To Love, Honour and Disobey (2 page)

‘Yeah.’

Oh, well. That was going to be interesting. ‘It’s almost over.’ No hiding the thank-goodness-for-that in her tone. She smiled brighter to make up for it.

‘I’m staying on for a bit after.’ He grinned too, as if he knew her sentiments and understood the relief. ‘Doing some sightseeing on my own.’

‘Great.’ Good luck to him. She’d be on the plane and getting on with her life. But before then they had a week to get through. She processed the thought:
they didn’t need to mix together much—could sit apart. Yet it was such a small environment on the truck. If only she’d made more of an effort with the other passengers she could hide amongst them. But she’d kept herself to herself—just quietly taking in the sights and enjoying her freedom.

The truck bounced along the road taking them further from the village. For once Bundy seemed intent on picking up the speed. Ana kept her focus on the vast landscape, enjoying the slight wind cooling her burning skin. It was a converted old army truck. The tarpaulin roof was invariably pulled right back so they could see all around, and be slow cooked in the sun. Only it was no slow cooker today—she felt as if she were being grilled on high.

The bang was loud. She lurched forward, bumped her head on the seat in front of her and in the same instant was thrown back into her seat.

‘Ow.’ It was the shock more than anything that made her cry out.

Swearing voices seemed to surround her. Loud and lots. Bundy in the cab hollered up an apology and an explanation. A blown tyre. She kept her eyes closed, feeling sick at the way her brain still rattled back and forth against her skull.

Fingers gripped her shoulder. Skin touched skin. She was compelled to turn. The sizzle kick-started her heart and she squeezed her eyes tighter together. Not wanting to acknowledge what he made her feel.

‘Ana, are you OK?’

She said nothing.

‘Ana?’ His fingers moved, stroking her shoulder, her arm. Every spot he touched burned. It was a wonder
the smoke wasn’t curling up between them as he kindled her senses.

She opened her eyes. Looked straight into the face that was so familiar yet was so different. Leaner, somehow more taut. He was looking right back at her—too close; their gaze locked. Instantly the voices of the others were muted. She heard nothing but the growing rush in her ears. It had been so very long. So long since her toes had curled in instinctive delight, so long since she’d felt that restlessness inside.

Her brain was thickening, but her blood thinning—zinging with mercurial fluidity around her body. She was melting, her core defrosting as yearning rose—for the passion that once made her mindless. His passion.

Her lips parted but no sound emerged. Mesmerised, she watched the lights shift in his eyes. The pale blue sharpened—reflected the shock. Then his pupils swelled, the darkness swallowing the ice. She could see the tension as the tiny muscles worked, narrowing his gaze just that little bit.

Her own eyes were fixed wide—she couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe.

After an age his attention dropped. She could feel his focus. Could read his mind and for just one moment she wanted it.

A kiss.

She jerked, pulling away from him. Concussion. Had to be. That could be the only explanation for that random moment of
lunacy
.

His hand fell and she heard him mutter the word she’d once ached to hear.

‘Sorry.’

So was she. Sorry he’d just walked back into her life. Even sorrier that her body seemed determined to celebrate the fact.

‘I’m going to help with the tyre.’ He stood.

She pasted another smile on her face as if that halfsecond had never happened. ‘Great.’

A week with Seb on board. She could handle that. Sure she could. No problem.

A
NA
spent the next minute reminding herself that although Sebastian Rentoul had made her feel truly desired for the first time in her life, he had also been the cause of her darkest heartache. He’d been the flame that had burned through her until all that had been left inside was cold ash. The loss she’d felt took her breath away—her life’s blood. And he had no idea.

The only thing that mattered to him was his job. In that he was ruthless—viciously determined. He did whatever it took to climb to the top—wasn’t that why he’d done what he had with her? They’d been a one-night stand that went on a few days too long—a weekend getaway that had culminated in a wedding. Ana had been infatuated; she understood that now. Intoxicated by his desire for her, overwhelmed by how right she had felt in his arms. For once she hadn’t been too tall, or awkward. They’d been so physical her usual reticence hadn’t mattered—they’d been too busy to talk. She’d breathlessly, brainlessly said yes. And she’d been so excited about their future.

