The Virgin Bride (The Australians) (7 page)

His loins leapt at the thought. He could hardly wait!

‘J
ASON
,
do stop fidgeting!' Martha hissed from the front pew. ‘It took me ages to arrange that tie for you and it's perfect. Leave it alone.'

Jason lowered his hands, which were shaking slightly.

This marriage business wasn't as easy as he'd thought it would be. Certainly not this part, with him standing alone at the foot of the altar and a whole churchful of people staring expectantly, first up at him, then down the still empty aisle.

No best man stood by his side to calm him. He didn't have one, hadn't thought he needed one. Emma had decided against bridesmaids. She didn't have any girlfriends her age, she'd explained, her intensive nursing of Ivy preventing her from socialising this past year or so. She didn't have any close relatives, either. No one she could ask to walk her down the aisle and give her away.

Doc had agreed to do the honours, and he and his wife, Martha, were going to sign the certificate as witnesses. They weren't having a formal reception, either. Officially it was a quiet little wedding, but they'd issued a general invitation to everyone in town to come to the church, where Jason had organised for drinks and sandwiches to be served outside afterwards, weather permitting. Then, after photos were
taken, the wedding cake would be duly cut and small speeches made under the large oak tree near the church steps.

Once tradition was satisfied, Jason was going to whisk Emma straight off on their honeymoon, an unknown destination on the coast where they would spend a week before they had to be back. Jason hadn't felt he could take any more time off than a week after only being at the practice for so short a time.

A quick glance at his new watch showed him it was twenty-five past three, yet the wedding had been booked for three.

Where in heaven's name
was
she? It wasn't as though she had to go far. The church was right in town, less than a minute's drive from the sweet shop. You could walk the distance if you had to!

Linking his hands agitatedly behind his back, he moved from foot to foot, and waited. The minutes dragged on. It had to be three thirty by now, and still…no sight of her.

She's changed her mind, he thought. She isn't coming.

Jason closed his eyes as the ghastly possibility took shape in his mind. She'd been different since the disaster with Adele. Quieter and more distant. She hadn't wanted to watch movies with him, hadn't wanted him to touch her or kiss her. Sometimes he'd caught her looking at him with watchful eyes, as though she didn't know what he was any more.

He'd done his best to reassure her. But the bottom line was their relationship had been damaged by what he'd done. He should have been honest with her. He
could see that now. He was going to pay for his mistake, and pay dearly. She wasn't going to marry him.

‘She's here,' Martha whispered to him, and Jason's eyes flew open in time to see that the minister was in place in front of the altar and everyone else's heads had swivelled round to face the back.

He felt sick with relief.

The organ started up with the ‘Bridal March' and there she was…his bride…his Emma, floating down the aisle towards him in the most gloriously feminine wedding dress he'd ever seen, a fantastic concoction of chiffon and lace which fitted tightly around her bust before flowing right down to the ground in soft folds. The neckline was dangerously low-cut, displaying more of her breasts than he'd ever seen—or even felt—before. Tight lace sleeves encased her arms, in which she carried an elegant sheaf of white lilies. The soft folds of the skirt swirled around her legs as she walked, clinging to her slender thighs in the most tantalising fashion. A pearl choker adorned her elegant neck. A short lace veil covered most of her pretty face. A long, lace-edged net veil trailed out behind her, completing the truly stunning image.

That she had made her dress and veil awed him. That she would make such a sexy style surprised and aroused him.

He would have liked to see her eyes as she approached, but they were hidden from him by the veil. Only her mouth was visible.

It was totally unmade-up, he noted with some surprise. She usually wore lipstick, if only a pale colour. Had she forgotten to put it on? He could appreciate
that nerves could make one forget anything.
He'd
had to go back for their rings. And arranging a simple tie had been beyond him.

He smiled a little nervously at her, but she didn't smile back. Neither did Doc.

Jason's stomach dropped to the floor. Something was wrong. He wasn't sure what, but something…

He frowned at Doc, but he was already turning away to join Martha in the front pew. When Jason took Emma's hand, it was trembling uncontrollably.

He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but the minister had already started the simple and traditional ceremony they'd chosen. Soon, Doc was coming forward to say his bit, and they were both vowing, ‘I do.' Jason tried to sound cool and confident, but Emma's voice was small and strained.

