Not a Marrying Man (3 page)

‘We’re all worried about you, Amber, living with that heartless man. Kate was especially worried. I have a suspicion she knew she didn’t have long to live, and changed her will in your favour to throw you a lifeline, so to speak. At least you’ll have a home and a job when that man’s finished with you. Which, if he runs true to form, will be any day now.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Amber threw at her mother before she could think better of it.

‘That’s where you’re wrong, dear. I know quite a lot about Warwick Kincaid and none of it’s very complimentary. He might be successful in his business dealings, but his personal life is another matter. It’s a case of like father, like son.’

‘Meaning?’

‘His father was a notorious womaniser who hung himself after losing millions at a casino, according to the inquest.’

Amber was truly shocked. Warwick had told her that his father had died unexpectedly at fifty-one, but she’d just assumed it was from a heart attack or a stroke. He’d said nothing about suicide.

‘His wife divorced him soon after their only child was born,’ her mother rattled on, ‘the price of her freedom being that she had to give up custody of her son. At the time, James Kincaid was one of the richest bankers in England with lots of power and influence. It’s all there to read on the Internet if you ever want to look it up.’

‘I don’t have to, Mum. I know all about Warwick’s family background.’ Which was an exaggeration of the highest order. Warwick was a man who lived in the here and now. He rarely talked about his past life. Neither did he ask her about hers. He’d told her a few brief details just before Christmas last year when she’d enquired
about his family. She did know about the divorce and that his mother—from whom Warwick remained estranged—was an actress of sorts. She knew his mother had never remarried, so he didn’t have any half-brothers or -sisters. She knew nothing of his father’s womanising, or his suicide.

‘Then you must know that your boyfriend’s a womaniser as well,’ her mother swept on waspishly. ‘With a mistress left behind in every country he’s lived in. It’s a different country each year: France, Spain, Italy, Turkey, Egypt, India, China, Vietnam … And now Australia. Next year he’ll probably hop over to New Zealand, then on to the Americas. He’s an adventurer, Amber. And a gambler, just like his father. Maybe not at cards or roulette, but with his life. He does dangerous things.’

‘Yes, I do know that, Mum,’ Amber said ruefully. Bungee-jumping and heli-skiing weren’t her lover’s only thrill-seeking activities. Warwick liked to drive fast cars and boats. He liked everything that smacked of speed and risk. ‘Please, can we stop this conversation right now? You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.’ Okay, so she hadn’t known the detailed itinerary of his past love life, but she’d been warned about his womanising reputation right from the start, both by Jill and Warwick himself.

‘And still, you stay with him,’ her mother said with incredulity in her voice.

‘I love him, Mum.’

It was the first time Amber had said the words out loud to anyone other than herself.

‘I very much doubt it,’ her mother snapped. ‘You’re just infatuated with his looks and his lifestyle.’

‘You’re wrong, Mum. I
do
love him,’ Amber insisted hotly. ‘And I won’t leave him. Not unless he asks me to.’

Her mother sighed. ‘There’s nothing more to be said on that subject, then. So what are you going to do about Kate’s place? You can’t just leave it empty indefinitely. You’ll have to do something with it.’

‘Could I rent it out, do you think? I mean … as a holiday house?’ She didn’t want to sell it. Not straight away.

‘I suppose so. But you’ll have to find yourself a reliable agent. And soon. Your father went up there last weekend and mowed the lawns and watered the garden but you can’t expect him to keep on doing that. The place is your responsibility now.’

Amber’s heart jumped when she heard the familiar sound of the front door being opened. Warwick was home at last. Thank heavens! She was beginning to worry that he might have had an accident.

‘Mum, I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I’ll come over tomorrow and pick up the keys. Will you be home?’

‘Yes. But only till twelve. I have a hairdressing appointment at twelve-thirty.’

‘I’ll be there before then. Bye.’

Amber tossed the phone back down on the granite counter-top and hurried out of the kitchen, her heart thudding behind her ribs in a maddening mixture of excitement and annoyance.

