Modern Romance Collection: October 2017 Books 1 - 4. Maisey Yates

is your life now,’ Max countered with level assurance. ‘You have the luxury of choices. You don’t have to make do any more.’

      With a guilty sigh, Tia lifted a plate and served herself. ‘It’ll take a lot of getting used to.’

      ‘It does,’ he agreed. ‘It was like that for me when I first arrived in England. But you’ll soon adapt. We’re getting married in forty-eight hours.’

      Tia almost dropped the plate, cornflower-blue eyes huge. ‘How is that even possible?’

      ‘You can thank your Mother Sancha for organising it for us. Fortunately you hold dual citizenship, which simplifies matters, but the Reverend Mother certainly knows how to get things done quickly and sidestep any awkward rules,’ Max declared with visible appreciation. ‘Father Francisco will conduct the ceremony in the convent chapel and the ceremony will be screened live on social media for Andrew’s benefit.’

      Tia stared back at him wide-eyed, the pão de queijo baked cheese roll in her hand forgotten. ‘My goodness, how have you arranged all that this early in the day?’

      ‘It’s almost noon. My work days usually kick off at dawn,’ Max told her gently.

      I’m getting married, Tia thought dizzily. Married to Max. But only because she might be pregnant, she reminded herself darkly and her face heated as that visceral surge low in her belly made her mortifyingly aware of the dulled ache that still lingered between her legs. Nothing to be proud of there, she reflected tightly, bitterly aware that she had grabbed at her first chance of freedom without properly weighing up the advantages and the disadvantages. And yet when she looked at Max across the table, her mind was blank of disadvantages and she was more conscious of the swollen sensitivity of her nipples and the audible hitch in her breathing. She seemed to be as susceptible to Max as Teddy was to all forms of food.

      Tia thoroughly enjoyed her trip to the beauty salon. She had never had her hair professionally trimmed or styled before and could barely credit that her very thick hair could be subdued into a flourishing silky mass that tumbled quite naturally round her face. Her hands were softened and her nails transformed into pearly pink elegance. Every inch of her was moisturised and polished and shaped and after a light lunch she sat entranced while she was expertly made up, watching every move the cosmetic artist made because she wanted to be able to copy the look for herself. For the very first time ever she revelled in being a woman.

      Max went rigid the minute he saw her walk out to the limousine. Without the smallest enhancement, Tia was naturally beautiful, but fresh from a professional salon she became eye-catching enough to stop the traffic. Rich swathes of honey-blonde hair bounced round her narrow shoulders, framing that wide cheekboned, heart-shaped face to perfection.

      ‘You look incredible, bella mia,’ he murmured, dark deep-set eyes raking over her flushed face. ‘I had planned to take you on the tourist trail this afternoon but I’m afraid you have a more pressing need to pick your wedding dress. A selection is being brought to the hotel.’

      Tia blinked. ‘I was wondering what I’d wear.’

      ‘All the trappings. Your grandfather will expect it.’

      But nothing was happening as Tia had once expected it and events were moving far too fast for her to handle with calm. Inside herself she was a massive heap of nerves and insecurities and doubts. She was marrying the first man she had ever slept with, marrying practically the first attractive man she had ever met, to move to a new country and meet a wealthy grandfather, who was a stranger but to whom she owed her opportunity to make a new life. But it wouldn’t be the new life of freedom that she had once naively envisaged; it would be a different life built round a husband and even—potentially—a child. How could she possibly be a good or effective mother when she barely knew how to survive in the modern world?

       CHAPTER SIX

      SISTER MARIANA CRIED when she saw Tia in her wedding dress, insisting, however, that her tears were happy tears. The older woman had explained that now that Tia was getting married the nuns believed they could feel secure about Tia’s future and stop worrying about her welfare. Max, it seemed, now occupied a starring role as Tia’s protector in the dangerous new life she was embarking on.

      Tia was misty-eyed too as she absorbed her reflection in the glorious confection of lace and tulle that shaped her figure and fell to her feet. She was willing to admit that it was a gorgeous dress even if it was far from being her dream dress. The demands of a convent wedding had made the more fashionable gowns she had been offered inappropriate and Tia had settled for traditional and modest, ruefully aware that that combination would best meet fond hopes. Having to please other people rather than herself had become so much a part of Tia’s character that it had come naturally to look away from the short flirty dress she would have preferred and choose the one that swept the floor instead. It wouldn’t always be like that for her, she told herself soothingly. Somewhere in her future there would be a time and a place when she could put herself first and stop worrying about pleasing other people...wouldn’t there be?

      It was an anxious inner question and Tia had struggled with it many times over the past forty-eight hours. Max had made no attempt to be intimate with her again and his restraint had only heightened her insecurity. How much did Max genuinely want her? How did he really feel about her? Was he truthfully only marrying her because there was a chance that she could conceive? In short had her body been her only real attraction? And if he could so easily resist her now, what would their marriage be like? Lukewarm? Practical? Unhappily for Tia, she was hot-blooded and passionate and she needed and wanted more.

      The day before she had met her grandfather for the first time during a video call. His warm interest in her had been reassuring but his gaunt features and the fact that he was seated in a wheelchair had driven home the reality that Andrew Grayson was every bit as frail as Max had implied. That reality had saddened Tia, making her wonder for how long she would have the great gift of an actual caring relative in her life. Although Andrew had urged Max to take her away on a honeymoon before bringing her home to England, Tia had agreed with Max that they should return as soon as possible.

      Tia saw Max waiting for her in the chapel, very tall and dark in his formal suit beside the small, rotund figure of Father Francisco. His likeness to a Renaissance prince in a medieval painting was intense, from the high smooth planes of his stunning cheekbones to the fullness of his sensual mouth. Beneath the black fringe of his spiky lashes, the dark aggressive glitter of his eyes entrapped her and the butterflies in her tummy broke loose again. But in their wake came a deeper, more visceral reaction that was anything but innocent, a tight clenching at the heart of her that she recognised as sexual desire, and her cheeks burned as if she was wearing that need on her face for all to see.

      * * *

      Max watched Tia walk down the short aisle towards him. Her slender figure enhanced by fragile lace and floaty layers, she looked as delicate and beautiful as a spun-glass ornament. One glimpse of that exquisite face and that captivating smile and her grandfather had been totally enchanted. Max’s reaction was infinitely more physical, his muscles tightening as he tensed, scorchingly aware of his arousal. He had had to fight himself to stay out of her bed before the wedding but he had won that battle. Max needed to be in control of every aspect of his life; anything less struck him as weakness and he refused to be weak, particularly with a woman. He had made that mistake once in his life and paid dearly for it; he would not make the same mistake again.

      ‘You’re a lucky devil, Max,’ Andrew had pronounced feelingly on the phone after his first glimpse of Tia. ‘She must get her looks from that Brazilian mother of hers, certainly not from my side of the family tree. We were all homely and plain. When you saw her you must have felt like a lottery winner.’

      Not so as you would notice, Max affixed wryly to that assurance. He was about to be married at the age of twenty-eight when he had once assumed he would be a single man all his days. In some ways, he was still in shock from the fallout of that sudden life change. But the rush marriage and the possibility of consequences