The exchange of wedding bands was similarly tense, with Emma's hands shaking so badly he had to help her slide the ring on him.

Nothing, however, had been as fraught with danger as the part where the minister had asked if there was anyone here who knew of any reason why these two should not be declared man and wife. Jason had been holding Emma's hand at the time, and felt her fingers flinch, then freeze, felt her holding herself so stiffly that he worried she was on the verge of a faint.

And then it came to him. Why she was late. Why she was still in such a state.

She'd been waiting one last time, hoping that Ratchitt would return at the last moment to save her from marrying a man she didn't love.

Jason's emotions began to churn as he watched her
stiffly held form. What was she thinking or silently hoping for at this moment? That her long-lost love would suddenly stand up there in the organ loft, screaming at her not to do it? And if he did, what would
she
do? Pick up the skirt of her wedding dress and run away from him into her lover's arms, drive off into the sunset in the old rust-bucket of a utility he was sure to drive?

Perhaps. Jason didn't know. And he could hardly ask. All he could do was hold his breath, as she was holding hers, and wait till the ghastly moment passed.

It did, and he could almost feel the huge sigh of relief which rippled through the congregation.

Damn it, what did they know that he didn't?

They knew Ratchitt; that was what. Knew how crazy Emma had been about him. Knew the sort of man he was. Jason accepted that if and when he
did
turn up it would not be a good day.

But he refused to worry about that today. Today was his wedding day. Today, Emma was marrying
him
.

‘I now pronounce you Man and Wife!' the minister said loudly, and the congregation burst into spontaneous applause.

Jason was stunned. His head turned to see a sea of smiling faces. They were genuinely happy, he realised. Happy for him and his bride. Happy for the little local girl with the broken heart who'd finally found a decent man to stand by her side. He felt humbled again, as he had several times since coming to Tindley. He hoped he would never let his lovely bride
or this town down. He sure as heck aimed to give both his best shot.

He suddenly realised the minister had said he might kiss the bride.

Filled with resolve to be everything she could want in a husband, he turned to her with a warmly confident smile on his face and lifted the lace veil. Her eyes speared him with doubt. For they were shimmering with tears and clinging to his with a pleading desperation he could not understand.

What was it she wanted him to do?

‘Emma?' he whispered on a puzzled, pained note.

‘Just kiss me, Jason. Kiss me…'

So he did. Gently. Sweetly.

But it seemed that wasn't what she wanted at all, for she reached up and cupped his face with determined hands, digging her fingertips into his cheeks and drawing his mouth more firmly down upon hers. Parting her lips, she sent her tongue forward as she had never done before, entwining it around his in an erotic dance.

It blew him away, and before he knew it it was
her
face imprisoned within
his
hands, and he was kissing her as a lover might before sweeping his woman under him in bed, his tongue surging deep into her mouth.

By the time he released her, his ears were ringing and hot blood was thrumming through his veins. He stared with wide eyes down at her, expecting he knew not what.

She stared back up at him, her glazed gaze gradually clearing to an expression of the most heart-felt
relief and heartbreaking gratitude. Jason almost reeled under its impact, and its implication. She was grateful to him.
Grateful!

Hell on earth, he agonised with a flash of stark realisation. He didn't want her gratitude. He wanted her
love
!

Jason almost laughed. He'd thought he'd worked it all out. He'd thought he'd got round the problem of falling madly in love with a woman. The insanity of it all. The blindness. The uncontrollable passion. And the ultimate pain.

Yet he'd done it again. Not only done it again, but done it much more dangerously than ever before, because he not only loved this woman, he liked and respected her, wanted and admired her.

He would
never
fall out of love with Emma.

Yet she would
never
fall in love with
him
.

She'd told him. Quite emphatically.

Of course, underneath, he hadn't really believed her. He saw that now. His ego had fooled him, letting him think he could win her heart in the end. But after today's performance he doubted that would happen. Ratchitt had her heart. He would always have her heart…

The hurt was unbearable. He could not stand it.
He
wanted her heart. He wanted all of her. Oh, God!

You can't have everything in life, son…

‘Jason?'

He blinked, his eyes clearing to see she was now looking up at him with worried eyes.

