Читать книгу Perfect Proposals Collection - Lynne Marshall - Страница 31

JO WAS sketching in her bedroom, for the first time rather happy with Adele’s portrait, when Mrs Harper came to seek her out mid-morning to inform her that Gavin would like to see her, if she was free.

Jo blinked, a little surprised that he hadn’t come to look for her himself. She hadn’t seen him since the previous evening so she gathered he must have had an early breakfast and gone straight out, and that had also surprised her after what had happened between them last night. But Adele had passed on the news that, although no one had been injured in the fire, the cottage had burnt to the ground, so she’d assumed he was still caught up in the consequences of the fire.

‘He’s down at the shearing shed. He rang a moment ago,’ Mrs Harper added and hesitated.

‘Oh!’ Jo got up. ‘That explains it.’ She paused and looked at the housekeeper, who, in turn, was looking troubled. ‘It doesn’t? Explain it, I mean.’

Mrs Harper opened her mouth, closed it, then said, ‘It’s not a very nice day, Miss Lucas. There’s a perishing westerly blowing; I’d wrap up if I were you. The weather sometimes does that out here. You think it’s summer, then winter sneaks in a last left hook.’

Jo took her advice and changed into a tracksuit and her anorak, although she had to wonder why she was being summoned to the shearing shed on an unpleasant day.

In the event, as she jogged down to the shed she found the wind quite exhilarating. There were clouds scudding across the sky and several old peppercorn trees in a clump were tossing their feathery leaves dementedly. Her cheeks were pink; her hair was whipped into a gold tangle as she climbed to the shearing platform.

The shed was swept and empty, except for Gavin who was inspecting one of the electric combs, and she paused for a moment, thinking that he looked rather forbidding.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked as she came up to him.

He dropped the comb so that it dangled from its lead and turned to her, and simply regarded her as she steadied her breathing from her run and attempted to tame her hair.

‘Gavin?’

‘Jo, we need to make a decision,’ he said abruptly. ‘We’ve been shilly-shallying around for long enough.’

‘Shilly-shallying!’ she said incredulously. ‘This could be the rest of our lives we’re talking about!’

‘It’s certainly my intention that it is, but we’re getting nowhere like this.’ He rubbed his jaw moodily, and although he wore clean jeans and a fine, this-time-mulberry wool sweater, he reminded her rather forcibly of the tough man who had taken her hostage.

‘Why…what…has something come up I don’t know about?’ she asked disjointedly. ‘Last night—’

‘Last night,’ he said precisely, ‘I was unaware of my mother’s intention to remarry.’

‘What’s that got to do—?’ She broke off. ‘Of course—Rosie.’

‘Yes, Rosie,’ he said. ‘If she thinks I’m going to entrust Rosie to a man I’ve never met, who could be some bloody gold-digger anyway, she’s mistaken.’

Jo suddenly recalled Mrs Harper’s troubled demeanour and made the deduction that, unlike herself, the housekeeper had been within earshot of ‘words’ at least, between Gavin and his mother.

But her next reaction was incredulity. ‘Surely you don’t believe your mother would fall for a gold-digger! Don’t you think you should at least give her credit for—’

‘What?’ He glared at her. ‘Do you know where she met him? On a cruise. Have you any idea what rich pickings cruises provide for anyone on the make? Rich, lonely widows—’

‘Gavin, just stop right there for a moment,’ Jo ordered. ‘Believe me, it doesn’t become you to harbour such scepticism about your own mother!’

‘On the contrary,’ he drawled, ‘it’s because I’m extremely fond of my mother, but a realist at the same time, that I’m so concerned.’

Jo took a couple of calming breaths.

‘However,’ he went on before she could speak, ‘even if she marries him and he proves to be OK, there’s no way Rosie is going to be involved.’

‘Yes, well,’ Jo conceded, ‘that had crossed my mind.’

‘You know about all this?’ he shot at her.

Jo nodded. ‘She told me yesterday during her sitting.’

‘So?’

