Bride, Bought and Paid For. Helen Bianchin

permanent relationship should be sanctified by marriage,’ Xavier revealed quietly. ‘Or would you prefer I take Romy as my mistress?’

      The silence in the room was a palpable entity, and as much as she wanted to rail against Xavier, to do so in her father’s presence would only compound a bad situation.

      In seeming slow motion she saw her father’s features pale and take on an ashen tinge as his tortured eyes searched her own.

      ‘I won’t let you do this.’

      There was only one way to go, and she took it as she clasped his hands between her own. ‘I’m marrying Xavier this weekend,’ she said gently. ‘Will you honour me by being at my wedding?’

      His eyes filled, and for a moment she thought he might break down, then he managed to regain a degree of composure. ‘Can you give me your word you’re doing this of your own free will?’

      God forgive her, but what could she say other than—‘Yes.’

      It hurt to see him struggle to accept her decision, and for a moment she thought he meant to protest further, except after several long seconds he inclined his head.

      ‘I won’t disappoint you.’ A sufficiently ambiguous claim that almost brought her undone.

      Romy was unsure how she managed to get through the ensuing half hour before she indicated a need to leave. It was almost ten, and she had papers to mark. Besides which, it had been a hell of a day, and she desperately wanted the quiet solitude of her flat.

      In the car she simply leant her head against the cushioned rest and momentarily closed her eyes as Xavier ignited the engine.

      ‘Relax.’

      ‘Sure, and that’s going to happen any time soon.’ She turned her head towards him and sent him a venomous glare. ‘Do you have any idea how much I hated what went down in there just now?’

      ‘It was better we approached Andre together.’

      ‘Better for whom?’

      He spared her a glance as he paused the car at an intersection. ‘You.’

      ‘I didn’t need any support.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘Please,’ she remonstrated, hating him afresh. ‘Don’t play the protector.’

      ‘You don’t see me in that role as your husband?’

      His query was indolently deceptive, and there was nothing she could do to quell the sudden spear of pain.

      ‘Like the title of wife is security against you taking a lover or three when you tire of me?’

      ‘Why would I take a lover if my wife satisfies me?’

      ‘That’s a two-way street.’

      ‘You doubt I can satisfy you?’

      She remembered too well how he’d managed to satisfy her. Dammit, her body still reacted just thinking how it had sung in response to his touch.

      He smiled as he eased the car into a main arterial road leading to St Kilda, and she focused her attention beyond the windscreen, aware of the passing traffic, the wide tree-lined thoroughfare.

      It was a relief when he turned into Marine Parade and drew the car to a halt outside her apartment building.

      Her hand was already on the seatbelt release, and the breath caught in her throat as she reached for the door clasp, only to have him frame her face with his hands.

      He was close, much too close.

      ‘What—’

      ‘This.’

      There wasn’t time to complete the protest as his mouth closed over her own in a slow, sweeping kiss that tore at her resolve and shattered it.

      For a wild moment she forgot everything except the feel and taste of him and the electric pulsing sensation throbbing through her body.

      It was as if the past three years had ceased to exist, and she was barely conscious of the faint groan that rose and died in her throat at her unbidden response.

      She felt the stroke of his thumb along her jawline, sensed the increased pressure of his mouth, and she gave herself up to the sweet passion of his touch.

      Magic, she accorded silently, unable to think as she became lost. Cast adrift from reality and flung heedlessly into a time and place where emotion ruled.

      Until sanity returned, and she wrenched away from him, her eyes impossibly large as she attempted to control her ragged breathing. ‘Don’t—’

      Xavier’s eyes gleamed dark in the reflected street light.

      Romy reached blindly for the door clasp, and he let her go, waiting until she had keyed her security code into the numeric pad and had passed through the foyer before he engaged the engine.

      She was barely aware of the lift’s swift passage until it slid to a halt at her floor, and she muttered a curse as she fumbled the key when she inserted it into the lock.

      For heaven’s sake…what was wrong with her?

      Her mouth still tingled from his touch, and she put a hand to her still-racing heart as she closed the door behind her and leant against it.

      What had just happened back there?

      If she’d ever wondered about the sensuality they’d once shared…oh, call it what it was, she dismissed in silent chastisement…passion. Incandescent and primitive…emotion that took possession of the soul.

      Hers, she admitted reluctantly. But not his.

      For Xavier, she merely represented the bride price he was prepared to pay in order to gain a legitimate heir.

      And to exact revenge against father and daughter, don’t forget that, she reminded herself with cynicism.

      It would be the height of folly to imagine otherwise. She pushed away from the door and drew in a deep, calming breath.

      So take a reality check, why don’t you?

      She slipped out of her stilettos, shrugged off her jacket, crossed into the kitchen where she made a cup of strong coffee, then she set it down on the table, opened her leather satchel and turned her attention to marking student assignments.

      It was after midnight when she crawled into bed and doused the light, convinced her brain was buzzing too much to enable an easy sleep.

      Except she was wrong, and the next thing she remembered was waking to the early dawn light filtering through the shutters of her bedroom window.