Secrets and Seductions (18 page)

“Would the happy couple please stand in front of me,” the celebrant requested.

Happy? Mac looked sideways at his wife-to-be. Standing rigid, shoulders back, white-knuckled fingers clasped tightly in front of her, she stared balefully ahead.

Yet there was a strength of control to her too. The set of her jaw, the glint in her hazel eyes that spat diamond darts at him from the start and now shimmered the deepest of forest greens. That green matched her classy green shot silk suit. He looked closely and almost grinned. His soon-to-be wife wasn’t wearing a top under her jacket.

Mac could imagine a black lace and silk bra, perhaps, or maybe it was white cotton. Hmm. White. Cotton. Pure, but so darn sexy.

He dropped his gaze to her elegant shoes, a shiny matching green patent. But it was Leah’s legs that held him transfixed. Slim. In hose.

He wondered if they were stockings with a suspender belt.

Whoa! Too much right now. Later. He’d think about it later. And maybe, he could coax Leah to show him.

On the outside, she seemed stiff and unapproachable, yet between the sheets, when his skin touched hers, heat overrode common sense, and her formidable control slipped. Mac’s memory scrolled back to this morning and the feel of her, the taste.

Hell! And she wanted to play by the no-sex rule.

No way. He would change her mind. He’d take his time, play it his way, because he really wanted Leah back in his bed.

“The ring?” the celebrant intoned.

Mac’s head jerked up, a surge of panic taking over for a fleeting second till he stamped it right back down. He reached for Leah’s hand and linked his fingers through hers. He took the ring Connor proffered and recited his vows in a strong voice, aware of a deep sense of quiet instilling itself in him and drowning the thread of his guilt.

It surprised him that as he spoke his vows, they meant so much to him, that this moment felt right, and for the first time in a long time, emotions he had kept locked away were free.

Brushing aside poignant thoughts, he went to slip the gold band on Leah’s finger, but her fingers were curled into a tight ball. “You have to open your hand, Leah.”

Her eyes widened. “You brought rings?”

He tempered his tone. “Just call me a good Boy Scout, hmm?”

One by one, her fingers straightened, and holding still her shaking hand, he gently slid the ring on. “A perfect fit,” he said, easing out a long breath.

“For a perfect marriage.” Her words held a cutting edge, the tinge of bitterness blatant.

He offered a tight grin anyway. “Could be.” Actually, he hoped so. He really did.

“That’s a fairy tale, Mac. Perfection is an illusion.” Her reply was muttered, for his ears only.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride,” the celebrant commanded to a round of applause from Connor and his secretary.

Leah’s face bleached of color, and she went to pull her hands from his grasp. He held on tight.

“They’re waiting,” he prompted as his body kicked into overdrive, imagining kissing her and wanting to a whole lot. “Think of it as sealing the deal,” he said, trying to ease her tension.

It didn’t. “You don’t get to kiss the bride, remember?”

“We can’t disappoint them. They think this is love at first sight.”

“It’s not.”

He offered a lighthearted shrug. “Maybe, but it sure is whole lotta hot lust.”

Leah’s gaze slipped toward the expectant faces, then back to him in double quick time. “I was stupid to agree to this damned charade.”

Realizing he needed to get her alone for a minute and calm her down, he turned quietly to Connor and the others. “Leave us for a moment.” He caught Connor’s questioning look but instead nodded toward the door, grateful when his friend took his hint and ushered the celebrant and Rowena out. The moment the door shut behind them, Mac turned back to his bride.

Framed against the last light of afternoon sun, Leah stood at the window with her back to him. He walked over to her and rested his hands on her shoulders, pleased when she didn’t pull away. “We’re married, Leah. There’s no turning back.”

“I know.” She turned and faced him, and he saw such desolation in her eyes, it made him want to rescue her all over again, prove to her they could make this work.

You said it was for six months, remember?

Mac ignored that little reminder.

She’d told him of her innocence, and he’d refused to listen.

Tell her you believe her.

The silent condemnation slammed against his teeth, and only his breath escaped in a ravaged hiss. “I’m not Curtis.”

