‘You represent the only tangible entity your father possesses of any worth to me,’ Xavier posed with deceptive mildness.

Something deep inside curled into a tight, painful ball, and she wanted nothing more than to turn and walk from the room, the building…anything to escape the compelling man who held her father’s fate in his hands.

‘You’re suggesting I become a form of payment in human kind?’ Each word took immense effort to enunciate, and emerged in faintly strangled tones.

‘You beg leniency and attempt to bargain by offering nothing in return? Whereas marriage,’ Xavier clarified succinctly, ‘will be adequate recompense for me dropping all charges against your father.’ He added in dry, mocking tones, ‘And clearing his gambling debts.’

For a moment she lost the power to think as erotic images filled her mind…images she’d never been able to erase…Words tumbled from her lips. ‘I don’t want to marry you.’

‘Then we have nothing to talk about.’

Helen Bianchin was born in New Zealand and travelled to Australia before marrying her Italian-born husband. After three years they moved, returned to New Zealand with their daughter, had two sons, then resettled in Australia. Encouraged by friends to recount anecdotes of her years as a tobacco sharefarmer’s wife living in an Italian community, Helen began setting words on paper, and her first novel was published in 1975. An animal lover, she says her terrier and Persian cat regard her study as as much theirs as hers.

BRIDE, BOUGHT
AND PAID FOR

BY

HELEN BIANCHIN

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

A BLUSTERY rain-shower whipped around the tram as it rode steel tracks towards the heart of Melbourne city.

The month of October in the southern hemisphere rested on the cusp between spring and summer, neither one nor the other, and tended to provide brilliant sunshine followed by rain with matching temperatures in contrary variation on the same day.

Rain and cool temperatures seemed incredibly appropriate, Romy decided with unaccustomed cynicism as the tram slid to a halt and disgorged several passengers before crossing the bridge spanning the Yarra River.

Tall inner-city buildings of varied design rose as concrete and glass sentinels, and she alighted at the next tram stop, caught a break in traffic and reached the pavement.

The nerves in her stomach clenched into a painful ball as she crossed the next intersection and entered the marble-tiled foyer of an imposing office building. Given a choice, she’d have preferred to deal with a class filled with hormone-charged, testosterone-fuelled recalcitrant teenage students who’d decided to give their English teacher the hardest day on record than confront the man who held her father’s fate in his hands.

Of Spanish origin, New York born and bad boy made good, Xavier DeVasquez was an electronics whizz whose skills had elevated him to one of the world’s wealthiest top five hundred. A man reputed for his cut-throat business methods. A force to be reckoned with in the boardroom…and the bedroom.

As she should know, she acknowledged silently, and endeavoured to quell the icy shiver feathering the length of her spine as the past three years vanished in the blink of an eye, providing startlingly vivid recall of a social charity event attended by several top employees of the DeVasquez Corporation, of which her father had been one. Head of the accountancy department, Andre Picard had been accompanied that evening by his wife and daughter, but it had been Romy who had drawn Xavier DeVasquez’s attention.

The news media had failed to depict the degree of electric sexual chemistry the man exuded in person. On reflection, she hadn’t stood a chance. Too many years spent studying to be a schoolteacher had meant a meagre social existence confined mainly to the company of girlfriends in the little free time she had permitted herself.

To suddenly have had someone of Xavier DeVasquez’s calibre express a personal interest in her had been exciting. To discover he’d wanted to see her again, almost beyond belief. He’d had his pick of women, yet he’d chosen to spend time with her. When she’d asked why, he’d merely smiled and said he admired her lack of artifice.

Twelve weeks and three days. Romy could still remember the number of hours, the minutes.

She’d fallen in love with him. So soon, too soon, ignoring the faint niggle of disquiet that it wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. A fantasy of shared laughter, dinners, the theatre, a movie she’d wanted to see. Their parting kiss at evening’s end, and the knowledge mere kisses would never be enough. The night she had gone back to his apartment and willingly into his bed…an innocent who had gifted him her virginity, her heart, her soul. And moved in with him the next day.

The affair had lasted three months before she’d made what became the ultimate mistake. At dawn’s first opalescent glow, after a long night of lovemaking, she had told him that she loved him. Only to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces when he’d merely brushed his lips to her temple and said he didn’t do love.

It had taken tremendous effort to calmly leave, to refuse his calls, accept a teaching position in another country and attempt to forget his existence.

Impossible, when his image had taunted her in vivid dream form through the long, lonely nights, and his name, together with photographic evidence appeared in the media relating yet another business coup, or a picture of him with a stunning female at his side had been displayed on a social page.

It had been her mother’s fight against a progressive form of cancer two years later which had brought Romy home on three month’s compassionate leave. An incredibly sad time, after which Andre had insisted she return to fulfil the remaining year of her teaching contract.

At first she’d been reluctant to leave him, but his reassurance had been convincing, which, together with the promised support of a few close family friends, helped ease her mind.

Her father’s desperate bid to ensure his wife’s every comfort had involved expensive treatments, the highest quality of care, and the fact he’d succeeded was laudable. Maxine Picard had gone to her grave unaware of the price her husband had paid, or the sequence of events which was to follow.

Who could have predicted the stock market crash that sent Andre Picard to the wall? Worse, that a once honourable man would stoop to defraud, then compound the crime with a desperate gambling bid in an effort to regain financial security.

Even Romy could have told her father it was a recipe for disaster, had she known.

Except it had only been when her teaching contract had ended and she’d returned to Melbourne to take up a new teaching position on home ground that she’d learnt the true state of her father’s affairs.

Everything sold, including the small apartment which had replaced the family home following Maxine’s death, the car, furniture and possessions.

Chilling to learn Andre had been arrested, charged and was awaiting trial with a prison sentence a certainty. None of which he’d revealed in letters, emails or intermittent telephone contact during her absence.

Instead, he’d deliberately waited until a week after her return before confiding the grim facts. A week in which she’d leased a furnished apartment, purchased a car, and taken up her new teaching position.

How could you have been so careless? were words she’d barely refrained from uttering…followed closely by what were you thinking?

Except the tired, care-worn man facing her looked old beyond his years, physically, mentally and emotionally beaten.

Instead, she’d swung into action, verifying fact, attempting to negotiate, but to no avail. Not surprising, given her father’s total debt ran into millions…plural. A horrifying situation with no foreseeable way out. Except one…a personal appeal to Xavier DeVasquez as a last-ditch effort.

