Not a Marrying Man (13 page)

There were several items in the B & B that would have to be replaced. That crocheted bedspread for one. No way was that staying! He’d buy a new quilt for the upstairs bedroom as well, the one he’d liked the most and in which he’d be sleeping. Because of course he wouldn’t be sleeping in the same room as Amber.

Then there was the question of some air conditioning in the old lady’s bedroom. And a new TV for Amber to watch. The ancient one in the corner didn’t shout digital to him.

It was a lot to do in one day, but Warwick had no doubt he’d manage. It was amazing just how cooperative
sales people could be when you threw in a cash bonus. He was determined that by the time Amber arrived home tomorrow everything would be ready for her!

An excerpt from Amber’s new diary, written two weeks after her discharge from hospital:

W
ARWICK ALWAYS
tapped on the door nowadays before entering Amber’s bedroom, ever since he’d walked in one day last week and caught her in the act of changing her nightie. Seeing her sitting up in bed, naked from the
waist up, was not helpful with his resolve to keep his hands off. He’d spent the rest of the day feeling frustration, which had only eased after he’d gone swimming in the sea, in a freezing cold surf.

When he came into the room this time, she was sitting in the armchair that faced the television, fully dressed in a velour maroon tracksuit, her long blonde hair twisted into a knot on top of her head. Despite not wearing make-up, she looked utterly beautiful but decidedly unhappy. Warwick wondered what she’d been writing in the diary that she’d asked him to buy for her the day after she’d left hospital and which was presently resting on her lap. A pen was still in her right hand.

‘Dinner’s ready,’ he announced. ‘Do you need any help getting out of that chair? ‘

Amber sighed as she put both the diary and pen down on the small side table. ‘No, thanks. I’ll be along shortly.’

Warwick’s teeth clenched down hard in his jaw. He could understand her wanting to be independent. But he hated seeing her struggle to do things. Hated not being able to do what he thought was natural for a man to do for his woman.

‘Damn it all,’ he suddenly muttered and strode over to the chair, where he swept her up into his arms. ‘Yes, yes, I know I’m supposed to keep my wicked hands off,’ he growled as he carried her from the room. ‘But there’s a limit to any man’s patience.’

She hooked her arms around his neck and stared up at him with her big lustrous blue eyes.

‘I … I thought you didn’t want me any more,’ she choked out.

He ground to a halt in the hallway. ‘I’m not carrying
you off to my bed, Amber,’ he informed her brusquely. ‘Just to the kitchen table for dinner.’

‘Oh.’ She flushed a dark red and dropped her eyes from his.

‘Do you
want
me to take you up to my bed?’

Her eyes lifted back to his, their expression confused and uncertain. ‘I don’t know.’

She didn’t know. Hell on earth, but she’d try the patience of a saint!

‘Then let me do my best to make up your mind for you. If you say yes, then I’ll quite happily make love to you. All night long if you wish. It hasn’t been easy for me being here with you like this. Celibacy does not come naturally to me. But let me warn you, Amber, I will still leave when you’re better. It won’t change anything. Do not think that sleeping with me will make me stay, because it won’t!’

Amber wished he hadn’t added that last bit. Wished he’d stopped at how glad he would be to make love to her all night. Then she could have surrendered to the wild, rapturous heat that was racing through her veins and not worried about the future. She could have tried living the way he’d always lived: for the pleasure of the moment.

But, no, he had to tell the cold, hard facts, didn’t he? Had to make her face the reality of his offer. Had to put the ball squarely back in her court.

Dear God, but he was cruel!

‘In that case, take me to the kitchen,’ she said with stiff pride.

‘Fine,’ Warwick bit out and did just that, depositing her in one of the kitchen chairs before swinging away to see to the food, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself.

For a split second there, he’d almost ignored her not very convincing ‘no’ and carried her upstairs to bed. Because he’d seen the truth in her eyes. Seen the yearning. She wanted him to make love to her, no doubt about that.

And damn it all, he wanted to make love to her!

But he hadn’t come this far to fall at the first hurdle. He had to stay strong. Because it was obvious that Amber couldn’t. The accident had made her vulnerable and weak. He would have no trouble seducing her, no trouble at all.

But seduction was not on the menu for tonight. Or any other night.

‘I’ve cooked your aunt’s recipe for Hungarian goulash,’ he said as he returned to the table with their meals. ‘Right down to the dash of Worcestershire sauce. But I didn’t cook potatoes with it, just rice.’

‘It looks very nice,’ Amber said rather dully as she picked up her fork.

‘Do you want a glass of red with it?’ he asked as he picked up the bottle he’d bought earlier and placed on the table along with two of her aunt’s very elegant wine glasses. ‘I know you’re not mad about red but you can’t really drink white with this. And the Merlot is particularly good. Very soft on the palate.’

‘Whatever,’ she said with an indifferent shrug.

