Malachi turned and slowly, very slowly, smiled at her.

‘You see, that money didn’t come from King Industries. It came from me. From my personal bank account. And my terms are personal too.’

Addie swallowed—or tried to swallow, at least—past the lump in her throat. ‘What do you mean by personal?’ she croaked. Around her the air felt hot and leaden, and the room was growing darker. ‘What do you mean?’ she repeated, and the lump felt sharp and jagged now.

His voice was soft, just as it had been when he’d promised to love and honour and cherish her for ever. But the hard lines of his face were knife-sharp and harder than stone.

‘I’ve been very patient, but you owe me a honeymoon, sweetheart.’

‘I—I don’t understand.’

His gaze swept over her slowly. ‘Then let me explain. I want you to come away with me for a month. To be my mistress.’ His eyes locked on to hers, pinning her against the leather upholstery. ‘Do that and you can keep the money. And who knows? There might even be a little bonus in it for you.’

LOUISE FULLER was a tomboy who hated pink and always wanted to be the prince—not the princess! Now she enjoys creating heroines who aren’t pretty pushovers but are strong, believable women. Before writing for Mills & Boon she studied literature and philosophy at university and then worked as a reporter on her local newspaper. She lives in Tunbridge Wells with her impossibly handsome husband, Patrick, and their six children.

Claiming His Wedding Night
Louise Fuller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jane Arnold.

For Friday coffee and shopping; for making it up to Southwold so many times; and for being my friend.

Thank you.

Contents

COVER

INTRODUCTION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

SHE SHOULD BE PLEASED. Good publicity was what charities like hers survived on. Only it was doing more than surviving, Addie Farrell thought with a small smile of satisfaction as she glanced down at the newspaper. It was just five years since they had opened their doors to offer music to disadvantaged children in the city, but the way things were going, they might be able to open a second centre soon.

Addie frowned. The article was one hundred per cent approving—even the photograph was flattering. So why did she feel so deflated? Her smile faded. Probably because the glossy red curls tumbling over her shoulders and the nervous excitement in her blue eyes hinted at a different Addie—an Addie she had been a long time ago, for a few blissful months. The Addie she might still be now if Malachi King hadn’t taken her heart and tossed it aside like some unwanted corporate gift.

Don’t go there! she warned herself. The article was about her hard work and determination. It had absolutely nothing to do with her rat of an estranged husband. Or their foolhardy and doomed marriage.

That was all in the past now.

Her present—her future—was a world away from that dark place she’d slipped into after Malachi had broken her heart. And she had survived worse than his defection. Her muscles tensed as she remembered the car accident that had shattered her dream of playing the piano professionally. It had been devastating, but she had not given up and now she had the best job in the world: bringing music to children whose lives were a constant battle with poverty and neglect.

She sighed. Only that would keep happening if she got on and knuckled down to her admin.

Opening her laptop, she began clicking through her emails. Twenty minutes later she reached across the desk and picked up a pile of envelopes from her in tray. Glancing at the one on top, she felt her breath catch sharply in her throat, the beat of her heart suddenly swift and urgent. As though mesmerised, she stared blankly at the embossed logo on the front of the envelope.

King Industries. Owned by her very rich, very handsome and very estranged husband Malachi.

The blood was roaring in her ears, and for a moment she imagined tearing up the letter and hurling the pieces into the warm Miami air. And then, with hands that shook slightly, she tore it open and read the letter inside.

It took three attempts before her brain could connect the words to their meaning. Not that the letter was badly written. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was polite and succinct, informing her that, after five years of funding, King Industries would be withdrawing their financial support from the Miami Music Project.

Heart pounding, Addie scanned through the lines, her eyes inexorably drawn to the signature at the bottom of the page. Bracing her shoulders, she felt her chest squeeze tight as she stared at her husband’s name.

Fury snapped through her bones like electric sparks. Was this some kind of cruel joke?

He hadn’t been in touch for five years. Five years! Not a phone call, an email, a text.

Nothing.

This was the first time he’d contacted her since their wedding day and it was some stock letter telling her that he was cutting the funding for her charity! It was despicable! And so cowardly when he hadn’t even had the guts to speak to her, let alone meet her face-to-face.

Somewhere beneath her ribs she felt something twist—a wrench, slight yet irrevocable. If she hadn’t known better she might have thought it was her heart.

Her whole body was shaking and she felt a sudden spasm of helpless rage. Wasn’t it enough that he’d crushed her romantic dreams? His support for her charity was the one good thing that had survived their marriage. Only now he wanted to wreck that too.

What kind of man would do something like that to his wife?

Her stomach cramped as she miserably remembered her wedding day, and how Malachi had promised to love her. Looking into her eyes with a shimmering heat that had made her heart quiver, he had made her believe he meant every word.

Gritting her teeth, she stared down at the face looking back up at her from the newspaper.

How could you have ever believed that he loved you?

Her face tightened. She’d known all about his reputation as a womaniser, a player of hearts as well as cards. But of course she’d believed him. Who wouldn’t? That was what Malachi did best. He looked into your eyes and smiled, a gorgeous, curving smile, and he made you believe.

He made the gamblers in his casinos believe they would beat the tables.

And he’d made her believe that he loved her.

But he hadn’t. Instead he had used her and exploited their relationship to improve his bad-boy image. Their marriage had been nothing more than a stunt conceived and executed by a man who had built a multibillion-dollar business by ruthlessly taking what he wanted. A man who liked playing games almost as much as he liked to win.

Her head snapped up and, lifting her shoulders, she eased her head from side to side, like a fighter about to step into the ring.

Maybe it was about time he found out what it was like to lose.

Breathing out slowly, Addie lifted up the letter and stared at it bleakly.

He might have had the ‘house edge’ during their relationship, but if he thought this letter would be the last word on their marriage he could think again. A lot had changed in the five years since they’d separated. She knew what lay behind his smile now, and she certainly wasn’t the same lovestruck young woman he’d married.

Rapidly typing into her keyboard, she narrowed her eyes as she picked up her phone and quickly punched in the number at the top of the letter.

‘Good morning! King Industries. How may I help you?’

Feeling her heart start to pound, Addie took a deep breath and said quickly, ‘I’d like to speak to Mr King!’

‘Could I take your name, please?’

Her shoulders stiffened. Gripping the phone tightly, she bit down hard on her lip. It was her last chance to change her mind. To leave the past sealed.

For a moment she almost hung up, and then, dry-mouthed, she closed her eyes and said hoarsely, ‘Addie Farrell.’

There was a pause.

‘I’m sorry, Ms Farrell, I don’t seem to have you down for an appointment.’

‘I don’t have one,’ she said, surprised and even a little impressed by the firm, even tenor of her voice. ‘But it’s important—vital that I speak to him!’

‘I understand that, Ms Farrell.’ The girl sounded young, and a little nervous. But despite her youth she had clearly been well-trained. ‘And I’ll do my best to help, but Mr King doesn’t speak to anyone without an appointment.’

Opening her eyes, Addie cursed softly. Of course he didn’t. Malachi was the CEO. His calls would obviously be screened and only the most important would be put through to him. She gritted her teeth. But who could be more important than his wife?

Somewhere at the back of her head a voice was warning her to hang up, but it was muffled by the angry, insistent beat of her heart. ‘He’ll speak to me,’ she said slowly. ‘Just give him my name.’

There was another, longer pause. ‘I can’t do that, Ms Farrell. But I can certainly arrange an appointment. Or if you’d like to leave a message—’

Addie smiled grimly. ‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘Tell him it’s his wife. I just wanted to remind him that it’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow.’

There was a total, frozen silence and she felt an unexpected but welcome ripple of satisfaction wash over her.