Gathering himself, he found a smile from some
where. ‘It's all right,' he said softly, and patted her hand. ‘I just need something to eat.'

‘We have to sign the register first.'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘And the photographer wants some extra shots in the church.'

‘Ahh…'

Somehow he made it through everything. The signing. The photos. The cake-cutting and the speeches. At last he was helping Emma into the car and climbing in behind the wheel. Doc obligingly removed the tin cans which some boys had tied to the bumper bar. Jason told him to leave the ‘JUST MARRIED' sign stuck on the back window. That could easily be removed once they were out on the road.

His mood brightened once they were on their way, the despair which had been hovering lifting. Logic came to his rescue once more. He'd overreacted back there in the church. Seen things with an overly black pessimism.

So he loved her. That wasn't bad. That wasn't wrong. She was his wife, after all.

Okay, so he couldn't tell her he did. Not yet, anyway. She wouldn't believe him at this stage. She'd warned him never to tell her he loved her when he didn't.

But he could
show
her he loved her. By his actions. By being whatever she wanted him to be.

His mind flew back to the way she'd kissed him in the church, and the penny dropped. She didn't want
too
much tenderness in his lovemaking. She wanted
passion. She wanted to be swept off her feet. She didn't want to think, or to remember…

Jason gritted his teeth as the spectre of Ratchitt loomed once again in his mind. In a way, it would have been better if he
had
showed up some time. Jason could fight a real live man, but not a romantic memory. Ratchitt was like an evil spirit hovering over their life together, a third party trying to climb with malicious intent into their marriage bed.

Well, there would be no third party tonight, he vowed. Emma would know who was in bed with her, know who was her first lover, if not her first love.

Jason Steel. That was who. Her husband, and the man who
really
loved her.

‘Y
OU
were fairly late arriving at the church,' he said, lightly, and not at all accusingly.

They were barely ten minutes into the drive and she hadn't said a word. Jason had just climbed back into the car after ripping off the ‘JUST MARRIED' sign. Emma had spent the short stop taking off her veil and laying it carefully on the back seat. Now she was back, facing the front, pulling at the pins which had anchored her hair up on top of her head. It tumbled down around her ears and neck in a mass of silky blonde waves.

Jason believed she'd heard him, but was pretending not to.

‘Last-minute nerves?' he suggested, his hand reaching for the key but not turning it yet.

Her sidewards frown seemed innocent enough, but her hands were twisted tightly in her lap. Far too tightly.

‘The reason you were late,' he repeated calmly, even while his own stomach clenched down hard.

‘Oh. Yes. Nerves.' And she looked away from him through the passenger window.

Jason decided the only way to defuse the power this man had over Emma—and himself—was to bring him out in the open. ‘Emma,' he said gently, his hand
lifting from the ignition, ‘let's not keep secrets from each other.'

Her head whipped round, her face flushing with guilt. ‘What do you mean? Secrets?'

‘Look, I know you were thinking about Ratchitt this afternoon in the church. I dare say he's the reason you were late, because you had some last-minute doubts. It's perfectly understandable and I'm not upset at all.'

What a pathetic liar he was! It had turned him inside out. Even Emma gave him a look which suggested his lack of anger was incredible.

But to tell her the truth—that he'd been beside himself with the blackest of jealousies—would not help him achieve his goal of taking away the mystery and the magic of this man whom Emma thought she still loved.

‘I won't be angry with you,' he said, all the while mentally gnashing his teeth. ‘I promise. So you can admit it. You
were
thinking about him, weren't you?'

‘Yes,' she confessed in a strangled voice.

Jason swallowed. ‘Tell me about him.'

Her eyes widened, then jerked away. ‘No,' she said agitatedly. ‘No, I don't want to. You can't make me.'

Jason had never felt so angry. Or so impotent.

Slowly, she turned back to face him, her expression quite determined. ‘I've made my choice, Jason,' she told him. ‘And it's you. Believe me when I tell you that if Dean had come to me today, before the wedding, and begged me not to marry you, but to marry him instead, then my answer would have been no. I
would still be sitting here with you. So please…don't spoil our honeymoon by bringing Dean up again.'

Jason wasn't sure whether to be pleased or not. If only she hadn't sounded so bitter. If only her voice had been warm and passionate, and not so chillingly valiant, as though such a decision would have entailed an awful sacrifice on her part.

