The Ceo's Contract Bride. Yvonne Lindsay
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?”