‘If you wouldn’t mind passing that message on? I don’t mind holding,’ she said sweetly.

* * *

Outside the window of his private jet an ethereal pale blue sky stretched to the horizon. It was beautiful, humbling. But Malachi King was oblivious to the view. Instead his gaze was locked to the screen in front of him, his dark grey eyes moving swiftly over the columns of figures that filled the page.

‘What happened on Table Twenty-five?’ he asked abruptly, looking up at the thickset, middle-aged man seated opposite him.

‘There was an incident. A bunch of guys on a stag night got a bit messy. But I dealt with it. Nice and smooth, Mr King.’

‘That’s what I pay you for, Mike. To keep it all smooth!’

Glancing at the message on the screen of his phone, Malachi gave a small, tight smile. If only he could smooth out his parents’ messy lives so easily. But unfortunately Henry and Serena King were showing no sign of giving up their decadent habits any time soon, and as their only son he had no option but to clean up after them.

There was a knock on the cabin door and both men watched in silent appreciation as a sleek brunette wearing the uniform of the King Industries private airline sashayed into the room.

‘Your coffee, Mr King! Will there be anything else?’

Malachi’s smile shifted. Breathing in sharply, he let his eyes linger on the almost ludicrous swell of the woman’s bottom against the navy fabric of her skirt. He felt his body stir—

Will there be anything else?

Surely that was one of the advantages to owning your own plane? Sex with a beautiful woman at forty-one thousand feet? It certainly beat an in-flight movie and a packet of peanuts. He let his gaze drift over the woman’s body. She was very beautiful. And desirable. But he would never sleep with her. Not only because she worked for him—that, of course, put her off limits—but because she was just too available. There was no excitement, no challenge in bedding a woman like her.

He didn’t miss a beat.

‘No, thank you, Victoria. Just the coffee.’ His intonation was perfect, polite but neutral, making it clear that while he might remember her name that was the beginning and the end of their relationship.

He turned his attention back to his security chief. ‘It all looks good, Mike. I’m going to chill for ten minutes, so enjoy the rest of the flight.’ It was a dismissal, but again done with exactly the right blend of warmth and efficiency. Leaning back in his seat, he heard the door shut and, reaching forward, clicked the phone on the desk. ‘No more calls, Chrissie.’

Closing his laptop, he breathed out slowly. Now he could enjoy the view!

He didn’t really understand why but it was something of a guilty pleasure for him, watching the sky stretch out and away—a giant, vaulted ceiling of blue. Was it something to do with the colours? He frowned. Maybe. Or maybe it was because the serenity and calm was so unlike the chaotic debauchery of life with his parents.

He shifted in his seat, feeling it for the first time: that soft pressure, like a finger pushing against a bruise. A memory of eyes that exact colour, widening, changing from light to dark, cool to hot—eyes that set off a jangling alarm inside his head.

He gritted his teeth. He tried never to think about Addie. His wife. But this time of year, this month—tomorrow, in fact—always made him unusually tense. He had to dig deep to calm himself, to stop his nerves from ringing.

He jolted forward in his seat. The ringing wasn’t inside his head. It was his phone. Mouth hardening, he stared at it in disbelief and then, frowning, snatched it up. ‘This had better be good,’ he said tersely. ‘Or at least entertaining enough for you to have disturbed me—’

There was a short, tense silence, and then he heard his personal assistant breathe out nervously.

‘I’m sorry, Mr King—I didn’t want to do the wrong thing. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but she said it was important so I put her on hold. Is that okay?’

She! In other words, his mother. Gritting his teeth, Malachi felt a surge of irritation. But he couldn’t really blame his assistant. Serena King could make a broken nail sound like a diplomatic incident if she chose.

Imagining his mother’s likely mood, he grimaced. Please let it not be something too sordid. Or illegal. ‘It’s fine, Chrissie. I’ll speak to her now,’ he said slowly.

Better just to take the call, for Serena would not take kindly to being fobbed off after having been kept on hold. And her unkindness was not something he wanted to provoke.

‘Yes, sir.’ The girl hesitated. ‘And Happy Anniversary for tomorrow, Mr King!’

Suddenly his jaw was clenched so tightly he could feel his teeth vibrating. His whole body was on high alert, his mind rewinding their conversation.

There was only one other person aside from himself who knew that tomorrow was his wedding anniversary. And it certainly wasn’t his mother. He’d made damn sure that his parents had been kept well away from his marriage.

He breathed out slowly. ‘I think we might be speaking at cross purposes.’

Glancing down, he saw that his hand was curled tightly over the armrest, the knuckles protruding whitely against his skin. With an effort, he splayed the fingers apart.

‘Who exactly have you got on hold, Chrissie?’

She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her voice was high and nervous. ‘I—I’m sorry, Mr King,’ she stammered. ‘I thought you understood. It’s your wife. Ms Farrell!’

Malachi stared across the cabin. Outside the window the sky had clouded over. Everything was the same pure white as newly settled snow. The same pure white as the dress Addie had worn when she’d spoken her wedding vows. His throat tightened. His motives for marrying might have been a little self-serving—even a little manipulative. But either way, she’d promised to love and cherish and honour him. Only her promises had been as fragile and tenuous as the clouds breaking apart outside the window.

Why now? he wondered. Why, after all this time, had she chosen this moment to get in touch? For a moment random thoughts collided in his head—irritation, curiosity, disquiet—and then abruptly he sat up straighter.

‘What a charming surprise,’ he said smoothly. ‘You’d better put her through.’

The phone line clicked and his stomach tensed as, for the first time since their wedding, he heard the light, clipped voice of his wife.

‘Malachi? It’s me. Addie!’

‘Apparently so,’ he drawled softly.

It had been five years, but nothing in his manner gave any hint of how unsettling it was to hear her again. Nor would it. Years spent playing high-stakes poker had taught him early and hard the value of never giving anything away. He grimaced. That and being Henry and Serena’s son. It was just a pity he hadn’t remembered that lesson when he’d first met Addie.

‘It’s been a long time, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘To what do I owe the honour?’

Addie felt the walls of her office shift and shrink around her.

In her haste to call him she hadn’t considered how he might react. But now, hearing his voice, she felt confused and thwarted, for he sounded exactly as he always had: cool, smooth, in control. Almost as though the last five years had never happened.

She gritted her teeth. What had she expected? Anger? Outrage? That would mean being emotional, and Malachi King didn’t do emotional.

Her hands felt suddenly hot and clammy and, closing her eyes, she gripped the phone more tightly. She might not like it, but the truth was that it would take more than hearing from his estranged wife to make Malachi lose his cool. After all, even when their marriage had been disintegrating he had been like the eye of the storm: calm, detached. Separate.

But that was all in the past now. This phone call wasn’t about raking over their personal history. It was about her husband’s despicable behaviour now. And its impact on children’s futures. Breathing out, she opened her eyes.

‘How can you even mention the word honour after how you’ve acted? And don’t act so surprised to hear from me. I sent you an email ten minutes ago—’

She broke off suddenly, anger making her trip over her words, the misery and pain suddenly as fresh as it had been five years ago. How could that be? It didn’t seem fair to feel like that. But then she had never really got over his deception. Nothing—not even her job—had ever really filled the void that Malachi had left.

A shiver ran through her body and she was grateful that he couldn’t see her face, see just how strongly he affected her. Her eyes narrowed. There was no way she was about to give him the satisfaction of hearing it in her voice either and, trying to project poise and confidence, she said coolly, ‘I know you’re short on empathy, Malachi, and that you have the morals of a shark, but I didn’t think even you would stoop this low.’

The plane was turning. They were making their descent. Frowning, Malachi flipped open his laptop, punching the keyboard, his face impassive as he searched through his emails.