But it had lasted less than a week. Because when they had returned to London, and he to work, she’d
found out about his promotion—the one that had depended on him stabilising his personal life. It wasn’t that he’d fallen head over heels for her at all. He’d simply needed a wife—and she’d been the malleable fling of the moment. The naïve fool.

When she’d accused him of it he hadn’t been shy about admitting it, ruthlessly acknowledging that he had no real belief in marriage—that he’d never meant it to be for ever. And so she’d found out—too late—that his life was one big game. He was a playboy. And he’d played her. Sebastian Rentoul got everything and anything and any
one
he wanted. That conversation had been short and brutal. She’d walked out—run away. But for her, the worst had yet to come.

So in the end it took only thirty seconds to underline why she was definitely, totally, not going there again. But it was half an hour until the tyre was changed and they got back on board. Seb returned to the seat next to her and her pulse was still too fast, too erratic.

There was nothing for her to do but box on through it. ‘How’s work going?’

He sent her an ironic look. ‘It’s going well. Lots of cases. I’ve been working long hours.’

And partying even longer hours, she bet. She’d been wowed when she’d found out he was a lawyer—had been such an ignorant idealist. But Seb wasn’t that kind of lawyer. He didn’t don wig and gown and go defend the innocent or the persecuted. He did divorce. Representing high-powered wealthy people embroiled in the bitterest of partings.

Seb swung into action for them—dividing, conquering—making sure the cougar kept the house or the
serial sleazoid avoided the alimony. Knowing his powers of persuasion, she knew it was a waste of his talent. He should be in the criminal courtroom. He’d have a jury free a man despite evidence caught on camera and with DNA back-up.

‘So you got made partner?’

That was why he’d married her. Not because he’d fallen as madly, deeply, passionately for her as she had for him. Not because he too had been swept away by a kind of madness. No, he’d had a far more clay-based reason for proposing than her helium-filled one for saying yes. There’d been some archaic belief in his old-school firm that the partners needed to have a stable, respectable home life. Not the girls-a-go-go playboy lifestyle that Seb had.

She should have figured it out sooner—that he hadn’t meant any of it. He’d picked her up in a bar, for heaven’s sake—as if that were any real start to a serious relationship? In minutes he’d seduced the brains out of her. Just as he did with a different woman every week. Only she’d been so gullible and needy she’d believed him when he’d said she was special. She’d been stupid enough to step onto a plane with him and take off for a sex-drenched mini-break on an island famed for its sun and sand. An island where, if you were so inclined, you could even get married.

And she’d been so inclined. She’d been so desperate to believe. How badly she’d wanted to believe that someone had fallen in love with her just like that. So stupid—as if that would happen? But a childhood lacking in love and full of loneliness did that to a person.

‘Yes.’ Seb sighed. ‘I checked all the boxes, didn’t I? Have wife, will progress.’

‘You don’t have a wife.’

‘I do,’ he replied, lifting his hand, showing the wedding band.

‘Another one?’ She deadpanned, ignoring the spike of adrenalin. ‘My God. You’re a bigamist.’

He laughed. She stared as his face broke up—she saw his full lips widen, teeth flash and his eyes light. And then there was the sound. It was like having plugs removed from her ears. Hearing that freshness, she felt sweet warmth sweep inside. She couldn’t help responding, her lips curving.

‘Ana.
We’re
married. Still married, in case you’d forgotten.’

Of course she hadn’t. She was working to end it, wasn’t she? ‘We’re only married on paper, Seb. And not for much longer.’

‘What do you mean only on paper?’ His eyes twinkled brighter. ‘I remember consummating our marriage, Ana. I remember the night on the balcony. I remember the way you—’

‘All right.’ She held up her hand, stopping what she knew was going to be a totally inappropriate recollection. ‘So I’m your wife. How the hell do you explain it?’