‘I don't know what to say,' he said, truthfully enough.

She stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled a strange little smile. ‘You could tell me you like my dress. You haven't mentioned it yet. Not once.'

And he hadn't. He'd been so rattled by what had happened in the church that he'd hardly been able to think straight afterwards, let alone remember his manners. Her gentle reproof reminded him how much such compliments mattered to women at the best of times. That he'd forgotten to voice his delight in her wedding dress was unforgiveable.

Saying sorry was highly inadequate, so he let his eyes speak volumes as they roved hotly over her, lingering on the provocative curves of her tantalisingly exposed breasts. How her nipples hadn't popped out was a downright miracle. He gulped down the lump in his throat, his follow-up words thickened with a maddeningly uncomfortable desire.

‘When I saw you coming down the aisle in that dress, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Never has a bride looked so radiantly beautiful. Or so damned sexy,' he added drily. ‘And then, when you kissed me like that…' He shook his head. ‘You've never kissed me like that before, Emma.' She'd ac
cepted his tongue in the past, but never used hers. Just thinking about the way it had snaked around his was turning him on again.

‘Yes, I know,' she said, her eyes never leaving his. ‘But you're my husband now. And I'm your wife. There's no reason for either of us to hold back any more, is there?'

‘Hell,' he said. ‘Don't say things like that, or I'll make love to you here and now.'

‘If…if you like…'

He blinked at her. She could not possibly want him to make love to her here, in the car, in broad daylight. The thought that she'd been brought up to believe marriage entailed a female sacrificing herself on the altar of forcible conjugal relations repulsed him. His face must have revealed his thoughts because she looked distressed.

‘Don't you want to make love to me, Jason?'

‘Yes, of course I do. But I know women. They like making love in more comfortable conditions than this. You said the other week you were worried about what our wedding night would be like for you. Trust me when I tell you it's better we wait till later, when we have total privacy.' A car zoomed by at that moment, then another, highlighting the unsuitability of this setting for any form of real intimacy.

‘Yes, I guess you're right…'

Now she looked disappointed. He didn't know what to do for the best.

‘Emma, trust me.'

‘I do, Jason.'

‘Good. Then we wait a little longer.' Even if it killed him.

Against his better judgement, he leant over and kissed her, just to take that hurt look off her face. Her mouth was soft and melting under his, and his heart turned over and over. He could not help it. He pried her lips open again and waited to see if she would do it again.

She did, even more sensually than before, her tongue an erotically lethal weapon as it explored his whole mouth. Hell on earth, he thought, and abruptly lifted his head.

Her lips remained provocatively open for a few seconds, her mouth wet and inviting, her eyes tightly shut. Her sigh, when it came, was long and shuddering.

He turned from her to start the car, but not before he vowed to make her shudder again tonight, often, and with satisfaction, not frustration.

 

The unit he'd booked for their honeymoon was in Narooma, a small seaside town south-east of Tindley and only an hour's drive away. Narooma was quite a popular tourist spot during the summer holidays, being exactly halfway between Sydney and Melbourne, with a kind climate and lots to do. Fishing. Swimming. Boating. Bushwalking.

Restaurants were plentiful, as were clubs which provided plenty of entertainment.

And then there was the golf course, for which Narooma was quite famous. It was listed amongst the top ten courses in Australia, with several holes over-
looking the Pacific Ocean, and one providing a chasm to drive over from tee to the green. Jason enjoyed a game of golf occasionally, and Emma had agreed to caddy for him.

Not that Jason had planned on too many outdoor activities. Now that his love for Emma had surfaced he planned on doing even less. He wanted her all to himself. Her desire had been palpable just now. Whether it was for him or just for sex was immaterial at this point in time. Beggars couldn't be choosers. Either way, he aimed to take full advantage of her blossoming sensuality during this coming week, to bind her to him as woman had been bound to man for centuries. With a baby.

He knew for a fact this week was right in the middle of her cycle. She hadn't wanted a period to spoil their wedding day and had chosen a safe date. She'd also said she wanted to try for a baby straight away herself. And why not? In her eyes, this was hardly the love match of the century. It was a marriage made with heads, not hearts. A marriage based on liking and friendship, caring and commitment. Having a family was a natural progression of such a marriage. Months spent just blindly making love simply for the sake of expressing one's love for each other was not on the agenda.