‘I feel your pain, sweetheart,’ he said softly, ‘and I wish I could help. But unfortunately I’m a little baffled as to what it is you think I’ve done.’

Despite the neutrality of his words, he felt her anger gritty on his skin. Five years of silence and she randomly decided to ring up and shout at him about his morals and his lack of empathy. He frowned again. For some inexplicable reason she had once managed to turn his world upside down and inside out. It was a little surprising, not to say unsettling, to discover that she could still do so.

But his surprise was forgotten as finally he found the source of her outrage. So that was why she was so upset!

Leaning back, he stared at the screen, his eyes fixed on his wife’s name. In theory, their conversation was over. He could and probably should simply hand the matter over to his social responsibilities department but—his eyes gleamed—where would be the fun in that?

‘As I’m sure you remember, I run a huge operation,’ he said disingenuously. ‘Perhaps you could explain exactly what it is you think I’ve done.’

Addie felt a flash of impatience.

First he pulled the financial rug from under her feet, and now he was pretending he didn’t know anything about it. She might have been idealistic and eager enough to take his words at face value when they’d first met, five years ago, but thanks to Malachi she’d become an expert in double-dealing.

‘Oh, please! Do you really think I’m that stupid? You can’t bluff your way out of this one, Malachi. This is not some game of cards!’

‘Indeed it is not. Card games have rules, and players don’t tend to screech unfounded accusations at one another.’

The taunting note in his voice made her heart bang in her throat, and suddenly she was gripping the phone so tightly her hand hurt.

‘They are not unfounded. And I’m not screeching,’ she snapped.

Damn him. He was so infuriating! Always twisting the facts. And so impossible to pin down. Unless she concentrated hard she was going to lose track of why she’d rung him in the first place, and probably end up saying or doing something stupid. Although not as stupid as agreeing to marry him.

Her blue eyes hardened like water turning to ice. Reining in her temper, she said crisply, ‘You signed the letter, Malachi. I have it in front of me.’

‘I sign lots of letters,’ he said smoothly. ‘It could be anything. Dry cleaning. Overdue library book.’

Addie gritted her teeth. She had rung him in anger, knowing that right was on her side. Only now he was making her fury seem out of place—comical, even—as though she was trying to rob a bank with a water pistol. Worse, she could feel herself responding to the teasing note in his voice.

It was suddenly hard to breathe. Memories of the past were pressing in on her. Memories of the man she had loved—not just because of his staggering good looks but because he was cool and funny. And flirty.

She felt her insides tighten and a prickling heat began to spread slowly over her skin.

Even the most prosaic of words sounded warm and honeyed when spoken in that slow, sexy drawl of his. For a moment she allowed herself to picture his handsome face, that wicked gleam in those dark, hypnotic eyes, the slight upward curve to his gorgeous lush mouth—

Her heart was banging.

Don’t forget the lies that spilled from that gorgeous lush mouth, she reminded herself coldly.

Particularly those he’d told her at the altar. Next time she felt like reminiscing over her husband’s charms she needed to remember those lies and how they’d left her struggling even to get out of bed some mornings.

Gripping the phone more tightly, she lifted her chin. ‘As you well know it’s about the centre. So quit pretending that you had nothing to do with stopping my funding.’

Staring at the screen in front of him, Malachi shifted slowly in his seat, waiting, thinking, deliberating.

Until two minutes ago her letter had just been one of the many that were handed to him every week. And yes, he’d signed it. But did she really believe he would do such a thing to her charity out of malice? His face tightened. Probably, and he knew she had reason to think so, but he didn’t like the fact that she thought so badly of him.

‘You’re right. I did sign the letter,’ he said coolly. ‘But, like I said before, I sign hundreds of letters every week. I don’t read them all—or even write them, actually. Except those that are personal.’

‘You mean like a letter to your wife?’ Addie said acidly.

Malachi stared straight ahead. Her words stung, as she’d intended them to.

‘I suppose I asked for that.’

Feeling a stab of pain, Addie breathed out slowly. ‘Yes. You did.’

At least if he’d known nothing about the letter she might have been able to believe he would have acted differently. But how had he not noticed her name? Or remembered her charity? For a moment she contemplated asking him, but her pride forbade her from revealing the grinding ache of misery in her chest. Besides, what was the point? It was all too long ago to matter.

She heard him sigh.

‘I can understand how it might have looked to you. But it’s quite simple, really. We offer financial support to emerging charities for a fixed period—in your case five years. By that time we would expect the project to be up and running and the funding would be cancelled. My signing the letter was just a formality.’

A formality!

Her lips twisted.

What a perfect footnote to a marriage that had been nothing more than a business strategy—for Malachi, at least.

‘So,’ he said softly, ‘is that it? Are we good? Or is there something else you want to discuss?’

Her stomach gave a lurch as his words ricocheted inside her head. What did he mean? Something else you want to discuss. Was he just being polite? But even if a prickling tension hadn’t begun to spread over her skin she knew he wasn’t. She could hear the dare in his voice, the challenge, fluttering between them like a ribbon in a breeze.

Damn him. If Malachi wanted to talk about their relationship he could bring it up himself. Speaking to him had been a necessary evil. But she absolutely, definitely wasn’t going to make polite conversation with him. And she certainly didn’t want to discuss their marriage.

Or did she?

Her cheeks grew warm. Ringing Malachi had been a spur of the moment act. Confronted by what she’d seen as a deliberate act of provocation, she’d been swept along in a rush of anger and outrage. Only now her anger was slipping away, and reluctantly she found herself acknowledging the whole truth.

That she could simply have ignored the letter.

Or let a solicitor contact King Industries.

Or asked to speak to someone other than Malachi.

But she hadn’t because deep down, buried beneath the resentment and the pain and the hurt, she had wanted that chance to speak to him. She shivered. It had been reckless, stupid. But surely she could forgive herself that one moment of weakness. After all, didn’t every disappointed lover have some tiny sliver of longing to hold on to their fantasy of love?

But that didn’t mean she was ready to discuss her failed marriage with the man who had trampled on that selfsame heart. Any more than she’d been willing five years ago to share more than the barest details about herself —particularly those concerning her life-changing accident. It would have required a trust that simply wasn’t there.

She breathed in sharply. Right now, however, there were other less personal but more pressing matters to resolve. Like getting her funding back.

‘No. We’re not good! I accept that you didn’t personally choose to stop the funding but that doesn’t change the fact that it has stopped.’

She paused. Despite her bravado her heart had started to thump inside her chest. It had been easier when anger had been driving her. But ranting and raging was clearly not going to persuade Malachi to rethink his decision. That would require a softer, more conciliatory touch. Appalled, she licked her lips nervously. Stay neutral and stick to the facts, she told herself quickly. The funding was vital, the centre’s work lasting and beneficial, and of course his generosity would be much appreciated. But, first off she needed to test the water.

Lifting her chin, she said firmly, ‘Which is why I’d like you to change your mind.’

Malachi leaned back in his seat, a predatory smile curling his lip. It was a reasonable request. But it was still a request. One that he had the power to approve.

Or not.

‘As I explained,’ he said smoothly, ‘I receive many requests for financial support. You yourself know of many deserving charities in Miami.’

‘I do,’ she agreed hurriedly. ‘But the work we do with the children is enormously valuable and unique to the city.’

Standing up, Malachi stretched slowly and stifled a yawn. Could he be bothered to drag this conversation out any longer? The amount under discussion would barely make a dent in his billions. He could have a new agreement written up in minutes, sign it and say goodbye to Addie for ever. Or he could simply refuse to renew the funding and hand it over to his lawyers. Either way, in a matter of minutes she would be off the phone and out of his life for good.

His chest ached. Except now that she’d finally made contact with him saying goodbye was the last thing on his mind.

