A Whirlwind Marriage Read Online Free PDF Page A

voice.
    She had made some serious decisions this afternoon—somehow seeing Pat again had crystallised so many things in such a short time—and she had to be calm and composed when she discussed them with Zeke. Anything less and he would accuse her of running on nothing but emotion again.
    ‘With Pat.’ Zeke was white with rage, his eyes charcoal with the temper he was trying to contain. ‘And you didn’t think to call and say you’d be late? It didn’t occur to you I might be worried something had happened to you?’
    ‘What?’ She swung round as she reached the walk-in wardrobe at the far end of the room and her eyes were wide with shock. It hadn’t occurred to her he would be worried, she realised with some dismay, merely that he would be angry she wasn’t waiting at home with his pre-dinner cocktail ready as usual and a welcoming smile on her lips.
    ‘It didn’t, did it?’ He had read the answer in her guilty face, and his voice had a harsh, gritty sound. ‘Dammit, Marianne, what’s the matter with you!’
    ‘Me?’ The resolve to remain equable and dispassionate was being put severely to the test.
    ‘Yes, you,’ he barked furiously. ‘We’ve got the Mortons arriving any moment and as far as I can see nothing is ready—’
    ‘I couldn’t care less about the Mortons!’ That was all that concerned him at heart, she told herself silently. He hadn’t really been worried about her, just his precious dinner party.
    ‘Obviously.’ It was bitingly cold. ‘I, on the other hand, do.’
    ‘Of course you do,’ she agreed bitterly. ‘They come under the heading of “Work”, don’t they? Which takes them into a completely different category to the rest of us poor mortals.’ Like Liliana. He needed her expertise for the new project and so the redhead was important to him—far more important than a stay-at-home wife with no career or obvious virtues Buchanan Industries could use.
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He strode over to her, whisking back the door of the wardrobe and gesturing violently at the contents as he said, ‘Get changed quickly and compose yourself.’
    ‘I’m perfectly composed, thank you very much.’ She drew herself up to her full five feet six inches, her voice icy.
    ‘Then get this off and do something with your hair.’
    It was his disparaging voice as he glanced at her hair—which admittedly was windswept and tousled from the blustery, cold October evening outside the central heatedcocoon of the warm apartment—rather than his hand flicking at her jacket which caught Marianne on the raw.
    ‘Don’t do that,’ she snapped tightly, her own hand pushing his away. ‘Don’t touch me.’
    ‘Don’t touch you?’ He was astounded; it showed in his dark face and the flare of colour across the hard chiselled cheekbones. It was probably the first time the great Zeke Buchanan had ever had that said to him by a woman, Marianne told herself with a touch of silent hysteria. It was certainly the first time she had ever said it.
    ‘Yes, don’t touch me,’ she repeated grimly. ‘I’m not one of your possessions, Zeke, whatever you might think. I’m your wife.’
    If she had thought he was angry before he was livid now, and as Marianne watched his eyes become coal-black with fury she felt frightened of the demon she had unwittingly unleashed. ‘Dead right you’re my wife,’ he grated slowly. ‘So why don’t you start acting like it and do what you’re damn well told?’
    ‘You arrogant—’ As her hand came up to strike him he caught her wrist in one swift movement, and then, without warning, he pulled her abruptly into his arms, crushing her against him as she struggled and fought.
    ‘You’re my wife, I’m your husband, so what the hell is this all about?’ he ground out savagely. ‘What’s got into you all of a sudden?’
    And then, before she could answer, he had taken her mouth in one of the scorching kisses he did so well, a kiss which immediately ignited a