Claiming His Wedding Night

He waved a hand across the table at her negligently.

‘Some wine, then? Or is my presence intoxicating enough for you?’

Tucking her legs beneath the table, Addie forced herself to meet his cool grey gaze. ‘I don’t drink at business meetings.’ she said primly.

‘Neither do I,’ agreed Malachi, lifting the glass of wine to his lips. ‘It’s very unprofessional. But fortunately I don’t class our meeting as anything other than a cause for celebration.’

She stared at him blankly. ‘Celebration! I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Of course you do.’ Beneath the restaurant’s lights his eyes looked lighter, almost silver. ‘It was you who reminded me.’ He held out his glass and tapped it against her tumbler of water. ‘Happy Anniversary, sweetheart!’

Addie felt her skin grow cold. His eyes were glittering with an emotion she didn’t fully understand and, quickly turning her head, she fixed her gaze on the view of the ocean just as their meals arrived.

The food was both delicious and beautifully presented, but Addie found it impossible to enjoy her lobster salad.

‘Even if it is our anniversary,’ she said coldly, ‘I hardly think that’s relevant to today’s discussion. Personally I’d be happier if we just stuck to the real reason why we’re both here.’

‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘If it makes you more comfortable.’

Addie glowered at him. Comfortable! As if!

The only reason she was still sitting there was the children and her colleagues. Otherwise, had she not chosen to wear such ridiculously high heels, she would happily have turned round and run as fast as possible from that deceptively guileless face.

But breathing out slowly, she pressed her nails into the palms of her hands. At least she looked the part. Even if it had meant selling her bike. The important thing was that while she might need his help, he didn’t need to know that. She looked cool and classy and in control. Not like a woman looking for a favour.

Now all she had to do was stay focused. But, glancing across the table, she felt a pulse leap in her throat as she looked up into his glittering grey gaze.

‘You’re very quiet, sweetheart. I thought you wanted to talk?’ Lolling back against the leather upholstery, Malachi gazed at her intently.

She shrugged. ‘I was just thinking.’

‘Then I should probably be leaving!’ His eyes, light and dancing, fixed on her face even as the corners of his mouth began to tilt upwards. ‘A quiet woman is like a hand grenade. A quiet woman thinking is like a hand grenade with the pin pulled out.’

His curving smile waited for her reply and she licked her lips, her heart fluttering beneath his scrutiny.

And then, just in time, she remembered that there was an actual reason for her being there—other than just to gawp at Malachi’s cheekbones. Feeling clumsy, hoping he didn’t suspect the reason for her distracted behaviour, she pulled out a folded piece of paper from her bag and handed it to him.

‘That’s the original agreement.’

He took it and opened it. His face was impassive as he scanned the contents. Finally he looked up at her. ‘It’s strange, don’t you think? The two of us? Together again?’

She’d been expecting him to refer to the letter. Instead, caught off guard, she had to force down the tangled mass of emotion that reared up inside her in response both to his words and the probing focus of his eyes.

‘Th-there is no “two of us”,’ she said shakily. Her eyes darted away from him and round the room, seeking something solid and reassuring. Fixing on two burly businessmen at the bar, she felt her shoulders relax slightly. ‘And we’re not together.’

He smiled slowly. ‘Then why are you scared?’

Her temper flared. ‘I’m not scared.’ She hesitated. ‘Just a little apprehensive, I suppose.’ She met his gaze defiantly.

‘Would it help if I promised not to drop my napkin?’ he said softly.

A warm tide swept over her skin, as hot and strong as a hurricane. But no hurricane could ever be as devastating or dangerous as Malachi King, she thought wildly. Her cheeks burning, she fixed her eye on the smooth white linen tablecloth. But she could feel his eyes, dark and implacable as granite, seeking her out.

‘I’d rather you didn’t bring that up now.’ Her skin felt as if it was on fire; her heartbeat felt so loud she was surprised the other diners hadn’t stopped eating to stare at her.

‘When would you like me to bring it up?’ he asked smoothly.

‘N-never!’ Her voice was trembling and she shook her head. ‘It’s just not appropriate!’

He shrugged, his face dispassionate. ‘I don’t remember you complaining at the time.’

His eyes were like the shimmering headlights of a car. She stared at him helplessly, hypnotised, horrified by her body’s fierce, swift response to his words and the image they conjured up.

Had she really let him do that to her? In a restaurant? There was an ache low down in her pelvis. Her whole body was suddenly shaking and it felt as though her insides were being sucked into a whirlpool. A memory—perfect, impossible, spinning apart into a hundred shades of gold—slid into her head. It had been so wildly, shockingly exciting. Even now she could hardly believe it had happened. Or that she had let it. What had she been thinking?

She felt her chest tighten and her skin start to burn, for of course Malachi had been right. What they’d shared had had very little to do with thought. Their entire relationship had been founded on passion, in his arms she’d been fierce, wild, hungry for his touch; he had awoken the hot, sensual woman beneath the quiet, dutiful young pianist who’d practised her scales every day—

Her stomach dipped. But thanks to him that woman didn’t exist any more.

Meeting his gaze, she gave him an icy stare. ‘Do you want me to leave right now?’

His eyes flickered across her face and, reaching out, he picked up a piece of bread and bit into it with strong white teeth. ‘Wouldn’t that be a little premature? I thought you came here to discuss your funding? If you leave now, sweetheart, you’ll go empty-handed. Besides...’

He gave her a slow, sexy grin that made something hot and scratchy scrape inside her.

‘I’m sure you don’t want to miss dessert.’

He was calling her bluff. He knew she had no choice but to stay. Meeting his gaze, her eyes narrowed into sharp shards of blue. He was so smug and annoying. How she hated him!

Except that she didn’t.

Not unless that ball of hot liquid heat swelling inside her so that her ribs ached was how hatred felt.

She swallowed. Around her she could almost hear the air hissing when it came into contact with her overheated skin. Surely she wasn’t supposed to feel like this—so breathless, so dazzled.

Watching him lounge back against the leather, his eyes gleaming with undisguised satisfaction, she felt a rush of pure white anger. ‘I know what you’re doing,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You’re trying to make me lose my temper so that I’ll leave.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that right? You know, it never ceases to amaze me how women can misinterpret even the simplest statement and put some spin on it.’

‘Spin!’ It took every ounce of willpower she had not to throw the contents of her glass into his infuriatingly handsome face. ‘You making vile innuendos is not spin,’ she snapped.

‘I didn’t make any innuendos. I was merely recounting historical fact.’

His eyes were dancing with a malice that made her want to scream out loud. He was impossible. And this meeting was a farce.

‘Well, I didn’t come here to have a history lesson,’ she hissed. ‘Especially a highly selective and one-sided one.’

The waiter was back again. ‘Was everything to your satisfaction, Mr King?’