The Accidental Bride (27 page)

‘Enough of that.’ He grabbed her by her shoulder and hauled her up, pushing her back firm and flat against the wall. Flexing his knees, he dipped down, and at the same time, lifted one of her legs, to open her wide. Shelley felt blindly, instinctively, for his cock, and taking him by the tip, she guided him to her entrance, hitching a little this way and that, to notch him there.

Then, with a roll of his hips, and a mighty shove, Sholto Kraft pushed his way magisterially into her body.

Laughing, gasping, throwing her head back with joy, Lizzie cried out, riding her orgasm, and riding John.

Alice the cat had leapt off the bed and gone, as mercurially and unexpectedly as she’d arrived, and in a sudden, intense need to take John by surprise too, Lizzie had climbed astride her new fiancé and rubbed herself against him, massaging his cock with her crotch. Pleasures of the flesh were so much easier to deal with than ‘the future’ and within seconds, the inevitable had happened, and they were fishing for a condom and making ready.

In a wild happy bounce they’d thrown themselves at each other, as hungry and eager as if they’d not made love for weeks, much less barely an hour or so ago.

‘Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie,’ chanted John, his hips jerking as he came in her, and she folded herself down over his beloved form, and kissed his lips.

‘Well, I’ve always prided myself on my sexual stamina,’ said John cheerfully, a little while later as they lay beside each other, ‘but since I met and started shagging you, my darling fiancée, I seem to have reached a whole new level of virility.’ He took her hand, and conveyed it to his lips for a short, sweet kiss. ‘And believe you me, love, I’m certainly not complaining.’

‘Me neither.’ Lizzie pressed her lips to his smooth bare shoulder. ‘Although I must admit I’m a bit too knackered now, for getting into those plans you mentioned.’ She looked at him, more seriously, meeting his eye. ‘Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?’

‘I’m certainly going to try, sweetheart. And don’t let me stop you either, if you’re tired now. There’ll be all the time in the world to make our plans.’

A stir of disquiet surged in her mid-section. Plans. It
sounded so serious. So grown up. And a little part of her was still coming to terms with the reality of being engaged to John Smith, multi-millionaire and aristocrat. It was like nothing she’d ever imagined for herself. It was like a movie, but suddenly, quite real.

‘What exactly did you mean by plans, apart from the obvious? Um … length of engagement. Where and when we get married etcetera, etcetera?’

John gave her a long, steady look. ‘Well, I would say “don’t worry your pretty little head about it all”, but I’m fairly sure I’d get a sizeable smack in the chops if I did.’

‘You would indeed.’

He laughed. ‘So, as I said … Other than putting the respective parents in the picture, we’ll do everything at your pace, Lizzie. And however you want. Big do, small do, it’s entirely up to you. I’m not even sure whether I can get married again in church, as a divorced man, but if you’d like to, we can always have a blessing instead, along with a civil ceremony.’ For a moment, he paused, and bit his lip. ‘Actually, daft as it might seem, I’m starting to find the thought of wedding preparations quite exciting. Is that a bit girlie of me?’

Lizzie’s heart turned over. Aw, bless him. ‘I think it’s rather sweet, boss man. I … I haven’t really thought about the idea of weddings myself all that much. Well, not until lately, when I started work on the first New Again bridal gown, and the other commissions. I’d always imagined having some kind of quickie wedding, if I got married at all, but now I’m starting to like the idea of something a bit more elaborate, you know?’ She kissed his shoulder again, tasting a hint of salty sweat on his skin. ‘Nothing major on the Wills and Kate level,
but the proper thing, a proper wedding. White frock and all.’

‘You’ll look gorgeous in a big, fluffy meringue of a dress,’ John said, with a grin.

‘I’m not wearing a meringue! But I’ve got some ideas.’ She had, too, but it was early days, and she’d no idea how she was going to find a suitable pattern to adapt. ‘And I shall be making it myself, whatever it is.’ She had to be firm on that. She was still Lizzie, who made her own decisions, and many of her own clothes, even if marrying John made her into a very rich woman.

‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting anything else,’ he said quickly. Too quickly?

‘Well, you did say we’d do everything my way,’ she pointed out, mock-nipping him, ‘and that’s my way.’

