The Marriage Debt

CHAPTER TWO

‘I SEE.’ Devin straightened, and folded his arms, his face showing only guarded curiosity. ‘What is it? You’ve overspent and need a loan?’

‘Nothing like that. I have a proposition for you.’

His brows rose. ‘A proposition?’

‘A business proposal.’ She had to put a positive spin on this, convince him that he wouldn’t be throwing cash down the drain. Devin was as hard-headed about money as any other successful businessman, probably more than most. ‘It’s an investment opportunity.’

‘A film,’ he guessed, his resigned, slightly contemptuous tone implying that he didn’t think much of the idea. His eyes strayed to a neighbouring table where a party of a half dozen women were chattering and laughing.

Shannon leaned forward to catch his attention, trying to infuse all her passionate belief in the project into her voice, her eyes. ‘A special film. It could be a great film if I can raise the finance. An international success.’

Devin still looked sceptical.

‘New Zealand is hot at the box office right now,’ Shannon pressed.

‘Right up there with Hollywood?’ Devin queried dryly.

Brushing aside the sarcasm, Shannon launched into her carefully prepared background pitch about the growing worldwide film market.

The party at the next table had ordered several bottles of wine and were obviously celebrating something. Shannon had to raise her voice a little.

The waiter brought their meals and Shannon picked up her knife and fork, but kept talking. She had hardly touched the tender pork medallions in their golden apricot and orange sauce when Devin, halfway through his medium-rare pepper steak, raised a hand. ‘Eat your dinner,’ he ordered. ‘It’s a shame to let it spoil.’

Maybe she’d said too much. Devin liked good food and good wine and enjoyed savouring it. She should have remembered that. In business she knew he was incisive, practical, getting straight to the point, known as a fast worker. But paradoxically he took his pleasures in more leisurely fashion, giving time to appreciating scents, tastes, textures.

He had made love like that, as if there was all the time in the world to explore the soft inner skin of her elbow with a fingertip, tracing the faint path of a blue vein, to sift his fingers through her hair and admire the silky fan of it falling against the pillow, to inhale the perfume she’d dabbed behind her ear, his tongue finding the shallow groove, and to delight in looking at her naked body, his head propped on one hand while the other made tantalising patterns about her breasts, her navel, touching lightly, teasing until she raised her arms and pulled him fiercely to her, unable to bear the exquisite torment any longer.

‘What are you thinking about?’

His voice brought her back with a jerk to their surroundings. She realised she was sitting with her fork in her hand and probably a dreamy expression on her face. Hastily she lifted a piece of pork to her mouth, ducking her head as she cut another tender slice. ‘This sauce,’ she said. ‘It’s delicious.’

She must stop thinking that way, stop remembering. Their marriage was history now and they’d both come a long way.

She’d heard that Devin was spending a lot of time in America, after setting up a branch of his company there. After their split she’d consciously avoided places where she might expect to meet him, although she couldn’t escape the odd news item, the unexpected encounter with a photograph in some magazine picked up in a doctor’s waiting room, or an article about his company on the business pages of the daily paper.

She had hoped that when they did meet face to face she’d be able to confront him with indifference, their shared past a distant memory.

But one look at him and it had all come flooding back. The almost instant attraction of their first meeting, the golden-hazed weeks of his whirlwind courtship, their wedding day when the world was full of dazzling promise and they were certain their love would last forever and a day, despite the scarcely hidden dismay of his parents and family. The incredible pleasure of their lovemaking, and the way they’d seemed to be two halves of a whole, neither of them complete without the other.

And then the gradual disillusion and the pain of parting.

‘Dessert?’ Devin offered when she pushed away her plate.

Shannon shook her head, dispersing the memories. ‘Maybe some cheese.’

A burst of laughter from their neighbours drowned her voice and Devin frowned. ‘What?’

‘I’ll have the cheese board.’ Shannon didn’t share his surprising sweet tooth, but if he wanted something more she needed to be occupied rather than waiting for him to finish.

