Strategy For Marriage. Margaret Way
She withdrew the ruffled hem of her short skirt away from his trousered knee.
“I hope you weren’t counting on my asking you?” He didn’t bother to control the mockery. Who the hell did she think she was? A goddess?
“Getting married is the last thing I want to do,” Christy said with the sombre gravity of the betrayed. “Marriages in most cases don’t seem to work out. I know any number of couples who have split up.”
“Not counting you and Josh?” He smiled grimly.
“When I think of you a word comes to mind,” Christy said in exasperation. Didn’t he know she was badly hurt?
“Please don’t say it,” he joked. “I detest hearing rough words on a woman’s tongue. As it happens, I’m not a great one for marriage either. It’s something men have to do to get heirs.”
She felt the shock. “What a rotten thing to say.”
He was silent for a while. “Being betrayed isn’t just a woman’s area. Wives and mothers have been known to abandon the marital home leaving devastation behind them. Women don’t have a great deal of difficulty stamping on a man’s heart.”
Christy was taken aback by the degree of passion in his voice. “You’re beginning to sound like a misogynist.”
“Sometimes I think I am.” He revealed a white twisted smile. “A reflection of my background perhaps. But to get back to you, Christy Parker, you could be a whole lot unhappier as an old maid.”
“Don’t use that term,” she protested. “I’m a feminist, I don’t like it. I’m sick of all the words men have thought up to label women.”
“You don’t think they deserve a lot of them?” he asked with strong sarcasm.
“Women don’t need men,” Christy said, sexual antagonism thick between them. “I suppose they might need them for an occasional bout of sex.”
To her complete surprise given the tension between them, he burst out laughing. It was a very engaging sound. There were some things about him she managed to find wildly attractive. In desperation, not knowing what else to do in the presence of this complex man, Christy closed her eyes. Men of his type were new to her. He was too physically and verbally powerful. She was having such difficulty adjusting to everything that was happening. In a few short hours she’d gone from jilted woman and gatecrasher, to the new woman in Ashe McKinnon the cattle baron’s life.
But then it was only play-acting.
Thank God.
“Wakey, wakey,” a man’s voice breathed seductively in her ear.
“Wh-a-at?” Christy started to say dazedly. “I surely didn’t doze off?” She felt such confusion, disorientation, staring up into his fathomless dark eyes.
“You must have. You didn’t notice when I kissed you.”
“You didn’t kiss me.” She was absolutely certain she would have registered it. On the Richter scale. She understood already, miserable as she was, Ashe McKinnon was that sort of man.
“No, I didn’t,” he drawled. “I imagined I kissed you.”
“Oh…” She was reduced to silence.
Seemingly like magic they were outside her apartment block, the surrounding well-kept gardens giving off the scent of gardenia and frangipani. Above her head the Southern Cross was a dazzling presence. It appeared to be right over the spot where she was standing. A billion stars gleamed. It was a heavenly night, velvety and fragrant. It made her feel very very sad. She even yawned. Ashe McKinnon and the chauffeur, however, had their two heads bent together.
What were they planning? Whatever Ashe said the chauffeur threw back his head and laughed. Men! They bonded in minutes. A moment more and the chauffeur got back behind the wheel, saluted briefly before he pulled away from the kerb, then did a U-turn back in the direction of the city.
“Well which is it?” Ashe joined her, so tall he towered over her. “The penthouse?” He tilted his dark head back, staring up at the twenty floors of the high-rise building.
“Don’t be stupid. I can’t afford the penthouse,” she said feeling a rush of something like panic, “neither do I recall asking you in.”
“But my dear Miss Parker, it’s totally expected under these circumstances. You need someone to look after you.”
“Not you, Mr. McKinnon. I’m in no doubt of that. Most decidedly not you.”
“That’s okay.” He answered casually as if he wanted no part of that agenda either. “As it turns out I have plenty of women fighting over me.”
“Men who ooze money generally do.”
“Ouch, that was nasty.” He made a mock attempt to defend himself. “Come on, Miss Parker. For all you may have deserved it, you’ve had a bad day.” He made a grab for her hand and momentarily defeated she let him take it again, curiously responding to the feel of those calluses against her smooth skin.
“Well if you’re coming in for a while, come,” she said, her voice carrying strain. “I want to get this damned dress off.” It reminded her too bitterly of the wedding. Of wasted time. Failure.
He glanced down at her golden head for a moment then looked away. She’d created a sensation tonight. Ms. Bottecelli the gatecrasher. “Don’t you think you’re being rather forward?” he mocked.
She scarcely heard. “I can’t stand it.” There was nothing left to her but to mourn. Parting with ex-boyfriends was never easy even if they were hollow men. “I’ll never give my heart again. I’ll lock it away someplace inside me. I’ll never give my trust.”
“Oh stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” he advised, not without pity. “You’re young. You’re beautiful. So you let yourself get involved with a villain, there are good guys out there. Next time,” he added bluntly, “you might be a better judge. Callista spent more quality time choosing her wedding gown than her groom.”
Whereas Josh the freeloader had instantly chosen a young woman with money to burn.
They never spoke in the lift. He looked marvellous, she thought somewhere between detachment and admiration. A prince among men. Josh couldn’t hold a candle to him for looks or presence. Anything for that matter. If she was going to be fair. Not that Ashe McKinnon was the sort of man she should have fallen in love with. Men like that threw out such a challenge. One she preferred not to take on. Besides he was out of her league and he didn’t believe in marriage either. A man like that would expect his bride to sign a watertight pre-nuptial contract.
Thinking about it, it only made common sense.
Christy reached out and dislodged the pink confetti on his shoulders thinking he’d probably look as wonderful in his working gear—akubra, bush shirt and jeans, riding boots on his feet—as a morning suit. Groovy. Really groovy. That’s what her friend, Montana, would say. On the scale of one to ten Ashe McKinnon had to rate an eleven. She dwelt quietly on his physical attributes so as not to think about Josh. Josh would be labelled “unfit” beside this man.
“So what’s the verdict?” His eyes glinted.
“Sorry?” They stepped out of the lift together, Christy indicating with a little flourish of her arm her apartment was the one to the far right.
“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed my gold tooth.”
“You have a gold tooth?” She stood stock-still and stared at him in horrified amazement.
“No I haven’t, but if I had I’m sure you would have noticed it. Do you usually eyeball men so closely?”
“I know you look spectacular, but I was looking through you.”
“Here, give me that.” She was fumbling, something she