The Last-Minute Marriage

CHAPTER NINE

MARCUS BENSON hadn’t slept for more than four hours straight since he was fourteen years old. He hadn’t needed to. Hadn’t wanted to. If he slept then he dreamed, and now it was easier to wake and log on to the world’s financial markets and exercise his brain by making money rather than letting his thoughts dwell on the demons in his past.

Until this night.

He slept. The sun crept over the horizon. Peta rose and took herself off to the dairy. The dogs bounded off after her, jubilant at having their mistress back in her proper place, and still Marcus slept.

He woke as Harry tore round the side of the house, hauling a school bag over his shoulder while he manoeuvred a piece of toast with half his mouth.

He glanced sideways at the veranda and stopped short.

‘You!’

It was hard to say who was more surprised-Harry or Marcus. They stared at each other. Marcus stared down at his watch. Then stared back at Harry.

‘You slept with Peta.’ It wasn’t an accusation. There was no aversion in Harry’s tone-just surprise.

‘I slept on this end of the veranda,’ Marcus said hurriedly. ‘Peta slept on the other.’

‘Yeah, she’d never share with us,’ Harry said, taking another mouthful of toast. ‘We told her it was warmer in bed with us but she preferred the dogs. Guess she preferred the dogs to you, too, huh?’

‘I guess so,’ Marcus said weakly. ‘Um… Are you off to school?’

‘Yeah. Yikes.’ Harry looked round to where a faint cloud of dust in the distance heralded an arriving school bus. ‘Gotta go. What’s for tea tonight? Something good? Ace. See ya.’ And he was off in a tangle of toast, school bag and undone shoelaces.

Marcus watched him run, saw him catch the bus by the skin of his teeth, grinned, and then turned back to the enigma of his watch.

His grin faded. How on earth had he slept so long?

No matter. He had.

From the dairy there was the gentle hum of the milking machine and the occasional moo of an indignant cow. Peta was up? Peta was working?

Before him?

The thought was almost unbelievable. So, too, was the thought that she was working and he was sleeping.

He was supposed to be rescuing her, he thought. Great Prince Charming he was. Marry the girl and send her back to her cinders.

But helping her wasn’t as simple as it had seemed. Two minutes later he walked in the dairy door-only to have the nearest cow start back in alarm and Peta call, ‘Stop right there.’

He stopped.

This was a different Peta yet, he thought. She was a woman at work. In faded jeans, a checked overshirt with rolled up sleeves, her hair caught back with a couple of serviceable combs and her knee-high rubber boots liberally coated with mud, she looked every inch at home in her environment.

As opposed to Marcus. The cows stared at him as if he’d landed from outer space and that was exactly how he felt.

‘I’ve come to help,’ he told her.

‘Thanks, but you’ll scare the cows.’

‘Why will I scare the cows?’

‘They’re not used to seeing New York billionaires in their dairy.’

‘You didn’t have to tell them I was a billionaire,’ he said cautiously and she smiled.

‘They might have guessed by the shoes. Soft suede shoes don’t cut it here.’

‘I guess they don’t.’ He looked down at his footwear. ‘Um… Would your brothers have any rain boots I can borrow?’

‘There’s another giveaway.’ She adjusted the cups on a sleek, fat cow and then rose to bring the next cow into the bail. ‘We-the cows and I-call them gumboots.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the cows and I are Australian.’ The cow pulled back from her and she sighed. ‘Yeah, the boys all have gumboots you can borrow but it won’t help. You’re making it hard for me.’

‘Just by being here?’

‘Cows don’t like strangers.’

‘I have to do something,’ he told her. ‘If you think I’m just going to sit round being ornamental for two weeks…’

‘Don’t you like being ornamental?’

‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘So you really want to work?’

Hmm. A little voice was telling him to be cautious. ‘I might.’

‘Well, then. You could get rid of the pink.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You could paint Hattie’s house.’

‘So that you can live in it?’

