do not want to give me a precise figure, but approximately what is your annual income?’

‘I don’t mind telling you. Last year Stoneware made six point four million dollars profit. I own seventy per cent of the company, so my share was four point four eight million. I expect this next year to be a much better year, however.’

Natalie swallowed her surprise and said, ‘How much better?’

‘A lot better,’ he replied drily. ‘We released a couple of new games which have really taken off.’

‘I see.’

‘I presume that improves my chances of finding a wife?’

His question—and his tone—had a decidedly cynical flavour, which ruffled Natalie’s feathers.

‘Money alone will not secure you a wife from amongst my girls,’ she told him crisply.

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘Pity.’

‘What does that mean?’

He stared hard at her, making her squirm on her chair.

‘You know, you’re not quite what I expected,’ was his next, rather cryptic comment, ‘but I can see you’re still a no-nonsense businesswoman. Like I said, I’m a truthful man. I don’t like to con people. I also don’t have the time to muck around. The thing is, Ms Fairlane,’ he continued as he sat forward on the sofa, his elbows coming to rest on his knees, ‘I need a wife before the first week in December.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘THE first week in December!’ Natalie exclaimed. ‘But December’s just over a month away!’

‘That’s right,’ Mike said, feeling perversely pleased that he’d got a real rise out of her.

He’d met females like Natalie Fairlane before. For some reason they were sour on life, and on men. That was why they tried to hide their femininity behind masculine-looking clothes. They lived in constant denial of their sex, and their sexuality.

Yet a man would have to be blind not to see that Natalie Fairlane was a looker. With the right makeup and the right outfit, she’d be a knock-’em-dead type. She had all the basic equipment. Gorgeous red hair. Striking blue eyes. A sultry mouth. And, if he was not mistaken, hiding behind that simply awful grey trouser suit was a darned good figure.

‘But that’s impossible!’ she informed him agitatedly. ‘It takes a month and a day to get a marriage licence, unless you have a special reason for a special licence. Do you?’ she demanded to know. ‘Oh, this is quite ridiculous. Why do you have to be married by then?’

Natalie watched as he sighed, then leant back again, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa, his leather jacket coming apart as he did so.

Natalie did her best not to stare. But, brother, did that man have a chest on him!

‘Do you want the long version or the short version?’ he said.

‘Any version will do,’ she told him. ‘Provided it makes sense.’

‘Fair enough. The thing is, Ms Fairlane, I’m in negotiations with an American company named Comproware who are very interested in a new firewall program I’ve written. Interested enough to offer me a partnership.’

‘And?’ Natalie prompted when he stopped talking for a second. Patience was not one of Natalie’s virtues. ‘Such a partnership would earn my company many millions over the coming years. Unfortunately, the owner of Comproware is a sanctimonious, self-righteous old buzzard named Chuck Helsinger who refuses to go into partnership with any man who isn’t married. Married with solid family values, I’ve been informed.’

‘Aah, I’m beginning to see. But why do you call Mr Helsinger self-righteous?’

‘He’s seventy years old. And his wife is in her forties. His third wife.’

‘At least he married her!’

‘Trading your wife in on a younger model every once in a while hardly demonstrates solid family values. Not that I feel all that sorry for any of his wives. No doubt they only married him in the first place for his money.’

‘Which is exactly what you’re planning to do,’ she pointed out tartly. ‘Marrying for Mr Helsinger’s money.’

‘Right in one, Ms Fairlane. Glad to see you’ve got the picture.’

‘Oh, I’ve got the picture all right, Mr Stone,’ she countered, a furious indignation simmering away inside her. ‘Now let me give you my picture. If you think I would insult any of my girls by matching a man like you up with any of them, then you can think again. They wouldn’t enter into the kind of loveless marriage you’re wanting, for all the money in the world. They want real marriages with real husbands and the possibilities of a real family, which I presume wouldn’t be on your agenda.’

Her tirade didn’t seem to have affected him in the slightest. He continued to lounge back in that nonchalantly relaxed pose, his expression as poker-faced as ever.

‘You’re quite right, Ms Fairlane. I certainly wasn’t planning on being a real husband. This would be a business arrangement only, with a discreet divorce in the foreseeable future.’

‘A business arrangement?’ she repeated a bit blankly. ‘You mean…no sex?’

‘Absolutely no sex.’

Somehow she found that hard to believe. Mike Stone oozed testosterone from every pore.

But then she realised what he meant. Just no sex with his bought bride. He’d probably still be having it off with other women.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I would still not entertain the thought of putting such an outrageous proposition to any of my girls. It’s not what they came to Wives Wanted to get. They would be offended and none would accept.’

‘You’re quite sure of that?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I will pay one million dollars up front. And a further one million if the partnership goes through.’

Natalie gaped before she could stop herself.

‘Naturally, I will also cover all expenses associated with the wedding,’ the object of her gaping went on before she could regather her composure. ‘The marriage will have to look real. Mr Helsinger could be having me investigated.’

‘I see,’ she said after her mouth finally snapped shut. ‘That’s a very…generous…offer.’

Generous and tempting.

‘It’s fair for the amount of work and inconvenience involved. Aside from the bother of going through with a wedding, and making it look the goods, my temporary wife will have to be available to spend a couple of days with me aboard Mr Helsinger’s yacht early in December. He’s coming here to Sydney to pick up this brand-new luxury boat and look me over at the same time.’

