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‘It seems daft to pretend it isn’t part of your plan,’ she asserted, ‘since it was practically the first thing Imelda mentioned when I stepped off that helicopter.’
‘I am not pretending anything,’ he replied, his voice calm. ‘I simply don’t believe this is the best time to be discussing matters which so...unsettled you last time, Saskia. As you just said yourself, you’re supposed to be resting. Stress-free.’
‘You’ve whisked me thousands of miles away, first by private plane and then by helicopter...’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘And now I’m sitting in a beautiful room, in front of a glorious fire, replete. I hardly think it’s the most agitating of circumstances. When do you expect this marriage of ours to take place?’
He looked momentarily irritated, but then smoothed it away quickly. Oddly, the fact that he could master his emotions so easily only peeved her all the more.
‘When, Malachi?’
He met her gaze, his eyebrows cocked slightly, as though she was a half-irritating, half-amusing nuisance.
‘We will be married by the end of the week.’
Not a suggestion or a possibility, but a statement.
Saskia shuffled in her chair, incensed. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘You’re getting worked up,’ he said calmly.
‘Do you wonder?’ she seethed. ‘So, tell me this—what is this marriage idea of yours going to look like? How do you suppose it will work?’
‘I think this conversation is best left for another day.’
‘I don’t,’ she objected. ‘I mean, are you suggesting staying married until the baby is born, or staying married beyond that? If so, then how long? Is it to be a marriage in name only, or are you still suggesting we enjoy certain...shall we say...benefits?’
‘So many questions...’ He clicked his tongue softly. ‘Yet you didn’t think to ask a single one of them before boarding my plane. Almost as if a part of you wanted to come with me regardless.’
She wrinkled her nose, hating the way he seemed to be able to read into her mind and see her own questions which lay there, jumbled within.
If she’d sought to shame him, she realised she’d misjudged him. He didn’t bristle, or take the bait. He merely stretched out his legs all the more, giving the illusion that he didn’t have a care in the world.
She felt like launching something at him, but she only had a soft cushion. And, anyway, what good would that do?
‘You are not the only one who has spent every waking moment worrying about our baby, zvyozdochka.’
His tone was like velvet, but she heard the hard steel beneath it.
‘But that isn’t what this is about, is it? The simple truth is that you don’t find the idea of marriage to me as objectionable as you’d like to make out. Or maybe it’s more that you no longer find it objectionable after what you’ve been through the past week. Tell me why that is.’
Could he hear the sound of her blood rushing around her body? Because to her it was practically deafening. She couldn’t tell him that it was because she feared she was falling for him. That his care and loyalty these past few weeks had made her feel more secure than Andy had done in all their years together.
‘I never actually said I found it objectionable,’ she prevaricated.
‘I believe your precise words were “passion is overrated”. You were very certain that it shouldn’t be a business proposition, and then you proceeded to assert that, “We had a one-night stand. It’s over.” And that you didn’t even want me “like that” any more.’
‘Have you got a photographic memory or something?’ she demanded sarcastically, in an effort to hide how shaken she felt.
She didn’t really expect him to respond. But it seemed that Malachi revelled in catching her off guard.
‘Eidetic, if we’re being accurate.’ He folded his arms across his chest. A move which only served to emphasis the broadness of his shoulders. ‘But that’s by the by. I’m more interested in how, moments after that bold little statement of yours, you ended up half-naked on my bed whilst I used my mouth to make you scream. I’m sure you remember?’
Oh, yes, she remembered, all right. All too gloriously vividly. Indeed, it was galling how her mouth threatened to dry up just at the mere memory.
She sent silent thanks for the fact that she was post-op. She might not have had the will to resist him if they’d been standing here under different circumstances.
‘We slept together. Again.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘But I still don’t know what your intentions are for any marriage between us.’
‘My intentions?’ He barked out a sound which might have been a laugh, but she knew wasn’t. ‘You make it sound so old-fashioned and formal. Like you’re still waiting for some romantic declaration of love and commitment which I can’t give you. An echo of that profound passion your parents had.’