Jason almost groaned aloud at the thought. What he would not give…

‘What a pretty place!' Emma exclaimed as they drove into Narooma. ‘I love Tindley, but this could become my second most favourite town.'

‘Become?'

‘We'll have to come back every year to celebrate our anniversary.'

‘We haven't celebrated the original yet,' he returned drily, his own frustration beginning to bother him. So many months without sex was enough to bother any man, he reckoned.

‘I can't wait to get this dress off,' she said.

‘Neither can I,' he muttered, and she laughed.

It broke his tension, that laugh, and he laughed too. Their eyes met and he could have sworn he saw love in hers.

But of course that was just wishful thinking. Still, he could pretend, couldn't he?

‘Bags the bathroom first,' he said, and she pouted at him. ‘Only joking,' he added. ‘The place I booked has two bathrooms.'

‘Two! But what for?'

‘For impatient people?' he suggested, and she laughed again.

‘No,' he explained, ‘it's a holiday unit, and most don't come any smaller than two-bedroomed. According to the agent, it also has a fully equipped kitchen, L-shaped lounge-diner, a lock up garage, and a balcony with a view second to none. How does that sound, Mrs Steel?'

‘Heavenly,' she said, smiling. ‘The unit sounds pretty good, too.'

He almost said it then; he almost opened his mouth and told her he loved her. But he didn't. He didn't dare. She might think he was lying, or trying to emotionally blackmail her, or manipulate her. Better they
continue as they were, as good friends and soon-to-be lovers.

‘I have to collect the keys from the agency,' he explained when he pulled over to the kerb in the small hilly main street. ‘Won't be a minute.'

He dashed in, ignored the stares of the two girls behind the desk, collected the keys and dashed out again. Several other passersby raised their eyebrows as he ran around and jumped into his car. He supposed it wasn't every day they saw a man in a formal black dinner suit dashing about the streets in daylight. But, hell, he was in a hurry.

The unit lived up to the wraps put on it by the travel agent, being very stylish, with great cane furniture and all the mod cons. Air-conditioning. A spa bath in the main bathroom. A huge television and video.

It was one of two units on the second floor of a brand-new block, tucked in behind the shopping centre and overlooking a park, with the small harbour beyond. Further out lay the breakwaters, and then the ocean. The balcony was totally private, with side walls. An outdoor table and two chairs in green iron-work sat in one corner, potted palms in the other.

When Emma slid back the large glass door and wandered out to admire the view, a cool breeze swirled the filmy curtains. Jason stayed inside, watching her and thinking she looked like an angel—or perhaps a ghost—standing out there in her long white dress, its full skirt whipped back by the wind, her fair hair lifting from her pale throat. The pearl choker gleamed in the dusky light, reminding Jason of the first time he'd seen her.

On that occasion her elegantly sensual neck had been enhanced by a gold chain. He recalled wanting to pull her head back with it so he could kiss her. He found the pearl choker infinitely more erotic. Why that was, he wasn't sure. Maybe because it looked like a collar, and evoked images of bondage which appealed to his dark side. He could almost understand why men of yore kidnapped fair damsels and kept them enslaved in dungeons for their pleasure, and theirs alone. There was something deeply primitive about such an action. And deeply arousing.

He'd waited long enough.

‘Emma!' he called out sharply, and she whirled around, her hair whipping across her face.

He didn't have to say another word. She came back through the open glass door and slid it shut. Turning, she came to him across the thick blue carpet and slid her arms up around his neck, reaching up on tiptoe till her mouth was a breath away from his.

‘Yes?' she whispered, her lips falling softly apart.

He groaned, and took what she offered, all his good intentions of focusing on her pleasure alone disintegrating under the wild passion of her response. For a few mad moments he was hers for the taking, not the other way around. But then she wrenched her mouth away and stepped back from him, flushed and trembling.

When her hands lifted to reach blindly behind her in search of her zipper, he swiftly pulled himself together. He had to take charge of his emotions, take control of the situation, or all would be lost.

‘No,' he said firmly, forcibly ignoring his own fierce arousal. ‘Let me…'