‘True enough,’ he said finally. ‘But, be that as it may, there would have to be exceptional circumstances for me to renew your funding.’

The phone twitched in her hand and holding it suddenly felt dangerous, as though it had morphed into a snake. There was a long, pulsing silence and Addie licked her lips again. His words were innocuous enough, but she could feel the danger shimmering behind them. Only, having come this far, what choice did she have?

She took a deep breath. ‘What kind of exceptional circumstances?’

Her voice sounded taut and high—too high. To her strained nerves it sounded desperate, needy—hardly the image she was striving to convey. As far as Malachi was concerned she wanted him to think that she was doing just fine. Better than fine, in fact. She wanted him to imagine her as gorgeous and successful—and utterly out of his reach.

Breathing in sharply, she glanced down at the letter on her desk and scowled. ‘What kind of circumstances?’ she repeated more steadily.

Malachi stared in silence out of the window. The sun was turning the sky a pale gold. It was going to be another beautiful day. A small smile curled his lips.

‘I don’t know,’ he said truthfully. ‘But I imagine I would have to look into the case closely...’ He paused, relishing the tension quivering down the phone line. ‘Very closely. In fact I would definitely have to meet with the applicant. In person.’

Addie held her breath. Her body seemed to have turned to liquid.

‘N-No!’ she stammered. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘But I do. I don’t just hand out money to anyone, you know.’

‘I’m not anyone!’ she snapped. ‘I’m your wife.’

Too late, she saw that she had fallen into his trap.

‘Which is another good reason for us to meet,’ he said slowly. ‘We can talk about our marriage.’

Her office suddenly felt airless. Her nerves were shrieking like a car alarm. Suddenly he wanted to talk about their marriage? Was he mad? Or deluded?

‘No, we can’t! I won’t. Dragging up the past isn’t going to change anything,’ she said shakily. ‘We just have to accept it was a mistake—’

‘Was it?’

Addie blinked. It had been a disaster. And Malachi knew that as well as she did.

‘Yes. It was.’ She spoke too quickly, the words keeping pace with her heartbeat. ‘I can’t imagine what I was thinking!’

‘Can’t you?’

She took a quick breath, almost like a gasp. His voice was slow and glowing with a heat that she could feel down the phone. A heat that crept under her skin and coiled around her heart so that suddenly she couldn’t seem to breathe properly.

‘That’s probably because what we shared had very little to do with thought, sweetheart.’

He paused and she felt the heat spike inside her.

‘Mostly it had to do with tearing each other’s clothes off.’

Addie swallowed. Her hand felt damp against the phone. A drumroll of fear and longing was beating so loudly that for a second she thought it was coming from outside of her body.

‘I don’t remember,’ she whispered.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he murmured. ‘I know you remember that time in the lift.’

She shivered. She did remember. Could remember it as if she were there now, watching herself and Malachi, his hand slipping beneath her dress, her body arching against his as she tugged feverishly at his belt.

With a pure effort of will she dragged her mind back to the present.

‘Apart from being irrelevant to this discussion, it was all a long time ago. So, no, I don’t,’ she lied. ‘Unlike you, Malachi, my life, like most people’s lives, does not just revolve around sex!’

‘You think? Then you’re either excessively naive or an extremely bad liar.’

She heard the amusement in his voice.

‘Sex drives all human life. What did you think our relationship was based on? A mutual love of seafood!’

Addie felt a dull pain start to throb in her chest. No. She hadn’t thought it was based on seafood. Fool that she was, she’d actually hoped and believed that their relationship had been based on love. An ache spread through her chest, hot and dark like a summer storm. Only love required honesty and trust, not secrets and lies. And neither of them had ever told the other the truth.

‘I don’t like seafood any more,’ she snapped. ‘Nor do I want to listen to your one-dimensional views on relationships. And I especially don’t want to discuss them, or anything else for that matter, with you in person.’

‘Really?’ he said in that slow, sexy drawl that made her blood hum and her skin turn to glue. ‘That’s a shame. You see, I was hoping you’d meet me for lunch so we could discuss your funding. You do want me to renew your funding, don’t you, sweetheart?’

Addie stood up, pushing her seat back with such force that it fell backwards onto the floor. But she barely noticed, such was her panic to block out that seductive velvet-smooth voice. And the urgent response of her body to it.

‘I’m not going to meet you for lunch, Malachi!’

‘You think dinner might be better?’ he said disingenuously, completely ignoring the fury in her voice. ‘I’m happy to do either. What do you fancy? French? Or what about some ceviche? There’s a great new Peruvian place just opened up.’

Dinner! A vein was pulsing painfully in her forehead and mechanically she pressed her fingers against it. ‘I don’t want to eat French or Peruvian,’ she said shrilly. ‘And I’m not meeting you for lunch or dinner or any other kind of meal.’

‘Pity!’ His voice was dark and loaded. ‘Because that’s the only way you’re going to get your funding out of me.’

‘Fine,’ she snarled. ‘Then I’ll just have to get the money some other way.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ he murmured. ‘You always were very imaginative, as I recall.’

Her temper finally snapped. ‘You are disgusting and I never want to speak to you again.’

He laughed. ‘I’m a little unclear. Did we agree on lunch or dinner?’

With a howl of fury, she hung up.

Still laughing, Malachi switched off his phone and dropped it onto the desk. He gazed thoughtfully across the plane’s cabin, wondering what she would wear when he saw her again. For, whatever she’d said, their meeting was as inevitable as the sun rising and setting. His heart began to thump; his blood was pumping, slow and heavy. Nor was it hate that had made her hang up on him. It was fear. She was scared—scared of the connection between them and her response to it.

And so she should be.

His grey eyes flared and feeling his groin harden, he let out a long, slow breath as a trickle of anticipation ran down his spine.

She might not have been the perfect wife he’d imagined, but Addie had never been boring. On the contrary—she had been feisty and stubborn and impulsive. Which meant that lunch—or, better still, dinner—was a foregone conclusion. All that remained was for him to choose a restaurant and a tie.

And, letting out a sigh of satisfaction, he settled back into his chair to enjoy the view.

CHAPTER TWO

‘NO. I QUITE UNDERSTAND.’ Trying her hardest to keep the note of disappointment out of her voice, Addie picked up her pen and drew a line firmly through the last name on the list in her notepad. ‘And thank you for giving me so much of your time.’

Flipping open her laptop, she scrolled slowly through the column of figures on the screen. Finally she let out a long, slow breath. It was hopeless. Despite all her efforts she had barely enough funds to cover next month’s rent and a few utility bills. Even if she added in her meagre savings she certainly couldn’t afford to pay her staff’s salaries.

Leaning back in her chair, she bit her lip. If she told them what had happened she knew they would offer to forego their pay. But why should they? she thought angrily. Why should they suffer because she had let her arrogant, maddening ex get under her skin?

Her head was pounding. And it wasn’t just because of her precarious finances. Speaking to Malachi again had stirred up feelings she had buried deep, deep down, and now she was battling emotions she still wasn’t ready to acknowledge or resolve.

Her heart gave a lurch. It wasn’t only her feelings she couldn’t face. She’d spent the last five years more or less pretending that her marriage had never happened. Now, in the space of twenty-four hours, she’d been forced to confront not only her husband but the state of estrangement between them.

Sighing, she slumped back in her seat and reluctantly contemplated the mess she’d made of her private life. Since splitting with Malachi she’d focused her energies on work. Yes, she’d been on a few ‘dates’ but no man ever quite measured up to him. But then she hadn’t just fallen for Malachi. She’d dived in headfirst, captivated not only by his looks and charm but by how he’d made her feel like her true self. The self she’d discovered through music and lost the night of her accident. Only through music had she felt able to be the real Addie—wild and free. And Malachi had made her feel like that too.

