Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor: Cattle Baron Needs a Bride / Sparks Fly with Mr Mayor. Margaret Way
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what do we have here,” he mocked, “a welcoming party of one?” He slowly approached, devastatingly handsome in his formal pearl-grey morning suit. He hadn’t bothered to change. That would have been an additional excitement for the young women in his party.
His tone was so sardonic she waved the taunt away with her hand. “Have no fear. I didn’t think you’d even come back. You seemed to be getting along so well with…Lisa, wasn’t it?”
“Louise,” he said with a drawl. “Call me Lou!”
“Well, I was close.” She shrugged, the jewelled strap that held the one-shouldered bodice of her gown giving off sparkles of light. “Didn’t work out?”
“I prefer to do the chasing,” he said, turning back to reactivate the alarm system. Then he recommenced his graceful walk, sleek as a panther, across the expanse of black and white marble tiles. “Still wearing your bridesmaid gown?” There was an oddly seductive note in his voice, given he had done his level best to avoid her the entire evening. One more or less obligatory dance, both of them remaining silent, their bodies locked in tension, the two of them divided even when his arm was tight around her.
“I haven’t been upstairs yet.” The raggedness of her breath betrayed her. “I’m not in the least tired.”
“You should never take that dress off.” He didn’t sound as much admiring as maddened by how she looked. Her small perfect breasts were outlined against the luminous silk. “Why is it you’re so extravagantly beautiful, Zara?” It came out like an unrelenting lament. “Why is it a part of me still madly wants you? God, sometimes I think you nailed me when we were only kids. Zara, the little princess! I’d never seen such a beautiful little girl before or since.”
Her limbs felt heavy, as though heat was bearing down on her. She turned fully to confront him. “Drink has loosened your tongue, Garrick.”
“Maybe it has,” he admitted with a wry laugh, moving ever closer. “How come you got over me just like that—” his fingers clicked “—when I can’t seem to put you behind me?”
She managed a sceptical laugh, tilting her chin. “You’re just wound up.”
And you aren’t?
“You did put me behind you, Garrick,” she said. “Very successfully, I would say.”
“A matter of opinion, my dear,” he drawled. “I’d say not terribly well. More’s the pity! What have you got in your hand?”
She held the white rose up to the shimmering moonlight. “A beautiful little gesture from Miranda. She left it in front of my mother’s portrait.”
“How very sweet!” He smiled, sounding unsurprised. “Corin is a lucky man. Miranda has my full approval. I’d like to drink a toast to your mother, Zara. I had the feeling she was here today—in spirit, anyway. I didn’t see as much of her as I would have liked, but I remember her as the loveliest woman. She was so kind to me when your father lived to bawl me out. I remember my mother receiving the news of her death with tears rolling down her cheeks. She doesn’t cry easily; she’s learned to hide her tears.”
“Some of us have to,” Zara pointed out quietly.
“Did you cry for me?”
She couldn’t bear the hurtful edge to his voice. “A million times!”
“Liar!” He shook his handsome dark head. “Just a mad fling, wasn’t it?”
“It was mad, certainly!” The most exultant experience she had ever had. There was all the difference in the world between being passionately in love and giving and receiving the loving affection that brought a lot of people to marriage. So many degrees of loving! Piled one upon another.
“Well, you got over it soon enough.” In the intimate semi-darkness he reached for her. “Come with me.”
Her legs felt like those of a newborn foal, barely able to support her. Every time he looked at her she remembered the rapture, then the heartbreak. Unsurprisingly, she lost her composure. Emotion could be uncontrollable. At least that was her experience with Garrick. “What is it you want, Garrick?” she asked in a soft ragged voice. “You want to see me cry?”
“Zara, darling, I have seen you cry, remember?” His answer was sardonic. “All crocodile tears.” He drew her into the opulent living room, switching lights back on as they went.
“Why did you never answer my letters?” Her accusation flew at him. Her voice sounded the old heartbreak. Yet he made no response. She dragged back against his strong hand. “Answer me, you ghastly, ghastly man!”
At that, he jerked them both to such an abrupt halt that her body slammed into his. “Do you understand nothing?” he asked harshly. “Sweetheart, I never read any of them.”
She had always held on to the hope that he had at least read some of them. Now she felt shattered. She had poured out her heart in those letters, telling him of her hatred for herself for being such a fool as to be so effortlessly manipulated by her father. “But I sent you so many!” Her expression was eloquent with pain. “God, how many? You never read any of them. You can’t be telling the truth!”
“Even more serious than that, Zara, my lost love; I burnt the lot of them.” There was a bitter twist to his beautifully shaped sensuous mouth. “Had a little bonfire. You made it very plain you were done with me, remember? You revealed yourself for what you were. Probably still are. A woman who has the power to bring a man to his knees. Were you planning on keeping the torture going? Now that’s sick! I wasn’t having any. I have my pride. You ought to consider you’re more like your father than you think.”
“What?” She reacted with horror, stunned that he should say such a thing. Indeed, her shock was so great that the air turned red before her eyes. Anti-violence all her life, without a second’s thought, she brought up her hand and struck him as hard as she possibly could across the face. He could easily have stopped her by grasping her wrist, his reflexes were such. But for some reason, he didn’t. He took the blow. “I’m nothing like my father,” she said very tightly. “He was a cruel, cruel man.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” His answer was as dry as ash. “You took a chance hitting out at me, Zara.” As he spoke, he was making a production out of rubbing his cheekbone. His skin was so tanned the red imprint of her fingers barely showed. “I could have retaliated.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, when she wasn’t at all ashamed of her actions. He deserved it. There was immense pleasure in connecting, if only in a blow.
“No, you’re not,” he bluntly contradicted. “You loved it!”
“I did!” She admitted to it in a low voice, moving closer and staring into his burning blue eyes.
“Course you did!” he taunted. “So…I’d say what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
Tears of rage filled her eyes but he grabbed her, hauling her into his arms. How many times had he wanted to do that since he’d arrived? It was perilous being around Zara. She could have resisted, but she made no movement to draw back. “Hartmann a good lover?” With an effort, he kept his tone purely conversational.
Diamond pinpoints of light stood in her desperate eyes. He pulled her ever closer. “Did he tell you you have the most beautiful, the most kissable mouth in the world? Don’t bother struggling. You won’t get away.” He held her strongly with his left hand, brought up his right to touch her long hair, tipping her face up to his. “Be careful now how you answer,” he warned.
Anger burned past raw pain. “He did. He did!” She laughed in his face, her own face pale. “Of course he d—” She got no further.
He was under too much strain. Cursing her. Cursing himself. There was no reprieve with Zara.