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

‘You okay?’ He checked again long minutes later as he finally did as she was begging and worked his fingers into her, his thumb circling over her most sensitive spot until she came wet, hot, screaming.

‘I’m so doing this to you,’ she panted.

‘Soon.’ He was pushing her over the edge again first.

It was over an hour later when he let her tether his wrists. She smiled at him with such wicked intent he was hard again in a second.

She swept her hands over him, looking at him as if he were something she’d wanted to toy with—and devour— since for ever. She bent over his body—kissing, caressing every bit of him with her hands, her lips, her hair. When she licked her lips and her gaze zeroed in on his erection he knew he was in trouble.

‘Victoria.’ Part of him wanted her to do it so much, but he also wanted to come inside her again.

But in the end he had no choice. She sucked him so hard, her hands working in tandem, there was no way he could hold back. No way he could resist diving head-first into the generous, seductive attention she was gifting him.

She didn’t untie him after—even though he was as limp as a dishrag. Dazed, he lifted his head with a huge effort as she slipped away from the bed.

‘Victoria?’

A couple of minutes later she came back to him. She had a fountain pen in her hand.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked lazily.

‘You’re missing something all sailors have.’ She carefully touched the nib of the pen to his chest.

‘What’s that?’ He twitched at the tickling sensation.

‘A tattoo.’ She chuckled. ‘A heart with ‘mother’ or something across it.’

He flinched.

‘Perhaps not ‘mother’,’ she said quietly and lifted the pen from him.

‘It’d be okay,’ he said, feigning ease. ‘She died when I was very small.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’ The pen tickled him some more.

‘Did your father find anyone else?’

‘No. He was a rough man. A stevedore who loaded and offloaded ships. He worked hard, drank hard. Frankly he stank. He didn’t have a lot about him to attract another woman.’ Except for the ones he paid for.

‘So what did you do?’

‘Found boats and sailed on them. As often as I could.’

He’d skipped school to sail. Until he’d become so good the schools had come to him wanting him to sail. Scholarships. Performance.

She ran a line down the side of his stomach. He flinched again because it tickled so much. She laughed softly as she dipped the pen in the well again and turned back to him. ‘Your abs are amazing.’

He grimaced. ‘I’m glad you appreciate them. They don’t come easy.’

‘Oh, I appreciate them.’ She blew, drying the ink.

‘Don’t put that any lower,’ he warned.

She laughed again. ‘You don’t want me to ink—’

‘No, I do not.’ He wondered what she’d written. But he wanted to feel her some more first. She clearly ached for more too, as suddenly she tossed the pen and straddled him.

‘Release me.’ He needed to hold her now—was desperate not just to cup her breasts and stroke her to ecstasy, but to embrace her. He wanted to hold her close. She still had gold leaf in spots over her skin and in her hair. His gilded, branded lover.

She slid off him and reached forward to untie the knots. On her way back down, she writhed her hips, teasing, freely expressing her enjoyment of him—of his touch, of his body. He shifted again—so his aching need was hard against her lush, wet heat. He arched up into her again and watched the burst of rapture on her face. He inhaled deeply, holding back the urge to dive into the mindless, exquisite release. Not yet.

She pushed on him, levering so she could ride him tighter. He rested his hands on her thighs, letting her. Until he felt her tiring—yet desperate.

‘Liam.’ Her call came, broken, needy.

He slid his hands higher, cupping her butt and supporting her as he thrust upwards, maintaining her tempo, then pushing it further, faster.

She cried out—pleasure bursting in brief phrases and then moans as words could no longer be formed. He watched the deepening flush and glow of her skin, the red, tight nipples, even redder plump lips and the wild, big eyes.

This was the Victoria he’d wanted—the one he’d caught a glimpse of all those years ago. The lusty, pleasure-bent, hungry woman who’d take what she wanted. Not aiming to please him—but taking pleasure, enjoying herself. Able to give so much—yes. But also able to receive. The woman made for loving.

It satisfied him immensely that she was open, receiving pleasure from him. He arched, his spine stiffening as he realised how much he wanted to give her. Passion rushed in his ears as a piercing cry broke from her. He saw it as she shuddered, bearing down on him as the convulsions racked through her body. And he felt it as she collapsed forward, lax in his arms, blanketing him with her soft warmth.

