Accidental Bride

Sasha cocked her head. ‘Young guys will worship me?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Clare sighed. ‘Find a nice one and I bet you he won’t be turning his back on you for anyone.’

Sasha turned to the mirror and retouched her make-up to perfection. ‘You’re not just saying that so you get Mark?’

‘Take it how you will.’ Clare pushed her way through the large swinging doors and moved back into the ballroom.

She breathed deeply, collecting her thoughts. This was it. Time to lure King back to her place.

The table was empty. Clare swung around. He wasn’t hard to find. His jet-black hair, formidable height and expensive suit were a combination easy to spot.

Clare strode forcefully into the alcove, right up to King without hesitation. He smiled when he saw her, a grin that lit his eyes with a dark passion that she knew her sister had experienced first-hand.

Clare didn’t falter. She stared at his sensuous mouth and reduced the distance between them. It was time to get serious. Conversation was unnecessary. There was one thing King wanted, and she was all for offering it. Anything to see the guy slighted.

‘So, how did you—?’

She covered his mouth hungrily, ravishing it cruelly, trying to smother him as much as she wanted to smother the onslaught of arousal coursing through her.

It took him only a moment to recover from the surprise. His lips danced to life beneath hers, and they were more persuasive and gentle than she cared to admit.

The strong hardness of his mouth tasted so good. Shivers of desire sang through her—an aching need she had denied for too long. A primitive, savage intensity took control and she plundered his mouth mercilessly.

He pulled her hard against him, his hands moving sensuously along her spine, slowing her onslaught with drugging kisses.

King explored her mouth with a gentle mastery, as though tuning her body to his. Every nerve in her body was aware of him, of his warm arms wrapped around her, of the pressure of his body against hers.

A cough next to them intruded on Clare’s consciousness. Reality slowly dawned. Where she was, who she was kissing and what she was meant to be doing.

For a first kiss it had been passionate, hungry, even angry. But it would be unforgettable. Clare pulled away reluctantly. It was far nicer kissing the guy than thinking about him and what he’d done. It wasn’t any wonder Fiona had fallen for him. He was a master.

Her lips tingled. Clare couldn’t help herself. She tasted his lips again, brushing them softly with hers. She might never feel them again.

‘Thank you, John.’ King stared into her eyes, his own blazing. ‘I think I’ll manage from here.’

Clare wanted to slap herself. She hadn’t even seen King’s assistant standing next to him—she’d been so intent on King that nothing else had registered. Heat annoyingly flooded her cheeks.

She touched her tingling lips, not breaking eye contact with King, using the moment to the fullest. ‘Would you like to take me home?’ She knew full well what his answer would be. His whole body was primed for yes.

‘I’d be honoured.’ King offered her his arm and moved out through the front doors of the foyer and onto the main road. Clare slipped her arm into his, her body screaming for more of him, her mind alive at the ease with which he was falling in with her plan.

The cool night air gave Clare a jolt back to reality. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She crossed her fingers behind her back, watching the cars speed past. She’d need luck to pull this off.

‘On second thoughts, I’ll get you a taxi.’ King extricated her arm and waved for a taxi. ‘It’ll be safer.’

Her ego dropped to her toes. ‘For you or for me?’ she managed. What was happening? What had happened? He was meant to be coming home to her place to face the music.

She stared at her black stilettos and her mind darted over the possibilities, trying to find some way to salvage the situation. But her mind remained blank, frozen in amazed panic.

A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Problem?’

‘No, not at all.’ She had to play it calm. If it wasn’t tonight it would be tomorrow night, or the next. It had to be. Her sister needed it to be. King was obviously hooked. One look at the guy and how he was reacting to her was enough to let her breathe easy. Any moment and he’d ask for her phone number…

A yellow taxi pulled up in front of them and King opened the door for her with a flourish.

Clare stared at him. Her pulse thudded against her eardrums. Any second now he’d ask, or kiss her, or proposition her…

She slid onto the seat. ‘Are you sure? I make a mean coffee,’ she suggested, while her belly fought the meal. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t make her offer more obvious…

King closed the door of the taxi and smiled. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ He stepped back and gave her a short wave, and even had the nerve to smile at her, his grey eyes taunting her with an unfathomable look.

She lifted her hand and waved vaguely. What had she done wrong? She racked her brain for a hint of what might have tripped her up, warned him off and compromised her ploy. Nothing. She managed a smile for him, praying he was just teasing her, playing with her like a cat played with a mouse. Only she was no mouse.

King’s eyes wandered to the traffic on the busy street. He turned and sauntered back into the hotel.

Clare slumped into the seat. All that for nothing! He hadn’t even waited to overhear where she lived when she’d given the driver the address.

She swallowed the unpalatable truth. She’d failed. All the planning had meant nothing.

Clare watched the buildings blur as the taxi picked up speed. It was going to take more than a sexy dress to hook King. It was going to take all her brains, her body, and all the bravado she could muster. She just hoped it would be enough.

Clare let herself into her apartment and dropped the keys into a glass bowl on the hall table. Her shoulders fell in defeat. What had gone wrong? She’d been sure she had him hooked.

Clare moved into the kitchen and turned the light on, illuminating her Tasmanian oak kitchen. She never tired of the way the polished timbers looked, how her stainless steel oven gleamed, how it was all hers.

She ran a hand over the smooth surface and moved along the bench. She flicked the switch on the kettle and reached across to a row of jars against the tiled wall. She placed the lid of one of the jars quietly down and dived in. She pulled a chocolate chip cookie out and bit down on the sweet biscuit.

She was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do. Clare put the rest of the biscuit in her mouth and took another two from the jar. He wouldn’t be calling her. That was for sure. He didn’t even know her name.

She kicked off her heels and slumped over the bench.

‘Clare?’

The soft whisper of her little sister’s hopeful voice shook her from her mood. She straightened, looking across the open-plan lounge to her sister’s room.

‘How did it go?’ Fiona stood in the doorway, her hands wrapped around herself and her brow furrowed.

‘As you can see, honey, not so good.’ Clare waved a hand around the empty room, resting her eyes on Fiona.

There was no mistaking that they were sisters. They had the same hair, and the same shape face, but Clare had blue eyes, like her father’s, while Fiona had hazel ones. If King had realised who she was and made the connection…

Fiona had tied her hair back, her make-up was subtle, and her fawn linen trouser-suit would have been more at home at the office than in the apartment. Clare cringed. She was dressed and prepped to take Mark on. If he’d come home with her.

Although Clare’s home had the same rigid tidiness of her office, she allowed lavish colour. This year, her theme was Mexicana. She had cactus and desert grasses in glazed terracotta pots scattered over the polished timber floors, a vibrant crimson and yellow rug lying under her sand-coloured lounge suite, and a large Sombrero hanging from the blue-mottled walls.

‘He…he didn’t like you?’ There was a mixture of hope and fear in Fiona’s tone. She moved into the lounge room slowly. ‘Maybe he does care. Maybe he isn’t as bad as we thought he was. Maybe he just doesn’t know where to find me.’

Clare put what was left of her biscuit in her mouth and moved around the island bench. She opened her arms, wrapping her sister in comfort. She swallowed. ‘He didn’t return any of your calls. And he knows where you work, honey.’