To Love, Honour and Disobey

Oh, well. That was going to be interesting. ‘It’s almost over.’ No hiding the thank-goodness-for-that in her tone. She smiled brighter to make up for it.

‘I’m staying on for a bit after.’ He grinned too, as if he knew her sentiments and understood the relief. ‘Doing some sightseeing on my own.’

‘Great.’ Good luck to him. She’d be on the plane and getting on with her life. But before then they had a week to get through. She processed the thought: they didn’t need to mix together much—could sit apart. Yet it was such a small environment on the truck. If only she’d made more of an effort with the other passengers she could hide amongst them. But she’d kept herself to herself—just quietly taking in the sights and enjoying her freedom.

The truck bounced along the road taking them further from the village. For once Bundy seemed intent on picking up the speed. Ana kept her focus on the vast landscape, enjoying the slight wind cooling her burning skin. It was a converted old army truck. The tarpaulin roof was invariably pulled right back so they could see all around, and be slow cooked in the sun. Only it was no slow cooker today—she felt as if she were being grilled on high.

The bang was loud. She lurched forward, bumped her head on the seat in front of her and in the same instant was thrown back into her seat.

‘Ow.’ It was the shock more than anything that made her cry out.

Swearing voices seemed to surround her. Loud and lots. Bundy in the cab hollered up an apology and an explanation. A blown tyre. She kept her eyes closed, feeling sick at the way her brain still rattled back and forth against her skull.

Fingers gripped her shoulder. Skin touched skin. She was compelled to turn. The sizzle kick-started her heart and she squeezed her eyes tighter together. Not wanting to acknowledge what he made her feel.

‘Ana, are you OK?’

She said nothing.

‘Ana?’ His fingers moved, stroking her shoulder, her arm. Every spot he touched burned. It was a wonder the smoke wasn’t curling up between them as he kindled her senses.

She opened her eyes. Looked straight into the face that was so familiar yet was so different. Leaner, somehow more taut. He was looking right back at her—too close; their gaze locked. Instantly the voices of the others were muted. She heard nothing but the growing rush in her ears. It had been so very long. So long since her toes had curled in instinctive delight, so long since she’d felt that restlessness inside.

Her brain was thickening, but her blood thinning—zinging with mercurial fluidity around her body. She was melting, her core defrosting as yearning rose—for the passion that once made her mindless. His passion.

Her lips parted but no sound emerged. Mesmerised, she watched the lights shift in his eyes. The pale blue sharpened—reflected the shock. Then his pupils swelled, the darkness swallowing the ice. She could see the tension as the tiny muscles worked, narrowing his gaze just that little bit.

Her own eyes were fixed wide—she couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe.

After an age his attention dropped. She could feel his focus. Could read his mind and for just one moment she wanted it.

A kiss.

She jerked, pulling away from him. Concussion. Had to be. That could be the only explanation for that random moment of lunacy.

His hand fell and she heard him mutter the word she’d once ached to hear.

‘Sorry.’

So was she. Sorry he’d just walked back into her life. Even sorrier that her body seemed determined to celebrate the fact.

‘I’m going to help with the tyre.’ He stood.

She pasted another smile on her face as if that halfsecond had never happened. ‘Great.’

A week with Seb on board. She could handle that. Sure she could. No problem.

Chapter Two

ANA spent the next minute reminding herself that although Sebastian Rentoul had made her feel truly desired for the first time in her life, he had also been the cause of her darkest heartache. He’d been the flame that had burned through her until all that had been left inside was cold ash. The loss she’d felt took her breath away—her life’s blood. And he had no idea.

The only thing that mattered to him was his job. In that he was ruthless—viciously determined. He did whatever it took to climb to the top—wasn’t that why he’d done what he had with her? They’d been a one-night stand that went on a few days too long—a weekend getaway that had culminated in a wedding. Ana had been infatuated; she understood that now. Intoxicated by his desire for her, overwhelmed by how right she had felt in his arms. For once she hadn’t been too tall, or awkward. They’d been so physical her usual reticence hadn’t mattered—they’d been too busy to talk. She’d breathlessly, brainlessly said yes. And she’d been so excited about their future.

