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But that was before he kissed her.
Firm fingers curled around her chin, lifting her face, and before she knew what was happening he bent his dark head and feathered his lips over her mouth, his tongue tasting and moulding the lush contours.
Allie gasped as raw sensation exploded inside her and spread like quickfire into every inch of her body. And when he took advantage of her helplessly parted lips and sought a much deeper intimacy her head felt as if it were about to spin off her shoulders. The bones in her legs gave way, so she had no choice but to cling onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck…
‘Champagne, my darlings—or are you already floating six feet above the ground?’
Saved by Laura, her bottle and her glasses, Allie thought muzzily, resisting the impulse to scrub the back of her hand over the mouth that had recently been so very thoroughly plundered. She didn’t know what had come over her. Normally she would never dream of letting a man near her that way. It could only lead further and further into a sexual trap, and Allie Brannan would never knowingly put herself in that kind of danger.
But now wasn’t normal; it was fantasy, a charade—and necessary, she r
eminded herself. Totally necessary if her mother were to believe the web of lies she’d spun. And the way his kiss had made her feel—out of it and wanting it never to stop, wanting more, so much more—had to be nothing but reaction to the tension of the endless day, to the belief, towards the end, that he’d reneged on their bargain.
‘Would you do the honours, Jethro?’ Laura held out the unwieldy bottle. ‘I’m not very good at it.’
Fran got out of her chair. ‘Here, let me. He’s already got his hands full,’ she said drily. ‘A pity to spoil love’s young dream when it normally doesn’t outlast the honeymoon.’
Ignoring her aunt’s acid comments was far easier than ignoring the way Jethro’s hands were pressed into the small of her back, moulding her closer into his body. She gave him a surreptitious shove, shakily reached for a glass, and croaked, ‘Only a taste for me, Fran.’
She had to get them out of here, and fast. Then he could stop playing to the gallery. At once. No more touching, no more kissing. Then she would be back on firm ground and the annoying haze would clear from her eyes. At the moment it was like looking at everything through a gently swaying gauze curtain.
‘Only a drop for me, too,’ Jethro said regretfully, and Allie heaved a silent sigh of relief because he, too, wanted out of this necessary charade. ‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘Oh, Allie! How could you? You expressly told me not to keep supper back, that Jethro would have already eaten.’ Laura stopped scolding her daughter and turned a motherly smile on her future son-in-law. ‘It will take me five minutes to make an omelette—which would you prefer, mushroom or cheese?’
He felt the soft, melting curves of Allie’s body go rigid against his, heard the soft hiss of her quickly indrawn breath, felt her hold it. It was tempting—so tempting—to accept the offer, to spin out his visit because his prickly Allie had no option but to play the part of his besotted future wife in front of her family.
And touching her like this, holding her fantastic body against his, feeling the sweet, feminine softness of her, tasting her lips, was a need that had been driving him wild since he’d met up with her again. The beauty of it had been her unwitting response to him, the yielding softness of her parted lips, the sudden stab of sexual awareness he had felt through the barrier of clothing that had separated their heated bodies.
But that response was enough for now. More than enough. Prolonging this enforced intimacy would only make her resent him, and he never, ever took a backward step.
He reached for her hands, took them in his, gave her a soft, conspiratorial smile. ‘Thanks, Laura. But Allie and I will pick up a snack in town.’ He watched the tension drain from her lovely face, saw her kissable lips relax into a tiny smile, and that was adequate compensation—for the moment, anyway—for denying himself the physical closeness the situation here demanded she accept.
Then he drawled, in his own private, wicked retaliation, ‘We’ve got a helluva lot to thrash out. I got a special licence and the wedding’s fixed for three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’
Fully aware of the stunned silence, he swept her mother and her aunt with laughing golden eyes. ‘I hope you two ladies will be able to make it, give us your blessings when we tie the knot!’
CHAPTER SIX
‘ARE you sure this thing’s capable of getting us there?’ Allie questioned suspiciously as she hiked the short, tight skirt of the blue silk suit she’d been married in up to her thighs, to allow her to slide reluctantly into the passenger seat of his deplorable old van. She had very little inclination to embark on a pretend honeymoon, and even less to spend the first part of it in a broken-down vehicle in the back of beyond.
Jethro tore his eyes away from the elegant, silk-clothed length of her legs and smothered a groan. This was his wedding day, and this gorgeous, shatteringly sexy lady was his bride. Not that she looked at it in quite that way, of course. But she would, he vowed—he’d make damn sure of that!
‘It goes,’ he said, the dry, almost strangulated tone of his voice the result of his ferocious internal battle with his far too lively hormones. ‘Not quickly, and certainly not elegantly. But it goes.’
Harry had been—in his own words—‘totally gobsmacked’ when he’d been asked for the loan of the van. Why drive the poor girl on her honeymoon in that clapped-out old thing when he had a brand-new Jaguar gathering dust? had been the gist of his stupefaction.
Nanny Briggs, too, had had a whole welter of objections: ‘Why the unseemly haste to the altar? Why pretend you’re not who you are? And why am I supposed to be your grandmother? I don’t like it, Master Jethro. It all sounds very underhand to me, and to my certain knowledge you were never that.’
Thankfully, though, they’d behaved themselves at the short civil ceremony—if looking bewildered constituted good behaviour. Laura, bless her, had been openly ecstatic, wiping motherly tears of joy from her eyes with the corner of a handkerchief. The only sour note had been played by that Fran woman. He didn’t know why she’d taken time off from work to attend the ceremony if all she’d been able to do was scowl.
And now the wedding party, such as it was, had dispersed, the suitcases were in the back of the van and they were heading for what was probably one of the strangest honeymoons in history.
He put the van in motion and heard Allie heave a sigh. His heart clenched. He would have much preferred an enormous splash of a wedding and the opportunity to proudly show his beautiful bride to the whole world, instead of a hole-and-corner civil affair that had been over in what had seemed like seconds.
He wanted to whisk her away to some secluded exotic island, shower her with gifts, make love to her until neither of them knew where they were at. He wanted to hang diamonds around her graceful neck and clothe her slender fingers with precious stones and gleaming gold. That thin band of brass—the cheapest he’d been able to find—was a paltry thing, an insult to her heart-wrenching beauty, a miserable denial of what she meant to him.
But if his plan to make her fall in love with the man he was, rather than with his millions, was to have any hope of working, then, as Nanny Briggs would have said, he’d have to let want be his master.