Phone calls, messages left, each more urgent than the last. Messages Xavier DeVasquez’s PA assured were relayed. Except none elicited a return.

Which left Romy two options…and giving up wasn’t one of them.

Three years teaching English to children in underprivileged areas had fashioned her into the young woman she’d become. At twenty-seven, she was a long way from the trusting romantic who’d believed a man’s charm to be genuine and spun a fantasy web that had no basis in reality.

A man she was determined to confront today…one way or another. Even if it meant resorting to unconventional methods.

Yet what other option did she have?

None whatsoever.

So…suck it up, she admonished silently as she checked the Directory Board and crossed to the bank of lifts.

All too soon an electronic cubicle arrived, and she stepped inside, depressed the appropriate floor button and took a steadying breath as she was transported to her destination.

Understated luxury was clearly evident as she stepped off the lift and crossed the plush carpet to Reception where a perfectly groomed young woman manned the modern desk.

Romy summoned a smile. ‘Xavier is expecting me.’

‘May I have your name?’ Fingers were poised fractionally above the computer keyboard, ready to check an electronic appointment schedule.

Assertiveness was key, together with a degree of easy familiarity. ‘This is a personal visit.’

‘I need your name so I can alert Mr DeVasquez’s PA.’

The words remained polite, but firm, and Romy merely slanted an eyebrow. ‘And spoil the surprise?’

The receptionist’s mouth thinned a little. ‘The DeVasquez Corporation observes a strict procedure.’

This was going nowhere, and any access would be denied, sans brute force, unless she identified herself. ‘Romy Picard.’

Fingers tapped in the relevant letters, and Romy caught the moment a return message appeared on the screen, for the receptionist’s eyes widened and her features assumed a cool expression.

‘Mr DeVasquez is unavailable.’

Polite words issued without warmth or the hint of a smile, Romy noted as she bit back a few impolite uncool words of her own she’d like to utter.

‘In that case I’ll take a seat.’

‘I should clarify Mr DeVasquez is not available for the rest of the day.’

‘Nevertheless I’ll wait.’

At that moment the phone buzzed, and Romy crossed to a clutch of deep-cushioned chairs, selected one and sank gracefully into it.

There were magazines fanned across a glass-topped coffee table, and she took one and pretended an interest in the pages.

Face it, she remonstrated silently some twenty minutes later. Waiting was a fruitless exercise. Any attempt to face Xavier DeVasquez was going to take affirmative action.

Determination strengthened her resolve…that, and a slow anger simmering beneath the surface of her control.

Dammit, enough was enough.

She rose to her feet and walked past Reception towards a wide aperture, leading, she presumed, to a number of offices, one of which had to belong to Xavier.

‘You can’t go through there.’

The words were sharp and a little harried…concern for the interruption, or fear of repercussion from Xavier DeVasquez himself?

Romy merely lifted her head and kept walking.

She made it halfway down the corridor into a luxury lounge area where an impeccably attired woman barred her progress.

‘Please return to Reception.’

Xavier DeVasquez’s PA?

Romy directed a levelled look that would have struck terror into the heart of any of her former students. ‘Where I’ll be forced to wait indefinitely?’

‘Mr DeVasquez is in a meeting.’

‘Really? Then he’s due for a break.’ She moved to bypass the woman, only to have her step in the same direction.

‘I’ll call security to have you removed,’ came the firm response.

So she could, but it would take time…time Romy intended to use to her advantage.

There were two closed doors bracketing the lounge. Romy took a punt and chose the left, entering without knocking to discover an empty executive suite. She turned back, aware the PA had picked up the phone, and she caught the woman’s distressed expression as she crossed the lounge. It took only seconds to reach the second door, and she felt a moment of elation as it opened beneath her touch.

Five men were seated at a curved rectangular conference desk, and Romy refused to be intimidated as five heads turned towards her, four pairs of eyes expressing varying degrees of surprise, interest and speculation.

With the notable exception of the man seated at the head of the desk, whose eyes captured and held her own.

Dark, dangerously so…forbidding.

Xavier sensed his associates’ masked surprise at the intrusion. No one, without exception, was permitted entry into a boardroom meeting without Xavier DeVasquez’s approval.

At that moment his cellphone pealed, and he brushed aside his PA’s apology, then ended the call.

His gaze didn’t move from her own, and Romy was supremely conscious of his strong facial bone structure, the dark, almost black eyes, and fine lines fanning from their outer edges. Thick black hair worn a fraction too long lent him an air of leashed savagery…elemental and vaguely primitive. A generous mouth…so incredibly sensual, she could remember the ease with which it had captured her own and robbed her of any sane thought she might have had at the time.

Helpless. Utterly and completely helpless, she’d exulted in his touch, believing his apparent rapture mirrored her own…only to discover it to be a figment of her imagination.

Did he have any idea what it cost her to face him? Or know that she’d give almost anything to avoid doing so?

‘I don’t believe you have an appointment.’

Romy’s eyes glittered as she absorbed his drawled rebuke, and her chin lifted fractionally.

‘Difficult to achieve, when your PA refused my every request to make one.’

‘On my instruction.’

She inclined her head. ‘Naturally.’

‘We have nothing to discuss.’

‘Yes, we do.’ Her gaze speared his own. ‘Here, now…or in private.’ She waited a beat. ‘Your choice.’

There was a part of him that admired her tenacity, her courage.

A security team was poised on the other side of the door, awaiting his instruction to forcibly remove her from the building. All he had to do was lift the phone and say the words.

Except he did neither.

Instead, he deliberately raked her petite frame, silently challenging her to drop her gaze, only to be met with unblinking icy resolve as startlingly blue eyes held steady beneath his encompassing scrutiny.

A fashionable grey dress worn over a black cotton polo top accentuated her slender frame. Thin black leggings adorned her legs, and soft leather boots with killer heels added inches to her naturally petite height.

The young woman standing before him was the antithesis of the rather naive innocent he remembered. Inherent strength emanated from her small frame, determination and a degree of defiance he reluctantly admired.

It led him to speculate what she might offer in a vain attempt to save her father’s skin. A woman’s known asset…the use of her body?

Something stirred deep within. A pleasing memory of innocent wonder and uninhibited delight, her generosity, the sweet fervour of her mouth. Genuine, not a calculated act.

Heaven knew he’d become bored with his recent female companions and their predictable modus operandi. Practiced sycophants who used every known guise to attract his attention in a game as old as time.