Jo stopped combing her hair with her fingers and brushed it behind her ears. ‘So—what?’ she enquired with hauteur.

‘Oh, come on, Jo,’ he said roughly, ‘don’t beat about the bush! How did it affect these prolonged deliberations of yours?’

‘You suggested we take some time to think it through!’ she cried.

‘As I told you yesterday, not like this, in a veil of secrecy and silence.’

Jo discovered in that moment that you could love and hate a man in the same breath. Fair enough, she reasoned, he’d obviously had a shock. Yes, he was obviously very fond of his mother, and she now had a pretty good idea of the wealth involved that would make a lonely widow extremely vulnerable to a man on the make. But this reaction was intolerable even given the circumstances.

‘One of my prolonged deliberations,’ she parodied coolly, ‘tells me that a young governess might solve—all our problems.’

‘Oh, yes?’ he said dangerously. ‘How about the fact that we only have to look at each other sometimes to be set alight with need and hunger? Would you prefer to go to your grave wondering about us, Jo? Are you going to play safe all your life? You know,’ he said softly, ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a coward, not after the way we met.’

She swallowed a lump in her throat and felt dizzy beneath the rush of emotions that came to her as he stared into her eyes. Not like this, something within her cried, it shouldn’t happen like this. Not with us both angry but—is he right?

Or—would I be right to hedge my bets after all, at least against the times he can be impossible if nothing else?

She moistened her lips and cleared her throat. ‘It so happens I have made a decision, Gavin. I’ve decided you’d be a very convenient husband for me.’

His eyes narrowed and he made an abrupt movement.

‘Let me explain,’ she said quietly. ‘Of course, there’s convenience on both sides. You need a mother for Rosie and that’s fine with me. I think we have a special rapport, perhaps because she’s motherless and I know what that’s like.’ She paused.

‘Go on.’

It was impossible to tell from his voice or his stance how he was taking it.

‘Uh—I’ve always wanted a home of my own. I guess being a foster-child does that to you, so that’s another plus. And, to be honest, I’d have the financial security to draw what I liked. There’s a vast range of subjects that appeal to me right here. Kids, animals, landscape.’ She looked around. ‘Even this old shearing shed.’

His gaze remained narrowed and intent.

‘I never did,’ she went on, ‘intend to spend my artistic career doing commissioned portraits. I saw it as a way to get my work noticed and, once that happened, I always meant to give it away. If I married you, I could give it away a lot earlier. If we agree to this, though, there’s one stipulation I need to make.’

‘What’s that?’

This time there was a detectable response, an echo of harshness in his voice.

She swallowed and took a moment to compose herself. ‘That what is past is past and we don’t pretend this is anything but a marriage of convenience. I know why a “deeply, madly” love match is out of the question for you. You know that I’m something of an independent loner and I’d find it hard to change. But there would be definite advantages for me—as well as you.’

‘Does this all lead you to seeing yourself going to bed with me, Jo?’

Her lips parted.

‘I mean to say, you sound so damn clinical, we could be discussing the price of eggs.’

‘Gavin,’ she said through her teeth, ‘since the moment you set eyes on me this morning you’ve been angry and going out of your way to insult me. You’re only lucky I haven’t slapped your face!’

Her eyes blazed and as she said it she knew that nothing would give her more satisfaction than to do just that—but he saw it coming and ducked, then caught her wrist.

‘Whoa,’ he said softly. ‘Has it occurred to you we’re both under a lot of pressure because, rather than adding up the pluses and the minuses, we’d prefer to be doing this—which might just speak for itself anyway.’

She was far too angry to acquiesce when he pulled her into his arms; she was stiff and furious.

‘Reminds me—’ his lips twisted ‘—of another time I had you in my arms and you thought you were hating it. In the hut.’

‘I was! I am now.’

‘Then let me see how I can redeem myself. Will you marry me, Jo Lucas, not only because of what we can do for each other, but so that we can share a bed, and each other’s company, in unity?’

She stared up at him.

‘It would be an honour if you said yes,’ he added.

She searched his eyes, but could only find a serious query in them. ‘Do you accept what I said, though?’

