Be My Bride

THREE

‘You do not have to see me to my door.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Liam wasn’t letting Victoria walk out of his life again. At least, not yet. Not when there was this much unfinished between them. He was going to get something from her today. Even just an admission. He wanted to hear her say it only the once, a whisper even. She reckoned she didn’t want him? She reckoned wrong. He knew that as well as she.

‘I have to work.’

He knew that too. ‘I’m not asking to stay the night.’ Though he would if she offered. One night was all he’d need. Why she could do this to him, he didn’t know, but from the first second he’d seen her it had been there. That hot response in every cell of his body.

Want.

But he wasn’t the kid he’d once been. He wasn’t going to lose it as he had back then—he was in control of everything now, right?

He’d experienced lust plenty of times. Course he had. Had acted on it too. But it had never been as extreme as it had that night he’d first met Victoria. When she’d opened her mouth and answered him back? When she’d been as enthralled as he had?

She still was. He’d seen it flash in her eyes when he’d walked into that room, before she’d had a second to school her face. He saw it now in the way she went out of her way to avoid touching, or even looking at, him.

But he looked at her. And he wanted to touch. In fact he wanted to provoke—that would only be fair. Because that rampant lust was back as bad as it had ever been.

He followed her up the stairs, trying hard not to stare at her sweet curves. Instead he glanced around, checking out her digs. The distraction was not good.

The stairwell was poorly lit but he could still see the grimy, peeling paintwork and he could smell something horrendous—like several stale dinners mixed with the stench of wet wool. How many tiny apartments were squished into this ugly building? They passed a million doors as they marched on. No wonder she was looking fit given all these stairs she had to climb.

‘So you’re doing the garret-in-Paris thing?’ He ground the feeble joke out. This place was hardly the Left Bank and giving her a nice view of the river.

‘I’m not starving. I’m doing very well,’ she said as they finally got to the top floor. She unlocked her door and paused. ‘And calligraphy is a craft as much as it is an art. I’m happy.’

‘Good for you.’ He ignored the ‘goodbye’ in her tone and walked right past her, into the shoebox of an apartment— a child’s shoebox at that. ‘But there are better garrets. With better views.’ He frowned, learning all there was to know in a swift glance. One room with a cupboard for a kitchen and another for a bathroom. The place sucked.

‘I don’t need a better view. I only need good light.’

She’d set up a small workspace in the room. The biggest bit of furniture was her desk. Angled and pushed against the window to maximise use of the natural light. On a flat desk beside it was her computer. Against the far wall—as if it were an afterthought—was the smallest single bed he’d ever seen.

The place wasn’t miniature doll’s-house cute, it was cramped.

‘How can you work in here?’ He looked away from the itty, bitty bed. ‘It’s hardly a ‘studio’ is it?’ It wasn’t big enough for anyone to be comfortable in. Not even petite blondes with leaf-green eyes.

‘That’s exactly what it is.’ Her chin lifted high, as if she was just waiting for the criticism.

Confronted with that expression, much as he wanted to criticise, he found he wasn’t going to. She was trying—­independent and alone. Far more than she’d been five years ago. Good for her, right? Except for some reason it annoyed him more. Why should it matter? Couldn’t he, of all people, understand the need to succeed?

‘Why don’t you come to my hotel and work there? I have a suite—it’s three times the size of this place.’ He knew before he’d finished saying it that it was a mistake. He knew how she’d react—call him worse than a flirt. Thing was, he meant it. Grudgingly. It wasn’t a line.

‘Oh, please, that was so unsubtle.’

Yep, she boxed him right back into flirt mode.

‘But we wouldn’t have to share a bathroom this time.’ He walked up to her, giving into her expectations—and his own need to provoke. And stand closer. ‘Unless you wanted to.’ He smiled and lifted a hand to her jaw, unable to resist touching her again. ‘Now, that was unsubtle.’

He’d never forget the time he’d walked in on her in the bathroom. It had been his first night there that Christmas break. To his relief she hadn’t screamed the place down. She’d been mortified. In truth so had he. He’d covered up by joking, of course. But he’d soon got derailed. The towel had covered her most private parts—parts he’d ached to see. But there’d been so much damp skin on show and with the steam and the sweet scent of her soap? Of course he’d made a play. A huge one.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he’d learned she was Oliver’s girlfriend—the one he’d been with for a couple of years. Who Oliver’s family loved and expected him to marry. The good girl who slept in her own room when she stayed—not Oliver’s. It was all so perfect.