Romy Picard could prove an interesting diversion. He’d blocked off every avenue of contact available to her…except one. And made it extremely difficult, almost impossible for her to circumvent. Yet she hadn’t disappointed, and there was a part of him that applauded her persistence.

Xavier made a split-second decision, lifted the interoffice phone, and issued his PA with instructions to accommodate Romy Picard until the meeting’s conclusion.

During which his eyes never left her own, and she refused to look away. Instead, she merely inclined her head, then turned and exited the room.

The cool, composed persona was a sham, one she maintained as she crossed to a comfortable leather chair and sank gracefully into its cushioned depths. Romy selected a magazine at random, studied the index, then chose an article and pretended interest in a stock-market graph.

She should have experienced a mild sense of elation at having succeeded in gaining an audience with Xavier DeVasquez. Except there was only anxiety existent, and a feeling of dread.

Ridiculous, she rationalized, when she’d dealt with rebellious young teens in a classroom of misfits and miscreants whose command of the English language comprised sassy belligerence in a deliberate attempt to diminish her authority. She’d achieved the unexpected, in a hard-won fight for the kind of mutual respect that promoted a degree of enthusiasm for learning. Because she cared enough to take the knocks in order to gain the end result.

Whether she could expect to win any form of reprieve for her father was something else…but she had to try.

Romy replaced the magazine and selected another, pretending interest in current electronic technology, when there was nothing further from her mind.

How long before Xavier concluded the meeting?

A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat. Five minutes—an hour…what difference did it make?

Thirty minutes and counting, she perceived when four men exited the conference room and acknowledged the CEO’s PA before entering the corridor leading out to Reception.

A phone beeped on the PA’s desk, and Romy quelled the sudden twist of nervous tension gripping her stomach as the PA uttered a few quiet words and stood to her feet.

‘Mr DeVasquez will see you now.’

CHAPTER TWO

OKAY, she could do this. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

So why did each consecutive step towards the conference room feel as if she was walking to her doom?

Get over it, she cautioned silently as the PA lightly rapped the door, then immediately opened it and announced Romy’s presence. Romy entered and heard the faint snick as the door closed behind her, and she unconsciously lifted her chin as she prepared to do battle with the man who’d condescended to allow her a few minutes of his time.

Xavier DeVasquez stood at the far end of the conference room. His height and breadth of shoulder accentuated by fine tailoring as he appeared engrossed in the scene beyond the floor-to-ceiling plate glass.

In profile, his facial features bore a chiselled look, the strong line of his jaw, sculptured cheekbones, and she felt a constriction in her throat as he turned towards her.

Arresting, he emanated a compelling power that was almost primitive, and she held his gaze as eyes dark as sin speared her own.

‘You have five minutes.’ The soft drawl held a hint of purpose Romy chose to ignore as she retrieved an envelope from her bag and extended it towards him.

‘You’ll find a certified cheque attached to a detailed payment schedule for the balance my father owes.’ The cheque wiped out her life savings and tabled payments that would extend way into the future.

His expression remained unchanged as he extracted the slim document and skimmed the amount of the cheque before perusing the legally assembled phrases. Each passing second seemed timeless as he read the words with unhurried ease, and the nerves in her stomach tightened into a painful ball when he tossed the document onto his desk.

‘The repayment schedule you present includes a proportion of your father’s estimated future earnings.’ His voice held a dangerous softness that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. ‘No one will employ him in his former capacity given he’s been charged with fraud.’

‘They would, if you accept the repayment terms and drop all charges against him.’

‘Your loyalty is admirable, but severely misplaced.’

The words held an accent-inflected drawl that did little to diminish their harshness, and her chin lifted fractionally.

‘There were extenuating circumstances.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Submitted in detail by your father’s legal team.’

She regarded him steadily. ‘Have you no compassion? Does fifteen years of loyal service count for nothing?’

‘Had your father approached me and confided his difficulty in coping with crippling medical expenses, I could have made certain allowances. Instead, he chose to defraud, then compound it by racking up extensive gambling debts.’ His expression hardened and his eyes seared her own. ‘The DeVasquez Corporation offers strict but fair contracted terms of employment. The consequences of flouting those terms are clearly defined.’

For a wild, unbidden moment she had a desperate need to pick up the nearest object and hurl it at him. Perhaps he sensed her intention, for one dark eyebrow slanted and his eyes became watchful. Such an action would be pure folly, and instead she drew in a deep breath in a need for calm.

‘Your rise and rise in the financial ranks is well tabled. Your methodology known to be mercilessly ruthless.’ She waited a beat, then offered a deliberately sweet smile. ‘Would your professional ethics bear intense scrutiny?’

A deadly silence encroached the room…electric, heart-stopping. Except she refused to shift her gaze.

‘You choose to insult me?’ The words were deceptively mild, but only a fool would dismiss their lethal intent. There were corners cut, authority skirted, and a few early dealings that had just skimmed beneath the legal line, but he’d made generous recompense and his conscience was clear…on all counts.

Romy experienced the strangest feeling: the floor tilted slightly beneath her feet. Crazy, when she was on a high floor of a concrete-and-steel building in downtown Melbourne!

Reaction, she assured herself silently. Tension, and a few other emotions she determined not to explore as she marshalled strength of will.

Xavier took a cellphone from his pocket, keyed in a few numbers, yet delayed activating the call as he regarded her with chilling intensity. ‘Do you really want to be escorted onto the street?’

It was all Romy could do to control the sudden thumping of her heart, unaware its heavy beat was clearly visible in the pulse at the base of her throat as she held his gaze and offered quietly, ‘Threatening me isn’t going to work.’

Silence hung suspended in the confines of the conference room, and she was conscious of every breath she took as she waited for his reaction…certain he would call her bluff.

For an age he merely subjected her to an all-encompassing appraisal, almost daring her to lower her gaze and back down.

‘No?’

He was a powerful force, one only a fool would disregard…yet she refused to subjugate herself. If this was a battle of wills, then she’d fight him to the bitter end.

‘Three years ago you chose to cut and run,’ Xavier reminded her with deceptive mildness. ‘And refused to acknowledge any of my calls.’

Her eyes deepened to a brilliant sapphire. ‘I’m surprised you remember.’

Yet he did, more vividly than he was prepared to admit. Her sweet mouth, the taste of her, the way she fit in his arms…her smile, how her eyes lit up with pleasure whenever she was in his presence.

