Paper Marriages: Wife: Bought and Paid For / His Convenient Marriage / A Convenient Wife

‘Ah, the fickleness of women. Why am I not surprised?’ he opined cynically, straightening up and taking a step towards her. ‘You haven’t changed after all.’

As clear as day, the conversation Solo had had with Tina Jenson rang in her ears. She remembered the humiliation, the heartbreak she had felt at the time, still felt, if she was honest. He had some nerve… Talk about the pot calling the kettle… Anger sparked in her eyes as she flung back her head and looked up at him. ‘Ah, but I have. I am no longer the little innocent I was at eighteen.’

‘I can see that.’ Hard grey eyes captured hers in a look of stark cynicism. ‘So now young Simon appears to have had his fill of you, and can’t help you, you come to me,’ he drawled in ruthless mockery. ‘Perhaps you and I should explore the possibilities.’

Penny cringed inside, but she could not blame Solo. She had deliberately given him the impression that Simon was her lover, so it was no good being shocked when he believed it, but it still did not prevent her speaking her mind.

‘That is a disgusting thing to say.’ she snapped.

‘But true,’ Solo voiced and, with a lightning speed, his hands grasped her by her upper arms and hauled her hard against his long body. ‘Once there was something between us.’ His dark head swooped, and before she knew what was happening he had covered her mouth with his own in a brutally demeaning kiss.

Penny wriggled furiously, her hands trapped between their bodies, but as the kiss went on she felt herself weakening, old, familiar feelings flooding through her. His hard mouth gentled on hers. His hand slipped to cup the back of her head, while his other hand swept around and up her spine, holding her firmly against his long, lean length. The familiar, masculine scent of him teased her nostrils, and the warmth of his body enveloped her in a seductive cocoon of sensations she had never quite been able to forget.

‘As I thought,’ Solo drawled, lifting his head, and to her chagrin, while she was breathless and burning up, his slate-grey eyes surveyed her without a flicker of emotion. ‘The buzz is still there between us.’ His hands spanned her waist, holding her close. ‘The question is, what are we going to do about it?’

Humiliatingly aware of her own abject surrender to his kiss while he looked like the original Ice Man, she sought solace in anger.

Scarlet-faced, she spat furiously, ‘I don’t want to do anything.’ She placed her hands on his chest and tried to push him away. ‘All I want from you is a straightforward answer about the sale of the house, and that is all there is between us. Either you buy my share, yes or no,’ she demanded, with a swift glance up into his hard face, and as quickly away again. He was dark and dangerous, and she must be mad to challenge him.

Solo had to fight hard to keep the knowing grin off his face. The determinedly averted angry green eyes could not hide the flush of arousal on her smooth cheeks or the fact a pulse beat madly in her neck. He wondered what she would do if she knew where his thoughts were really leading, that it was taking all of his famed control not to pick her up and spread her on the desk, and strip her naked.

‘Have you finished?’ he said.

‘That’s no answer.’

Solo had been expecting this demand from her ever since he had heard of the death of her parents, but he saw no reason to make it easy for her. Not after the way she had deceived him with Simon. He slid his hands slowly from her waist up over the curve of her breasts and fastened them on her shoulders.

To Penny’s horror her breasts hardened against the fabric of her blouse at his insolent caress. ‘Let me go,’ she said, trying to hold herself rigid, but helplessly aware of her body’s response.

Solo felt her shudder, and was content, for now, and moved her gently but firmly out of his way. Then he glanced at the gold watch on his wrist, and back at her pink-tinged face. ‘I have to go, my lunch date awaits me. But in answer to your question…’ Penny held her breath—at last… But the smile he bestowed on her was totally lacking in humour.

‘I have tomorrow free. I will call at Haversham Park and survey the merchandise before I make a decision. After all, four more years of use could have seriously damaged the…’ he paused, his cold eyes raking over her from head to toe, before he added… ‘structure, don’t you agree? I do not want to buy a pig in the poke—I believe that’s one of your English expressions.’

The only pig around here was Solo, Penny thought furiously. She was damn sure he had not been referring to the house, but having a dig at her. But she had no choice but to agree. ‘Yes, all right. What time?’ she demanded shortly.

‘Fix it with my secretary. I have to go.’ He flicked a dismissive glance her way, then opened a door in the wood panelling. He extracted the jacket that matched his trousers, and slipped it on, quickly followed by a conservative navy striped tie. Then to her astonishment he spun on his heel and left without another word.

CHAPTER TWO

PENNY paced the hall for the hundredth time in an agony of suspense. Twelve-thirty, the time she’d arranged with his secretary, had come and gone and there was still no sign of Solo.

She glanced around the familiar hall, and dejectedly sat down on a wooden seat next to the oak hall table. It was well after two. She had just returned from dropping Brownie off at her friend’s house, driving like a bat out of hell in case she missed Solo. Brownie always spent Friday afternoon with her pal, shopping, and stopping for tea, and then the pair of them went to the bingo in the village hall in the evening. With James away it meant that if and when Solo Maffeiano arrived they would be alone in the house, which was not a prospect Penny particularly relished. She had hoped to show him around and out again within the hour, with Brownie for company.

The hurt and humiliation she had suffered the day four years ago when she had discovered the true nature of Solo Maffeiano had never really left her. She had hidden her pain well, and managed with the help of Simon to end the relationship on her terms. But yesterday had taught her a salutary lesson.

Much as she despised Solo for the ruthless, heartless type of man he was, when he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her she had felt the same old fierce physical longing that deprived her of what little sense she had. She hated to admit it, but she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. Which was a hell of an admission, she thought wryly just as the old iron doorbell rang.

