His Wedding Day Revenge

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

T HERE WAS AN almost audible static hum of anticipation as the tall, dynamic Draco Andreas appeared, impeccably clad in a grey tailored suit and open-necked white shirt.

Jane was sitting in the back row behind a tall man with an even taller hat. She couldn’t see the loose-limbed figure but she knew that he’d look perfect. She also knew that the eyes that would be scanning the crowd were more navy-black than brown-black, and his stare managed to give the person that came under their laser beam the impression that nothing was hidden from the owner.

The man in front whipped off his hat and she slunk down in her seat a little more. There were a couple of angry shouts and mutters that faded in the face of the effortless authority projected by the tall, lithe figure who, after walking up the short flight of wooden stairs to the small, raised stage, paused to shake the hand of the vicar before turning to his hostile but now silent audience.

He paused, seemingly perfectly at ease, his dark eyes scanning the faces turned to him, and despite being hidden Jane found herself instinctively shrinking back some more and lowering her lashes.

Not hiding? said the exasperated voice in her head. What else would you call it?

Pride had brought her here, the determination, after a lot of soul-searching, that she could not allow her blast from the past to derail her life.

Draco would leave her life as he had entered it, casually, and she must react in the same way. She wouldn’t allow herself to run away or hide—both, to her shame, her initial instincts—but that didn’t mean she had to advertise her presence.

For a board-wielding protestor, she really did have a genuine dislike of confrontation.

Would he even remember her?

She’d changed a lot in four years. When she looked in the mirror these days... When did she look in the mirror?

Juggling her job as a receptionist in the doctor’s surgery and childcare didn’t leave a lot of time for worrying about frown lines, and running around after a baby meant she had lost ten pounds she could probably not afford to. She knew that her face had lost some of its youthful roundness, and her last hair trim had been a nail-scissor bathroom-sink job...

Also her wardrobe was a long way from the designer clothes that Draco had bought for her. Bought and chosen... She was ashamed now of how malleable she’d been, how desperate she’d been to please him, how she’d allowed him to dress her up like a mannequin doll. She ran a hand over her hair, which he’d been fascinated by. He had gone so far as to extract a promise from her never to cut it; he always wanted to be able to wrap himself in it.

And she had agreed without a second thought.

There was nothing symbolic, she told herself, about the fact that she had lopped eight inches off her waist-length locks two weeks after the non-event wedding. It was just more convenient this way.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, she bent her head to look around the man in front and saw Draco was still standing there, seemingly relaxed as he used his charismatic smile to obvious effect. She was not in the fainting zone of that smile, but she still felt the aftershocks of it.

Not recognise her? she mocked herself, retreating once more behind the grey hair, her heart thumping as she recalled that moment earlier when their glances had connected.

Draco had seen her and he had definitely recognised her.

She had read retribution in his face. Draco was not a forgiving man. Remembering his expression, she shivered, her overactive imagination conjuring up an ancient god about to do a lot of smiting!

Even if that smiting was in a twenty-first-century legal as opposed to lightning-bolt way, when you were Draco Andreas that could cause some damage!

Draco had recognised her, all right.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Draco began, his lightly accented warm velvet voice awakening dormant interconnected nerve endings under Jane’s skin in a tingly, painful way. ‘Firstly I owe you an apology for the unauthorised tree-felling.’ He paused to allow the big murmur to die down before continuing. ‘I will not excuse what happened. There is no excuse. I understand your anger. I, too,’ he declared sombrely, ‘am angry.’

Someone beside her clapped and as Draco’s eyes went to the spot and he smiled, everyone there thought he was smiling at them, but Jane was willing to bet that she was the only one whose stomach muscles were dipping and who had an embarrassing ache between her legs.

It was all she could do to stop herself yelling out, It wasn’t me. I would never cheer you... Kiss, touch, taste—that was another matter!

She cleared her throat and reminded herself that all that wild, wanton behaviour was in the past.

