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LACEYYAWNED,WOKENby the bright mid-morning light coming through the luxury beach bungalow’s shutters.
She sat up, feeling disorientated, and strangely bereft as the memory of last night’s trip to Bermuda came back to her. The short helicopter ride to the airport and the overnight plane journey in Brandon’s deluxe private jet. The transfer to a motor yacht on Ireland Island—and the rows of colourful cookie-cutter houses brightened by torch light as they drove from the airport to the port several hours before dawn. The glorious sunrise over the iridescent sea as the launch had skimmed towards the horizon and finally arrived at a wooden dock on a stunning white sand beach. The lavish facilities of the main house—complete with gym, restaurant and large oval swimming pool—and the expertly designed and beautifully appointed bungalows dotted along the beach which had literally taken her breath away.
But, most of all, she remembered Brandon’s silence.
He’d barely spoken to her and hadn’t touched her once since their mind-blowing kiss on the steps of the helicopter before they’d left Wiltshire.
She’d felt branded, owned, after that kiss. But, in the exhausting hours since, she’d been left to feel almost like a discarded toy, a play thing, which Brandon possessed but didn’t wish to play with... Yet...
She frowned, her skin prickling alarmingly with that feeling of over-sensitivity. Of hyper-awareness, which he could trigger just by looking at her.
Had he ignored her on purpose? To make her even more aware there was only one thing he wanted from her?
Was this supposed to be another punishment of some sort? Did he expect her to spend the rest of her life atoning for the bad decisions she’d made as a nineteen-year-old? Yes, she’d misjudged Brandon—and his capacity, so far at least, to be a much better father than her own—but she’d been young and scared and she had, in her own misguided way, thought she was protecting her child.
Even if Brandon couldn’t forgive her, she had to forgive herself. Or she would turn into that defensive girl again, who had blamed herself because her father couldn’t love her.
Brandon was going to have to get past his anger—and learn to trust her. He couldn’t blame her for ever. That wasn’t healthy for her, or Ruby, or ultimately even for him. And it certainly wasn’t a good way to start a life together.
Her pulse jumped. Assuming they had a life together... She swallowed heavily and forced down the ripple of insecurity.
She knew Brandon didn’t see this marriage as a lifetime commitment, but as a means to an end. He’d made that abundantly clear more than once. But she’d made the decision to come here, to be with him here alone for the week so she could explore the possibilities, to see if there could be more. And she refused to be put off...or put in her place...
She’d allowed him to have the lavish wedding he’d wanted and had been overwhelmed by the whole process—the highly sought-after wedding planner and her team of designers, florists, caterers et cetera had made her feel as if she’d been playing a role in an elaborate spectacle, rather than being a woman on her wedding day.
Had that been Brandon’s intention? To make her aware she had no real place in his life other than the one he had designated for her?
Think again, Cade.
Flinging off the covers, Lacey jumped out of the king-sized bed with a new sense of purpose.
She had no idea where Brandon was. But she had no intention of going in search of him like a lost puppy looking for attention.
The concierge who had showed her round the bungalow early that morning had mentioned a number of the island’s natural attractions, including a waterfall only a two-mile walk from the beach.
She began to hunt through the drawers of designer clothes that had been selected for her by a stylist. Because, apparently, she couldn’t even be trusted to dress herself appropriately as Brandon Cade’s trophy wife.
After dressing in a ludicrously tiny bikini, a linen beach tunic and some sturdy sandals, and packing a small rucksack with water, sunscreen and mosquito repellent, she set out along the white sand beach.
Her breath caught as sunshine glinted off the turquoise water—a coral reef visible under the translucent sea. A breeze fluttered through the palm trees that edged the sand, refreshing her skin—and reminding her of what it felt like to have Brandon’s eyes on her.
A cold swim in a waterfall was just what she needed to take back control of the devil’s bargain she’d made with her domineering, overbearing new husband.
Perhaps he didn’t plan this to be a real marriage, but she’d be damned if she’d simply fall into step with those plans.
If he thought he’d got himself a convenient wife, this honeymoon would show him that Lacey Carstairs—she caught her breath as she took the path into the island’s interior: make that Lacey Cade—was nobody’s pushover.
‘Where the hell is my wife?’ Brandon demanded as he waylaid the concierge at the resort reception.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Cade, is she not in her villa?’
‘No, she’s not,’ he said, getting increasingly annoyed. He’d decided to pay a call on her. He’d waited long enough.
Unlike her, he’d chosen not to take a nap to sleep off the jet lag, but had instead gone for a long run on the beach and then spent an hour lifting weights in the on-site gym to take his mind off the sexual frustration—which, instead of being controlled, had only become more explosive during the long journey to the island.
After a shower, he’d headed to her villa. Because she was his wife, and she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And he was through playing games.
And now this. Where was she?
