The Virgin Bride. Miranda Lee

grabbed a towel and began to rub vigorously. Five minutes later he was standing in his underpants, scanning his rather extensive wardrobe.

      No suit tonight, he thought. Tonight called for something a little less formal, which didn’t really present a problem, except in making a choice. During his days as a dashing young Sydney doctor, he’d bought clothes for every occasion.

      His eyes moved up and down the hangers several times. Damn, but he had too many clothes! Finally, he grabbed the nearest hanger to his hand, and had already dragged on the cream trousers, pale blue silk shirt and navy blazer before remembering Adele had chosen that very outfit the last time they’d gone shopping together. She’d said it made him look like a millionaire, fresh from winning the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. She’d liked the image, said it turned her on. Nothing turned Adele on, Jason thought ruefully, like the thought of money.

      He scowled at the memory, but had no time to change, consoling himself with the thought that at least the woman had had taste in men’s clothes.

      She came to mind again as he slipped on the sleek gold watch and the onyx dress ring he always wore. Both had been presents from Adele, bought in the first year of their three together. She’d given him quite a few personal gifts in those early days, mostly to enhance his new status as her partner.

      Jason felt no personal attachment for the gifts any more. Usually he wore them without a second thought. But it didn’t seem right to wear them when he was going out with the woman he was going to marry. He compromised by leaving the ring off but wearing the watch, because he liked knowing the time. Still, he determined to buy himself another watch in the morning. Something less flashy.

      Scooping up his wallet and car keys, he turned and went forth to make his destiny.

      Emma was ready and waiting for him, as pretty as a picture in a dress just made for her pale colouring and willowy slenderness. Round-necked and long-sleeved, it was mainly cream, but tie-dyed with splashes of peach and the palest orange. The material was light and crinkly, the style on the loose side, skimming over the gentle rise of her bust and falling in soft folds to her ankles. Her fair curly hair had obviously been shampooed and especially conditioned, for it shone in contrast to the previous night’s dullness. Her face had some colour too—thanks to some lipstick and blusher, perhaps? Her eyes looked huge, even though he could see no visible make-up around them. When her neck craned back to look up at him, a faint smell of lavender wafted from her skin.

      She looked like something from another world. A unique treasure to be cherished and cared for.

      Was that how Ratchitt had seen her when he’d pursued her? Or was Emma just another notch on his belt? Had her purity enraged or enslaved him? Jason couldn’t see the rotter who’d been described to him as having any sensitivity. He’d probably only asked Emma to marry him because he thought she’d come across once a ring was on her finger.

      Jason was glad he’d failed to get what he wanted. He didn’t deserve her. Men like him didn’t deserve any decent woman, let alone his Emma.

      And that was how he saw her now. His Emma.

      ‘You look lovely,’ he said, his eyes raking over her with what he hoped wasn’t too impassioned a gaze. But, dear heaven, he did desire her. Yet so differently from the way he’d desired Adele.

      Adele, he’d wanted to ravage. With her, he’d wanted to take, never to give. After all, Adele was one of those liberated females who shouted to the rooftops that they were responsible for their own orgasms, and she had been, at times. He and Adele hadn’t made love, he now saw. They’d had sex. Great sex, it was true. But still just sex, the only aim being mutual physical satisfaction.

      Emma made him want to give. Jason had no doubt that his priority when he made love to her would be to give her the most wonderful experience in her life, an experience which would banish Ratchitt from her mind for ever. His own pleasure would be secondary…which was an extraordinary first for him when it came to sex. Maybe he had changed, after all!

      ‘You look very nice yourself,’ she was saying. ‘Very…handsome.’

      At least she hadn’t said rich.

      ‘Thank you. Shall we go? My car’s out in the street. There again,’ he added, smiling a wry smile, ‘my car’s always parked out in the street.’

      That was one thing his new house didn’t have. A garage. There was room in the back yard, but no access down the side.

      You can’t have everything in life, son…

      Jason glanced over at Emma, and his smile softened.

      Maybe not, Mum. But I’m getting closer.