Читать книгу The Million Pound Marriage Deal - Michelle Douglas - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

‘READY?’

Sophie swung from where she stood in front of a gently crackling fire that was more for show than warmth, and nodded across the room to an unsmiling Will. ‘Absolutely.’

It was only four days since their crazy lunch in Soho, four days in which they’d signed their names to a contract to seal this crazy deal. Four days in which to consider pulling out.

She pushed her shoulders back. It might be crazy but she wasn’t pulling out. All she needed to do to send determination rippling out to every near and far-flung part of her being was to think of Carla. They would make this work.

She glanced at Will again. He made no move to lead her downstairs.

They’d been given a suite at the castle—two bedrooms with a shared sitting room and bathroom. It had taken her less time to freshen up than it had him. Which indicated his enthusiasm for the task at hand. She clapped her hands together and tried to look not terrified. ‘Ready whenever you are.’

The housekeeper had ushered them to these rooms when they’d arrived. Lord Bramley had not greeted his grandson at the door. Nor had Carol Ann.

If either event had disconcerted or disappointed Will, he’d not betrayed the fact by so much as a flicker of an eyelash.

He ran a critical eye over her now, raising gooseflesh on her arms. ‘You look perfect.’

Her lips twisted. She did.

His eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

‘If there’s one thing I can do right it’s to wear the appropriate clothes whatever the occasion.’ And when one got right down to it, it was an utterly pointless talent—so trivial.

She wore black three-quarter-length capris, a silk vest top in cream and a cashmere blend long-line cardigan in a shade of dusky pink. Complementing the outfit was a pair of pink and rose-gold sandals, light make-up and a loose ponytail. She didn’t need to glance into the mirror above the mantelpiece to know she looked the epitome of casual country chic.

‘What are you afraid you can’t do? Pull this charade of ours off?’

He wore a pair of navy chinos, loafers and a lighter blue button-down shirt that moulded itself to his chest in such a way that it took an enormous amount of effort on her part to not notice. Or, at least, to appear not to notice.

‘You look perfect too. We look perfect together.’

‘You didn’t answer the question.’

No wonder his start-up company was so successful—he was dogged, persistent when he sensed a problem, and, she suspected, ruthless. Not that she had any intention of hiding her current concerns from him. For heaven’s sake, the man had promised her a million pounds! She had to do her absolute best here for him. She had no intention of letting him down—for his sake, for her own sake, but mostly for Carla’s sake.

And Peter’s.

‘Sophie?’

‘We look perfect.’ She twisted the ring on the third finger of her left hand, before holding that hand up. ‘We have the ring to prove it. But we need to act perfect too.’

He lowered himself to the edge of the sofa. ‘Explain.’

She remained right where she was, too keyed-up to take a seat. ‘Look, everyone is going to assume we’re lovers, right? There are certain...intimacies we need to—’

‘We’re not having sex! We agreed.’

He remained seated, but it felt as if he’d leapt to his feet and stabbed a finger at her. Her heart gave a sick thud. ‘Wow! I don’t know whether to be offended that you’re so repulsed at the thought of sleeping with me or not.’

This time he did shoot to his feet. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Well, it’s by the by and totally unimportant for the current conversation. Sex is not the only kind of intimacy couples in love share.’ She planted her hands to her hips to hide how awkward she felt. ‘Or has that fact passed you by?’

He dismissed that with a single wave of an imperious hand. ‘We’ll play it by ear—wing it. Make it up as we go along.’

Did he really think that’d work? An unwelcome thought shuffled through her. She wanted to swat it away, but... ‘Are you hoping we succeed? Or that we’ll fail?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

She couldn’t take his money. Not if this were a farce. She searched his face.

‘I want this to work. It has to work.’ His nostrils flared. ‘What is your problem?’

Her problem was his absolute lack of enthusiasm for her company. On their flight to Inverness he’d buried himself in paperwork, barely exchanging two words with her. And at the moment it seemed he could barely stand being in the same room with her. It was some kind of Peter hang-up. She recognised it because she had a few of those of her own.

