Marrying the Enemy Read online

  She couldn’t have quelled his libido harder if she tried. He didn’t want to reveal anything to her. Not his innermost thoughts, fears or desires.

  The only desire he wanted to show her involved the two of them naked.

  ‘You talk too much.’ He stepped into her personal space, forcing her to back up.

  Excitement sparked in her eyes as her mouth curved into a wicked smile. ‘Healthier than keeping everything bottled in.’

  He took another step, she backed up again. ‘I don’t need you to psychoanalyse me.’

  ‘Then what do you need me for?’

  ‘This.’

  He crushed his mouth to hers, her squeal of surprise quickly giving way to a low moan of pleasure. It was exactly like the kiss at the registry office: everything faded until all he could feel and taste was this woman. His wife.

  The wife he wanted tonight to be special for, no matter how much he wanted to take her up against the nearest wall.

  He wrenched his mouth from hers, her dazed expression matching his.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She grabbed his lapels and shook him. ‘No sex, remember?’

  He traced the curve of her cheek and the contours of her lips before deliberately dropping his hand.

  ‘This marriage might be a sham, but I figure a woman like you deserves a wedding night she’ll never forget.’

  He meant it.

  He’d never met a woman so bold, so forthright, so determined to get what she wanted, even if it meant sacrificing dreams of romance and happily ever after.

  While Ruby hadn’t alluded to any of that fanciful emotional rubbish, he imagined she’d crave it like the next woman. And man—if half his mine workers had been any indication.

  Those guys hooked up with a woman and had her up the aisle and pregnant in next to no time.

  Wouldn’t they have a field day when they discovered the reclusive bachelor had married?

  ‘With sentimental guff like that, you’re making it mighty tough for me to keep pushing you away.’ She blinked and he could’ve sworn he caught a glimpse of tears.

  Hell. He didn’t handle waterworks well. He’d emptied too many tissue boxes and changed too many tear-drenched shirts with his mum after Denver had been arrested—no way would he spoil the night he had planned by making his bride cry.

  ‘Then stop resisting and give in.’ He snagged her hand, tugged her inside and kicked the door shut. ‘You know you want to.’

  Her watery smile tweaked his heart. ‘You’re extraordinarily confident.’

  He nuzzled her ear and she shivered. ‘You better believe it, sweetheart.’ He laid his hands on her shoulders, turned her around in the direction of the lounge room and gave a little shove. ‘Go relax. I’ll come get you in a few minutes.’

  ‘What is this, a waiting room?’ she muttered, but did as she was told, heading for the couch in front of an unlit open fire.

  ‘It’ll be worth the wait,’ he said, the smoulder in her glance over her shoulder making him stride to the bedroom in double time.

  He knew she’d come around to his way of thinking. That kiss to seal the deal for their marriage arrangement? A prelude to a night she’d never forget. He’d make sure of it.

  He’d booked the Romance Package, whatever that was, and when he flung open the door, he braced for the worst—or best, from Ruby’s point of view.

  He’d assumed she’d love all the hearts and flowers, while the thought of frilly lace covers and plump heart cushions and stinky aromatherapy oils made him twitch.

  To his surprise, the bedroom was nothing how he’d imagined. Modern white furniture—bed, dresser, wardrobe—clean lines, minimal clutter. The ash polished boards gleamed in the down-lights, a crimson shag rug at the foot of the bed adding a dash of colour.

  He spied a basket of goodies on the dresser with a card attached, Romance Package in calligraphic purple scrawl.

  Curious, and keen to get a move on, he rummaged through the basket: edible massage oil, ylang-ylang-scented tea lights, Swiss chocolate, two punnets of strawberries, the requisite box of rose petals and condoms—two long strings’ worth.

  He’d start with the candles and work his way up to the condoms.

  He placed the tea lights in strategic positions around the room, cursing as he dropped a match twice before striking it hard enough to light.