Just the sight of him tipped her emotions more towards excitement. Warwick was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with a strongly masculine face, a well-shaped head, sexy blue eyes, and an even sexier mouth. Combine that with a body to die for and an English accent that could cut glass and you had a man
who’d give James Bond a run for his money. In fact, he would make an excellent James Bond in Amber’s opinion, his suave man-about-town façade hiding a ruthless inner core. He wasn’t totally heartless, as her mother had said. But he was extremely formidable.

It took courage to confront Warwick with anything, even his tardiness. Normally, Amber forgave his tendency to be late for things.

But not this time.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ she demanded to know. ‘You knew I was cooking a special dinner for us tonight. Why didn’t you call me? I left enough messages on that damned phone of yours!’

W
ARWICK
closed the front door behind him, slipping the security chain into place before turning his attention back to his understandably upset girlfriend.

How exquisitely beautiful she looked in that glorious pink dress! Beautiful and desirable. Not that it was a sexy garment, by any means. There was no provocative décolletage on display. The neckline was modestly scooped, and the simple flowing style skimmed rather than clung to her curves, the handkerchief hemline reaching down past her knees.

But never before had a girl turned Warwick on the way Amber could—so damned effortlessly. She didn’t have to flirt, or do any of the boldly seductive things his previous women had done. She only had to be in the same room and his hormones jumped to attention.

Suddenly, Warwick wasn’t sure if he could continue with the plan he’d started putting into action recently, the one where he showed himself to be the ruthless man he actually was. Much easier to give up on that idea—however perversely noble it was—apologise profusely for being late and do what his body was urging him to do: ravish her all night long.

The temptation was powerful. But so—as Warwick kept discovering to his surprise—was his conscience.
For some time now it had troubled him deeply. Thanks to that wretched aunt of Amber’s.

Of course, he himself had known right from the start that it had been wrong to take a girl like Amber to his bed. She’d been too young, too sweet and too sensitive.

But he just hadn’t been able to resist her. The chemistry between them had been electric, right from the first moment they’d set eyes on each other.

Just one night, he’d told himself at the time. To see how it would feel to make love to someone wholesome. Someone who blushed when you looked deep into her eyes; someone whose attraction for him shocked her enough to make her resign.

Well, he’d found out what it was like and, come the next morning, he hadn’t been able to let her go.

But now the time had come for him to do so.

Time to be cruel to be kind.

‘Please don’t start sounding like a wife, Amber,’ he said coldly as he strode into the room, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt as he headed for the built-in bar in the corner. ‘I texted you that I’d be late,’ he threw at her after selecting a glass and reaching for the whisky decanter. ‘For pity’s sake, woman, don’t nag.’

‘I … I don’t think it’s nagging to demand politeness,’ she returned in a small, almost crushed voice.

He should not have glanced up at her, not then. Not when her soft blue eyes looked so wounded.

Hell on earth, he couldn’t do this. Not tonight. That would be just too cruel.

‘You’re right,’ he said more gently. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I’m a bit wound up. Had to sort out a few problems with one of the building contractors. That’s who I was with
all this time,’ he lied. He’d actually been sitting in a bar in town all by himself, nursing a whisky for two long hours till he was rudely late. ‘What say I go shower and change into something more comfortable whilst you rustle up dinner?’ he suggested. ‘It’s not spoiled, is it?’

‘No.’ Immediately, her dulled eyes glowed with happiness, sending a dagger of guilt plunging into his own wretchedly dark heart.

Oh, Warwick, Warwick, he thought almost despairingly. How are you going to get yourself out of this mess? The girl loves you. Can’t you see that?

Yes, of course I can see it, came a frustrated voice from within.

It wasn’t the first time this realisation had jumped into Warwick’s head. That day he’d gone bunjee-jumping, for instance, when the damned rope had gone awry and he hadn’t been killed. More was the pity. Amber’s feelings had been written all over her face. She’d been trembling with shock and relief when he was brought back up, unharmed.