He’d been her first lover, Xavier reflected. A fact that had alternately delighted and dismayed him, for he’d always dealt with women who knew the score and that what he offered them was a pleasant interlude for however long the relationship lasted, with no strings attached.

Romy had been different. Something he’d only begun to realise after she had ended their brief affair. That had been a rare, almost unknown occurrence, for in the past it had been he who had called time, presented a parting gift and moved on.

‘What of your father’s gambling debts?’ Xavier pursued. ‘Do you intend presenting his loan shark with a similar deal?’ He was already aware of the facts, except he wanted to hear them directly from her.

Romy bore his appraisal with equanimity, holding those dark almost black eyes in a determined effort not to be diminished in any way. ‘Yes.’

‘You have to know they won’t buy it.’ Quiet, deliberately stark words that accelerated her anxiety factor to new heights.

She’d already paid over a reasonable sum, but it had been made painfully clear what would happen if the outstanding balance wasn’t paid on time.

‘They might if I can negotiate reasonable terms with you.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t have the means to negotiate.’ Didn’t she know what she was up against? Or fully realize the consequences her father faced at the hands of a loan shark, who, after subjecting Andre Picard to a brutal lesson, would have no scruples in enforcing the lesson on Andre’s daughter?

‘That’s your final answer?’ Each word uttered caused her immeasurable pain, evidenced in the paleness of her features, the pulse jumping at the base of her throat.

Xavier bit back a pithy oath…more in anger at the situation she found herself in, than sympathy for the man who’d inadvertently put her there.

‘Your expectation of my generosity is too high.’

‘How much too high?’

She had courage, a quality he admired. Except she was way off base if she imagined any help he might be predisposed to offer came without a price.

Every risk Xavier took, and he admitted to many along the way, involved deliberate calculation. It was the basis of his success, the code by which he ran his business interests.

He knew all the angles, every devious aspect of human nature. Hadn’t he worked them to his advantage in his early days on the streets of New York? It was also the reason no woman had managed to capture his heart as he climbed high among the social echelon.

Yet recently he’d experienced an unaccustomed restlessness. He owned a luxury mansion in one of Melbourne’s prime waterfront suburbs, houses and apartments in various cities around the world, his own jet, expensive cars, an art collection worth millions. All he had to do was indicate he needed a woman in his bed, and several lined up to please him, aware the gift of jewellery and an all-expenses-paid sojourn in a spa resort were the only price he was prepared to pay.

While his business interests continued to challenge him, his personal life had become predictable, even boring. Was he sliding towards a mid-life crisis in his late thirties? Evaluating what he really wanted when, if appearances meant anything, he had it all?

In spite of the acquired sophistication, his generosity to select charitable causes, and the numerous acquaintances who sought his attention, his favour, he retained a degree of cynicism. Aware there were few women who would see past the size of his bank balance.

He owned a multi-national business enterprise, yet there was no child of his blood to take the reins in future and forge a dynasty.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he regarded the young woman facing him. Affection, sexual compatibility…weren’t those qualities realistically attainable in a relationship? And honesty…a quality Romy Picard possessed in spades.

‘What if I were to put forward a proposal?’

For a moment she was prepared to swear her heart stopped beating. ‘Proposing what, precisely?’ The query held caution and an elevated degree of suspicion.

‘Involving you.’

No. The word echoed through her mind as a silent scream. He was toying with her, like a butterfly in captivity as he waited for the moment he would pin her to the wall.

‘I don’t enter the equation.’

He continued to study her in silence, until she felt close to hitting him. Had he any idea how impossibly angry she was at having to confront him? In normal circumstances, she’d take extreme pleasure in telling him to go to hell.

‘No?’ Xavier posed with deceptive mildness. ‘You represent the only tangible entity your father possesses of any worth to me.’

Something deep inside curled into a tight, painful ball, and she wanted nothing more than to turn and walk from the room, the building…anything to escape the compelling man who held her father’s fate in his hands.

‘You’re suggesting I become a form of payment in human kind?’ Each word took immense effort to enunciate and emerged in faintly strangled tones.

‘Your words, not mine.’

His drawled voice held an indolence that caused the pulse at the base of her throat to quicken to a hammered beat.

‘Prostitute myself by becoming your current mistress?’

‘And bear me a child,’ Xavier continued silkily.

It took enormous effort to resist the urge to slap his face, and for a heart-stopping moment time stood still, becoming a suspended entity when electric awareness pulsed heavily in the air.

Restrained anger emanated from her slender frame, and her eyes darkened to a vivid blue sapphire. ‘Are you insane?’

‘You beg leniency and attempt to bargain by offering nothing in return?’

Her eyes speared his, their blue depths intensely fiery with incredible fury. ‘What you’re suggesting amounts to blackmail.’

‘I prefer to call it a negotiated deal between two consenting adults.’

‘Bastard.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Erroneous,’ he relayed in a musing drawl. ‘Given my parents were married at the time of my birth.’ The fact his father had abandoned mother and child within weeks no longer seemed relevant, or that his mother had been forced to do menial work for long hours in order to survive a trailer-park existence, and had died young.

Romy took a deep, calming breath, aware it didn’t come close to enough. Did he have any idea how much she wanted to rail against him? Even in her most trying moments in the classroom with students from hell, she hadn’t come this close to physically lashing out. And that was saying something!

‘You demand too much.’

He rose and indicated the door. ‘Then we have nothing more to discuss.’

Words temporarily failed her, and she could only look at him with stark disbelief. ‘You’re asking me to become pregnant with your child,’ she demanded with incredulity. ‘Give it up after birth…then be cast out of its life?’

‘Why would I cast a wife aside?’

The colour leeched from her face. ‘What do you mean—wife?’

‘Marriage,’ Xavier clarified succinctly. ‘Adequate recompense for me dropping all charges against your father,’ he added in dry mocking tones. ‘And clearing his gambling debts.’

For a moment she lost the power to think as erotic images filled her mind…images she’d never been able to erase, and words tumbled from her lips without thought. ‘I don’t want to marry you.’

‘Consider the advantages.’

‘At the moment, I can’t think of one.’

Was that a quick gleam of amusement she glimpsed on his face or merely a trick of the light?

‘No?’

Romy swept his impressive form a deliberate appraisal, and successfully tamped down the unbidden emotion threatening to consume her body. ‘What we shared wasn’t anything special.’

