To Love Honour and Disobey(3)

'I'm going to help with the tyre.' He stood.

She pasted another smile on her face as if that halfsecond had never happened. 'Great.'

A week with Seb on board. She could handle that. Sure she could. No problem.

Chapter Two

ANA spent the next minute reminding herself that although Sebastian  Rentoul had made her feel truly desired for the first time in her life,  he had also been the cause of her darkest heartache. He'd been the flame  that had burned through her until all that had been left inside was  cold ash. The loss she'd felt took her breath away-her life's blood. And  he had no idea.

The only thing that mattered to him was his job. In that he was  ruthless-viciously determined. He did whatever it took to climb to the  top-wasn't that why he'd done what he had with her? They'd been a  one-night stand that went on a few days too long-a weekend getaway that  had culminated in a wedding. Ana had been infatuated; she understood  that now. Intoxicated by his desire for her, overwhelmed by how right  she had felt in his arms. For once she hadn't been too tall, or awkward.  They'd been so physical her usual reticence hadn't mattered-they'd been  too busy to talk. She'd breathlessly, brainlessly said yes. And she'd  been so excited about their future.                       
       
           



       

But it had lasted less than a week. Because when they had returned to  London, and he to work, she'd found out about his promotion-the one that  had depended on him stabilising his personal life. It wasn't that he'd  fallen head over heels for her at all. He'd simply needed a wife-and  she'd been the malleable fling of the moment. The naïve fool.

When she'd accused him of it he hadn't been shy about admitting it,  ruthlessly acknowledging that he had no real belief in marriage-that  he'd never meant it to be for ever. And so she'd found out-too late-that  his life was one big game. He was a playboy. And he'd played her.  Sebastian Rentoul got everything and anything and anyone he wanted. That  conversation had been short and brutal. She'd walked out-run away. But  for her, the worst had yet to come.

So in the end it took only thirty seconds to underline why she was  definitely, totally, not going there again. But it was half an hour  until the tyre was changed and they got back on board. Seb returned to  the seat next to her and her pulse was still too fast, too erratic.

There was nothing for her to do but box on through it. 'How's work going?'

He sent her an ironic look. 'It's going well. Lots of cases. I've been working long hours.'

And partying even longer hours, she bet. She'd been wowed when she'd  found out he was a lawyer-had been such an ignorant idealist. But Seb  wasn't that kind of lawyer. He didn't don wig and gown and go defend the  innocent or the persecuted. He did divorce. Representing high-powered  wealthy people embroiled in the bitterest of partings.

Seb swung into action for them-dividing, conquering-making sure the  cougar kept the house or the serial sleazoid avoided the alimony.  Knowing his powers of persuasion, she knew it was a waste of his talent.  He should be in the criminal courtroom. He'd have a jury free a man  despite evidence caught on camera and with DNA back-up.

'So you got made partner?'

That was why he'd married her. Not because he'd fallen as madly, deeply,  passionately for her as she had for him. Not because he too had been  swept away by a kind of madness. No, he'd had a far more clay-based  reason for proposing than her helium-filled one for saying yes. There'd  been some archaic belief in his old-school firm that the partners needed  to have a stable, respectable home life. Not the girls-a-go-go playboy  lifestyle that Seb had.

She should have figured it out sooner-that he hadn't meant any of it.  He'd picked her up in a bar, for heaven's sake-as if that were any real  start to a serious relationship? In minutes he'd seduced the brains out  of her. Just as he did with a different woman every week. Only she'd  been so gullible and needy she'd believed him when he'd said she was  special. She'd been stupid enough to step onto a plane with him and take  off for a sex-drenched mini-break on an island famed for its sun and  sand. An island where, if you were so inclined, you could even get  married.

And she'd been so inclined. She'd been so desperate to believe. How  badly she'd wanted to believe that someone had fallen in love with her  just like that. So stupid-as if that would happen? But a childhood  lacking in love and full of loneliness did that to a person.

'Yes.' Seb sighed. 'I checked all the boxes, didn't I? Have wife, will progress.'

'You don't have a wife.'