He wrapped both arms around her, gripping her shoulders hard, his forearms pressing down on her back so she was squashed even tighter against him as he finally allowed himself to come.

He found he liked the tiny bed after all. The only way for them to fit on it was if they were locked together, either side-by-side or with one on top of the other.

Mid-morning he fell asleep like that. Still inside her.

SEVEN

Sweat had smudged the ink—the words she’d drawn on him, mingled in a mess of blue on both their skins. Liam stood in the shower behind Victoria who had her eyes closed as she rinsed frothy shampoo from her hair. While she did, he scrubbed at the ink with the palm of his hand. He could still see the anchor on his hip.

Stupid to be so bugged by such a common, naval theme. A million guys out there had tattoos just like it. There was no underlying meaning in that symbol. Yet, impossibly, he felt bound—just by the play of last night.

He didn’t want to be weighed down. He didn’t want permanent ties. Nothing anchoring him—not any one place. Not any one person.

Suddenly a flannel-filled hand pushed his out of the way and tried to scour away the image.

‘It’s fine.’ He grabbed her wrist, uncomfortable that she’d noticed his attempt to wash it away.

‘It clearly bothers you.’

He automatically released her on hearing that cold edge to her voice. He made himself meet her eyes. ‘We want different things.’

‘Not so different.’ An almost-smile twisted her lips. ‘Your career is everything to you. So mine is to me. But they’re not compatible. We’re not compatible.’

Except physically. They were so compatible there. But that wasn’t enough. ‘I’ve stayed too long already.’

One night was all he’d offered her. All he could offer her. Yet here it was, late in the day already. He’d not been able to drag himself from her bed and body. The second night was already approaching.

‘Yes.’

He hated that she agreed with him. Stupid to feel rejected all over again, as he had those years ago. Even though this was what they’d agreed—what he’d insisted on. ‘We can’t do more than this,’ he repeated.

‘No.’ She glanced at the ink mark again. ‘Some turps might help with that. Or nail-polish remover.’

‘It’s fine. It’ll wear off.’ Just as this gnawing ache to be near her would wear off.

This was the right decision. They did want different things, in different places. But he didn’t like that remote look on her face. He drew her close under the streaming water and kissed her until she relaxed against him. Until she took him one last time.

He left the shower first, needing to recover alone, resenting the power of this pull towards her. He had to run.

Victoria wrapped a giant towel around her. She wanted him to leave. There was nothing she could do or say to make him change his mind and she didn’t want to try. A reluctant boyfriend was not what she wanted. She didn’t want a boyfriend at all. So it was fine.

When she emerged from the bathroom he was already dressed, lingering by the door, looking more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him.

‘It’s okay, Liam,’ she lied.

He tugged at his creased jacket. ‘You know it was better than I’d ever believed it could be.’

She looked away. ‘But not enough for either of us.’ And she’d been a fool. She’d been wrong. This was more than sex. So much more. But only for her. And it wasn’t enough to change things for him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She put on an unconcerned smile. ‘Don’t be.’

She wouldn’t embarrass them both by asking him to stay. She didn’t want to ask him for something he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—give.

She didn’t want him to feel bad, or, worse, pity her. She had more pride than that. She wasn’t a pushover any more.

She’d had what she hadn’t taken all those years ago. It was done. Finished. She’d get on with her business. She had a new priority in life. She was in control of her life. She was not going to wish or wonder ‘what if?’. What was, was. And she’d make the most of every minute.

‘It was great.’ She forced herself to sound airy. ‘But it’s all I wanted too. It’s time for you to go.’

She just held onto the smile until the door closed behind him. Only then did she release the painful, jagged breath. She looked around her apartment—suddenly it felt spacious without him in it. Anger slowly trickled into the huge gap he’d left behind. She was not changing her life for anyone else. Not trying to do anything and everything for someone else.

Never ever.

She had what she wanted—her independence. The strength to do what she wanted to do. And she wanted this. She would love this.