‘I’m staying on my veranda. But the boys bring friends home from university and a non-pink guest house would be nice.’ She gave him her very nicest smile. ‘That is, if you really do want to be useful. But I’m happy if you’re not. You deserve to be ornamental if you feel like it.’

‘Is there anything in between?’ he asked, thinking it through. ‘Say, if I don’t want to be ornamental and I don’t want to paint houses.’

Her answer to that was immediate. ‘You could make me breakfast.’

‘You’ve decreed that I’m cook?’

‘I thought you decreed that yourself. I do a mean bowl of cornflakes and I’m willing to share.’ She glanced across at the yard to where only ten more cows patiently queued. ‘I’ll be back at the house in half an hour.’

‘For cornflakes?’

‘For cornflakes or whatever variation you care to dream up.’

He’d had enough of pink. He made pancakes in Peta’s house. He felt really, really strange.

While he cooked he watched Peta through the window. He saw her finish in the dairy, sluicing it down ready for evening milking. She took herself to the outside shower-a primitive arrangement that he’d already inspected and found wanting-and he watched as she emerged dressed the same way as she’d been in the dairy, only cleaner.

Peta’s house had a lean-to kitchen-not a patch on Hattie’s bright beauty, but it had the huge advantage of being homely. The kitchen was obviously the place where Peta and the boys spent most of their lives. There was an ancient fire-stove, a vast wooden table, rickety chairs, battered linoleum, and windows looking out over the farmland to the beach beyond. It was a great room.

It was better when Peta walked in. Somehow.

She stopped in the doorway and sniffed in delight, and her smile lit the room.

‘Pancakes. Coffee. There. I knew there was a reason I married you.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t keep referring to our marriage as if I’m some sort of acquired toy,’ he complained and she paused from kicking off her gumboots.

‘It’s the only way I can think of it,’ she told him. Her eyes turned suddenly serious. ‘Not that you’re a toy boy. I didn’t mean that. But that it’s a sort of game. I can’t believe we did it. That I wore that dress. That I made those vows.’

He watched her face, and he shared her confusion. She was right. This was a far cry from white, lacy and bridal in New York. But underneath she was just the same Peta. The reason he married her still held. She needed help and she deserved it. ‘It’s not a game,’ he told her.

‘But it’s not for real.’

‘For two weeks it has to be real.’

‘When I think about it superficially,’ she said slowly, walking into the kitchen in her socks and lifting the flipper for the pancakes, ‘then it’s fine. But then all of a sudden it hits me. Wham. A complete stranger married me so I can stay here. So Harry can live here if he wants. So we can have a permanent home. But… To marry a stranger… How on earth did it happen?’

‘Fantasy,’ he told her. ‘Everyone likes a fairy story. I’ve already flipped the pancakes. They’re ready to eat. Sit.’

So she moved to the table and sat. He couldn’t object to her reaction to the pancakes-she ate as if she was ravenous-but as the pile dwindled she pushed back her plate and the look of trouble settled on her face again.

‘I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you help in the dairy.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘It’s not. I owe you so much. I should let you do whatever you want.’

‘But not sleep on your end of the veranda?’

Now where had that come from? The moment he said it he regretted it. She flinched. And then she faced him. Head on.

‘Do you want to?’

Did he want to? Hell!

But as he gazed at her across the table, as he let the sensation of her flinch settle, he knew there was only one answer.

‘No, Peta,’ he told her. ‘I don’t want to. I’m not here to take advantage of you. It was a stupid thing to say and I’m sorry.’

‘You’d be within your rights.’

‘I don’t think you’ve met very nice men,’ he told her. ‘If that’s what you think of marriage. That it comes with automatic rights.’

She stared at him. The moment stretched on. And on.

Ridiculous.

‘Tell me what you’re intending to do now,’ he said at last, and if his voice didn’t come out as he’d intended he couldn’t help it.

‘You mean…marriage-wise?’

‘You already got married,’ he reminded her. ‘What’s next?’

‘You mean, in life?’