‘OK, OK.’ He reached around, slid his fingers under her chin, raising her face to him. ‘But you’ll be my wife, Lizzie, and my fiancée first. There’ll have to be some changes. Just practical ones. You’ll need bank accounts, credit cards of your own, all that jazz. And perhaps you could put your business relationship with Marie on a more formal footing?’ He paused, and Lizzie sensed that suddenly John Smith, powerful business mogul, was with them, fused with John, the beautiful lover. ‘I’d like to buy the entire New Again business for you as an engagement gift.’

Lizzie sat up sharply. ‘No way, John! It’s Marie’s business. I work with her as a partner. I don’t want to be a boss!’

John was quiet for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie. I’m getting grandiose ideas again. Trying to buy everything and steamroller you.’ He sat up alongside her, and drew her hand to his lips. ‘You’re very wise, my darling. You know what’s right for you. Much better than I, or anyone else
does. I promise not to put pressure on you.’ He kissed her hands again, his lips expressing acceptance. He was a great man, a dominant man, acknowledging his equal now, just as she’d specified. ‘But if you ever do need funds, or any kind of resource or business advice, anything, just say the word. I’m here for you now. We’re partners too. And I’ve got your back.’

It was a heavy moment, an intense moment. He loved her and he wanted the best for her, but he was so used to having his own way. ‘I know, John. And I appreciate that.’ She leant forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘You’ve got my back … and the rest of me too. And I think we’ve made progress here … At least you did ask me first this time, about the business.’

She winked at him, and he threw his arms around her. They hugged. This sort of issue would always resurface between them, and there would be contretemps. It was just the way they were. But they’d deal with it too … because that was what people who loved each other did.

‘Enough with all the heavy stuff,’ said John as they broke apart. ‘Let’s try and sleep now, my love. It’s been a big day. A very big day. We’ll talk tomorrow. Now we have to rest.’

Rest, yes. Easier said than done. Not sure whether she’d be able to nod off, never mind her beloved with his longstanding sleep problems, Lizzie still lay down beside him, hoping for the best.

And despite everything, despite the momentousness, despite the qualms, despite the wonderfulness, she nodded off, her fingers still lightly entwined with John’s.

Shelley clamped her knees together. It was a summer’s night, but even chillier than when they’d set off from the Piazza.
And at this hour the naughty cool breezes kept finding their way up her skirt as she sat on the bench. Her knickers were lying somewhere amongst the muck and grunge of the sex alley, and no matter how much she liked them, no way was she picking them up from the ground.

‘You’re cold,’ said Sholto, making her jump. For a big man, he had a knack of being able to sneak up unawares, especially on people who were deep in thought to start with. ‘Here, take these.’ He handed her two insulated cups from the coffee machine on the bus station concourse, then shrugged out of his jacket. Settling it around her shoulders, he took a coffee cup back from her, and popped the lid.

‘Now you’ll be cold,’ Shelley countered, starting on her own coffee. For vending machine witch-brew, it was surprisingly good. Beside her, Sholto didn’t seem to be displaying any signs of being cold, though. No goose-flesh on the skin of his magnificent biceps and forearms.

‘I’m fine,’ he said easily. ‘How about you? Not feeling the draught, are we?’ He nodded in the direction of her groin.

She laughed. ‘A bit, but it was worth it.’

‘Wasn’t it just?’ Sholto winked. He looked happy. Happy in an unalloyed way that made Shelley’s heart sing to see it. The troubled man she’d first come to know as an escort, at the Sorrel Hotel, here in town, was gradually being replaced by a new, more at peace with himself Sholto. The fact that she’d helped him to get there filled her with wonder, and a great sense of pride.

‘I’ll buy you some new knickers,’ he went on. ‘Something lacy and frilly, or perhaps leather or rubber, if you prefer?’ He grinned salaciously. ‘I might not be able to buy you a
mansion house or a car or diamonds, but I can spring for a nice pair of pants.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want all that stuff.’

‘I know, babe, I know.’ He seemed so much less up tight about it now; less, even than before. It was almost as if the wild, haphazard, but strangely tender sex in the alley had sealed something between them. Been a watershed of some kind. ‘So, did you enjoy our celebration shag, then?’

‘Well, if you couldn’t tell, you must have been well out of it yourself,’ she pointed out. ‘It’s a wonder we weren’t reported by someone in the Piazza, and the police sent for.’

