The Ceo's Contract Bride

Gwen forced a laugh through her lips, although her face felt as if it would crack if she tried any harder. All at once the tension of the day became unbearable and exhaustion struck her in waves.

“You know, I would never have picked you for his type,” Libby continued.

Gwen felt an unexpected pang. Didn’t her friend think she was up to the job? “Really?” Her voice was glacial.

Remorse chased across Libby’s face as she realised how her words had sounded. “Oh, heck, Gwen. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way that came out. But you know he certainly hasn’t been short of female company in the past few years.”

“It’s okay.”

But deep inside, Libby’s words struck home. Gwen had been the antithesis of Renata—cool and controlled when her friend had been full of fire and unpredictable. Since that dreadful night, after Renata’s funeral, he’d made it clear he wanted her the hell out of his life. As time had gone by Declan had been surrounded by female admirers of all ages and marital persuasions. So why ask her when he must have any number of eager candidates to help him access his trust fund? Unless it was because he knew he’d never make the mistake of falling in love with her. Somehow, the realization only made her feel worse.

“Are you okay, Gwen? You look all done in.”

“It’s been a heck of a day. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.” Gwen crossed her fingers in the wild hope that it might be so simple. “I think I’d better head off, thanks for tonight.”

“I’ll see you home.” The two women wheeled at the sound of Declan’s voice. Before she could object, they’d said their goodnights and the warm, firm pressure of his hand at the small of her back was herding her out the door and down the carpeted corridor to the elevator bank.

As soon as the elevator arrived Gwen stepped in, distancing herself from the steady warmth emanating from Declan’s body. In the aftermath of tonight it would have been so easy to simply lean back against his strength, but Gwen had learned her lesson, and learned it the hard way. She couldn’t rely on any man, especially Declan Knight.

“I have my car here, you know,” she said as she moved away from the console of push buttons, leaving him to depress the ground floor button. “I can see myself home.”

“We’ll collect it tomorrow. Besides, you’re my fiancée. People would wonder why we didn’t go home together, especially tonight.” His tone was mildly teasing, but did nothing to relax her.

The ride to the ground floor was mercifully brief. Gwen stepped into the apartment building foyer anxious to clear her lungs of the subtle, yet enticing, fragrance he wore. A scent that made her want to bury her face at the base of his throat and inhale, deeply. To stroke the hollow at the base of his neck with the tip of her tongue and see if he tasted as good as he smelled—as good as she remembered. Hold it right there! she admonished swiftly. Don’t let him invade your mind like that.

“So, where are you parked?” Her voice echoed, a brittle sound in the empty lobby.

“In the basement.”

“Then why have we stopped at the ground floor?” Gwen went to get back in the lift.

Declan hooked one arm across her shoulders and steered her to the front door. “I thought we’d both benefit from a walk along the beach.”

“It’s late,” she protested.

“Yeah, I know. And you need your beauty sleep. But you need to unwind more. C’mon, this’ll only take a few minutes. Think of it as training for when we meet up with the rest of my family.”

Smarting slightly from the beauty sleep remark, Gwen let him guide her across the road and through the grassy reserve on the other side. Once they reached the sandy width of beach she bent to slip off her shoes and suddenly wished she hadn’t. Declan loomed over her, no mean feat when she topped five ten herself.

She felt small. Feminine. Vulnerable.

Despite the activity on the sidewalk, they were alone on the beach—entirely too intimate for comfort. Gwen jogged lightly to the water’s edge, letting the iridescent foam lick over her toes and wash up to her ankles, taking refuge in the sudden chill on her heated skin. The late summer night air was gentle, laden with the combination of scents from the ocean in front of her and the restaurants that lined the road parallel to the beach. A warm breeze caressed her hair and lifted the long strands to dance flirtatiously across her cheeks and against her lips.

“What makes you think we can make this work?” she asked, her voice carrying on the night breeze. She jumped as he replied from right behind her.

“We will. We have to.”

The grim determination in his voice was daunting. He was right. Somehow, despite the past, they had to make this work. But at what price? A small rogue wave threatened to soak them both. He effortlessly swung her away, out of its path. There was that feeling again. Feminine. Vulnerable.

The breath whooshed from her lungs in a soft ‘poof’ as her breasts pressed softly against his chest and, irrationally, she wished she could be closer. Her pulse jumped like water on a hot skillet as the flats of his palms stoked across and down her long spine and over her hips. Flames of heat licked about her body where he’d touched, defying every instinctive warning in her mind. Without realising it her body melted against the hardness of his, moulding to every plane as if it belonged there even though nothing could be further from the truth.

