Bride for Real
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Tally responded flatly, uneasily aware of the sparks smouldering in the atmosphere and the essentially volatile nature of Sander’s temperament.
Yet she saw changes in Sander too. His recent dazzling success in the business world had boosted the element of darkness in him, giving his lean, strong features a tougher, more ruthless edge and accentuating his hard masculinity. Sander had also acquired an intimidating degree of implacability. And she noted now, registering in surprise, that in the aftermath of their marriage her estranged husband also believed that he had an axe to grind and was in no mood to let bygones be bygones. At that moment it struck her as strange that she had never before acknowledged the likelihood that he might blame her for things just as she blamed him. In retrospect, she was shaken by the extent of her tunnel vision and her view of herself as the victim of his cruel insensitivity. Had she truly fallen into the trap of believing that she was a perfect wife?
‘Miller wouldn’t like the fact that you’re here in this house alone with me,’ Sander proclaimed in a deceptively indolent tone.
Tally was tempted to say that Robert Miller minded his own business but that would immediately reveal that theirs was a friendly rather than intimate relationship and she did not see why she should hand Sander that interesting information on a plate. No doubt he would be amused to learn that when she had last made love with a man it had been him; and that had been at least eighteen months ago. She knew Sander’s hot-blooded nature and was certain that he would have moved on much sooner than she had contrived to do. A bitterness she could not suppress rose like bile in her tight throat as she still could not bear to think of Sander with anyone else.
‘Robert knows better than to try and tell me what to do,’ Tally replied drily, her chin lifting, green eyes glinting as if to say: Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
Sander released a husky laugh that purred down her backbone like a taunting scratch. ‘You surprise me; you liked it when I did it …’
And that crack smashed through Tally’s superficial shell of civility like a brick and made her fingers flex like claws and her face burn as red and hot with mortification as any fire. She knew exactly what he was getting at. In the early months of their relationship, Sander had often told her what to do in bed while he explained what he enjoyed. Not only had she had no objection to that intimate education, but she’d also discovered that it turned her on.
‘That’s it … I’m leaving!’ Tally snapped furiously, stepping past him to snatch at the car keys she had tossed down on the side table. ‘You can dump my stuff. I don’t want any of it!’
But Sander’s reflexes were much faster than hers and long brown fingers scooped up the keys a split second before she could. ‘You’re not driving off in the temper you’re in—’
‘Give me those keys!’ Tally launched at him in a burning rage at his interference.
‘How long did you wait before you welcomed Miller into your bed?’ Sander enquired, relishing the sight of her all shaken up, stray strands of hair flying loose from the smooth bun at the nape of her neck while her green eyes crackled like fireworks. All of a sudden she was the woman he remembered again. No other woman of his acquaintance had ever equalled her passion, but the conviction that she had taken another man as a lover was like a knife in his chest and he couldn’t leave the subject alone.
‘You’ve got no right to ask me that!’ Tally hurled, her cheeks burning as she reached for the keys.
Much taller than she was, Sander simply held the keys out of her reach. ‘I’m still your husband and naturally I’m curious—you barred me from your bed for months before we broke up,’ he reminded her harshly, his hard jaw line grim.
‘We’re almost divorced. I’m not having this conversation with you—now give me those keys!’ Tally hissed back at him in vexation.
‘No,’ Sander responded in Greek. ‘I won’t enable you to get behind the wheel in a blind rage …’
‘Oh, so caring all of a sudden!’ Tally raked back at him in a furious hiss of condemnation that she could not restrain. ‘Where did that caring guy go when we lost our child?’
Sander froze as though she had struck him. His dark eyes blazed with hostility before he veiled them, and his superb cheekbones clenched into hard angular lines below his bronzed skin. ‘That’s not something I’m willing to discuss—’
‘No, I didn’t think it would be,’ Tally spat back with raw contempt. ‘Not with your track record for working eighteen-hour days, or being back at your desk the day after the funeral of our child. All you care about is making more money … it doesn’t matter that in comparison to most people you are already rich as Croesus, you never seem to have enough money to be satisfied!’