Liar, she silently castigated. Once, just once she’d attempted to erase his lovemaking from her mind by superimposing it by having sex with someone else…and the memory still gave her cause to regret the experience.

Xavier tamped down the urge to pull her in close and take possession of her mouth, to tame her fine anger and turn it into purring pleasure. Instead, he reached out a hand and trailed light fingers down her cheek, then he cupped her chin and eased his thumb-pad gently over the soft fullness of her lower lip. He watched her eyes darken and sensed the faint hitch in her breath.

So much for thinking she was immune to his touch! Strength of spirit ensured she stood perfectly still, her eyes steady as she held his gaze, and she wondered if he had any inkling just how much it cost her to do so.

‘You want a deal for your father,’ Xavier reiterated quietly. ‘I’ve offered a solution. Take it or leave it.’

The thought of her father having to appear in court again, be escorted under police guard to prison, suffer indignities, fear, not to mention several years incarceration, possibly die there, was more than Romy could bear.

‘Do you need me to spell out what form of reminder the loan shark will serve Andre, and ultimately you, if payment isn’t forthcoming on time?’ Xavier queried and saw her features pale.

She had until midnight tomorrow to produce a large sum of money neither she nor Andre could scrape together.

Face it, she reminded herself grimly. Every possible resource had been explored. Xavier DeVasquez was their last hope for any form of rescue package that would help her father.

A hollow sensation settled in her stomach as desperate reality hit home. She had a choice, which was really no choice at all. The question had to be—did she have sufficient courage to take what Xavier offered? Yet how could she not?

The faint burr of his phone intruded, and he picked it up, listened, offered a curt instruction, then he ended the call.

There was little to be gained from his expression, and she didn’t even attempt to hazard a guess as she bore his measured scrutiny.

‘I have an important meeting scheduled.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Your answer, Romy?’

This was it, she recognized with a sense of fatalism. She’d come this far and would gain much—at considerable personal cost—if she agreed to the deal. A deal which didn’t need to be a life sentence, for marriage carried an escape clause. There was always the option of divorce.

Her eyes sparked brilliant blue fire. ‘Yes…damn you.’

For a brief second she thought she glimpsed humour in those dark eyes, then it was gone.

‘I don’t recall you being quite so verbally explicit,’ Xavier drawled and watched as she made a concentrated attempt to rein in her anger.

‘It’s the effect you have on me.’ Calm, she had to remain calm. Difficult when she was filled with mixed emotions…not one of them good.

‘I need a contact phone number before you walk out the door.’ His voice was like silk and sent her stress levels up a few notches.

‘I’ll leave it with your PA.’

Xavier withdrew a card and handed it to her. ‘I prefer to keep my personal life and business matters separate.’

Romy took the pen he offered, scrawled her mobile number onto the back of the card, and placed both on his desk, then she turned, walked unseeing out to main Reception and took a lift down to the ground level.

She’d succeeded in gaining her father a reprieve.

It should have felt like victory…instead it felt like hell.

CHAPTER THREE

THE phone pealed as Romy was about to step into the shower back at her St Kilda apartment, and she quickly pulled on a robe then raced into the bedroom to pick up her mobile, checked caller ID and failed to recognize the number.

‘Romy.’

Xavier.

There was no doubting the male voice, or to whom it belonged, and she drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it.

‘What do you want?’

‘We’re due to meet with my lawyer in half an hour.’ He moved fast…but what else did she expect?

‘I have plans,’ she said coolly. She didn’t, except he wasn’t to know that.

‘Do you really want to do this the hard way?’

If only she didn’t have to do it at all!

‘I’ll be at your apartment in fifteen minutes.’

‘You don’t know the address.’ Empty words, given he’d already cut the connection.

A soft oath escaped her lips in the knowledge he had the means to discover almost anything he wanted to know including her new place of residence.

For a few timeless seconds she considered slipping out before Xavier arrived only to give up the idea almost as soon as it occurred.

Fool, she silently berated herself as she stepped into the shower stall. Such an action could lead to financial suicide.

The in-house phone pealed as Romy was putting the finishing touches to her hair, and she picked up, identified Xavier and quickly announced she was on her way down.

Tailored trousers, neatly buttoned blouse beneath a jacket, killer heels, with her hair swept into a careless knot held in place by a large clasp. Casual, yet chic. Minimal make-up.

Good to go, she decided as she picked up her keys and tossed them into her clutch as she exited her apartment.

Xavier was waiting for her when the lift doors slid open at ground level, and she tamped down the sudden quiver in her stomach at the sight of him.

He bore the look of a man whose sophisticated exterior belied the dangerous earthy quality that lay beneath the surface.

Black trousers, an open-necked shirt and a black softleather jacket replaced the formal business suit. Attire which did little to lessen the lethal impact of the man.

For a wild moment she considered telling him she’d changed her mind. Except doing so wasn’t an option.

Her chin lifted fractionally, and she met and held his level gaze with equanimity as she crossed to his side.

Stilettos added inches to her petite height, but even so the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Three years ago she’d felt protected, whereas now it merely enhanced her vulnerability.

Did he pick up on it? Possibly. Vulnerable wasn’t an emotion she wanted to impart.

‘I hope this won’t take long,’ Romy began, and saw his eyes narrow.

‘We settle the legal issues,’ Xavier reiterated as he ushered her through the foyer to the security-controlled entry. ‘Then we share dinner.’

They exited the building, and he indicated a sleek Mercedes Maybach resting in a nearby reserved-parking bay.

‘I don’t want to have dinner with you.’ Romy waited as he disengaged the locking mechanism and opened the front passenger door.

‘Tough,’ he dismissed coolly as she moved past him and slid into the seat.

The door closed with a refined clunk, and she delayed her response until he slipped into the adjoining seat.

‘I get the need for a pre-nup,’ she managed with deliberate calm as her eyes speared his. ‘As to the marriage…when do you envisage the ceremony will take place?’

Xavier engaged the engine and spared her a cool glance. ‘This weekend.’

Her stomach did a slow somersault as he eased the car out onto the street and headed towards the city.

‘Why so soon?’ Her life was moving so fast it felt as if she’d boarded a runaway train!

‘You need me to spell it out?’

It was simple maths: Andre needed a large sum of money fast; Romy represented the surety…and Xavier didn’t negotiate an unsecured deal.

Dear God, the enormity of what she’d agreed to do acquired momentous proportion!

‘You’ve informed Andre?’