Devin ordered a chocolate mousse cake that came garnished with a generous swirl of whipped cream. He cut off a slice with a fork and offered it to Shannon.

Before she’d thought, she opened her mouth and allowed the morsel to slide onto her tongue. The achingly familiar, intimate gesture brought an unexpected sensation of tearing grief and regret. Appalled, she quickly swallowed the melting mouthful and grabbed at her wineglass, downing a gulp of red dessert wine to steady herself.

‘Don’t you like the cake?’ he asked her.

‘It’s fine,’ she answered huskily. ‘Very…rich.’

He took a piece himself, half closing his eyes as he savoured it. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured. ‘Superb.’

Shannon nibbled at bits of cheese while Devin finished the dessert. When he was done she pushed the board to him. ‘Help yourself.’

He had a sliver of New Zealand-made Edam and a small piece of Gruyère, then said, ‘Coffee?’ And as the hilarity at the next table reached a new pitch, ‘Or we could go back to my place and have it there.’

‘Your place?’

‘It’s not far.’ Watching her hesitate, he said with a touch of impatience, ‘You know me better than to imagine I’m luring you into my lair for nefarious purposes. And it’s a quieter place to talk than this.’

She had to agree with that. ‘I could give you coffee at my place,’ she offered reluctantly.

‘Mine’s closer. I’ll see you home later.’

Maybe he’d feel more kindly disposed to her plans if she fell in with his suggestion. Though why he’d made it she wasn’t sure. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you’d prefer.’ He looked amused at her acquiescence, and she wondered if he was bending her to his will simply because he could, knowing she wanted something from him. Devin liked to be in control of any situation.

After settling the bill he ushered her back to his car, and within five minutes he was driving into an underground garage below one of the city’s newer luxury residential buildings.

His apartment was on the fifth floor, and he guided her into a large room with a picture window giving a view of the Waitemata Harbour at night, all winking city lights reflected like shot satin in the dark water.

Shannon’s high heels sank into a slate-grey carpet, and Devin seated her on a deep couch covered in burgundy leather. Another couch and two matching burgundy chairs flanked a thick glass coffee table supported by hoops of burnished metal, and holding a striking bronze sculpture of an eagle with outspread wings.

‘I’ll get the coffee,’ Devin said, walking to a wide doorway through which she glimpsed pale grey tiles and a granite counter.

A functional kitchen, she guessed, designed for efficiency. There would be no hanging bunches of dried herbs, or potted fresh ones on the windowsill, no antique utensils decorating the walls, as there had been in the cramped cottage she’d fallen in love with when they’d been inspecting the brand-new, soulless new town house for sale next door.

After noticing her yearning across the fence at the colonial relic with the overgrown lawn and neglected shrubs, Devin had made the owners an offer they couldn’t refuse. An army of workers repaired the rusty guttering and worn boards, and modernised the kitchen and bathroom while Shannon had enlisted the help of an art director friend to bring the other rooms back to their quaint glory.

The place hadn’t been at all suitable for Devin’s lifestyle. Dinner parties had been necessarily small and intimate, and most of his business entertaining was conducted in restaurants, his office building or hired spaces.

After the break-up he’d lost no time, she guessed, in moving into this place.

Pale green walls showed off a couple of striking black-and-white photographs and a superrealist painting of a stream bed, every rounded rock and ripple in the water rendered with breathtaking precision, creating an irresistible urge to touch and check that it was only paint. Open glass doors led from the living room to a spacious formal dining room with a long table and high-backed chairs.

Everything looked elegant, expensive and impersonal.

Shannon ran her hand along a couple of rows of books on long shelves, finding biographies, history and true crime stories, a number of tomes dealing with economics and business practice, a pile of National Geographics and a few other magazines. She was back on the couch, leafing through the latest issue of Time, when Devin returned with two bulbous ceramic mugs and sank down beside her, handing her one.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Tell me what the film is about.’

