His Very Convenient Bride Page 6

  ‘I will do this,’ he said, his voice firm and dark. ‘Helena is my wife, this is my marriage, and my company before long. I don’t need the two of you interfering like a couple of old women.’

  The brandy had mellowed them, Flynn realised when they both laughed. Time was he’d have been punished for speaking in such a way. But the balance of power had changed now, whether they liked it or not. They couldn’t keep him out, or under their control any longer.

  ‘Then we’ll leave you to get on with that,’ Ezekiel said, getting to his feet. He placed his empty glass on the table, and Thomas followed suit. ‘We’re flying out in the morning, but I’m sure your mother will make sure we see you before we go.’

  Flynn nodded. Morning wasn’t far away now. Not long until it was just him, Helena and the elephant of a post-nup in the middle of the villa. He’d fix this. He had to.

  Thomas raised a hand in parting and headed out, but Ezekiel paused in the doorway. ‘Two weeks, Flynn. I expect those papers on my desk within twenty-four hours of your return to London, or I’ll take steps.’

  He closed the door behind him before Flynn could respond. Flynn stared around his father’s study, at the inner sanctum that was almost, almost his, and thought about going to talk to his wife.

  Then he got up and poured himself another brandy instead. One thing at a time, he decided. And tomorrow, once everyone else had gone, was plenty soon enough.

  Especially as he had a sneaking suspicion that Helena wasn’t going to like being handled one little bit.

  * * *

  The bridal suite was bigger than she remembered. Or maybe it just seemed smaller when Thea was in there with her. It hadn’t even been so bad when the maid was there, loosening the laces of her corset and helping her to step out of the heavy wedding dress.

  But now it was just her, alone with the dress hanging from the wardrobe door, and Helena didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

  A maid had moved her belongings in, presumably during the reception. Helena wondered whether the wedding planner had asked her to do that, or if it had been Isabella. She wondered where Thea’s things had gone.

  She wondered where Thea and Zeke were right now.

  Shaking her head, Helena moved over to the chest of drawers under the window, looking for her nightwear. The third drawer she opened yielded results, and she pulled out the slippery satin negligee she’d packed in a ridiculous fit of optimism.

  ‘Just in case,’ Thea had said when they were packing together, back in London. ‘You know, a high percentage of engaged people in a recent study said that they met their partners at a mutual friend’s wedding. You never know who you might meet!’

  She’d known what Thea meant, though, by the suggestion. That it was time for Helena to move on. To start living that part of her life again. She’d never talked with her sister about the hours spent with the counsellor, talking through the memories, nodding meaninglessly as she was told she couldn’t blame herself, that what had happened to her didn’t have to define her life. But probably, in Thea’s mind, it had been eight years and that was long enough to dwell.

  How could she explain that knowing those things was one thing, and acting on them another entirely?

  So instead she’d pointed out that the only people she was likely to meet at a Morrison-Ashton wedding were clients, most of whom were either already married or too married to their jobs for Helena to be interested in them.

  And now look at her. Married to the almost CEO of the family business, the man who put the ‘work’ in ‘workaholic’. Perfect.

  She shoved the fancy nightie back in the drawer and slammed it shut. Returning to drawer number two, she yanked out a pair of workout shorts and a T-shirt instead. It wasn’t as if Flynn was going to get the chance to appreciate—or even see—whatever she wore to bed tonight anyway.

  Flopping back on to her bed, Helena grabbed her phone from where the maid had helpfully plugged it in to charge and set it on the bedside table. As she stared at the dark screen, a wave of homesick longing flooded through her.

  She wanted her sister.

  She needed Thea there, to talk through all the craziness. She was the only person in the world who could possibly understand and maybe make sense of all the thoughts and feelings and fears whirling around in Helena’s brain right now. Thea would yell, she was pretty sure, and tell her she was an idiot and she didn’t have to do this. She’d probably cry and feel guilty, too.