Declan’s hands whipped to her upper arms and he set her away from him, an indistinct oath barely emerging from his mouth.

“You okay?” His voice was a rumble from deep in his throat.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She was a little breathless and a warm tide of blood had rushed to her cheeks at the sensation of his unyielding body against her softer curves. Her body had moulded to his as if they’d never been apart, as if they’d never betrayed Renata’s memory—as if they, and not he and Renata, had belonged together. She turned away and walked carefully through the soft sand. Anything to create some distance from him and the decimating memories being with him evoked.

Declan slid out of his jacket, slung it over one shoulder and walked a few silent paces beside her. “We’re marrying for the right reasons.” His voice rumbled across the night air.

“Right reasons?” Gwen was startled. To her the right reasons were love, honour and respect. But then had she had all three in the forefront of her mind when she’d agreed to marry Steve? No. Safety, security and sameness. They’d been in the forefront of her mind, and look where that had got her. An ironic burst of laughter broke from her throat. “Care to name them?”

“Respect is one.”

Her eyebrows lifted as he verbalised the one word she felt sure could never describe their relationship. “Respect? After…? No, sorry, you’ll have to try harder than that. How can you say we have respect for one another?” The word couldn’t be further from the truth—loathing on his part maybe, but respect? No way.

“I respect your professional integrity. That’s what’s important here. As for the rest, we know exactly where we stand. Both of us know it isn’t a grand passion and we know it isn’t forever. No broken promises, no broken hearts.”

Gwen caught her lip between her teeth and stared out at the lights from the naval base blinking across the harbour. The burn of bitter rejection rose from her stomach. Could she do this? Oh, God, she hoped so. She couldn’t afford not to. A sudden sheen of frustrated tears filmed Gwen’s eyes. She blinked them away, furious at herself for almost exposing such weakness. She took a deep, steadying breath, then another. Finally satisfied she had her emotions under control she faced Declan. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I’d like to go home now.”

In silence they walked back across the road and to the ramp leading to the car park. As they approached the parking area Gwen halted in her steps.

“I’ll take my own car home. Everyone saw us leave the party together so you don’t have to worry about anyone suspecting that we didn’t go home together, too.” A strong hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

“I said I’ll take you home and I will.”

“But it isn’t necessary. My car’s here and I’ll have to come back tomorrow to get it, anyway.”

Declan slid his arm around her waist and turned her towards where his car waited. “Don’t argue with me, Gwen. I always do what I say I’ll do. We’ll sort out your car tomorrow after we’ve seen Connor to iron out our contract.”

While his vintage sports car ate up the distance to her home Gwen’s mind raced as she mulled over the turn her life had suddenly taken. Her lips twisted ruefully—not even her mother could claim to have been engaged to two men in the same day. Okay, she decided, marrying Declan would suit her purposes—for now—and, quite clearly, would suit his also. Yes, it was cold-blooded to go into marriage like this, as if they’d brokered a deal, but once he’d uplifted his trust fund and she’d sorted out this financial mess Steve had left her in they could drift apart, and when they divorced no one would be hurt. Would they?

Sandpaper bit into her fingers as Gwen applied more pressure than was strictly necessary. One way or another she was going to make a difference to the carved mantelpiece she’d pried from her sitting room fireplace early this morning. Maybe, if she rubbed hard enough, she could erase not only the layers of paint that masked the natural native timber she hoped dwelled beneath, but also the fact her hard-won and carefully structured life had spiralled out of control.

Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip, sending a distinct reminder that skipping breakfast hadn’t been such a wonderful thing to do.

Last night hung in her memory. She’d gone over it and over it in her mind, trying to see how she could have handled things differently. How she could have said “no.” But no matter how many different scenarios she’d played, the outcome had remained the same.

During the ride to her Epsom home last night Declan had been quiet, only acknowledging her directions to find her house with the minimum of conversation. He’d seen her to the door but hadn’t lingered. Gwen had half expected him to try and kiss her goodnight—only in the interests of maintaining the closeness they were going to have to make look natural, of course—and had suffered an odd pang of disappointment when he hadn’t. A pang she certainly didn’t want to examine too closely.

With a rueful sigh Gwen set the sandpaper aside—she was doing more damage than good with it, anyway. The years of paint layered on the mantel definitely required chemical intervention. She pushed a loose strand of hair from her face. If only heavy-duty paint stripper would solve all her problems.