‘My problem is that you can barely bring yourself to touch me.’

He scowled. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

She held out her hand. ‘Then hold my hand.’

His scowl deepened but he took her hand. She immediately felt less alone.

Oh, but that scowl!

She tugged him closer and turned him so they could survey their reflections in the mirror above the mantelpiece. ‘Now there’s a lover-like expression if I ever saw one.’

He tried to smooth his face out and she was seized with a sudden urge to giggle.

‘This isn’t funny.’

But his eyes lightened as he said it and her smile widened. ‘It’s hilarious. You’re just too tense to admit it. You’re always tense when you mention Scotland, so I suppose it only makes sense that you’re tense now we’re here.’

His eyebrows rose.

‘It’s true. It’s always been true. There’ll be reasons for it—good ones, I expect—but I think it’ll help our cause somewhat if you pretend that I’ve helped you to un-tense a little on that front, don’t you?’

He stared down at her and it made her aware of their unusual proximity. Her pulse started to race.

‘You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?’

‘Of course I have!’ His surprise stung. ‘You’re paying me a ridiculous amount of money to help you pull this off. I mean to do my best.’

His mouth opened and then closed. He blinked, and then something in the line of his jaw softened. ‘Thank you.’

She wanted to tug her hand from his. She wanted to bolt across to the other side of the room and put a sofa and coffee table between them. She forced herself to remain where she was. ‘Let’s save the gratitude for later...when we’ve managed to pull this off.’

He gave a hard nod. ‘Right. So...any other tricks besides holding hands that I should know about?’

His smile eased the chafe in her soul. This was a tense, high-stakes game they were playing. It made sense there’d be nerves, and that her every sense would be on high alert.

Carefully she reclaimed her hand and gestured to the mirror. ‘Pretend it’s after dinner and we’ve all adjourned to the drawing room. For a brief moment the two young lovers edge across to the fireplace to exchange a few private lover-like words.’

He grinned, entering into the spirit of things. His head drew down to hers. ‘Sophie?’

His breath stirred the hair at her temples and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘Yes?’

‘You have the most exquisite toenails I have ever seen. They rival every other toenail in the universe. You should’ve been a toenail model.’

She glanced down at her toenails, painted a jaunty pink, and wiggled them. ‘I had them done with you in mind.’

Her voice shook as she said it, and they both burst into laughter.

‘Did we just spoil the effect you were after?’

She shrugged, shaking her head. ‘I have no idea, but I’m pretty certain laughter is good, right?’

He smiled down at her, brushed a tendril of hair from her face. ‘It’s nice to hear you laugh, Sophie.’

Her stomach clenched. She had no right to laugh. She didn’t deserve to have fun. She had too much to make amends for. Once she’d made amends maybe then—and only then—would she have maybe earned the right to some happiness.

‘Hey, where’d you just go?’

Heavens, she needed to keep on track. ‘Sorry, I...’ She shrugged. ‘Sometimes it still seems wrong to be happy when Peter’s not here.’

‘He wouldn’t want you to keep grieving the way you have been.’

Wasn’t that the truth?

But it also wasn’t what Will meant, and it was none of his concern. He was doing enough for her already. She had to play her part here to perfection, and if that included laughing then she’d laugh.

‘Right, next scenario.’

He straightened. ‘Okay, hit me with it.’

‘We’re at a dinner party. There’s milling around before and afterwards. We’re talking to another couple or maybe two other couples. How do we stand?’

He pursed his lips. ‘You were smart to bring this up. If I think of you as Peter’s little sister Sophie, then I stand like this.’ He moved a step away. ‘At a discreet distance where I’d be careful not to invade your personal space.

He’d always been very careful not to do that.

‘But when you’re Sophie, my bride-to-be, then...’ He was silent for a moment and then draped an arm across her shoulders. Staring at their reflection, he frowned. ‘Now we just look like great mates.’

She waited for him to work it out. If she were the one doing all the cosying up it would look wrong. She’d look desperate too. Not that she cared what anyone here thought about her. But she did care about that million pounds, so she had to make sure Lord Bramley didn’t get suspicious.