Thick black lashes lifted on blistering, dark golden eyes as direct as knives aimed at a target. ‘How dare you? You carried our son, so you’re the only one allowed to be sensitive and have feelings, is that right?’
Unprepared for the immediacy of that scorching comeback, Tally muttered, ‘Well, er …’
‘We all cope with grief in different ways. I could have got drunk and slept with other women to express my wounded feelings,’ he grated in a tone of derision. ‘But that’s not who I am. I’m not into therapy or wallowing in emotion either, wasn’t brought up that way … sorry In my family we don’t whinge or talk about stuff like that. I worked every goddamned hour I could because the same day that I lost my son I lost my wife as well and working was the only way I could handle it!’
Totally disconcerted by that explosive response, which roared from him like a tornado set suddenly free from a cage, Tally had fallen back several steps in shock. She was already regretting her attack on him, wincing at how unwise it had been to break open the wound of that painful subject when she was still in the process of healing. Now catching the sheer rawness in his voice, and the caustic charge of bitter reproach in his hard gaze, Tally was paralysed to the spot and recognising in Sander a depth of emotion she had not acknowledged he might possess. Her conscience was already censuring her ill-considered words. Now she was asking herself why she had so hugely underestimated what he might be feeling when their child was born dead.
‘What do you mean … you lost your wife?’ Tally prompted unevenly, reluctant to ask but unable to let the statement stand unchallenged.
‘You acted as if you had cornered the market on grief and you turned into a zombie. You wouldn’t talk to me or go out or do anything but cry. You were suffering from depression but when I tried to persuade you to see a doctor or even a counsellor you went bonkers and told me that I couldn’t possibly understand what you were going through!’
‘I didn’t think you did … I was all screwed up inside myself.’ Tally struggled to defend her past behaviour, her heart beating so fast with tension that she could hardly breathe.
But Sander was not yet finished. Seeing her back inside the house where everything had so suddenly fallen apart had brought the past alive again for him in a way he had not foreseen. He was also reacting in a way he had not known he might and it was one of the very few times in his life that he was not fully in control. He had tried to swallow back the furious words that had come out of nowhere at him but found that he could not silence them, for his sense of injustice still burned deep and strong. ‘When I suggested we have another baby you reacted like that was unforgivable and you screamed that you didn’t want another child!’ Sander bit out in wrathful reminder. ‘And when I made the very great mistake of trying to get back into bed with you again you behaved as if it was an attempted rape!’
To say that Tally regretted what she had invited with her emotional attack on him would have been a severe understatement. Pale as milk, she was trembling with perturbation and disbelief, reeling in dismay from the bitter accusing anger he could not conceal. One minute she had been fighting him for her car keys, the next…?
‘I’m sorry,’ she framed shakily, appalled that she had surrendered entirely to her own pain after their loss while flatly refusing to recognise that he was having a tough time as well.
Sander loosed a harsh laugh. ‘Sorry’s not enough, is it? Sorry doesn’t fix anything!’ he flung back at her without hesitation. ‘Our baby dying didn’t stop me wanting you, it made me need you more …’
Shame filled Tally in the instant that she recognised that they had let each other down. Neither of them had been capable of keeping their relationship alive in the maelstrom of grief and misunderstanding that had followed the arrival of their stillborn son.
Sander tossed the keys back down on the table and turned his darkly handsome head back to her, eyes as black as pitch in the sunlight and glinting with emotions she couldn’t read. ‘And I still haven’t learned how to stop wanting you,’ he breathed in a sizzling undertone that stung her like a hot jet of steam on tender skin. ‘Is there some magical combination of aversion responses that I lack? You did a hell of a number on my libido, Tally!’
‘Sander …’ Shattered by that admission of continuing desire from the husband she was in the midst of divorcing, Tally stared at him. Her emotions in turmoil to the extent that she no longer knew what she was thinking or feeling.
‘In fact, wanting you is driving me absolutely crazy, yineka mou,’ Sander admitted darkly.
