Not a Marrying Man Read online

  Not this past week, however. He hadn’t offered to take her and she hadn’t asked. Even if he’d asked her today, she probably would have said no. She’d had other plans.

  Amber had known it would take many hours to prepare for the evening ahead. She’d gone to the hairdresser first, after which she’d bought herself a new dress, something extra pretty and feminine. Then she’d had to shop for food, set the table, prepare the bedroom, and, finally, herself.

  Oh, yes, Amber thought ruefully as her eyes cleared to rake over her reflection. She’d spent hours on herself, making sure that she looked exactly as Warwick liked her to look.

  On the surface, her appearance hadn’t changed much since the first day they’d met. Her hairstyle was exactly the same, though she’d given in to Warwick’s request to have her honey colour lightened to a cool, creamy blonde. And it did look classier somehow. Her eyebrows were more finely plucked these days, and the makeup she now wore was extremely expensive, not from the supermarket ranges that she used to buy. Although she couldn’t see all that much difference, despite the time it took to apply everything. Maybe the lipsticks stayed on a little longer and the mascara was definitely waterproof.

  Her figure was still basically the same, longer workouts in the gym ensuring that all the restaurant food she’d devoured over the past ten months hadn’t settled on her thighs or her stomach. Slightly taller than average, Amber had been blessed with a naturally slim body, yet enough curves to attract male attention.

  Of course, her wardrobe had changed dramatically, Warwick insisting that she allow him to dress her the way a woman of her ‘exquisite beauty’ should be dressed. He always called her a woman, never a girl. She’d been powerless to resist his compliments—as she’d been powerless to resist him—and now had a walk-in robe full of designer clothes; something for every possible occasion.

  Nothing too sexy, though. Warwick said that true sexiness was what was hidden, not what was displayed.

  A shiver trickled down Amber’s spine when she thought about what was hidden under the softly feminine Orsini original she was wearing.

  The long-awaited sound of her cell phone ringing had her throwing her hairbrush down and racing back out into the living room, where she thought she’d left it. But the sound wasn’t coming from there. Had she left the handset out on the balcony? She didn’t think she had.

  And then she remembered.

  ‘The kitchen!’

  Amber prayed for it to keep on ringing as she bolted for the kitchen, wishing that the rooms in this place weren’t quite so big.

  At last she snatched the phone up into her hands, sweeping it up to her ear and saying, ‘Thank heavens you didn’t hang up,’ rather breathlessly at the same time.

  ‘Er … it’s Mum, Amber. Not … who you thought it was.’

  Amber suppressed a groan of dismay. Thank goodness she had a call waiting facility or she’d go stark raving bonkers, having to talk to her mother when Warwick might be trying to contact her.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said much more calmly than she was feeling. ‘What’s up? ‘

  Her mother rarely rang her these days, their relationship having become strained since the day she’d announced that she’d quit her job, broken off with Cory and moved in with her billionaire boss.

  Amber could well understand why her family didn’t approve of her actions and she’d finally given up trying to justify what she’d done. Because there was no justification. She couldn’t even use love as an excuse. There’d been no love back then, just lust. Though she preferred to think of it as passion—the kind of passion that was as powerful as it was impossible to describe, especially to your mother.

  It had been quite a few months before Amber realised she’d actually fallen in love with Warwick. Up till then she’d been so blinded by her desire for the man that she’d been unaware of the deepening of her emotional attachment. The illumination of her true feelings had happened with all the suddenness and force of a bolt of lightning. They’d been staying at a resort in far North Queensland one weekend late last summer, when Warwick had decided to go bungee-jumping. She’d refused to participate herself but had gone along to watch, knowing it was better on her nerves to accompany Warwick on his thrill-seeking activities rather than stay behind and worry. Something had gone wrong with the length of the rope and his head had almost hit the rocks below. Amber had been absolutely horrified, both by his near miss and the realisation of her love.

  Up till then, she’d convinced herself—perhaps as a form of self-protection—that she wouldn’t be heartbroken when her time with Warwick was up. After all, broken hearts were for people who truly loved each other. She’d told herself repeatedly that going back to the real world would be difficult, but she would survive.

  Suddenly, with Warwick’s near-death experience, Amber saw what her life would be like without him. The wool was violently pulled from her eyes and she saw with painful clarity that she’d been fooling herself, big time.

  She did love him. Not just truly, but madly and very very deeply.

  But she certainly didn’t say as much to Warwick, who’d made it clear right from the start that love was no more on his agenda than marriage and children. Quietly, however, like any typical female, Amber had begun to harbour the hope that she might be the exception to that rule as well; that one day he’d discover that he’d fallen madly in love with her too and wanted to keep her for ever. But that hope was rapidly fading.

  ‘Something strange has happened regarding Kate’s will,’ her mother announced, cutting into her thoughts.

  ‘Oh? What? She left everything to Dad, didn’t she?’

  Who else? Aunt Kate had been a spinster and Amber’s father’s only sibling.

  ‘She did in her old will. But it seemed she made a new will, witnessed by those two friends of hers. Max and Tara Richmond. You know who I mean, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Amber had first met the Richmonds on Christmas day two years ago, when Christmas dinner had been held at Aunt Kate’s place.

