Catherine O'Connor - Mandate For Marriage

‘Really?’ he drawled, sounding frighteningly soft yet dangerous. ‘Somehow I don’t think that will be necessary.’ His certainty provoked Fiona to her very limits.

‘What?’ she challenged, with a toss of her head, and blazing with defiance. ‘Surely you can’t expect…’ She stopped, unable to continue. It was too painful to mention his adultery and his plan to take over the company. He had failed to do the latter anyway, she thought suddenly, puzzled again by his sudden change of mind.

‘Of course I expect to return to our home. Why shouldn’t I?’ Grant’s eyes suddenly deepened to the bluest of blues and his face was set starkly.

‘I think the marriage is over, finished. It’s no good raking over old coals.’ Fiona tried to ignore the building emotion on Grant’s face and stiffening of his strong body at her words, but she trembled as he moved closer.

‘Over?’ he repeated. ‘It’s hardly even started!’ He studied her body with unconcealed hungry interest. Fiona tensed under this blatant scrutiny, but she was determined to make him understand she couldn’t allow him back into her home. She was all too aware of her vulnerability where he was concerned.

‘Let’s go out to dinner. We can discuss matters then,’ Fiona offered, trying to keep the atmosphere light and already dreading the moment when she would have to tell Grant the truth of what she knew. He ignored her remark, his jaw tightening at her suggestion; a muscle jerked suddenly at his temple and Fiona’s eyes skittered towards it.

‘We made a commitment,’ he answered her drily. ‘I expect us to keep to it.’

‘Commitment?’ Fiona laughed cynically. ‘We were married less than three days before you left for America,’ she reminded him.

‘Left?’ Grant declared savagely. ‘Or driven?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Originally you were coming with me—a quaint custom called a honeymoon. You know, it’s something newlyweds do,’ he growled. He took her roughly into his arms. Their eyes met in mutual coflict, hurt and angry, and it was Fiona who first broke the deadlock.

‘Honeymoon?’ she echoed. ‘It would have been a farce, an empty sham, a lie!’ she countered, pulling herself away from his arms, as the haunting memories of how it should have been filled her mind.

‘If anyone is an expert, Fee, it’s you,’ he whispered. ‘Self-deception leading to self-denial,’ he mocked, pulling her back to him, till she fell agamst his hard chest. She reacted to his touch as she felt his familiar heat warm her.

‘You didn’t always find my touch so repulsive,’ Grant murmured, low and husky. A sudden shiver of anticipation ran the length of Fiona’s spine, and her stomach twirled in agitation. A telltale ache deep within her very being warned her of her body’s betrayal, but she was already too defenceless to move. Grant’s masterful hands stroked the length of her with slow rhythmic movements, as his soft lips claimed hers. She began to tremble as she responded to his expert caresses. She welcomed his kiss and, as the tip of his tongue gently edged the contour of her lips, teasing them apart, she parted them and invited him in. She felt drunk—giddy with excitement, breathless with desire—at his very touch. He inflamed within her an inner passion that made her grow increasingly hot. Her breasts were swelling with desire against the firmness of his chest, and his kisses became more forceful. Fiona could sense his growing need for her and her own willingness to comply. Yet some warning voice echoed deep within her numbed brain: she knew she should put a stop to what they were doing, but each stroke of his fingers increased her desire for him. Each probing kiss seemed to prevent her from uttering a sound. Instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer to her, clinging to him as her tongue moved seductively in his mouth. Deep in the pit of her stomach came pangs of hunger that demanded satisfaction. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his body next to hers and, without realising it, acknowledged she had missed him so much. Slowly they drew apart. Her eyes were darkened with arousal and she rested against him, savouring the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His strong arms wrapped around her slim frame, holding tightly as if he never wanted to leave go.

‘Fee, my Fee,’ he whispered huskily, as he stroked the thick bob of her hair. She lifted her head to look at him; the warm slumberous look in his blue eyes caused a gentle smile to curl her lips before the realisation of what she had done dawned. She lowered her vision immediately, struggling from his arms.

‘I think I’d better go,’ she said abruptly, wanting to put as much distance as she could between them. Now she wanted to be free of him, to erase all the pain and bitterness she felt, yet when she had been in his arms, she was transported back into a dream-world where only they existed. He sensed her alarm and dropped his hands to his sides. A grudging smile of acceptance was on his lips.

‘I think there’s quite a lot of fire left in our marriage; it’s not all old coals,’ he remarked. Fiona snatched up her bag. She wanted to remind him about the file of figures, but somehow her confidence failed her.

‘I’ll book a table at Jeanie’s for eight o’clock,’ she said despite the thudding of her heart, and he nodded his head in agreement. Fiona fled the office, her pulses leaping at the scorching memory of his kiss. She put her fingers to her swollen mouth, touching it tentatively. It was a hopeless situation: they had parted amid angry, hurt exchanges and she knew now that the whole marriage had been a farce—even her wedding-day had been marred. The vivid image of Mari flashed in her mind, her arms twined fiercely around Grant’s neck as she hung on to him with a possession that made Fiona sick. Andy had made a final plea to her before the wedding to wait and think about it, but she had been too besotted with Grant to realise Andy was telling the truth. And yet, she had had doubts—niggling fears that all was not right—but she had put them down to bridal nerves.

It was only during the reception, when faced with Grant’s adultery, that she had finally accepted Andrew’s word—which Mari’s behaviour had been quick to confirm. She remembered the tense atmosphere, Grant’s face contorted in anger as she became distant with him, so great was her sense of betrayal. Fiona shuddered; she wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t help reacting to him. Sex, she concluded grimly, that was all it was, but somehow, when she was in his arms, it seemed so much more than that. She took a deep, satisfying breath. It was good to be outside in the cool, fresh air, to let the wind blow away all her worries and doubts. It was beautiful today, the sky clear and blue. The sun was still pale, almost a watery yellow, but its gentle rays were already beckoning the buds awake. It was the first dry day in weeks and it finally looked as if winter was drawing to a close.

Fiona stepped out briskly across the car park; she had left her car at home because she enjoyed the walk and, somehow, despite the terrible situation she was in, her heart felt lighter than it had done in months. It’s the spring air, she joked to herself, as she jumped over a small grey stone wall and walked across the fields.

Grant watched her from the window: her chestnut bob of hair moved rhythmically with every step she took. Then he turned and rapidly pushed the file back into his briefcase before locking the door and leaving the offices.

Fiona couldn’t believe she had slept so long. It was after five before she awoke and sleep still seemed to hang heavily on her shoulders. She lazed in a bath for some time, till she heard someone downstairs. She wrapped the towel quickly around her damp body—surely he had not come so soon? She swallowed nervously as she made her way to the door, opening it slowly as her ears strained to listen. She peeped over the banister, pushing her damp hair from her face as it fell into her wide eyes.