Mandate For Marriage
I'm not in the habit of making mistakes.Fee was bowled over by Grant's charisma and rushed headlong into marriage. But the old saying "Marry in haste, repent at leisure" soon proved all too true. She should have known that the handsome American would have an ulterior motive for marrying her - a Scottish lass with nothing to offer but her family's business.Fee knew the best thing was to end it - but Grant seemed convinced otherwise. Was desire really the only thing between them?
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“We are still married, aren’t we?”
Grant’s voice was low and tightly controlled.
“Yes, we are,” Fee answered, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “But that can soon be remedied.”
“Really?” he drawled, his voice frighteningly soft and dangerous. “Somehow I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“The marriage is over—finished! It’s no good raking over old coals.”
“Over?” he mocked. “It’s hardly even started.”
CATHERINE O’CONNOR was born—and has lived all her life—in Manchester, England, where she is a happily married woman with five demanding children, a neurotic cat, an untrainable dog and a rabbit. She spends most of her time either writing or planning her next story, and without the support and encouragement of her long-suffering husband this would be impossible. Though her heroes are always wonderfully handsome and incredibly rich, she still prefers her own loving husband.
Another compelling read from the ever-popular Catherine O’Connor!
TYRES crunched against loose gravel as the sleek dark burgundy car curved into a parking space. Fiona watched the car’s arrival with nervous interest, a wave of nostalgia sweeping over her. She stepped back from the window as the car door was flung open. She didn’t want to be seen, not yet. Tentatively she peeped back out; she could see his breath forming a vaporous cloud, as if he were breathing fire, and somehow the possibility did not seem that remote. He had a fiery temper, she recalled with alarming clarity, and she shuddered at the memory. He slammed the car door shut and stepped out across the car park, impervious to the chilling air that blew against him.
Fiona moved away from the window, picked up a glass of water and tossed back her head as she swallowed two aspirins; the threat of a headache was already surfacing. It was due to tension, she knew, and she rolled her shoulders to relieve the stiffness in her neck. The line of her mouth thinned in anger as she then made her way to the door, her heart already racing. The past week had played havoc with her nerves: first there had been the abrupt letter that informed her of his return; and then the transaction which she feared was coming, and which she knew she would have no choice but to complete, only increased her anxiety.
She took a deep breath as she opened the door, the crisp morning air hitting her with its icy blast. Her chest violently contracted, causing a pain to sear through her body like the sharpest of knives. She stared at the back of the tall figure, suddenly aware of her self-deception as her heart flipped at the very sight of him. He seemed taller than she remembered, more daunting than ever, and it was not a meeting she was looking forward to.
He turned smartly as if sensing her presence and she froze under his penetrating gaze. His vivid blue eyes sparkled with a glint of humour in his freshly tanned face, and his thick blond hair seemed to have grown even fairer.
‘Hi, Fee,’ his smoky voice drawled, the intimate abbreviation of her name suddenly making her feel defensive. The familiar ring of his mid-Atlantic accent flooded her mind with another flurry of memories, and her heart leapt still further as she struggled to control the chaotic jumble of thoughts and emotions he was stirring in her. It was six months since she had seen him, six long, hard months of self-doubt and recriminations, but she had coped; despite his cunning betrayal, she had survived and—more importantly—so had the family firm—till now.
‘Hello, Grant,’ she acknowledged, her voice calm yet distant and betraying none of the heady emotions she was feeling. ‘How are you?’
She stretched out her hand, determined to make him understand that this was a business arrangement. His eyes darted to her hand, then back to her face, before he took it m a firm grip.
‘I’m fine, never felt better, and you?’ He grinned as he held her hand longer than necessary, allowing his thumb to brush lightly against her racing pulse. She drew her hand back, too aware of his electric touch, and gave him a polite but cool smile.
‘I’m very well, thank you,’ she replied, as she stepped back to allow him to enter.
‘You don’t look it,’ he threw back at her, with an imperious nod of his head.
‘Well, I am!’ she snapped, hating how childish she sounded and knowing the amusement she afforded him. He swept past and she felt the cold flicker of his eyes whip across her body, as the faint scent of sandalwood aftershave filled her nostrils.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ he commented briefly; his voice was harsh and abrasive, lacking the warmth she had been used to. The look in his sharp blue eyes was critical, and they narrowed as he viewed her outfit.
‘Have I?’ she snapped back, then added nastily, ‘Most men prefer women slimmer, including you.’
