Miranda Lee - Not a Marrying Man

Just one night, he’d told himself at the time.

To see how it would feel to make love to someone wholesome. Someone who blushed when you looked deep into her eyes. Someone whose attraction for him shocked her enough to make her resign.

Well, he’d found out what it was like—and, come the next morning, he hadn’t been able to let her go.

But now the time had come for him to do so.

Time to be cruel to be kind.

‘Please don’t start sounding like a wife, Amber,’ he said coldly.

MIRANDA LEEis Australian, and lives near Sydney. Born and raised in the bush, she was boarding-school-educated, and briefly pursued a career in classical music, before moving to Sydney and embracing the world of computers. Happily married, with three daughters, she began writing when family commitments kept her at home. She likes to create stories that are believable, modern, fast-paced and sexy. Her interests include meaty sagas, doing word puzzles, gambling and going to the movies.

MIRANDA LEE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Excerpts from Amber Roberts’s diary during September of her twenty-fifth year.

Tuesday

What a tiresome day! Arrived at work to find that the hotel had been sold and the new owner would be visiting the premises mid-morning. He’s a British businessman called Warwick Kincaid. According to Jill, he’s a rather infamous entrepreneur with fingers in lots of pies and a reputation for not holding on to anything for long—his girlfriends as well as his many and varied commercial ventures. How she knew all that I have no idea. But then I’m not addicted to gossip mags the way Jill is. Naturally, everyone went into a flap, wondering if their jobs were safe. Not me so much since I’m not all that wrapped in mine. Though I don’t want to lose it just at the moment. Hard to save up a deposit on a house without a salary. Anyway, Warwick Kincaid never showed up in the end. Too busy, we were eventually told. Not sure if that’s good news or bad news. He’s supposed to reschedule for tomorrow.

Wednesday

Well, he showed up this time. Seriously wish he hadn’t. What can I say? He’s as up himself as I imagined. But younger. Late thirties, maybe forty. He’s also the best-looking man I’ve ever met. I couldn’t stop staring at him. He noticed of course. And he stared right back. I’ve never blushed so much in all my life. He didn’t stay all that long but he’s coming back tomorrow to talk to all the staff, one at a time, on a mission to find out why a stylish boutique hotel situated in one of the best areas of Sydney isn’t turning over a profit. His words, not mine. Jill said afterwards that he fancied me and that I should watch myself. I laughed and told her not to be so silly, that I was in love with Cory and no man, no matter how tall, dark and handsome—or rich—would get to even first base with me. But you know what? When Cory picked me up tonight, I looked at him and didn’t feel anything like the buzz I felt today when I looked at Warwick Kincaid. Later, I was relieved when Cory said he wanted an early night. It sounds crazy, but meeting Warwick Kincaid has made me wonder if I’m really in love with Cory. Maybe I’m just in love with the idea of getting married and having the house and family of my own that I’ve always wanted. It’s a worry all right. So’s the way I’ve been fussing over what I’ll wear tomorrow. I have a feeling I’m not going to sleep too well tonight. But I have to if I want to look beautiful in the morning. Oh, goodness, did I just think that? Maybe it would be better if I didn’t sleep. Must go now. Have to do my nails and put a treatment in my hair.

Thursday

I’m almost afraid to write down what happened today. Because if I do, it will become more real, more powerful, and even more disturbing. Not that anything really happened. I mean, he didn’t make a pass at me or anything like that. He just talked to me about the hotel, the same way he talked to everyone else. Seemed happy with my suggestion that the hotel needed some more in-house facilities like a gym and a restaurant. At least a lounge bar where guests could relax and have a drink. On the surface our conversation was strictly business, but all the while those piercing blue eyes of his never left mine. Not for a second. And it wasn’t just the way he stared at me. There was something else. I know it wasn’t just me. It wasn’t my imagination. Something was there, zapping back and forth across the desk that separated us. An electric charge that was both exciting and enervating. When our discussion was over and I had to stand up, I found that my legs had almost gone to jelly. Somehow I made it out of the office and back to the front desk where I slumped down into my chair. I felt faint. I still feel faint thinking about it. And all I’ve done this evening is think about it. My whole world has been tilted on its axis. How can I get engaged to Cory now when I know that I don’t love him? I mean, how could I love him but want to sleep with another man? And I do. I want to have sex with Warwick Kincaid. I can’t believe I just admitted that, but what’s the point of keeping a diary if you lie to it? So, yes, I want to sleep with Warwick Kincaid. But that isn’t love, is it? That’s just lust. Can you be in love with one man and in lust with another? Maybe you can. What do I know? I’ve never felt anything like this before. What I need is to talk to someone about it. Not with my girlfriends, though. They’re all silly as wet hens when it comes to the opposite sex. Not Mum, either. She’d be dead shocked. She thinks I’m a good girl. Which I thought I was too, till today. Maybe Aunt Kate. She’s seen a lot of life. I’ll ring Aunt Kate tomorrow and ask her. She’ll tell me how it is, warts and all. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Friday