She picked up her coffee, instinctively curving her palm about the warm, smooth shape of the mug. ‘Have you heard of the Duncan Hobbs trial,’ she asked, ‘here in Auckland in 1898?’

‘Should I have?’

‘It was briefly mentioned in a TV programme last year.’

He shook his head. ‘What did Duncan Hobbs do?’

‘He was supposed to have raped the sister of his best friend’s fiancée. The trial hinged on the evidence of his friend, the future brother-in-law of the victim.’

‘Was he an eye-witness?’

‘No, the evidence was mostly circumstantial. And not very consistent.’

‘So, is this a whodunit?’

‘A sort of did-he-do-it, anyway. But the point I’m more interested in is the personal dynamics—the change in the relationship between the engaged couple, the two sisters, and most of all the accused and his friend who was called on to testify…the choice he had to make as the key witness.’

Devin looked thoughtful. ‘Support his best friend, and maybe alienate his bride-to-be…?’

‘Exactly. It’s a fascinating, true mystery story, and great for film. But expensive—the historical costumes and props, and even finding and adapting the settings, all add to the costs.’

‘Couldn’t you update it?’

Shannon shook her head. ‘Attitudes have changed since then. They didn’t even have women on juries, and a rape victim was often blamed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or for leading a man on. There are all sorts of reasons why it wouldn’t work transferred to the twenty-first century.’

Devin leaned back a little. ‘You seem to be in a hurry. It’s not as though the story is topical.’

‘I have a draft script, most of my crew almost ready to go, and I thought I had backing in the bag, but at the last minute I missed out after all.’

‘How much do you need?’

When she told him, he didn’t blink or move, but it was a second or two before he spoke. ‘That’s a lot of money.’

It was an enormous amount to her, but he was accustomed to dealing with sums that sported mind-boggling numbers of noughts. ‘I don’t know where else I could find the finance at short notice. And it’s not actually a huge budget for a film.’ She rushed on in the face of his stony silence. ‘It isn’t a big story with a cast of thousands and lots of special effects, but it could be an award winner, and do well overseas. The thing is, if we don’t go into production soon the people I’ve lined up will have to take other work. Even Craig—’

‘Craig?’ A frown raked between his brows.

‘I want him to play the witness.’ And he wanted the part too. She was under no illusion that it was for her sake alone he’d pushed her into contacting Devin. She pulled several folded pages from her bag. ‘I know most of the names won’t mean much to you, but this is a short description of the project, with a list of potential cast and crew members and their credits. If you need me to explain anything…’

Devin nodded, and skimmed the pages while she watched, holding her breath.

Finally he looked up at her. ‘I take it you’ve explored every other avenue before coming to me.’

‘Everyone and anybody I could think of.’

‘You went to people who know about the film business and they all turned you down.’

Shannon said frankly, ‘I guess they weren’t willing to invest that kind of money in a director with only one feature credit to my name. But I’ve lots of experience with my own short films and several assistant director credits. If they’d give me the chance I can do this. Or if you would…’

‘A chance to the tune of millions of dollars.’

‘It’s a drop in the bucket to you!’

Devin laughed. ‘Quite a few drops, in fact.’ He stood up, strolled across the carpet and back, stopping within a few feet of her, regarding her with a disconcerting stare as if he wanted to see into her mind, her heart. ‘This really matters to you.’

‘I know you never thought much of my career, but it means a lot to me—’

‘That I do know,’ he said, ‘since it’s the reason you left me.’

‘Not the only reason.’ But she didn’t want to get into that argument. There were dangerous waters there with hidden shoals. ‘The thing is, will you help or am I wasting my time?’

‘That depends,’ he said, regarding her almost absently for a few seconds. A silky, ominous note in his voice, he said, ‘What are you offering me in return?’

A tremor ran through her. Warning bells were ringing somewhere deep inside her mind. ‘If it’s a success you could make a pretty good profit.’

‘A big if.’

Shannon couldn’t dispute that. But she guessed Devin would make certain that if anyone gained financially from the venture, he did.