He shrugged. ‘If you want me to. I still like to think we care about each other, Jo. I know I do and I don’t think it would work otherwise.’

Her anger drained away and it was an almost unbearably poignant moment between them. Two people marked and scarred by life—was that enough to hold them together?

It didn’t seem to matter to her suddenly. The truth was, she cared so much she couldn’t help herself.

She freed a hand and touched her fingers to his cheek, and the assault on her senses was electric. ‘OK,’ she said huskily.

He heaved a sigh of relief and buried his head in her hair.

Two weeks later, Adele said to Jo, ‘You look simply beautiful, my dear!’

Jo glanced down at her wedding outfit, a slim, long, ivory skirt in Thai silk and a short jacket top intricately trimmed with ribbon and lace. Silk covered pumps and short white gloves went with the outfit and a bouquet of yellow rosebuds, just opening, lay on the bed.

Her hair was up and, instead of a veil, a froth of ribbon secured it. Adele had just secured a string of what looked like priceless pearls around her neck, her wedding present.

Rosie, her flower girl, was being dressed by her aunt Sharon in an adjoining bedroom of Gavin’s home on the Gold Coast.

The house was also the venue for their wedding. Jo, Adele and Rosie had arrived that morning from Kin Can, to be met by Sharon. Her husband, Roger, Gavin’s best man, had Gavin in his keeping in Brisbane.

The house was majestic with sweeping gardens that overlooked an arm of the Coomera River, along which, during the day, a fascinating variety of yachts and boats of all description had sailed in and out from the Gold Coast Broadwater. It also had its own jetty on the river, and a trim, fast-looking craft was tied up to it.

True to tradition, Jo hadn’t seen Gavin since the day before.

That might have been why she suddenly sat down on the bed feeling pale and a little ill. The ceremony was due to start in half an hour.

‘I feel rather overwhelmed,’ she confessed. ‘All this—’ she gestured to take in the house ‘—plus, I wanted to do it much more simply.’ She stared down at the dazzling diamond on her ring finger.

Adele drew up a chair. ‘Why?’

Jo glanced at her, then away. ‘I don’t know. Second marriage, for Gavin anyway, perhaps.’

‘Jo, you’re not having second thoughts, are you?’

Jo hesitated.

‘Look—’ Adele sat forward ‘—I know it’s all been a bit of a rush and I have no doubt you got the third degree from Sharon, she’s like that, but I couldn’t be happier about this union. I think you’re perfect for Gavin and—’ she paused ‘—whatever reservations you may have about it being a second marriage for him, if you love him as I think you do, it will be fine.’

Jo raised her eyes to Adele. ‘You know it’s a bit one-sided?’

Adele smiled wisely. ‘Is it? It looks to me as if he couldn’t wait to get you to the altar. Just be yourself, Jo, which in my estimation is a pretty fine person.’

Jo half smiled. ‘Thank you.’ She stood up and took a deep breath. ‘I’m ready.’

It was a lovely wedding. Everyone thought the bride looked stunning, and there was no doubt that the groom was enough to take your breath away in a dark dinner suit with a blinding white shirt front—he took the bride’s breath away, anyway.

Rosie was adorable in a long yellow dress with flowers in her hair, and highly excited—she still couldn’t quite believe her luck: a mother! And one she liked very much.

Adele was the epitome of elegance in a lavender lace gown and even the groom’s sister dabbed her eyes as Jo and Gavin were pronounced man and wife.

Jo had formed the opinion that Sharon Pritchard née Hastings had all of her brother’s ‘born to command’ qualities with little of his charisma, but she couldn’t doubt Sharon’s affection for Gavin.

There were about thirty people at the reception in the flower-decked dining room that flowed out to the garden. Case and Mrs Harper attended. So did Jo’s flatmate and best friend, Leanne, and a few more friends. Her favourite art teacher was there.

On Gavin’s side, it was mostly family, cousins, uncles and aunts, but he’d also invited some of his married friends, and laughingly told them—thank heavens, no more ghastly blind dates!

