One Passionate Night: His Bride for One Night / One Night at Parenga / His One-Night Mistress. Robyn Donald
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a good guy, as Brad had said.
She hadn’t liked him paying for the wedding. Pride, he supposed. Charlotte was proud.
Well, that was too bad because he’d liked giving the Gales that money. He could well afford it and it had made both of them very happy. If Charlotte chose not to see it in that light, then that was her problem.
Frankly, he was getting just a tad irritated with her. She should have been grateful for all he’d done, not looking daggers at him.
When he sat back down, Brad gave him a poke in the ribs. ‘You have to go cut the cake now.’
Daniel sighed. Would this ever end?
They stood up together with Daniel putting his hand on Charlotte’s elbow as they made their way round to the table that housed the three-tiered wedding cake. More smiles. More photographs.
‘And now,’ the MC boomed, ‘the bride and groom will take the floor for the bridal waltz.’
Daniel winced. He’d actually heard of the bridal waltz and always thought it sounded schmaltzy. Suddenly, it seemed hazardous as well. He would have to take Charlotte in his arms and hold her close, and God only knew what would happen after that.
Daniel hesitated, despite the music having started up.
‘Surely you know how to dance,’ his bride said, again with that caustic gleam in her eye.
Right. He’d had enough of this.
With no further ado, he swept her into his arms and onto the dance floor, twirling her round with elegant ease.
His fears over dancing with Charlotte, however, proved correct. No sooner had one hand been clamped to the small of her back and the other curled round her hot little hand than he felt the none too subtle stirrings of his flesh.
Thank goodness for the bridal gown, with its huge skirt and masses of petticoats. No way would Charlotte be able to feel a thing, he soon realised, smiling ruefully as he danced on, masochistically enjoying his arousal.
‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ she tossed at him.
‘I’ll be a lot more pleased when this reception is over,’ he replied, and pulled her just a little closer.
That shut her up.
‘Did you give the porter your overnight bag like we arranged?’ he asked, his mind now solidly on the aftermath of this reception.
‘Yes,’ she replied a bit breathlessly.
‘Good.’ Daniel didn’t want anything going wrong tonight. He had everything planned, and arranged.
‘Er—which one of the bridal suites did you book?’ she asked.
There’d only been the one available. The most expensive one.
‘The Arabian Nights suite,’ he replied, and listened, with a surge of triumph, as she gasped.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHARLOTTE gasped, then gulped. The Arabian Nights suite!
Oh…my… God…
Somehow Charlotte got through the bridal waltz, and the rest of the reception. She smiled at all her relatives when they came up to congratulate her and thanked them for their gifts, which were piled up on a huge table at the back of the reception room.
Charlotte had known not to bother with that bridal-register idea at any of the department stores where guests could order presents from a list and have them delivered to the bride’s house beforehand. Country folk liked to bring their presents to the actual wedding.
Louise kept asking her if she was all right and she kept saying she was fine.
But she wasn’t fine. In her head, she was already in that decadent bridal suite, in that decadent bed, gazing up at the decadent, mirrored ceiling.
Charlotte had been shown all the themed bridal suites when she’d first made enquiries here at the hotel, so she knew exactly what the Arabian Nights suite entailed. Not only was it the most expensive, but it was also the most exotic—and erotic—in decor.
By the time her mother hugged her goodbye, brushing a tear from her eye, Charlotte’s already strung-out nerves were stretched tight as a drum.
‘Look after her for us, Gary,’ her father said as he pumped Daniel’s hand, then turned to hug his daughter.
‘And you look after your husband, Charlotte,’ he advised.
‘I will, Dad,’ she choked out.
‘Now, off you go, you two, and have a great honeymoon. And don’t worry about your wedding presents. Louise and Brad said they’d take them home for you and look after them. Mother and I will be taking off pretty early in the morning so this is goodbye from us for now. Give us a call after you get back from your honeymoon, OK?’
Daniel said they would.
Thankfully, there was a bank of lifts just outside the reception-room doors into which the ‘honeymooners’ raced to the cheers and claps of the happily intoxicated guests.
Fortunately, the lift they caught was empty. It whisked them up to the tenth floor, Charlotte only then realising she’d possibly drunk too much wine on her mostly empty stomach. She’d only managed a bite or two of the dessert, and none of the coffee and mints afterwards.
‘You all right?’ Daniel asked when the doors whooshed open and she stayed clasping the brass railing that ran around the lift wall at hand-height.
‘I think I had a bit too much to drink.’
‘I noticed you didn’t eat much. Are you feeling sick?’
He looked worried, Charlotte noticed.
‘I’ll be all right. Just a slight dizzy spell from the lift.’
‘Here. Take my arm.’
She smiled a wry smile as she did so. ‘Is this you looking after me?’
He grinned. ‘Absolutely. You can look after me later.’
Suddenly, Charlotte was overcome with panic. Because she knew what Daniel meant. Without a doubt, he was expecting her to be a woman of the world, experienced and confident.
‘Daniel, I… There’s something I have to tell you,’ she said. She had to warn him; had to explain that she was not the sexy piece she seemed.
‘There’s nothing you have to tell me, beautiful,’ he said softly, pulling her round into his arms. ‘Tonight is my responsibility, not yours. You don’t have to do a thing. Just lie back and enjoy.’
His words brought a rush of relief, Charlotte realising that if she’d told him she was bad—or boring—in bed, everything would have been spoilt in advance. This way, she had a chance to become the wanton woman she was in her fantasies.
‘But I don’t think I should kiss you just yet,’ he said ruefully. ‘Better we get behind closed doors first.’
A shudder rippled down her spine. ‘Closed doors sounds good,’ she agreed. ‘Have you—er—got the passkey to the suite?’
‘Right here.’ And he patted his pocket.
‘Did you come up to see this particular suite before you booked it?’
‘No. Should I have? Is there something wrong with it?’
‘Not at all,’ Charlotte denied.
But he was in for a surprise. She hoped he liked it. She certainly had, despite being initially startled.
Daniel saw the gleam in her eyes and wondered what was waiting for him. Whatever it was, he was sure he would approve. Anything that pleased Charlotte this much would please him.
The Arabian Nights suite was the first one along the carpeted corridor,