  But she’d help her fix it, one way or another.

  With a sigh, Helena dropped the phone on the bed cover beside her. That, of course, was exactly why she couldn’t phone Thea. For the first time in her life, Thea had chosen to go after what she wanted, what would make her happy, rather than staying behind and helping Helena, or the family, or the business. Helena couldn’t jeopardise that by calling her now, throwing her back into the family lunacy. Thea was out and she was happy. And Helena was going to keep it that way.

  Which meant she had to fix this herself.

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, Helena pulled her knees up and turned on her side, small and insignificant in the oversized room. There was another reason not to tell Thea, of course. A horrible, sneaky, underhand reason. One Helena really hoped wasn’t true, but she couldn’t promise that, even to herself.

  Did I plan for this to happen?

  Thea would ask. Maybe not immediately, but eventually it would come up. Thea had to have known about the crippling crush Helena had nurtured for Flynn when they were teens. At fourteen or fifteen, he’d been all she could think about. He was kind, serious, and his eyes had mesmerised her. Not boring blue like hers, but pools of molten caramel. Helena had written embarrassingly awful poetry about his eyes. But, more than anything, he hadn’t treated her like ‘little Helena’ the way everyone else did. He’d seen her as a real person, not just a silly child. A woman, even, with her own dreams and ideas. And he’d encouraged her to go after them.

  Of course, he’d been six years older and already away at university then, home only for holidays and birthdays. Maybe that was part of it—he wasn’t around her enough to be irritated by the little hanger-on, the way Thea and Zeke had been. It had also ensured that Flynn had remained completely oblivious to her affections. And Helena wasn’t about to let him find out now.

  But Thea must have realised. Isabella certainly had. And since that was still...before, she’d been sympathetic, even caring and protective of Helena’s feelings.

  That crush was a decade old, of course, but the thought still lingered. Had she manipulated things so that she was the one who ended up in the wedding dress? She didn’t think so—and, even if she had, she didn’t think Thea and Zeke would be complaining. But she’d certainly jumped into that dress quickly enough.

  She’d told Flynn, and herself, that it was all to save face, to protect the family—even to protect Flynn from any embarrassment. But, at the heart of it, had she married him because a part of her had never truly moved on from that crippling teenage crush?

  Helena wasn’t sure.

  But she knew a crush wasn’t enough of a reason to stay married, and neither was family loyalty. Just as she’d told Thea. And she already knew she wouldn’t be able to give Flynn the future he wanted.

  Still...

  Maybe it was the champagne talking or the lack of food, but Helena couldn’t shake one lingering thought. Even if it wasn’t forever...could she really pass up the opportunity to live out the wedding night her fourteen-year-old self had dreamed of so often?

  Her stomach clenched at just the idea of it. Could she even try? Thea, the counsellor—everyone had told her she had to move on with her life. Had to open up to intimacy again. And she’d tried, of course she had, but it had never felt quite...safe.

  Flynn was safe. A laugh bubbled up as she remembered her father calling
him ‘a safe pair of hands’. But he was right. Flynn would never hurt her, or make her do anything she didn’t want. And he was enough of a gentleman that if she changed her mind she was pretty sure he’d not just let her go but never even mention it again.

  And he was her husband. Even if she wouldn’t—couldn’t—give him children, she could give him this. Give them this. And didn’t they deserve something good at the end of this horrendous day?

  It would be good, she knew. Better than good. She might not have a lot to compare it to, but that kiss...she’d almost melted at his feet right then. How could anything that led on from that kiss be less than spectacular?

  Helena swallowed, made herself sit up. This was the rest of her life, starting today. She’d done her part and now they were all even. She wasn’t going to waste any more time trying to make up for things—she’d done everything that she could. And maybe she and Flynn wouldn’t make this marriage last longer than it took the ink to dry on the divorce papers, but didn’t that mean there was all the more reason to mark the occasion?