Romy closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘Yes.’ Only that she’d succeeded in clearing his debts…not the price she had to pay. Although no matter what spin she put on it, her father was unlikely to be fooled. Nor would he approve her decision. The reason she had elected to relay the details to him in person.

Two weeks ago she’d been looking forward to returning home, reconnecting with her father, and had viewed the challenge of a different school, new students with enthusiasm.

Her life, as she’d envisaged it to be, had quickly taken a dramatic about-turn…irrevocably, she reflected pensively. At least, for a while.

Marriage. What young woman didn’t dream of meeting the man of her dreams, falling in love, and living the happy ever after?

Once, more than three years ago, she’d imagined she was living the dream, only to discover the man she loved wasn’t on the same page…let alone reading the same book!

Now, through circumstance, she was soon to be legally linked to him in a loveless union based on thinly disguised blackmail.

What on earth was she getting herself into?

A faintly hysterical laugh rose and died in her throat. Emotional insanity…nothing more, or less.

The question had to be…could she survive with dignity and some of her emotions intact?

A few years tops, she reminded herself. Then she’d file for divorce. Irreconcilable differences, a sufficiently ambiguous blanket covering a multitude of sins.

The image of a baby filled her mind, and her heart plummeted along with her resolve. A child…how could she give up a child? Share custody, time, not be there every day, every night, only when designated by a court of law?

But what if there wasn’t a child? What if she took steps to ensure she didn’t conceive?

Would Xavier choose divorce in order to select any one of several women who would bear him a child?

‘Your silence is telling.’

The faintly accented drawl interrupted her introspection, and she turned her head to offer him a cool look.

‘Really?’

Xavier checked the rear-vision mirror, indicated and drew the car into the kerb, killed the engine, then he turned towards her.

‘If you’re having second thoughts, now’s the time to say so.’

Deadly calm words which ricocheted inside her brain and succeeded in freezing the blood in her veins.

Oh dear Lord. What was she doing?

She couldn’t afford to lose control…or change the goal posts in this diabolical game.

Any self-indulgent time-out was merely a whiplash reaction. So…get over it.

‘Your call, Romy.’

When thrust between a rock and a hard place…what did you choose?

There was only one answer she could give. ‘I imagine your lawyer is waiting for us,’ she managed quietly.

‘That’s it?’

She gathered the tenuous threads of her emotions together and gave an affirmative. ‘Yes.’

Money, in excess, opened doors and provided services not usually offered outside normal business hours, Romy perceived a short while later as she preceded Xavier into a sumptuous office suite, where, introductions complete, she sank into a cushioned leather chair, listened carefully to the lawyer’s explanation of relevant documents, aware every possible contingency was covered in watertight legalese.

She almost baulked when the moment came to attach her signature. The enormity of her commitment seemed overwhelming, and for a wild moment she considered standing to her feet and walking out.

Except the ramification of such an action would be prohibitive and would destroy everything she’d strived to achieve.

So…pick up the offered pen and sign, a tiny voice prompted, and without further thought she did just that. Then she carefully replaced the pen on the desk.

The following minutes became a blur as both men conversed with an easy familiarity that spoke of friendship, and she rose to her feet automatically when Xavier indicated the session was at an end. She even smiled and offered a few polite words as the lawyer escorted them to the lift.

There wasn’t a word she could say as the lift took them down to ground level, and she bore Xavier’s unwavering scrutiny with equanimity.

‘I’ll take a cab back to my apartment.’

‘No,’ he refuted quietly. ‘We’ll eat, then visit your father.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Opposing me just for the hell of it?’ Xavier’s voice held a touch of cynical humour, and she sent him a cursory look that spoke volumes.

He chose a restaurant at Southbank where the food was excellent and surpassed only by the dedicated service.

‘Shall I order for you?’

Romy offered him a speaking glance and pretended intense interest in the menu. Food of any kind held little appeal, although there was a need to select something, and she chose bruschetta, declined wine and settled for a nonalcoholic spritzer.

Lunch had comprised a slice of toast with honey, followed by a banana…all she’d felt her stomach could digest at the time.

There was, she perceived, nothing wrong with his appetite as he ordered a starter and followed it with a main. A dish she’d favoured during the brief time they’d been together.

Coincidence? Or was it a deliberate choice?

Like she cared!

Yet something tightened inside her stomach that he might have remembered a time when they’d shared food, forking a tempting morsel for sampling, delighting in knowing they’d share so much more at evening’s end.

Then she had been relaxed and in tune with him, just living to please and be pleasured.

A delicious tremor slid the length of her spine at the unbidden image, painfully vivid as memory resurfaced.

‘You’ve begun a new contract at a high school in the northern suburbs.’

Romy spared him a questioning look. ‘Your PA was instructed to determine the precise location and relevant details?’

Xavier lifted an eyebrow. ‘It bothers you that I did so?’

Yes. Although she’d expected it of him. Xavier had long gained a reputation for sourcing every detail, even the most seemingly inconsequential. Very little, if anything, escaped him, and heads were known to roll should any of his subordinates fail to deliver. Life and his climb to the top had fashioned him into the man he’d become.

‘Then you’ll be aware I have a contract to fullfil.’

‘A contract isn’t set in stone,’ he reminded her, and caught the way her eyes blazed blue fire.

‘I teach, it’s what I do,’ Romy vouchsafed.

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. ‘There’s no need for you to continue working.’

‘What else would you have me do? Become a social butterfly who spends her days having beauty treatments and shopping?’ She sent him a quelling look. ‘Forget it.’

‘You prefer attempting to impart enthusiasm for knowledge into young minds, controlling their behaviour, offering extra-curricular tutoring and immersing yourself in setting and marking numerous assignment papers?’

‘Yes.’ Among the students who slipped through the scholastic system, there were those who could excel, and she strived to give both at opposite ends of the scale her equal attention.

Statistics proved some would never make it, a fact which only made her try harder, to go beyond and above the call of duty.

‘There are those who baulk at the theory of learning, yet excel in practice.’

‘Such as yourself?’

‘The cut and thrust in the real business world, the challenge to succeed against the odds provides an adrenalin rush coveted by many.’

‘High risk, high maintenance.’

‘You neglect to mention the rewards,’ Xavier drawled, and she arched an eyebrow.

‘The mansions, houses abroad, expensive cars?’

A faint smile teased the edges of his mouth. ‘You forgot to include the women.’