  Max Richmond was the owner of the Royale chain of international hotels, including the Regency Royale in Sydney, but had semi-retired to the Central Coast after his marriage. He and his wife were good friends of her Aunt Kate. They were a very glamorous-looking couple, with two amazingly well-behaved children: a darling little boy named Stevie and a very pretty blonde baby named Jasmine, who just sat in her stroller and smiled at everyone.

  Amber recalled thinking on more than one occasion that they seemed the perfect family.

  ‘You may or may not have noticed,’ her mother said, ‘but the Richmonds weren’t at Kate’s funeral last week.’

  ‘No, I didn’t notice.’ She’d been too upset to notice anything much.

  ‘They were overseas at the time of Kate’s death and didn’t learn about it till they returned home yesterday. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they immediately got in touch with us to let us know that they were in possession of a new will, made just after Easter this year. In it, Kate has left her superannuation policy to your father, but her home and all its contents go to you.’

  ‘What? But that’s not right. I don’t deserve it!’

  ‘Whether you deserve it or not is not the point,’ her mother said archly. ‘Kate’s bed and breakfast is now legally yours.’

  Amber blinked with shock. Her aunt’s B & B was situated a stone’s throw from Wamberal Beach, a much-sought-after location during the warmer months of the year. Any seaside town within a couple of hours’ drive from Sydney was never lacking for guests, especially during the school holidays. Aunt Kate had made a good living for herself over the years, though she’d wound the business down a lot lately, because of her age. She didn’t even have a website, relying on past customers and word of mouth for guests, plus the sign that stood at the entrance to her driveway. Even if it wasn’t a going concern as a B & B any more, the house would still be worth close to a million dollars.

  ‘How does Dad feel about thi
s?’ Amber asked worriedly. ‘Is he upset?’

  ‘He was at first. Not because he wanted the place himself. As you know, we’ve done very well with our fencing business over the last few years and we’re not wanting for money. But we both thought Tom and Tim should have been included in Kate’s will. Yet when your father spoke to them, they said they didn’t mind at all. They actually seemed very pleased for you. They pointed out that they weren’t close to Kate the way you were. They didn’t visit her or love her the way you did. Of course, both my boys have very good jobs,’ her mother said proudly. ‘They don’t need a helping hand. Unlike you.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Amber snapped, hurt by the pride that her mother always voiced in Tom and Tim. Doreen Roberts was one of those women who doted on her sons and largely ignored her only daughter. Amber’s father was just the same. It was no wonder her sole ambition in life had been to leave home and make a family of her own, one where the love was shared around equally.

  ‘We’re all worried about you, Amber, living with that heartless man. Kate was especially worried. I have a suspicion she knew she didn’t have long to live, and changed her will in your favour to throw you a lifeline, so to speak. At least you’ll have a home and a job when that man’s finished with you. Which, if he runs true to form, will be any day now.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Amber threw at her mother before she could think better of it.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, dear. I know quite a lot about Warwick Kincaid and none of it’s very complimentary. He might be successful in his business dealings, but his personal life is another matter. It’s a case of like father, like son.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘His father was a notorious womaniser who hung himself after losing millions at a casino, according to the inquest.’

  Amber was truly shocked. Warwick had told her that his father had died unexpectedly at fifty-one, but she’d just assumed it was from a heart attack or a stroke. He’d said nothing about suicide.

  ‘His wife divorced him soon after their only child was born,’ her mother rattled on, ‘the price of her freedom being that she had to give up custody of her son. At the time, James Kincaid was one of the richest bankers in England with lots of power and influence. It’s all there to read on the Internet if you ever want to look it up.’

  ‘I don’t have to, Mum. I know all about Warwick’s family background.’ Which was an exaggeration of the highest order. Warwick was a man who lived in the here and now. He rarely talked about his past life. Neither did he ask her about hers. He’d told her a few brief details just before Christmas last year when she’d enquired about his family. She did know about the divorce and that his mother—from whom Warwick remained estranged—was an actress of sorts. She knew his mother had never remarried, so he didn’t have any half-brothers or -sisters. She knew nothing of his father’s womanising, or his suicide.

  ‘Then you must know that your boyfriend’s a womaniser as well,’ her mother swept on waspishly. ‘With a mistress left behind in every country he’s lived in. It’s a different country each year: France, Spain, Italy, Turkey, Egypt, India, China, Vietnam … And now Australia. Next year he’ll probably hop over to New Zealand, then on to the Americas. He’s an adventurer, Amber. And a gambler, just like his father. Maybe not at cards or roulette, but with his life. He does dangerous things.’

  ‘Yes, I do know that, Mum,’ Amber said ruefully. Bungee-jumping and heli-skiing weren’t her lover’s only thrill-seeking activities. Warwick liked to drive fast cars and boats. He liked everything that smacked of speed and risk. ‘Please, can we stop this conversation right now? You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.’ Okay, so she hadn’t known the detailed itinerary of his past love life, but she’d been warned about his womanising reputation right from the start, both by Jill and Warwick himself.

