Sandra Marton - His Blackmailed Bride

But he wouldn’t make a scene, not in front of all these people. No, she told herself, no, he wouldn’t… She watched as he moved rapidly through the crowd, rudely shouldering people out of his way if they didn’t step aside quickly enough. His eyes were locked on her face, unwavering pools of icy fire. The first image she’d had of him returned to her, and her pulse began to race. Tonight, the lion had no intention of waiting for the wildebeest to come near. He was the killer—and she was his prey.

How could she have let herself think he wouldn’t make a scene? He was capable of anything—her heart thudded into her throat and she turned wildly and began to run. She heard a peal of nervous laughter as she spun past surprised faces. She thought fleetingly of how impossible it was going to be to try and explain this to Alan. But she had seen the savagery in the stranger’s eyes, and all that mattered at this moment was getting away from him. She fled from the sitting room, into the darkness of the rest of the house, trying to remember where the rear door led.

He caught her just as she was halfway through it. She tried to slam the door in his face, but he was far too strong for her. The door glanced off his shoulder, and then he was past it, reaching for her, grasping her by the shoulders with hands that bit into her flesh like talons.

‘Let go of me!’ she gasped, trying to twist free of him. ‘Damn you…’

He kicked the door closed. ‘Did you really think you could get away from me?’ His voice was low and filled with rage.

‘I told you to let go of me. How dare you treat me like this? I…’

‘Shut up,’ he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

She struggled against him as he began to draw her away from the house. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded. ‘I…’

‘I’m taking you to the summer house,’ he said grimly, half lifting her dragging feet from the ground. ‘I don’t need a whole damned houseful of people out here staring at me.’

‘It’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think? A few minutes ago…’

‘You’re the one who ran,’ he said, pulling her up the wooden steps that led into the trellised gazebo that stood far

to the rear of the Fowler lawn.

‘Of course I ran. You looked as if you… as if you…’

He grasped her shoulders with a roughness that made her gasp. ‘As if what?’ he growled, staring down at her.

Paige swallowed drily. The trees scattered about the lawn had been strung with coloured lights for the party, mottling his face with reds, blues, and yellows.

‘As if… as if you wanted to kill me,’ she whispered finally.

His mouth twisted. ‘I thought about it, believe me. The other night, when I finally let myself believe you’d left…’

‘Look, about that—about the other night…’

His eyes darkened. ‘Did you have a good time playing with me, Juliet?’

Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘You’re a fine one to talk about games,’ she hissed. ‘I wasn’t the one who started things. It was you…’

The words caught in her throat as he shook her. ‘I waited on that godforsaken beach for an hour, damn you! And then I went back to the clubhouse—and you weren’t there.’ His hands slid from her shoulders and a weariness crept into his voice. ‘I couldn’t even ask anybody where you’d gone—hell, I didn’t even know your name.’

Paige ran her tongue over her lips. ‘I… I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean…’

She flinched as he spun towards her. ‘Didn’t you? Then what the hell was all that about, Juliet?’ He caught her by the arms and stared into her eyes. ‘Or is that just something you do when you go to parties, hmm? Have a drink, have a canapé, have a dance—and then go off with some man and drive him half out of his mind with wanting you and…’

‘Don’t you dare talk that way to me! You have no right.’

‘Don’t I? You made a fool out of me. You…’

‘I tried to tell you it was no good, but you wouldn’t listen. I kept saying I had to go back to my fiancé, but you… you…’

To her horror, Paige felt tears fill her eyes and begin to slide down her cheeks. It was bad enough that he’d made a fool of her the other night; she didn’t have to let this man reduce her to tears. Quickly, she brushed the back of her hand across her lashes and turned away.

‘Just let go of me,’ she whispered.

‘And where the hell do you think you’re going now?’

‘Let go of me. Please.’

His hands moved gently to her shoulders, and he turned her stiff, unyielding body towards his.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said fiercely. ‘Dammit, Juliet…’

Paige lifted her face to him, the tears glistening damply on her lashes, and with a whispered oath, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a kiss that told her, more clearly than words, that his torment these past days had been as great as hers. There was passion in it and desire, there was anger and tenderness—but underlying all there was an awareness that this one kiss would not, could not, be enough.

‘Juliet, Juliet,’ he murmured against her lips, ‘why didn’t you come back to me?’

Her arms slid around his neck. ‘I couldn’t,’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t… and I can’t stay with you now.’

His arms tightened around her. ‘Don’t say that,’ he growled. She moaned as his hand moved over her, cupping the fullness of her breast, sliding across her hip, curving across her buttocks. ‘I’m not letting you go,’ he said against her throat. ‘Not this time.’

He moved her against him, bringing her body tightly against his, and she felt the heated strength of him press into her.

‘You must,’ she whispered. ‘Please. My fiancé…’

He laughed throatily. ‘Are we going to talk about him again? What kind of man is he, this fiancé of yours?’ His hand moved over her, possessively, claiming each curve. ‘You don’t want him, Juliet. You know you don’t.’

Paige closed her eyes. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Not… not this way. But…’

‘He’s never made you feel like this, Juliet.’ His lips moved along her cheek, to her throat. ‘Spend the night with me,’ he whispered. ‘Let me show you how it can be with us.’

‘I can’t, don’t you understand? It’s too late. My fiancé…’

He drew back and looked down at her. ‘What is it like when you’re with him?’

Paige’s cheeks flamed. ‘I… I…’

He lifted her left hand and brought it to his lips. ‘Is it like that diamond you wear? Is the fire locked away inside the cold stone?’

‘You mustn’t say things like that. He…’

‘I’m only telling you what we both know,’ he said. His hands slipped from her shoulders. The party lights danced on the ruby ring he wore, and she watched as he slipped it from his fingers. ‘Give me your hand.’ Her eyes scanned his face and then, slowly, she did as he’d asked. He took her hand in his and placed the ring on her palm. ‘A man who would give you a diamond doesn’t really want you, Juliet,’ he said softly.

Paige stared at the ring he’d given her. The ruby glowed against her skin like a burning coal, its antique setting intricate and exquisite. She looked from it to him and shook her head.

‘I… I don’t understand.’

‘You’re like the blood ruby in that ring,’ he said softly, cupping her face in his hands and raising it to his. ‘Rare, precious, burning with passionate life.’ Her eyes closed as his mouth took hers. When he raised his head again, his eyes were dark. ‘Keep the ring. Look into it tonight, into the flame that blazes in its heart, and think of me and of how it will be when we’re together.’ His hand closed over hers, and she felt the heat of the ruby sear her palm. ‘Cherish the flame in your dreams, Juliet, and tomorrow, when I see you again…’