‘I was thinking more how you intended spending the morning,’ he told her. ‘Sort of between here and lunch. There’s not a lot of hatches, matches and dispatches we can fit in until then.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded flummoxed. ‘You mean…like shopping?’

‘Is shopping on the agenda?’

‘We’re living out of the freezer. It’d be good to get something fresh.’

‘I’m good with shopping.’

‘You want to come into town and push a supermarket trolley in Yooralaa?’ Her smile, irrepressible, came flooding back. ‘There’s no cans of caviar for miles.’

‘Peta?’

‘Yes?’

‘Cut it out.’

She peeped him a smile. ‘Okay. I’m sorry. But I’m sure you don’t want to come.’

‘I’m sure I do.’

‘You-’

‘Peta, I refuse to stay locked in Hattie’s house for two weeks while the world decrees our marriage is valid. I’m coming with you.’

‘But people will think…’

‘That we’re married? That’s what they’re supposed to think.’ He hesitated. ‘That is-there aren’t suitors waiting in the wings who’ll be put off if they see me at your side?’

‘Um…no.’

‘No suitors?’

‘I find suitors are an awful pest,’ she told him. ‘They mess up the house something awful and object to gumboots.’

‘Which is why you just cut straight to the chase and got married. Okay.’ He rose and smiled down at her. She looked great, he decided. He might even enjoy walking side by side through the supermarket with her holding his trolley.

‘Don’t get any funny ideas,’ she said and he blinked. Peta, the mind reader.

‘Look, separate ends of the veranda is a concept I can deal with,’ he told her. ‘But separate supermarket trolleys is maybe taking independence too far.’

‘You can never have too much independence. I thought that was your motto.’

He’d thought so, too. He stared after her as she disappeared to find some shoes respectable enough to wear to town and he thought, yeah, independence. What had happened to his ideal now?

It was a very satisfactory day-the sort of day Marcus had never had in his life.

First there was the trip to the supermarket. He’d expected that she might be embarrassed but instead she introduced him to all and sundry and he was conscious of suppressed laughter.

‘Hi, Mrs Michaels. This is my husband, Marcus.’

It was Marcus who was flustered.

‘They need to know you’re here,’ Peta told him. ‘Charles knows any number of locals and I’m sure he’ll be contacting them to make sure you’re here. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No, I…’

‘After all, you don’t have to see any of these people after two weeks. It’ll be me who’ll be playing the deserted bride.’

‘I’m sure you’ll play a beautifully pathetic divorcee,’ he managed and she chuckled.

‘You’d better believe it. How many cans of spaghetti do we want?’

‘None,’ he told her. ‘Canned when you can have fresh?’

‘Sure. I’m a canned girl.’

‘If you don’t want to be a divorcee by tomorrow then you put the cans back.’

There were locals watching them. Whispering. News was spreading.

‘There’s not a lot of friendliness,’ he said as they proceeded through their shopping list.

‘My dad lied and cheated and my cousin did the same,’ she told him. ‘Our family are still pretty much outcasts.’

‘Even you?’

‘I learned early to keep myself to myself.’

‘But you pay your debts?’

‘I don’t have debts. The O’Shannassy credit dried up a long time ago. I pay cash or I get nothing and that’s the way it’s always been. Now… Baked beans?’

‘Not baked beans.’

‘But…’

‘And not processed cheese, either. Honestly, woman, do you have no soul?’

‘I eat to live,’ she said with a certain amount of pride.

‘You’re proud of that?’

‘Yes.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s a culture thing,’ he told her. ‘It must be. You come from convict stock?’

‘I surely do,’ she told him. ‘I have baked beans in the blood.’

‘It’s a whole life I never knew existed,’ he said faintly. ‘And I’m not sure I want to.’

But he did want to know.

As the day wore on, the more fascinated he became. They took their shopping home, and then Peta took him on a tour of the fences. ‘They need to be checked once a week,’ she told him. ‘The cows damage them and if stock gets out I’m in real trouble.’ So they hiked along the fence line with Peta’s fencing tools slung over her shoulder. For the first two minutes.

