The Virgin Bride

God, he hadn’t changed at all, he realised disgustedly. He was still as greedy and selfish as ever. When would he learn? Would he ever really change? Hell, he hoped so. He really did.

But knowing what he was didn’t change his mind about his mission here tonight. He decided he was still a good catch for a girl whose circumstances weren’t exactly top drawer.

‘I’ll get us some coffee, shall I?’ she said dully, and without waiting for an answer moved off to fill the electric kettle and plug it in.

It wasn’t the first time she’d made him coffee. She’d done the honours every time he’d come to visit Ivy. She already knew he liked his coffee in a mug, white with one sugar, so she didn’t have to ask.

Jason closed the back door behind him and sat down at the old Formica-topped table, silently watching her move about the kitchen, seeing again what he’d seen that first time. The unconscious grace of her movements. The elegance of her long neck. The daintiness of her figure.

Once again, he felt the urge to touch her, to stroke that tempting neck, to somehow seduce her to his suddenly quite strong desire, a desire as strong and almost as compelling as he’d once felt for Adele.

Yet she was nothing like Adele, whose dark and very striking beauty had a sophisticated and hard-edged glamour. Adele’s long legs and gym-honed body had looked incredibly sexy in those wicked little black suits she wore to work. And what she did for a red lace teddy had to be seen to be believed.

Somehow Jason couldn’t see Emma dressed in either red or black, or having the body to carry off the kind of sexy lingerie Adele had been addicted to.

But, for all that, he found the delicacy of her shape incredibly sensual, as he did the feminine free flowing dresses she favoured. He imagined she probably donned long frilly-necked nighties for bed. But he wouldn’t mind that. There was something perversely alluring in a woman covering up her body. It gave her a sense of mystery, a touch-me-not quality that was challenging and arousing.

Jason realised he had no idea what Emma might look like naked, other than slender. Her breasts looked adequate in clothing, but who could say what was bra and what was not? Not that he found small breasts a turn-off. He liked tiny, exquisitely formed things.

She was petite in height as well, head and shoulders shorter than his own six feet two, unlike Adele, who in heels matched him inch for inch. To be honest, he rather liked Emma having to tip back her head to look up at him. He liked everything about her. And, whilst he had no doubt now that he was still a selfish man, Jason vowed never to do anything to deliberately hurt her, anything at all.

‘Sorry I haven’t got any biscuits or cake to offer you,’ she apologised as she carried the two mugs over to the table and sat down opposite him. ‘I haven’t felt like shopping. Or cooking. Or eating, for that matter.’

‘But you should eat, Emma,’ he couldn’t help advising. ‘You don’t want to get sick, do you?’

A wan smile flitted across her face, as though she didn’t think her getting sick was a matter which would overly trouble her at that moment. Jason frowned at the awful thought she might do something silly. She had to be very down and depressed after her aunt’s death.

Yet he could not think of the right thing to say. It seemed his newly acquired bedside manner had suddenly deserted him.

They both sat for a few moments, silently sipping their coffee, till Emma put hers down and looked over at him.

‘What did you want to ask me?’ she said in that same flat, bleak voice. ‘Was it something about Aunt Ivy?’

She wasn’t really looking at him, he noted. He might have been wearing anything, for all she cared. Her lack of interest in his swanky suit and spruced-up appearance didn’t do much for his already waning confidence.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘No, it wasn’t about Ivy. It was about you, Emma.’

‘Me?’

The soft surprise in her voice and eyes showed she was taken aback by his displaying any personal interest in her at all. But he’d gone too far in his mind to back down now. ‘What are you going to do, Emma,’ he asked gently, ‘now that Ivy’s gone?’

She sighed heavily. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Do you have any other relatives?’

‘Some cousins in Queensland. But I don’t know them very well. In fact, I haven’t seen them for years.’

‘You wouldn’t want to move away from Tindley, anyway,’ he argued. ‘All your friends are here.’

And me.

‘Yes,’ she said, and sighed another deep and very weary sigh. ‘I suppose I’ll open the shop next week, and just…go on as before.’

Go on as before…

Did that mean waste her life waiting for Dean bloody Ratchitt to return? Didn’t she know any relationship with him was a dead loss, even if he did come back?

‘I see,’ Jason said. ‘And what about the future, Emma? A pretty girl like you must be planning on marrying one day.’

‘Marrying?’

He saw the pain in her face and wanted to kill that bastard. ‘You would make some man a wonderful wife, Emma,’ he said sincerely.

She flushed and looked down into her coffee. ‘I doubt that,’ she muttered.

‘Then don’t. I think any man you agreed to marry would have to be very lucky indeed.’

His words sent her head jerking up, and Jason saw the dawning of understanding over his visit. Shock filled her eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said before his courage failed him. ‘Yes, Emma, I’m asking you to marry me.’

Gradually, her shock gave way to confusion and curiosity. Her eyes searched his face, looking for God knew what.

‘But why?’ she said at last.

He should have expected such a question, but it threw him for a moment. Don’t lie, his conscience insisted.

‘Why?’ he stalled.

‘Yes, why?’ she insisted. ‘And please don’t say you’re in love with me, because we both know you’re not.’

Jason was tempted to lie. He knew he could be very convincing if he tried. He could say he’d hidden his feelings because Ivy had warned him off. He could say a whole load of conning garbage. But that was not what he wanted. If and when he married Emma, he wanted no lies. No pretence. From either of them.

‘No,’ Jason replied with a degree of regret in his voice. ‘No, I’m not in love with you, Emma. But believe me when I say I find you very pretty and very desirable. I have right from the first time I saw you.’

He took some comfort from the colour which zoomed into her cheeks. Had she been aware of his admiration all along? If she had, she’d never given him any indication, although, to be fair, she’d always been prepared to spend time with him after he’d visited her aunt, always offered him coffee and conversation.

‘A man like you could have any girl he wanted,’ she countered. ‘Ones far prettier and more desirable than me. There’s not a single girl in the district who wouldn’t throw herself at your feet, if you turned your eye her way.’

But not you, it seems, Jason thought. Damn, but this was not going to be one of his greatest moments. Failure was always a bitter taste in his mouth. In the past, there hadn’t been a girl he’d fancied whom he hadn’t been successful with.

Keeping his voice steady and calm, and his eyes firmly on hers, he went on. ‘I don’t want any other girl in the district, Emma. I want you.’

Now she flushed fiercely, and his confidence began to return.

‘As I’ve already said, Emma, I think you’d make a wonderful wife. And a wonderful mother. I watched you with your aunt. You’re so kind and caring. So patient and gentle. In the weeks I’ve known you, I’ve come to like you very very much. I thought you liked me in return. Was I mistaken?’

‘No,’ she returned, although warily. ‘I do like you. But just liking someone is not enough for marriage. Neither is finding them attractive.’