Louise Fuller - Blackmailed Down The Aisle

There was a sharp, complicated silence.

‘That’s it.’ She looked up defensively. ‘I told you there wasn’t much.’

Rollo studied her in silence. There was a flush of colour on her cheeks and her eyes were daring him to prove her right.

‘Depends on your definition of “much”,’ he said smoothly. ‘A half-point swing in my commodities portfolio could cost me millions of dollars.’

Daisy stared at him warily. Something was happening around her, silent and unseen.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you want?’

The corners of his mouth curved upwards into a tiny satisfied smile.

‘Let’s just say that I think I’ve found a way for all of us to move on from this unfortunate incident.’

A fresh fear rose up inside her. ‘I’m not going to have sex with you, if that’s what you mean. I’d rather sell my kidneys!’

‘I believe the norm is only one.’ He stared at her impassively, his green gaze colder and harder than any emerald. ‘And don’t flatter yourself, Ms Maddox. I like a woman in handcuffs as much as the next man, but not when the only reason she’s wearing them is because she’s been arrested.’

She bit her tongue. ‘So what do you want, then?’

He scrutinised her for a long moment, almost as though he were trying to see through her or past her. It made her feel taut, trapped—vulnerable, a deer gazing into the headlights of an oncoming car.

Finally he smiled—a smile that tore the breath out of her.

‘I want you to be my wife,’ he said softly.

There was a moment of pure, absolute silence.

She gazed at him in shock, trying to catch up. The last few hours had proved unequivocally that Rollo was a cold-blooded megalomaniac, but now it appeared he was also utterly and irrefutably insane.

‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I think I must have misheard you. I thought you said—’

‘That I want you to be my wife.’ His eyes flickered over her stunned expression. ‘You heard correctly.’

Breathing out unsteadily, she lifted her hand to her forehead, as though to ward off the insanity of his suggestion.

‘What are you talking about?’ she managed.

It must be some kind of trick or trap—another way to make her look stupid and feel small. She stared wildly round the room, hoping to find some explanation. But turning back to meet his gaze she felt a shudder of alarm ripple over her skin.

He was being serious!

She stared at him incredulously.

‘You barely know me. And we hate each other. Why would you want to marry me?’

He paid no attention. ‘Why don’t you sit down and we can talk about it properly?’

He was just like a politician, she thought desperately. Answering a question with a question. Ignoring what he couldn’t answer or didn’t want to discuss.

She opened her mouth to protest but he was already walking past her, and as she watched him take a seat behind the huge glass-topped desk she felt her ribs expand. He looked calm, relaxed, as though he often proposed marriage to young women who broke into his office in the early hours of the morning. But his eyes were alert and predatory, like a wolf watching a lamb stumble around in its lair.

‘Come on. Sit down. I don’t bite.’

It wasn’t an invitation. It wasn’t even an order. It was a dare.

She lifted her chin.

‘Fine. But I can’t see what difference talking will make. Nobody marries a complete stranger.’

Sinking into the soft leather, she felt the tiredness of the last few hours rise up beneath her skin in a wave as, lounging back in his seat, he stared past her, in a way that suggested he was pondering some deep philosophical question.

‘Is that true? Plenty of brides all over the world only meet their husband on their wedding days.’

‘Yes. If they’re having an arranged marriage.’ She glowered at him.

‘But we are.’ He smiled a smile that made her wish that his chair would open up and swallow him whole. ‘And I’m arranging it.’

Daisy felt her skin grow warm; her head was spinning. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not arranging anything,’ she snapped. ‘Look, you can’t want to marry me, so why are you pretending you do?’ She stared at him doubtfully. ‘Is it your idea of a joke? Some way to punish me for...?’

Looking up at him, she felt her words falter in her mouth. For an endless moment he studied her in silence and then, leaning forward, he fixed his eyes on hers with an intentness that seared her skin.

‘If I wanted to punish you, I’d think of something a lot more...diverting.’

Her stomach clenched, and a tingling excitement swept through her like fire through a forest as he smiled slowly.

‘For both of us.’

A hot shiver ran up her spine and she stared at him mutely, her body stilling even as chaos raged inside. Her heart was beating too fast and too loud, and a dark ache was swirling over her skin like a riptide. In an effort to break the spell of his gaze, she pressed her nails hard into the palms of her hands.

‘You can’t just tell someone you’re marrying them,’ she said carefully. ‘It doesn’t work like that.’

The tension in the room quivered, as though she had somehow pressed her foot onto an accelerator pedal, and her eyes flickered involuntarily across to where Rollo sat, examining her with detached curiosity.

‘It does if you want your brother to keep his job. And, more important, to stay out of prison.’

She was out of her seat and leaning across his desk before she had even realised she was moving, her whole body shaking with shock and anger.

‘You unspeakable pig!’ Her voice rose. ‘That’s blackmail—’

‘Yes, it is.’

He wasn’t even embarrassed! Furiously, she glanced around for something blunt and heavy.

‘Why are you getting so bent out of shape about this?’ He stared at her calmly.

‘Why? Why? Maybe because it’s weird and wrong.’ Heat was blistering her skin. She couldn’t keep the shake out of her voice. ‘You’re cynically exploiting this situation for your own ends.’

He frowned. ‘You’re being melodramatic. You and I marrying will be mutually beneficial. As to the morality of blackmailing a thief and a liar, I’m not sure we have time to tackle that right now, so why don’t you just calm down and sit down?’

He lifted his arms behind his head and stretched out his shoulders.

‘Sit down,’ he said again, and this time there was no mistaking the authority in his voice. ‘I didn’t explain myself properly. I need to marry you, but in essence you’ll just be playing the part of my wife.’

She felt a rush of hope. ‘You mean like in an advert or something? For your business?’ He stared at her in silence.

‘No. Not like an advert. We’re going to have to marry legally.’

Daisy searched his face, looking for answers, for a way to escape the certainty in his voice. ‘Why can’t we just pretend?’

He shook his head slowly. ‘That won’t work. It can’t just look like we’re married. It has to be legal.’

‘But no one needs a wife that badly,’ she said almost viciously. ‘Not at two o’clock in the morning.’

He shrugged. ‘I do.’

‘But why?’

‘That doesn’t concern you.’ The certainty in his voice had hardened to granite.

She stared at him, sensing that somewhere a door was closing, a key was turning. Soon there would be no way out of this mess.

She felt her temper flare. ‘Fine. But I’m not marrying anyone—especially you—unless you tell me why you need a wife.’

It wasn’t just curiosity. She needed to assert herself. Needed him to know that she wasn’t just some puppet on a string.

She folded her arms in front of her chest. ‘I don’t need details. Just keep it short and simple.’