She matched the faint mockery in his voice with droll cynicism. ‘Of course…women.’

‘There were not so many,’ Xavier relayed with musing indulgence. ‘And I ended each relationship before I began another.’

‘For which you think you deserve brownie points?’

His smile verged on the indolent. ‘You’d paint me as a careless rake?’

She managed a imperceptible shrug. ‘If the cap fits.’

A waiter delivered coffee, and Xavier settled the bill.

They emerged onto the boardwalk to crisp cool air and an indigo sky sprinkled with a light dusting of stars.

Romy retrieved her cellphone and keyed in a series of digits, gave her location and ordered a taxi. Only to give a startled exclamation as the cellphone was taken from her hand and the call cancelled.

Anger rose to the fore as she shot Xavier a venomous glare. ‘How dare you?’ She reached for the phone. ‘Give it back.’

‘A taxi isn’t an option.’

She closed her eyes, then opened them again. The temptation to lash out at him was almost impossible to resist. ‘I’m going to visit my father…alone,’ Romy asserted, sorely tried.

‘No.’

Anger pumped from her in a fine red mist. ‘What is it with you?’

He suppressed the urge to take possession of her sassy mouth and tame all that fiery rage into whimpering submission. And he would…soon.

‘Do you really want to do this here?’

Realization of where they were, in a public place, people out enjoying the evening air and, oh, God, the interested looks they were garnering…had a sobering effect.

Her scorching glare had little effect, and she stepped to one side and strode—as well as one could stride in stiletto heels—towards the main road. Only to inwardly fume as he matched her pace with an easy grace.

The silence between them became a potent, volatile entity, one she refused to break as they reached the car.

For a brief moment Romy considered a final act of defiance, only to change her mind at the tempered warning evident in his dark eyes.

‘Do you need the address?’ Cool, stilted words, which had no effect whatsoever as Xavier released the car’s locking mechanism.

‘No.’

So he knew Andre’s fall from grace had led to a small, barely adequate flat in a western suburb, a far cry from the lovely home her parents had occupied during Romy’s youth.

She chose silence as Xavier traversed the inner city and took a route leading to one of numerous streets where redbrick houses were jammed close together on minuscule blocks of land.

The shabby home where Andre resided had long been converted into one-bedroom self-contained flats, a place her father would soon leave, if she had anything to do with it!

Her father’s flat was reached from a narrow central hallway, and Andre’s smile faltered as he opened the door, then disappeared as he saw the man standing at Romy’s side.

‘Xavier.’ The greeting was cautious, polite, and Romy’s stomach tightened into a painful knot as she gave her father an affectionate hug during the heavy silence which followed.

‘Andre,’ Xavier acknowledged, as her father stood to one side to allow them entry into an open-plan room comprising a lounge area and adjoining dining room.

Two single club chairs bracketed a small sofa, and Andre indicated them.

‘Please, take a seat. Can I offer you some tea or coffee?’

Her heart tore a little at her father’s attempt at normality in what had to be an unforeseen situation, one that would rapidly digress to extraordinary any time soon.

‘I’ll make it.’

In the kitchen she filled the electric kettle and set out cups and saucers, taking longer than necessary in order to delay rejoining both men.

She hadn’t expected her father to easily accept her decision, and her fingers shook a little as she heard Andre’s voice rise a little.

Time to go face the fallout, she decided as she placed everything on a tray and crossed the room, her head high, a smile firmly in place.

Andre viewed her in contemplative silence as she offered him coffee.

‘You always consider your actions,’ he declared, perplexed. ‘Yet you’re rushing headlong into a marriage in circumstances that are far too coincidental.’ He was silent for several seconds as he searched Xavier’s features. ‘If I thought you had deliberately orchestrated this…’ He faltered, momentarily unable to continue. ‘It’s unconscionable.’

Her heart ached for him, and she so badly wanted to fabricate something…anything that would help ease his mind. Except there was only pretence, and her father was too intelligent not to see through it.

‘A permanent relationship should be sanctified by marriage,’ Xavier revealed quietly. ‘Or would you prefer I take Romy as my mistress?’

The silence in the room was a palpable entity, and as much as she wanted to rail against Xavier, to do so in her father’s presence would only compound a bad situation.

In seeming slow motion she saw her father’s features pale and take on an ashen tinge as his tortured eyes searched her own.

‘I won’t let you do this.’

There was only one way to go, and she took it as she clasped his hands between her own. ‘I’m marrying Xavier this weekend,’ she said gently. ‘Will you honour me by being at my wedding?’

His eyes filled, and for a moment she thought he might break down, then he managed to regain a degree of composure. ‘Can you give me your word you’re doing this of your own free will?’

God forgive her, but what could she say other than—‘Yes.’

It hurt to see him struggle to accept her decision, and for a moment she thought he meant to protest further, except after several long seconds he inclined his head.

‘I won’t disappoint you.’ A sufficiently ambiguous claim that almost brought her undone.

Romy was unsure how she managed to get through the ensuing half hour before she indicated a need to leave. It was almost ten, and she had papers to mark. Besides which, it had been a hell of a day, and she desperately wanted the quiet solitude of her flat.

In the car she simply leant her head against the cushioned rest and momentarily closed her eyes as Xavier ignited the engine.

‘Relax.’

‘Sure, and that’s going to happen any time soon.’ She turned her head towards him and sent him a venomous glare. ‘Do you have any idea how much I hated what went down in there just now?’

‘It was better we approached Andre together.’

‘Better for whom?’

He spared her a glance as he paused the car at an intersection. ‘You.’

‘I didn’t need any support.’

‘No?’

‘Please,’ she remonstrated, hating him afresh. ‘Don’t play the protector.’

‘You don’t see me in that role as your husband?’

His query was indolently deceptive, and there was nothing she could do to quell the sudden spear of pain.

‘Like the title of wife is security against you taking a lover or three when you tire of me?’

‘Why would I take a lover if my wife satisfies me?’

‘That’s a two-way street.’

‘You doubt I can satisfy you?’

She remembered too well how he’d managed to satisfy her. Dammit, her body still reacted just thinking how it had sung in response to his touch.

He smiled as he eased the car into a main arterial road leading to St Kilda, and she focused her attention beyond the windscreen, aware of the passing traffic, the wide tree-lined thoroughfare.

It was a relief when he turned into Marine Parade and drew the car to a halt outside her apartment building.