‘I was in heaven, Shell,’ he said simply. ‘I always am with you.’ He took a sip of coffee, as if fortifying himself. ‘I meant what I said before, about us being together, you know. And, well, for what it’s worth, I love you too. We can make a go of it. If you’ll have me.’

‘Of course I’ll fucking well have you, you idiot!’ Taking Sholto’s cup from him, and setting it aside, with her own, Shelley hugged him. Her heart was overflowing.

They kissed again, gently this time. Another sealing of their pact. Words didn’t seem to be necessary, and when they broke apart, and saw that the last night bus that would take them to the end of St Patrick’s Road was pulling in, they rose as one, and walked towards it, hand in hand.

‘One thing, though,’ said Sholto as they took their seats, ‘when we’re a bit more established, and we’ve saved a bit, let’s buy the St Patrick’s Road house off His Lordship. I know it’ll involve a mortgage and all that, but I’d like it to be ours, at a proper going rate price, not as some grace and favour gift of Lizzie and her billionaire, no matter how decent a guy he is.’

There was a quality of hope in Sholto’s eyes. He was offering a commitment. A tougher route for them. But a shared one. And a goal she’d be prepared to work harder than she’d ever worked to achieve.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘OK. I’m cool with that. To be honest, I’d prefer it.’ She darted forward and planted a quick kiss on Sholto’s smiling mouth. ‘Although, maybe we could still hope he names a slightly low-balled price, eh? Nothing stupid and patronising, but a bit on the bargain side?’

Sholto gave her a long look. She almost started to worry. But then he smiled again, broadly, shaking his head. ‘OK, OK, just to please you, babe. I won’t complain if we get it as a snip. But apart from that, we pay our own way, right?’

‘Right!’ concurred Shelley, snuggling up to the side of her strong, stubborn, irredeemably proud man, and knowing it was exactly the place in the world that she should be.

Not even Lizzie’s fairy tale could be as wonderful as this.

Lizzie looked up from her sewing.

Your sixth sense must be catching, Mr Smith.

Even though she hadn’t heard the smooth-driving limousine pull up, she knew John was home. He’d been out and about today, travelling a fair distance to meetings, so he’d been chauffeured, as he usually preferred when he had to prepare for negotiations. He had a new driver nowadays, seconded from a local luxury travel hire firm that he’d recently bought out. Jeffrey, his old driver, was London born and bred, and hadn’t wanted to relocate his family to the North, so John had put some capital into a Thames-side premium car maintenance garage that Jeffrey and his brother were now running with great success.

You’re a good man, John. You always take care of everybody. Most of all me.

Part of her wanted to leap up, and fly down the stairs to greet him, but the rest of her thought that if she did that every single day from now on, it was pretty soon going to start seeming slightly demented, and juvenile, and not in the least bit ladylike. So, she just took a few deep breaths,
completed the last bit of hand finishing on the section of a bodice she was working on, and then started neatly folding the garment.

But she’d barely got it tucked away in her sewing bag when the sitting-room door flew open, John strode in and, in a heartbeat, threw himself down onto the settee with her and was kissing her as if they were a pair of sixteen-year-olds who’d been apart for months, rather than two working people who’d spent only the length of a normal, if slightly lengthy, business day separated.

John obviously hadn’t got the memo about trying to play it cool and act like a grown-up power couple!

Lizzie laughed, hugging him back and giving in to her urges, which were, as so often, to smother his handsome face with kisses and grope him slightly.

‘That’s more like it!’ John drew back, grinning at her. ‘I thought you’d come charging down the stairs to greet your new fiancé, and instead you’re sitting here as prim and buttoned up as Miss Marple, busy with your needlework as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.’ He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it, then nibbled the tips of her sewing fingers. ‘If you’re not careful, I might have to spank your bottom for lack of enthusiasm.’

Lack of enthusiasm? Good grief, she’d have torn his clothes off and jumped on top of him right now, if she hadn’t thought that Mrs Thursgood would knock at the sitting-room door any minute, asking if they wanted tea. There was nothing quite as desirable as a golden god of business at the end of the day, still in his perfect Savile Row suit, but looking just ever so slightly tousled and frazzled around the edges.

‘I was practising for being a lady,’ she answered, giving
him a mock-haughty look. ‘You know, showing a bit of reserve and decorum and stiff upper lip and all that, don’t you know, old chap.’