He’d grown up with his eyes wide open. No use expecting happy endings because it didn’t happen. He hated disappointment, more than he hated losing. Thankfully, as Amber strolled towards him on the arm of her father, he was far from disappointed, and when she looked at him, that tentative half-smile playing around her mouth, he knew he’d won.
The civil service flew by in a blur of words and promises. All he could remember afterwards was the way Amber had looked, clad in a cream chiffon dress that hung in pointy layers to her ankles, with her hair loosely piled on her head and adorned with fresh flowers. That, and the way her hand had felt in his, warm, small, trusting.
He would look after her, that much he’d promised. He took his vows seriously, like everything else in his life and he knew the woman with the woebegone expression that had just become his wife needed protection and nurturing, despite her feisty attitude.
Take now, for instance. She paced like a thoroughbred filly at her first race meet, barely pausing long enough to take in the view from the thirtieth story penthouse he’d rented. Her hands trailed over the furnishings, as if seeking tangible evidence of what she’d done. He downed his champagne in three gulps, still amazed at the hunger raging through his body whenever he glanced at her.
He picked up a champagne flute and strolled towards her.
“Here. Time to celebrate.”
She turned to him, her eyes wide. He caught a glimpse of fleeting fear before she took the glass from him.
“Thanks.” She dropped her gaze quickly, finding the buttons on his shirt infinitely more interesting than his face.
He reached out and caressed her bare arms, unable to keep his hands off her. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
She didn’t break his hold, though he could’ve sworn she almost flinched.
“I don’t know anything about you.” Her whisper echoed in the silence as his hands stilled, her uncertainty short-circuiting any intention he had of rushing her towards the bed and ravishing her body.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything...everything...” She finally met his gaze, her vulnerability piercing him to the core.
Hell, what had he been thinking, to marry this woman and expect to keep her at arm’s length? Of course she’d want to learn more about him, to share a part of his life; he didn’t know if he was ready to do that yet. He’d learned to shield his emotions at an early age. What chance did he have to change now?
Hoping to deflect her, his hands trailed up her arms to rest lightly on her shoulders. “We have all the time in the world.” He stroked the tense muscles under his hands, watching her slowly unravel before him.
“That feels so good,” she murmured, dropping her head forward as the scent of fresh jasmine filled his nostrils, sending an electrical impulse from his smell receptors to his overloaded brain.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today?”
He wrestled with his libido and wondered how something as simple as a floral wreath could compliment her dress. She hadn’t worn any jewellery, apart from that infernal toe-ring which had been clearly visible through the flat sandals she’d worn. As she’d drifted over the lawn towards him, he’d thought she walked barefoot until she came closer and he glimpsed the single ivory strap over her toes.
Nothing this woman did would’ve surprised him and arriving barefoot at her own wedding would have confirmed what he already knew; she didn’t conform easily and wouldn’t be caught dead doing so. He couldn’t wait until she met his conservative, immaculately-coiffed mother.
“This dress was my mum’s.” She swayed towards him as he continued the massage. “Dad said I looked just like her today.”
“Then your mother must’ve been a stunner too.”
Her eyes flew open, their gold-flecked clarity driving all rational thought from his mind. “Speaking of mothers, what are your family going to think of me?”
He’d wondered the same thing though he hadn’t lost any sleep over it. The only member of his family that mattered was his grandma and he had little doubt Ethel St. John would welcome her new granddaughter with open arms. The old woman loved to do anything that opposed his mother’s wishes and if acknowledging Amber as part of the Rockwell’s would set his mother on her ear, his grandma would do it.
He smoothed the frown from Amber’s forehead with a finger. “Don’t worry about them. You’re married to me, not the family.”
“But won’t they have expectations? From what you’ve told me, your mother will eat me alive.”
Her persistence touched him. Not only would his mother have a field day belittling his choice of wife, she’d enjoy it too.
“Leave her to me. Now let’s forget about them and concentrate on us.” His finger left her forehead and trailed down her cheek. Her lips quivered as he outlined them with his finger; he yearned to slip it inside the warm slickness of her mouth but he held back. She looked ready to bolt.
“Us?” He’d been right. She virtually shook as he drew her into his arms, whether from excitement or trepidation, he couldn’t tell.
He smiled, hoping to reassure her. “You. Me. The fact that tonight is our wedding night.”
“Oh, that.” She moistened her lips with her tongue, staring at him as she did it. “Give me a minute.”
He watched awareness flare in her eyes as she slipped from his grasp and padded across the carpet. She closed the bathroom door, leaving him thoroughly aroused. Was she toying with him? One minute, she looked fragile enough to shatter, the next she looked like every man’s fantasy with those full lips and bedroom eyes.
Shrugging out