  She was moving on from everything that had led them to this day. And sleeping with her husband would prove that.

  Pushing herself up off the bed, Helena padded across to the chest of drawers and opened the third drawer again, holding the negligee up against her body for a moment as she summoned up every bit of courage she possessed.

  Time for a fresh start.

  * * *

  Flynn was halfway through the second brandy when the knock came. He blinked, confused, for a moment. This was his father’s study. Who would come looking for him here at long past midnight? And it felt so weird to be the one about to call for whomever it was to come in. As if he should be sitting on the other side of the big old desk, staring censoriously at someone.

  A second knock. Flynn shook his head, blamed the brandy for his thoughts and said, ‘Come in.’

  The door creaked open, slow and loud, and Flynn put down his glass and sat up straight as Helena’s blonde waves appeared around the edge of it.

  ‘Oh, good,’ she said with an unfamiliar smile. ‘You’re alone. This could have been embarrassing otherwise.’

  ‘Embarrassing?’ Flynn asked, confused. But then Helena stepped into the room and he understood all too well. ‘Oh.’

  The pale satin of her negligee clung to curves he’d barely realised she had until he’d glimpsed her in her underwear that morning. Somehow, even if this ensemble covered more, it seemed worse. He could almost make out the dark tips of her nipples through the thin fabric, and his whole body was suddenly heavy with desire.

  Helena bit her lip and Flynn knew he should set her at her ease, reassure her about...something. But he couldn’t find the words. Any words. Could barely remember the English language, in fact.

  ‘So, I was sitting up in the bridal suite and I got to thinking.’ Turning, she closed the door behind her and Flynn’s eyes focused automatically on her bottom, lush and curved and perfectly highlighted by the satin. Oh, he was doomed.

  ‘Thinking,’ he repeated dumbly, very aware that he had absolutely no idea what was happening here and, given the circumstances, probably little chance of figuring it out even if she explained it in words of no greater than two syllables. ‘Uh...what about?’

  ‘Us, mostly.’ Facing him again, she flashed him a smile—a bright and happy smile like he remembered from Helena of old. Helena at fourteen, following him around the house all Christmas Day, her new camera in hand. Except Helena at fourteen had worn taffeta dresses his mother picked out and had never, ever rendered him speechless like this.

  ‘You mean the wedding?’ Flynn asked, feeling proud of himself for managing that much in the face of satin nightwear.

  ‘More...the marriage.’ Moving over to the drinks cabinet he’d left open, Helena poured herself a brandy, then brought the bottle over to top up his glass. Because obviously what he needed at this point was more alcohol. The two brandies he’d already had appeared to have addled his mind completely.

  Or maybe that was just her.

  She sat down in his father’s abandoned chair and crossed her legs, slim ankles showing under the hem of her negligee. Flynn had always felt that ankles were fairly safe parts of the female anatomy to look at, until now. Now, all he could think about was encircling one of those neat ankles with his fingers, trailing them up under all that satin until she uncrossed those legs and parted her thighs for him...

  No. Hadn’t he already decided he couldn’t risk getting any closer to his wife until they agreed terms? He needed her tied to him for good before he risked anything—pregnancy or worse. He couldn’t take the chance that he’d grow attached, start imagining their future together, if she might walk out on him at any moment. And he wasn’t about to let brandy and satin derail the only part of his plan that was still intact.

  ‘Did you want to talk about the marriage contract?’ he asked, straightening himself in his chair and placing his full glass out of easy reach on the table. All he was feeling right now was lust. Nothing to worry about—as long as he didn’t act on it. A one-night stand would be one thing, a temporary release—and wow, did he want that right now. But a man couldn’t have a one-night stand with his own wife. That wasn’t how this worked.

  ‘Not exactly.’ The smile she gave him now wasn’t a memory at all. It was all new—teasing and tempting and tantalising. The sort of smile Flynn Ashton would never have been allowed to see if he hadn’t married this woman that morning.