Adele, in a spirit of mischief, Jo could only assume, had invited Elspeth Morgan and her husband.

Of course, Jo detected some surprise and speculation as Gavin made sure he introduced her to everyone. You couldn’t deny it was a rushed wedding; you couldn’t deny that most of them had never heard of her until the invitations had arrived.

Two of his aunts had studied her midriff area quite blatantly, then withdrawn to have a cosy chat. One of his uncles had asked Jo if she was a Mount Miriam Lucas. Before she could reply that she wasn’t, he’d gone on to congratulate Gavin on making a damn fine connection.

‘You’ll get used to my family,’ Gavin said into her ear at this stage. ‘We’re a weird mob.’

‘What’s so good about a Mount Miriam connection?’ she whispered back.

‘Old, very old money.’

‘I’m sorry! I did tell you you could do better for yourself,’ she reminded him with a smile lurking at the backs of her eyes.

‘Jo—’ But they were interrupted and he never got to say it.

One thing did impress itself upon her during her wedding reception. The Mount Miriam connection might be about old, very old money, but the Hastings connection wasn’t so far off that mark either.

Of course she’d known it was quite an empire Gavin had inherited, but for the first time she got a real glimpse of the upper echelon, rather rarefied society she’d married into. Some of them might be quirky, but all the Hastingses had one thing in common: the confidence that came from ‘old money’.

Then it was over. Instead of her and Gavin leaving, the guests left, including Rosie, who was going to stay with her Pritchard cousins for a few days. Jo didn’t change but she threw her bouquet and pale blue garter—Rosie caught the bouquet—and then they were alone, apart from the catering company discreetly clearing away.

‘Tell me something,’ Gavin said as he led her into a glass-fronted terrace that overlooked the river. ‘Do you feel really married to me now?’

Jo looked around. The terrace, the whole house, had a Tuscan feel to it. There were citrus trees and miniature Cyprus trees in tubs on terracotta tiles, there were wooden planter boxes growing a riot of impatiens in every colour; there was a fountain with underwater lights looking like drowned stars.

She turned back to him and said after a moment’s hesitation, ‘I certainly feel very publicly married to you.’

‘Good.’ He strolled forward with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. ‘That’s what I intended to achieve.’

Jo raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

He stopped in front of her and studied the exquisite outfit, the gold of her hair, her creamy, flawless skin and the grey of her eyes as well as the pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. ‘So you, and everyone else, would know it’s for real.’

‘You thought there might be some doubt?’

‘None whatsoever on my part,’ he answered obliquely, and studied her carefully again. ‘May I make a suggestion? Gorgeous as you look, let’s change, and relax out here for a while.’

‘Good idea.’ She glinted him a little smile, then looked down at herself and touched the pearls. ‘I haven’t given you my present yet. I’ll get it at the same time.’

‘Off you go, then. I’m going to organize a bottle of champagne since you had a glass and a half at the most earlier.’

‘It seemed like a good idea to stay sober.’ She laughed.

All her things had been moved into the master bedroom, she discovered, and she raised her eyebrows as she closed the door and looked around.

Someone—Adele?—had gone to town, here. What looked like acres of fawn carpet, a wide bed beneath a bedspread of unbleached cotton ecru with an intricate self-pattern, and heaped with scatter pillows covered in fawn wild silk with pearl beadings.

Behind the bed stood a beautiful folding screen that immediately caught her attention—birds of paradise painted on a mushroom foil background.

At the other end of the room two linen-covered armchairs were set around a coffee-table and there was a magnificent elephant wonderfully carved from green verdite, ears extended, trunk raised, one foot bent on its plinth as if it were striding across the veld. It stood about waist-high.

She walked across to it and stroked the smooth green and brown mottled stone. ‘Jambo, jumbo! I like you very much!’

Everything had been unpacked for her, including the wedding present Adele had insisted on giving her—a trousseau. She’d turned a deaf ear to Jo’s protests on the matter although she had allowed Jo some say in choice of garments.

