wrapping a massive fluffy bath sheet round her sarong-style and padding through to the master bedroom.
Once seated at her dressing table, she glanced at the row of costly perfume bottles and the set of mother-of-pearl jewellery boxes dripping with expensive items of jewellery without really seeing them, her mind winging back in time again.
She had repeated that conversation with Pat to Zeke word for word when he’d arrived to take her out to dinner later the same day.
Since the first afternoon they had met Zeke had insisted on driving down from London to her home village on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells every evening, claiming that the thirty-plus miles from his offices in Lewisham barely gave the Ferrari time for a workout.
And she hadn’t tried to dissuade him too hard, she admitted to herself now, in spite of worrying about him dashing backwards and forwards each day. She had needed to see him every evening, to feel his strong arms about her, his lips on hers. He had been like a drug, a sensual, handsome, powerful and wildly intoxicating drug. He still was. Although now she understood that the very thing you craved above all else could carry a crushing price with it.
She should have known, from his reaction when she had innocently prattled on about Pat, that a serpent was rearing its head in her Garden of Eden.
‘So, our bridesmaid tried to warn you off me?’ Zeke had asked with dry amusement, his smoky grey eyes creasing at the edges as he’d smiled at her briefly before concentrating on the country road along which they’d been travelling. ‘I’ll have to have a word with her some time.’
There had been something, the slightest inflexion in his deep voice, that had suggested he wasn’t quite so amused by Pat’s cautionary advice as he’d seemed to be, and Marianne had glanced at the hard, handsome profile for a moment before she’d said, ‘She didn’t mean anything by it, Zeke. Pat’s just a little protective of me, I guess, since Mum died.’
‘She doesn’t need to be,’ he had answered lightly, but still with the slight edge to his voice. ‘I’m all the protection you need.’
She didn’t need any protection—she was more than capable of taking care of herself!
The words had hovered on her lips but she’d bitten them back—probably a grave mistake in hindsight, she thought now—but she’d been unwilling to spoil the lovely summer evening by prolonging what had suddenly become an awkward conversation. Their first awkward conversation.
‘Pat will see how it is the moment she meets you,’ she had said instead, as she listened to the voice of love telling her he had raced down from London after a hectic, long day—he was always at his office by seven in the morning—and she couldn’t expect him not to be a little tetchy now and again. And perhaps she’d been unwise to repeat the conversation with Pat. But she’d thought he’d laugh at the ridiculous notion that their love could waver, like she had. Still, men viewed these things differently, especially strong, decisive, capable men like Zeke.
She’d known he was as resilient and tough as they came; he’d had to be with the background he had come from.Abandoned by his single parent mother when he was just a few months old, he had spent most of his childhood in and out of foster homes, with two attempts at adoption failing. But he’d had a brilliant mind and an even more formidable will, and at the age of eighteen—armed with four grade A A-levels—he had decided to put himself through university, studying every day and working every night and weekend to pay his way.
Three years later he had emerged into the world again with a first-class degree, and after two years of working all hours of the day and night he had earnt himself enough capital to start his own business.
That had been the start of a spectacularly swift climb to wealth and power which had made him—at the age of thirty-five—one of the richest men in his