To Love, Honour and Disobey

‘They really think you have a wife secreted away somewhere?’ She was intrigued now. Did he really feed them this rubbish?

‘Well, I do, don’t I? But they don’t know that not even I know where the hell you’ve been. I have your picture on my desk. Looking soulfully into the lens.’

‘You’re kidding.’ He had to be. ‘They honestly believe you?’

‘I guess.’ Sebastian shrugged. He didn’t care what they all thought. Frankly since he’d been so grumpy the questions had stopped early on and he hadn’t had to lie—except by omission. And since he’d taken himself right out of the social scene and thrown himself into work, he’d proved himself beyond worthy of the promotion. It was what he should have done in the first place. There’d have been no need for that stupid piece of paper and the confusion that had blown up between them.

He’d laugh about it one day. Honest he would. But until he’d demanded that her best friend Phil finally tell him where the hell she was, he’d always wondered if something had happened to her. Sure she’d left him a message, but when he’d followed up on it he’d discovered it had all been lies. She’d vanished. And he’d been left with that nagging worry. And the regret. He’d been horribly blunt when she’d asked him straight out about why he’d married her. He hadn’t meant to hurt her—he’d liked her and had sure as hell liked sleeping with her.

But it only took one look at her now to know that he’d been wrong to worry. She was looking great. So much skin. So much inviting skin.

He shouldn’t have touched her before. He was here to get closure, not to rekindle that out-of-control flame. ‘I think they think you’re not well or something,’ he said. ‘They don’t ask any more. Quiet sympathy offered all round.’

‘Rather than sex.’

Oh, so she could do sarcasm, could she? He laughed, cringing a little, but he couldn’t blame her—after all, he’d told her about the last one, hadn’t he? ‘They wouldn’t dare. Not believing I’m so devoted.’

All those inviting looks had dropped. Had he known it would be so simple he’d have invented a wife a couple of years ago. Saved himself this current mess. Getting made partner at Wilson & Crosbie had been his ambition since before university. He was there now. But there’d been no chance of a partnership while single; the old boys in the firm were ultra-conservative. They didn’t want their well-heeled lady clients eyeing him up, or the estranged young wives of their male clients confusing the agenda. And they certainly didn’t like the entire secretarial pool coming to a complete halt every time he walked past their desks. And given he’d had a fling with one that had ended with the girl in constant floods of tears at work, maybe they had a point. Apparently they felt he needed a wife.

He’d been going to force it. Point out the ridiculousness to the firm—he was a divorce specialist, for heaven’s sake. But that had been just before he’d met Ana. Fate had lent a hand. He’d been so hot for her—whisking her off to have his wicked way. And one afternoon in Gibraltar when he’d been intoxicated by sun and sand and so much glorious sex he’d had the most stupid idea. She’d agreed and they’d married the next day.

Her eyes slid from his. ‘So how are you going to explain the divorce?’

He felt the devil surge in him and was unable to stop the temptation to tease. ‘Maybe there won’t be a divorce.’

‘What?’ Wide-eyed, she shook her head. ‘There’ll be one. You can count on it.’

‘You’re that desperate to be rid of me?’ Why? Did she have another man? Where was he? And why was she on a truck cruising around Africa?

‘Of course I am.’

‘Then why’s it taken so long?’ It was the best part of a year since she’d walked out and he hadn’t heard a word until those papers had landed on his desk.

She looked away, didn’t answer directly. ‘Don’t you want a divorce? Good grief.’ Her face flashed back towards him. ‘Do you still need a wife to keep your precious job? That’s insane.’

He opened his mouth, about to correct her, but she surged on.

‘I’ll fight you for it, Seb. Don’t think I won’t. Really you should sign quickly. Otherwise I might go after your money.’

He laughed again, shaking his head at the weakness of her threat. ‘No judge would buy it, honey. You’re the one who deserted me, remember? After a mere three days of marriage. I’m the wounded party, the heartbroken one. It’s more likely that I’d get some of your money.’ It wasn’t, of course, but he’d take the chance of snatching the moral high ground all the same. Just for once.

His smile died. ‘Why now, Ana?’ Why, after months of silence, of him not knowing where she was, had she sent him the papers now? ‘Have you met someone?’