Amongst them was a pair of silky apricot long trousers with an elasticated waist, wide legs and a matching loose blouse. Jo chose them and changed into them after one last look at herself in her wedding outfit. She took the ribbons out of her hair and brushed it until it gleamed. She left her pearls on and looked around for her present for Gavin.

It was on a bedside table, beautifully wrapped. She picked it up and hugged it to herself and took several deep breaths.

The time was coming and coming fast when she might have to explain something that Gavin didn’t know about her…

The time was also coming when she might discover how she matched up to his first wife.

He was waiting for her, not changed, but without his jacket and tie, with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar open.

On the low table in front of a deep, comfortable settee stood a bottle of champagne in a stone cooler, two glasses and a tray of snacks.

‘You didn’t eat much either,’ he said as she eyed the snacks.

Jo fingered her rings—the diamond now had a gold band behind it—and wondered what he’d say if she told him nerves had seen her have difficulty swallowing? Then she remembered she had his present tucked under her arm.

‘This is for you,’ she said a little awkwardly. ‘I hope you like it.’ She held it out to him.

‘Thank you.’ He eased the gold ribbon off and opened the wrapping, and went quite still for a long moment. It was an exquisitely framed oval portrait of Rosie, looking over her shoulder with all the vivacity that made her such a character.

He looked up at last. ‘Oh, Jo, you’ve captured her to a T.’

‘It did feel as if it was going well,’ she said huskily.

‘Thank you,’ he said simply.

He put the portrait down and came over to her, taking her chin in his hand. ‘Missed me?’

‘I…why?’

‘You look a little shell-shocked and a bundle of nerves all rolled into one. I wondered if being torn from my side yesterday until you walked down the aisle today had anything to do with it?’

She grimaced. ‘I did have a moment of sheer panic,’ she conceded.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh?’

‘Your mother talked me out of it.’

‘How?’

‘She told me just to be myself,’ Jo said after a slight hesitation.

He frowned, then shrugged. ‘I had my own moment of panic.’

Jo looked up into his eyes. ‘You wondered if we’re doing the right thing?’ she hazarded.

‘Not at all. I was afraid that’s what you’d be wondering.’

Jo blew her fringe up and smiled faintly. ‘It’s done now. There’s just one thing—’ She paused, then frowned and turned towards the river as shouts and screams floated across the water, then there was a burst of flame and a loud bang. ‘What on earth…?’

Gavin reacted swiftly. ‘A boat on fire.’ He strode towards the terrace doors. ‘Stay there, Jo, I’ll—’

‘No way!’ she protested as, by the light of the fire, she saw people leaping from the burning boat into the water. ‘Just let me do this.’ She took her pearls and engagement ring off, laid them on the coffee table and ran after him.

Next to the sleek cruiser tied to Gavin’s jetty was an inflatable dinghy with an outboard motor. ‘We’ve got to take the tide into consideration,’ he said as they climbed aboard. ‘It’s going out so it should carry the boat towards that mangrove island.’ He gestured towards an uninhabited island opposite. ‘But it could also carry anyone in the water the same way. Jo, I wish you’d stayed behind!’

He pulled the starter chord of the outboard and it roared to life.

‘I can help pull people out of the water,’ she shouted over the motor.

‘Yes, but, although one fuel tank has exploded, there could be others.’

‘Just—there, Gavin.’ She pointed at a head bobbing in the water.

They spent the next hour rescuing swimmers, and several non-swimmers, two of whom Jo had to dive in and rescue, and depositing them on the jetty. They were joined, thankfully, by other dinghies from houses along the river and several Coastguard and Air Sea Rescue boats with fire-fighting equipment aboard.

As Gavin had predicted the burning hulk ended up in amongst the mangroves across the river, and a second fuel tank did blow up, showering burning debris into the water, but fortunately no one was struck.

All the same both she and Gavin were wet, filthy and exhausted by the time the rescue operation was complete, and after being interviewed by the Coastguard, they staggered back to the terrace room, took one look at each other and collapsed onto a wooden bench laughing feebly.