‘You’re not carrying them,’ she told him. ‘They’re dirty. You’ll get your nice shirt soiled.’

‘Peta…’ He lifted the tools from her grasp. ‘Your ankle still hurts and you’re married, remember? Isn’t the husband supposed to be hunter gatherer?’

‘Only in families when the little woman stays home and cooks. And you wouldn’t let me buy baked beans.’

‘So I wouldn’t,’ he said, and grinned. He handed one of the six tools back. ‘Okay. You get to carry one spade and you get to cook cornflakes and toast. But for the rest, you have a husband. Use him.’

They fenced. They found a cow in the bottom paddock caught up in a hedge of gorse and a gully caused by erosion. They dug her free and watched her make her way back to the herd, with nary a thankful glance. They ate sandwiches that Peta had stuck in a backpack before they’d come out and they sat on the cliff and watched the sea. A dolphin pod appeared on cue, surfing through the breakers and cruising along the coast line. Marcus could see why Charles fought for development rights to this place. As a holiday resort it’d be fabulous.

As a farm it was better.

‘Is the beach safe for swimming?’ Marcus asked.

‘It sure is.’

‘Can we?’

‘Nope. I have to milk.’

‘What, already?’

‘Harry will be home any minute. Take him swimming.’

‘Doesn’t anyone help you milk?’

‘I like milking. I don’t need help.’

‘Peta, you have me. Use me.’

‘No.’

‘You need-’

‘I don’t need a husband in any more than name,’ she interrupted, her face closed. ‘You know that. Thank you for my day.’ She rose and gave what seemed to him to be a regretful glance at the ocean. ‘Stay here and rest. I’m off to play milkmaid.’

‘Peta, I want to come. Your foot must be hurting.’

‘My foot’s fine. It has to be. And I told you, you’ll scare the cows. Keep Harry company.’

But Harry didn’t want company. Harry had homework. ‘I’m way behind and there’s a cool project I have to do on volcanoes.’

‘Would you like some help?’

‘Nah,’ Harry told him. ‘Thanks anyway but I’m used to doing stuff on my own.’

So was Marcus. Wasn’t he? Dismissed and not enjoying the sensation as much as he might expect, Marcus made his way back to the beach.

At least here was pleasure. The water was gorgeous. He swam with the strength of a champion swimmer-not for nothing had he purchased an apartment with rights to an indoor lap pool-but he swam alone.

He was so unsettled. What was he doing?

Nothing. He was doing nothing. He wasn’t needed.

It should make him contented. Two weeks holiday with nothing to do and no demands on him.

It made him… He didn’t know what. He’d never had nothing to do in his life.

And he’d never wanted to be needed-by someone who didn’t want him.

She watched him.

Peta milked her cows and all the time she was achingly aware of the man on the beach below the dairy. She could see him stroking back and forth across the bay. He looked superbly fit and at home in the surf, a far cry from the tailored New York businessman she’d fallen for five days ago.

Fallen for?

Uh-oh. The words settled. Then they settled some more. Had she fallen for Marcus Benson?

Of course she had.

‘And I’ve fallen hard.’

She said it out loud and the cow whose teats she was cleaning swivelled round and stared down at her. Bemused.

‘Do you guys fall inappropriately in love?’ she demanded and the cow kept on staring.

She stared back, and then sat back on the wet cobbles and stared some more. What had she said?

The truth. She’d said the truth.

‘How can I fall in love with Marcus Benson?’ she asked herself. ‘How can I possibly do that?’

She’d done it.

She turned and stared down at the sea. He was still stroking back and forth in steady, even strokes.

‘We have absolutely nothing in common,’ she told her cows. ‘He’s like some modern-day Prince Charming, Marcus the Magnificent, rushing round rescuing damsels in distress. It’s all very well being a damsel in distress but it doesn’t make for any sort of equal relationship.’