Warwick quickly saw that dinner was going to be a sombre affair. And he was right: Amber didn’t speak, just forked the goulash into her mouth like an automaton. She ate it all, though, which was some consolation for the effort it had taken to make the darned food. He’d been in the kitchen for hours. Not that he really minded. Strangely enough, Warwick had found that he quite enjoyed cooking, even if he did take ages to do everything.
But he hated the cleaning up afterwards. Actually, he hated cleaning in general. To put it bluntly, cleaning sucked. He would have hired a housekeeper if he hadn’t needed as many activities as possible to distract and tire him, firmly believing the adage about the devil and idle hands. So, along with the housework and the shopping, he ran along the beach twice a day, in the morning by himself and every afternoon with Max, who seemed to have warmed to him at last. Max had actually come to the house last evening after dinner with a bottle of port and they’d drunk it together whilst they chatted away about business, mostly the hotel industry.

They didn’t touch upon personal affairs, for which Warwick was grateful. It would have been awkward to explain about his situation where Amber was concerned without coming out looking the baddie. Which he was, of course. But he liked Max and didn’t want the man to begin thinking badly of him again. So when Max invited them both to a barbecue at his house this coming weekend, as one would any normal couple, he’d said yes.

But he hadn’t told Amber yet, something he would have to remedy since Tara occasionally dropped in to see Amber and would probably mention the invitation herself.

‘By the way,’ he said as soon as Amber put her fork down. ‘Max and Tara have invited us to a barbecue at their place this Saturday. Not in the evening. At lunchtime.’

‘Oh?’ she said archly. ‘And when did this happen?’

‘Last night.’

‘Really. And what did you say? ‘

‘I said yes.’

‘Without asking me first.’

‘Yes.’

Amber tried not to explode. But really, he was incorrigible.

‘I don’t want to go,’ she lied. In truth, she was dying to get out of this house for a while.

‘If you don’t, I’ll have to tell them the truth.’

‘Then tell them the truth!’

‘To what end? They’ll feel uncomfortable and so will we.’

‘You’re
the one who’ll feel uncomfortable,’ Amber snapped.

‘True. But I’m thinking of you as well. Max and Tara are good people. Good friends. You’ll need them after I leave. Why jeopardise their friendship by airing all our dirty linen in front of them at this stage? Far better that we go on pretending that we are what they think we are: lovers. That way, when I finally leave, they’re sure to rally around you and give you all the support you need.’

‘So this has nothing to do with your new best mate realising that Aunt Kate was right about you being a cold-blooded bastard?’

Warwick had to smile. Amber was one smart cookie. But then, he’d always thought that. She was the one who underestimated herself.

‘That could also be a factor,’ he admitted, and refilled his wine glass.

‘A very big factor. Oh, all right. We’ll go to the stupid barbecue, then. Though goodness knows what I’m going to wear.’

‘You have four days before the weekend. We’ll sort something out. Now, are you going to drink some more of this wine or not? ‘

‘No. I don’t much like it.’

‘Fine,’ he said with a slightly weary sigh. ‘I’ll carry you back to your room, then.’

‘No, you won’t. I’ll make my own way back.’

His face reflected his exasperation. ‘And how, pray tell, are you going to do that? The walking frame’s still in the bedroom.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t mind getting it for me.’

‘Then you’d be wrong,’ he said sharply, and lifted his wine glass to his lips. Damn the girl, but he was not some lackey to be ordered around without any manners.

‘Please,
Warwick,’ she said.

‘You haven’t thanked me for dinner.’

Amber rolled her eyes. ‘Thank you for dinner.’

‘Fine,’ he said, and put down his glass.
‘Now
I’ll go get the walking frame.’

As Amber watched him stand up and walk from the room she could not help noticing how well Warwick was looking. His face was nicely tanned from all the running he’d been doing and his body looked extra hard and lean, especially his butt. Not that she needed any imagination to envisage what lay beneath the tight-fitting jeans he was wearing. She knew every inch of Warwick’s body, and she loved every single part of it.

But it was what he did with that body that she loved the most. His lovemaking technique was superb. Amber had had limited lovers in her life. But she felt sure she could have had a hundred sexual partners and none of them would have compared with Warwick.

By the time he re-entered the kitchen with the walking frame Amber found herself staring at him shamelessly. Thankfully, Warwick’s eyes were firmly on the floor and did not witness her shocking lack of decorum, not to mention common sense. Hadn’t she learnt
her lesson earlier on? She’d been so close to giving in and saying, yes, please, shag me all night and we won’t worry about tomorrow! Which was insane, since she wasn’t on the pill any more. She’d stopped taking it on the day of the accident, thinking it was a total waste of time.

To climb back into bed with Warwick would have been silly enough. To risk an unwanted pregnancy was beyond the pale. And she might have done just that, because once back in his arms she’d have been so turned on that she would not have wanted to stop proceedings by mentioning her lack of protection.

Heaven help her, but she was a fool!

A severely self-chastened Amber had cooled her lust-filled eyes by the time Warwick glanced up.

‘Thank you again,’ she said a bit stiffly.

‘My pleasure,’ he returned in that wonderfully polite and cultured British accent of his. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘In that case I might take myself out for a walk. Try not to fall over whilst I’m gone, will you?’

Their eyes clashed. His were wryly amused, hers, instantly rebellious.

Amber tried to think of something witty to shoot back at him. But before anything came to her mind, Warwick had whirled on his heels and left the room.

‘Damn it!’ she muttered, hating it that he had had the last word.

His banging the back door shut with a degree of venom showed her, however, that he was not as coolly composed as he liked to pretend. She went to bed, pleased by the notion that Warwick was as frustrated as she was.