Well, Warwick Kincaid came back again first thing this morning and totally ignored me, which I found to my disgust upset me terribly. I should have been grateful. Anyway, I was so annoyed with myself that by lunchtime I made the decision to resign. I knew I couldn’t work for that man a minute longer. I waited till he was heading for home at the end of the day before I handed him the letter of resignation that I’d typed up during my lunch hour. He read it straight away, then gave me the longest, most intense look. Of course I blushed again. Then he said fine, he accepted my resignation, after which he shocked me rigid by asking me out to dinner tonight. I know I should have said no. I know he’s the kind of man who wants pretty young girls like me for one thing, and one thing only. But I didn’t say no. I said yes. Because the shocking truth is that I want him for the same thing. I’m not in love with him. Heavens, I’m not sure I even like him. But I’m going to end up in bed with him tonight. I’d be a fool to think he’s going to feed me then bring me straight home. On top of that, I have an awful feeling that going to bed with Warwick Kincaid is going to change my life in ways that I can’t as yet imagine. There’s no point in ringing Aunt Kate now. She can’t help me. No one can. I feel like crying. This is not what I want but I can’t seem to help myself. Mum thinks I’m going out with Cory tonight so she won’t be worried if I don’t come home. I always stay at Cory’s place on a Friday night. At least I did the right thing by ringing Cory and breaking up with him. I told him that I’d met someone else and that I was sorry. He took the news rather well, I thought, which was of some comfort. But there’s no going back now. I’ve made my bed, so speak, and I’ll just have to lie in it …

July, ten months later …

AMBER’S teeth clenched hard in her jaw as she checked her phone for messages again. Still nothing from Warwick. She punched in his mobile number and was told for the umpteenth time that his phone was not available. She didn’t leave a message. There was no point. She’d already left three, each one sounding more frustrated than the last.

When she’d suggested a romantic dinner for two tonight rather than a restaurant meal, Warwick had promised to be home by seven-thirty. But then he’d messaged her shortly before six saying he’d been delayed and that he might be back a bit late, maybe by eight o’clock.

It was now almost nine and still there was no sign of him. No more messages, either.

‘Surely you have time to call me,’ Amber muttered under her breath as she returned to the kitchen, threw her cell phone onto the black granite counter-top, then switched off the oven in which the already overdone beef stroganoff had been keeping warm.

At least she hadn’t started cooking the rice. Maybe the meal was still salvageable. Though her own appetite had long gone.

Opening the oversized stainless-steel fridge, which never held all that much food—not much point when they rarely ate at home—Amber reached for the bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, which had become her favourite, and poured herself a glass. Carrying it with her and sipping at the same time, she made her way back through the dining room, grimacing as she passed the beautifully set table before heading for the balcony and the hopefully soothing effect of the water view.

Using her free hand, she slid open one of the glass doors that led out onto the huge curving balcony and that fronted the entire apartment, providing a spectacular view of Sydney Harbour. Unfortunately, it was freezing out there, the stiff breeze that came off the water quickly making a mess of Amber’s long hair. Grimacing, she turned and hurried back into the temperature-controlled interior, shutting the glass door behind her. She’d forgotten for a moment that it was winter, Warwick always keeping the apartment pleasantly warm.

Putting her wine glass down on one of the glass-topped side tables that flanked the white leather sofa, Amber made her way across the plushly furnished living room and into the vast expanse of the master bedroom. Her chest tightened as she took in the turned-down bed, the cream satin sheets and the scented candles she’d placed on the bedside tables, in anticipation of the evening ahead.

‘Bastard,’ she muttered, and marched on into the cream marble en suite bathroom where she took a brush out of the drawer on her side of the twin vanities and began attacking her ruffled hair with angry strokes.

It didn’t take her long to put order into her hair which was easily managed, being long and straight with a blunt-cut fringe.

Her ruffled emotions, however, were not so easily controlled.

Amber could still remember the first time she’d stood on this very spot, looking into this mirror, her blue eyes wide with excitement. It had been the night she’d gone to dinner with Warwick, the night her life had changed for ever.

He’d taken her to a five-star restaurant first, where he’d impressed her with the very best of food and wine, along with his highly entertaining conversation. It’d been impossible for a twenty-five-year-old girl who’d only left Australia for family holidays in Bali and Fiji not to be impressed with this man who’d been everywhere and done everything. Impossible not to be flattered by the fact that someone of his intelligence and status would choose to be with her: Amber Roberts, receptionist.

Afterwards, he’d brought her back here, without bothering to make any excuses, his intentions perfectly clear to Amber as they had been from the moment he’d asked her out.