‘Do you want an equal relationship?’

‘I don’t want to feel rescued for the rest of my life.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘No.’ She was talking to herself, to the cows, to anyone who’d listen. She had two sides of her brain competing. Or maybe it was her head and her heart.

‘He’d come up my end of the veranda,’ she told her cow. ‘If I pressed.’

‘You wouldn’t have to press. You know darn well what it feels like whenever we touch. He feels it, too. I know he does. And he’s a male.’

‘Are you suggesting a spot of seduction?’

‘You’re married to him. It’s hardly illegal.’

‘Are you out of your mind? In two weeks he’ll go away and…’

‘And break your heart.’

Head and heart converged right there. The truth was unpalatable but it was unescapable.

‘You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?’ she whispered.

‘Maybe I have,’ she whispered back. ‘But it’s not the knight in shining armour I want. Or…not very much. It’s the man who makes Harry laugh. The man who cares for his assistant. Who makes Ruby smile. Who makes my heart twist…’

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

‘So keep on with what you’re doing,’ she told herself. ‘Keep it light. Keep it distant. And above all, keep your heart intact.’

‘Your heart hasn’t been intact for five days.’

‘It has to be.’

Peta finished milking and returned to the house to find Harry packing sausages into a picnic basket.

‘Beach night,’ he said as she paused in the kitchen door.

Beach night. It was a custom they’d had for years. On a warm, still night like this they’d take their dinner to the beach, light a fire and cook it there. They’d swim and eat and return to the house at dusk.

It was a great idea. But… Was it a great idea when Marcus was around?

‘He’s still down there,’ Harry told her. ‘I went to see and he’s gone for a run. He’s just a dot on the horizon. I reckon we could get the campfire burning before he comes back.’

‘I thought… Won’t he want to cook? He bought lots of ingredients this morning.’

‘It’s our turn to cook-and we make great sausages,’ Harry retorted. ‘I’ll watch them so you don’t even get to burn them.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Go get your swimsuit,’ he told her. ‘Hurry up.’

‘But…’

‘But what?’

But… She just knew it wasn’t wise. Help.

They’d done this often. They were expert. By the time Marcus returned from his run, they had the fire burning and there was already a bed of hot coals. They’d scooped the flame from the centre and the sausages were sizzling in their pan. Marcus had seen the smoke in the distance and, as his jogging slowed to a walk, he realised they were here and waiting for him. The smell of sausages reached him and he had no need of Harry’s shouted announcement.

‘We’re having a barbecue. Come and get it.’

Peta looked up from turning the sausages. She had on a swimming costume, but she’d thrown an oversized T-shirt over it. A pity…

‘Hey, great pecs,’ Harry called and he suddenly thought an oversized T-shirt was a really good idea. Peta was smiling at him and heck, he felt like blushing.

‘Cut it out,’ he growled.

‘Are you brave enough to eat one of my sausages?’ Peta was saying, taking pity on him but still smiling. Harry hastened to reassure him.

‘I’ve done most of the cooking and the cake for afterwards is one you guys bought at the bakers today.’

‘So I needn’t worry about being poisoned?’ he asked and watched Peta’s smile widen. She had the loveliest smile…

‘My cooking’s not that bad.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Harry said cheerfully. ‘How many sausages, Marc? Three or four?’

‘Six.’ He sank down on the picnic rug. Sausages were something he normally wouldn’t consider but they looked great. He’d been outside all day. He was starving, he realised. Even if Peta had burned them…

‘If you’re hungry enough you’ll eat anything,’ she said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Cooking classes are a waste of time.’

‘And cooks are a waste of time?’

‘I’m sure whatever’s important to you is your own business,’ she said primly and he grinned at the twinkle behind her green eyes. She had the capacity to tease. To make him smile inside. To make him feel…

Heck, to make him feel as if he did want to save her. To take her as his Cinderella and turn her into his companion for life. If she could always be here. Laughing at him. Gently mocking. Making his life light from within…

Stupid thought. Brought on by hunger and by sausages. He made a frantic attempt to haul his senses-all his senses-back to what was most important.

