He had a four-hour reception booked at an exclusive private members’ club that he owned in Soho—entirely for the benefit of the press and his business associates.
Even better.
How the heck was he going to get through that, not to mention their first night together in the new house, without giving into this insane chemistry again?
Passion rippled through his body as he nodded to the vicar, who was watching them both with thinly disguised astonishment, his cheeks mottled with embarrassment.
‘Cool, lead the way,’ he said. He clasped Katherine’s hand. The ring dug into his palm as he felt the tremor she couldn’t disguise. He led her into the vestry to get the last of the ceremony over with. A ceremony that didn’t feel nearly as pragmatic as it had when he’d originally planned it.
Katherine followed behind him, for once willing to be led without an argument. Probably because she was still as shell-shocked by that damn kiss as he was.
This hunger wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. But he planned to treat it with extreme caution nonetheless, because he’d never experienced a need this intense or this unstable.
Controlling it completely obviously wasn’t going to happen, but no way was he unleashing this fire again until he was absolutely sure he would not get burned—any more than he had been already.
Katie struggled to hold on to the ripple of reaction as Jack’s warm palm settled on her back and he leaned close to be heard over the conversations buzzing around them in the sumptuous Soho club.
‘We should head back to the house,’ Jack said.
It had been her first assignment as Jack Wolfe’s trophy wife and she felt as if she’d done her best. She’d made pointless small talk with a host of celebrities and VIPs, got besieged by photographers shouting her name as they’d entered the venue and had managed to appear calm and collected as Jack had introduced her and they’d received a ton of champagne toasts, good wishes and inquisitive comments laced with innuendo.
The decision had been made—according to Wolfe Inc’s press secretary—not to announce the pregnancy until she was showing. Katie had been pathetically grateful for that, because answering all the probing enquiries from Jack’s friends and acquaintances about their whirlwind courtship had been tough enough.
She supposed she had to thank Jack for that, too. He’d more than kept up his side of the bargain, playing the solicitous bridegroom with a predatory determination which had deflected anyone who got too close. As she’d struggled to adjust to all the attention, Jack’s presence by her side had made her feel strangely protected, until she’d remembered it was all an act. And, as the evening had worn on, fending off unwanted enquiries about their love affair hadn’t been anywhere near as tough as stopping herself from dissolving into a puddle of need every time she’d got a whiff of his scent. Or felt the firm touch of his palm caressing her back.
Like now.
The effect he had on her had only got more intense and overwhelming as he’d remained diligently by her side through the champagne reception in the club’s lavish atrium, a five-course meal of cordon bleu cuisine devised by the club’s Michelin-starred chef—which she’d barely touched—and the never-ending parade of witty and heartfelt speeches.
She stiffened as his callused fingers stroked her spine where the gown dipped, brutally aware of how addicted she had become to his clean, spicy scent. Surely that had to be the pregnancy hormones?
‘Are you sure?’ she whispered back, but had to stifle a yawn, the stress of the event and her struggle to keep her traitorous emotions in check—plus the fact she hadn’t been able to have her usual nap this afternoon—finally taking their toll.
His lips quirked, but as his gaze raked over her the riot of sensations only intensified. How could he seem so detached? When she was burning up inside, both exhausted and on edge? Why wasn’t he still struggling with the after-effects of that wedding kiss the way she was? Was her constant awareness of him really just the pregnancy hormones? Because the thought of going back to the house, of being alone with him again for the first time in weeks, was not helping to keep those hormones in check—especially after five solid hours of being the sole focus of his attention. Would he expect them to have a wedding night? And how was she going to resist him if he did?
He glided his thumb under her eye. ‘Yes, I’m sure. You look shattered.’ He glanced at her plate. ‘You hardly ate a bite. Is it the nausea?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s mostly gone. I’m only sick occassionally now.’
Something she would have been a lot more grateful for if it hadn’t made her even more aware of him. The morning—or rather, afternoon—sickness had once been a great way to dull this incessant attraction... Now, not a chance.
‘Good,’ he said, then lifted his hand to waylay one of the eager young assistants who had been hovering around them all day. ‘Jenny, have the car brought round discreetly. Mrs Wolfe and I are leaving—with the minimum of fuss, if possible.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Wolfe.’ The young woman, who had to be about the same age as Katie, bounced to attention so sharply Katie almost expected her to salute.
During the last few hours, she had noticed the deference with which all Jack’s employees treated him, but also the fact he seemed to know all their names. She dismissed the sentimental thought, though—just because he was a good employer wasn’t going to make her job any easier.
Despite Jack’s request, it took a long twenty minutes for them to extricate themselves from the reception and the amused and ebullient well wishes of everyone from Jack’s best man—an ex-rapper called Alphonse Parry who had been one of Jack’s earliest business partners—to the hat-check girl, which only made Katie feel like more of a fraud.
A sleek black car was waiting at the back of the club. Jack dropped Katie’s faux fur wrap over her shoulders while the driver opened the door.
‘If you want to stay and chat, I don’t mind heading back on my own,’ she managed, trying to disguise the shiver which had nothing whatsoever to do with the evening breeze pebbling her skin.
He let out a wry laugh, his scarred eyebrow arching. ‘Don’t you think our guests might get suspicious if I let my bride go home alone on our wedding night?’
Damn. Busted.
‘Oh, right—yes, of course,’ she murmured, feeling like a clueless idiot.
How could she forget this was all an elaborate charade to give her child a name, keep her business afloat and allow him to...? Well, she wasn’t even really sure what he was getting out of this, given that she definitely didn’t buy the excuse he’d given her in Wales three months ago. The wedding reception had been full of some of the most important people in the global business community, every one of them falling over themselves to be nice to Jack, and her by proxy.
How could dating, or indeed marrying, a lord’s daughter make him any more of a big cheese in the City of London? The fact he hadn’t bothered to invite her father—thank God—surely only confirmed that?
As they settled into the car’s warm interior together, the smell of new leather went some way to covering the scent of him. She had to be grateful he made no move to close the distance between them once the car pulled into traffic.
She stared out of the window, the Ritz hotel’s sign reflecting off the glass as the car turned into Piccadilly. Perhaps now would be a good time to press him more on his motivations. But did she really want to know the real reason he had been so set on this marriage? Wouldn’t it only complicate things further?
‘You don’t have to be concerned, Katherine,’ he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Her head whipped round as the husky timbre of his voice had the familiar ripple shooting up her spine.
He was watching her with the same intensity he had been watching her with for most of the day, ever since she’d stepped into the chapel.
She had begun to wonder during the evening if he was keeping an eye on her—ready to correct her if she said or did something to give away the real circumstances of their marriage. But there was no judgement in his gaze, only an unsettlingly direct concentration.
‘We’ll sleep apart tonight. Consummation of this marriage is not part of the arrangement,’ he murmured.
Why not?