To Love, Honour and Disobey Read Free Page B

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 themost stupid idea. She’d agreed and they’d married the next day.
    Her eyes