Marriage For Real. Emma Richmond

TWO

      MOVING her eyes, Sarah stared at the framed photograph of herself and Jed on their wedding day. The camera had caught them staring at each other as though both were surprised at where fate had brought them.

      It had been such a magical summer, the summer of the balloon. Walking into the village with all the others from the trip, she had felt immediately at home. Flower-decked balconies, pretty buildings that had looked medieval, and kindness and warmth from the people. The small inn where they had gone for coffee to wait for the support vehicle had been warm and friendly, and she’d impulsively decided to stay. They’d had a small room in the eaves she’d been able to rent very cheaply, and she’d been able to tour Bavaria from a very nice base.

      Jed had been staying there, too. At first, he’d been distant, contained, merely giving a small nod when he’d seen her, which, despite the tension he’d generated, had thoroughly irritated her. For days it had gone on like that, until she’d nearly killed him.

      She’d been dashing down the stairs in her usual impulsive fashion, and because the stairs had dog-legged, meaning you hadn’t been able to see who’d been coming up if you’d been coming down, there’d been no intimation of danger, only a violent collision on the first landing. Such had been her speed that, even though she’d been lighter than him her momentum had taken them both to the waist-high railing and only his swift action had prevented them both going over into the foyer below. Holding her tight, he’d dropped to the landing and it had been their shoulders that had hit the railing instead of their hips.

      Shaking with shock, she’d just stared at him. ‘Sorry,’ she finally apologised breathlessly. ‘Are you all right?’

      ‘Perfectly,’ he drawled. Getting to his feet, he walked away and she watched him run lightly up the stairs she’d just descended.

      Sitting where he’d left her, she continued to stare after him long after he’d gone. ‘Perfectly,’ she echoed to herself. She didn’t think she was all right; she could have killed them both. She could still almost feel the imprint of his hands on her arms, the tension he generated in her, and despite his relaxed manner, his slow drawl, he’d been as tense as she was, hadn’t he?

      Still shaking, searching round her for her sketch-pad and charcoal she’d been carrying, she got slowly to her feet and retrieved them. Rather shakily descending the stairs, she went out to her usual seat, and really just for something to do, to take her mind off what had happened, she began sketching a small boy who was playing with a toy car beneath one of the tables. Not that her mind was on what she was doing. It was still on Jed.

      The child’s father saw what she was doing, and came over to look.

      ‘How much?’ he asked in English.

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘How much do you want for it?’

      ‘As much as you think it worth,’ a deep voice said from behind them.

      Swinging round, she stared up at the man she’d just almost injured. ‘No,’ she denied in horror. Shaking her head, smiling at the man, she handed the picture over. ‘Please, you’re very welcome to it.’

      Looking absolutely delighted, he thanked her and went back to his own table.

      ‘Not very businesslike,’ Jed disparaged mockingly.

      ‘I don’t care. I can’t charge people!’

      ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘If people want something, let them pay. You’re very good.’

      ‘Thank you, but I still can’t charge. Anyway, it’s probably illegal. Trading without a licence, or something.’

      With a little shrug, he walked off.

      Puzzled by his behaviour, wondering why he had spoken when he didn’t normally, and feeling even more shaken by an encounter with a man who was seriously beginning to disturb her, she stared rather blankly down at her pad.

      ‘You will do one of my wife?’ a soft voice asked.

      Snapping her head up in surprise, she stared at the young man before her. ‘Sorry?’

      ‘Will you please sketch my wife? At that table over there.’ He pointed.

      ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ A bit bemused, she did as she was asked, and then another for someone else, and then another.

      Frau Keller, who owned the inn, and nobody’s fool, took Sarah to one side when she’d finished sketching and offered a proposition.

      ‘You draw, for one hour or two, a day, and I will pay you. More people come, I make more money. It’s good for business.’

      ‘Oh,’ Sarah said inadequately.

      Frau Keller grinned. ‘Yes?’

      ‘Am I allowed to take money?’ she asked dubiously. ‘Don’t I have to have a permit or something?’

      Frau Keller made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. ‘You stay here rent-free, then. Meals included. Now you be happy?’

      Relieved, Sarah smiled. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ If she didn’t actually take money, it was probably all right.

      ‘Good, all is settled. Go draw. More people are waiting.’

      And so she did. She also wondered if Jed had been behind the offer, and then dismissed the thought. Why would he bother? He didn’t even seem to like her. And she strongly doubted he spent any time thinking about her the way she continually thought about him. Every moment not taken up with something else, he was in her thoughts. Irritated and alarmed, she wanted to touch him, discover what it would be like to press her mouth to his, and she kept thinking she ought to go away, leave, before she made a fool of herself. Maybe she would have done if he hadn’t come to her room that day. That very hot day.

      She’d been out with a party of tourists who had been staying at the hotel. Returning to the inn, hot, sticky, she’d run up to her room in the eaves, longing only for a shower and a cold drink. She’d opened all the windows, left the door open to create a draft, and gone into the minuscule bathroom, the door of which was beside the main door. She emerged naked a few minutes later just as Jed walked in. They met; in fact they collided, and he automatically put out his hands to save her, or himself.

      Time slowed, almost to a stop, as they stared at each other, and then he kissed her. No obvious forethought, no plan, he just kissed her. With hunger, as though he had been wanting to do so for a very long time.

      The initial contact had jerked her into stiffness, but as his mouth continued to touch hers, gentle and persuasive, she shuddered and flung her arms round his neck and kissed him back as though her very life depended on it. She didn’t know how long they kissed; it seemed like an eternity. She was aware of his hands on her naked back, aware that he held something, and then a stray gust of wind blew the door shut, and they both jumped, jerked apart.

      He stared at her for what seemed a very long time, and then he apologised. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’

      ‘Why?’ she asked thickly.

      He didn’t answer, merely gave a rather wry smile. ‘There was a letter for you…’ he began as he removed one hand from her back. ‘Frau Keller asked if I would deliver it.’ His eyes held hers, steady, unemotional, waiting, or so it seemed.

      She stared at the white envelope he held in blank confusion, then stared back at him, at his naked chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and could think of nothing else. Want nothing else. Ignoring the letter, she touched her mouth to his collar-bone, the base of his throat, and the breath he took was deep, ragged. Her damp breasts were against his flesh, her bare thighs against the edge of his shorts, and she wanted him naked, as she was.

      ‘No,’ he said softly as he put her away. Pressing the letter into her hands, he turned, opened the door, and walked out.

      Shaking, she stared at the closed door. She’d