She tilted her head at a defiant angle. ‘I can do it,’ she reiterated, trying to infuse all her certainty into the words.

‘You have great faith in yourself.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’

Something complicated flickered across his face. ‘I remember those words,’ he said softly. ‘But it didn’t take you long to forget them.’

For a moment she was lost. Then she flushed. ‘That isn’t true! And it has nothing to do with this. We’re talking about a deal here, a business deal.’

‘You wouldn’t have come to me if we hadn’t had a personal relationship.’

She said fervently, ‘Believe me, if I’d known anyone else who could afford to help me I’d have gone to them first.’

A gleam entered the dark eyes. ‘So I’m a last resort.’

Had she offended him? Bad tactics. Trying to sound humble, she said, ‘Put that way, it sounds like an insult. I didn’t mean it to be. I just don’t like asking favours…of anyone.’

‘Especially me.’ His face as usual revealed little of what he was thinking.

‘I know we parted in anger, but after three years surely we can behave like civilised adults.’

Devin smiled, a slight, contained movement of his beautiful masculine mouth. ‘If you can, I can.’

‘Then will you think about this?’ Shannon hoped she didn’t sound as if she were begging. Trying for a more businesslike manner, she offered, ‘I can draw up a formal proposal if you like, draft a contract.’

‘I’d prefer my own lawyer to do that, I think.’

‘Then you will think about it?’ What the hell if she was begging? She would get down on her knees if necessary.

‘I don’t suppose you have any collateral to offer,’ he asked, ‘or guarantees?’

Shannon chewed on her lower lip. ‘No. I have a car, but my flat’s rented. I spent everything I had getting the script pulled together and hustling for grants or commercial backing.’

‘I see.’ He was looking at her in a speculative way that made her uneasy. Maybe he enjoyed watching her squirm.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’re stringing me along I wish you’d just tell me it’s no go. I’ll find someone else…somehow.’

‘Don’t be so hasty. I haven’t said no.’

‘But you’re not saying yes!’

‘I need a little time to consider your…proposition. And maybe,’ he added slowly, ‘I have one of my own.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘How badly do you want this money?’

‘You know I’m desperate. You said so yourself.’

He seemed to be looking through her rather than at her. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but Devin had never been easy to read. His emotions were hidden behind his classic, slightly austere features.

At last he spoke. ‘I’ll give you the money, but there’s a condition.’

About to say, Anything! Shannon curbed the rash impulse. ‘As long as it’s not creative control over the project I can probably meet it.’

‘Oh, you can meet it all right. All you need to do is say yes.’

‘Yes to what? If you want your name in the credits I can bill you as co-producer if you like.’

A strange, unsettling smile lurked on his mouth. ‘Not that.’

Shannon shook her head. ‘Then what do you want?’

For a second or so he kept her on tenterhooks. Then he said, without any change in inflection, ‘I want you, Shannon.’

CHAPTER THREE

SHANNON stared, the significance of the words sinking in. ‘You don’t mean…’

Surely he wasn’t suggesting what she thought he was.

Devin said, in that same level, apparently reasonable tone, ‘I mean exactly what I said. Do you have a problem?’

It was a moment before her voice would work, and when it did it was higher and shriller than she’d intended it to be.

‘Damn right I have a problem! You can’t ask me to agree to that!’

‘I can ask you to do anything I please.’ He thrust both hands into his pockets and rocked back slightly on his heels, his eyes focused on her face. ‘I can’t compel you to agree, of course. The choice is entirely yours.’

She stood up, her knees shaking. ‘If this is a joke, you know what you can do with it.’

‘You surely know me better than that.’

She gathered up her bag, straightened and stared at him with angry, indignant eyes. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to treat this seriously.’

Devin shrugged. ‘Take it or leave it.’

Of course she couldn’t take it. Nobody in their right mind would accept such a barbarous bargain. ‘You know I won’t!’ she snapped.