Gwen jumped as a shadow fell over her shoulder.

“I knocked, but you obviously didn’t hear me.”

Declan! Gwen stood abruptly, too abruptly as the blood drained from her head and grey spots danced before her eyes. She blinked to clear them and took in a deep breath. Bad move, she scolded, as the enticing fragrance of man and subtle spice enveloped her senses. The scent of him had lingered with her long after he’d seen her to her front door last night. It had plagued her as she’d tossed about in her sheets, futilely seeking the refuge of slumber.

“You’re a bit pale today,” he commented, assessing her through narrowed eyes. “Not enough sleep?”

There was nothing wrong with his complexion nor, she noted in annoyance, anything else about him. He looked enticingly debonair in a black, short-sleeved cotton shirt and charcoal-grey trousers. He’d tied his long hair back, exposing the broad plane of his forehead and the cheekbones that should have looked ridiculous on a man, yet on him just served to make him look even more compelling.

She tried to ignore the way the fabric of his shirt draped across his shoulders and over his chest. The memory of how what lay beneath that finely woven fabric felt against her was still all too vivid. A millennia could pass and she’d still know the feel of him as intimately as she knew her own body.

“I suppose you slept like a baby?” Gwen snapped in retaliation.

“I did.” His response left no doubt all was well with his world. “You’ve been busy this morning, I see.” He raised his thumb to Gwen’s cheek. “You should be wearing a mask, you know. That could be lead-based.”

Fire branded her skin at his gentle touch, and she jerked her head back. “Most of my gear is in the back of my station wagon. I take it you’re here to help me collect it?” She swiped her hands on the seat of her jeans before dusting her face, removing all remnants of the paint dust and the lingering trace of his touch.

“Later. We’re going ring-shopping first.”

“Ring-shopping?” Gwen took a step back. “Whatever for?”

“Our engagement, perhaps?” Declan raised one eyebrow.

“I don’t need a ring.” She had agreed with Steve a ring was an unnecessary purchase even though in her heart of hearts she would have enjoyed the possessive declaration of promise wearing his ring would have given her.

“Need doesn’t come into it. We have to make this look believable and we don’t have a lot of time. I’m buying you a ring. Why don’t you go and get changed? Unless, of course, you’d prefer to go like that?” He gestured at her paint-stained shirt and faded jeans.

An imp of perversity almost induced her to insist on going in her work clothes. If she truly thought it would bother him, she would have done it. However, Declan didn’t look at all perturbed by the idea. His attention had been grabbed by her current project.

“You’re doing a good job on this mantelpiece. Are you going to brush paint stripper into these carvings?”

“Eventually. The stripper’s in the back of my car.” Gwen’s lips thinned. If he hadn’t insisted on bringing her home last night she could’ve made greater inroads on the mantel than she’d managed thus far.

“We can swing by Libby’s and pick it up after we’ve been shopping. I’ll follow you back and give you a hand if you like.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d better hit the road. The jeweller doesn’t usually open on a Saturday and he’s making an exception for us today.”

Give her a hand? Gwen reassessed his muscled shoulders. She may as well resign herself to the fact he was going to be around and put him to good use. There was nothing distinctly romantic about renovation. So far, and with little help from Steve, who’d preferred to keep his apartment when they’d become engaged, it had been sheer hard graft. Besides, she reasoned, it would serve to desensitise her to the crazy lurch she felt deep inside every time Declan came within three feet of her.

Gwen’s stomach growled, loud enough to tease another half smile from Declan’s lips.

“Maybe I should feed you first?”

“I’m fine,” she retorted. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

After choosing and discarding at least six different outfits, she was ready in fourteen.

“Let’s get this over with.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and reached up to twist her hair into a silver clip. Dressed in shades of lavender and deep plum Gwen knew, aside from the shadows under her eyes even concealer couldn’t hide, she looked good. And for reasons she didn’t want to examine too deeply, it was important that she did.

“You make it sound like pulling teeth would be more fun.” Declan pulled his keys from his pocket but didn’t make any move to leave.

“You said it, not me.”

“Why are you so angry?” He barred the doorway with one arm, effectively preventing her from avoiding the question. “It’s only a ring.”

“Shall we go?” Gwen gave him a pointed stare before ducking under his arm and taking swift steps down the hall to the front door.

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about it.” Declan followed with a measured tread. “You know, it would make things easier if you’d relax a little.”

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