And for the first time in longer than Tally could remember, her body leapt with actual physical hunger. She was astonished as she had felt nothing for so long that she had believed that that side of her nature might be gone for ever. Was it the dark chocolate luxury of his deep voice that provoked the sudden rise of those long-buried needs? Or the sinfully sexual charge of his dark golden eyes? Tally had no idea but she felt a sudden clenching tight sensation low in her pelvis while her nipples stung into tight swollen buds of desire. Her mouth ran dry.
Like a rabbit caught in car headlights in the dark Tally gazed back at Sander, feeling as vulnerable as if he had stripped her naked and marched her out into a busy street. Yineka mou, my wife, he’d called her. And she was still his wife, she reminded herself helplessly.
‘Any idea what I can do about it?’ Sander husked that question, strolling closer with the silent elegant grace that was as much a part of him as his physical strength.
‘No, no idea at all.’ Tally had gone rigid, suddenly aware of a danger that she had not realised she might face. She had married a manipulative man and she knew it; indeed, she had once gloried in the level of intelligence and cunning that generally kept him several steps ahead of his business competitors. Sander was a remarkably clever and shrewd guy and now, somehow, she had no idea how, he was pushing her buttons and making her feel things she did not want to feel. As he advanced she backed away until she was trapped between him and the door.
‘You push me much too close to the edge, yineka mou,’ Sander murmured, tilting down his darkly handsome head and running the angular side of his jaw back and forth over the smooth soft line of her cheek like a jungle cat nuzzling for attention. The familiar sandalwood and jasmine scent of his expensive aftershave lotion made her nostrils flare while the faint rasp of his rougher skin scored her nerve endings into life.
Suddenly Tally felt like someone pinned to a cliff edge, in danger and swaying far too close to a treacherous drop. She didn’t want to be there, she didn’t want to fall either, but any concept of choice was wrested from her when Sander found her mouth and kissed her, strong hands firm on her slim shoulders to hold her still …
CHAPTER TWO
THAT single kiss was like dying and being reborn in the heady space of a moment. For one minute Tally was full of doubt and antagonism and the next she was seduced by the instant flow of response and the emotional intensity of her mood.
Her skin was cold and clammy with shock but her mouth was on fire beneath his, her nerve endings tingling as he pried her lips apart and plunged his tongue into the tender interior of her mouth. It was passion at its most primal level and a startled sound of protest broke in her throat as the naked flood of chemical reaction smashed down her barriers. Her head swam, her legs trembled violently and her hands clutched at his suit jacket to steady herself. His breath mingled with hers, sweet, so sweet, it was an unbearable aphrodisiac and her fingers rose to spear into his thick black hair and hold him to her while trading kiss for passionate kiss and revelling in the pressure of his warm sensual mouth on hers.
The breadth of his muscular chest crushed the swollen contours of her breasts and she pushed against him, defenceless in the grip of her overriding need to get even closer to him. A big hand spread across her buttocks and urged her into more intimate contact and she rocked against him, thrilled by the long hard ridge of his arousal, which even clothing could not conceal. Her hand slid down between them, small but highly effective fingers drawn into tracing the thrusting power of his masculinity. With a guttural groan he shifted even closer, inviting her touch while he bent down and used his own hands to lift her dress. His long sure fingers trailing up over the exposed length of her thighs until she shivered and shook with longing.
The heat at the heart of her was more than she could withstand and her thighs pressed together tightly as if to seal in the ache of need before easing apart again. She shivered as he found her most sensitive spot with skilled insistence, for her body was on a hair-trigger high after so many months of abstinence. He rubbed the tiny bud and she moaned out loud, quivering in his hold like an eager racehorse at the starting line—out of breath and empty of thought, fully possessed by her hunger. She felt the delicate band of fabric round her hips tighten and then it tore as, with a sound of impatience, Sander ripped her knickers in two to gain access to the damp pink folds so ready for his attention.
