A Whirlwind Marriage Read Free Page A

field.
    Wise investments, shrewd business deals, ruthless takeovers and a reputation that he wasn’t someone to mess with had assured him of a place at the very top of the tree, and if she hadn’t seen the real Zeke—the tender, ardent lover and fascinating intellectual—he would have scared her to death.
    But all she’d known at their first meeting, in the village street on a sunny July afternoon full of the scents of summer, was that the most amazing, magnetic man she had ever met wanted to take her out to dinner. And, at direct variance with her shy, reserved, gentle nature, she had answered eagerly in the affirmative. And so it had begun.
    The sudden jarring call of the telephone cut in on her thoughts, and more out of habit than anything she rose and padded through to the breakfast room, where the answer-machine was situated.
    ‘Marianne?’ It was Zeke’s voice, impatient and slightly irritated. ‘Pick up the phone.’
    Her hand was actually halfway to the receiver when shestopped herself. Why did she always do what he said? she asked herself as her stomach lurched and trembled. She was a full-grown woman with a mind of her own. She didn’t have to pick up the phone if she didn’t want to.
    ‘Marianne?’ The deep dark voice was definitely terse now, and she pictured him in her mind’s eye, frowning at the inoffensive plastic that had dared to thwart him. ‘Hell, I haven’t got time for this. Are you in the bath or something? Look, I just wanted to check you’ve remembered to order that pâté Gerald Morton likes so much, the one from Harrods. I was going to remind you last night, but with all that happened—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Anyway, get them to send some round if you haven’t done so already.’
    She waited for a word of goodbye, something, anything , but there was just the sound of the receiver being replaced.
    ‘Damn Gerald Morton’s pâté.’ It was soft at first, and then she said it louder, her voice shaking, ‘Damn the rotten pâté!’ Their marriage was falling apart and he was worrying about a dinner party!
    Purposefully now, she walked through to the beautiful drawing room to stand in front of the ornate fireplace above which hung their huge wedding portrait.
    She ignored the young, glowing-faced girl on Zeke’s arm and stared instead at the tall dark figure of her husband, at the midnight-black hair cut severely short, which just emphasised his rugged appeal tenfold when added to the harsh, handsome face, the jawline square and uncompromising.
    But it was his eyes that had first enchanted her that day two years ago. Grey, and of a warm smoky quality, they had floored her. Absolutely floored her. They still did.
    When she had looked into his eyes during the early days of their relationship it hadn’t mattered that they came fromvastly different worlds. Zeke from a rags-to-riches background and a childhood devoid of love and stability, and she from a steady, non-eventful middle-class upbringing full of love and family values.
    She had been only twenty when she’d met Zeke and had been sexually unawakened; he had had relationships with women from the age of sixteen and had been a cynical and worldly-wise thirty-five.
    He hadn’t kissed her until their second date, however, the evening after the first day they’d met. But when he had drawn her into his arms in the intimate shadows inside her garden gate she had known why the fumbling attentions of her previous boyfriends had merely irritated and slightly disgusted her.
    The subtle, spicy flavour of his aftershave, the hard lean body and devastating male sensuality had shaken her to her roots. By the time the kiss had finished she’d been trembling with passion and excitement, her heartbeat thudding in her ears and the blood rushing through her veins like hot mulled wine.
    ‘You’re special, Marianne.’ Zeke had pulled her closer into him as he had spoken, wrapping his arms around her as if to bind her to him. ‘Very, very