Not a Marrying Man. Miranda Lee
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he hadn’t wanted sex this past week. But she’d wanted him to want it. Wanted him to want her.
If she’d been a bolder type of girl, she would have attempted a seduction of her own. But playing the femme fatale was not Amber’s style. Although not exactly shy, she never made the first move—although she’d never needed to where Warwick was concerned: he had more than enough moves for both of them.
By now, an increasingly desperate Amber knew she would have to do something to allay her growing fears that he was definitely growing bored with her. Her suggestion this morning over breakfast of a candlelit dinner at home seemed to have gone down well, with Warwick giving her a long lingering kiss at the door before going off to attend to his latest property development.
Not a hotel this time. Warwick wasn’t interested in buying another Sydney hotel, despite his earlier acquisition now making a nice profit after he’d put in a gym and a lounge bar, as she’d suggested. This time he’d chosen a night club up at the Cross, a rather run-down, seedy establishment that had definitely seen better days. But Warwick had seen potential in its position and was currently making the place over into the kind of high-class club that would attract the rich and famous with its luxurious ambience, wonderful food and top entertainment. He’d consulted Amber quite a lot about the refurbishing, complimenting her often over her various suggestions. In truth, she was as excited by the project as he was and often accompanied him to the site.
Not this past week, however. He hadn’t offered to take her and she hadn’t asked. Even if he’d asked her today, she probably would have said no. She’d had other plans.
Amber had known it would take many hours to prepare for the evening ahead. She’d gone to the hairdresser first, after which she’d bought herself a new dress, something extra pretty and feminine. Then she’d had to shop for food, set the table, prepare the bedroom, and, finally, herself.
Oh, yes, Amber thought ruefully as her eyes cleared to rake over her reflection. She’d spent hours on herself, making sure that she looked exactly as Warwick liked her to look.
On the surface, her appearance hadn’t changed much since the first day they’d met. Her hairstyle was exactly the same, though she’d given in to Warwick’s request to have her honey colour lightened to a cool, creamy blonde. And it did look classier somehow. Her eyebrows were more finely plucked these days, and the makeup she now wore was extremely expensive, not from the supermarket ranges that she used to buy. Although she couldn’t see all that much difference, despite the time it took to apply everything. Maybe the lipsticks stayed on a little longer and the mascara was definitely waterproof.
Her figure was still basically the same, longer workouts in the gym ensuring that all the restaurant food she’d devoured over the past ten months hadn’t settled on her thighs or her stomach. Slightly taller than average, Amber had been blessed with a naturally slim body, yet enough curves to attract male attention.
Of course, her wardrobe had changed dramatically, Warwick insisting that she allow him to dress her the way a woman of her ‘exquisite beauty’ should be dressed. He always called her a woman, never a girl. She’d been powerless to resist his compliments—as she’d been powerless to resist him—and now had a walk-in robe full of designer clothes; something for every possible occasion.
Nothing too sexy, though. Warwick said that true sexiness was what was hidden, not what was displayed.
A shiver trickled down Amber’s spine when she thought about what was hidden under the softly feminine Orsini original she was wearing.
The long-awaited sound of her cell phone ringing had her throwing her hairbrush down and racing back out into the living room, where she thought she’d left it. But the sound wasn’t coming from there. Had she left the handset out on the balcony? She didn’t think she had.
And then she remembered.
‘The kitchen!’
Amber prayed for it to keep on ringing as she bolted for the kitchen, wishing that the rooms in this place weren’t quite so big.
At last she snatched the phone up into her hands, sweeping it up to her ear and saying, ‘Thank heavens you didn’t hang up,’ rather breathlessly at the same time.
‘Er … it’s Mum, Amber. Not … who you thought it was.’
Amber suppressed a groan of dismay. Thank goodness she had a call waiting facility or she’d go stark raving bonkers, having to talk to her mother when Warwick might be trying to contact her.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she said much more calmly than she was feeling. ‘What’s up? ‘
Her mother rarely rang her these days, their relationship having become strained since the day she’d announced that she’d quit her job, broken off with Cory and moved in with her billionaire boss.
Amber could well understand why her family didn’t approve of her actions and she’d finally given up trying to justify what she’d done. Because there was no justification. She couldn’t even use love as an excuse. There’d been no love back then, just lust. Though she preferred to think of it as passion—the kind of passion that was as powerful as it was impossible to describe, especially to your mother.
It had been quite a few months before Amber realised she’d actually fallen in love with Warwick. Up till then she’d been so blinded by her desire for the man that she’d been unaware of the deepening of her emotional attachment. The illumination of her true feelings had happened with all the suddenness and force of a bolt of lightning. They’d been staying at a resort in far North Queensland one weekend late last summer, when Warwick had decided to go bungee-jumping. She’d refused to participate herself but had gone along to watch, knowing it was better on her nerves to accompany Warwick on his thrill-seeking activities rather than stay behind and worry. Something had gone wrong with the length of the rope and his head had almost hit the rocks below. Amber had been absolutely horrified, both by his near miss and the realisation of her love.
Up till then, she’d convinced herself—perhaps as a form of self-protection—that she wouldn’t be heartbroken when her time with Warwick was up. After all, broken hearts were for people who truly loved each other. She’d told herself repeatedly that going back to the real world would be difficult, but she would survive.
Suddenly, with Warwick’s near-death experience, Amber saw what her life would be like without him. The wool was violently pulled from her eyes and she saw with painful clarity that she’d been fooling herself, big time.
She did love him. Not just truly, but madly and very very deeply.
But she certainly didn’t say as much to Warwick, who’d made it clear right from the start that love was no more on his agenda than marriage and children. Quietly, however, like any typical female, Amber had begun to harbour the hope that she might be the exception to that rule as well; that one day he’d discover that he’d fallen madly in love with her too and wanted to keep her for ever. But that hope was rapidly fading.
‘Something strange has happened regarding Kate’s will,’ her mother announced, cutting into her thoughts.
‘Oh? What? She left everything to Dad, didn’t she?’
Who else? Aunt Kate had been a spinster and Amber’s father’s only sibling.
‘She did in her old will. But it seemed she made a new will, witnessed by those two friends of hers. Max and Tara Richmond. You know who I mean, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Amber had first met the Richmonds on Christmas day two years ago, when Christmas dinner had been held at Aunt Kate’s place.
Max Richmond was the owner of the Royale chain of international hotels, including the Regency Royale in Sydney, but had semi-retired to the Central Coast after his marriage. He and his wife were good friends of her Aunt Kate. They were a very glamorous-looking couple, with two amazingly well-behaved children: a darling little boy named Stevie and a very pretty blonde baby named Jasmine, who just sat in her stroller and smiled at everyone.
Amber