A choked cry escaped her as he explored the swollen silky flesh between her thighs and then he dropped down to his knees and used his mouth and his tongue on the tender tissue. Beneath that sensual onslaught Tally’s legs shook like mad. It was his arms that held her steady when all control was wrested from her by her enthralled response to his exquisite carnal expertise. Her body was on the very edge, surging and hurtling towards orgasm, when he sprang upright and lifted her. Something made of china broke noisily and he brought her bottom down on a cool surface but neither of those bewildering facts could interfere with the fire raging out of control inside her.
Sander hauled her back to the edge of the table with impatient hands and parted her thighs. He slid into her, long and impossibly thick and hard, stretching her honeyed channel to capacity. As he withdrew and then slammed back into her swollen softness again the delirious excitement washed back in an intoxicating tide. With each bold stroke erotic ripples of pleasure assailed her and he held her to him, his hands firm on her hips as he thrust deeper into her with every rhythmic movement. She was out of control and out of her mind with excitement. When he drove her into a climax she screamed in release, shuddering and shaking from the seething intensity of sensation that threatened to tear her body apart as she travelled from the height of stressed-out tension to ecstatic limpness.
‘You are still the most incredibly sexy woman I’ve ever met,’ Sander growled, breathing audibly as he pressed a string of appreciative kisses across the bridge of her nose.
Closing strong arms round her, Sander lifted her off the table to carry her upstairs. She was only dimly conscious of the fact that he was crunching over the broken shards of pottery and scattered blooms that were all that now remained of the floral arrangement that had sat on the table until they’d sent it flying.
So stunned by what had happened between them that she couldn’t think straight, Tally was nonetheless struggling to regain control. ‘What are you doing?’ was the best she could manage.
Sander did not respond. Dark golden eyes vibrant, he scanned her flushed face and simply settled her down on what had once been the marital bed. But then he had no desire to talk about anything other than the most superficial things. He had too many recollections of attempts to talk that had blown up in his face over a year earlier. Now, playing safe in silence, he wrenched back the bed linen, ignoring it when the silken bedspread spilled down in a heap on the oak floor. He followed Tally down to the mattress and began to kiss her again with a hunger that had not abated in the slightest.
Sander had always been great at kissing. The ravishing sensual force of his mouth on hers again rocked her from inside out. Nothing and nobody tasted quite as good as Sander. Roused from satiated weakness, she revelled in the renewed response of her own body, stretching up to kiss him back eagerly while he shed his clothing in fits and starts. The level of his continuing desire enthralled her and made her suspect that perhaps her estranged husband had been more faithful to her memory than she had ever had reason to hope. Surely only self-denial could make him want her so badly?
Tally was desperate to touch him, her palms skimming across his broad satin-smooth shoulders and down over his muscular, hair-roughened pectoral muscles before moving more skittishly lower.
‘Don’t tease me, yineka mou,’ Sander growled in a roughened undertone, his flat stomach muscles contracting beneath her spread fingers while a tremor of anticipation shook his long lean body against hers in a way that made her feel incredibly desirable.
‘I won’t …’ Tally collided with hot golden eyes and felt her heart jump. As he shifted against her, inviting her touch with the raw sexuality that only grief had made her resist, she refused to think of anything but the moment.
In the back of her mind Tally knew and accepted that later their encounter would demand a strict accounting from her and just then she was painfully aware that she couldn’t face it. How could she confront the conflict and mess of responses that Sander had roused in her from the moment she had walked out of his life and match it with her loss of control over events that afternoon? But, even as she avoided examining what she was doing, she was taking strong note of the fact that the guy she had let go to reclaim his freedom was getting straight back into bed with her the first chance he got. That gave her the most colossal kick of satisfaction and pleasure. It encouraged her to entertain the stunning idea that there might not have been other women in his life since their separation. And that heady suspicion somehow made everything that had occurred feel acceptable to her.
‘You’re irresistible, yineka mou, ‘Sander purred, cupping a pouting breast and catching the swollen pink peak between thumb and finger so that she quivered, heat rising from the very heart of her in response. ‘I can’t get enough of you.’
