The Boss’s Convenient Bride
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The plane touched down, and jolted several times before it settled to a steady taxi along the runway. All too soon they had dispatched the formalities, collected luggage, and been deposited outside an ultra-modern glass and timber bungalow that had the sea practically lapping at its foundations.
The place looked romantic, of course. All sleek, sun-beaten wood and shiny see through panes. Indeed, the entire island was a veritable paradise.
Claire tried to visualise herself outside the bungalow door, seated at a desk in her working clothes, with a notebook perched on her knees.
Businesslike, she chanted to herself. Business, business, business.
'Is the bungalow for me or for you?' She tried to sound calm, cheerful, as though they hadn't recently clashed wills. As though she wasn't a jumble of confusion inside. Not to mention her rioting hormones.
Noticing that her shoulders were tense, she deliberately relaxed her pose. 'It looks very nice. I thought we might have rooms in the resort hotel, but one of these would be good, too. Not that I would mind the hotel.'
She was actually reduced to babbling. On that thought, she snapped her mouth shut.
Nicholas's lips twitched. 'The cabin is for both of us. Let's go in and unpack. We'll have about enough time for that, and a drink, before we have to change and head over to the hotel for an evening with the Forresters and the others.'
'I thought I'd made it clear I won't sleep with you this weekend.' When he didn't respond, simply looked at her with one brow irritatingly lifted, she ploughed on. 'In fact, I have very strong feelings about the sanctity of marriage altogether. A bride should wait for her husband. For the wedding night.'
There had to be some women who still thought that way. She might have herself if she hadn't been so attracted to Nicholas that she struggled even to string two thoughts together in his presence. But she had to take a stand on this, so she threw back her head and stared him down with the steeliest expression she could muster.
'Are you a virgin, Claire? If so, there's nothing to be scared about, you know. Sex was made to be enjoyed.' His voice dropped to a deep, intimate rumble. 'Between us, I know it will be very enjoyable.'
'I know that.' A fiery heat swarmed up her neck and into her face. 'I mean, I know I don't have to be scared of sex. I've done it.'
Not that it was particularly great that one time, but that's not the point.
'I'm talking about what my feelings are now,' she said, 'and now, I want to wait for the marriage.'
For the marriage that isn't ever going to happen. I'm trying to keep things uncomplicated here, Nicholas, and you're not helping a whole lot.
'"When it's right for us to make love, we'll make love.' He took her suitcase from her, lifted his into his other hand, and stepped inside. 'I doubt you'll want to wait for the wedding night. There's way too much awareness between us for that. But I guess time will tell.'
Make love. If only.
'You can't just force me into your bed and have your way with me, you know.' The idea made a wholly improper surge of anticipation skim along her pulse points. 'This isn't some situation with a - a - a Neanderthal man dragging off his mate by her hair. I tell you, I'm a modern woman. I understand my rights, and I know some karate, too. Don't think I won't use everything I know. I won't co-operate, even if you throw me down forcibly and-
'Why don't you choose a room?' He dumped the suitcases on the floor and strode across the tiled living room to flick a switch on the airconditioning unit. 'Unpack your things, then we'll have that drink I promised and get ready to head across to the hotel.'
'Choose a room?'
As in, one of the two rooms. As in he had no intention of forcing her to do anything. He wasn't even inviting her, for heaven's sake. Mortification spread all over her like a rash.
'Right. I'll, uh, I'll do that. I'll go and, um, choose a room.'
Was it possible to suffer death by embarrassment? Claire felt close to finding out!
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