The next part of his speech was lost on Jane. It took all her resources to resist the tug of the closed door and the freedom outside, freedom from the insidious sense-killing sound of his voice, and some increasingly disturbing thoughts about his mouth, which was beautiful and sensuous. He had a tongue that knew its way around... Stop that, Jane!

The entire section of his speech that passed over her head must have been good because this time the applause was more widespread. There were even a couple of grudging grunts of approval from a few of the most vocal critics, who had yesterday been calling for dire punishment to be visited on anyone that worked for his firm.

Draco had won them over. Always inevitable, she thought as she glanced around her at the rapt faces turned to the charismatic figure who now held them in the palm of his hand.

The way he had once held her breast in his hand, and in her head she heard his voice telling her it was the perfect size... She gave several sharp shakes of her head, took a deep breath and loosened her top where it chafed her painfully engorged nipples. Under the circumstances it seemed pretty pointless to pretend that the years had lessened her susceptibility to his male aura.

But fancying Draco Andreas hardly makes me unique!

Her lips twisted in a cynical, self-mocking little grimace as she glanced at the villagers. There had to be more than a few heads filled with fantasies involving the tall Italian billionaire, which was fine so long as they stayed fantasies. It was the common-sense-killing reality of falling for Draco that was dangerous.

Of course he had won over his audience; it was what he did. It seemed amazing now that when they had met, she hadn’t known who he was. That fact had seemed to amuse Draco, and even when she had known the details she had still not taken on board the mind-boggling extent of his power, wealth and fame.

It was a measure of her infatuation and self-delusion that she had thought even for one insane moment she would have fitted into his life.

That she could make herself the sleek, elegant creature who drifted along at his side saying all the right things to all the right people.

The only way it could have worked was if she’d never opened her mouth, which would probably have suited Draco. He had literally never spoken about his tech company or his role in the world of finance. Their conversations had revolved around the Tuscan estate, his face lighting with genuine enthusiasm as he’d described the place that was to be her home...the perfect place, he’d said, for bringing up children.

It was what she had wanted to hear, she thought sadly. He had been offering her what she had always longed for.

Refusing to acknowledge the pain that came with the thought, she told herself that she had her family now and it would be all the family she ever needed.

As for a man to complete her little family, she didn’t think so. Mattie took up all her time and energy. As for sex, since Draco her libido had gone into hibernation and she wasn’t about to wake it up, unless one day she was able to separate emotions from sex, and that she couldn’t imagine.

She closed down the inner dialogue and tuned back in time to hear Draco say, ‘I acknowledge that mistakes were made in the execution of our project.’

She risked another look and saw him spread his flattened palms wide in a mea culpa gesture. ‘I take full responsibility, and I assure you that immediate steps will be taken, are being taken, to rectify the damage done to the woodland. A comprehensive tree-replanting scheme will tomorrow be initiated, ensuring the preservation of this beautiful ecosystem for generations to come.’ Draco outlined his plans for environmental restitution before seamlessly shifting from the eco-project to community welfare, revealing a grander vision that seemed to resonate with the villagers.

You had to give it to the man, Jane thought, trying to view his words objectively—and failing miserably—but his delivery was sincere, if a little too slick. The cranky addition made her feel a bit happier.

‘I understand the importance of community,’ Draco said, his gaze sweeping across the faces before him. ‘And in recognition of your patience and understanding, Andreas Company will fund the restoration of the local church roof—a symbol of our commitment to the well-being of this village.’

Nice touch, Jane admitted silently as a ripple of appreciation flowed through the hall. Draco Andreas, the master of persuasion, was weaving a narrative that endeared him to the hearts of the villagers.

He hadn’t needed to use his powers of persuasion to get her into his bed, she recalled, her cheeks heating at the memory of that first time, the look of shock on his aroused, flushed face when he had realised he was her first. She pushed the memory away and tuned back in time to hear Draco say, ‘As a further gesture of goodwill, I am extending an invitation to a member of this community...’ Draco announced, his eyes subtly searching the crowd.