‘That’s none of your business, Seb.’

It wasn’t. But it was the question burning a hole inside him now. Where had she been, what had she been doing this last year? Because she looked good—so mouth-wateringly good. How irritating.

His last year had been nothing but hard work. But until this moment he hadn’t put the difficulty directly down to her. He thought it had been the situation that had strangled his usually raging sex drive. That their mess of a marriage and the resulting awkwardness had put him off women for a while. But that ‘while’ had stretched on and on. He was still totally uninterested in dating. Hadn’t even had a casual one-night stand since. Mind you, that was how he’d started with her and he wasn’t risking a similar disaster. Besides, he hadn’t met anyone who’d pushed his ‘on’ button.

Except he was switched on now.

By her. He couldn’t believe how attracted he still was to her. Well, that was dumb. Because one thing was for sure: it wasn’t happening again.

Ana suppressed the sigh and tried really hard not to look at her watch again. Every hour seemed to be taking five times as long to pass. Their conversation had just cut out. He’d turned away from her and focused on the scenery. As had she. With rigid determination.

Why hadn’t she sent the papers sooner? Because for those first few months she’d been too ill to do anything. And then when she’d been physically better, emotionally she hadn’t been ready to cope. Finally she’d emerged from the darkness—she’d salvaged something from the experience and she’d begun to dream up her business. She’d concentrated on doing a couple of courses—building her confidence, feeling as if she was achieving something. And she’d worked, saved, prepared to relaunch her life. Only then had she been sure she could deal with Seb—or at least instruct her lawyer to.

Finally they arrived at the campsite. It was part of a snake park where they could look at the deadly Black Mamba—apparently it took only one bite and then you had mere moments to write your will. It’d be good if one could get up close to Seb. Or maybe one of the crocodiles would be better—could swallow him in one big gulp. That would definitely mean she could put the whole thing behind her.

Ana stretched as she jumped down from the truck, trying to uncurl the kinks and soften up the tension that was rampant in every one of her muscles. Another night, another tent pitch—after three weeks of wrestling with the canvas she was a bit over it.

Bundy walked over. ‘You two will want to share a tent.’

What? Ana turned and found Seb right beside her. Every muscle seized again. Why on earth would Bundy think that?

‘Yeah.’ Seb answered before she managed to breathe, let alone think.

‘Set up just beyond that tree over there. That way you’ll get a little privacy.’ He winked.

Ana gaped.

‘Thanks,’ Seb said.

It was one of those all-bloke moments where there was nothing for her to do but turn her back and pretend that that grin swap between the two men hadn’t happened. That she wasn’t going crimson with embarrassment.

No. It was rage.

Seb pulled a tent bag from the pile and went over to where Bundy had indicated. Ana stomped after him. Privacy was indeed necessary because she was about to commit first-degree murder.

‘Why does he think we’d want to share a tent?’ She just managed not to shout.

‘I told him we’re married.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Well, we are. It was how I could get on the truck at this late stage.’

So Bundy thought it was going to be some happy reunion? She narrowed her glare. ‘I thought you said our meeting on the truck was a coincidence.’

He grinned. ‘I lied.’

She whirled on him quick smart. ‘Not for the first time, Seb.’ Oh, yes, in with the knife.

But he just smiled wider with appreciation. ‘I underestimated how good it would be to see you too, Ana.’

As if this were good? She’d never planned to see Seb again. And she certainly wasn’t going to spend a night in a tent with him. Prickling heat washed from her scalp down. The only person who’d known where she’d gone was Phil. She was totally having words with him when she got back to London.

Irritated, she watched how quickly Seb assessed the tent parts lying in a heap where he’d tipped them out. Yeah, it wouldn’t take him the best part of an hour to figure it out first time as it had her. She hated how tiny the school-camp-like pup tents were. It had been almost bearable when she’d been on her own. But with Seb? She was just over six feet. He wasn’t far off six and a half. Neither of them could sleep in there without curling up and they both couldn’t do that in there unless they curled up together. She wouldn’t be able to breathe. She couldn’t breathe now when she was in one of the widest open spaces in the world and he was two metres away.