But it was already too late. Liam had been young and dumb and so callow. He’d mistaken insta-lust for love at first sight. He’d been unsubtle in his attention. Unable to stay away.

‘That wasn’t just unsubtle.’ Victoria lifted her chin sharply, so his fingers slipped from her skin. ‘That was sledgehammer.’

‘This is a dodgy neighbourhood,’ he said, wishing he could see her out of here.

‘Don’t try to get me there under the pretext of caring for my welfare.’ She looked amused.

There was no shifting her. And—albeit reluctantly— he respected that. ‘So where do you see it—’ he waved his hand at her desk ‘—in a few years?’

‘You want to know my business goals?’

Yep, oddly he did. ‘How are you going to expand when it’s so dependent on you? What happens if you sprain your wrist or something?’

‘I have business insurance. In terms of expansion—is it necessary? I only need to make enough for me to live comfortably.’

A single bed was never comfortable, no matter how slight she was. She clearly needed to make more than she currently was. ‘How are you going to factor in holidays? When you own your own business, it’s very easy to forget about holidays.’

‘How do you factor in holidays?’ She laughed at him.

‘I love my work. Work is a holiday for me.’ Sailing was and always would be his first, his ultimate, passion. He loved the challenge on the water. It was his home—the place he felt safest. And the most free.

She turned and looked at him. Her green eyes were very bright—he felt their power right into his bones.

‘And you don’t think it’s possible for me to feel the same about my work?’ she asked.

Frankly? No. ‘Not in this environment.’ This place was stifling at best. ‘But maybe it doesn’t matter to you. Maybe you only see what you’re working on.’ He walked over to the scrupulously tidy desk. ‘You’re very good at what you do.’

Victoria couldn’t get over his nerve. He couldn’t try to make it better now with flattery. Not when he hadn’t even seen her work. He’d only seen that mess on the card at the chateau. She’d boxed the others away and right now her desk was completely clear. So he had no idea how good she was. Unless—

A horrible suspicion occurred to her. ‘Did you recommend me to Aurelie?’

He stilled.

‘You did. You Googled me. You found my website. You—’ She broke off.

For once the self-assured expression was wiped from Liam’s face. He looked guilty. He was guilty.

Victoria gritted her teeth. She couldn’t back out of Aurelie’s job now, but a huge part of her wanted to.

‘I didn’t think I was going to make it to her wedding.’ Liam offered an explanation. ‘And I never expected to see you even if I did. But, yes, I wanted to help.’

Help who—her or Aurelie?

It shouldn’t bother her. It really shouldn’t. But she didn’t want to feel beholden to him. And she’d felt so stupidly proud to have gotten this commission. That she was succeeding independently and on her own merit. Oliver had implied that her early success in London had only been because of his contacts. Not the quality of her work. She’d thought this job an antidote to that bite.

‘I mentioned your name when she was boring me with wedding details one day.’ Liam fiddled with one of the tins she had on her desk, pulling out the pencils one by one and dropping them back in. ‘She looked you up herself and decided whether or not to hire you. She likes your work.’

Victoria swallowed. She couldn’t let pride ruin this. She could still get business off the back of Aurelie’s wedding. Her work would speak for itself.

He glanced at her, his sharp eyes assessing. ‘You’re unhappy with me.’

‘Not at all,’ she lied. ‘It was very nice of you to suggest me to her. I’m amazed you could even remember my name.’

‘Come off it, Victoria.’ He stepped closer.

She instinctively retreated. Because sometimes he saw too much—past her polite veneer to what she was really thinking. And wanting.

‘You’re so determinedly independent now?’ he asked, his brows lifting at her attempt to put distance between them. ‘Can’t accept anyone’s help?’ A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Least of all mine?’ He let his gaze slowly lower— trailing over her body.

She stood her ground, hoping to school her response and this time truly hide her thoughts from him. But once again he seemed to know.

‘What are you so afraid of?’ he baited. ‘You have nothing to fear from me. It would only be the once.’

Victoria smiled, keeping the rest of her expression smooth. ‘Why? Isn’t it going to be very good?’

His attention snapped back to her face. ‘I’ve done the convenient relationship. It doesn’t work. One-night stands do.’

The ‘convenient relationship’? So he hadn’t been in love with Aurelie? Or was this his way of hiding his own deep hurt?

‘I’m not a one-night stand person,’ she answered honestly.

‘Maybe you should try it. Once.’

She held his gaze—still feeling that pull towards him, but she was older and wiser and stronger now. ‘You don’t like to give up, do you?’

There was a slight hesitation. ‘No. I told you I like to win.’