‘You don’t like city life.’ He angled his head and looked at her as if he were a medium reading her mind. ‘And for all I know that might actually be true. I decline invitations on your behalf and don’t participate in client functions myself. I’m very devoted.’

‘To what, my absence?’

‘It’s very useful.’ He nodded. ‘I can say no to my lady clients and go up in their esteem at the same time.’

‘They really think you have a wife secreted away somewhere?’ She was intrigued now. Did he really feed them this rubbish?

‘Well, I do, don’t I? But they don’t know that not even I know where the hell you’ve been. I have your picture on my desk. Looking soulfully into the lens.’

‘You’re kidding.’ He had to be. ‘They honestly believe you?’

‘I guess.’ Sebastian shrugged. He didn’t care what they all thought. Frankly since he’d been so grumpy the questions had stopped early on and he hadn’t had to lie—except by omission. And since he’d taken himself right out of the social scene and thrown himself into work, he’d proved himself beyond worthy of the promotion. It was what he should have done in the first place. There’d have been no need for that stupid piece of paper and the confusion that had blown up between them.

He’d laugh about it one day. Honest he would. But until he’d demanded that her best friend Phil finally tell him where the hell she was, he’d always wondered if something had happened to her. Sure she’d left him a message, but when he’d followed up on it he’d discovered it had all been lies. She’d vanished. And he’d been left with that nagging worry. And the regret. He’d been horribly blunt when she’d asked him straight out about why he’d married her. He hadn’t meant to hurt her—he’d liked her and had sure as hell liked sleeping with her.

But it only took one look at her now to know that he’d been wrong to worry. She was looking great. So much skin. So much
inviting
skin.

He shouldn’t have touched her before. He was here to get closure, not to rekindle that out-of-control flame. ‘I think they think you’re not well or something,’ he said. ‘They don’t ask any more. Quiet sympathy offered all round.’

‘Rather than sex.’

Oh, so she could do sarcasm, could she? He laughed, cringing a little, but he couldn’t blame her—after all, he’d told her about the last one, hadn’t he? ‘They wouldn’t dare. Not believing I’m so devoted.’

All those inviting looks had dropped. Had he known it would be so simple he’d have invented a wife a couple of years ago. Saved himself this current mess. Getting made partner at Wilson & Crosbie had been his ambition since before university. He was there now. But there’d been no chance of a partnership while single; the old boys in the firm were ultra-conservative. They didn’t want their well-heeled lady clients eyeing him up, or the estranged young wives of their male clients confusing the agenda. And they certainly didn’t like the entire secretarial pool coming to a complete halt every time he walked past their desks. And given he’d had a fling with one that had ended with the girl in constant floods of tears at work, maybe they had a point. Apparently they felt he needed a wife.

He’d been going to force it. Point out the ridiculousness to the firm—he was a divorce specialist, for heaven’s sake. But that had been just before he’d met Ana. Fate had lent a hand. He’d been so hot for her—whisking her off to have his wicked way. And one afternoon in Gibraltar when he’d been intoxicated by sun and sand and so much glorious sex he’d had the
most stupid idea. She’d agreed and they’d married the next day.

Her eyes slid from his. ‘So how are you going to explain the divorce?’

He felt the devil surge in him and was unable to stop the temptation to tease. ‘Maybe there won’t be a divorce.’

‘What?’ Wide-eyed, she shook her head. ‘There’ll be one. You can count on it.’

‘You’re that desperate to be rid of me?’ Why? Did she have another man? Where was he? And why was she on a truck cruising around Africa?

‘Of course I am.’

‘Then why’s it taken so long?’ It was the best part of a year since she’d walked out and he hadn’t heard a word until those papers had landed on his desk.

She looked away, didn’t answer directly. ‘Don’t you want a divorce? Good grief.’ Her face flashed back towards him. ‘Do you still need a wife to keep your precious job? That’s insane.’