'I do,' he replied, lifting his hand, showing the wedding band.

'Another one?' She deadpanned, ignoring the spike of adrenalin. 'My God. You're a bigamist.'

He laughed. She stared as his face broke up-she saw his full lips widen,  teeth flash and his eyes light. And then there was the sound. It was  like having plugs removed from her ears. Hearing that freshness, she  felt sweet warmth sweep inside. She couldn't help responding, her lips  curving.

'Ana. We're married. Still married, in case you'd forgotten.'

Of course she hadn't. She was working to end it, wasn't she? 'We're only married on paper, Seb. And not for much longer.'

'What do you mean only on paper?' His eyes twinkled brighter. 'I  remember consummating our marriage, Ana. I remember the night on the  balcony. I remember the way you-'

'All right.' She held up her hand, stopping what she knew was going to  be a totally inappropriate recollection. 'So I'm your wife. How the hell  do you explain it?'

'You don't like city life.' He angled his head and looked at her as if  he were a medium reading her mind. 'And for all I know that might  actually be true. I decline invitations on your behalf and don't  participate in client functions myself. I'm very devoted.'                       
       
           



       

'To what, my absence?'

'It's very useful.' He nodded. 'I can say no to my lady clients and go up in their esteem at the same time.'

'They really think you have a wife secreted away somewhere?' She was intrigued now. Did he really feed them this rubbish?

'Well, I do, don't I? But they don't know that not even I know where the  hell you've been. I have your picture on my desk. Looking soulfully  into the lens.'

'You're kidding.' He had to be. 'They honestly believe you?'

'I guess.' Sebastian shrugged. He didn't care what they all thought.  Frankly since he'd been so grumpy the questions had stopped early on and  he hadn't had to lie-except by omission. And since he'd taken himself  right out of the social scene and thrown himself into work, he'd proved  himself beyond worthy of the promotion. It was what he should have done  in the first place. There'd have been no need for that stupid piece of  paper and the confusion that had blown up between them.

He'd laugh about it one day. Honest he would. But until he'd demanded  that her best friend Phil finally tell him where the hell she was, he'd  always wondered if something had happened to her. Sure she'd left him a  message, but when he'd followed up on it he'd discovered it had all been  lies. She'd vanished. And he'd been left with that nagging worry. And  the regret. He'd been horribly blunt when she'd asked him straight out  about why he'd married her. He hadn't meant to hurt her-he'd liked her  and had sure as hell liked sleeping with her.

But it only took one look at her now to know that he'd been wrong to  worry. She was looking great. So much skin. So much inviting skin.

He shouldn't have touched her before. He was here to get closure, not to  rekindle that out-of-control flame. 'I think they think you're not well  or something,' he said. 'They don't ask any more. Quiet sympathy  offered all round.'

'Rather than sex.'

Oh, so she could do sarcasm, could she? He laughed, cringing a little,  but he couldn't blame her-after all, he'd told her about the last one,  hadn't he? 'They wouldn't dare. Not believing I'm so devoted.'

All those inviting looks had dropped. Had he known it would be so simple  he'd have invented a wife a couple of years ago. Saved himself this  current mess. Getting made partner at Wilson & Crosbie had been his  ambition since before university. He was there now. But there'd been no  chance of a partnership while single; the old boys in the firm were  ultra-conservative. They didn't want their well-heeled lady clients  eyeing him up, or the estranged young wives of their male clients  confusing the agenda. And they certainly didn't like the entire  secretarial pool coming to a complete halt every time he walked past  their desks. And given he'd had a fling with one that had ended with the  girl in constant floods of tears at work, maybe they had a point.  Apparently they felt he needed a wife.

He'd been going to force it. Point out the ridiculousness to the firm-he  was a divorce specialist, for heaven's sake. But that had been just  before he'd met Ana. Fate had lent a hand. He'd been so hot for  her-whisking her off to have his wicked way. And one afternoon in  Gibraltar when he'd been intoxicated by sun and sand and so much  glorious sex he'd had the most stupid idea. She'd agreed and they'd  married the next day.