Her whispered gasp slipped against his skin, tempting him beyond all reason, when reason said walk away. He didn’t listen, and before she had the chance to react, he let his emotions rule, and he kissed her.

The urgency between them exploded, and Mac’s belief that this was right grew.

Leah sagged against him, arms linking around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. The intimate touch sent his pulse skyrocketing, and he gloried in the sensation.

When her mouth formed a soft moue, he took advantage, the tip of his tongue dancing with hers. She tasted pure, sweet, delicious.

He cupped her face, thumbs twirling in strands of auburn curls, silken smooth against the roughness of his hands. A curl brushed across his scars, an aphrodisiac to his senses. He kissed her till every ounce of his breath evaporated.

Voices echoed from behind the closed door, and Leah stiffened; the spell between them was sadly broken.

Eyes glistening, she lifted heavy lashes and looked up at him. Her lips were still parted, still kissable. Scarlet whorls colored her cheeks. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, wiping the tip of her fingers across her lips.

He couldn’t help watch her action and wish it was his fingers there. “Probably not,” he admitted, “but you didn’t pull away. You can’t deny you liked my kisses.”

“Kiss,” she said, returning to ice-queen mode. “One kiss, and there’ll be no more.”

Chapter Ten

That Mac agreed to her rule of a no-sex marriage without a hitch surprised Leah. He could have least tried harder to kick it to the curb.

The trouble was, the moment she announced her demand, she knew she’d weaken.

And she had. Mac had kissed her, and she’d kissed him right back.

The instant her husband led her back into reception, the sound of popping champagne corks erupted along with a round of clapping, and the nightmare became worse.

She had hoped, prayed, she could slip away and go home—which was where exactly? She had no home, not anymore.

“Our Mac’s a sly devil. Didn’t know he was the marrying kind.” Connor Jackson chuckled with a wink in Leah’s direction.

Needing respite from her husband’s constant scrutiny, she offered Connor’s hovering secretary a tight smile and a silent plea for rescue. It didn’t come.

Rowena reached over to her. “How I envy you. Mac is a real catch.”

Leah bit her tongue. Catch would not be the term she would have used.

“Some bubbles to steady the nerves. I think you might need it.” Mac offered her a glass of champagne, his mouth angled in that quirky half smile she’d come to recognize and crave. When he smiled at her, something in her changed. Her heart lightened.
Oh, Leah, you’re so weak!

“There’s nothing wrong with my nerves,” she said and slugged back the entire contents of her crystal flute, ignoring the teasing tickles as it slid across her tongue. She hiccupped. “Happy wedding day, darling.” Grabbing her bag, she headed for the elevator and fixed her attention on the door as someone exited. She scooted over the threshold and pumped the Door Close button. But luck wasn’t on her side, and Mac stepped in as the doors were about to close. Her frozen fingers clawed at her bag, anything to stop her from touching him, because the want was there, all the time. And damn it, it wouldn’t go away. “I’m going home.”

“Curtis called you his addiction.”

The shock of Mac’s statement king-hit Leah.

“You
are
an addictive woman, Mrs. Grainger.” And with that, her husband of barely a few minutes reached over and kissed her, obliterating the very last ounce of willpower she possessed as he imprisoned her in his arms.

And, darn it, she held on tight. In his arms she felt safe, wanted. Desired. Something she’d longed for…since forever.

As he kissed her again and again, Leah willed the elevator to actually stall for a while, give them time, because Mac Grainger was definitely her addiction in every way.

He pulled her so close she could feel his erection.

No! This had to stop. Head tipped forward and resting beneath his chin, her hands splayed on his chest, she drew in a deep breath. Tears threatened, but she held them at bay. She had to be strong. “Please, Mac. Don’t,” she at last pleaded.

He offered no protest and dropped his arms to his side. Simple as that. He truly was different from Curtis. Curtis never gave up.

Realization slammed into her heart. She loved Mac. Really loved him, truly and deeply. In fact, she’d known it the moment the celebrant pronounced them man and wife. But it was difficult to admit. She couldn’t go through loving him, only to be disappointed again, hurt and broken, just like before.

She held herself erect, lifted her chin a tad so that he knew she meant business. “Do not kiss me ever again, Mac Grainger.”

