LITMIR.BIZ

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      His eyes bored into her. ‘And why might that be?’

      She hesitated. ‘Because I’m finding this all harder than I imagined it would be.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I don’t know!’

      Three beats of music followed and Alej tightened his fingers around her waist, because it was the first time she’d let that cool mask of composure slip and inexplicably he found himself wanting to see what was behind it. ‘Do you miss your family?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘Do you wish your mother was here today?’

      She tilted her head back and he could see her throat constrict, and the tiny pearl which hung from the end of a fine gold chain quivered at her neck.

      ‘Yes,’ she admitted, her voice breaking a little, her free hand reaching up to touch the necklace. ‘It’s stupid, but I do. She was a terrible mother in many ways but she was still my mother.’

      ‘Is that her necklace?’

      She nodded. ‘My father bought it for her before they were married. She hardly ever wore it—said it was too cheap—but I love it. Far more than any of those flashy jewels which Paul bought her and which she ended up pawning anyway.’

      Alej felt a wave of something approaching sympathy until he quickly reined it back in. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for her. He wanted to feel only the things he could deal with—like lust and anger and the hot, sweet release of fulfilment. Because she’d never given a damn about him and his family, had she? Never even stopped to find out what had happened to his mother. His lying, cheating mother, but—as she herself had just said—his mother all the same. His mouth twisted. Of course she hadn’t. Because the little people were invisible to people like Emily. She might have affected to despise her snobbish stepfather, but maybe she’d absorbed more of his values than she’d been aware of.

      He put his lips close to her neck, his voice growing husky. ‘I’m bored with dancing and bored with people watching our every move. How soon before we can escape so that I can consummate this marriage of ours, because I am aching for you, Emily? Can you feel how much?’

      ‘We can’t...’ Her words tailed off as he slid his thigh between hers. ‘We can’t just leave the reception early in order to go to bed.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because that’s not playing the game we’re supposed to be playing,’ she said sternly, her voice taking on a note of firmness. ‘We have to at least look as if we love each other, even if it isn’t true—otherwise the marriage will appear to be a stunt instead of looking authentic, and that could easily backfire on you.’

      ‘So how would you like me to manifest my “love” towards you, Emily?’ he taunted, pleased to see her cheeks flush a deep pink in response to his swirling movement, which was making his hardened pelvis thrust against the slippery silk of her wedding gown.

      ‘We could try having a conversation, rather than making out on the dance floor.’

      He bit back a reluctant smile. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

      Her fingers curled against his chest, her hand a pale starfish against the dark material of his suit jacket, and he found himself covering it with his own.

      ‘What we’re going to do for our honeymoon, for a start.’

      With an effort, he dragged his thoughts away from the sensation of her breasts pushing against his torso, which was resulting in a punishing hardness in his groin. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘We take my plane wherever you want to go and stay in five-star luxury along the way.’

      ‘Not the best idea.’ She shook her head. ‘I think that will be counter-productive.’

      ‘Meaning?’

      ‘It will continue to make you look like some aimless playboy with more money than he knows what to do with and no general purpose in life.’

      ‘You may or may not be aware that wherever in the world I am, I work—and I work hard,’ he said coldly. ‘It is possible to do such things remotely these days.’

      ‘I know it is. But there will be no real focus for me, will there?’ She shrugged and seemed to find it difficult to meet his eyes. ‘It’ll just be all about...sex.’

      ‘It’s a honeymoon, Emily,’ he pointed out.

      ‘But not a real one,’ she reminded him sharply.

      ‘Are you telling me you’re unhappy about the idea of having wall-to-wall sex? That’s certainly not the impression you’ve given me so far.’

      ‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. But I’m still going to be working for you—and when we decide to call time on the marriage, I want to have achieved what I set out to achieve. Call it professional pride, if you like.’ She waited until the Argentinian ambassador had danced past them with a complicated sashay of his hips. ‘Do you remember my original brief to you in Melbourne?’

      ‘I’ve scarcely thought of anything else,’ he said sardonically.

      ‘When we talked about simplifying your life, you decided to sell off your home in France because, if you’re planning to be based in Argentina, it makes no sense for you to have a base in Paris. So couldn’t we...couldn’t we use the honeymoon to go there—and afterwards maybe go to your estancia?’

      ‘Why?’

       Because although I know it’s a kind of madness, I want to see some of the different facets of your life. I want to glimpse the private man behind the glossy façade. I want to see your homes—not just the fancy and impersonal five-star hotels you seem to spend your life in.

      But Emily had no intention of revealing her foolish thoughts to him, so instead she gave a careless shrug. ‘It might be an idea to choose whichever sentimental items you want to keep before your Parisian apartment goes on the market. It might be very satisfying to tidy your life up like that.’

      ‘I can think of only one thing which will satisfy me right now,’ he growled. ‘And it has nothing to do with the marketing of property and everything to do with the removal of your clothes.’

      ‘Alej Sabato! You are outrageous!’

      But he paid her half-hearted protest no heed, dancing her smoothly out of the ballroom and into the discreet elevator, which had exclusive access to the hotel’s newly designed honeymoon suite. The elevator doors had barely slid shut before he pushed her up against a rose-tinted mirror, his hand sliding inside the bodice of her wedding gown as he started to kiss her.

      ‘People will notice we’ve gone,’ she gasped against his urgent mouth, as, blindly, he jabbed at the top-floor button with his finger.

      ‘Who cares? We’re married, Emily. This is legal.’

      There was champagne on ice and roses everywhere but the moment their suite door swung closed, their only focus was on pulling at each other’s clothes. His suit hit the deck and her wedding dress lay abandoned on the carpet and soon they were naked on the great big honeymoon bed—save for the coronet of roses still pinned in her hair.

      Emily could see her wedding ring glinting gold as Alejandro pulled her into his arms, his eyes a blaze of green as he began to plunder her mouth once more. ‘Oh,’ she said breathlessly, as his hand slid searchingly over every naked curve, his unsteady survey of her flesh making it feel as if he were discovering her by touch alone. As if it were an eternity since they’d lain together rather than a matter of days. His name trembled on her lips. ‘Alej.’

      ‘Shh...’

      Afterwards she was glad he had quietened her because hadn’t she felt a compelling urge to tell him how much she’d missed him during their days apart—and if she started indulging in that kind of revelation, who knew where it might end? So she kissed him hard instead, mounting

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