The Billionaire's Captive Bride(24)

"Something wrong?" Charlotte asked.

Erin shook her mind back to the present. "No. Everything's fine."

"You went away for a moment." There was a frown of concern on her face.

"I have a habit of doing that," Erin quickly replied, grimacing an apology.

The frown didn't clear. "It didn't look like a good place, Erin. Are you okay with marrying Peter?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. He's a good man. I've never met better." That was the absolute truth.

Charlotte's expression turned reflective. "You know, I didn't love  Damien when I married him. He more or less rescued me from a nasty  situation and I took the chance he offered to turn humiliation into a  triumph."

"You're very well matched."

"Yes." A wicked grin burst across her face. "And he's still the sexiest  man in the world for me." One eye arched in provocative inquiry. "I take  it you were hot for Peter when Jack was conceived?"

"Very much so," she answered wryly.

"Well, I don't know what went wrong between you two back then, but if  that primal spark is still there, it sort of pushes you into growing  closer together. Just don't hold back on it, Erin. Peter needs to be  wanted for himself, you know. Not for what he can give."

"I know." She smiled to show that she understood. "Thank you, Charlotte."

Erin was only too aware of how much Peter was giving. It was an  embarrassment of riches all going one way. She wasn't giving him  anything except ready access to their son. Although she had given up  control of her own life, her independence, and she couldn't help  thinking that all Peter's gifts were aimed at sweetening her surrender  to this marriage.

He wanted Jack.

But she wasn't sure he still wanted her.

He hadn't once tried to reignite the primal spark, not with a look, a  kiss … no attempt whatsoever to establish any form of physical intimacy  between them. It made Erin worry that, in his mind, she was still  tainted by her lies of omission. She felt very nervous about what would  happen tonight, when the wedding was over, how it would be as his wife,  not just the mother of his child.

"Time for us to get going, Erin," Charlotte said. "Ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

Ready to seal the commitment she had made, for better or for worse. From  the day of their son's birth, Peter had been driving her towards this  moment. There was no turning back. Let it be done now, she thought on a  wave of fateful resignation. Deal with what came after … after.

They went downstairs.

Her father was waiting in the grand foyer, ready to escort her to the  marquee and give her away. He'd given her away when she was seven, Erin  thought. Peter would never do that to Jack.

She had to make this marriage work.

Had to.



A princess … a gut-wrenchingly beautiful princess. Peter's heart started  galloping as she walked down the aisle towards him. A surge of desire  tightened his groin.

His bride.

The woman he'd wanted more than any other.

But she wasn't smiling.

Her gaze was tightly focused on him, not even a glance at the guests on  either side of red carpet she trod with deliberately measured steps. Her  chin was held high. Peter read determination on her face, and he was  suddenly riven with doubt.

Had he done right by her in hemming her into this marriage?

Too late to change anything now.         

     



 

And he didn't want to.

A fierce wave of possessiveness ran through him. Erin … Jack … both of them  belonged with him. He would make her see it, make her believe it.

Yet he couldn't get rid of the doubt. It plagued him during the wedding  service and throughout the reception afterwards. He put on a happy face.  To Erin's credit she put on a happy face, too. They fulfilled the role  of a happy couple in front of the sea of guests.

But it was a strain to Peter and he sensed the hidden tension in Erin,  too. He was glad when ten o'clock came-the agreed time for Erin to slip  away from the party to breast-feed Jack. The festive dinner had been  eaten, the speeches were over, the cake had been cut, coffee was being  served.

"I'll come with you," he said, keeping his arm hooked around hers as he guided her to the exit of the marquee.

She threw him a startled look. "You don't have to. You have so many friends here, Peter."

"I want to."

He didn't care if she preferred to be alone for a while. She was his  bride, his wife, and be damned if he'd lose her, even for a moment, on  this, their wedding night.