‘Here.’ He got up and poured them a glass of champagne. ‘It’ll be flat and warm by now, but we deserve it.’

Jo sipped hers. ‘Tastes wonderful.’ She glanced down at herself. ‘How on earth are we going to get clean without dripping mud and heaven knows what all over the carpets, et cetera?’

‘Hmm…well, not a problem.’ He walked over to the fountain, or so Jo thought, but he stopped at a panel beside it and opened a door set in the woodwork to reveal a switchboard. At the touch of several buttons, one end of the terrace room was transformed.

Blinds descended blocking the view to the river. What had appeared to her to be a circle of parquet wood tiles on the floor split down the middle and each half of the circle slid back to reveal a spa bath. Underwater lights came on in the spa and it started to bubble.

The last thing he did was switch all the other lighting off except the drowned stars in the fountain.

Jo put down her glass and clapped spontaneously. ‘Your mother?’

‘My mother,’ he agreed. ‘Neither the architect, the engineer, nor the electrician and the plumber she badgered into producing this have ever been the same since. She got the idea from a Japanese bathhouse.’

‘But it’s masterly!’ Jo laughed. ‘I can’t wait to get in and get clean.’

‘Be my guest.’ He touched another panel and a door swung open to reveal a cupboard of terry towelling robes, bath towels and cakes of handmade soap, loofahs, even long-handled back scrubbers.

Jo pulled her ruined clothes off and stepped into the water in her bra and knickers, still laughing delightedly.

‘I would say that,’ he commented, ‘to get the full benefit one would need to be naked.’

‘Naked it is, then,’ she conceded cheerfully and, beneath the cover of the foaming, bubbling water, removed her underwear. ‘Could you please pass me the soap?’

He did so, plus refilling their glasses and finally stripping to his underpants and joining her.

‘Thank heavens no one was killed—thank you.’ She took her glass and lay back with a luxurious sigh. ‘It could have been a whole lot worse.’

‘It could have. And you were exceedingly brave, Jo.’

‘Not really. I’m a strong swimmer but—’ she paused, then glinted a wicked glance at him ‘—we make a good team. We could even go into business together.’

‘We do—it struck me once before. A sort of Tarzan/Jane partnership?’ he suggested.

Her laughter bubbled up again and she sipped her champagne, then put it down and began to soap her arms.

‘Actually, I have a better idea,’ he said. He took the soap from her. ‘Now that is what I had in mind.’ And he began to soap her.

‘I see what you mean,’ she murmured after a while as she lay still beneath his wandering hands, and felt her tired, over-exerted body relax, then come alive to other sensations. ‘That’s lovely.’

‘So are you.’ His mouth closed on hers.

It started out slow and languorous, the way he kissed her and held her with their bodies feeling weightless in the water as they blended together. A gentle union after the preceding high drama. A lovely let-down still riding on their friendship and the way they’d worked together so well.

Then the tempo changed as his fingers moved more and more intimately on her until she found herself sitting across his lap with his face in her hands as she kissed him and acknowledged that she was being seduced out of her mind—and loving every moment of it.

‘Jo—’ he breathed and ran his hands down her back to cup her bottom, ‘—come with me.’

‘In a minute.’ She went back to kissing him.

‘Jo, now. We need a bed.’

She opened her eyes and looked into his to find they were dark with desire—urgent need, in fact. ‘OK.’

She put her hands on his shoulders and raised herself off his lap. He groaned and, despite his urgent need, held her waist and kissed her dripping breasts.

‘I thought you said—’

‘I did, we do, my lovely wife. Let’s go.’

They got out, grabbed two robes and shrugged into them, then, holding hands, ran through the house to the master bedroom.

Had it ever been treated so cavalierly? Jo wondered, as wild silk, pearl-trimmed scatter pillows were thrown aside and the ecru bedspread summarily dispatched to the floor with two white robes thrown on top of it.

As for her ‘hedging her bets’ policy that had included practising restraint so that he would never know how much she wanted him, talk about throwing it out of the proverbial window!