But not for long. Pretty soon she’d been out of her depth and drowning. Only by that time she’d become his wife.

Her pulse twitched and she shifted in her seat. It had all happened so long ago. So why were they still married?

As far as Malachi was concerned it was probably because he’d forgotten all about her until yesterday, when she’d called him, whereas she— Her face coloured painfully. She was still married because she was a coward. The thought of seeing him again had been just too painful. In the months following their separation she had vowed to confront him and demand a divorce, but she had always found a reason not to do so. And so the months had become years.

Five long years. In fact, tomorrow it would be five years exactly.

Remembering her wedding day—his tension, her confusion over his parents’ absence—she felt a shiver of sadness. It was obvious even then that what they’d shared was nothing more than physical attraction.

She frowned. But her marriage wasn’t the issue here.

She needed money, fast, and if having lunch with Malachi meant that she got her funding then maybe she should just call him. No doubt he was sitting there in his office, smugly waiting for her to do just that. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to help him choose a restaurant as if it was some kind of a date. Her eyes narrowed. She needed to do something to make it clear that she was meeting him on her own terms.

So why not surprise him at lunch? All she would have to do was follow him to wherever he was eating and confront him, and then finally she might wipe the self-satisfied smile from that gorgeous mouth of his. Easy!

Her breath jammed in her throat.

Easy?

One look from Malachi had once been enough to turn her into a rippling mass of desire. But not any more, she told herself firmly. For even if her body hadn’t learned the consequences of falling for that shimmering, sensual gaze her mind had, she had more sense and pride than to let it happen again.

* * *

Was it only lunchtime?

His grey eyes widening with disbelief, Malachi glanced at the one-of-a-kind Swiss-made watch on his wrist. Unusually for him, the day had seemed to drag—and his mind was only half on work. The other half was picking over his conversation with Addie.

Leaning back, he smiled slowly, remembering the frustration in her voice.

She’d been good and riled. But it wasn’t only exasperation that had made her so hot and bothered. He’d heard another kind of heat.

And just like that an image of Addie flared inside his brain. The soft pouting lips, glossy red curls and legs like a thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby. All wrapped up in a take-it-or-leave-it manner that he’d had no choice but to take...

Breathing heavily, he shifted in his seat, remembering the feverish touch of her mouth against his, the heat between them blurring their edges so that it had been impossible to feel where she’d ended and he’d begun.

He smiled grimly. For most of his life he’d watched his mother and father use passion and emotion like poker dice, uncaring of the consequences. As an adult, away from their orbit, he’d sworn never to follow in their footsteps. His private life would be conducted in the realm of reason.

Only then he’d met Addie, and thrown away caution and control and broken every damn rule in the book.

A pulse began to beat in his neck and suddenly his chair felt cramped, confined. Standing up, he walked quickly across his office to the large floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the gaming area of his flagship Miami casino. He breathed in sharply. There were nearly seven hundred gaming tables down there, not including the club privé, each one offering a change of fortune, a new beginning, a better life.

Watching people as they gave everything they had—sometimes literally—to the turn of a card or the roll of a dice seemed to him to represent the rawest, most pure expression of what it meant to be human. It was all there—hope and hunger, fear, and the desire to win. He found it fascinating, stimulating. But not as fascinating or stimulating as the thought of seeing his estranged wife again.

Staring down at the men and women, their faces tight with concentration, he felt a flicker of anticipation. She’d told him she never wanted to speak to him again. But she would. She’d have no choice. And not just because of the money.

His eyes gleamed.

So, where should he take her for lunch?

Snatching his jacket from the back of his chair, he tugged it on. Addie would no doubt refuse to meet him if there was even a hint that they would be alone together. A busy, open-plan restaurant would be better. His eyes gleamed again. He knew just the place.

Opening his door, he was met by the startled faces of his secretary, Chrissie, and her assistant.

‘I’m going out for lunch.’

‘But—’

The women glanced up at him in confusion.

‘You’re meeting Andy here at twelve-thirty,’ said Chrissie. ‘You always meet him.’

It was true. Most days he met his casino managers as they came on shift. But today was different.

‘So it’ll be a nice change for both of us,’ he said smoothly. ‘Call Eights. My usual table. And tell Andy I’m indisposed.’

‘Would you like your car to be brought round to the front, sir?’

Malachi shook his head and smiled. ‘No, thank you, Chrissie. I need a bit of fresh air.’

He ran a finger under his collar. After thinking about Addie, what he actually needed was a cold shower, but a tall chilled mojito might just be a tolerable alternative!

* * *

The restaurant was crowded with the usual mix of suave businessmen and glamorous, golden-limbed women. His table was set slightly apart from the other diners, with a view over the ocean. Like all the best views in the world, it was unchanging and yet never the same.

His choices made, he waved away the waiters and sat back, his eye drawn to the horizon between sea and sky, where dense black clouds hovered above the turquoise water. A storm was coming. According to the weather reports, it was due to hit land just after three. Not that he minded. A storm—bad weather in general—was good for business. But it meant that his lunch might have to be slightly curtailed.

His phone gave a small shudder and, turning, he glanced at it, his face expressionless. It was a message from Henry, asking him to call. But he didn’t want his father’s voice inside his head. Not when his mind was filled with thoughts of Addie.

He picked up his glass. The wine was an interesting choice, the crisp hint of apple surprising him. But it wasn’t the wine that caused him to put down his glass. It was the woman walking through the restaurant towards him.

Like every other man in the room, he watched her intently as she wove sinuously between the tables. He felt a rush of excitement. The weathermen had been wrong. The storm had already hit town. And her name was Hurricane Addie!

Staring defiantly ahead, Addie made her way across the room. Walking into the restaurant, she’d felt a fluttering panic. It was one thing deciding in anger to gatecrash his lunch and cajole him into renewing her funding—quite another to confront him in cold blood. In theory, she could tell herself that she no longer cared about him and that he was just another businessman on her list. She could even remind herself that he was the man who had lied to her face and broken her heart. But all that reason and logic had been forgotten when she’d pulled open the door and stepped into the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the room was packed with diners, she spotted him in a heartbeat. No one but Malachi had that invisible but tangible push-me-pull-me energy. Radiating out from him like rays from the sun, it tugged her gaze across the room to where he sat, gazing out at the ocean like some buccaneer on the high seas. She breathed in sharply, her hand rising involuntarily, protectively in front of her, as though to ward off the full intensity of his masculinity.

He was even more beautiful than she remembered, with his dark hair falling across his forehead, that sculpted poet’s profile and those eyes...the grey shifting and darkening like a constantly changing winter sky. He looked cool and relaxed in a tailored charcoal-grey suit that was a shade lighter than his eyes—and worth every cent of the billions of dollars he was rumoured to have made from his gaming empire.

Her head was spinning; the noise of the room sounded distant and distorted. But even though it was clear he still had the power to throw her off balance, she damn well wasn’t going to reveal that fact to Malachi.

Her hands curling into fists, she walked purposefully towards him and stopped in front of his table. Her back felt as if it was burning beneath the combined female envy in the room, but her blue gaze was cool and scornful as they stared at one another in silence.

It was she who spoke first. ‘You wanted to have lunch with me.’ Her voice was husky, her cheeks flushed with colour. ‘So here I am.’

‘Yes, you are,’ he said softly. He stared in undisguised appreciation at the clinging black dress. Or rather at the swelling curves beneath the fabric. ‘You look incredible, sweetheart. Life must be treating you well. I feel like I should be the one asking you for money.’

Addie lifted her chin. ‘Who knows? Maybe one day you will be.’ She rested one slim hand on her hip. ‘So, are you going to ask me to sit down? Or have you changed your mind?’