‘What’s to stop you?’ His voice turning low and coaxing, he said, ‘I’ve missed you, Shannon. I’ve missed…this.’

He reached for her, in almost leisurely fashion, and to her later shame and despair she scarcely resisted when he drew her into his arms. One hand still clutching her purse, she instinctively raised her arms, checking herself before they went around him.

But when his mouth found hers, with a remembered confident persuasion, her heart tumbled over, and within moments her lips opened beneath his.

It was a kiss of surprising gentleness, seductive and slow but very thorough. Her eyes fluttered closed, the dancing harbour lights seeming imprinted on her lids, and she could have sworn the room was revolving in a sensuous waltz.

When Devin relinquished her mouth and she opened her eyes in a dazed stare, she saw him looking back at her with a questioning and grave expression. His eyes glittered and there was colour in his lean cheeks, the underlying bones appearing more prominent. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one.’

He brought his mouth down again to hers, but this time she pushed against him, trying to break free, very nearly in a panic.

Although he didn’t release his hold, his mouth lifted, his eyes burning. ‘You don’t hate me,’ he said, his voice like heated black satin. She could almost feel it brush over her skin—they were so close that his breath touched her still parted lips.

She whispered, her shocked eyes held by his mesmerising gaze, ‘I never said I hated you.’

She pulled away from him, trying to maintain some equilibrium. Devin let his hands drop from her waist, brushing over her hips before he let her go. ‘Would it be so hard to accept my condition?’

‘You really do mean it,’ she said in disbelief. ‘You’re offering me money in return for…for—’

‘For being with me again. It wouldn’t be too much of a hardship, would it?’ His expression was curiously watchful. ‘Why don’t you stay tonight?’

She moistened her lips. ‘You make it sound so easy.’

Devin inclined his head. ‘It’s very simple. You say yes, we…go to bed, make love. Just like old times.’

‘And tomorrow,’ she queried, her throat raw, ‘you’d give me a cheque? Payment for sex?’

He blinked, as if she’d shocked him. His eyes narrowed. ‘For one night? Your price is too high.’

‘One night or many, it makes no difference,’ she pointed out, her voice shaking. ‘Your…condition is unacceptable.’

‘You’ve misunderstood me.’

‘How?’ she demanded. He’d been pretty explicit, she thought.

‘I want more than sex. More than one night. I want you back in my life, Shannon. In my home. My bed.’

‘Why?’

Devin looked down for a moment as if she’d caught him unawares with the question. ‘Why?’ he repeated. Then, slowly, ‘Call it…a trial reconciliation.’

She looked around the coldly glossy designer-created apartment he called home now. He couldn’t be serious. Despite the devastatingly sexy kiss she couldn’t help suspecting some other motive than a sudden overwhelming desire to attempt a renewed relationship.

‘A trial?’ she repeated. ‘For how long?’

‘As long it takes…’

‘To make the film? It could be five or six months!’ She knew she sounded appalled.

A shadow of annoyance showed in his eyes. ‘That’s the deal,’ he said curtly. ‘Don’t pretend it would be so enormous a sacrifice.’ Arrogantly he added, ‘You still want me.’

She could hardly deny that. Not after the way she’d succumbed to his kiss.

‘You know I want your money,’ she said, fighting for some sort of equilibrium. ‘And you’re saying you’d be willing to give it to me if I agree to…sell myself to you?’ Her whole being revolted at the idea, and she had to question his motive. He’d had three years to suggest a revival of their marriage without resorting to a kind of extortion that was guaranteed to arouse her hostility.

‘You’re making it sound sordid,’ he said shortly.

‘You were the one who did that!’ she said with scorn. ‘I just want to make sure we both know what the terms are.’ Surely he could see that his blatant attempt at manipulation could only backfire—if he was genuinely interested in a reconciliation. ‘I assume,’ she said, in an attempt to make him see the enormity of his suggestion, ‘you’d have it written into the contract and signed by witnesses?’

He said stiffly, ‘This would be a private arrangement. Between the two of us.’