‘Okay, this is better.’

Will pulled her in closer until she was plastered against his side. She swallowed. Too close. She rested a hand on his chest.

He frowned. ‘That could be a bit much.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You think?’

‘I’m not appreciating your sarcasm.’

Yeah, well, maybe she wasn’t appreciating how long this was taking for him to get right. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a lot of practice. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a girlfriend before. He’d had a lot of them.

An itch chafed through her, followed by a burn.

He squared them off, his eyes turned towards the mirror rather than her, until his arm rested across her shoulders, the weight of it solid and reassuring while their hips bumped against each other’s lightly. ‘That’s good. And this could be good too.’

He moved her in front of him and wrapped arm about her upper chest, just above her breasts, pulling her back against him. She gritted her teeth.

‘Smile, Sophie.’

She met his gaze in the mirror and forced a smile to uncooperative lips. But as she continued to stare at him a ripple of recognition ran though her. This was Will—Peter’s best friend—and while he’d never really approved of her, she’d trust him with her life.

‘That’s better. This is...nice.’

He smiled back at her, but their gazes clung for a few seconds longer than they should have and Sophie found herself pulling free from Will’s embrace when what she really wanted to do was snuggle closer.

‘Or,’ she said, trying to cover her sudden sense of awkwardness, ‘we could simply stand close enough that we brush shoulders.’ She gestured to the mirror and brushed her arm against his. ‘We could link arms or—’

‘Hold hands,’ he said, enfolding hers in a warm grasp.

‘Or link hands,’ she added, desperately trying to ignore the warmth flooding her system as she interlocked their fingers.

‘Nice,’ he agreed before she broke away.

She could feel his gaze like a physical weight as she took a couple of steps away.

‘Is everything okay?’

His voice was quiet, measured, concerned. She turned and sent him what she hoped was a smile. ‘I’ve become a firm believer that what we do with our bodies affects us emotionally.’

He widened his stance. ‘You’re going to need to explain that.’

She moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘All of this touching...it’s nice.’

He leaned towards her, a frown in his eyes. ‘And?’

‘I just don’t want either one of us getting the wrong idea and imagining that it means something more.’

He reared back as if she’d struck him. ‘If you think I can’t control myself—’

‘I’m not just talking about sex,’ she snapped at him. ‘I know you think that we can just breeze in and play these parts and that nothing will change and everything will be hunky-dory and...and tickety-boo!’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Hunky-dory?’ His voice grew even more incredulous. ‘Tickety-boo?’

She glared at him. ‘I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.’

He paced away from her, paced back. ‘Sorry.’

That didn’t look like what he really wanted to say.

His lips thinned. ‘So can I assume you don’t think this is going to be easy?’

‘In my experience nothing is ever as easy as we hope it’ll be. And despite what you think, we’re playing a dangerous game here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’

His eyes throbbed into hers. ‘You’re talking about hearts and emotions now?’

She nodded.

He leaned down so they were eye to eye. ‘I can assure you that my heart is in absolutely no danger. You should know me better than that.’

Yes, but she was Peter’s little sister. And she didn’t know how or why, but in his eyes that made her different from other women.

He straightened. ‘Are you telling me your heart is in danger?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Not as long as she remained on her guard. And she had no intention whatsoever of letting her guard slip. ‘But what about Carol Ann and your grandfather?’ They could become invested in this fake marriage.

He stilled. ‘You’ll always be Carol Ann’s friend, won’t you? You’re not going to dump her the moment we get our divorce.’

‘Of course not!’

‘Then I think she’ll be fine. Thank you for considering her well-being. I appreciate it.’

But she noticed he made no mention of his grandfather’s well-being. She didn’t pursue it. ‘Fine. That leads us to the next topic.’

* * *

Will stared at her. He wanted away from the cloying heat of the room. Mind you, it had only become cloying in the last few minutes.

‘You’re supposed to ask me what topic?’ she prompted.

‘What topic?’ he growled.

She sent him a falsely sweet smile that scraped through him like fingernails on a blackboard. ‘Kissing.’