‘In that dress? Not a chance. Come and join me.’ Patting the seat beside him, he grinned as, ignoring his gesture, Addie sat down on the opposite side of the table.

As though her arrival had triggered some hidden switch, not one but two waiters immediately appeared beside them, and her shoulders lowered with relief as the daunting prospect of being on her own with him was temporarily postponed. But her reprieve couldn’t last for ever and finally they were alone.

‘I just want to make it clear that I’m paying,’ she said quickly. Their eyes met—hers the same, rebellious blue as a teenage tattoo, his glinting, grey. ‘It’s only fair.’

His gaze fixed on her face and he stared at her thoughtfully, then shrugged. ‘Fine. You can buy me lunch. But I warn you, I’m not a cheap date.’

Addie stilled. ‘This is not a date, Malachi. And that kind of remark is why I’m buying lunch. So there aren’t any mixed messages.’

He grinned. ‘You know me, sweetheart. The only thing I like mixed are my cocktails. Speaking of which—at least let me buy you a drink. Do you still like Bellinis?’

She swallowed, feeling a stabbing within. And then a softness. ‘You remembered...’

His eyes never left her face. ‘Of course. I remember everything about you and our time together.’

The softness hardened and she shivered inside. Was that what their marriage had been to him? A portion of hours and days? Her heart began to beat faster.

‘Good!’ She swallowed. ‘Then you’ll remember how important my charity is to the children it helps. And, no, thank you. I don’t want a Bellini.’

He waved a hand across the table at her negligently.

‘Some wine, then? Or is my presence intoxicating enough for you?’

Tucking her legs beneath the table, Addie forced herself to meet his cool grey gaze. ‘I don’t drink at business meetings.’ she said primly.

‘Neither do I,’ agreed Malachi, lifting the glass of wine to his lips. ‘It’s very unprofessional. But fortunately I don’t class our meeting as anything other than a cause for celebration.’

She stared at him blankly. ‘Celebration! I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Of course you do.’ Beneath the restaurant’s lights his eyes looked lighter, almost silver. ‘It was you who reminded me.’ He held out his glass and tapped it against her tumbler of water. ‘Happy Anniversary, sweetheart!’

Addie felt her skin grow cold. His eyes were glittering with an emotion she didn’t fully understand and, quickly turning her head, she fixed her gaze on the view of the ocean just as their meals arrived.

The food was both delicious and beautifully presented, but Addie found it impossible to enjoy her lobster salad.

‘Even if it is our anniversary,’ she said coldly, ‘I hardly think that’s relevant to today’s discussion. Personally I’d be happier if we just stuck to the real reason why we’re both here.’

‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘If it makes you more comfortable.’

Addie glowered at him. Comfortable! As if!

The only reason she was still sitting there was the children and her colleagues. Otherwise, had she not chosen to wear such ridiculously high heels, she would happily have turned round and run as fast as possible from that deceptively guileless face.

But breathing out slowly, she pressed her nails into the palms of her hands. At least she looked the part. Even if it had meant selling her bike. The important thing was that while she might need his help, he didn’t need to know that. She looked cool and classy and in control. Not like a woman looking for a favour.

Now all she had to do was stay focused. But, glancing across the table, she felt a pulse leap in her throat as she looked up into his glittering grey gaze.

‘You’re very quiet, sweetheart. I thought you wanted to talk?’ Lolling back against the leather upholstery, Malachi gazed at her intently.

She shrugged. ‘I was just thinking.’

‘Then I should probably be leaving!’ His eyes, light and dancing, fixed on her face even as the corners of his mouth began to tilt upwards. ‘A quiet woman is like a hand grenade. A quiet woman thinking is like a hand grenade with the pin pulled out.’

His curving smile waited for her reply and she licked her lips, her heart fluttering beneath his scrutiny.

And then, just in time, she remembered that there was an actual reason for her being there—other than just to gawp at Malachi’s cheekbones. Feeling clumsy, hoping he didn’t suspect the reason for her distracted behaviour, she pulled out a folded piece of paper from her bag and handed it to him.

‘That’s the original agreement.’

He took it and opened it. His face was impassive as he scanned the contents. Finally he looked up at her. ‘It’s strange, don’t you think? The two of us? Together again?’

She’d been expecting him to refer to the letter. Instead, caught off guard, she had to force down the tangled mass of emotion that reared up inside her in response both to his words and the probing focus of his eyes.

‘Th-there is no “two of us”,’ she said shakily. Her eyes darted away from him and round the room, seeking something solid and reassuring. Fixing on two burly businessmen at the bar, she felt her shoulders relax slightly. ‘And we’re not together.’

He smiled slowly. ‘Then why are you scared?’

Her temper flared. ‘I’m not scared.’ She hesitated. ‘Just a little apprehensive, I suppose.’ She met his gaze defiantly.

‘Would it help if I promised not to drop my napkin?’ he said softly.

A warm tide swept over her skin, as hot and strong as a hurricane. But no hurricane could ever be as devastating or dangerous as Malachi King, she thought wildly. Her cheeks burning, she fixed her eye on the smooth white linen tablecloth. But she could feel his eyes, dark and implacable as granite, seeking her out.

‘I’d rather you didn’t bring that up now.’ Her skin felt as if it was on fire; her heartbeat felt so loud she was surprised the other diners hadn’t stopped eating to stare at her.

‘When would you like me to bring it up?’ he asked smoothly.

‘N-never!’ Her voice was trembling and she shook her head. ‘It’s just not appropriate!’

He shrugged, his face dispassionate. ‘I don’t remember you complaining at the time.’

His eyes were like the shimmering headlights of a car. She stared at him helplessly, hypnotised, horrified by her body’s fierce, swift response to his words and the image they conjured up.

Had she really let him do that to her? In a restaurant? There was an ache low down in her pelvis. Her whole body was suddenly shaking and it felt as though her insides were being sucked into a whirlpool. A memory—perfect, impossible, spinning apart into a hundred shades of gold—slid into her head. It had been so wildly, shockingly exciting. Even now she could hardly believe it had happened. Or that she had let it. What had she been thinking?

She felt her chest tighten and her skin start to burn, for of course Malachi had been right. What they’d shared had had very little to do with thought. Their entire relationship had been founded on passion, in his arms she’d been fierce, wild, hungry for his touch; he had awoken the hot, sensual woman beneath the quiet, dutiful young pianist who’d practised her scales every day—

Her stomach dipped. But thanks to him that woman didn’t exist any more.

Meeting his gaze, she gave him an icy stare. ‘Do you want me to leave right now?’

His eyes flickered across her face and, reaching out, he picked up a piece of bread and bit into it with strong white teeth. ‘Wouldn’t that be a little premature? I thought you came here to discuss your funding? If you leave now, sweetheart, you’ll go empty-handed. Besides...’

He gave her a slow, sexy grin that made something hot and scratchy scrape inside her.

‘I’m sure you don’t want to miss dessert.’

He was calling her bluff. He knew she had no choice but to stay. Meeting his gaze, her eyes narrowed into sharp shards of blue. He was so smug and annoying. How she hated him!

Except that she didn’t.

Not unless that ball of hot liquid heat swelling inside her so that her ribs ached was how hatred felt.

She swallowed. Around her she could almost hear the air hissing when it came into contact with her overheated skin. Surely she wasn’t supposed to feel like this—so breathless, so dazzled.

Watching him lounge back against the leather, his eyes gleaming with undisguised satisfaction, she felt a rush of pure white anger. ‘I know what you’re doing,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You’re trying to make me lose my temper so that I’ll leave.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that right? You know, it never ceases to amaze me how women can misinterpret even the simplest statement and put some spin on it.’