Her hand was already on the seatbelt release, and the breath caught in her throat as she reached for the door clasp, only to have him frame her face with his hands.

He was close, much too close.

‘What—’

‘This.’

There wasn’t time to complete the protest as his mouth closed over her own in a slow, sweeping kiss that tore at her resolve and shattered it.

For a wild moment she forgot everything except the feel and taste of him and the electric pulsing sensation throbbing through her body.

It was as if the past three years had ceased to exist, and she was barely conscious of the faint groan that rose and died in her throat at her unbidden response.

She felt the stroke of his thumb along her jawline, sensed the increased pressure of his mouth, and she gave herself up to the sweet passion of his touch.

Magic, she accorded silently, unable to think as she became lost. Cast adrift from reality and flung heedlessly into a time and place where emotion ruled.

Until sanity returned, and she wrenched away from him, her eyes impossibly large as she attempted to control her ragged breathing. ‘Don’t—’

Xavier’s eyes gleamed dark in the reflected street light.

Romy reached blindly for the door clasp, and he let her go, waiting until she had keyed her security code into the numeric pad and had passed through the foyer before he engaged the engine.

She was barely aware of the lift’s swift passage until it slid to a halt at her floor, and she muttered a curse as she fumbled the key when she inserted it into the lock.

For heaven’s sake…what was wrong with her?

Her mouth still tingled from his touch, and she put a hand to her still-racing heart as she closed the door behind her and leant against it.

What had just happened back there?

If she’d ever wondered about the sensuality they’d once shared…oh, call it what it was, she dismissed in silent chastisement…passion. Incandescent and primitive…emotion that took possession of the soul.

Hers, she admitted reluctantly. But not his.

For Xavier, she merely represented the bride price he was prepared to pay in order to gain a legitimate heir.

And to exact revenge against father and daughter, don’t forget that, she reminded herself with cynicism.

It would be the height of folly to imagine otherwise. She pushed away from the door and drew in a deep, calming breath.

So take a reality check, why don’t you?

She slipped out of her stilettos, shrugged off her jacket, crossed into the kitchen where she made a cup of strong coffee, then she set it down on the table, opened her leather satchel and turned her attention to marking student assignments.

It was after midnight when she crawled into bed and doused the light, convinced her brain was buzzing too much to enable an easy sleep.

Except she was wrong, and the next thing she remembered was waking to the early dawn light filtering through the shutters of her bedroom window.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE next day began with an alarm clock which didn’t go off, ensuring Romy woke late, dressed hurriedly, gulped coffee on the run and took a banana to eat en route to the high school in the northern suburbs.

Traffic was heavy, and there were the usual delays at computer-controlled intersections.

Consequently, she arrived with bare minutes to spare before she was due in class. Not the ideal way to begin a day.

Worse, the few miscreants in class seemed bent on providing distraction, testing the new teacher on the block.

OK, so the English classics failed to inspire their attention, despite her every effort to provide modern, upbeat comparisons, and it became a morning where male testosterone vied with female hormones in a bid for witticism supremacy.

‘So, Teach—like, who is this Will Shakespeare dude, anyway? And what does someone dead have anything to do with us?’

‘Yeah. And what’s with sonnets and couplets?’

‘Like we care?’

Explaining the greats were an important part of literary history didn’t seem to cut it.

‘Bono, now, he’s a dude with something to say.’

‘Ice. Snoop Dogg,’ a voice added.

‘Seal.’

‘Yeah,’ endorsed a recalcitrant chorus, and Romy swung into idiomatic lingo with an ease that surprised them.

Be prepared, was an adhered-to motto when all else failed. She’d done her homework well, isolating verses from the literary greats and comparing them with gangsta rap idioms.

Not so different in translation, given the mores of different centuries, and she gave a silent yes in victory as the overt boredom underwent a change and emerging interest took its place.

Nothing was said. Overkill wasn’t on the agenda.

At the end of class, she merely thanked them for attending and asked them to provide ten more comparisons for their next English class.

Lunch was eaten in the staffroom, whose occupants seemed grateful for the brief respite prior to taking on the afternoon.

Romy’s cellphone beeped with an incoming text message as she ascended a flight of stairs en route to an afternoon class.

Xavier, she determined, alerting her he’d ring her at seven that evening. Why? she quickly keyed and received wedding details within a few seconds.

Romy bit back an unladylike oath, stowed the cellphone in her bag, summoned a smile and entered a classroom where several students either lolled against their desks or sat on them, and whose belligerent expressions promised a difficult session.

One teenager, he of the class clown species, made a conscientious point of addressing her as Miz too frequently with such faux-angelic regard she was sorely tempted to laugh, something she managed to avoid as she suggested he move to the front of the class and read two verses of Byron out loud.

An edict which saw him slide to the floor on his knees, bow his head in mock prayer and beseech—‘Anything, Miz, but not Byron.’

‘William Wordsworth,’ Romy responded without hesitation. ‘“The Daffodils.”’ She waited a beat. ‘In its entirety.’

A subtle irony that was lost as the class leafed to the index and turned to the section on Wordsworth.

Two lines in, the class clown lifted his head, looked heavenward, cursed, then uttered a pitiful, ‘Sheesh, you have to be joking.’

‘Begin again,’ Romy instructed evenly. ‘This time, restrain from adding your own comments.’

Did she win points? Doubtful. A smidgen of respect? Unlikely.

It came as a relief to wind up the school day, gather papers into her satchel and slip behind the wheel of her Mini Cooper.

There were things she needed to do, and persuading her father to exchange his meagre digs for her apartment held priority. Something which took a while, and involved his pride and her perspicacity until he reluctantly accepted her insistent decision to continue paying the monthly leasing fee. Relevant phone calls cemented the arrangement, making it a done deal before Andre could change his mind.

‘Now?’

His incredulous query brought a determined smile as she reiterated, ‘Now. I’ll help you pack.’

‘Since when did you become so bossy?’ His voice held a tinge of amusement, something she welcomed, and her answering grin was genuine.

‘It’s been a while.’

Not that there was much to fold into a suitcase, and she held back the tears as she saw just how little he’d kept from his former lifestyle. A framed wedding photograph, one of Romy the day she began school, another when she graduated. A treasured miniature crystal Waterford world globe, a gift to him from her mother, and clothes.

‘I’ll take the couch,’ he said firmly as they entered her St Kilda apartment.

But only until her marriage to Xavier…the knowledge was uppermost, a fast-moving event planned to happen soon.