Miranda Lee - Not a Marrying Man

She’d tried not to appear too blown away, either by his Italian sports car, or his multimillion-dollar Point Piper apartment, which he’d bought two weeks earlier, fully furnished. But she was an ordinary working-class girl who’d been brought up in the western suburbs of Sydney. She wasn’t used to this kind of luxury living. She certainly wasn’t used to this kind of man.

He hadn’t just swept her off her feet and into his bed that night. He’d taken possession of her with a power and a passion that had left her, not only reeling, but ready to say yes to anything he wanted.

But what he’d wanted had been slightly surprising. She’d feared, when she’d woken in his king-sized bed the following morning, that that might be that. She was sure it would be a case of hasta la vista, baby.

Instead, he’d pulled her to him, told her he was crazy about her and asked her to become his girlfriend. Not just in a casual relationship, either. He wanted her to move in with him, travel with him, be with him all the time. She wouldn’t be able to work, of course. She had to be ready to accompany him at a moment’s notice. He travelled quite a lot, both for business and pleasure.

She’d been about to blindly say yes when he’d qualified the terms of the relationship he was proposing.

‘Just so you don’t get the wrong idea,’ he’d added. ‘I don’t do marriage and children. And I don’t do for ever. I have a notoriously low boredom threshold. Twelve months is usually my limit when it comes to any woman. Though with you, my sweet lovely Amber, I just might make an exception. To be honest, you’re already one big exception. Up till now, I’ve never asked a woman to live with me. I dare say it’s going to cost me dearly in the end, but there’s something about you which I find totally irresistible. So what do you say, beautiful? Do you want to get aboard the Kincaid roller-coaster ride, or not?’

She should still have said no, despite the seductive flattery he’d included in what was really a totally appalling and extremely selfish proposition. But how did a girl say no to more of what she’d experienced the night before? Amber had never known such excitement, or such pleasure. There were things Warwick knew about lovemaking that had quite blown her away. He’d been able to turn her on and keep her that way for hours, reducing her to total mush.

So of course she’d said yes, and now here she was ten months later, still his live-in girlfriend. Or his mistress, as Aunt Kate had once caustically called her.

But for how much longer?

This was the third time lately, Amber conceded as she stared blankly into the vanity mirror, that Warwick had let her down. A couple of weeks ago, he’d cancelled a weekend getaway to the Hunter Valley that she’d been looking forward to, instead jetting off by himself to New Zealand with two of his business associates to go heliskiing, a high-risk, thrill-seeking, extremely dangerous sport that had recently cost other lives and that had left her worried sick all weekend. But his worst transgression, in her opinion, had been when he’d refused to accompany her to Aunt Kate’s funeral last week, claiming he’d had important business to attend to that day, then adding insult to injury by saying that the old duck hadn’t liked him and he hadn’t liked her, either!

Which was totally beside the point. Amber had been very fond of her aunt Kate and terribly upset by her aunt’s rather sudden death of a stroke. She’d only been seventy-two, hardly ancient.

It had been horrible, sitting in that church all by herself, then having to defend Warwick’s absence afterwards. Her relationship with him had already alienated her from her family to a degree. He’d only accompanied her to two family gatherings during the time they’d been together, Christmas Day at her parents’ house in Carlingford, and then last Easter, to a family barbecue at her aunt Kate’s place up at Wamberal Beach on the Central Coast.

And whilst he’d been quite polite to everyone, he’d somehow made it obvious—to her at least—that he’d been bored rigid. On both occasions they’d been the first to leave.

Amber’s two older brothers hadn’t pulled any punches last week when it had come to making forthright remarks about her wealthy lover not bothering to attend Aunt Kate’s funeral. Even Warwick’s lending to her of his flashy red Ferrari for the drive up to Wamberal hadn’t softened their disapproval over his absence.

And they’d been quite right. He should have gone with her. His claiming that he’d had important business to attend to that day had just been an excuse. If he’d cared about her at all, he would have made other arrangements and driven her to the funeral himself.

By the time Amber had arrived back home after the wake, she hadn’t been able to contain her emotions, telling Warwick exactly what she thought of his lack of sensitivity and support, before flouncing off to sleep in one of the two guest bedrooms.

She’d been half expecting him to come to the room and persuade her back into the master bedroom. But he hadn’t. In fact he hadn’t made love to her since, which was unusual. When Warwick wanted sex, he could be quite ruthless.

Clearly, he hadn’t wanted sex this past week. But she’d wanted him to want it. Wanted him to want her.

If she’d been a bolder type of girl, she would have attempted a seduction of her own. But playing the femme fatale was not Amber’s style. Although not exactly shy, she never made the first move—although she’d never needed to where Warwick was concerned: he had more than enough moves for both of them.