‘Spin!’ It took every ounce of willpower she had not to throw the contents of her glass into his infuriatingly handsome face. ‘You making vile innuendos is not spin,’ she snapped.

‘I didn’t make any innuendos. I was merely recounting historical fact.’

His eyes were dancing with a malice that made her want to scream out loud. He was impossible. And this meeting was a farce.

‘Well, I didn’t come here to have a history lesson,’ she hissed. ‘Especially a highly selective and one-sided one.’

The waiter was back again. ‘Was everything to your satisfaction, Mr King?’

‘It was perfect, thank you. The scallops were sublime and my wife thoroughly enjoyed her lobster salad—didn’t you, darling?’

My wife!

Startled, her eyes met his. ‘Yes, I did.’ Glancing up, she gave the waiter a perfunctory smile. ‘It was delicious.’ She waited, fuming, until the plates had been cleared away and they were alone again. ‘Why did you call me that?’

His look of blank incomprehension made her want to throttle him with her napkin.

‘Why wouldn’t I call you that? That is what you are,’ he said smoothly. ‘Surely you didn’t think you could just waltz back into my life and start demanding money but somehow avoid discussing our marriage?’

She shivered as his gaze fixed on her bare ring finger but, refusing to be cowed, she drew back her shoulders and met his stare defiantly.

‘I don’t want to talk about our marriage.’

‘Clearly,’ he said softly. ‘If you had, you would have got in touch over the last five years.’

She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘There was nothing stopping you from getting in touch. And I didn’t waltz back into your life and demand anything. I’m here because you insisted that I meet you and now you want to dictate what we talk about.’

Her voice echoed round the room and, looking up, she froze. The restaurant was no longer packed with diners. In fact she and Malachi appeared to be the only two people remaining, apart from the businessmen at the bar. She watched, her stomach clenching, as a waiter discreetly cleared a table and left the room.

‘We need to leave,’ she said hurriedly, glancing round again. ‘Lunchtime service is clearly over.’

Glancing over his shoulder, Malachi shrugged. ‘They can wait.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You are so arrogant. These people have lives, Malachi. You can’t just expect them to hang around for hours.’

‘Why not? That’s what they’re paid to do,’ he said casually.

She glowered at him. ‘But not by you.’

There was a sudden, stinging pause. Glancing up, she saw that he was surveying her steadily, an odd light in his eyes. And suddenly the penny dropped.

‘You own this place?’ she croaked.

He nodded slowly, enjoying her shock. ‘Yes, I do.’ He paused, and there was a courteous edge to his voice that disguised the brutality of his words. ‘That’s why I chose to meet you here.’

She stared at him in confusion. For a moment her mind simply couldn’t absorb his words. ‘But you didn’t choose to meet me,’ she said slowly. ‘I followed you here.’

He looked at her almost regretfully, and suddenly her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst. Glancing over at the men at the bar, she felt her jawline tighten. Had she really thought they were businessmen?

She shook her head in disbelief at her own naivety. ‘You had me followed. By them.’

Their eyes met—hers wide with outrage, his shimmering with satisfaction and her hands balled into fists. He was enjoying himself, the bastard!

He shrugged. ‘It’s their job. They spotted you outside the office.’

Heat was blistering her skin. He’d played her—acting as if he was surprised when all along he’d known she was coming. She felt a spasm of nausea. But was it that surprising, really? He’d always been good at pretending. Look at the way he’d convinced her that he loved her.

She stood up so suddenly that the men at the bar leaped off their stools.

‘I should never have come here. As if you could ever behave like a mature, responsible adult—’

‘Sit down.’ Leaning forward, he spoke quietly, but the authority in his voice was enough to make her stop and look at him.

‘Why? I don’t want to talk to you.’

‘Yes, you do. That’s why you followed me.’

He leaned back in his seat, unfazed by her anger, and irritably she realised that despite her plans he was the one calling the shots. He always had been. It was just that she hadn’t realised it until that moment.

‘Come on, Addie. Sit down.’ His voice had shifted, softened. ‘Look, I’m going to give you your money. I always was.’ Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the table. ‘It’s a copy of a bank transaction. It was wired to your account...’ he glanced casually at his watch ‘...about twenty minutes ago.’ His eyes flickered over her taut expression. ‘Relax, sweetheart. You got what you came for. That is what you came for, isn’t it?’ He smiled. ‘Now, why don’t you just take a seat and we can both try and act like mature, responsible adults.’

Trying to keep what little remained of her dignity, she sat down and stared at him coldly.

His eyes gleamed. ‘Go on. Take it.’

Reluctantly she reached out and picked up the slip of paper. Staring down at it, she felt her face drain of colour. ‘This is the wrong amount.’ She looked back down, then, blinking, lifted her head in confusion. ‘This is double what I was expecting.’

His eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘Think of it as an anniversary present.’

Carefully she put the paper down on the table. ‘That’s incredibly generous of you,’ she said hoarsely.

‘I’m glad you approve.’

His tone was pleasant, but something in his eyes made a shiver of apprehension run down her spine and she glanced nervously at the slip of paper again, half feaing she might have imagined it. But it was definitely real.

‘It really is very generous,’ she said stiffly. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t got the money. It means so much to me. Thank you.’ She breathed out. ‘How long will it take to clear?’ She knew she sounded gauche but she didn’t care. If Malachi wanted to gloat—let him.

‘Around two hours.’ He paused and looked past her at the dark clouds and the grey swelling sea outside, and she felt that shiver of apprehension spike painfully through her skin. ‘But before you start spending it I need to make a few things clear.’

She nodded. ‘Of course. Do you want me to sign a contract? I can do that now.’

He turned and slowly, very slowly, smiled at her.

‘That won’t be necessary. You see, that money didn’t come from King Industries. It came from me. From my personal bank account. And my terms are personal too.’

She swallowed—or tried to swallow at least—past the lump in her throat.

‘What do you mean “personal”?’ she croaked. Around her the air felt hot and leaden and the room was growing darker. ‘What do you mean?’ she repeated, and the lump felt sharp and jagged now.

His voice was soft, just as it had been when he’d promised to love and honour and cherish her for ever. But the lines of his face were knife sharp and harder than stone.

‘I’ve been very patient, sweetheart, but you owe me a honeymoon.’

‘I—I don’t understand.’

His gaze swept over her slowly.

‘Then let me explain. I want you to come away with me for a month. To be my mistress.’

His eyes locked on to hers, pinning her against the leather upholstery.

‘Do that and you can keep the money. Who knows? There might even be a little bonus in it for you as well.’

CHAPTER THREE

THERE WAS A LONG, pulsing silence. Across the table, Addie stared at him in mute disbelief, unable to believe what she had just heard. Slowly she picked over his words inside her head, turning and twisting them like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, trying to make a different meaning. But each time the picture was the same.

His mistress!

The word sounded even harsher inside her head than when he’d spoken it out loud and her breath snarled in her throat. Maybe she had misunderstood him. Or maybe he was joking. But as she stole a glance at his cool, implacable face she realised with a jolt of fear that he was making a serious suggestion.

‘Are you out of your mind?’ she said shakily.

She stared down at the slip of paper, still lying on the table between them, clenching and unclenching her hands in her lap.

He shrugged, his cool gaze boring into her. ‘Everything in life has a price, sweetheart.’

‘A price! What are you talking about, Malachi? You just offered me money for sex!’

His gaze drifted lazily over her pale, stunned face. ‘How very unromantic of you. I thought I was offering you the honeymoon we never had.’

She was suddenly hot with rage. ‘Oh, please! You know exactly what you just said and it had nothing whatsoever to do with romance!’