‘Did you bring ketchup?’ he asked.

‘Ketchup?’ Harry looked nonplussed.

‘He means sauce,’ Peta told him. ‘He talks American.’

‘You should learn Australian,’ Harry said, handing over the sauce bottle. ‘It’s not really even sauce. It’s dead horse. You say pass the dead horse and every Australian knows what you mean. So I guess dead horse is Australian for ketchup.’

‘I have a lot to learn,’ Marcus said faintly.

‘You do,’ Harry agreed. ‘You’re going to have to hurry up to fit it all into two weeks.’

They ate their sausages and their chocolate cake and then Peta went for a swim. Harry disappeared back to the house-to finish his volcanoes. Maybe Marcus should have gone, too, but how could he leave Peta swimming alone? The fact that he knew for sure she swam alone nearly every day didn’t cut it. She was swimming alone now and he was staying.

In truth, he wanted to go back into the water as well, but he couldn’t. Something stopped him.

Being in the water with her… Somehow it seemed like taking a step to her end of the veranda.

So he watched from a distance that was safe enough to almost seem detached. Almost.

She didn’t swim as he had. She must be tired, he thought, as he watched her float on her back and gaze up into the flame-filled sunset. She’d been up since five this morning and for most of that time she’d been working hard. Her ankle must be hurting. She had no need to stretch her muscles as he had. She was content just to float.

She was content.

There was the difference, he thought. That was why he was so attracted to her. She was…peaceful. She’d settled back into her lot with joy. All she wanted was her farm and a future for her brothers. She had no need of anything else.

Problems that would fester and sour in others were nothing to her. The locals seemed to have sent her family to purgatory. She had little money and even less in the way of material possessions. Her future was bound by this tiny farm.

She wouldn’t want what he had to offer, he thought, and the thought jarred.

Was he offering?

He didn’t know.

But… Was he offering? The thought stayed. Like an insidious fleck of some matter he’d never heard of, it nestled in his brain and grew.

She was lovely. She made him smile. If he could take her back with him to the US… Turn her into his real happy ever after…

She wouldn’t leave Harry.

She could bring him, too.

They’d never desert this farm.

He could put a farm manager in, he thought. Keep it safe for them. For their future.

What the hell was he thinking?

Nothing, he decided fiercely, or nothing that made sense. He’d decided early that he was a loner. What had changed now?

Peta had changed. Peta had changed him.

He watched her float on, desperate to join her but forcing himself to stay. Forcing himself to be sensible. By the time she emerged from the water he almost had himself convinced that his thoughts were a nonsense.

She came up the beach towards him, smiling, shaking her head with the water from the curls forming a glistening arc around her head. The dogs went flying down the beach to meet her and then wheeled away to chase gulls, to chase their tails, to simply soak up the warmth of the gathering dusk. Marcus sat back on the sand and watched Peta towel her hair, smile down at him, simply…simply be.

This was a sensation he’d never experienced before. For the last half hour he’d sat and done nothing, simply let the night soak into him. The place. The time.

Peta.

‘You’re lovely,’ he said softly and his words hung in the night with a promise of something that was as yet undisclosed.

She stopped towelling and stared down at him. She’d giggle, he thought, or disclaim. Or arch her brows… He’d seen it all.

Instead she smiled, a gentle smile that was almost sympathetic.

‘You’re not bad yourself.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ It was inane but it was all he could manage. He swung himself to his feet and took her towel. ‘Let me do that?’

She pulled away, ducking under the towel and backing.

‘You don’t want to.’

‘Towel your hair? I do. Very much.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Her smile had died. ‘The up close and personal bit isn’t going to work.’

‘Why not?’

‘Neither of us are in a position to take it further.’

‘We have two weeks…’

Wrong thing to say. Her face shuttered and the barriers went up. He could see it.