EIGHT

The early morning sun streamed in through the window, the sky as brilliant and as clear as it had been the day before and the day before that. Liam rolled and buried his head under the pillow, totally over the relentless perfection of the weather. Why couldn’t there be a storm to challenge him out in the boat? He had energy to release, adrenalin to be used. With a growl he thrust out of bed, tossing the pillow to the far corner of the big mattress. He rubbed his face; his eyes ached, his brain fogged. Yet his muscles leapt and twitched under his skin.

Never had he felt so unfulfilled. He’d sailed for hours this past week, but not even a marathon on the water soothed the inflammation scored deep into his heart. He’d scrubbed every inch of every boat in the shed. Then the shed itself. Even though it was someone else’s job, he’d needed the activity—hoped the relentless grind would wear him out enough to sleep.

It didn’t.

Nothing could exhaust him enough to stop thinking about her. And it wasn’t the permanent hard-on causing the restless agony. It was the hurt in his heart. He missed more than her body. More than what they’d shared in bed those too few hours.

The inked image had long since washed away but it was as if the nib of that pen had been poisoned. Leaving him with an uncomfortable—invisible—scar. He didn’t think it would ever ease.

Frustrated, he snapped at his crew as they trained. She had him questioning everything. What he was doing, what he wasn’t doing, what he wanted in the future. Hell, he’d never thought too far into the future. He’d always lived for the next race, the next event. Loving the achievement— the solo endurance. The success—sporting and financial. And emotional.

He’d thought he had it so together. His life was perfectly set up.

To fail.

Because less than a week with her back in his life, here he was aching for all the things he’d sworn he’d never want. And the thing that hurt most of all was that she didn’t want him. She didn’t want his lifestyle. Didn’t want anything other than what they’d shared.

Illogically—when he’d insisted the same—he wanted to know why. Why didn’t she want him? He’d never known. She’d been attracted to him from the first moment she’d seen him—just as he’d been attracted to her. But she’d refused him—more than once she’d rejected him. And now, even once they’d shared that incredible night, she still rejected him. It burned his insides as if he’d swallowed a bottle of acid. She hadn’t argued, hadn’t fought. She’d just so civilly agreed.

Liam stopped winding up the coil of rope as it dawned on him—Victoria always agreed.

She always did what she thought the other person wanted. So how was he to know for sure that this goodbye was what she’d really wanted?

He shook his head at his fantasy. She’d been so businesslike, so seemingly determined. Matching him in the ‘career-comes-first’ persona. She’d been legit, right?

But the idea took hold—hope took hold. Had she just been making it easy for him? Doing what someone else wanted the way she’d always done?

His heart thumped at the ridiculous eagerness spurting inside him. He was going to have a coronary if he didn’t sort himself out. And it was his own fault. He’d been an idiot—too blind to see what was staring him in the face, too scared to admit even to himself what he’d really like. If he’d given them just a little more time, thought things through instead of bolting—

He tossed the rope to the ground and pulled his phone from his pocket. He wasn’t spending another day avoiding the biggest challenge of his life.

* * *

Victoria couldn’t believe the uplift in her business. It was absolutely as she wanted it—and keeping her busy. But being the scribe who recorded the love notes of other people? Right now it hurt.

But it also kept her faith alive. She’d survived betrayal and divorce and isolation. She could survive this too. Other people did. Other people went on to find happiness. And one night was only one night, right? So she shouldn’t be this hurt. Only this wound was deeper than any other. It wasn’t only the death of that secret fantasy long locked away—it was the death of the incredible reality of being with him. It had been so much better than she’d ever believed it could be too. But she wasn’t thinking only of sex. She’d laughed with him, talked with him, felt so content in his company, so inspired. It was so much more than sexual. She was drawn to him on many levels. He worked as hard as she. Was as determined as she. He helped out—and she’d helped out too. They had so much to share.

Only he didn’t want to. He didn’t want her.

In the early evening she sat outdoors at a café in a trendier part of town, glad to get out of the oppressive feeling of her studio. She had a portfolio with her and a laptop to show pictures of some of her larger assignments. It was safer that way, plus it got her a little ‘Parisian café scene’ fun.

Her prospective client was a guy wanting to do something romantic for the woman in his life—a beautifully printed series of clues that were going to be part of an elaborate proposal. Lucky woman.

