The Banker's Convenient Wife

‘Are you in the habit of telling me what to do?’ Roel enquired, striving for a warning note that ended up unaccountably husky.

‘What do you think?’ As she met his stunning gaze her mouth ran dry and her tummy flipped. The atmosphere sizzled and her whole body leapt with energised awareness. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t drag in enough oxygen to fill her lungs. Her bra felt too tight, her breasts full and sensitive. Her nipples pinched tight and stung, reacting to the same sensual heat that was flaring into wicked being deep within her pelvis. She knew exactly what was happening to her and, worse, that she was powerless to stop it. This was, after all, the guy who had almost sunk her to the degrading level of offering up her virginity for a no-strings-attached one-night stand. She had craved Roel that much and that bad and, had he displayed any interest in that direction, pride would not have held her back.

Exercising the fierce strength of will that was the backbone of his character, Roel removed his intent gaze from his wife. So at least he understood why he had married a youthful sex kitten with no dress sense: lust, mindless, rampant lust, he labelled, his handsome masculine mouth hardening. He was appalled that he could have been that predictable but not one to beat himself up over a sin of the flesh.

‘The woman who tried to tell me what to do would be a fool,’ Roel murmured with smooth, cutting cool. ‘I’m sure you don’t fall in that category.’

‘I don’t squash easy either,’ Hilary told him doggedly, her colour high but her spine rigid as she utilised every scrap of dignity she possessed to rise above the humiliating weakness of her own body. ‘After what you’ve been through, you should still be in bed.’

His beautifully shaped ebony brows drew together in a fleeting frown line. ‘I have no further need for medical attention. I’m sorry if you have been concerned but I’m heading back into the office.’

Her eyes widened to their fullest extent. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘As I am rarely anything else, I cannot imagine why you should suggest otherwise. Or believe that I’m likely to be in need of your opinion on the issue,’ Roel sliced back in glacial dismissal.

‘Well, for what it’s worth, I’m going to give you my opinion unasked,’ Hilary slammed back at him angrily. ‘Maybe you think it’s dead macho to act like there’s nothing wrong with you but I just think that that’s plain stupid!’

Dark golden eyes flared, incandescent with anger. ‘I—’

‘You’re suffering from a very worrying loss of memory and you are not thinking through what you are doing—’

Roel flung his proud dark head high. ‘I never act without thought—’

‘By going back to work, you would be denying that there’s even a problem. I can’t let you do that—’

‘Tell me one thing,’ Roel countered with sardonic clarity. ‘Before the car smash, were we in the process of divorce?’

‘Not that I know of!’ Hilary tossed back, small hands spreading on her hips to maintain a firmer grip, her grey eyes bright with resolve. ‘You may be a very clever guy but you can also be very stubborn and extremely impractical. Right now, it’s my job to make sure that you don’t do anything that you’ll later regret, so get back in that bed and take it easy!’

Brilliant eyes enhanced by black spiky lashes, Raul surveyed her as though she were a madwoman in need of restraint. ‘Nobody tells me what to do. I’m astonished that you should think that you have the right to impose your views on me.’

‘Yeah, marriage is a toughie for a control freak,’ Hilary slammed back unimpressed. ‘I’m not about to apologise for trying to protect you from yourself. If you go back into the bank, your employees will realise that there’s something wrong with you—’

‘There is nothing wrong with me, only a temporary phase of slight disorientation—’

‘During which you forgot about a great fat chunk of your past life!’ Hilary slotted in heatedly. ‘I think that’s very relevant and a lot more dangerous than you’re prepared to admit. There’ll be employees and clients you won’t even recognise, situations you don’t understand and which you may screw up. You’re also five flipping years out of date with your precious work. Who are you planning to take into your confidence in an effort to avoid making embarrassing mistakes? Because one thing I do know about you, Roel…just about the only person alive whom you trust is yourself!’

Out of breath and trembling with the force of her feelings, for she was aghast at the very idea of him attempting an immediate return to work, Hilary glared at Roel in challenge. Just as quickly her expression changed to one of anxiety as she saw him frown as though with pain. Only then did she register the ashen cast of his complexion and the slight tremor in his hand as he raised it to his head.

‘Sit down…’ Closing both hands over his, Hilary urged him back towards the armchair behind him.

Roel was swaying but he still fought her attempt to help him. ‘But I don’t need—’

‘Shut up and sit down!’ Hilary launched at him fiercely and she used his uneven balance to topple him down into the chair like a felled tree.

’Per meraviglia…’ Roel groaned in frustration. ‘It’s only a headache.’

But Hilary had already hit the call button to bring a nurse and the presence of that third party, soon followed by the entry of Dr Lerther, prevented Roel from expressing his fury at her interfering and taking charge in such a way.

In any case, Roel had recognised that his wife had panic written all over her. He decided that there was something to be said for a woman with a face that seemed to wear her every passing thought. Her eyes were dark with stress and worry and she stood humbly at the back of the room, demonstrating what he considered to be exaggerated respect for the medical personnel while nibbling anxiously at a nail.