Jane pulled back, shifted uneasily in her seat and felt as if they had landed on her. Paranoia, she told herself, looking at the grey hair of the man sitting in front of her and channelling inner calm.

And failing miserably.

‘We are hosting an alternative energy eco-training course at my estate. I believe local representatives should be involved in shaping the future of green technology, and, after what has happened to your community and how you responded so robustly, I feel that your insights are invaluable.’

Jane felt the collective gaze of the villagers following as his stare turned towards her, and her chin lifted. This was not an accident.

As the villagers applauded, Jane pushed back her seat and got to her feet, throwing out a few smiling greetings as she made her way to the door with a couple of murmurs of ‘Mattie’. Actually, her boss, the local GP who was also a neighbour, had said no need to hurry back when she had offered to babysit.

Jane made it as far as the gate before a voice calling her name made her turn reluctantly back.

‘Vicar?’ she said, politely waiting for the overweight and very well-meaning cleric to catch her up.

‘Jane, dear, I’m glad I caught you. I did want to speak to you before but I was not expecting Mr Andreas to mention it tonight. I hope you don’t mind, but when he told me about the course I thought of you. And when we discussed it at our meeting, so sorry you couldn’t be there, but it was unanimous. Everyone agreed you’d be the perfect candidate—’

Jane cut him off with a laugh. ‘Perfect? I can think of four locals who are a lot more qualified than me...actually more, because I’m not qualified at all.’

‘But your enthusiasm and—’

‘I am amateur hour and we both know it.’

The vicar looked momentarily flustered, but rallied. ‘You started the ball rolling with our protests. You should be the one—’

Jane bit her lip. This was starting to feel like a conspiracy. ‘Obviously I am very flattered you thought of me, but—’ She bit back a sharp ‘I’m not a charity case’ and continued with a smile. ‘It’s out of the question, I’m afraid—’

‘You are thinking about Mattie, but I understand there are crèche facilities at the conference, and a bit of Italian sun, a break, is just what you need, my dear.’

His comment confirmed her suspicion...poor single parent Jane could never afford a break in Italy. They meant well but the idea of charity made her hackles rise. ‘I burn in the sun,’ she said in a flat little voice.

The older man laughed as if she’d made a joke.

‘Seriously. There are many more people better qualified than me for this...treat and the surgery is short-staffed.’

‘Ah, yes, we discussed this with Dr Grace and she said you are owed holiday so that’s no problem. She’s already lined up a temp.’

Jane took a deep breath. She could see her avenues of escape closing. ‘You seem to have thought of everything.’

‘So you agree? I think it would be very helpful in setting up the exchange day with the inner-city school you suggested at the last parish council meeting.’

She sighed and thought, Me and my big mouth. On the other hand, take Draco out of the equation and it was tempting... But Draco was not the sort of man who vanished in a puff of smoke. His presence was not something you could ignore.

It was a mad idea, but she admitted there were temptations: the course would be interesting...and so would seeing Draco’s home, his life... Yes, she was curious—who wouldn’t be?

She still hesitated, but she was tempted.

Finally she gave a reluctant nod. It wasn’t as if Draco would be a visible presence there. While it was great PR for him, she was confident it was the sort of thing that would be delegated.

‘There would be conditions, obviously, with Mattie. I’d need more details.’

‘Of course, of course, quite wise of you. I’ll pass on your request to Mr Andreas.’

‘Oh, I’m sure Mr Andreas has more important things to concern him. One of his many assistants will have what I need.’

‘Thanks, but I won’t,’ Grace said when Jane offered her a coffee. ‘And you know I love to babysit. I really miss the time when my two were small and didn’t answer back—speaking of which, I need to check my lot have done their homework. As you know, they run rings around their dad,’ she said with a roll of her eyes. ‘You know, Jane, I am so glad you have agreed to Tuscany. You need a break.’

‘It’s not a holiday.’

‘True, but I’m sure that you will find some time for a bit of sun and sea, maybe some down time with a good-looking Italian?’ she teased before sweeping out, her ringing phone attached to her ear.

