The Wedding Contract

‘What? And disillusion the old guy? Have a heart.’

She tried to shift away from him, which set the chair swinging. ‘He’s not used to me bringing guys around.’

He slid an arm around her shoulders, surprised yet thankful she didn’t shrug it off. ‘A girl like you should have men falling at her feet. Why don’t you bring any of them home?’

‘They’re not important enough.’

Jealousy stabbed at his gut, swift and sharp, at the thought of Amber with other men. Ludicrous, as he’d known her for less than twenty-four hours. He pushed his luck. ‘Ever been on a ride with any of them before?’

She turned to face him and his heart pounded, a totally irrational response from an organ he controlled with precision when it came to the fairer sex.

‘This is a first.’ Her soft words were whipped away by the wind as the wheel slowed and finally stopped, leaving them perched at the top.

However, he didn’t have time to appreciate the view when a gorgeous woman like Amber stared up at him with a mouth just begging to be kissed.

‘Don’t you just love new experiences?’ he murmured, as he brushed her lips in a feather-light kiss.

A light sigh escaped her lips as they parted. He nibbled her bottom lip before easing his tongue into her mouth, challenging her to match him thrust for thrust. She didn’t disappoint and their tongues duelled, firing his rising passion to new heights. As she returned his kiss all sense fled. He shouldn’t be doing this. She was the daughter of the opposition, she was trouble, she was business. However, as she moaned, all he could think about was the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of her delicious mouth flowering under his.

He cupped one hand behind her neck, drawing her closer, deepening the kiss with possessive thoroughness. She tasted tart and sweet, just as he’d anticipated, and he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d never understood the crazy, head-over-heels physical-attraction thing, preferring to choose his women with calculated precision for what they could do for him rather than acting on lustful impulse. Until now.

Amber’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she arched towards him. God, she was practically offering herself to him, and he couldn’t do much more than kiss her, perched this far off the ground. He would give anything for a bed right about now.

Before he could think, his free hand slid up her bare thigh, as it had itched to do all night, creating a trail of tiny goose-bumps beneath his touch.

‘Whoa!’ She pulled away as his hand almost reached its target.

He stared at her, not moving an inch.

‘I think this belongs to you.’ She grasped his wayward hand and placed it firmly in his lap before tugging her skirt down. ‘Time to go down.’

‘Thought you’d never offer,’ he mumbled, turning away from her and staring at the distant twinkle of city lights illuminating the horizon, wishing for a fickle wind to flip the flimsy skirt she wore. Every time she’d reached for the skirt-edge during the evening he’d wanted to still her hand, hoping it would ride up farther.

She stiffened beside him but didn’t reply. At that moment the wheel started up again and they drifted back down to earth in silence.

She bolted from the chair as soon as Stan raised the bar.

‘Thanks, Stan. It was great.’ He shook the old man’s hand.

‘I’m sure it was, Mr Rockwell. See ya round.’ They grinned like co-conspirators before Steve took off after Amber.

He always seemed to be chasing after her—something he never did with women. Usually they trailed after him, impressed by his wealth and status. So what was it about this woman that had him running around in circles?

She stopped as he grabbed her arm. ‘I’ll see you in the morning?’

‘Not if I can help it.’ She glared at him, gold flecks glinting in the moonlight.

‘It was just a kiss, dammit. Don’t get so wound up.’

‘Who says I’m wound up?’ She backed away from him ever so slightly.

He loved her defiance, etched into every aspect of her body language. ‘You’re tighter than a coiled spring ready to snap.’

‘And you’re a lousy judge of character. Good-night.’ She spun on her heel and stalked away.

He pondered her parting jibe. Contrary to her opinion, one of his greatest skills was reading people and their motives. And he was damn good at it too. Then why hadn’t he figured her out yet?

‘Pleasant dreams,’ he called out, already looking forward to the next day, eager to match wits once again with the enchanting Amber.

She ignored him, a relatively novel experience for his ego.

He chuckled, aiming to change all that, starting first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER THREE

AS SOON as Steve entered his hotel room he noticed the red blinking light on the phone, indicating he had a message. Perhaps it was Amber, giving him another serve before she went to bed?

Surprisingly, it was his mother, urging him to call as soon as possible, regardless of the time. He dialled the number, not in the mood for one of his mother’s famous tirades. What had he done or not done this time?

She answered on the first ring. ‘Darling. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all evening.’

‘Business, Mother. You know, that thing I do for a living?’

He heard a sniff and imagined the disdainful expression on his mother’s well-preserved face. ‘Don’t bait me, darling. You know you don’t have to work. It’s just some perverse streak that pushes you to earn a living when you’re more than comfortable.’

Georgia Rockwell, queen of the understatement. His mother’s version of ‘comfortable’ meant filthy, stinking rich, a fact he’d been only too aware of his entire life. She’d never understood his ambition to be self-made, to spend his hours grappling with complex problems in order to feel some degree of achievement.

No use trying to convince her now, he’d wasted enough breath in the past. ‘What did you want, Mother?’

She sighed, a superficial sound she’d used many times over the years to coerce him into doing something he didn’t want to do. ‘Your grandmother’s condition is progressively worsening. I just thought you should know.’

A strange hollowness filled his heart at the thought of the delicate old woman, who had been the only person to show him any real love growing up, lying helpless in bed, eaten away by cancer.

‘How bad is she?’

‘The doctors only give her another few months at the most.’

Panic gripped him. He’d made a promise to Ethel St John when she’d first been diagnosed and unfortunately had yet to follow through. She’d said it was the one thing sustaining her, the thought of him marrying and bearing an heir for her fortune. That was one thing they particularly shared, a lack of confidence in his society mother, who would squander the money rather than fulfil a dying lady’s wishes.

His mother’s next words made him sit down. ‘She told me, Steven.’

‘Told you what?’ Surely his grandmother hadn’t confided in the daughter she despised?

‘About your promise. So what are you doing about it?’

He proceeded with caution. His mother hadn’t mentioned the money and he found that unusual. If she’d known about the stipulation in Ethel’s will she would have been screaming into the receiver rather than speaking in the cultivated sotto voce he’d grown to hate. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Stop answering my questions with questions. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Mother informed me that the only reason she’s fighting this nasty disease is to see you married. Well?’