He opened his mouth, about to correct her, but she surged on.

‘I’ll fight you for it, Seb. Don’t think I won’t. Really you should sign quickly. Otherwise I might go after your money.’

He laughed again, shaking his head at the weakness of her threat. ‘No judge would buy it, honey. You’re the one who deserted me, remember? After a mere three days of marriage. I’m the wounded party, the heartbroken one. It’s more likely that I’d get some of
your
money.’ It wasn’t, of course, but he’d take the chance of snatching the moral high ground all the same. Just for once.

His smile died. ‘Why now, Ana?’ Why, after months of silence, of him not knowing where she was, had she sent him the papers now? ‘Have you met someone?’

‘That’s none of your business, Seb.’

It wasn’t. But it was the question burning a hole inside him now. Where had she been, what had she been doing this last year? Because she looked good—so mouth-wateringly good. How irritating.

His last year had been nothing but hard work. But until this moment he hadn’t put the difficulty directly down to her. He thought it had been the situation that had strangled his usually raging sex drive. That their mess of a marriage and the resulting awkwardness had put him off women for a while. But that ‘while’ had stretched on and on. He was still totally uninterested in dating. Hadn’t even had a casual one-night stand since. Mind you, that was how he’d started with her and he wasn’t risking a similar disaster. Besides, he hadn’t met anyone who’d pushed his ‘on’ button.

Except he was switched on now.

By her. He couldn’t believe how attracted he still was to her. Well, that was dumb. Because one thing was for sure: it wasn’t happening again.

Ana suppressed the sigh and tried really hard not to look at her watch
again
. Every hour seemed to be taking five times as long to pass. Their conversation had just cut out. He’d turned away from her and focused on the scenery. As had she. With rigid determination.

Why hadn’t she sent the papers sooner? Because for those first few months she’d been too ill to do anything.
And then when she’d been physically better, emotionally she hadn’t been ready to cope. Finally she’d emerged from the darkness—she’d salvaged something from the experience and she’d begun to dream up her business. She’d concentrated on doing a couple of courses—building her confidence, feeling as if she was achieving something. And she’d worked, saved, prepared to relaunch her life. Only then had she been sure she could deal with Seb—or at least instruct her lawyer to.

Finally they arrived at the campsite. It was part of a snake park where they could look at the deadly Black Mamba—apparently it took only one bite and then you had mere moments to write your will. It’d be good if one could get up close to Seb. Or maybe one of the crocodiles would be better—could swallow him in one big gulp. That would definitely mean she could put the whole thing behind her.

Ana stretched as she jumped down from the truck, trying to uncurl the kinks and soften up the tension that was rampant in every one of her muscles. Another night, another tent pitch—after three weeks of wrestling with the canvas she was a bit over it.

Bundy walked over. ‘You two will want to share a tent.’

What? Ana turned and found Seb right beside her. Every muscle seized again. Why on earth would Bundy think that?

‘Yeah.’ Seb answered before she managed to breathe, let alone think.

‘Set up just beyond that tree over there. That way you’ll get a little privacy.’ He winked.

Ana gaped.

‘Thanks,’ Seb said.

It was one of those all-bloke moments where there was nothing for her to do but turn her back and pretend that that grin swap between the two men hadn’t happened. That she wasn’t going crimson with embarrassment.

No. It was rage.

Seb pulled a tent bag from the pile and went over to where Bundy had indicated. Ana stomped after him. Privacy was indeed necessary because she was about to commit first-degree murder.

‘Why does he think we’d want to share a tent?’ She just managed not to shout.

‘I told him we’re married.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Well, we are. It was how I could get on the truck at this late stage.’

So Bundy thought it was going to be some happy reunion? She narrowed her glare. ‘I thought you said our meeting on the truck was a coincidence.’

He grinned. ‘I lied.’

She whirled on him quick smart. ‘Not for the first time, Seb.’ Oh, yes, in with the knife.