He rocked back on his heels. He couldn’t help it. He was simply grateful he managed to stop himself from striding from the room altogether.

She glanced away, her lips pressed into a tight white line that still couldn’t hide the luscious curve of her bottom lip. A fact he desperately didn’t want to notice.

‘Did you really think we’d manage to get through this weekend without the odd peck?’

He let the air out of his lungs, slowly. A peck? He could manage that. Her lips twisted as if she’d read that thought in his face and he knew what message he was sending her—that he found her unattractive. And he could tell she was doing her best to try and not let that bother her...hurt her.

Damn it! He needed this weekend to go smoothly. He needed to convince his grandfather that he and Sophie were serious. He tried to bring Carol Ann’s face to mind, but it was Sophie’s wounded eyes that kept appearing there instead.

Damn it! Letting her think that he didn’t find her attractive provided him with a measure of protection, but a real man wouldn’t let her continue operating under the misapprehension, wouldn’t let her take the blame for his own weakness. If it were any other woman...

But it wasn’t any other woman. It was Sophie.

Will you keep an eye on her? Be there for her if I can’t be?

He’d promised Peter.

He slammed his hands to his hips. ‘I don’t find you unattractive, Sophie.’

She turned from surveying the fire. ‘You don’t need to pander to my vanity and make excuses or apologise, Will. These things can simply be a matter of taste or chemistry or—’

He held up a hand, holding her gaze. ‘You’re lovely...beautiful.’ His gut clenched as he said the words.

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. ‘But?’

Her chin didn’t drop, the light in her eyes didn’t fade, and she suddenly appeared indomitable. Where he’d fancied he’d seen fragility, now there was only strength. It made his mouth go dry though he couldn’t fully explain why. Except the realisation that what he thought of her physically maybe didn’t matter to her one jot. Which was how it should be, of course. But it left him feeling at a distinct disadvantage.

Right, so that’s new, is it?

He ignored the sarcastic voice as best he could, and thrust out his jaw. ‘But,’ he ground out, ‘you’re different from the women I date. With them I...’

‘Scratch an itch and then move on?’ she offered when he hesitated.

It was crude but accurate, and everything inside him rebelled at it. ‘We have fun, enjoy each other’s company.’

‘Yes.’

He shifted under the steadiness of her gaze, shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Are you saying it’s different for you and the guys you date?’

‘No.’

If he’d been hoping to put her on the defensive he’d have been sadly disappointed.

‘The itch I’ve been scratching, though, is grief, and I finally figured out that the partying, the drinking, the dating an endless parade of guys—having fun and enjoying their company—hasn’t helped.’

He pulled his hands from his pockets and then didn’t know what to do with them. He moistened his lips. ‘Has it made it worse?’ How could he help?

She made an impatient movement. ‘Not worse. It’s just...pointless, and not how I want to spend the rest of my life.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘I wonder what itch you’re scratching? I think it’s a big one.’

He realised then that she wasn’t judging him. Lots of women did, and found him wanting. Not that he blamed them. He wasn’t cut out for commitment and the long haul. But Sophie was simply trying to work him out. Some of the tension that had him wound up tight eased. When you had parents like his, when you watched them do their best to tear each other apart—and succeed—you promised to never let yourself fall into that same trap, to never get embroiled in the same predicament.

But he didn’t want to talk about his parents. ‘Is it really so incomprehensible for a guy to simply want to keep his freedom, to not want to be tied down?’

One of her shoulders lifted in a graceful shrug.

‘What I’m trying to say, Sophie, is that you’re not like the women I usually date and that...’ He bit back a curse. ‘I can’t treat you the way I would them.’

She nodded. ‘Because I’m Peter’s little sister.’

Exactly.

‘And I can’t treat you like the guys I’ve been dating.’

‘Because I’m Peter’s best friend.’

Very slowly she shook her head. ‘Because I like you.’ Her eyes grew shadowed. ‘And because of who you were to Peter—yes, that too. It means I want you as a part of my life for...’

Things inside him clenched up tight. ‘For?’