‘Do you think she’ll like it?’ he leaned forward and asked for the fifth time.

‘I think she’ll love it. And I’d be honoured to do it for you.’

His entire face lit up. ‘Merci. Perhaps if she says yes you could do the invitations. I like your work. I think she will too. It’s unique.’

‘Thank you.’ Victoria felt the heat bloom in her cheeks, pleased she’d shown him her personal stationery portfolio as well.

‘I must get going or she’ll wonder where I am.’ He stood and Victoria rose too, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

He stepped around the table and leaned forward to kiss her on each cheek in that polite, Parisian manner. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’ And she would. She smiled as she watched him walk down the street.

‘Victoria!’

She turned, put a hand out to grip the back of the cane chair.

Liam was striding towards her. Looking icy. He swiftly got to where she stood superglued to the footpath. He was more tanned than usual, his eyes burnished. Gorgeous.

‘It didn’t take you long to move on.’ He glared after the guy who’d just left her.

Coolly Victoria glared at him; the excitement that had burst into being only a second ago was instantly doused at the implication of his words. ‘No.’ She let the word hang ambiguously.

A muscle in Liam’s jaw twitched. ‘He’s not your type.’

‘Who is?’

He looked at her directly, eyes aflame. ‘Me.’

She was furious. He was only interested because he’d seen her with another guy—someone he saw as a competitor. ‘This was a business meeting, Liam,’ she snapped. ‘That guy’s about to propose to his girlfriend of four years.’

‘Oh.’ He paused. ‘Sorry, I—’

‘Anyway, you’ve no right to comment on who I meet or talk to or sleep with, should I choose to,’ Victoria interrupted. ‘We had our one night. You left. It’s over.’

‘You wanted me to leave.’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t want someone ruining her career prospects. She didn’t want someone who wasn’t going to be there most of the time. She didn’t want someone who didn’t love her. Not again. And she’d agreed never to see him again because it was what he’d wanted. He didn’t want more.

He’d gone pale beneath his tan. ‘I had no idea it was a business meeting. I misread the signs and thought—’ He broke off and visibly regrouped. ‘I’d never want to jeopardise your work,’ he continued stiltedly. ‘That’s why I stayed away the week of the wedding. I knew you had to concentrate. Your business is amazing. You’re talented. You’re making it work and you deserve every success.’ He backed up a pace. ‘I’d never stand in the way of that.’

Unlike Oliver. Who’d been resentful. Who’d been as competitive.

‘So you only called out because you thought that other guy was flirting with me?’ She felt even more furious. Because that was it, wasn’t it? The only time she got serious attention from guys was when there was more than one on the scene. ‘You know, Oliver only wanted to marry me to keep me from finding someone else,’ she said bitterly. ‘Protecting his investment rather than looking at me.’ He hadn’t really loved her. Wanted her, yes, but more than that he’d wanted no one else to have her.

Liam’s eyes widened—and a second later he frowned. Big-time frown. ‘You think I was that someone else?’ He leaned closer. ‘That my presence somehow forced his hand?’

Had Oliver sensed the attraction between her and Liam? He had to have. ‘He hadn’t planned that proposal. The ring was a family heirloom. He had access to it any time—it was in the safe in the house.’

‘But you said yes.’

‘Because they were all sitting there. Because they expected it. Because I wanted to please them, and him. Because I was a coward.’

Liam breathed in deep before stepping forward and taking her by the arm, drawing her away from the café and around the corner into a quieter side-street.

‘I didn’t come over because I saw you talking to that other guy in some random quirk of fate. I’m not supposed to be in Paris. I just abandoned my training and drove for hours to talk to you. I came to find you.’

This wasn’t a chance meeting? Victoria stopped walking, so he did too. ‘How did you know where I was?’

There was a long moment of silence. Victoria watched— fascinated—as colour slashed across his cheekbones. Don’t-give-a-damn Liam was blushing?

‘I put an app on your phone.’

She frowned. ‘What kind of app?’

‘I have the matching app on mine—our phones can track each other. It comes up on a map.’

‘You basically bugged my phone?’ With some kind of GPS tracking thing? ‘That’s a first-class stalker thing to do.’