  Why on earth was he this nervous? If the kisses had been any indication, they’d burn up the sheets. And it wasn’t as if he’d have to make awkward morning-after small talk or come up with a half-decent excuse to extricate himself from the woman’s bed.

  With a little luck they’d be doing this for the next few months on a regular basis.

  This time, he dropped the whole damn box of matches.

  How on earth did they expect to share a bed, share a marriage, share a life, for any length of time, then walk away at the end as if nothing had happened?

  He’d done it before, turning his back on Melbourne without a backward glance. Could Ruby?

  The way she’d been after seeing her sister, the conflicting emotions he’d glimpsed before she’d tried to hide them, spoke volumes.

  Ruby cared. Cared about her sister, cared about her business, cared full stop.

  Would she be so bold and brazen in a few months when their pretend marriage had run its course and he headed back to Western Australia?

  He shoved the matches back into the box with force, breaking three before slowing down and lighting the rest of the tea lights.

  He snaffled the box of rose petals and the condoms, sprinkling the former on the bed, stashing the latter in both bedside drawers. And an extra string in the bathroom.

  Best to be prepared.

  He needed to eradicate this uncertainty suffusing him and wild, no-holds-barred sex would do it.

  Desperate to shake the jitters and lose himself in her, he headed for the lounge. Only to stop dead in the doorway.

  His sexy wife lay curled up on the sofa, asleep.

  Her head lolled on an armrest, her fancy up-do a rumpled mess, cascading curls everywhere. Her mouth hung open, tiny puffs of air escaping as she exhaled. The faintest dark circles ringed her eyes where she’d rubbed them in fatigue and his earlier funk intensified tenfold.

  He didn’t do tenderness.

  He didn’t do caring.

  But at that moment, staring at his exhausted, slumbering wife, he came close to both.

  CHAPTER NINE

  RUBY woke as she did every morning. In the wee small hours, savouring the darkness and peace when she produced her best work.

  She loved slipping into her fluffy pink dressing-gown and worn leopard-print slippers, snagging her hair into a messy ponytail with elastic and padding downstairs to her workshop.

  There was something almost furtive about it, as if she was stealing a few extra hours in the day compared with everyone else by sneaking around in the darkness.

  It was why her mum had bestowed the apartment over the showroom to her. Both her mum and Sapphie had been light sleepers but they’d quit complaining about her nocturnal wanderings when they saw the pieces she produced.

  When she’d hit twenty-one they’d moved out, her mum to a modern apartment in Toorak, Sapphie to a Californian bungalow not far from their showroom on High Street.

  She’d missed them initially but had found comfort in her creations as she always did. They’d sustained her through bad dates and bad break-ups, through losing her mum and then Sapphie being ill a year later.

  Her fingers tingled and she stretched, eager to head downstairs, pick up her pliers and start creating magic.

  One problem.

  When she stretched, her foot encountered another.

  Her eyes flew open and the first thing she saw was Jax Maroney’s handsome face inches from hers.

  In that moment it all came flooding back.

  Seaborn’s on the skids.

  Proposing to Jax.

  Marrying him yesterday.

  Telling Sa
pphie.

  What she couldn’t remember was how she’d ended up in this bed.

  She’d been shattered after her confrontation with Sapphie, emotionally overwrought. She’d built up this perfectly plausible marriage scenario in her head, prepared to rationalise it to her sister, not lying but not telling the direct truth, when Sapphie had seen straight through her.

  In a way she’d been relieved. Sapphie hadn’t freaked out too badly, she hadn’t dismembered Jax, and having her sister know the truth alleviated some of her stress.

  But it had finally taken its toll. She hadn’t wanted to talk on the drive to the B&B. Besides, Jax didn’t seem the comforting type. Baring her soul to have him dismiss her or close down as she suspected he might would’ve made her bawl.

  As it was, his caring side had almost made her cry. What had he said, something along the lines of ‘a woman like you deserves a special wedding night’?

  He’d almost undone her.

