Yvonne Lindsay - The Ceo's Contract Bride

“Three months! That’s ridiculous. Twelve or my father will definitely smell a rat.”

“That’s far too long. Six, then.”

“Six months?” Declan considered it for a moment—that would work, just. He nodded sharply.

Gwen extended her hand to him and he took it, noting this was the first time she’d voluntarily reached out and touched him, tonight anyway. Laughter from inside penetrated the glass, reminding him they were in full view of the party going on inside. He turned her hand slightly, noting the tracery of blue veins beneath the silver-pale skin at her wrist. He bent forward and lifted her wrist to his lips, pressing them against satin skin where her pulse beat frantically, like a captured butterfly. She clearly wasn’t as unmoved as she tried to project.

“Just keeping up appearances,” he smiled grimly when she yanked her hand away as though his touch had burned her. “Oh, and Gwen?”

“What?”

“Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

“Regret it?” Gwen gave a sharp laugh as she turned to go inside. “I already do.”

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