Claiming His Wedding Night. Louise Fuller

‘Then why are you scared?’

      Her temper flared. ‘I’m not scared.’ She hesitated. ‘Just a little apprehensive, I suppose.’ She met his gaze defiantly.

      ‘Would it help if I promised not to drop my napkin?’ he said softly.

      A warm tide swept over her skin, as hot and strong as a hurricane. But no hurricane could ever be as devastating or dangerous as Malachi King, she thought wildly. Her cheeks burning, she fixed her eye on the smooth white linen tablecloth. But she could feel his eyes, dark and implacable as granite, seeking her out.

      ‘I’d rather you didn’t bring that up now.’ Her skin felt as if it was on fire; her heartbeat felt so loud she was surprised the other diners hadn’t stopped eating to stare at her.

      ‘When would you like me to bring it up?’ he asked smoothly.

      ‘N-never!’ Her voice was trembling and she shook her head. ‘It’s just not appropriate!’

      He shrugged, his face dispassionate. ‘I don’t remember you complaining at the time.’

      His eyes were like the shimmering headlights of a car. She stared at him helplessly, hypnotised, horrified by her body’s fierce, swift response to his words and the image they conjured up.

      Had she really let him do that to her? In a restaurant? There was an ache low down in her pelvis. Her whole body was suddenly shaking and it felt as though her insides were being sucked into a whirlpool. A memory—perfect, impossible, spinning apart into a hundred shades of gold—slid into her head. It had been so wildly, shockingly exciting. Even now she could hardly believe it had happened. Or that she had let it. What had she been thinking?

      She felt her chest tighten and her skin start to burn, for of course Malachi had been right. What they’d shared had had very little to do with thought. Their entire relationship had been founded on passion, in his arms she’d been fierce, wild, hungry for his touch; he had awoken the hot, sensual woman beneath the quiet, dutiful young pianist who’d practised her scales every day—

      Her stomach dipped. But thanks to him that woman didn’t exist any more.

      Meeting his gaze, she gave him an icy stare. ‘Do you want me to leave right now?’

      His eyes flickered across her face and, reaching out, he picked up a piece of bread and bit into it with strong white teeth. ‘Wouldn’t that be a little premature? I thought you came here to discuss your funding? If you leave now, sweetheart, you’ll go empty-handed. Besides...’

      He gave her a slow, sexy grin that made something hot and scratchy scrape inside her.

      ‘I’m sure you don’t want to miss dessert.’

      He was calling her bluff. He knew she had no choice but to stay. Meeting his gaze, her eyes narrowed into sharp shards of blue. He was so smug and annoying. How she hated him!

      Except that she didn’t.

      Not unless that ball of hot liquid heat swelling inside her so that her ribs ached was how hatred felt.

      She swallowed. Around her she could almost hear the air hissing when it came into contact with her overheated skin. Surely she wasn’t supposed to feel like this—so breathless, so dazzled.

      Watching him lounge back against the leather, his eyes gleaming with undisguised satisfaction, she felt a rush of pure white anger. ‘I know what you’re doing,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You’re trying to make me lose my temper so that I’ll leave.’

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that right? You know, it never ceases to amaze me how women can misinterpret even the simplest statement and put some spin on it.’

      ‘Spin!’ It took every ounce of willpower she had not to throw the contents of her glass into his infuriatingly handsome face. ‘You making vile innuendos is not spin,’ she snapped.

      ‘I didn’t make any innuendos. I was merely recounting historical fact.’

      His eyes were dancing with a malice that made her want to scream out loud. He was impossible. And this meeting was a farce.

      ‘Well, I didn’t come here to have a history lesson,’ she hissed. ‘Especially a highly selective and one-sided one.’

      The waiter was back again. ‘Was everything to your satisfaction, Mr King?’

      ‘It was perfect, thank you. The scallops were sublime and my wife thoroughly enjoyed her lobster salad—didn’t you, darling?’

      My wife!

      Startled, her eyes met his. ‘Yes, I did.’ Glancing up, she gave the waiter a perfunctory smile. ‘It was delicious.’ She waited, fuming, until the plates had been cleared away and they were alone again. ‘Why did you call me that?’

      His look of blank incomprehension made her want to throttle him with her napkin.

      ‘Why wouldn’t I call you that? That is what you are,’ he said smoothly. ‘Surely you didn’t think you could just waltz back into my life and start demanding money but somehow avoid discussing our marriage?’

      She shivered as his gaze fixed on her bare ring finger but, refusing to be cowed, she drew back her shoulders and met his stare defiantly.

      ‘I don’t want to talk about our marriage.’

      ‘Clearly,’ he said softly. ‘If you had, you would have got in touch over the last five years.’

      She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘There was nothing stopping you from getting in touch. And I didn’t waltz back into your life and demand anything. I’m here because you insisted that I meet you and now you want to dictate what we talk about.’

      Her voice echoed round the room and, looking up, she froze. The restaurant was no longer packed with diners. In fact she and Malachi appeared to be the only two people remaining, apart from the businessmen at the bar. She watched, her stomach clenching, as a waiter discreetly cleared a table and left the room.

      ‘We need to leave,’ she said hurriedly, glancing round again. ‘Lunchtime service is clearly over.’

      Glancing over his shoulder, Malachi shrugged. ‘They can wait.’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘You are so arrogant. These people have lives, Malachi. You can’t just expect them to hang around for hours.’

      ‘Why not? That’s what they’re paid to do,’ he said casually.

      She glowered at him. ‘But not by you.’

      There was a sudden, stinging pause. Glancing up, she saw that he was surveying her steadily, an odd light in his eyes. And suddenly the penny dropped.

      ‘You own this place?’ she croaked.

      He nodded slowly, enjoying her shock. ‘Yes, I do.’ He paused, and there was a courteous edge to his voice that disguised the brutality of his words. ‘That’s why I chose to meet you here.’

      She stared at him in confusion. For a moment her mind simply couldn’t absorb his words. ‘But you didn’t choose to meet me,’ she said slowly. ‘I followed you here.’

      He looked at her almost regretfully, and suddenly her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst. Glancing over at the men at the bar, she felt her jawline tighten. Had she really thought they were businessmen?

      She shook her head in disbelief at her own naivety. ‘You had me followed. By them.’

      Their eyes met—hers wide with outrage, his shimmering with satisfaction and her hands balled into fists. He was enjoying himself, the bastard!

      He shrugged. ‘It’s their job. They spotted you outside the office.’

      Heat was blistering her skin. He’d played her—acting as if he was surprised when all along he’d known she was coming. She felt a spasm of nausea. But was it that surprising, really? He’d