‘Keep to your own end of the veranda, Marcus,’ she told him. ‘Or maybe it’d be better if you went back to Aunt Hattie’s.’

‘No!’ Keep it light, he told himself desperately. Keep it light. ‘Anything but that. Please don’t condemn me to drown in pink.’

‘Then don’t touch me.’

‘Why don’t you want to be touched?’

‘Who said I didn’t want to be touched?’

‘I assumed…’

‘You assume all over the place,’ she said crossly. ‘You assume and assume and assume. I needed to accept your very generous offer to marry me and save my farm but that doesn’t make me inclined to see you as Mr Wonderful for the rest of my life.’

‘I didn’t-’

‘Want to be Mr Wonderful? No. Of course you didn’t. You don’t want to be up on a pedestal, and I don’t want to keep you there. But when you come down…’ She took a deep breath. ‘You see, the problem is that when you come down from your pedestal, Marcus, then I see you just as a person. Or, not just as a person. As Marcus. Marc. Someone who’s as needful as me. Someone who’s even more lonely. And who’s lovely and generous and who smiles and makes me feel crinkly inside and… Marcus, no, I didn’t mean… I don’t mean…’

He didn’t get to hear what she didn’t mean. How could he? Standing there with her hair dripping and her green eyes luminous and her face earnest, she was so obviously trying, trying to sort it in her mind, to tell the truth, and he’d have to be inhuman not to react.

She was so lovely. She gazed up at him and he reached forward and took her hands in his and their eyes locked and held.

Afterwards he couldn’t remember who had moved first. Whether she’d stood on tiptoe and tilted her chin so her face met his, or if it had been he who’d drawn her into him and who’d cupped her face and tilted those lips…

No matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered but that her body was being drawn into his and all he could feel was the warmth of her, the feel, the softness of the curves of her body against him. Dear heaven. The way her still damp body curved into his, her breasts moulding to his chest, her body melting, her lips tasting of sea and salt and warmth and desire and…

Peta.

He didn’t know whether he said the word. Whether he said her name. He couldn’t. How could he kiss and speak at the same time?

But it was as if he shouted it. It was as if his whole being was an exultant cry. Peta!

She was his. His! His hands held her, linking around the small of her back, tugging her closer, loving her, wanting her.

Loving her.

The world stopped right there. Or maybe it started. It was as if his heart had stopped and then started afresh, anew, and he was someone else. The wonder. The joy.

He’d never known he could feel like this. All his life… The barrenness of his childhood. The awfulness of his time in the army. The knowledge that he could never let anyone close. That people disappeared all the time. The dreadful time in the Gulf, learning for the first time about friendship only to have it blasted to bits before his eyes. The years of business where all that mattered was money; where employees were people you treated with consideration because that way they worked best but you never, ever got involved…

He was involved now. He was involved right up to his heart.

And this woman was his wife. His wife! What miracle was this?

The kiss deepened. She was surrendering to him. Her lips had parted and he was plundering her mouth, taking the kiss deep, deeper…

Dear heaven, he wanted her. Her wanted her more than life itself. More than he’d ever dreamed he could want a woman.

‘Peta…’

The kiss lasted for ever. The waves rolled in and out; the dogs wheeled back to them, vaguely worried at their immobility but fast bored. They wheeled away again. All except Ted-dog, who lay at his mistress’s feet and softly whined, as if in warning.

She was heeding no warning. She’d given herself up to this moment, to the taste of him, to the feel of him. To the sensation he was feeling and that he knew she must feel, too. Here was her man and here was his woman. Man and woman. One.

It had to end. Somehow it had to end. The dusk was turning to night. The next move had to come and it had to come from him.

He pulled back somehow, and he stared down into her face. She looked up at him, her eyes confused, tender, but there was still that wonderful smile. The laughter that had been there the first time he’d seen her. The laughter that caught and held…

‘It seems… Peta, it seems that indeed you are my wife,’ he said in a voice he hardly recognised. ‘My wife.’

