When she paused midway up the aisle the tension that had been building in her chest reached the point where she was fighting for breath. Mari felt as though she were drowning, standing in the middle of this beautiful building filled with beautiful people.
They were here to witness a celebration; she was here to... Oh, God, what am I doing? Mari stood there, the adrenaline in her bloodstream screaming flight or fight. She could do neither: her feet were glued to the floor; her limbs felt weirdly disconnected from her body.
‘Room for a small one here!’
The cheery cry dragged Mari back from the brink of a panic attack. Breathing deeply, she turned her head to see a woman in a very large hat was waving her hand.
‘Thanks,’ she murmured as the lady obligingly slid along the pew. She had just settled in her seat when the two men seated in the front pew rose.
‘My son, Jake,’ the woman said with maternal pride. ‘You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he is a millionaire...a computer genius. He and Sebastian have been friends since they were at school.’
Mari wasn’t looking at the lanky man with the shock of blond hair who looked embarrassed as he waved to his mother. Her attention was riveted on the figure beside him, her narrowed eyes channelling all her pent-up hate at those imposing broad shoulders, the strong neck and the dark head. He stood with his back to the guests, frustrating Mari’s desire to see his face.
When the congregation rose, Mari, hating every hair on the back of his neck, reacted a few seconds later. Her legs were trembling; her throat was dry; she felt like someone standing on the edge of a cliff not sure if she was going to take that leap.
Her chin came up. She’d run once and regretted her cowardice. She wasn’t going to run again!
A few moments later the bride glided by in a rustle of lace, satin and the merest suggestion of complacence in her smile—not that Mari saw, as she was the only person who didn’t dutifully turn to admire the vision.
‘Get on with it, get on with it...’ she muttered between clenched teeth.
The big-hat lady moved in closer. ‘Are you all right, dear?’ she asked, using the big hat as a fan.
Mari managed a ghost of a smile. ‘Fine.’ The service began and she breathed a soft, ‘Finally!’
When she heard his voice for the first time, the cool, confident sound sent a shock wave of anger through her shaking body and burned away her last doubts as the memories came flooding back.
‘For better, for worse,’ she muttered, thinking, Pardon the pun!
When she tried later to recall the sequence of events that preceded her standing in the aisle, she couldn’t. She had not a clue of how she got there but she did have a very clear memory of opening her mouth twice and nothing coming out.
The third time it did!
‘Yes, I do, I object!’
MARI FELT ALMOST as shocked as the two-hundred-plus pairs of eyes that swivelled her way; the place had great acoustics.
‘A lot, I object.’ Aware her voice was fading away weakly, she squared her shoulders and bellowed in a voice that bounced off the walls like a sonic boom. ‘A lot!’
Poor grammar, but it was definitely an attention getter! She had the stage until presumably she was rugby tackled by the security guards, or sectioned under the Mental Health Act. What did it say—a danger to yourself or others? There was only one other she wanted to be a danger to, one other who... Stop thinking, Mari. You’ve got your moment—don’t let it slip away.
‘He...!’ Her second dramatic pause was not intended. The last person in the place, the only one who hadn’t yet turned did, and as her eyes impacted with the sloe-dark stare of her intended victim her throat dried to dust.
One word slipped through her head—dangerous!
In many ways he looked exactly as she remembered: proud, arrogant, actually with that thin-bridged nose, slashing sybaritic cheekbones and sensually moulded, cruel-looking mouth he looked positively pagan! What she hadn’t remembered about six years ago, before he had turned on her like the jungle predator he reminded her of, was her own humiliating reaction to the blatant sexuality he exuded. Even her scalp had tingled with a sexual awareness that made the muscles low in her belly tighten—that hadn’t changed either!
Shamed acknowledgement grabbed her, and for a vital moment Mari lost her focus; she almost forgot what she’d come here for. She lifted her chin and ignored the squirming liquid sensation in her stomach. She had come here to give him a taste of his own medicine, see how he liked being humiliated.
He didn’t seem to appreciate the clever role reversal. The last thing he looked was humiliated. The heavy-lidded eyes that held hers were the eyes of an eagle looking at its prey.
She was no victim!
Not this time, and if he had any doubts... Mari dropped her chin, closed her eyes and exhaled a long shaky breath to compose herself. Then, heart pumping, she lifted her head and stretched out a hand towards him, letting her fingers flutter.
‘You can’t do this, Sebastian,’ she appealed, pressing the hand now to her stomach. ‘Our baby, he will need a father.’ As she said this she couldn’t help but think of her own father. Where was he now?
* * *
The woman had had her audience in her pocket from the first throbbing syllable of heartbreak and desperation, and now Seb felt their attention switch to him, not giving him sufficient time to recover from the shock of recognition that had felt like the vibration of a shotgun blast when he’d turned and seen her standing there. While the aftershocks still reverberated in his skull, he schooled his expression into neutral—less damage control and more an unwillingness to provide entertainment for the masses.
He saw her lips move and read, Do you know who I am?
Know who she was...?
In other circumstances he might have laughed. The number of occasions when he had lost control in his adult life could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and he wasn’t about to forget that particular one, or the woman responsible.
But even if by some miracle he could have conveniently blanked the incident from his mind—it had not been one of his greatest moments—Seb could never have wiped the memory of that primal rush. It had electrified every cell of his body. He had never before or since experienced anything that came close to his response to her innate sensuality.
Did she bring out the same animal response in all men? Men who, unlike him, could not recognise the response as a weakness; men who allowed their passions to rule their lives.
Men who lacked his self-control—without it he might have been a man like his father.
No longer able to fight the compulsion, his eyes dropped, moving in a slow sweep that took in every aspect of her from the glorious flaming head of Pre-Raphaelite curls that framed her perfectly oval face to the length of her endless legs to the sleek, sinuous curves in between. Everything was accentuated by a dress that was probably illegal in several countries...or was that the body?
It was the lust that slammed through him—hard to imagine a less appropriate response in the circumstances—that brought reality like a boomerang rushing back to hit him squarely in the gut. He reacted to the weakness with an explosive rush of anger.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ As he flung out the question in the periphery of his vision he sensed movement coming from the row that was reserved