  Suddenly, the whole fiasco seemed worthwhile, just for a glimpse of that smile. Even if he couldn’t do anything about it—yet.

  Yet. That was the key. He didn’t need to close this door forever, didn’t need to shut down what this could be completely. He just needed to put it on ice until they got the details sorted. Who knew, the anticipation might even make the final outcome all the sweeter.

  He just needed to exercise a little patience, that was all. And who knew patience better than him? The man who’d spent his life waiting to belong, for a place in the family, to be trusted with the business. He was so close now and he couldn’t let his libido screw that up for him.

  ‘I was thinking that there could be certain perks to this being married thing,’ Helena went on, and Flynn focused very hard on not imagining those perks.

  ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘I mean, we have this great opportunity to get to know each other better, for one thing.’ Helena folded her legs up under her so she could lean over the arm of the chair, bringing her closer to him. He could smell her skin. She smelt like roses, and it was going to kill him.

  ‘I’ve known you since you were born,’ Flynn pointed out. ‘I think we know each other pretty well.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Helena’s answering smile was brief, and shaded. Almost sad. Flynn frowned; he’d known earlier, talking with her father, that he was missing something about Helena’s past. That sad smile just made him want to know what even more. ‘But we’re different people now.’

  ‘Than when we were children?’ Flynn laughed, but he knew it sounded forced. ‘I should hope so.’

  ‘We’re different people than we were this morning, Flynn,’ Helena said, her beautiful face suddenly serious. ‘You’re a husband now, and I’m a wife. I’m Mrs Flynn Ashton now, remember?’

  Sobered, Flynn nodded his agreement. ‘I know. And that’s...it’s a big change for both of us. And that’s why I think we need to spend some time figuring out what that means, for our futures, not just the family or the business.’

  Helena blinked and sat back a little. ‘I’m glad you feel that way.’

  ‘What did you expect?’ Flynn asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  ‘Well, you disappeared from our wedding to hole up with my father and yours—presumably to discuss how our marriage impacts on the shareholders or something.’ Helena s
hrugged. ‘You can understand my belief that the human part of this marriage comes second.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Flynn assured her. ‘But our parents are flying out tomorrow morning and I wanted to deal with them before they go. So that we don’t have to think about them at all while we enjoy our honeymoon.’ Instead, he could focus on getting Helena to sign the blasted marriage agreement so that when they got back to London he could put his energies into taking over as CEO of Morrison-Ashton, rather than firefighting whatever actions his father decided to take to solve the problem.

  ‘Our honeymoon...’ Helena’s tongue darted out to lick her lips and Flynn’s mind flew from business back to their first kiss. The way she’d melted against him, how his hands had clenched at her hips. How all he’d wanted in the world was to draw her closer and closer to him...

  Not helping.

  ‘I had some ideas about our honeymoon,’ Helena went on. ‘And getting to know each other better during it.’ She leant in again and Flynn forced himself to pull back, to keep a distance between them, even if it was somehow actually physically painful.

  ‘I had some thoughts too,’ he said. ‘I think the first thing we need to do is get the paperwork sorted.’

  Helena blinked at him then shifted back, away. ‘Paperwork.’

  ‘I think it’s important that we both know where we stand in this marriage.’ He kept his gaze fixed on hers as he spoke. He wasn’t hiding away from her, or pretending he didn’t know what she was offering. But he needed to be plain about the way things were going to be.

  No sex until they had the papers signed. Even if it felt as if it might kill him.

  ‘You mean your father wants to make sure I’ve signed away my rights to anything worthwhile before I get my feminine claws into you.’ Helena got to her feet, shaking her head. ‘You know, he really doesn’t have to worry. I don’t want your money or your business. I don’t even want this stupid ring, but I can’t get it off my fat finger.’ She waved her left hand in front of his face and Flynn reached out to grab it.