But Mac’s expression remained steely cool. Heaven only knew what was going on in the man’s mind. She locked on eyes that were hidden behind a curtain of heavy black lashes. She’d spent years learning how to escape, and for one mindless minute, because of one kiss, she’d let her guard down. “I want to go home.”

“Haven’t you forgotten our honeymoon?”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I am?”

Unfortunately, he didn’t. Her husband epitomized the autocratic air of a man in control. He towered over her, his powerful broad shoulders draped beneath the fine cloth of an exquisitely cut designer suit.

“We had a deal.”

“Contracts can be changed.”

“Not this one,” she declared.

The elevator doors opened, and Leah dashed out and out onto the street.

Once again, Mac followed.

“Leah, wait.”

And darn it, for some foolish reason she did. She stopped and turned round, only to see the others bundled out of the building.

There was no escape now.

Mac tugged her gently into the crook of his arm, a clear indication that she was going nowhere. His index finger caressed the ring he’d only just placed on her finger, offering a silent reminder that she was married to him. He bent his head toward hers. “I know you’re scared, sweetheart. But trust me.”

“Trust you. That’s a tall ask, Mac.”

“We can make this work, Leah. We have to, for Charlee’s sake.”

“That’s a low blow.”

She could see he was about to counter-argue, but Connor came up beside them. “You two love birds trying to skip away? I’ve booked a table at Partingtons,” Connor said, mentioning the five-star restaurant not far away.

“Would we do that, sweetheart?” He turned a brilliant smile toward her and then kissed her on her cheek.

At his touch, Leah’s body surged. Oh dear Lord, what was wrong with her? One minute she said no way, Jose, keep away, and the next she wanted to drag Mac behind the closest bicycle shed and jump his bones. She was blowing hot and cold, and there was no way to control it. She had to be insane. Or madly in love.

Time ticked by slowly. What she had prayed would be a quick meal with Connor and Rowena proved to be a long-drawn-out process, and by the time dessert arrived, a French wedding cake which gave the Eiffel Tower a run for its money with its towering concoction of ice-cream-filled profiteroles, Leah had a headache of mega proportions.

Lifting shaking fingers to her temple, she massaged it, breathing in slow, deep breaths.

It didn’t work.

The heat, the noise and the throb of music in the background compounded to push her to the edge. White lights jabbed the backs of her eyes, pain ricocheting to every corner of her brain as an invisible hammer slammed against her skull with relentless precision.

Daring to reopen her eyes, she reached for her water glass, only to knock it over. A pool of liquid soaked into the once crisp damask tablecloth.

Mac’s brow knotted with concern. “Are you all right?”

“As if you care.” The moment she uttered the words, she regretted her terse response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did. You are a woman who speaks her mind. That much I’ve learned.”

Her mouth tightened. Enveloped by a tiredness so heavy she had barely enough energy to lift her lashes, she glanced across the crowded restaurant. “It’s been a long day.”

“Enough.” He gathered her to him and stood. “My wife and I are leaving,” he informed their small group with determined abruptness.

There was a chorus of disappointment.

“It’s time for us to go home,” he said. He reached for her hand and drew her up into his embrace, the warmth of his body enveloping her in a caress.

“Home?” What was wrong with her that she repeated everything he said?

“You’ve a headache. You can barely open your eyes.”

“You noticed.”

His mouth quirked downward at one corner, and the brush of his thumb against her cheek elicited a nervous flurry in the pit of her stomach. “I notice many things. Your hair, the way you brush it back, hook it behind your ear, the way your skin glows when…” He cut his sentence short, though Leah knew exactly what he’d been going to say. When they made love. Love. Not just sex. “You do have a headache, don’t you?”

She nodded, wincing with even the smallest of movement. She wanted desperately to go home, to seek refuge in the comforting darkness of her bedroom.
Alone
. She squeezed her eyes closed. Even the word sounded so sad. So very…alone.

“Let’s go.” With a quick wave to his friends, Mac guided her through the throngs of diners, and they reached the welcoming evening coolness within seconds. Drawing in a lungful of air, she exhaled long and slow as pent-up nerves dissipated. “Where’s your car?” he asked.