He couldn’t take his attention off his nail-biting wife. She looked so scared on his behalf and she was trembling. Concern for his health must have made her shout at him. She seemed to be fond of him. She might well be fonder still of his immense wealth and all that it could buy her, Roel conceded cynically but, indisputably, she seemed to cherish some degree of genuine fondness for him. He knew all women were terrific actresses but any single one of the previous lovers he could recall would have withstood torture sooner than succumb to cannibalising a nail.

In addition his wife was neither as uncomplicated nor as predictable as he had initially assumed. A startling amount of fire and defiance lurked behind that cute and curvaceous feminine exterior. He was accustomed to women who said yes to his every request and worked hard at meeting his expectations before he could even be put to the trouble of voicing a request. He had never met a woman who had the nerve to shout at him or one who would go toe to toe with him in a fight. In actuality, he did not argue with people ever. He had never had to argue. Arguments just didn’t happen to him.

Hilary was feeling hugely, horribly guilty and shaken up. Roel was still suffering from the physical after-effects of a serious accident and she had lost her temper with him. How could she have done that? As a rule she had an even temper and a sunny easygoing nature. What had come over her? Instead of being calm and coaxing and patient, she had been strident and emotional and accusing. He had looked taken aback. She didn’t think he was used to being shouted at and she could not believe that she had done so.

Sucking in a deep steadying breath, she studied him. Her heart jumped as though it were on a trampoline. His luxuriant black hair was tousled, bold profile taut, his dense black lashes cut crescent-shaped shadows over his proud olive cheekbones. Extravagantly handsome, he had a raw masculine appeal that turned female heads wherever he went. He still took her breath away. Just as he had the very first time she’d seen him and the recollection of that particular day nearly four years ago swept her back in time…

Talking on a mobile phone, Roel had walked through the door of the busy salon where she’d worked as a junior stylist. There he had stilled, ebony brows elevating with a faint air of well-bred surprise as he’d taken in his surroundings. She had immediately understood that, like others before him, he had mistaken the salon for the much more exclusive place a few doors further along the street. In that split second when he had been on the brink of wheeling round to leave again something had propelled her forward. Something? The fact that he was so outrageously good-looking she would have gone without food for a week just to own a photo of him? How could she explain her own unbelievably powerful need to prevent him walking back out of her life again as casually as he had wandered into it?

‘Just you stay on the phone and I’ll take care of your hair,’ Hilary suggested, planting herself between him and the door, relying on his essential male instinct to avoid acknowledging that he had made a mistake to guide him.

He flicked her a perplexed glance, the sort that told her he did not really see her and was much more interested in his phone conversation. She expected that to change when she wielded the styling scissors around him. In her admittedly slender experience handsome men were well aware of being handsome and as keen as any woman to ensure that their hair was cut only to their own exact specification.

‘Do what needs to be done,’ Roel told her impatiently.

Asked for guidance a second time, he gave her an unbelieving appraisal. ‘But it’s only a haircut, nothing important.’

So she just copied the existing conservative style. Even the feel of his luxuriant black hair thrilled her fingertips. As he paid she urged him to make sure that he came back. He had just walked out when she noticed the large denomination banknote that she assumed he had accidentally dropped on the desk. Ever eager, she rushed out into the street after him.

‘It’s a tip,’ Roel said in a pained tone when she attempted to return the money. He stared down at her from his great height while a limousine the length of a train drew up behind him and a uniformed chauffeur leapt out to throw open the passenger door for his entry.

‘But it’s too much…’ she mumbled, staggered by the sight of that limo and the concept of a tip that size.

With a shrug of imperious dismissal, Roel swung away into his opulent car.

Hilary drifted back to the present to discover that while she had been lost in her thoughts Roel had contrived to regain his natural colour and was upright again.

‘Should you be standing?’ Hilary queried, watching him set down the phone he had been using.

‘We’re going home,’ Roel imparted, ignoring the question.

In search of support, Hilary looked in dismay at the consultant. ‘Dr Lerther?’

The older man aimed a stiff smile at her. ‘There is no physical reason why your husband should remain at the clinic.’

‘Naturalmente…the other problem will vanish,’ Roel pronounced with supreme confidence.

We’re going home. Home? For goodness’ sake, where was home? Caught totally unprepared for the development, Hilary followed Roel out to the lift, which swept them down to the ground floor. There she learned that the case she had left at reception had already been stowed in the transport awaiting them.

‘So where were you when I crashed my car yesterday?’ Roel enquired a tinge drily.

‘In London…er…I have a business there,’ Hilary answered in an undertone while she frantically wondered what she was supposed to do or say next for she had no script on which to act. Nothing was as she had assumed it would be. He was walking wounded, conscious, but by no stretch of the imagination was he himself.

A limousine with tinted windows sat outside the clinic. A chauffeur doffed his cap. She climbed in and sank into a seat upholstered in rich hide leather. She struggled not to gawp at the astonishing luxury of the car interior.

‘How long have we been married?’ Roel drawled softly.