He wanted her again, wanted her even more fiercely
than the first time, the pulse at his groin more pressing than he could bear. He crushed her reddened mouth under his again and her senses drowned in the intoxicating flood of almost painful arousal thrumming through her reawakened body. Muttering her name against her lips, he pulled her to him and turned her over, groaning his acute pleasure against her cheek as he sank his bold shaft into her lush clinging warmth all over again. And if wildness had distinguished their first bout of intimacy, control and steady intensity distinguished the second. As he held her fast and plunged into her velvety depths again and again her excitement reached a height she had never dreamt of and she forced her face into a pillow and bit into the soft cloaking fabric to suppress the cries of a pleasure beyond bearing.
Afterwards she was so weak she couldn’t move and it was a blessed relief to allow the limp heaviness of her exhausted body to simply slump in the shelter of his cradling arms. For the first time in more months than Tally wanted to count she felt both content and happy and she fell blissfully asleep reassured by that conviction. Everything in her world might be in turmoil but it was a turmoil that felt astonishingly right.
Around dawn she wakened with a start and sat up, disorientated. The curtains weren’t drawn and morning light was stealing across the furniture in shades of peach and gold. But all that mattered to Tally in that instant was the reality that she was alone. The pillow beside hers was dented but empty; and the sheet was cold when her palm traced an investigative sweep across it. She leapt out of bed as though jet-propelled and paid the price for that impulsive movement, wincing as muscles stretched and complained and an ache between her thighs reminded her all too bluntly of how she had passed the night. It was the work of an instant to snatch up the bedspread and cover her nudity within its shimmering folds.
Tally peered out of the window and saw without surprise that the helicopter was gone because, when she thought about it, she did have a dim distant memory of the noise of its take-off at some stage of the night. Sander had slept with her then gone, and she felt gutted, not to mention feeling like the worst female fool since the start of the world. Like a woman in a bad dream, shattered and without any proper objective, she wandered down to the ground floor, stiffening in dismay when she heard a noise coming from the kitchen and almost retreating back upstairs again. A cleaner? Housekeeper? After all, both the flower arrangements and the level of cleanliness made it obvious that the house was being efficiently looked after.
A dark head appeared in the doorway and Sander, an impressive bronzed figure clad only in form-fitting silk boxers, gazed up at her with glittering dark eyes of enquiry.
‘I thought I heard something. I thought…’ But she bit back the remains of such a revealing admission, determined to save face. ‘I wondered where you were.’
‘I was making breakfast,’ Sander announced with staggering cool as if it were something he did on a regular basis rather than an entirely new departure for him.
Unshaven, hair still springy and damp from a shower, Sander looked as drop-dead gorgeous as a glossy tiger on the prowl. But no four-legged animal could have sported his muscular six-pack and long powerful thighs. Her heart was racing, her tummy flipping as she moved instinctively closer. ‘Breakfast?’
‘Just toast and coffee,’ he declared in case she might be at risk of expecting something more ambitious, which, with his track record, was most unlikely.
As she padded into the spacious kitchen diner she picked up on the smell of charred toast in the air. The windows were wide open, presumably to clear the lingering fug of smoke. ‘The toaster here is rubbish,’ Sander proclaimed in exasperation.
He made coffee so black and strong it was like treacle and it would upset her stomach, she reflected ruefully; he couldn’t cook, either—he couldn’t cook to save his life. He thought he could cook but his tools or his ingredients always let him down, whether it was a faulty oven timer or temperature gauge or a tough cut of meat. Convinced that any idiot could cook, he had no patience and was prone to taking disastrous shortcuts. She could picture what had happened this morning: he would have stood over the ‘faulty’ toaster and cancelled the operation because he couldn’t be bothered waiting for the toast to pop up on its own time. Then, when the bread was partially done, he probably had put it in the toaster again and it had burned. But Tally was touched that he was making what she could only interpret as a romantic effort on her behalf, even if his attempt to give her breakfast in bed was more likely to burn the house down.