But she couldn’t help herself. She was on fire in a way she’d never thought she would be. She needed his lean, strong body; she needed everything about Gavin Hastings to be her very own, to make her whole, to love her…

‘Jo?’

‘Gavin?’

They stared at each other across the bed. ‘Have I ever told you how lovely you are?’ His gaze flickered down her body. ‘Yes, but I don’t mind how often you do it,’ she replied gravely. ‘Have I ever told you that you’re rather gorgeous?’

‘You once told me I was pretty.’

She grinned. ‘If you lie down on this bed, I’ll amend that.’

‘Done!’

In fact they lay down together and quite soon their laughing moment became something else.. red-hot desire but, this time, he took the lead until she was helpless with longing and mindless with rapture.

‘Now, Jo?’

‘Yes, please,’ she gasped.

‘Good. I’m just about to die.’

‘You’re—I thought I was.’

‘It must be mutual, then.’

It was.

It was also quite some time before they spoke again. By that time they were lying side by side, their heads close on the pillow.

He said softly, ‘Wow!’ Then he stroked her cheek.

Jo slid her fingers through his, and blew her fringe up. ‘Make that a double wow!’

He sat up, but only to pull a sheet over them. ‘Of course I always knew it had to be like that.’

‘How could you possibly?’ She turned to look into his eyes.

He pushed her hair behind her ear. ‘There was something about the way you tried to pulverize my toes when we first met that must have alerted me,’ he said thoughtfully.

She hid a smile. ‘You know what I think?’

‘Tell me.’

‘You’re an impossible know-all, Gavin Hastings.’

‘On the contrary, Joanne Hastings—’ he caressed her body beneath the sheet ‘—I’m a very good judge of—character.’ He curved his hand possessively around her waist.

‘Character?’

‘You know what I mean.’

She was laughing helplessly. ‘I do know what you mean but I feel it has another name.’

‘So you—um—were prey to it right from the beginning?’ he queried. ‘This thing by another name?’

‘To my horror and complete confusion, yes.’ She grimaced as she recalled their first few hours together.

He laughed and kissed her. ‘Shall we sleep?’

‘I think it would be a good idea. I’m bushed,’ she confided. ‘Not everyone has such an eventful wedding day.’

‘Indeed. Comfortable?’

‘Yes,’ she answered drowsily, and a few moments later she was asleep.

Gavin Hastings watched her for a while, and found himself recalling the minutes before they’d been alerted to the fire on the boat.

What had she said? Something about—it’s done now.

Hardly an acknowledgement that it had been the right thing to do, getting married, he mused, and wondered why those three words lay like a prickle on the surface of his mind.

Of course, the greater mystery was why she’d elected not to tell him she was a virgin. Or was that what she’d been about to say? There’s just one thing…hadn’t those been her words?

The thing was, he hadn’t expected it. She was so cool and confident most of the time, she was twenty-four, and even though she’d told him she didn’t enjoy being kissed, he’d assumed she wasn’t completely inexperienced even if they hadn’t been particularly successful experiences.

So what was in her background to account for it? And how serious had she been about insisting this was a marriage of convenience? Nothing that had happened between them tonight had been ‘convenient’. There was a basic mutual attraction that was extremely powerful, although, on the other hand, he thought dryly, she’d gone out of her way to keep him at arm’s length for the preceding weeks.

He studied her in the lamplight. Her gold hair was gorgeously mussed. Her creamy skin was still flushed and warm. Her mouth— Damn it, he thought, why did she have to have the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen? So that he was almost unbearably tempted to kiss her awake and take her again…

His thoughts ranged back over the evening. She was right—in any kind of a crisis they made a good team, but he’d been trained for it. Yes, he’d always had good reflexes, good co-ordination to start with, but she was also a natural with all the above plus steady nerves. He had to admire that and it made them two of a kind, but…

But what? he wondered. Why do I get the feeling there’s a girl within this girl I might never be allowed to know—and that it’s going to bug me, and go on bugging me until I do find the real Jo Lucas?