  ‘And still, you stay with him,’ her mother said with incredulity in her voice.

  ‘I love him, Mum.’

  It was the first time Amber had said the words out loud to anyone other than herself.

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ her mother snapped. ‘You’re just infatuated with his looks and his lifestyle.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Mum. I do love him,’ Amber insisted hotly. ‘And I won’t leave him. Not unless he asks me to.’

  Her mother sighed. ‘There’s nothing more to be said on that subject, then. So what are you going to do about Kate’s place? You can’t just leave it empty indefinitely. You’ll have to do something with it.’

  ‘Could I rent it out, do you think? I mean … as a holiday house?’ She didn’t want to sell it. Not straight away.

  ‘I suppose so. But you’ll have to find yourself a reliable agent. And soon. Your father went up there last weekend and mowed the lawns and watered the garden but you can’t expect him to keep on doing that. The place is your responsibility now.’

  Amber’s heart jumped when she heard the familiar sound of the front door being opened. Warwick was home at last. Thank heavens! She was beginning to worry that he might have had an accident.

  ‘Mum, I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I’ll come over tomorrow and pick up the keys. Will you be home?’

  ‘Yes. But only till twelve. I have a hairdressing appointment at twelve-thirty.’

  ‘I’ll be there before then. Bye.’

  Amber tossed the phone back down on the granite counter-top and hurried out of the kitchen, her heart thudding behind her ribs in a maddening mixture of excitement and annoyance.

  Just the sight of him tipped her emotions more towards excitement. Warwick was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with a strongly masculine face, a well-shaped head, sexy blue eyes, and an even sexier mouth. Combine that with a body to die for and an English accent that could cut glass and you had a man who’d give James Bond a run for his money. In fact, he would make an excellent James Bond in Amber’s opinion, his suave man-about-town façade hiding a ruthless inner core. He wasn’t totally heartless, as her mother had said. But he was extremely formidable.

  It took courage to confront Warwick with anything, even his tardiness. Normally, Amber forgave his tendency to be late for things.

  But not this time.

  ‘Where on earth have you been?’ she demanded to know. ‘You knew I was cooking a special dinner for us tonight. Why didn’t you call me? I left enough messages on that damned phone of yours!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  WARWICK closed the front door behind him, slipping the security chain into place before turning his attention back to his understandably upset girlfriend.

  How exquisitely beautiful she looked in that glorious pink dress! Beautiful and desirable. Not that it was a sexy garment, by any means. There was no provocative décolletage on display. The neckline was modestly scooped, and the simple flowing style skimmed rather than clung to her curves, the handkerchief hemline reaching down past her knees.

  But never before had a girl turned Warwick on the way Amber could—so damned effortlessly. She didn’t have to flirt, or do any of the boldly seductive things his previous women had done. She only had to be in the same room and his hormones jumped to attention.

  Suddenly, Warwick wasn’t sure if he could continue with the plan he’d started putting into action recently, the one where he showed himself to be the ruthless man he actually was. Much easier to give up on that idea—however perversely noble it was—apologise profusely for being late and do what his body was urging him to do: ravish her all night long.

  The temptation was powerful. But so—as Warwick kept discovering to his surprise—was his conscience. For some time now it had troubled him deeply. Thanks to that wretched aunt of Amber’s.

  Of course, he himself had known right from the start that it had been wrong to take a girl like Amber to his bed. She’d been too young, too sweet and too sensitive.

  But he just hadn’t been able to resist her. The chemistry between them had been electric, right from the first momen
t they’d set eyes on each other.

  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 as he strode into the room, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt as he headed for the built-in bar in the corner. ‘I texted you that I’d be late,’ he threw at her after selecting a glass and reaching for the whisky decanter. ‘For pity’s sake, woman, don’t nag.’

  ‘I … I don’t think it’s nagging to demand politeness,’ she returned in a small, almost crushed voice.

  He should not have glanced up at her, not then. Not when her soft blue eyes looked so wounded.

  Hell on earth, he couldn’t do this. Not tonight. That would be just too cruel.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said more gently. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I’m a bit wound up. Had to sort out a few problems with one of the building contractors. That’s who I was with all this time,’ he lied. He’d actually been sitting in a bar in town all by himself, nursing a whisky for two long hours till he was rudely late. ‘What say I go shower and change into something more comfortable whilst you rustle up dinner?’ he suggested. ‘It’s not spoiled, is it?’

  ‘No.’ Immediately, her dulled eyes glowed with happiness, sending a dagger of guilt plunging into his own wretchedly dark heart.

  Oh, Warwick, Warwick, he thought almost despairingly. How are you going to get yourself out of this mess? The girl loves you. Can’t you see that?

  Yes, of course I can see it, came a frustrated voice from within.

  It wasn’t the first time this realisation had jumped into Warwick’s head. That day he’d gone bunjee-jumping, for instance, when the damned rope had gone awry and he hadn’t been killed. More was the pity. Amber’s feelings had been written all over her face. She’d been trembling with shock and relief when he was brought back up, unharmed.