Unfortunately, being loved the way Amber loved him—with such sweet sincerity—was as powerful as the most addictive drug. Giving up the way she made him feel was going to take a massive act of will, one that Warwick didn’t think he was capable of this evening. Knowing she wanted him to make love to her after dinner was weakening his resolve to end their relationship.

Maybe it was time to tell her the truth about himself, to force Amber to face the fact that there was no future with him.

Could he do that?
Should
he?

Unfortunately, revealing his genetic flaw and all its
appalling inevitabilities might not bring about the desired result. If Warwick had learned one thing about Amber’s character during the last ten months, it was that she was as compassionate as she was passionate. She would become visibly upset whenever she saw those ads about poor starving children, and could only be soothed when he promised to make regular donations to whatever charity was canvassing for help. Stories about neglected animals inevitably brought similar distress, as did reports on the news about more bombs killing innocent women and children in war-torn countries. Warwick had taken to putting a box of tissues at the ready by the sofa to mop up her tears.

Finding out what awaited her lover in the future might send her running, not in the other direction, but right into his arms.

It was a risk Warwick decided he could not take. He would have to find some other way to end their relationship.

‘Is that your glass of wine over there?’ He nodded towards the nearly full glass that was sitting on the side table next to the box of tissues.

‘Oh, yes, it is. I was having a drink earlier when I was waiting for you to come home.’

Another stab of guilt. Still, he was here now.

‘Bet I can guess what it is,’ he said. ‘A Sauvignon Blanc from the Marlborough region.’

She smiled as she walked over to pick up the glass. ‘You know me too well.’

Yes, he thought as he dropped a few cubes of ice in his glass then slurped in some whisky. I do. And you deserve better than me. You deserve a man who’ll marry you, give you children and grow old with you.

I can’t do any of those things.

Warwick scowled as he lifted the glass to his lips, irritated suddenly by his maudlin thoughts. What good did they do? He’d always been a realist, and the reality of his life was that he couldn’t offer Amber any more than he’d originally offered her.

But damn it all, surely the time she’d spent living with him hadn’t been totally wasted. She’d travelled a lot and learned a lot. She’d socialised with some of the world’s most successful people, been dressed by the world’s most fashionable designers, stayed in the world’s most luxurious resorts.

Some women would kill for what Amber had experienced during these past ten months.

Unfortunately, Amber wasn’t one of those women. Warwick knew she didn’t give a fig about any of those things. All she wanted was his love and his ring on her finger.

Not that
she’d
told him so. Not once.

Her aunt Kate had told him, last Easter at a family barbecue at her home that Amber had dragged him along to.

What an old tartar she’d been. But she’d obviously loved her niece and wanted to see her happy.

‘You do realise,’ Kate had snapped at him when Amber had left them to go to the bathroom, ‘that Amber was practically engaged when she met you. To a perfectly nice boy who would have given her the only things she’s wanted since she was knee high to a grasshopper: a loving husband and a family of her own. Two things you’ll never give her, Warwick Kincaid.’

The old dragon probably could have said a lot more but didn’t get the opportunity.

‘Shame on you,’ she’d hissed under her breath as Amber had walked back towards them.

That had been three months ago. Warwick hadn’t told Amber what her aunt had said. Hadn’t asked her about the man she’d been on the verge of marrying. He certainly hadn’t embraced the undeniable shame the woman’s forceful words had momentarily evoked. Instead, he’d gone on wallowing in Amber’s warmth and passion, telling himself that he hadn’t forced her to choose him over that other fellow. He’d never forced her to do a single thing. She had free will, didn’t she? She
wanted
to be with him.

But gradually, the shame had resurfaced. So had his conscience, something that he’d kept buried for a long time. In hindsight, his plan to stop acting like a besotted bridegroom and start showing his true colours had not been well thought out. He hadn’t anticipated the hurt that his abrupt change in behaviour would bring her. Hadn’t anticipated his own level of self-disgust.

Far better that the break be clean and swift.

When the time came, that was.

Her walking over and bending forward to pick up her glass of wine showed him that that time definitely wasn’t tonight, his flesh stirring as he imagined how she would look doing that
without
that dress on.