‘And that’s what this is?’ She gestured—fluttering her fingers towards him and then herself. ‘Like an event to be won?’

‘If we don’t explore it, there’ll always be that curiosity. Be honest,’ he drawled, taking another step closer. ‘You’re dying of curiosity. That burning wonder of what might have been.’

‘So poetic?’

‘It’s the Irish ancestry in me. And I’m right. We both know that.’ His voice dropped. ‘We also both know how good it’s going to be.’

‘Liam.’

His lashes lowered. ‘It’s always going to be like this,’ he muttered. ‘It’s inevitable. It always has been.’

No. She’d ceded control of her life for too long—always doing what others wanted. She was in control now.

He’d stepped near enough to touch her and now he did. Reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers on her shoulder.

‘Only once, you say?’ she asked, letting some tease out. Determined to make him pay for this casual attitude. As if all this was was sexual curiosity that could be assuaged in one hit.

‘Feel free to make me change my mind.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Love to see you try.’

She stepped back.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not happening.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Feel free to make me change my mind,’ she threw at him. ‘Go on. Do your worst.’

Startled, he stepped after her. ‘Victoria—’

‘Was this only ever lust? You’re so driven by base urges you ruined your friendship with Oliver? You almost broke up a relationship? For a quick fling?’

Or was it even less than that? She took another step from him, using the last bit of space behind her and bumping the backs of her knees against the small cot she called her bed.

‘Was it just your overblown need to win?’ she continued. ‘You’re so insanely competitive, did you need to get one over him? Was I nothing more than the trophy of the day?’ She kept her smile on but it was slipping. Quickly.

‘No.’ He frowned.

That didn’t satisfy her. ‘Then don’t cheapen this. Don’t cheapen me.’

Now he looked angry. ‘I didn’t betray Oliver.’

No?

‘I didn’t seduce you,’ he argued, standing so close she could feel his warmth and almost taste the salty ocean breeze that he always seemed to evoke. ‘And I could have.’

‘You think?’

‘I can’t give you everything you want. I can only—’

‘You don’t know what I want.’

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘Marriage, babies, Labradors.’

‘I tried that. It’s not for me.’ Maybe she just wanted acknowledgement of what could have been between them. That this had been more than just a sexual attraction. That somehow, unbelievable as it might have been, there had been a real connection between them that week.

‘So what do you want?’

‘A career. My business.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I was making headway before the divorce. Oliver hated that I was more successful than he was.’ The banking crisis had hardly been her fault. Hundreds in the city had been laid off—Oliver had been one of them. But for whatever reason, her little enterprise had gained traction. But after his affair and the divorce she’d lost it. Now she was back at the beginning. But she believed in it. In herself. ‘I want to build this up into something great. And to do that I need to finish this for Aurelie. That’s what I want. To have work coming out of my ears. For people to love my work.’

He was silent, his eyes boring into her, for a long moment. Then he glanced around her small room again. The plain, utility style room with her neatly lined tins and stacks of paper and materials.

‘That’s all you want?’ he asked.

‘That’s all I have time for.’

‘No time for anything else?’ He suddenly smiled, wicked-incarnate again. ‘Not even one night?’

‘Typical.’ She rolled her eyes, her good humour lifting at the swift return of his. ‘You just want to bang the one who got away.’

‘What, and you think you’re unaffected?’ he teased. ‘I see how you look at me.’

She averted her eyes immediately. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘But true nonetheless.’ He nodded. ‘Look, I respect your aims. And you’re right, you have no time. But let’s clear the air a little.’

In what way exactly? That wicked look in his eye was only growing.

‘I don’t think the air needs clearing,’ she said firmly. ‘One kiss,’ he tempted. ‘We never even kissed.’

That was true. She’d turned away. She still didn’t know how she’d managed it. But she was repeating it now— there’d be no kissing.

He laughed at her expression. ‘Don’t look so worried. It might be a huge let-down.’

‘I thought you were too much of a Casanova to let any woman down that way.’

‘You might let me down,’ he taunted.

‘You’re questioning my abilities?’ She winced at the high pitch of her attempted comeback. Not exactly sizzling.

His smile came so quick, so lethal it shot heat into her abdomen. ‘Well, how good are you?’

‘Better than you.’ She snapped the obvious answer straight back—smart all the way and unwilling to concede a thing.

His smiled broadened.

But hers faltered. She thought about what she’d said. Fact was she was more fizzle than sizzle. The fantasy was shattered. She wasn’t good at all. She’d had one lover in her life—Oliver. And he’d gone and found greater warmth with another woman.

‘Victoria?’