‘Yep.’ He stared into the distance. Eventually he brought his gaze back to meet hers head-on. ‘I didn’t want to lose you again.’

Victoria’s heart thundered. No. No, this couldn’t be. She killed the hope making her heart skip double-Dutch style. ‘Liam, I know you had to fight. You’ve competed against extreme odds to get to where you are. But I’m not some challenge. I won’t be a prize.’

She didn’t want to be a possession again—someone there to look good and support and not ‘be’ someone and something in her own right. She wanted to be valued for herself. Wanted. Supported in her own endeavours and not just the one supporting. She didn’t want to be a sexualised object or fought over like two dogs did with a bone. Because in the end the bone wasn’t of interest. The bone wasn’t actually what was wanted.

‘Is that how you think I see you? How I treat you?’ He frowned. ‘What am I to you? The bit of rough from your past? Am I not good enough for you? ‘

‘How dare you?’ she challenged, her voice low and raw as angry tears burned the back of her throat. ‘You were the one who said we could only have one night. You were the one who said he couldn’t give up his lifestyle for any woman.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘It’s easier not to get emotionally involved when it’s only one night,’ he said stiffly.

‘Well, we couldn’t have emotional involvement, could we?’ she said sarcastically.

He almost laughed at that; she saw the quirk to his mouth and the flash in his eyes. ‘The less expectations, the better. I don’t want to hurt anyone.’

‘How considerate of you.’

‘I like to think so.’ A low purr, filled with that old arrogance.

She angled her head and pulled the strap of her bag more tightly to her shoulder. ‘Of course,’ she said conversationally, ‘I wouldn’t say that it was because you don’t want to hurt anyone.’

‘No?’

‘I’d say it was because you don’t want to be hurt yourself.’

‘No.’

‘No, you don’t want to be hurt? Or no, I’m wrong?’

‘You’re wrong.’

‘I’ve been wrong about many things, but I’m not wrong about this.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You’re afraid of intimacy.’

He laughed outright at that. ‘Not sex,’ she sighed. ‘IN.TIM.ACY. Letting someone in your life. Trusting someone. Being brave enough to rely on someone. You can’t do that. And the work thing is just the excuse you give. You don’t want to commit to anyone. You even admitted that once. And the reason is because you’re too scared.’ She snuck a breath, starting to get upset. ‘But don’t make excuses with me. Don’t come back and bother me. Don’t do that to me.’

‘I bother you?’

Of course he bothered her. She hated him for it. For not loving her the way she wanted him to. But she could be okay with it, she could get over it, so long as he stayed away. ‘All I’ve ever been is another prize for you to win. And once you’ve won, you’re done—’

‘You were never a prize to me,’ he suddenly shouted. ‘You were always—’ He broke off, closing his eyes. ‘Perfect.’ His eyes flashed open again, serious and wide and riveted on her. ‘You were the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. And the sexiest. The way you looked at me? And then I really saw you. Got to see and know the person you are. The way you did things for everyone. You cared so much for everyone. I wanted you to care for me. You were so lovely. You’re still so lovely. Not a prize, but the most precious thing. And hell, yes, I feel scared around you— when you only have to look at me to pierce through to my bones. You have always mattered to me.’ He paced away from her, then spun on his heel.

‘I never wanted to care about what people thought of me. I already knew what they thought of me and where I came from.’ He shook his head. ‘But I knew that was irrelevant to what I wanted. I’m proud of the way I’ve made a success of my life. And I won’t ever give that up—those wins are mine for ever. And I’ll keep winning. But I knew I didn’t fit in. Frankly I didn’t care. Then I met Oliver and he didn’t care at all about my background. No looks or comments. This from a guy who came from a background of such privilege—not just money, but family. He invited me to his home—the first real Christmas I’d ever had. Snow and everything—a fairy tale. And there was an angel there too. A porcelain doll with green eyes and blonde hair and her heart on her sleeve. Sweet, compassionate, caring. And when she looked at me? It wasn’t disapproval or distrust that I saw. It was desire. Raw, adult desire.’ He swallowed. ‘I wanted her. I wanted everything she had to give. Like I’ve never wanted anything from any other person before.’