  She could’ve happily fallen into his strong arms and blubbered all over his designer tux if she hadn’t seen the dawning horror in his eyes.

  Right, got the message. New husband doesn’t do emotions.

  He’d bolted while she slumped on the sofa...and that was the last she remembered.

  She must’ve fallen asleep and he’d carried her into the bedroom. And the fact her foot had encountered his meant he’d taken off her shoes.

  Which begged the question: what else did he take off?

  Sliding a hand under the top sheet, she encountered the sheath dress.

  Who would’ve thought her brooding, charismatic husband was a gentleman too?

  She studied him, his face relaxed in sleep in a way it never was awake. He’d lost the frown lines, the tightness around his mouth, his lips relaxed into a semi-smile.

  He had an inherent toughness that faded when he slept and seeing him sleeping soundly, susceptible, humanised him more than the understanding he’d demonstrated on the drive here yesterday.

  His thoughtfulness in carrying her to the bed and tucking her in impressed her and made her like him more than she should.

  She didn’t want to feel anything for him, it wouldn’t be wise, but with his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheek and his mouth slack with sleep, her heart wriggled.

  Unable to resist, she brushed a lock of hair off his forehead and his eyes instantly snapped open, the fear she glimpsed in them making her heart ache.

  What would make a tough guy like him scared? And wake so quickly? Something in his past, to do with his dad?

  In the second it took her to process it the fear was gone, replaced by a familiar heat, the time to question him lost.

  ‘Sleeping Beauty awakes.’

  She smirked. ‘That’s debatable.’

  He quirked a brow and she scanned his face. ‘You’re not so beautiful.’

  His mouth eased into a grin and her heart kicked. ‘I was talking about you.’

  ‘Technically, I wasn’t sleeping, because I woke first.’

  ‘Are you always this argumentative first thing in the morning?’

  That was when it hit her. Though they hadn’t finalised living arrangements yet—she wouldn’t budge from her apartment above the workshop and he wouldn’t move in with her—in all probability they’d have to cohabit for some length of time to convince people of the validity of this marriage. And it stood to reason that she’d find it increasingly difficult to ignore the simmering attraction between them, so she might be waking up next to him every morning for the foreseeable future until they both got what they wanted out of this deal and the marriage dissolved.

  ‘Depends.’

  He propped up on one elbow, the sheet slipping and revealing a spectacular bronzed, broad chest.

  ‘On what?’

  She curled her fingers into her palm to stop from reaching out and seeing if that wall of muscle felt as good as it looked.

  ‘On what you plan on doing to shut me up.’

  His gaze roved over her face, her chest, and lower. ‘Plenty.’

  How could one word pack so much punch, so much promise?

  ‘As a wise guy once told me, big statement, but can you deliver?’

  He lifted the sheet and she mouthed ‘wow’.

  Yep, he could definitely deliver.

  ‘I’m not the one who fell asleep last night.’

  Still reeling from the size of what she’d seen under that sheet, she swallowed. ‘You’re not the one who had to tell her sister she’d married the enemy.’

  His smile faded and she mentally kicked herself. ‘Is that how you see me?’

  ‘You were undercutting our gem prices and driving us out of business. What do you think?’

  He paused, several emotions flitting across his expressive face—regret, annoyance, pride—before he deliberately blanked.

  ‘I think if this is your idea of pillow talk, it leaves a lot to be desired.’

  She knew what she was doing. Deliberately sabotaging this. Too scared to fully commit to a marriage she’d barged into with the finesse of a wounded rhino.

  Not that she was a simpering virgin, far from it, but maybe her subconscious was holding up a warning sign, Danger Ahead?

  Waking up next to Jax was too cosy, too intimate, too soon.

  She didn’t want to fall into his arms, didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. They might be married but she had no intention of acting the dutiful wife.

  He chose that moment to run a fingertip across her shoulder and down her upper arm. Slow. Teasing. Leaving a trail of tiny goose bumps.

