Not a Marrying Man

Could he do that? Should he?

Unfortunately, revealing his genetic flaw and all its appalling inevitabilities might not bring about the desired result. If Warwick had learned one thing about Amber’s character during the last ten months, it was that she was as compassionate as she was passionate. She would become visibly upset whenever she saw those ads about poor starving children, and could only be soothed when he promised to make regular donations to whatever charity was canvassing for help. Stories about neglected animals inevitably brought similar distress, as did reports on the news about more bombs killing innocent women and children in war-torn countries. Warwick had taken to putting a box of tissues at the ready by the sofa to mop up her tears.

Finding out what awaited her lover in the future might send her running, not in the other direction, but right into his arms.

It was a risk Warwick decided he could not take. He would have to find some other way to end their relationship.

‘Is that your glass of wine over there?’ He nodded towards the nearly full glass that was sitting on the side table next to the box of tissues.

‘Oh, yes, it is. I was having a drink earlier when I was waiting for you to come home.’

Another stab of guilt. Still, he was here now.

‘Bet I can guess what it is,’ he said. ‘A Sauvignon Blanc from the Marlborough region.’

She smiled as she walked over to pick up the glass. ‘You know me too well.’

Yes, he thought as he dropped a few cubes of ice in his glass then slurped in some whisky. I do. And you deserve better than me. You deserve a man who’ll marry you, give you children and grow old with you.

I can’t do any of those things.

Warwick scowled as he lifted the glass to his lips, irritated suddenly by his maudlin thoughts. What good did they do? He’d always been a realist, and the reality of his life was that he couldn’t offer Amber any more than he’d originally offered her.

But damn it all, surely the time she’d spent living with him hadn’t been totally wasted. She’d travelled a lot and learned a lot. She’d socialised with some of the world’s most successful people, been dressed by the world’s most fashionable designers, stayed in the world’s most luxurious resorts.

Some women would kill for what Amber had experienced during these past ten months.

Unfortunately, Amber wasn’t one of those women. Warwick knew she didn’t give a fig about any of those things. All she wanted was his love and his ring on her finger.

Not that she’d told him so. Not once.

Her aunt Kate had told him, last Easter at a family barbecue at her home that Amber had dragged him along to.

What an old tartar she’d been. But she’d obviously loved her niece and wanted to see her happy.

‘You do realise,’ Kate had snapped at him when Amber had left them to go to the bathroom, ‘that Amber was practically engaged when she met you. To a perfectly nice boy who would have given her the only things she’s wanted since she was knee high to a grasshopper: a loving husband and a family of her own. Two things you’ll never give her, Warwick Kincaid.’

The old dragon probably could have said a lot more but didn’t get the opportunity.

‘Shame on you,’ she’d hissed under her breath as Amber had walked back towards them.

That had been three months ago. Warwick hadn’t told Amber what her aunt had said. Hadn’t asked her about the man she’d been on the verge of marrying. He certainly hadn’t embraced the undeniable shame the woman’s forceful words had momentarily evoked. Instead, he’d gone on wallowing in Amber’s warmth and passion, telling himself that he hadn’t forced her to choose him over that other fellow. He’d never forced her to do a single thing. She had free will, didn’t she? She wanted to be with him.

But gradually, the shame had resurfaced. So had his conscience, something that he’d kept buried for a long time. In hindsight, his plan to stop acting like a besotted bridegroom and start showing his true colours had not been well thought out. He hadn’t anticipated the hurt that his abrupt change in behaviour would bring her. Hadn’t anticipated his own level of self-disgust.

Far better that the break be clean and swift.

When the time came, that was.

Her walking over and bending forward to pick up her glass of wine showed him that that time definitely wasn’t tonight, his flesh stirring as he imagined how she would look doing that without that dress on.

‘Dinner won’t be ready for at least fifteen minutes,’ she said as she straightened. ‘I haven’t cooked the rice yet.’

‘What are we having?’

‘Beef stroganoff.’ Her free hand lifted to push her long hair back from where it had fallen over one of her shoulders. ‘I wanted something plain for a change.’

Warwick’s flesh stiffened as he noted the telling outline of erect nipples under the pink silk. She was as frustrated as he was, by the look of things. Understandable considering there’d been no sex this past week, the longest time he’d abstained from touching her since their first night together. It had been damned difficult. But at the time he’d been on a mission to make her hate him; to make her give him the flick, instead of the other way around.

Now that that idea had been tossed out of the window, Warwick had no weapons against the desires that were, at this very moment, taking dark possession of him. Various erotic scenarios filled his mind, none of which involved waiting till after dinner to satisfy his already clamouring flesh. His hunger had nothing to do with food. It was primal and sexual and urgent.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said abruptly.

‘About what?’

‘About eating.’

She looked confused. ‘You don’t want any dinner?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then what do you want?’

‘I want you to take your dress off.’

Amber’s eyes flung wide. ‘What?’

Warwick appreciated that he’d never ordered her to take her clothes off for him. Not even in the bedroom. Why now? he wondered, even as he banished any qualms and surrendered to the temptation to exercise his sexual power over her.

‘You heard me,’ he said in a voice that was as hard as his erection.

‘But … but people might see me,’ she stammered. ‘From out on the water.’

‘Not up close,’ he countered. ‘Come now, Amber, you’ve nothing to be shy about. You have a glorious body. Do you need a little help, is that it?’

CHAPTER THREE

AMBER just stared at him.

What I need, she suddenly felt like screaming, is a little respect.

But no words came from her mouth—her rapidly drying mouth.

She stood there, rooted to the spot, as he started walking towards her, bringing his drink with him, lifting it to his lips and sipping it slowly. Their eyes met over the rim of the glass, his shocking her with their coldness. Or was that desire glittering in their ice-blue depths?

She couldn’t be sure. He’d run hot and cold ever since he’d come home, leaving her hopelessly bewildered.

Amber told herself to move. To do something, say something.