Her words were tumbling from her lips so fast that she choked. As he gently pushed her glass of water towards her, she shoved his hand angrily away.

‘I don’t want any. I don’t want anything from you.’

Stretching one muscular arm along the back of the banquette, he shook his head slowly. ‘Now, we both know that’s not true. Or are you saying that you want me to cancel that transfer into your account?’

Addie hesitated. She badly wanted to throw the money back in his face, but how could she? Without it the charity would struggle to pay the rent, let alone support the children. And she would lose a part of herself—the part she was most afraid to lose because it absorbed so much of the energy and emotion she had once given to performing. Once given to Malachi. Only she wasn’t about to share that fact with him now.

Gritting her teeth, she lifted her eyes to his and he smiled slowly.

‘See? Everything does have a price, sweetheart.’

He paused. His grey eyes watched her face with a satisfaction that made her want to scream.

‘Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t done before.’ His mouth curved, his grey eyes glittering provocatively.

She glared at him, her own blue eyes snapping fire. ‘What? Sleep with a man for money?’

A muscle flickered in his cheek. ‘I’m simply asking you to resume our relationship.’

‘You are not! You’re taking advantage of me.’

‘No, I’m trying to negotiate a deal with you.’

‘A deal? This isn’t a deal. It’s blackmail. And it’s insulting—’ Shaking her head, she pushed the slip of paper jerkily across the table towards him. ‘I’m not some escort you pay by the day, Malachi! I’m your wife!’

‘So now you want to talk about our marriage?’

His eyes held hers, so dark and dispassionate that suddenly she was frantic to leave. His crude proposal was bad enough. But she couldn’t bear the thought of the two of them turning everything they’d once shared into something so twisted and ugly.

‘No, I don’t,’ she said flatly. ‘I don’t want to talk to you about anything. In fact I’ve got a new deal for you. How about you keep your money? And I’ll keep my pride.’ Rising to her feet, she jerked her bag from the seat and glowered at him. ‘Enjoy your honeymoon.’

‘Addie—’

He was on his feet, reaching out for her. But, slipping away from his outstretched arm, she ran lightly across the restaurant and past the bodyguards. Yanking open the door, she stepped out into the street, her brain registering the black overcast sky just as a strong flurry of wind slammed against her.

Gasping, she tugged her thin jacket more tightly around her body and began to hurry down the rapidly emptying road. Her stormy encounter with Malachi had completely distracted her from the tempest raging outside, but now she realised that, like their relationship, the weather seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. Much worse!

She would have to get a cab, she thought despairingly as she glanced up at the swirling dark clouds. If she waited for a bus she’d be soaked.

Holding out her hand, she began to walk as quickly as her heels would allow, glancing back over her shoulder with increasing urgency until finally, hearing a car slow behind her, she turned with relief.

Only it wasn’t a taxi. Her feet seemed to falter beneath her as a sleek black limousine complete with uniformed chauffeur drew up alongside her.

Her heart lurched and she took a hurried step backwards as one of the bodyguards from the restaurant leaped out from the passenger side. For a moment she thought he might grab her, but instead, turning swiftly, he opened the rear door and she felt her bones turn to ice as Malachi stepped out onto the pavement.

Turning cold blue eyes on him, she breathed out sharply as another gust of wind slapped into her. ‘Shouldn’t you be packing?’ she snapped.

‘Addie, please. Do you really want to be doing this now? Here?’ He flinched as a gust of wind sent a newspaper flapping past his head. ‘It’s been downgraded, but this is still a big storm. We need to get out of it.’

‘I know that. That’s why I’m getting a cab. And there is no “we”.’

She glanced away down the deserted street.

‘There are no cabs.’ Malachi stepped in front of her, his narrowed eyes at odds with the reasonable note in his voice. ‘And it’s getting pretty bad out here.’

As if to attest to the truth of his words, the first fat drops of water hit her face just as he reached out and touched her hand lightly.

‘Let me give you a lift home, okay?’

Despite the chill of the rain, she felt heat explode inside her. The noise of the wind felt suddenly muffled, drowned out by the heavy thud of her heartbeat. But jerking her hand away, she gripped her jacket more tightly. It would have to be a Category 5 hurricane before she’d even consider getting into that car with him.

‘I thought I made myself clear back at the restaurant.’ She was having to shout now, against the buffeting breeze. ‘I don’t need anything from you, Malachi. So if you don’t mind—’

‘But I do. What if something happens to you? Imagine how that would look—’

Addie stared at him in disbelief, trying to banish the sharp stab of pain as his words dug into her brain. ‘So this isn’t about me and my safety. It’s about you and your stupid image?’

For a moment she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. Was still hurting her. She clutched her bag against her chest, holding it in front of her like a shield as his eyes locked on to hers.

‘I am worried about your safety.’

‘So am I,’ she snapped. ‘Which is why I’m not getting in that car with you.’

All at once she was conscious of the calm surrounding him—as though his broad body was somehow absorbing the turbulence of the wind.

‘Your choice, sweetheart. The back seat.’ He smiled. ‘Or the boot.’

Her hand tightened on the fabric of her jacket. ‘Really! The boot? First you try and blackmail me—now you want to kidnap me!’

She watched the muscles in his arms swell against his beautifully tailored suit and instantly regretted her words. Knowing Malachi, he would have absolutely no qualms about tossing her into the boot of his car and, glancing down the street one last time, she made up her mind.

‘Fine,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘You can give me a lift.’

His eyes glittered with what looked to her horribly like triumph and, willing herself to hold her temper in check, she edged past him. ‘But just so you know—this doesn’t change anything.’

Fuming, she slid along the leather as far as possible until she was pressed against the frame of the door. Already she was regretting her acquiescence, for despite the warmth and sanctuary of the car her nerves were singing, her body painfully alert at the realisation that she was about to be alone and up close with Malachi. It was asking for trouble.

But it was also too late to change her mind.

As he got in beside her she breathed out slowly, her eyes narrowing as he calmly gave her address to the chauffeur.

‘Are you shivering or quivering?’

His voice broke into her thoughts and, turning, she scowled at him.

‘Why do you care?’

‘I was going to offer you my jacket.’

Her heart seemed to dissolve in her chest and a shivering heat crawled over her skin. ‘Well, I’m not cold,’ she said shortly. ‘So you don’t need to worry.’

‘In that case you must be quivering.’ He smiled. ‘Dare I hope that it has anything to do with me?’

She knew he was teasing her but that didn’t stop the sense of nervous unease she felt at his words. The sense that, despite her efforts to be poised and in control, she was making it transparently clear that her body still responded to him as it had always done.

Ignoring the burning in her cheeks, she lifted her chin. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Malachi, but it’s been a long time since I was susceptible to your charms,’ she said bitingly.

He tilted his head, his eyes skimming over her skin, sending ripples of heat in overlapping circles so that she was suddenly struggling to swallow.

‘It’s okay to admit it, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘I know you want me as desperately as I want you.’

Shoulders stiffening, she glared at him. Had he already forgotten his despicable and offensive proposal that she be his mistress? Probably. But knowing Malachi, he thought it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. She knew from painful personal experience that he was happy to exploit everything and everyone—even...especially...his own wife—for his own ends. Five years ago he’d used her image. Now he wanted to use her body.

The thought made her skin smart as though he’d slapped her.

‘Don’t flatter yourself. Right now I’m just desperate to get out of this car and away from you.’

Tipping his head back, Malachi laughed.

‘Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re stuck with me.’

‘Only for as long as it takes your driver to get me home,’ she snapped.

There was a short, pulsing silence, and through the rawness of her nerves she felt a drop of quicksilver shoot up her spine as he stared at her assessingly.

‘We’ll see.’

Her body was suddenly stiff and hollow and she felt a crack of fear open inside her.

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