By now, an increasingly desperate Amber knew she would have to do something to allay her growing fears that he was definitely growing bored with her. Her suggestion this morning over breakfast of a candlelit dinner at home seemed to have gone down well, with Warwick giving her a long lingering kiss at the door before going off to attend to his latest property development.

Not a hotel this time. Warwick wasn’t interested in buying another Sydney hotel, despite his earlier acquisition now making a nice profit after he’d put in a gym and a lounge bar, as she’d suggested. This time he’d chosen a night club up at the Cross, a rather run-down, seedy establishment that had definitely seen better days. But Warwick had seen potential in its position and was currently making the place over into the kind of high-class club that would attract the rich and famous with its luxurious ambience, wonderful food and top entertainment. He’d consulted Amber quite a lot about the refurbishing, complimenting her often over her various suggestions. In truth, she was as excited by the project as he was and often accompanied him to the site.

Not this past week, however. He hadn’t offered to take her and she hadn’t asked. Even if he’d asked her today, she probably would have said no. She’d had other plans.

Amber had known it would take many hours to prepare for the evening ahead. She’d gone to the hairdresser first, after which she’d bought herself a new dress, something extra pretty and feminine. Then she’d had to shop for food, set the table, prepare the bedroom, and, finally, herself.

Oh, yes, Amber thought ruefully as her eyes cleared to rake over her reflection. She’d spent hours on herself, making sure that she looked exactly as Warwick liked her to look.

On the surface, her appearance hadn’t changed much since the first day they’d met. Her hairstyle was exactly the same, though she’d given in to Warwick’s request to have her honey colour lightened to a cool, creamy blonde. And it did look classier somehow. Her eyebrows were more finely plucked these days, and the makeup she now wore was extremely expensive, not from the supermarket ranges that she used to buy. Although she couldn’t see all that much difference, despite the time it took to apply everything. Maybe the lipsticks stayed on a little longer and the mascara was definitely waterproof.

Her figure was still basically the same, longer workouts in the gym ensuring that all the restaurant food she’d devoured over the past ten months hadn’t settled on her thighs or her stomach. Slightly taller than average, Amber had been blessed with a naturally slim body, yet enough curves to attract male attention.

Of course, her wardrobe had changed dramatically, Warwick insisting that she allow him to dress her the way a woman of her ‘exquisite beauty’ should be dressed. He always called her a woman, never a girl. She’d been powerless to resist his compliments—as she’d been powerless to resist him—and now had a walk-in robe full of designer clothes; something for every possible occasion.

Nothing too sexy, though. Warwick said that true sexiness was what was hidden, not what was displayed.

A shiver trickled down Amber’s spine when she thought about what was hidden under the softly feminine Orsini original she was wearing.

The long-awaited sound of her cell phone ringing had her throwing her hairbrush down and racing back out into the living room, where she thought she’d left it. But the sound wasn’t coming from there. Had she left the handset out on the balcony? She didn’t think she had.

And then she remembered.

‘The kitchen!’

Amber prayed for it to keep on ringing as she bolted for the kitchen, wishing that the rooms in this place weren’t quite so big.

At last she snatched the phone up into her hands, sweeping it up to her ear and saying, ‘Thank heavens you didn’t hang up,’ rather breathlessly at the same time.

‘Er … it’s Mum, Amber. Not … who you thought it was.’

Amber suppressed a groan of dismay. Thank goodness she had a call waiting facility or she’d go stark raving bonkers, having to talk to her mother when Warwick might be trying to contact her.

‘Hi, Mum,’ she said much more calmly than she was feeling. ‘What’s up? ‘

Her mother rarely rang her these days, their relationship having become strained since the day she’d announced that she’d quit her job, broken off with Cory and moved in with her billionaire boss.

Amber could well understand why her family didn’t approve of her actions and she’d finally given up trying to justify what she’d done. Because there was no justification. She couldn’t even use love as an excuse. There’d been no love back then, just lust. Though she preferred to think of it as passion—the kind of passion that was as powerful as it was impossible to describe, especially to your mother.

It had been quite a few months before Amber realised she’d actually fallen in love with Warwick. Up till then she’d been so blinded by her desire for the man that she’d been unaware of the deepening of her emotional attachment. The illumination of her true feelings had happened with all the suddenness and force of a bolt of lightning. They’d been staying at a resort in far North Queensland one weekend late last summer, when Warwick had decided to go bungee-jumping. She’d refused to participate herself but had gone along to watch, knowing it was better on her nerves to accompany Warwick on his thrill-seeking activities rather than stay behind and worry. Something had gone wrong with the length of the rope and his head had almost hit the rocks below. Amber had been absolutely horrified, both by his near miss and the realisation of her love.

Up till then, she’d convinced herself—perhaps as a form of self-protection—that she wouldn’t be heartbroken when her time with Warwick was up. After all, broken hearts were for people who truly loved each other. She’d told herself repeatedly that going back to the real world would be difficult, but she would survive.