Jane shut the door, leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and breathed out a gusty sigh. The only sound was the clock on the wall above the open fireplace. She’d have actually welcomed some angry baby cries at that moment if only to distract her from the thoughts swirling in her head.

She had levered herself off the wall when there was a knock on the door. Grace always left something behind.

Pasting on a smile, she pulled it open. ‘What have you left this time?’ she began.

Her smile wilted and her mouth opened as she raised her eyes a long way to the face of the man standing in her doorway, his dark head brushing the supporting beam of the open oak porch.

‘Draco...! Mr Andreas,’ she hastily corrected.

If his male aura had made her uncomfortable in the village hall, here she felt pummelled to tight-throated, heart-thudding, mind-emptying confusion by being this close to his unique brand of raw masculinity.

‘Oh, make it Draco,’ he drawled. The lift of one corner of his sensual mouth became a full mocking grin complete with flash of white teeth as he stared down at her from under his heavy-lidded dark eyes, the lashes so long they touched the razor-sharp contour of his cheekbones. ‘I’m on first-name terms with almost all the women I’ve slept with, cara .’

His lazy mockery stung and jolted her free of her confusion—sometimes being angry was very mind-clearing, also it distracted you from thoughts of his mouth. ‘And you remember all their names. I’m impressed,’ she snapped back waspishly.

Draco took a mental step back. She was no longer trying to make herself invisible, a tactic that had always amused him—the adult equivalent of a child believing she had vanished if she closed her eyes—and now she was right up there in his face.

Did she actually believe that a flame-haired woman who looked like she did, with eyes like that...a body... He cut off the line of thought before it made an extremely uncomfortable situation even more painful.

He felt a surge of self-contempt, remembering how, in the days after she had humiliated him, he had lain awake at night and in between drinking, aching for her. Now he looked at her and admired the tilt of her nose, the wide-spaced, dramatically green eyes, the kissable lips, the stubborn tilt of her chin... A faint frown interrupted his self-congratulatory list. The stubborn chin—had it always been that way?

You can congratulate yourself as much as you like, Draco, but you’re still hard as a rock, mocked the voice in his head.

An image of the bundled-up child on her back flashed into his head and the taunting inner voice helpfully pointed out, You won’t be getting any, but someone else is.

This was a departure and not at all the way he had anticipated things going. The Jane he had known always had a warm sense of humour and a gorgeous laugh but sarcasm—that was a major divergence.

He studied her, admitting to his spark of curiosity but not his hunger as he took in the details of the soft contours of her heart-shaped face. Her big wide eyes, darkly fringed, looked back up at him, wariness shining in the shimmering depths, her mouth was still temptingly generous, but the angle of her rounded chin suggested a stubbornness he did not recognise.

As if anxious to dispel any impression that she’d been counting his lovers, Jane added haughtily, with a frown that knitted her feathery dark brows, ‘Were you looking for me?’

He straightened up to his full, impressive, lithe and muscular six feet three and looked down at her, the flinty flecks like ice in his eyes and the mildness of his contempt making it all the more coruscating. ‘Was I meant to look for you?’

Had she anticipated he would, and had she expected that reaction? Had she engineered this situation? The suspicion lingered, but she would have been disappointed. He had not chased after his fleeing bride. To do so would have made him his father—a man who had been so obsessed with a woman that it had broken him.

Obsessed to the point of insanity. In his father’s case, his obsession had been the second wife he had left Draco’s late mother for.

Antonio Andreas had indulged his second wife’s every whim and all her whims involved money. And when the money to feed her appetite for luxury and excess had run out, and there were no more artworks for his father to sell, she’d predictably left him for someone able to give her what she wanted, leaving behind her young son, his half-brother, who would have cramped her style.

Without her around things could have got better—Draco had hoped they would—but they hadn’t. His father, unwilling to accept the reality, had stalked his ex-wife online, and also in person on a number of excruciatingly embarrassing public occasions, begging her to come back to him.

