Red-Hot Lover. Sarah Holland

      

      “If only you’d tell me,” she whispered.

      “No” he muttered hoarsely, but his hands slid to her waist and he held her close to him. “I’ve never told anyone.”

      He pulled her against his powerful body with a hunger that made her breathless, but before she could speak, his head swooped, that hot mouth closed urgently over hers and the sheer force of his angry passion brought a wild response from her.

      “I need you!” he bit out thickly against her mouth. She didn’t get a chance to reply. He picked her up, carried her across the living room and kicked open the bedroom door, not stopping except to kick it shut again before striding to the bed in darkness and putting her on it.

      SARAH HOLLAND was born in Kent and brought up in London. She began writing at eighteen because she loved the warmth and excitement of Harlequin. She has traveled the world, living in Hong Kong, the south of France, and Holland. She attended a drama school, and was a nightclub singer and a songwriter. She now lives on the Isle of Man. Her hobbies are acting, singing, painting and psychology. She loves buying clothes, noisy dinner parties and being busy.

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      Red-Hot Lover

      Sarah Holland

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      CLARA stood in the church with tears in her eyes. Jared stood beside her, tall, powerful and charismatic. He was completely against weddings. He disliked them and did everything he could to avoid them. Whereas Clara loved them. Clara was beatific. Clara was floating along on a dream—lost to everything but the beauty of two lives being joined together.

      As the bride reached the groom, the music stopped and everyone sat down. Sunlight shimmered over the twinned heads of the young couple. A blaze of light shafted through the stained glass which soared above a golden altar. Sincerity rang in their voices, and their exchanged vows echoed across the stone arches, pillars and walls of the church. It was a brief shining testament to everything most sacred about being human, needing love and joining together in matrimony.

      Tears blurred Clara’s vision. She drew in her breath and struggled for self-control, but a muffled sob came from her as she felt hot tears slide over her lashes and down her cheeks.

      Jared glanced down his arrogant nose at her, heavy eyelids drooping over steel-blue eyes. She suddenly felt the cool touch of his fingers and looked up breathlessly. Was it possible? Had he been moved by marriage at last? Had something in the ceremony melted his cynical heart?

      ‘Your mascara’s run,’ he drawled.

      Blushing crossly, Clara snatched the handkerchief he offered and dabbed at her eyes. He watched her with a mocking smile. But she refused to take any notice of him because this wasn’t just any old wedding. No, this was the wedding she had waited all her life to see.

      Her best friend Susie was the bride, and Clara had known Susie since the day they’d both arrived at the orphanage at the age of eight. They had become blood sisters a year later, vowing to be in touch with each other for the rest of their lives until they really did become family. Now, here was Clara, at the age of twenty-nine, still playing Susie’s ‘sister’ on her wedding day.

      ‘With my body, I thee worship…’

      ‘Probably the only vow he really means,’ Jared murmured beside her. ‘And the only one he’ll keep.’

      Clara smiled, her green eyes lifting with sensual response to his. For all his cynicism, she knew how important lovemaking was to Jared. He was a marvellous lover and made her feel like a pampered pussycat with just one touch of his hands.

      They had been living together for two years, now. She’d fallen in love with him the day she met him, and he’d insisted she move in with him almost immediately. Ever since then they’d been locked into a wonderful, intimate relationship which just kept getting better. The only low points were when they were at weddings. It was odd, really, because Jared was usually so even-tempered. But get him close to a bride and groom and he turned into a very different person. Today he seemed worse than usual.

      ‘I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.’

      More tears misted her eyes. She sighed and clasped the handkerchief to her bosom. How passionate they were, this bride and groom. She wondered how many children they would have. And she imagined herself becoming a real live auntie for the first time, with little nieces and nephews. Of course, it wasn’t the same as having her own children, but she was confident that that would happen one day, no matter what Jared said to the contrary.

      ‘Silly besotted fool. Susie’s lovely, but Gareth will regret marrying her.’

      ‘Honestly, Jared,’ she whispered back. ‘I do wish you’d stop it.’

      ‘You know perfectly well that most marriages end in div—’

      ‘Shh! They’re going to sign the register!’ Clara looked resolutely ahead as a singer in a blue dress held up her microphone and began to sing. It was that lovely old classic about a wonderful world. She sang so sweetly, and that, coupled with the bride’s glowing amber head as she bent to sign the register, brought tears to every woman’s eyes. Clara felt her mouth tremble.

      ‘I wish they’d get a move on,’ Jared said impatiently.

      ‘Well, they’ve got to sign the register!’

      ‘I want to listen to the rugby on the way to the reception.’

      Clara sighed. Normally he wasn’t obsessed by sport, but today England were playing Wales, and, as a Welshman, Jared naturally intended to cheer for his side. The odd thing was that he had spent the last few days rattling on about it as though he was deeply patriotic. Clara had never noticed any patriotism before this particular rugby match. Far from it. He rarely mentioned Wales. While she found his behaviour over the match rather odd, she dreaded to think what a foul temper he’d be in if they lost. Or, worse, if England thrashed them.

      Suddenly the bride and groom were at the altar, the organ played and the bells pealed out.

      Clara and Jared got to their feet. He towered beside her like a giant. At six foot six, he was more than a whole foot taller than her. Jet-black hair, a tough face and a scar on his right cheek—he was as passionate as he was masculine. His suit was expensive grey teamed with a dark red silk tie, stylishly knotted. Gold cufflinks flashed against crisp white