Her fingers fluttered nervously across his coat-sleeve, but she voiced  no further protest. Once they were outside and on the path through the  rose garden to the conservatory, he heard her suck in a deep breath as  though she was short of oxygen.

"Thank you for the wedding, Peter," she said softly. "Everything's been beautiful."

Mega-wealth could buy everything beautiful, he thought cynically, but it  can't buy the heart of a woman. At least he knew Erin hadn't married  him for his billions.

"I wanted it to be a fairy-tale wedding for you, Erin," he said with a  dash of irony, aware that love should have been at the centre of it.  "Fit for the princess in the park," he added, remembering how taken he  had been with her on that first day of meeting.

She stopped walking. He halted beside her, seeing the angst on her face  as she shook her head, tensing, not knowing what it meant. Then she  looked up at him, her beautiful green eyes filled with a vulnerability  that squeezed his heart.

"You were my prince that day, Peter. I wish we could go there again. I  regret, very much, deciding not to tell you I was the author. I just  didn't want to spoil the fantasy. But I ended up spoiling everything.  And I'm sorry … sorry … "

A wild hope soared through his mind. "I thought it meant you'd planned  only a brief fling with me," he said, trying to explain his reaction to  the deception.

"I did."

It was like a punch in the gut.

"I didn't believe that with you being who you are, and me being who I  am, the attraction we had could lead to any real future together," she  rushed on. "But I wanted so much to have you want me … "

"What about now, Erin?" he couldn't stop himself from asking, his desire  for her racing hot through his veins, kicked into uncontrollable  acceleration by the admission of the desire she had once felt so  strongly for him. "Do you believe in a future for us now?" he pressed.

"You've made it so different to what I had imagined … expected … "

"Good different?"

"Oh, yes! Yes!" she cried so fervently, hope soared again, gathering a  sense of triumph in the tactics he'd used to wipe out her fears and  doubts.

"I want our marriage to work, Erin."

"So do I," she said with no lessening of fervour.

"Then it will," he said confidently.

He wanted to crush her to him. Only the fact that Jack might have woken  up and be yelling with hunger held him back. He hugged her arm, bringing  her closer to him as they walked on, their bodies touching, and he  burned with the need to have her to himself all the way to the nursery.

The nanny had Jack cradled against her shoulder, patting his back. Erin  whipped off her veil, draped it over the cot-rail, unzipped the wedding  dress, lifted her arms out of the cap sleeves, let the bodice hang from  her waist, unclipped a white lacy bra, removed it, slung it over the  veil, moved quickly to the rocking chair-all this with her back turned  to him. She picked up a towel which had been laid on the armrest of the  chair, arranged it over one shoulder, then sat down, holding out her  arms for their son.

The nanny gave him to her and Jack instantly latched onto one bared  breast, sucking as though his life depended on it. Which it did, Peter  thought, wishing that the bond between him and Erin were so simple. Her  face was flushed. Was she embarrassed by his watching her breast-feed  their child? He hadn't done it before, careful not to impinge on space  and time which she might consider very personal and private.         

     



 

He dismissed the nanny, saying they'd call her when they were ready to  leave, and settled in another chair. Of course, there'd been another  reason for staying out of the nursery at feeding time. As he had  suspected it would be, he found watching Erin suckling their son almost  unbearably erotic, tiny hands kneading her milk-laden breast, the  absorption in the physical link between them. It was weird to feel  jealous of his son, but he did, probably because it had been so long  since he had known such an intimate connection with Erin.

"Is he always this hungry?" he asked, his voice gruff with too many raw emotions.

"Yes." She flicked him a look that seemed oddly desperate.

It disturbed him too much to let it pass. "Is my being here worrying you?"

"No." She shook her head vehemently.

She kept too much to herself. He realised now that it was habitual,  ingrained from her childhood, her defence against the emotional upheaval  of her parents' broken marriage-her road to self-survival,  self-sufficiency-but understanding why it was so did not ease his  frustration with it.