  ‘Because I can think of more interesting versions of pillow talk...’

  His fingertip lingered in the hollow of her elbow, lightly skating across her skin with the barest of touches but enough to make her yearn to have him touch her all over.

  She bit her lip as he picked up her hand and nibbled on the pad of her thumb, inching his way towards her wrist where he licked her pulse point and she moaned.

  The way she saw it, she had two choices. Do this the hard way and deny them both a good time. Or do this the easy way and have scintillating sex as a bonus to a dodgy business marriage.

  His lips trailed up her arm, nipping at her skin, setting her alight until she couldn’t stand the minimal contact and wanted more.

  She wanted it all.

  Determinedly ignoring her residual doubts that this was a very bad idea, she tugged on the sheet, exposing his entire chest in all its magnificence.

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to talk any more?’

  ‘Me either.’ In one swift movement he rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed, and she sighed with pleasure at his weight pressing her to the mattress, his erection pressing into her pelvis.

  Her arms slid around him, sliding down his back, encountering an exceptionally taut, exceptionally grope-able butt.

  Nuzzling his neck, she murmured, ‘One of us is gloriously naked, the other is way overdressed.’

  ‘Easily rectified.’ He rolled off her, taking her with him, so now she lay flat on top of him.

  He ripped her zip down, eased the straps off her shoulders and pushed the dress down with the finesse of a man desperate for a little skin-on-skin action.

  ‘No bra, smart girl.’

  He palmed her breasts, kneading them with firm strokes, tweaking her nipples until she groaned.

  ‘You’re so responsive,’ he said, his hands lifting her torso so his mouth could pick up where his hands left off.

  He laved and suckled her nipples until she writhed, begging him for more in unintelligible gibberish.

  Lifting his head, he blew on her nipples and they pebbled, his cool breath sending hot fire streaking to her core.

  He flipped again, laying her on her back, rising up on all fours to hover over her like some erotic fantasy lover come to life.

  ‘You’re magnificent,’ she said, reaching up to skim her palms across his chest, his abs, edging lower.

  He growled in approval and rip
ped off her panties, tossing the scrap of silk over his shoulder.

  She gasped as he splayed her legs. She moaned as he lowered his head and licked her. She screamed a few short licks later as her orgasm slammed into her in a raging crescendo that left her boneless.

  Smug, he snagged a foil pocket from the bedside table, tore it open and sheathed himself, while she continued to lie there almost comatose.

  She liked sex. Sex was healthy and fun, especially with the right guy.

  Considering the aftershocks of the orgasm still rippling through her, those other guys had been nothing more than a prelude to the real thing.

  ‘Nothing to say?’ He nudged at her moist centre and her hands bunched the sheets. ‘That’s a first.’

  She arched her pelvis, vindicated by the flare of passion in his eyes as he battled for control.

  ‘One word for you.’ She strained upwards, taking him in an inch. ‘More.’

  With an exultant groan he thrust into her and she saw stars. He filled her to the point of exquisite pain and she clung to him, mindless, as he drove into her repeatedly.

  Their bodies slid over each other, slick with sweat, as she dug her nails into his shoulders, clamouring for release.

  As the tension built he stopped and she stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘What are you doing—?’

  He silenced her with a kiss, his tongue miming what he’d been doing below, keeping her excitement at fever pitch.

  He kissed his way towards her ear, where he murmured, ‘Turn over.’

  She did and within a second he was inside her again, his hand snaking beneath her, wedged between the bed and her clitoris, pleasuring her.

  With every thrust, with every stroke, the inner tension coiled.

  She rose onto all fours as her orgasm neared, and Jax roared, driving into her with a practised frenzy that sent them both over the edge at the same time.

  Stunned, she couldn’t move, her body shaking with the mind-numbing pleasure.

  He rested his forehead on her back, cradling her waist to him, as she absorbed the enormity of what had just happened.

  She’d had the best sex of her life.

  Truly connected physically with a guy.