slung him a look of seething dislike. ‘All right, you were right. My life is a mess, people who I’ve never met are discussing surgery I never had and it’s my own fault.’ Which of course made it worse. ‘I achieved nothing and now I’m likely to lose my job, too.’
She closed her eyes, feeling herself falling into the relentless cycle of self-recriminating circles that she had spent the entire weekend trying to escape.
‘Self-pity doesn’t suit you.’
She opened her eyes with an outraged snap and snarled, ‘Go to hell!’ Then she closed them again.
Her moment of madness still seemed unreal; when she thought of it now it felt like some sort of out-of-body experience.
It made no sense. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been painfully aware of the dangers of reacting in the heat of the moment—two foster families had felt unable to cope with the twins after she had reacted.
It was a lesson Mari had learned well. In the short term there was immense satisfaction in making the boy who stole your brother’s lunch money cry and walloping the bully who shut a puppy in a telephone kiosk—the black eye had been so worth it—but there were consequences.
There always were, which was why she no longer reacted before she thought—she considered consequences to the point where Mark frequently complained about her lack of spontaneity. But on Saturday she’d not just been spontaneous, she’d been... She shuddered and shook her head, bringing her chin up. She’d done the crime so now it was about taking the punishment—whatever that might be...
‘I know of a job vacancy that might suit you.’
She opened her eyes and turned her head, still nestled on the leather headrest, to face him, not bothering to hide her suspicion. ‘You suddenly became Santa Claus?’
‘No, I suddenly became in need of a wife.’
She struggled to match his flippancy. ‘Is that a proposal?’
‘Yes.’
The colour flared hot and then faded pale in her cheeks as she sat bolt upright and reached for the door handle. ‘I’m assuming this is some sort of joke. Word to the wise—don’t give up your day job. Stand-up is not your thing.’
‘What I am suggesting is a business arrangement.’ Only his long fingers silently drumming on the steering wheel suggested he was not as relaxed as he appeared.
Mari’s fingers tightened on the handle. ‘Hate is not a good basis for a business arrangement.’
‘I’ve factored that in,’ he retorted with unimpaired cool. ‘In public we would act the happy, loved-up couple.’
A hissing sound left her lips. ‘Marriage. You’re actually talking about marriage—it’s not a sick joke?’ She scanned his face. ‘What planet do you live on?’
‘In private you can carry on hating me and to a large extent living your own life. Eighteen months, we decided, would suffice before we make our irreconcilable differences public—’
‘We...?’ Listening now simply because she couldn’t believe what he was saying, not because she was for one second buying into his crazy suggestion, she pulled the door she had opened closed with a loud, angry bang that shook the car. ‘What is this—proposal by committee?’
Every little girl’s dream, Mari thought, repressing a sudden strong impulse to laugh, or was that cry?
‘I’ve had my legal people draw up a contract. It’s ready for your lawyer to look at.’
He spoke as if everyone had a legal team waiting at the end of the phone. ‘I don’t have a lawyer. You’d be surprised by how many people in the real world don’t.’
He ignored her sarcasm. ‘I suggest you get one before you sign up for this.’
Mari took a deep breath. She had humoured him too long. ‘I’m not going to sign up for this—you’re mad,’ she said with total conviction. ‘Why the hell would you want to get married? Assuming that you haven’t decided I’m your soulmate.’
‘This is about damage limitation, not soulmates,’ he cut back, ignoring her sarcasm. ‘I have spent the weekend trying to repair the damage your stunt inflicted on a crucial business deal.’
His comment stirred a memory. ‘The royal thing?’
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Good, you know about it, so I don’t have to explain that the royal family are very nervous about scandal, especially the sexual kind that involves men getting women pregnant and deserting them.’
‘So you told them you didn’t know me.’
An expression she could not quite read flickered across his face as he looked at her. ‘Strangely, you know, I feel I do, but no, the truth would not have worked. You were way too convincing, angel. I almost believed you myself except I think I might have remembered sleeping with you. No, this was a situation that required some creativity.’
‘Lies, you mean. Like the one when you said there were no strings to you paying for Mark’s treatment!’
‘No, I meant that if you refuse my proposal your brother’s treatment will still be funded. The two are not co-dependent.’
‘So why would I say yes without blackmail?’
‘Because you don’t want to be in my debt...’ His narrow-eyed scrutiny moved across her face. ‘The idea of that kills you, doesn’t it?’ This thing hung on her stiff-necked pride and his ability to keep his lust in check. This needed to stay business and he needed to retain control.
‘Yes!’ she flung back, hating him so much she could taste it.
‘Excellent... In that case you should probably know about us.’
‘About...?’
‘I gave us a history. We had a short passionate relationship, but there was a lovers’ falling-out—we can’t even remember what the fight was about now. We met up again not long ago by accident, we shared a night of passion, but we were both with other people by then and we went our separate ways. I had no idea you were pregnant until you appeared. Seeing you again has made me realise that you are the love of my life.’
It was all delivered in the sort of deadpan tone that made a computerised voice sound animated. Mari looked at him, fascinated. ‘And they swallowed that?’
‘I lack your dramatic talent,’ he admitted drily. ‘There was no soul baring involved. The reality is they have as much time and money invested in this deal as I do and they are less concerned about me doing the right thing than me being seen to do the right thing.’
‘They sound as shallow as you.’
‘It’s called realism. You ought to try it some time.’
‘I can see a massive flaw in your plan—the baby—so do you expect me to walk around with a pillow shoved down my jumper, too?’
‘That
