The Ceo's Contract Bride

Two

With only three short syllables Gwen was trapped in a nightmare that had grown to gargantuan proportions.

In shocking, sudden silence lipsticked mouths dropped open, eyebrows shot into hairlines and glasses of champagne raised in a toast remained clutched in hands still poised in the air. In the surreal atmosphere, all eyes turned to the tall, commanding presence of the man whose impossible response still reverberated through the room.

A bone-deep chill invaded Gwen’s body and held her as still as a marble statue. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. She could get out of this. Surely all she had to do was laugh it off as a clever joke. Except she’d never felt less like laughing in her whole life.

The sureness of Declan’s strong arm hooked around her waist sent warmth spreading through her body.

The sound of a single set of hands applauding drew Gwen’s eyes to her friend Libby. Nice surprise, her friend mouthed silently, a grin spread across her face as wide as the Auckland Harbour Bridge. One by one, each of the guests joined in until cries of congratulations filled the room. People thronged around them, eager to pass on good wishes to the ‘happy’ couple. All the while Gwen kept a smile pasted to her face, leaving Declan to bear the brunt of the questions.

At some time, in the crush of perfumed bodies, he let go of her hand. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel lost. Seeking out her friend, she found Libby leaning against the back wall of the room, a self-satisfied smile painted on her face.

“Well, you’re a dark horse. Fancy not telling me!”

“I tried to talk to you when I got here. But, Libby, it’s not what you think—”

“Whatever, Gwen. I’m thrilled to bits for you, but what about Steve? How did he take the news?”

“He…I…”

“He’s taken an extended leave of absence,” Declan interrupted, arriving like a dark shadow on Gwen’s horizon. “We’re sorry to have broken the news to you like this, Libby. We’d hoped to tell you sooner, hadn’t we, hon?”

His eyes shot Gwen a dark challenge, underlying the steel in his voice, which warned her to agree, before he tucked her back against his side. Awareness of him, of every breath he took, seared through her thin clothing.

“Sometimes you absolutely know when it’s right,” he continued smoothly. “Besides, we’ve known each other for years and now we have the rest of our lives to find everything out about one another. Don’t we?” He prompted her with a squeeze.

Gwen’s mouth dried. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. He could barely stand to be in the same room as her, yet now he’d become her latest fashion accessory. His strong fingers increased their pressure under her rib cage, reminding her she had to make a response. She swallowed, trying to moisten her throat and allow the words that were trapped inside to come out.

“Y-yes.” Good Lord! Was that her voice?

A tiny frown creased between Libby’s eyebrows. “Gwen? Are you certain you’re doing the right thing?”

Gwen drew in a deep breath. “Yes.”

Thank goodness. Her voice was stronger now. More definite, although she’d never felt more adrift in her entire life.

Declan dipped his head to her temple. “Good move.” His warm lips moved intimately against her skin. To anyone in the room it looked like a caress.

“If you’re certain…” Libby’s voice trailed away, doubt still clear in her tone.

“We’ve never been more certain of anything in our lives.” Declan’s voice resonated confidence. “Do you mind if we have a moment together, in private? You will excuse us, won’t you?”

“Certainly. Why don’t you use my bedroom?” Libby offered generously—too generously in Gwen’s opinion.

“No!” Gwen’s voice shot like a bullet. “I mean, the balcony will do fine. No one will bother us out there.”

The last thing she needed was to be in a bedroom with Declan Knight. She pulled free of his clasp, once again struck by an inane sense of loss, and stumbled slightly as the heel of her strappy sandal hooked on the thickly carpeted floor. A strong grip at her elbow steadied her. Did he have to be so constantly close he could touch her?

“Okay?” He reached past her to open the glass slider that led onto the semicircular balcony.

“I’m fine. At least, I will be once we sort this mess out.”

She turned, freeing herself from his hold and tried to ignore the glow of challenge that lit his eyes at her action. A glow that was doing funny things to her sensitive stomach. More indigestion, she decided. Except this felt different. It was a fire in her belly all right, but this burn was molten, enticing and as forbidden as it had been eight years ago.

Declan slid the door closed behind them, the double-glazed floor-to-ceiling windows cutting out almost all sound from inside. Marooned on a dark island, the shimmer of lights reflected across the harbour.

“What do you want to sort out first?” He crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest and leaned back against the waist-high concrete wall that scalloped the balcony. Backlit by the streetlights behind him, he towered there, large and powerful. His dark head haloed like some fallen angel.

“Our engagement for one thing. What the heck are you playing at? I don’t want to marry you and I know for certain you don’t want to marry me, either.”

“You’re right. But the way I see it, it’s the perfect solution to our problems.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. How on earth could our marriage be a solution to anything? We’ve barely even spoken since Renata died.” Spoken? No. But they had done so much more.

“This has nothing to do with Renata.” He bit the words out. She could see the tension drawn on his face, the hardening of his jaw. “Smile.”

“What?” Had he lost his mind?

“Smile. Everyone inside can see us and we’ve just announced our engagement. They expect you to look happy, not as if you’d like to tip me over this balcony.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she answered, her voice low and angry. The thought had sudden appeal, but instead of seeing Declan tumbling from the balcony all she had was a vivid memory of Renata’s body tumbling past her on the rock face that had almost sent them both to their doom. No, she couldn’t joke about that, not even for a minute. Gwen forced her lips into an approximation of a smile.

“That’s better.” Declan’s voice rumbled through the dark night air. “Now come over here and put your arms around me.”

“No way.” A chill shivered over her arms, raising goose bumps on her flesh, belying the warmth of the balmy humid evening.

“Then I’ll come over to you.”

Before she could protest Declan covered the short distance between them, draped her limp arms around his waist and linked his own around hers.

“There now, that didn’t hurt a bit.”

Hurt? Maybe not in the physical sense, but there was an ache deep down inside her that had been her constant companion for longer than she wanted to acknowledge. A pain that couldn’t be assuaged and had taken eight years to learn to ignore. Damn him for opening that wound again.

“So, are you happy now?” Her words dropped bitterly from her lips.

“Hardly. This is all for show. If we’re going to make this work we have to look the part.”

“Make it work? I haven’t even agreed to this charade. In case you hadn’t already noticed I’m supposed to be engaged to Steve,” she snapped. His arms were warm bands around her, his fingers stroking in lazy circles against the small of her back. Gwen forced herself to listen to him and to ignore the spirals of pleasure that radiated traitorously from his touch.

“I believe that could be disputed, considering he’s abandoned you to face the wedding without him. Besides, you’re not exactly heartbroken he’s gone. Angry at him, for sure. He’s cleaned you out. But heartbroken? I doubt it.”

Gwen flinched as the truth in his words cut her to her core. Yes, Steve had abandoned her, but worse, Declan was right. With Steve she’d thought she could be safe. After all, wasn’t that what had attracted her to him in the first place? No crazy emotions living on the surface of their life. No wild declarations of burning passion. He’d been a biddable man. Someone she could rely on, or so she’d thought. A man who would be a reliable father and a supportive partner. A man who sounds about as exciting as a well-made foundation garment, a little voice taunted from the back of her mind.

Gwen gathered what was left of her dignity. “Look, I’ll tell Libby the truth when everyone is gone. She’ll help me call around, cancel the wedding. It was only going to be small. It won’t take long.”

A vise clamped around her chest. What the heck was she going to do then? Thanks to Steve, she didn’t even have enough left in her account to buy groceries—let alone meet the demands of the loan now secured against the house that had been part of her family for generations. A swell of nausea rocked her. She was going to lose her home—her one bastion of security since the day her mother had shucked her off like last year’s fashion.