The Bridegroom's Dilemma

Several reactions hit her. Relief, disbelief and a sudden inner trembling. ‘Oh. I thought it was something serious.’ She stopped and blushed as he looked at her ironically. ‘Well, you know what I mean—’

‘No. I’m not at all sure what you mean, Skye.’

Her hands were all floury and she rubbed her forehead agitatedly, transferring some of the flour to it. ‘I was thinking of an illness or… I didn’t think you saw me like that. That’s what I meant.’

‘Then we shared the same dilemma.’

Skye sat down on a stool rather abruptly. ‘Surely— I wasn’t that good at covering it up?’

A fleeting frown came to his dark eyes. ‘You tried to?’ he hazarded.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said simply. ‘I learnt my lesson the first time you took me to lunch.’

He got up and came round the counter so he was standing in front of her and he put his fingers beneath her chin to tilt it so he could look into her eyes. ‘Didn’t that put you off?’ he asked sombrely, not attempting to deny the charge.

‘Unfortunately, the other thing about you is that you’re such fun to be with and I really enjoy your company.’

‘We’ve never been anywhere or done anything other—than this.’ He glanced around the kitchen.

She shrugged slightly.

‘So—may I kiss you, Skye Belmont?’

A faint smile trembled on her lips. ‘You know, Nick, I didn’t think you were the kind who waited to be asked.’

‘There could be a lot of things you don’t know about me, Skye,’ he said, and took her in his arms.

How true, Skye thought, lying on her bed. Things that he had never intended her to get to know, either. But the sheer magic of being kissed by and intimate with Nick Hunter had claimed all her senses, including her common sense.

It had been a revelation. He’d made love to her with a mixture of laughter and intensity that had been breathtaking. Just to see his hands was enough to make her stop in her tracks and go hot and cold at the memories of how he’d handled her body, how he’d made her feel like silk and velvet, how protective his whipcord strength had been, how much pleasure he’d brought to her. How they’d laughed at the oddest things while they were lying in each other’s arms.

And the way his dark gaze drifted over her, often in public, had the same effect. So that she knew he would take her to his apartment very soon, whatever they were doing, and slide her clothes off, paying meticulous attention to all her most sensitive, erogenous zones until she could barely speak. Then he’d take her to bed and their bodies would unite in a way that spoke for itself.

It struck her that if she’d once thought he was tall, dark and dangerous she now thought he was tall, dark and to die for.

Then, any hidden doubts she might have had had been allayed one day when he’d propped his head on his hand, drawn his other hand across her breasts with a touch so light yet at the same time electrifying, and said, ‘I think we ought to do something to formalize this state of affairs, Ms Belmont.’

‘Oh?’ She’d smiled dreamily. ‘Don’t tell me. You’re thinking of hiring me as your full-time cook?’

‘On the contrary, I’m thinking of asking you to marry me.’

Skye had opened her eyes wide and sat up suddenly. ‘What…?’ She’d had some trouble with her voice. ‘What do you mean?’

He’d eyed her quizzically. ‘What do you think I mean?’

‘But—’ she’d groped for his hand and held it tight between hers ‘—I didn’t know you felt like that…’ She’d trailed off, and the sheer surprise had still been in her eyes.

‘Skye—why do you think I keep doing this?’ He’d freed his hand and pulled her into his arms. ‘For that matter, we keep doing this,’ he’d said into her hair.

She’d trembled in his arms.

‘Don’t tell me—’ he’d raised his head and looked into her eyes quite wickedly, ‘—you’ve only been toying with me, Skye Belmont?’

Because the opposite had sometimes occurred to her, because, while it wasn’t in her to toy with anyone in this way but the same might not be said of him, by reputation anyway, she’d actually gasped and looked so thunderstruck, he’d started to laugh.

‘Are you serious?’ she’d demanded then.

‘Of course. What plans did you have for us?’

It was a question that had suddenly revealed all her hidden fears to her. Fears that she hadn’t been able to look in the face because his effect on her had been so powerful… Would they go on being lovers until the gloss wore off and a new woman replaced her?

How stable could a relationship be when they lived it inside a bubble—their daily lives were not in the slightest altered by it? He came and went, often with little or no explanation. She did the same, often doing the show interstate. They didn’t spend much time together at all that wasn’t spent in passionate lovemaking—or, it struck her with some irony, her cooking for him. Now this.

She’d looked around his bedroom and licked her lips. ‘I…didn’t have any plans, actually.’

‘Then I think it might be time to start making them,’ he’d said wryly. ‘Will you marry me, Skye? I promise it’s not only your cooking I love about you.’

That had done it. She’d lain back in his arms, overcome not only by him but the fact that this offer of marriage had to banish all her fears. Surely? ‘Yes.’ And then, in the grip of love and excitement such as she’d never known, she’d kissed him. ‘Yes, please.’

That had been six months ago, she recalled. He’d bought her an engagement ring of Tanzanite, an exquisite violet blue stone that was the colour of her eyes, surrounded by diamonds. She’d met his parents and his sister and been welcomed with open arms, although she’d thought his mother had looked at her with secret surprise.

But his father had been particularly warm and welcoming of his prospective daughter-in-law, and she’d formed the impression that Richard Hunter had decided she would be good for his son.

Nick had met her mother and charmed her thoroughly. Although, again, Skye had sensed some reservations in her mother. All Iris had ever put into words, however, had been the fact that she sensed Nick Hunter might be more complicated than met the eye.

And they had become an item, Skye Belmont and Nick Hunter—a celebrity couple. Once again her ratings had skyrocketed and she’d continually had to field questions about Nick, how they’d got together, what their plans were, what the wedding would be like, her dress, the cake—would she make it herself?—their honeymoon plans, how many children they wanted.

And that, she thought sadly, lying on her bed, was when the rot had started.

Or it was the catalyst, more accurately, that had made her see she was marrying a man she adored to go to bed with, but there was not a whole lot more between them than there ever had been…

It had started out as a laughing discussion, three weeks before their wedding, on all the questions people asked her.

‘While I seem to be an open book to the whole world,’ she said with a grin, ‘you are this mysterious figure they all hunger and thirst to know about. I can’t believe people’s preoccupation with you, or things like how many children we plan to have!’ She grimaced.

‘Well, I hope you don’t plan to rush in and have an army,’ he replied ruefully.

Her feeling of laughter deserted her for some reason. ‘I don’t intend to do either but—we are going to have kids, aren’t we, Nick?’

‘All in good time.’

She was cooking for him again, breakfast this time—bacon, eggs, mushrooms and tomato. She had on a yellow silk robe with nothing underneath it and all he wore was a pair of shorts. They hadn’t been up long. He was reading the newspaper at the kitchen counter while she cooked.

‘What do you mean, “All in good time”?’

He looked up briefly. ‘You’re barely twenty-four, Skye.’

‘And you’re thirty-two, Nick,’ she countered. ‘Look, I don’t want to have them immediately but by the time I’m twenty-five I’m sure I shall. I will also—’ she stopped, took a deep breath and looked around ‘—want a proper married life. I’d like my own home one day and a husband who doesn’t spend half his life away from me, doing things I don’t much care for anyway.’