Her smile faded. ‘What do you mean by that? “Indeed you are my wife…”’

‘We made vows.’

‘No.’ She backed away, a trace of fear washing over her face. ‘No, we didn’t mean them.’

‘We didn’t mean them but they’re coming true.’

‘To have and to hold?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘In sickness and in health. Until death us do part. To love and to cherish. To be one. I don’t think so, Marcus.’

‘Maybe not,’ he said slowly. Not that. Not a complete joining. She was beautiful, he thought. She was the most desirable thing. But… Somehow he forced his confused mind to think. Somehow.

He was a loner. He’d been raised to be a loner; it had been instilled in him since birth and how could he change that now?

But… She was a loner, too. She was independent. She wasn’t a clinging vine. She’d take what he could give.

‘No,’ she said and he stared.

‘No?’

‘I know what you’re about to suggest and I want no part of it.’

‘Peta, we’re married.’

‘We’re not married.’

‘Are you denying you want me?’

‘Of course I want you,’ she said shortly. ‘Of course I do. You can feel it. Like I can feel you want me. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I want it all,’ she said abruptly, her fingers going to her lips as if they were bruised. As they well might be. ‘All or nothing. I won’t do less.’

‘What on earth do you mean by that?’

‘I’ve fallen in love with you, Marcus.’

Just like that. He couldn’t believe she’d said it. He stood back, stunned.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I know you don’t,’ she whispered. ‘But oh, Marcus, I want you to know. I want you to learn.’

‘What the…’

But her face had closed. ‘I’m being stupid,’ she whispered. ‘I’m looking for the fairytale. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And it’s time for us to go home.’ She stooped and lifted the picnic basket, breaking eye contact. He felt it. It hurt. It was a withdrawal and it hurt more than he could have imagined it would have. ‘I’m sorry. I should never have kissed…have let you kiss…’

‘We both wanted it.’

‘I know. But not…to take it further.’

‘We could,’ he said urgently. ‘Peta, listen. This love thing. I don’t know it. I’ve never-never dreamed… But you, what I feel for you… I’m prepared to take a chance.’

‘That’s big of you.’

‘No.’ He tried to grasp her hands but she stepped back again. ‘Don’t. Peta, listen. We’re married. You’re my wife. We could do this. You could have this place as your base while Harry needs you but I’d rebuild. I’d make it fit for you. You’d visit me in New York when I had time to spare…’

‘You’d make this place fit for me?’ Her voice was suddenly dangerous.

‘It’s a dump, but it could be fabulous. The house site-could you imagine what we could build here?’

‘And you’d visit…how often?’

‘My work’s in New York. But I’ll have spent two weeks here now. I’ll come when I can.’

‘This is sounding more and more romantic.’ Her voice said it wasn’t romantic at all.

‘You say you love me.’

‘I don’t love you like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like I’ll give in to you because I love you. Like I’ll take the crumbs because I love you. I’ve fallen hard for you, Marcus. Stupidly hard. But I have the sense to see it’s never going to work.’

‘It will work.’ He reached out again. This time he caught her hands and she froze.

‘Let go of me.’

‘Peta-’

‘I said let go. I’ve told you. The dogs are trained.’

‘You’re saying you’ll set the dogs on me?’ His voice rose incredulously.

‘I surely will.’

His own anger rose then. What sort of a game was she playing? ‘Hell, Peta, if I leave, if I go back to the States tomorrow you’re sunk.’

‘You’re saying you’ll call this whole thing off because I won’t sleep with you?’ she demanded. ‘Because I won’t fit in with your crazy plans for a mock marriage then you’ll let Charles have the farm?’

He froze. What the hell…? ‘Of course not. I’m not into blackmailing.’

She stared at him for a long moment, her anger turning icy. ‘That’s good then,’ she said at last. ‘So you’re not blackmailing me and I’m not doing anything else. Good night, Marcus. It’d be better if you didn’t come near my veranda tonight.’

‘But…’

‘Good night.’