The Rings that Bind

She had not even raised her voice but he could feel it—those tiny ripples of fury kept under the tightest of reins.

What would it be like to unleash that passion? A passion he had blithely ignored over the eleven months of their marriage, not even aware of its existence.

It had been there all along. And another man had been the recipient of it.

The knowledge lingered in his senses like a pungent smell.

And it made him react in ways he had never believed himself capable of.

‘I have a proposition for you,’ he said, breaking the taut silence.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

‘I do not want a divorce or an annulment. I like our marriage—it suits me very well.’ And he was damned if he was going to let it end on her terms. If they were going to divorce it would be on his terms and his terms only.

‘It doesn’t suit me.’

Clamping down on the fresh flash of rage that followed this little declaration, he forced his voice to remain calm. ‘I realise that. However, as you have done so much research you must be aware that we cannot divorce until we have been married for a year—which in our case is a whole month away.’

‘That doesn’t mean we can’t start the ball rolling,’ she said, displaying the stubbornness he had always admired in her when she had worked for him, working regular twelve hour days in an effort to ensure everything was in perfect order.

It was the same stubbornness she had displayed when she’d refused his every overture to work with him permanently.

With a flash of insight he realised the more he tried to force her to comply the more she would dig her heels in. Her obstinancy was liable to take the form of an immovable object.

Why had he never noticed how sexy such stubbornness could be?

He squashed the thought away.

‘Give me a month—until the date of our first anniversary—to change your mind,’ he said, in the most reasonable voice he could muster. ‘Come to Butterfly Island with me as planned—you’re a first-class PA and linguist, and there is no one capable of doing the job as well as you. Do that and I will grant you a divorce. Refuse, and I will fight you every inch of the way.’

‘I won’t change my mind.’

‘That remains to be seen. But unless you give me the next month to try you will find yourself with one almighty fight on your hands.’ Deliberately he stepped towards her, over the puddle of clothes, encroaching on her personal space—a move he had never made in all the time he had known her. ‘I will contest it every step of the way. If I wanted, I could play dirty and drag it on for years. And guess what? I never lose.’

A small tick pounded under her left eye, so tiny it was barely perceptible. He had only seen that particular affliction once before. Smelling victory, he pressed on a little further, leaning close enough to smell her clean, feminine scent. He swallowed the moisture that formed in his mouth.

‘One month, Rosa. I don’t think that’s a very long time to wait for a lifetime of freedom.’

She gazed back at him, the tiny tick still pounding, before she visibly hardened. ‘I want it in writing.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ His lips curled. He had never been so insulted. ‘I am giving you my word.’

‘You gave me your word eleven months ago.’

‘And you gave me yours. I am not the one planning to break my vows.’

For an age they simply stared at each other, neither bending. The tension between them had become so thick a steak knife would have had trouble cutting through it. Yet through the seeping tension he could not help but admire her. There were not many people brave enough to face him off.

Rosa caved in first. Extending her hand, she said, ‘We will shake on it. One month, Nicolai. And if at the end you refuse to give me my divorce then I will show you just how dirty I can play.’

Her fiery declaration sent a frisson of excitement racing through his veins. As he reached for her hand he realised it was the first time their flesh had touched since they had exchanged their rings.

And as he walked back down the stairs, victory still ringing within him, Nico realised it had also been the first time he had set foot in her suite since she had moved in.

A black Jeep awaited them at the landing strip that constituted Butterfly Island’s airport.

It was roasting hot, the heat shimmering like waves off the ground. Even though Rosa had had the foresight to change into a light, cotton summer dress, her skin was dampening by the second.

It had been eighteen hours since they’d left London and she was shattered. The thirteen hour flight on Nico’s plush private jet hadn’t been too bad, but she had been far too wired to sleep. Unlike Nico, who had the amazing knack of being able to sleep on command.

Fortunately she’d had a pile of documents to read through to keep her occupied. She’d devoted all her spare time over the past fortnight in getting up to speed on the contracts. There had been little else for her to do. Nico had been as elusive over the past two weeks as an escaped hamster.

The one-hour connecting flight to Butterfly Island on a four-seat Cessna had been a more cramped affair. Nico had sat in front of her. They had been close enough to touch—close enough for her to smell him.

She had spent the flight breathing through her mouth.

A squat, elderly gentleman who looked dressed for a safari, in a cream pocketed shirt, cream shorts, a panama hat and long white socks, got out of the Jeep and strode over to them. For his part, Nico had relaxed his strict business attire by removing his jacket and tie and rolling up his sleeves.

‘Nicolai—as always, it’s a pleasure to have your company.’

‘Likewise.’ Nico shook the offered hand vigorously. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Rosa. Rosa, this is Robert King—owner of Butterfly Island and King Island.’

His wife? Nico had introduced her as his wife? In the eight months she had continued working for him after their quickie wedding he had never introduced her as anything other than his assistant. They had agreed that when it came to business it was best to keep things on a professional footing.

Before she could think about this in any depth she was pulled into the American’s arms. ‘Wonderful to meet you, Rosa. Your husband has told me all about you.’ He released her, but kept hold of her forearms so he could look at her. ‘Nicolai, you never told me what a beauty she was.’

Nico placed an arm around her waist in what could only be described as a possessive manner, forcing a reluctant Robert to release her. Rosa, already reeling at being called a beauty, was so shocked at this unexpected and blatant show of possessiveness that she froze.

‘Rosa’s beauty speaks for itself,’ said Nico in his gravelly tones. ‘Now, have all the arrangements been made?’

She was not sure if she’d imagined it, but she could have sworn Robert dropped him a quick wink. ‘Everything’s in hand.’

The minor stupor caused by Nico’s introduction and his unprecedented hold on her receded, and she extracted herself from his arm. ‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Mr King, but—as I’m sure my husband has already informed you—I have accompanied him as his assistant and not his wife.’

‘His assistant, eh?’ Robert’s wink was a lot more obvious this time. ‘I get you, I get you. Say no more. Now, you folks must be exhausted after all that travelling. Let’s get you to your accommodation so you can freshen up. Oh—and, Rosa? It’s Robert.’

The air-conditioning in the Jeep had been turned to full blast. Rosa welcomed the freshness after the stifling heat of the airstrip. It was the only thing she did welcome as the men started to talk business. Robert didn’t exactly freeze her out of the conversation but all his attention was focused on Nico. She had a feeling if she offered an opinion he would ruffle her hair and tell her not to worry her pretty head about it. It was infuriating, but not half as infuriating as Nico’s obliviousness to it.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that once Robert had seen her work he would see for himself that she was there not out of the virtue of being Nico’s wife but out of the virtue of being good at her job.

Still, it made for an uncomfortable journey—at least for her.

Butterfly Island was small by anyone’s standards. According to her research, its circumference was only a touch over nine miles. They reached the complex where they were to stay for the next fortnight in less than ten minutes.

To Rosa’s eyes it certainly lived up to its high-class honeymoon resort billing. When over the past fortnight she’d allowed herself to think of being in a lovers’ paradise with the man who was her husband but not her lover, she had consoled herself that she would be too busy working to have time to witness any open signs of affection displayed by the other guests.

The driver pulled up outside a large, one-storey Tuscanstyle villa.