Natalie frowned. ‘Yachts don’t have huge bedrooms. If you’re supposed to be newly-weds, you’ll have to share a cabin.’

‘I can see the way your mind is working, Ms Fairlane, but I can promise you there won’t be any hanky-panky. I don’t want to create any problems afterwards. This marriage will not be consummated, so please don’t match me up with any female who might fancy herself a femme fatale, or who might imagine that I will fall in love with her. I won’t,’ he finished up with a flash of steel in his hard, dark eyes. ‘I don’t fall in love and I won’t be staying married.’

‘You don’t have to worry about some poor deluded creature from Wives Wanted trying to seduce you, Mr Stone,’ she said, thinking his name reflected his nature. He was made of stone. ‘I still have no intention of matching you with any of my female clients.’

Natalie would later question why she did what she did next. Was it just for the money, or were there other, darker forces at work?

The money was certainly very tempting. She would be able to pay off her parents’ mortgage and give them a lump sum to help with their retirement. Then, when she got the second million—she didn’t doubt that the ruthlessly ambitious Mike Stone would get his partnership—she could pay off her own mortgage and maybe go on an overseas holiday. She was getting tired of matching other women to men who actually wanted to marry them. It had once given her a kick to see two of her clients happily wed. Lately, however, a measure of envy had been creeping in.

Despite her disastrous relationship with Brandon, Natalie had always believed she would marry one day. And have a family of her own. When she’d started Wives Wanted three years back, she’d still harboured the hope that one day her Mr Right would walk through the door.

But something had happened to her, post-Brandon. She’d become defensive and aggressive where the opposite sex was concerned. The bottom line was she just didn’t trust them.

Men were not attracted to her harder, more cynical persona. She hadn’t had a date, or a single lover, since Brandon.

‘How about me?’ came her curt offer.

That got his attention. He sat up straight, his arms falling off the back of the sofa.

‘You?’

The shock in his voice piqued her considerably.

‘Yes, me,’ she snapped. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

What was wrong with her was that he fancied her.

Keeping his hands off the provocative Ms Fairlane might prove difficult, especially on those nights they were thrown together on the yacht. On the other hand, it was clear she wasn’t about to help him find a wife from amongst her precious ‘girls’.

Suddenly, he understood why. She wanted the job—nope, she wanted the money—for herself.

‘I suppose you were looking for someone younger,’ she said with a flash of those cut-glass blue eyes of hers.

‘How old are you?’ he asked.

‘The same age as you. Thirty-four.’

His eyebrows lifted. He would have tagged her as a couple of years older. But that was probably due to the dreary clothes she was wearing.

‘I can look younger,’ she said with a proud toss of her head. ‘And prettier. If that’s what you want.’

‘What I want, Ms Fairlane, is a wife who can convince Chuck Helsinger that she’s genuinely in love with me. Can you do that?’

Her chin lifted. ‘For two million dollars? I’ll convince him I adore every single hair on your head.’

Mike smiled as he ran his hand over his very thick crew cut. This, he’d like to see.

His smile faded, however, when he realised he might find it even harder to keep his hands off when Ms Fairlane started playing the besotted bride. He would have to keep reminding himself that she was just doing it for the money.

Damn, but that thought really annoyed him. He hated gold-diggers with a passion.

‘I presume you won’t entertain any romantic fantasies that I might fall in love with you and want to stay married to you?’ he threw at her.

‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’d be the last man on earth I’d fantasise over.’

‘I’m not your type?’

‘Only a fool would fantasise over a man who obviously doesn’t believe in love and marriage. I am not a fool, Mr Stone,’ she finished up firmly.

‘In that case, it’s a deal, Ms Fairlane.’

Even as he said the words Mike suspected he was going to regret marrying this tough-talking but rather temperamental redhead. But what alternative did he have? Instant wives didn’t grow on trees. December would be here before he could blink.

For the first time since they’d met, she suddenly looked uncertain, her hand coming up to her throat in a decidedly vulnerable gesture.

She had a long throat, he noticed. Long and pale, as if she hadn’t been out in the sun for ages.

An image popped into Mike’s mind of her lying naked on a bed, her whole body pale and soft, her gleaming red hair spread out on the pillow. Her wide eyes would be locked with his, just as they were now, but more so, their expression expectant, yet at the same time excited.

‘So…what do we do now?’ she said, breaking into his fantasy.

Why don’t I take you to bed? he wanted to say.

Because that was what he wanted to do. Right now.

It had been too long, Mike realised ruefully, since he’d been to bed with a woman. Richard was right. Celibacy did not sit well with him, not when he was in the company of a woman he fancied.

But there was nothing he could do about it now, certainly not with Ms Fairlane. She’d blow a gasket if he started coming on to her. Nope. He was trapped into a no-sex existence for another couple of months at least. He couldn’t even sneak a bit on the side. Cunning old Chuck might find out about it and any partnership would fly out the window.

Just think of the money, he told himself. The same as the mercenary Ms Fairlane is doing. And stop thinking about her being naked, and willing. The odds of her ever being naked and willing with you, Mikey, are about as high as your staying married to her.