Leaping to her feet, she tugged the edge of her bulky woollen sweater down over her jean-clad hips and went to open the door.

‘It’s blowing a gale and freezing.’ A wet, windswept Solo brushed past her and into the hall, rubbing his hands. ‘Dio! Why anyone lives in England I will never know. The climate is the pits. It is more like March than May!’

Penny could only stare. His black hair was plastered to his head, and tiny rivulets of water trickled down his lean, strong face. He was casually dressed in a soft black leather coat that reached to mid-thigh.

‘You’ve arrived,’ she stated the obvious, eyes flaring with anger as she recalled how late he was. ‘Almost two hours late. I’m surprised you could be bothered at all.’

With a shrug he divested himself of the coat and dropped it on the chair she had recently vacated. Straightening to his full height, he glanced around the hall, not a flicker of emotion visible on his sardonic features, his glance finally settling on Penny.

‘Not the best way to greet a prospective buyer, Penny,’ he drawled with a tinge of mockery, then arched one ebony brow in silent query. ‘That is, if you have not changed your mind, and still want to unload this place?’

‘Yes. I do.’ Her innate good manners forced her to respond politely. ‘Would you like a coffee? You look cold.’ Meanwhile Penny was the exact opposite. Hot… Why did he have to be so gorgeous? She stared up at him, trying to still her racing pulse, but frighteningly conscious of the superb powerful male physique. A cream crew-necked cashmere sweater moulded his wide shoulders and every muscle of his chest in loving detail, snug-fitting black jeans followed the line of thigh and hip.

‘Ever the lady. But I would prefer a stiff whisky,’ Solo said swiftly, and, as though he already owned the whole house, he walked straight into the drawing room. ‘Your father used to keep the best stuff in here.’

‘Help yourself,’ Penny murmured to his back, following him into the room. ‘You usually do.’

‘Not always.’ Solo said with a wry twist of his lips. ‘Pour me a drink, and try to act like the lady you purport to be,’ he ordered, crossing to the fireplace and holding out his large hands to the flickering flames.

There was no answer to that, and Penny didn’t try. She simply crossed to the drinks trolley and poured a good measure of whisky into a crystal tumbler and handed it to him.

For an instant his fingers brushed hers, and sent an electric pulse the length of her arm. She snatched her hand away, and moved to sit down on her father’s old chair beside the fireplace. Thank goodness she’d had the forethought to light the open fire, and, leaning forward, she threw another log on the flames. She had thought it would make the old place look more welcoming, and perhaps distract from other more obvious faults. But at the moment she hoped he would think her face was red from the fire, and not from heated reaction to his slightest touch.

Fighting for composure, she took a deep breath and glanced up. She found Solo had slumped down in the armchair opposite, his long legs stretched out before him in negligent ease, his elegant fingers turning the crystal glass in his hand.

As she watched he lifted the glass to his mouth and took a long swallow. She saw the tanned throat move, and his tongue lick with relish around his firm lips, and she felt again the shameful pull of his physical attraction. How she was going to get through the next hour, she didn’t know, but she had to try.

‘Your father always did keep an excellent whisky.’ His cool grey eyes sought her wary green gaze. ‘Why don’t you join me?’ he queried, tipping the glass towards her. ‘You look like you need a drink.’

‘No, thank you, and when you have finished that I will give you the tour of the house,’ she said quickly. ‘You don’t want to waste time. The weather is awful, and you have to drive back to London.’ She was babbling, but she was so tense she could not help it.

‘I am in no hurry,’ drawled Solo, his silver eyes fixed on her in steady appraisal. ‘It was a slow drive down, the rain was so heavy visibility was cut to about twenty yards, and, by the look of you, you need to relax.’

Immediately she felt guilty; of course he had driven through a fierce storm. Where were her manners? She got to her feet. ‘I never thought—perhaps you would like something to eat? A sandwich, soup, anything?’

Solo finished the whisky and stood up, and, placing the glass on the mantelpiece, he came towards her, pausing only when he was within touching distance. ‘No, I’m not hungry.’ Derision glittered in his eyes. ‘At least not for what you are offering. Let’s go.’

Penny’s face turned scarlet. She should not have said anything. She was only trying to be helpful, but he obviously thought she was flirting. He could not have made it plainer he didn’t fancy her, she thought, drowning in embarrassment. But then why was she surprised? He never had, she reminded herself, and, straightening her shoulders, she swung one hand around the room.

‘Well, this is the drawing room, as you can see, nothing much has changed since you were last here except…’

‘Purple,’ Solo said incredulously, finally noticing the surroundings instead of the woman. ‘The walls are purple.’ His eyes gleamed with wry humour as he stared down at Penny. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Veronica’s taste.’ Penny said grimly ‘It matched her colouring, she thought.’ Determined to be businesslike, she ignored Solo’s soft chuckle. ‘The dining room next,’ she suggested.

‘Lead on.’ Solo placed a hand beneath her elbow. ‘But tell me, am I in for many more shocks?’

She wrenched her arm away. ‘It depends on your view of a scarlet dining room, a pink morning room, not to mention a rather virulent lime sitting room. Veronica was a colourful person.’ She slanted him a cynical glance. ‘As I’m sure you know—I seem to remember she was a friend of yours before she met my father.’

After Penny had split up with Solo she’d had a long time to think over the past and, from countless little digs Veronica had made, she couldn’t help wondering just what relationship Solo had had with her stepmother.