really was a no.’
She locked her gaze on his—he had to understand this if they were going to go on. ‘I mean it, Joe. I didn’t want to get married. Ever. I’m not wife material.’
‘And yet here I am, married to you.’
He held her gaze and there was something familiar there. Something that made her stomach tighten in a knot and her skin prickle in awareness. With all the unexpected drama of finding themselves married, it seemed as if they’d both temporarily forgotten that they had also found themselves in bed together that morning.
Perhaps he was remembering something similar, because all of a sudden there was a new fire in his eyes, a new heat in the way that he was looking at her.
Her memory might be a bit ropey, but between the caffeine and the sugar her brain had been pretty much put back together, and there was one image of the night before that she couldn’t get from her mind.
You may now kiss the bride.
They’d all burst out laughing, finding the whole thing hilarious. But as soon as Joe’s hand had brushed against her cheek, cupping her jaw to turn her face up to him, the laughs had died in her throat. He’d been looking down at her as if he were only just seeing her for the first time, as if she had been made to look different by their marriage. His lush eyelashes had swept shut as he’d leaned towards her, and she’d had just a second to catch her breath before his lips had touched hers. They had been impossibly soft, and to start with had just pressed dry and chaste against hers. She’d reached up as he had and touched his cheek, just a gentle, friendly caress of her finger against his stubbled skin. But it had seemed to snap something within him; a gasp had escaped his lips, been swallowed by hers. His mouth had parted, and heat had flared between them.
She’d closed her eyes, understood that she was giving herself up to something more powerful than the simple actions of two individuals. As her eyes had shut her mouth had opened and her body had bowed towards her husband. Her hips had met his, and instantly sparks had crackled. His hands had left her face to lock around her waist, dragging her in tight and holding her against him. His tongue had been hot and hungry in her mouth; her hands frenzied, exploring the contours of his chest, his back, his butt.
And then the applause of their audience had broken into her consciousness, and she’d remembered where they were. What they were doing.
Blood had rushed to her cheeks and she could feel them glow as she’d broken away from Joe, acknowledging the whoops with an ironic wave.
‘All right, all right,’ she’d said, a sip of champagne helping with the brazen nonchalance; she’d hoped that she was successfully hiding the shake in her voice. ‘Hope you enjoyed the show, people.’
She’d looked up at Joe to see whether she had imagined the connection between them, whether he’d still felt it buzzing and humming and trying to pull their bodies back together. By the heated, haunted look in his eyes, she wasn’t alone in this.
He was worried, and he should be, because this marriage of convenience had just got a whole lot more complicated, for both of them. It had been a laugh, a joke, until their lips had met and they had both realised, simultaneously, that the flirting and banter that had provided an edge of excitement to their dancing that night would be a dangerous force unless they got a lid on it.
In the cold light of the morning after, she knew that they needed to face the problem head-on. She broke her gaze away from him, trying to cover what they had both clearly been remembering.
‘Ground rules,’ she said firmly, distracting herself by taking another bite of pie. ‘If we do this, there have to be ground rules to stop it getting complicated.’ He nodded in agreement, and she kept talking. ‘First of all, we keep this strictly business. We both need to keep our heads and be able to walk away when the time is right. Let’s acknowledge that there is chemistry between us, but if we let that lead us, we’re not going to be objective and make smart decisions. And I think we both agree that we need to be smart.’
‘People will talk if we don’t make this look good. It has to be convincing.’
‘Well, duh.’ She waved to the waitress for a coffee refill. ‘You’re really trying to teach me how to handle the press? Obviously, in public we behave as if we’re so madly in love that we couldn’t wait a single minute longer to get married. We sell the hell out of it and make sure that no one has a choice but to believe us. But that’s in public. In private, we’re respectful colleagues.’
He snorted. ‘Colleagues? You think we can do that? You were there, weren’t you, last night? You do remember?’
Did she remember the kiss? The shivers? The way that she could still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers, as if the touch of skin on skin had permanently altered the cells? Yeah, she remembered, but that wasn’t what was important here.
‘And that’s why we need the rules, Joe. If you want to stay married to me, you’d better listen up and pay attention.’
‘Oh, I’m listening, and you’re very clear. In public, I’m madly in love with you. Behind closed doors I’m at arm’s length. Got it. So what are your other rules?’
She resurrected the death stare. ‘No cheating. Ever. If we’re going to make people believe this, they have to really believe it. We can’t risk the story being hijacked. Doesn’t matter how discreet you think you’re being, it’s never enough.’
‘I get it. You don’t share. Goes without saying.’
She dropped her cup back onto her saucer a little heavier than she had planned, and the hot, bitter liquid slopped over the side again. ‘This isn’t about me, Joe. Don’t pretend to know me. This is about appearances. I’ve already told you, this isn’t personal.’
‘Fine, well, if you’re all done then I’ve got a rule of my own.’
‘Go on, then.’ She raised an eyebrow in anticipation.
‘You move in with me.’
This time, the whole cup went over, coffee sloshing over the side of the table and onto her faded black jeans. At least she’d managed to miss her white shirt, she thought, thanking whoever was responsible for small mercies. She mopped hastily with a handful of napkins, buying her precious moments to regain her composure and think about what he had said. Of course she understood deep down that they would have to live together. But somehow, until he’d said it out loud, she hadn’t believed it.
They would be alone together. Living alone together. No one to chaperone or keep them to their ‘this is just business’ word. Watching him across a diner table this morning, it wasn’t exactly easy to keep her hands off him, so how were they meant to do that living alone together?
But she knew better than anyone that they had to make this look good. If her parents knew that she’d only done this to get out of the marriage to Philippe they would be so disappointed, and she didn’t know that she could take doing that to them again.
Separate flats weren’t going to cut it. By the time she looked back up, she knew that she seemed calm, regardless of what was going on underneath.
‘Of course, that makes sense. Are you going to insist on your place rather than mine?’
‘I’ll need my recording studio.’
She