But it had lasted less than a week. Because when they had returned to London, and he to work, she’d found out about his promotion—the one that had depended on him stabilising his personal life. It wasn’t that he’d fallen head over heels for her at all. He’d simply needed a wife—and she’d been the malleable fling of the moment. The naïve fool.

When she’d accused him of it he hadn’t been shy about admitting it, ruthlessly acknowledging that he had no real belief in marriage—that he’d never meant it to be for ever. And so she’d found out—too late—that his life was one big game. He was a playboy. And he’d played her. Sebastian Rentoul got everything and anything and anyone he wanted. That conversation had been short and brutal. She’d walked out—run away. But for her, the worst had yet to come.

So in the end it took only thirty seconds to underline why she was definitely, totally, not going there again. But it was half an hour until the tyre was changed and they got back on board. Seb returned to the seat next to her and her pulse was still too fast, too erratic.

There was nothing for her to do but box on through it. ‘How’s work going?’

He sent her an ironic look. ‘It’s going well. Lots of cases. I’ve been working long hours.’

And partying even longer hours, she bet. She’d been wowed when she’d found out he was a lawyer—had been such an ignorant idealist. But Seb wasn’t that kind of lawyer. He didn’t don wig and gown and go defend the innocent or the persecuted. He did divorce. Representing high-powered wealthy people embroiled in the bitterest of partings.

Seb swung into action for them—dividing, conquering—making sure the cougar kept the house or the serial sleazoid avoided the alimony. Knowing his powers of persuasion, she knew it was a waste of his talent. He should be in the criminal courtroom. He’d have a jury free a man despite evidence caught on camera and with DNA back-up.

‘So you got made partner?’

That was why he’d married her. Not because he’d fallen as madly, deeply, passionately for her as she had for him. Not because he too had been swept away by a kind of madness. No, he’d had a far more clay-based reason for proposing than her helium-filled one for saying yes. There’d been some archaic belief in his old-school firm that the partners needed to have a stable, respectable home life. Not the girls-a-go-go playboy lifestyle that Seb had.

She should have figured it out sooner—that he hadn’t meant any of it. He’d picked her up in a bar, for heaven’s sake—as if that were any real start to a serious relationship? In minutes he’d seduced the brains out of her. Just as he did with a different woman every week. Only she’d been so gullible and needy she’d believed him when he’d said she was special. She’d been stupid enough to step onto a plane with him and take off for a sex-drenched mini-break on an island famed for its sun and sand. An island where, if you were so inclined, you could even get married.

And she’d been so inclined. She’d been so desperate to believe. How badly she’d wanted to believe that someone had fallen in love with her just like that. So stupid—as if that would happen? But a childhood lacking in love and full of loneliness did that to a person.

‘Yes.’ Seb sighed. ‘I checked all the boxes, didn’t I? Have wife, will progress.’

‘You don’t have a wife.’

‘I do,’ he replied, lifting his hand, showing the wedding band.

‘Another one?’ She deadpanned, ignoring the spike of adrenalin. ‘My God. You’re a bigamist.’

He laughed. She stared as his face broke up—she saw his full lips widen, teeth flash and his eyes light. And then there was the sound. It was like having plugs removed from her ears. Hearing that freshness, she felt sweet warmth sweep inside. She couldn’t help responding, her lips curving.

‘Ana. We’re married. Still married, in case you’d forgotten.’

Of course she hadn’t. She was working to end it, wasn’t she? ‘We’re only married on paper, Seb. And not for much longer.’

‘What do you mean only on paper?’ His eyes twinkled brighter. ‘I remember consummating our marriage, Ana. I remember the night on the balcony. I remember the way you—’

‘All right.’ She held up her hand, stopping what she knew was going to be a totally inappropriate recollection. ‘So I’m your wife. How the hell do you explain it?’

‘You don’t like city life.’ He angled his head and looked at her as if he were a medium reading her mind. ‘And for all I know that might actually be true. I decline invitations on your behalf and don’t participate in client functions myself. I’m very devoted.’

‘To what, my absence?’

‘It’s very useful.’ He nodded. ‘I can say no to my lady clients and go up in their esteem at the same time.’