Liam’s smile had died. Was it concern that he was looking at her with? She looked away again. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want a pity kiss, she didn’t want to be a disappointment.

‘It’s not going to be good.’ She cleared her throat and then glued on a smile so he’d think she was feeling it as an easy joke. ‘So let’s just keep it as an unfulfilled fantasy.’

He muttered something, she didn’t know what. She just wanted him to leave now. She had a headache coming on, she had so much work to do. And the emotional spin he’d put her in? It was like going through the washing machine on heavy duty. Only he wasn’t washing away all those old emotions. He was hauling them out again— the stains of the past. Want and desire and silly things that she’d forgotten about.

Except she’d not forgotten. And it still wasn’t the right time. It never would be.

He touched her. His hand cupping, then lifting her chin. She couldn’t look at him. All that sass-talk of a few minutes ago fled, leaving her empty inside. Doubt flurried into the vacant spaces within. He might have stuck with only one girlfriend for a while, but he was still vastly more experienced than she. He’d laugh at how hopeless she was.

He stepped closer, into her space. ‘Look at me.’

She swallowed, trying to suck back the stupid pity moment. She lifted her chin herself, working her stiff mouth into some kind of smile, summoning the words to brush him off and escape this embarrassment. She didn’t need to be mortified. She didn’t need to kiss him and be exposed. He knew too much as it was.

‘Liam, I—’

He put his hands on her waist. Firmly. Her gaze collided with his and was captured. Whatever she’d meant to say slipped away.

Silence. Heat. Sensation.

Light from the late summer sun streamed through the window, encasing him in a golden glow. There was no hiding from his scrutiny, or his expression. And his expression revealed desire. Naked want.

Victoria blinked but couldn’t tear her focus away from the fire in his eyes. His hands slid over her firmly, shaping her hips. Her hands were useless—her fingers curled into fists. She held them pressed tight in the space just beneath her breasts. She stood as still as a small bird aware of a predator too close by.

He swept a hand to the small of her spine and then downwards. He pressed her forward, until her hips collided with his. She trembled at the searing impact—the shocking, undeniable proof of his attraction. That big bulge pressed against her—instantly scattering some of her doubt. Her dry lips parted so she could draw in a shaky breath. He stared, his focus fixed on her eyes.

They must have shown him something good, because his mouth eased, one corner lifting slightly.

He pressed her closer, then eased the pressure before pressing her against him again. He didn’t break contact with her, but the rippling rhythm intensified the sensations cascading through her. Her skin felt scalded—as if she’d been plunged into a pool of boiling water. She couldn’t look away from him, from the way he was watching her so intently. Lulling her. Inviting her. Making her feel as if it was all going to be okay.

It was going to be more than okay.

Breathing became difficult, as if the heat between them had burned all the oxygen. She tried to draw more air in. But breathing deeper took her chest closer to his. She lifted her hands—pushing them against his rock-hard heat. But slowly, unable to resist the urge, she stretched out her fingers to splay them over his broad chest. Through the navy cotton she could feel his skin burning, and she could feel the strong, regular drive of his heart. She pressed her lips together again—firmly, trying to ease the swollen feeling of them as her blood pulsed faster to all her most sensitive extremities.

He shifted, planting his feet wider. Both his hands were at her back now. Bending her into his heat. Saying nothing in words but everything in actions. She felt the impact right to her toes.

I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.

She heard the words in her head though his mouth hadn’t moved. Nor had hers. Did he say it? Did she? Or had she just dreamed it?

Her throat was tight; she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried. But she felt the most intense yearning deep within herself. And within him.

She was so hot. And that heat slid in greater waves over her skin as he teased, pulling her closer, closer, closer. Stringing out that searing tension. Tormenting her with his steel-strong body.

Until she could no longer bear it.

Until she lifted her chin.

Until her lips broke apart as she gasped in defeat.

Until in hunger she pressed her mouth to his.

He instantly moved, wrapping his arms right around her, locking her fast into his embrace. One hand held her core against him, his other swept firmly up her spine, to her neck and into her hair. Tangling there. His lips rubbed over hers, firm and warm and possessive. His tongue teased—a slide across her mouth, then a stroke inside—tasting, taking.

She quivered at the intimacy. Her nerve endings sent excitement hurtling along her veins and deep into her belly. She slid her hands over his shoulders, exploring their breadth before smoothing her palms on the back of his neck, his head. Holding him. She’d dreamt of holding him so many times—but never had she imagined she’d feel as hot as this.