‘Forever. Permanently. I know I’m a trial to you. I know you probably don’t even like me all that much.’

What the hell...?

‘But it means I don’t want to mess things up between us.’

Where had she got that idea—that she thought he didn’t like her?

‘You’re one of the few links I have left to Peter and I can’t bear the thought of losing it.’

Her grief went so deep and he intended to do whatever he could to help her over it. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘It will if we mess this up. If we lose our heads and forget ourselves...just once...then we’re not going to want to see each other again.’

Her words were like a punch to the gut. Because they were true.

‘It’s what I meant when I said we were playing a dangerous game.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘If you found me unattractive that would be—’ She broke off. ‘But you don’t.’

And he realised then what she’d made explicit but had left unsaid. She didn’t find him unattractive either. The knowledge made his blood roar.

Hell.

He ground his back molars together and counted to three, pulled in a breath. ‘You have my word that I won’t lose my head.’

He would not let her down.

‘And you have my word.’

They had to be cautious, circumspect. He couldn’t let himself feel too comfortable with her...and yet they both had to cultivate an appearance of tranquillity with each other for outside eyes. She was right. This could be trickier than he’d first envisaged. But not impossible.

Her lips lifted and she rolled her eyes.

‘What?’

Before he knew what she was about she’d leaned in, stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

His heart crashed in his chest. His cheek burned where her lips had touched him.

She eased back, adjusted her cardigan. ‘Right. Your turn.’

She was trying to make kissing him as natural as possible, and he had to do the same. ‘Believe it or not,’ he said, ‘it’s my pleasure.’

He pressed a kiss to her brow and tried not to notice how soft and warm and vibrant she felt beneath his lips.

She huffed out a laugh. ‘Well, in that case I choose to believe it. Right, sit.’

She gestured to the sofa and he took a seat. She came from behind. Her arms slid around his shoulders, making him start.

‘You do that downstairs and you’ll give the game away.’

He nodded and gritted his teeth. ‘Do it again.’

She eased back, walked away and then moved towards him again and bent down to slide just one arm about his shoulders. He rested his hand on her forearm and felt a tiny tremor run through her. He pulled in a measured breath and her scent flooded his senses. ‘You smell nice.’

Nice? That’s the best you can manage?

She smelled sensational—fruity and warm, like Christmas. Though Christmas was months away.

‘It’s my body lotion. Frosted cherry. My favourite.’

They broke apart at exactly the same moment. This was exhausting, but he saw the wisdom of it. They needed to give the impression that they were physically comfortable with each other.

When nothing could be further from the truth.

‘Your turn.’ He waved her to the armchair.

She sat, leaned back, crossed her legs—for all the world as if she were completely at ease.

Time for them to get this over and done with.

Her eyes widened when he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and leant down towards her, effectively locking her in and leaving her nowhere to escape. ‘Lips?’

She glanced at his lips and then back into his eyes and nodded. ‘Dry lips,’ she whispered. ‘And we keep it brief.’

Every cell in his body burst to life. He recited, Peter’s sister, Peter’s sister, Peter’s sister, over and over in his mind. ‘I want to tell you something before we do this,’ he murmured, his gaze not dropping from hers.

She swallowed. ‘Okay.’

‘You’re wrong. I like you just fine, Sophie Mitchell.’

Her lips parted as if in shock. He couldn’t resist the pull any longer. His mouth lowered to hers, lips brushing lips—light, teasing and nowhere near enough. She stiffened, but then he felt her force herself to relax. And then she leaned forward a fraction and pressed her lips more firmly against his and kissed him back.

Wind roared in his ears. It took all the strength he had to not deepen the kiss, to not engage lips, mouths, tongues and hands.

Biting back a groan, he pulled back to stare into stunned blue eyes. They were a deeper shade of blue than he’d ever seen before.

She pushed him away and launched herself from the chair like a horse from a starter’s gate. ‘We better keep that to a minimum.’

She was darn right they were keeping that to a minimum!

He’d kiss her cheek, her brow, the top of her head, her hand, but he had every intention of staying as far away from those lips as possible. They were lethal!