He never seemed to lose his appetite to be humiliated, and, despite everything she had done, would never hear a bad word against her. When Draco, unable to hold back any longer, had spoken out, his teenage self had experienced not just the rough side of his father’s tongue but his clenched fist.

Undoubtedly growing to despise his father had influenced his reaction to being dumped at the altar. The objective part of him recognised this. It had been a point of principle not to look for his runaway bride, not to allow himself to even ask why or where, let alone search for her.

And yet here she was. If he’d believed in fate he would have said it was meant to be, but Draco believed that a man made his own fate, not that he wouldn’t take advantage of opportunities when they came his way.

Was this an opportunity? he asked himself.

If so, for what?

The revenge his anger craved?

Answers he wouldn’t even admit to himself he needed? That he wanted to demand?

A guilty flush ran up under Jane’s skin. She didn’t pretend not to understand his reference and the double meaning—it wasn’t the here and now he was referencing.

‘No, I didn’t expect that,’ she said quietly, adding huskily, ‘Why are you here?’

With his mouth lifted into a lazy, self-mocking half-smile, he asked himself the same question now.

To confront her, accuse her of engineering this situation?

Curiosity?

To see first-hand where she had chosen to live in preference to life with him and, he thought, staring past her, with whom...?

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he asked her, even though it was obvious she wasn’t. Maybe she was wondering how she would explain him to the boyfriend or husband? The father of her child, whose existence he still couldn’t quite take on board.

‘I—’ Before she could think of an alternative to the blunt negative that she wanted to blurt, Draco, who was obviously not similarly inhibited by good manners, walked past her. It was a small space and Draco was not a small man.

Instinct made her close her eyes and try to make herself as small as possible, which was, she immediately realised, a pretty pointless exercise and not one that concealed the shameful fact the brush of his hard-muscled arm against her shoulder had sent deep ripples of desire through her entire body. The warm male scent of his body was lingering and making it hard for her to think clearly.

Loving Draco had always been insanity—wanting Draco, she corrected swiftly. The correction made it easier to breathe.

She might now know that marriage to Draco would have been a mistake and could never have lasted, but she was still scarily receptive to him physically.

Fact. Deal with it, Jane, she told herself, showing zero sympathy for this weakness.

How utterly and totally insane was it that she felt almost as bereft at that moment as she had that day she’d run away from the wedding?

Allowing herself a few calming hitches of breath, she turned and followed him into her small cosy sitting room, seeing the space through his eyes.

It didn’t feel very cosy. Cosy and Draco? No, definitely not!

She nervously twisted her hands, her skittering gaze drifting around the room, anywhere, quite frankly, than at him. She saw the home that Carrie and Robert had lovingly built together, imagining how it might look through his eyes. Draco wouldn’t see the items that had sentimental value, the repurposed thirties sideboard and the recovered rocker, he’d see cramped and slightly shabby.

The idea that he might be sneering made her skin prickle defensively. In the space of time it took her to pick up a toy that had fallen out of the toy box behind the sofa and replace it carefully her chin had gone up and she was able to face him with at least the illusion of confidence.

She had once been so sensitive to his moods that even the thought that she had said the wrong thing, worn the wrong outfit or used the wrong bloody fork would have felt like a failure, not good enough.

Well, this house was more than good enough and she would eat her food with her fingers and to hell with his distaste!

The moment the thought popped into her head she knew it was the wrong one because it brought with it the memory of an occasion when he had used his fingers to feed her a decadent creamy confection, she had sucked cream off his long brown fingers and—She stopped the destructive and criminally self-indulgent memory as she straightened up, one hand on her hip, her free forearm holding her hair back from her face as she delivered a look that said, Want to make something of the repurposed furniture? Because I will defend it with my life. She would defend every trivial detail of the home that had been made with love.

As their glances connected and held she had the satisfaction of seeing a startled expression slide across his lean features, followed by a slow speculative stare.

‘I like what you have done to the place.’

Her eyes narrowed—he hadn’t sounded sarcastic or sneery—but she only lowered her chin a fraction.