Her breasts were pressed to his chest. She shivered in delight as her taut nipples rubbed against him. Her pulse sprinted. It was too quick, her heart thumping too fast, too hard. She couldn’t breathe at all. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to break the seal of her lips to his. The moan came from some place buried a mile within her.

Such a long time.

The kiss grew hotter, wetter. So did she.

Her body weakened, strengthened, slid. She wanted to fall to the floor and lock her legs around him. Wanted the weight of him, all of him on her, inside her. Most of all she never wanted it to stop.

He held her close, taking her weight with his large, strong hands. Kissing her the only way a woman should be kissed in France—stroking her tongue with his, nip-ping her lips. She felt the spasms inside, the precursors to physical ecstasy. It wasn’t going to take much—but she wanted it all.

She felt flayed, so hot it felt as if her skin could be peeled from her. It was so much more than a kiss.

Nothing sounded in the room but roughened breathing and the occasional moan pulled from that locked place inside her. It threatened to burst out of her completely. He pulled her closer, crushing her against him. Her fingers tightened on him as uncontrollable desire smashed into her. She wanted him. Everything. Now.

‘Liam.’

He broke away, his head snapping back with a violent jerk. His eyes went straight to her mouth. ‘I’ve bruised you.’

He hadn’t. She liked the kissed-to-full feeling. She wanted more of it. She wanted him to fill her in every way imaginable.

His eyes were wild and wide, but his face was surprisingly pale. He coughed. ‘I’m leaving now.’ His breath came fast and uneven.

‘Okay.’ Her wits were completely scattered. And it wasn’t okay. She didn’t want him to go.

He cleared his throat. ‘You have to work.’

Work? Oh, yeah. She did. ‘Okay.’

‘So I need to go. Because if I don’t go now…’ He looked at her.

‘Okay.’

‘Victoria?’

‘Okay.’ She just sat where she was, landing on her miserable, single bed. Her legs felt wobbly, her brain fried.

He hunched down in front of her and looked into her face. ‘Okay if I stay or okay if I go?’

She stared at him. Then her glance slid past, to her table—and she remembered all the ink and pens and pretty card she had to spend hours over.

‘I’m going to go,’ he repeated roughly, standing.

She looked back at him—encountering his long, strong, legs. ‘Okay.’

Cold descended on her. If he hadn’t made that decision, if he hadn’t pulled back, she’d be beneath him right now and not caring at all about the deadline hurtling towards her. Well, not ’til she’d come floating back to earth.

Then she’d feel bad.

‘Your timing is so lousy,’ she said softly. ‘It always was.’ He whirled away, scooping up her small bag from where she’d slung it on a chair when they’d first got in.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

He’d unzipped the bag and pulled out her phone. Now he tapped the screen. ‘If you don’t want people playing with this, you should put a password lock on it.’

‘That slows me down.’

‘And you don’t like to go slow?’ A whisper of a chuckle. ‘We’re not so different, you and me.’ He tapped the screen a few more times, then walked closer, stretching out his arm to hand her the phone but staying well out of touch zone.

She took it, watching his face but unable to determine a thing.

He looked back at her. With a small sigh he took one step closer and ran a finger along her lower lip. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘Okay.’ Victoria tossed the phone onto the bed before she dropped it from her trembling fingers. How was she supposed to work now? How could she possibly hold her pen with a steady hand? She clenched her fists.

He’d gone already. The door banged, she could vaguely hear the thuds as he headed down the kazillion steps. And what was she doing sitting here like a lemming?

All she’d been able to say was okay. Okay, okay, okay.

She punched the jelly feeling from her legs and stood. She was as pathetic as she’d been all those years before. So meekly acquiescent. All her progress had been obliterated in less than a minute. From what—some kissing? To just swoon in his arms and say okay? It was beyond pathetic.

Why hadn’t she shoved him away and said enough? Or, given she’d really wanted it, why not haul him close and have him completely? What was with the passivity? Why had she let him make the decision for her?

She wasn’t the malleable, eager-to-please girl she’d once been. She couldn’t revert to that type. She had more focus and strength than that now. But that weak part of her whimpered—so good. It had been so good.

Fantasy, she told herself. Just fantasy. Even though she’d blocked him from the forefront of her brain, she’d built him up. Finally being in his arms, it was sensory overload. Anyway, it had been so long since she kissed a man. Over a year. Maybe it wasn’t him; maybe it was hormones? Her body saying she needed to get out more, score herself something of a social life?

Or just score.

She closed her eyes and pulled on some strength. She’d work. She’d fake it. That was what she did these days. She’d get this work done. Then she’d find a love life.

And she’d never see Liam Wilson again.