Lynne Graham: The Banker's Convenient Wife

As that hard reality was spelt out to her Hilary lost colour and nodded in earnest understanding. From her lips, Roel would learn nothing that might upset him.

‘As Mr Sabatino’s wife, you are his next of kin and you may do what others may not for his benefit. He has countless employees; those he pays to do his bidding but mercifully you are in a much stronger position,’ Dr Lerther opined cheerfully. ‘Your husband needs to feel that he has someone close whom he can trust. Make no mistake. His present state makes him vulnerable.’

‘I can’t imagine Roel being vulnerable.’ Hilary’s throat was thick with tears and she could no longer meet the consultant’s kindly gaze. She was all too painfully aware that she too fell into the demeaning category of being someone whom Roel had once paid to carry out his wishes. But she was also devastated by the obvious fact that he should have nobody other than her available to take on such a role.

‘Nonetheless, if I may speak freely…it will be your responsibility to stand between him and all those business personnel who will seek access to him. His own needs must be put first,’ Dr Lerther advised her. ‘The Sabatino Bank must survive without him at present. He requires rest and relaxation. I am also sufficiently acquainted with the world financial markets to be conscious that no hint of Mr Sabatino’s current condition should go beyond this room.’

Hilary’s brow had furrowed for she had not even a passing acquaintance with the state of the world financial markets. She had no grasp whatsoever of that aspect of Roel’s existence and very little interest in the matter either. Instead, with innate practicality she had homed in on what would plainly be her own role. It would be her duty to look after Roel until such time as he regained his memory.

‘May I see him now?’

The consultant recalled his patient’s initially appalled reaction to the discovery that he was a married man and hastily suppressed the image of a loving little Christian being thrown to the lions. Hilary Sabatino could well be more resilient than she appeared. She might even be capable of standing firm against the glacial freeze of her billionaire husband’s despotic and wholly intimidating character…but even if Dr Lerther had been a gambling man, he would not have risked a bet on that outcome.

Hilary breathed in deep and followed in the nurse’s wake. In just minutes she would see the only male who had ever managed to make her cry…

A WIFE, Roel thought morosely.

Was it any wonder his memory had chosen to betray him by overlooking the most unprofitable acquisition in a man’s life since the advent of disease? Although he was only in his thirtieth year, it seemed that he had already sacrificed his freedom. Just as his father had done and his father before him: marry young, repent in millions. Yet he had sworn to himself that he would not make the same error.

He had steered clear of messy personal entanglements and kept mistresses who excelled between the sheets instead. He had a high sex drive, so he took care of it. Lust could not control him. Nor had he ever believed in love. So, love could thankfully have had nothing to do with his evident change of heart on the matrimonial front.

Certain things, however, he did not require memory to know. Indeed certain things he knew by instinct. The wife, whom his undisciplined mind had chosen to forget, would be a tall, elegant brunette because that was the type of woman who attracted him. She would be from a wealthy background and possessed of impeccable society lineage. She might be a career woman—a banker or even an economist, a possibility that was of some small comfort to him. Perhaps while discussing risk management and investment strategy he had recognised a working soul mate. An unemotional and otherwise quiet woman, who would respect the demands of his schedule when he was too busy to see her.

A knock sounded on the door. He swung round from the window, a male who stood six feet four inches, broad of shoulder and lean of hip, his tall, well-built frame sheathed in an Armani business suit of faultless cut.

‘Will you close your eyes before I come in?’ a low-pitched British voice asked. ‘Cos if you don’t I’m likely to feel really silly introducing myself to you as a wife.’

Shock one…he had married a foreigner with a definable regional accent rather than the clear flattened vowel sounds of the English upper class. Shock two…she used teenage slang and made childish requests.

‘Roel?’ Hilary prompted in the taut silence.

Raw impatience clenched Roel’s even white teeth together. He recognised that there were two ways of playing the scene. Either he could blast her out before she even came through the door or he could play along until such time as he had worked out exactly who and what he was dealing with. ‘OK…’

‘I suppose you’re really nervous about this too but, now that I’m here, you don’t need to worry about anything any more.’

His back turned to the door, his dark deep-set eyes alight with intense disbelief, Roel actually found himself snatching in a sustaining breath. Shock three…he had married a woman who, in the space of a mere sixty seconds, could contrive to antagonise and offend him by treating him with disrespect.

‘I was just so touched that you were asking for me at the hospital…’ Hilary gabbled, hastening in and closing the door behind her and only then daring to open her own eyes.

‘I asked for you?’ Roel questioned with incredulity. ‘How could I have asked for you when I don’t remember you?’

‘My goodness, what are you doing out of bed?’ Hilary demanded in astonishment, losing all track of what they had been talking about.

‘Tell me, do you work using a list of stupid comments or do they come to mind without effort?’ Roel shot back with sardonic bite as he swung round to face her.

Standing upright and only three feet from her, Roel’s sheer size was menacing. She had to tilt her head back to get a proper look at him and then, even though she had flinched at that cutting comeback, she could not take her attention from him. Her mouth ran dry and her heartbeat speeded up for before her stood the living, breathing male embodiment of her every desire and dream.

The stark male beauty of his lean dark features hit her with explosive force. He was incredibly good-looking and shockingly sexy. But he also had a magnetic presence of command and icy authority that she could feel right down to the marrow of her bones. He did not smile and she wasn’t surprised. His charismatic smile was rare and the chill in the room was pronounced. And she understood, she understood even his aggressive attack on her, and her heart twisted inside her with loving forgiveness. Torture could not have dragged the truth from him but she knew that he was as close to scared as he was ever likely to be. She was well aware that the sudden onslaught of a forgotten wife was probably his worst nightmare come true.

‘I don’t like sarcasm,’ she told him, tilting up her chin.

‘I don’t like stupid questions.’ Roel discovered that he had to lower the angle of his gaze even to bring his wife into his field of vision. She was tiny but not remotely doll-like, very much an individual and only in her early twenties at most, he noted, succumbing to grudging fascination. Her grey eyes were the colour of stormy seas. Her hair was a shimmering silvery blonde worn in a short spiky cut and tipped with pink. Pink? It had to be a trick of the light, he decided. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose and luscious cherry-red lips that would have tempted a saint.

The distinct tightening in his groin caught Roel by surprise for he was long past the teenage years when his body had last cast off his disciplined control. But as his attention roamed down over his wife’s glorious hourglass shape his arousal only became more pronounced. Full, rounded breasts were moulded by a blue cotton tee shirt while low-slung hipster jeans accentuated her tiny waist and the pronounced curve of her highly feminine hips. While his rational mind struggled to name shock four in his encounter with his wife as her total lack of exclusive designer elegance, his appreciative hormones were winning hands down. He might not remember her but the dynamite sexual charge she ignited in him spoke a great deal louder than memory or words. Roel always had to explain the inexplicable and he was now satisfied as to why he must have married her.