Draco could have done with lowering his head. It was almost grazing the low beams that Carrie had painted a warm shade of white to make the ceiling seem higher. Her friend had laughed at the time, saying it was just as well her husband was short.

The memory brought a lump to Jane’s throat and misted her eyes, and she blinked hard, not wanting to make an awkward situation worse by crying. It still happened at the most inopportune moments, the grief just bubbling up. She kept the moisture at bay through sheer force of will, determined not to look away.

White or not, the beams were not high, and Draco dominated any space, but the room’s proportions made his presence even more overwhelming. It wasn’t just a physical thing, not simply his size and sheer physicality, it was the restless energy he exuded.

He was not a relaxing person to be around.

Draco watched as she shook back her hair, which fell immediately into a fiery nimbus of bronze curls around her face and shoulders as she planted her hands on her narrow denim-covered hips and lifted her chin.

Jane took a steadying breath, hiding her grief behind a facade of defiant belligerence as she waited, determined she wouldn’t be the one to break the silence.

She had to wait an uncomfortable length of time.

‘You have changed,’ he said finally, his eyes on her stubborn chin and the militant light in her incredible eyes. Never during their relationship had she been confrontational—in fact there had been times when her little shrug of acceptance, her placidity, had irritated him. The only time she’d shown fierceness had been in bed, which he hadn’t objected to at all! There she had been fire to his dreams with her relentless fascination with his body and her utter lack of inhibitions.

She had never challenged him, she had never used tricks to manipulate him, unworldly to an almost unbelievable degree. Everything about her was the diametric opposite of his grasping, avaricious, conniving stepmother. She had never asked him for anything. In fact she had seemed uncomfortable with the gifts he had given her, politely grateful, but he had sensed her unease when he had filled a wardrobe with designer clothes.

Which made what she had done all the more incomprehensible!

Out of nowhere a memory surfaced, shaken loose perhaps by the perfume she was wearing now, the same perfume she had been wearing when she had pulled herself to her knees on the bed that was tumbled by their recent lovemaking and, pressing her small perfect breasts to his back, wound her slim arms around him and whispered that she loved him. Waiting, he knew, for him to return the sentiment.

Draco had not lied. He did not believe in love, love was the thing that had destroyed his father, but he thought he was gentle. The idea of hurting her had hit him on a level he had never recognised in himself previously or since.

He could remember with shocking clarity looking at the individual freckles on her smooth pale shoulder and breathing in the scent of her hair as he smoothed it off her graceful neck before burying his face in the silky softness.

‘We are good together, cara. I can’t get enough of you.’

She had smiled when he’d flipped her onto her back and begun to make love to her again, slow and languid this time. There had been sadness in her eyes, but he had pretended not to see it, ignoring the tickle of guilt, which now seemed ironic considering how things had ended.

Hearing the criticism in his voice, she assumed that he was referring to her recent weight loss and shrugged. Jane didn’t find her jutting hip bones attractive or the sculpted prominence of her collarbones, so it was not really a surprise that he didn’t either, but then her life no longer involved being the person that Draco wanted her to be.

Not now.

There was a freedom in that, she told herself. It made her feel strong...made her like herself, and she was a mother now. She was very conscious that a mother owed it to their child to like themselves, not to pass on their insecurities, teach by example... She had read all the parenting bibles, usually before she fell into a sleep of utter exhaustion.

If only she had had such self-insight four years ago. She had refused to recognise the flaws in their relationship, how unequal, how unhealthy it had been, until she was distant from it, and even then not until the pain of what had felt like a grieving process had passed.

‘Actually I’m a perfectly healthy weight,’ she countered, her lips tight.

He blinked. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he snapped back, sounding impatient at her interpretation. ‘I meant...you...just seem...different...?’

‘Well, it would be more surprising if I wasn’t. It has been four years. You seem exactly the same,’ she added, not making it sound like a compliment.

‘I don’t have a family.’

She nodded, thinking of the procession of girlfriends he did have as she watched him dig one hand into the pocket of his tailored trousers and look around, his gaze landing and lingering on the toys.