Red-Hot Lover. Sarah Holland
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looked around, as though searching for a way to escape.
‘Darling…?’ Clara whispered with a sudden renewal of concern. ‘What on earth is wrong?’
‘It’s nothing,’ he muttered, but as he looked back at the group he drew a harsh breath and suddenly turned to Clara, his arm going around her as he pulled her close and kissed her cheek. As their bodies touched she felt the beat of his heart. Was he frightened? But what on earth could frighten him in this idyllic setting? Yet he was deeply worried about something. Otherwise why would he close his eyes for so long as he kissed her, and why would he let his mouth linger a second too long on the soft curve of her cheek?
Suddenly she was released. But he grasped her hand in his as he led her to the smiling wedding group. One or two of Gareth’s family said hello. Jared nodded, gave them a tense smile, but did not speak. The photographer started taking pictures. Clara smiled as Jared’s large powerful hand nearly crushed hers—his grip was tightening the longer he had to stand here.
‘Could I get one of you alone with Miss Maye, Mr Blackheath?’
‘This isn’t our wedding day,’ Jared said. ‘It’s Susie and Gareth’s, as you very well know.’
‘Yes, but it isn’t often I get to take a few shots of such a famous couple.’
Clara felt herself blush. She’d always been happy to be famous, and she knew Jared was. It was one of the things they had in common. But to be photographed like this in front of the whole wedding crowd on Susie’s wedding day felt uncomfortably like upstaging the bride. Her eyes flickered to Susie’s as the rest of the family moved obligingly away, leaving Clara and Jared alone on the grassy knoll, centre stage and in the spotlight once again.
‘Go on.’ Susie grinned at her approvingly.
Clara bit her lip and looked up at Jared. He didn’t look as happy as she felt. In fact his face was hard, and set in an angry expression. He was also, she noticed, staring across the churchyard at the church, not looking at the bride and the groom or the photographer at all.
‘Just one or two,’ murmured the photographer, already taking pictures.
‘Very well.’ Jared’s mouth tightened. He stood on Clara’s right, still looking at the church, giving the photographer his arrogant profile, refusing to look at the camera or the family. Aware that the photographs would need some kind of composition, Clara looked up into Jared’s face with a smile, making the photo double-facing.
He felt her stare, glanced down at her and saw the love in her green eyes. A brief smile touched his mouth. The sun glowed behind them. It must have made a beautiful shot because murmurs of delight went up from the crowd. Clara felt her smile widen—being an orphan had left her with a remarkable desire to be noticed and talked about, as though without public acclaim she somehow did not truly exist. She had often wondered if Jared felt the same. She wondered it again now as she saw the smile deepen on his handsome face, aware of the stir they were causing.
Everyone was watching Clara and Jared. Although Clara was a well-known face from the television, Jared was the big fish. Sexy, dynamic multimillionaire tycoons were a rarity in any arena. Most people simply stared at him in awe.
‘Lovely, thanks.’ The photographer wouldn’t let up. ‘Just one more…’
But before the shutter clicked, Susie called, ‘Here!’ She threw her bouquet at Clara. ‘Your turn next, blushing bride!’
‘Right, that’s enough!’ Jared muttered furiously to Clara. ‘No more photographs. We’re leaving.’ He raised his voice so the others could hear. ‘Thank you, but we’re very tired and need to go. See you at the reception!’
Without waiting for a reply from anyone, Jared turned on his heel and strode away across the churchyard, still holding Clara’s hand tightly so she could not get away from him. Guests scattered like a flurry of flamingoes, all tottering in hats and high heels to let Jared Blackheath pass. And, clinging with one hand to both her hat and her new bouquet, Clara skittered along beside him.
His hatred of weddings had reached an all-time high. But why had this wedding, above all others, provoked it? There had to be some secret ingredient that had gone into today that she didn’t know about. But what…?
CHAPTER TWO
OUTSIDE the church, Jared beckoned the limousine. Harrison had been sitting on the bonnet in his grey uniform and peaked cap. He had a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other and a steel flask resting precariously on the bumper.
‘He’s having his break, poor man,’ murmured Clara as Harrison fumbled around trying to get ready to leave.
‘I don’t pay him to make me wait.’ Jared strode across the leafy Kensington road without waiting. ‘He must have seen us coming out of the church. He should have been ready to leave at a moment’s notice.’
Harrison was already behind the wheel by the time they reached the car. He knew his boss too well to even consider getting things wrong when Jared had a face like thunder. Normally even-tempered and goodnatured, Jared in a bad mood was not a man to tangle with. And if he had been in a bad mood this morning, before they left for the church, he was in a much worse mood now as he wrenched open the rear door.
Clara slid in first, and shifted breathlessly along the dove-grey seats as Jared got in beside her.
He slammed the door and bit out thickly, ‘The Ritz!’
‘Very good, sir.’ Harrison murmured, but did not turn his grey head to look at his master.
As they drove away down the little Kensington mews, Jared was already shouldering out of his grey jacket. It was a sure sign of severe muscular tension. He frequently did it after a gruelling board meeting, and his next step was always to loosen his tie, which he was now doing. Clara watched for the final step—unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt and all the buttons of his formal grey waistcoat. Finally, he leaned back against the seats, with his arms spread out on either side, and closed his eyes.
Clara watched him with concern. ‘Would you like me to massage your shoulders?’
‘Yes.’ It was a curt reply, and she made a face at him while his eyes were still closed because of it. ‘I saw that,’ he muttered, watching through slitted lids.
‘Well, you are in a horrid mood, darling!’ she said lightly.
‘That doesn’t give you licence to make faces at me behind my back.’
‘Oh, yes, it does!’ she teased, but she also knelt up on the seats to better get to his shoulder muscles. As soon as her fingers began to knead the lock-tight muscles, he gave a deep groan. ‘Oh, that’s lovely…’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Sublimely,’ he said from deep in his throat. ‘I love it. Don’t stop.’
As she massaged and pummelled and pushed and kneaded, she thought about today’s wedding and tried to hone in on the secret ingredient that had made it so intolerable for him. He should not, after all, feel as though he’d just beaten his arch-enemies in a grim boardroom battle for power. Most people felt light and happy after attending a wedding, especially one as beautiful and simple as Susie’s. If nothing else, it renewed one’s faith in love.
And Jared did have a great deal of faith in love. Oh, he huffed the way most men do—particularly powerful men—and talked a blue streak about weddings being ‘romantic nonsense’ or ‘a trap’. But underneath the hard-headed macho façade, Jared hid a deep romanticism that he was afraid to let anyone but Clara know about. He had to keep it hidden. There were too many sharks in the world of big business and he could not risk letting his enemies see how vulnerable he could be. How could such a sensitive man grow to hate weddings so much that he reacted like a cornered animal to them?
‘It was worse for you today, wasn’t it?’ she said gently as his muscles began to unknot and