Imprisoned by a Vow

West Annie

‘Would you like to stop the car?’ After the interminable wedding, he couldn’t believe he was offering to delay further. ‘We could go back inside and—’

‘No!’ Her voice was strident, her face no longer blank but animated at last.

‘No,’ she repeated, her voice softer. ‘That’s not necessary. Let’s just…go.’

Was it his imagination or was that a plea in her voice?

‘As you wish.’ He leaned forward and opened the limousine’s bar fridge. Ignoring the foil-topped bottle of Cristal and gold-rimmed champagne flutes some romantically inclined staffer had placed there, Joss reached for bottled water. Unscrewing the cap, he passed it to her.

She took it but didn’t make a move to drink. Was she waiting for a cut-crystal tumbler as well? He wouldn’t be surprised, given the pampered life she’d led.

‘Drink,’ he ordered. ‘Unless you’d prefer me to call a doctor?’

Instantly she raised the bottle and sipped. She paused and drank again, colour returning to her cheeks.

Now he thought about it, he couldn’t remember her drinking at the reception, except when he’d raised the goblet to her lips. Nor had she done more than peck at her food.

‘You need food.’ He reached for the gourmet snacks beside the bar.

‘No, please.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry. The water is fine.’

Joss’s eyes narrowed on the sharp angle of her jaw revealed as she tipped her head back. Her slim throat worked as she took a long pull from the water bottle.

‘I’m feeling much better now.’ This time she almost convinced him. Her voice was steadier, her gaze direct. ‘What were you saying about a change of plans?’

‘We’re not staying in Bakhara,’ he responded, watching her narrowly. ‘Something has come up. I need to be in London tonight.’

He could go alone. But he’d just acquired a hostess with impeccable breeding, social standing and poise who’d be a valuable asset in his new business dealings. He intended to make use of her.

Besides, he saw no point in sabotaging the polite fiction they were a couple. Leaving his bride on her wedding night would be inconvenient front-page news. If she was to be of use to him, it would be at his side.

‘London? That’s marvellous!’

Leila’s incandescent smile hit him hard. It wasn’t the polite, contained curve of the lips she’d treated him to before but a wide brilliant grin. It was like the one she’d turned on him when he’d arrived a few hours earlier.

Its impact set his pulse tumbling.

She wasn’t beautiful. She was stunning.

How had he not realised? He’d thought of her as coolly elegant. Now her sheer dazzling exuberance rocked him.

With colour flushing her cheeks and throat, her lips parted in pleasure and her eyes dancing, she beguiled in a way no blatantly sexy supermodel ever could.

An unfamiliar sensation stirred in his chest and Joss was stunned to realise it was his lungs struggling to pump oxygen. Perhaps whatever ailed Leila was catching. His reaction to her was unprecedented.

‘I’m glad you’re so excited about a trip to London.’ His voice was gruff.

Joss had never been overcome by attraction to a woman. It was the way he was made. An emotional wasteland, one mistress had accused in tears after he’d crushed her fanciful hopes of happily ever after.

He desired women. He enjoyed the pleasure they provided. But they never caused a ripple in his life.

As for emotions…he’d been cured of those in his youth.

Growing up in a dysfunctional family, learning early the destructive power of so-called ‘love’, Joss had never wanted anything like it again. No emotions. No entanglements. No dependants. His gut clenched at the very idea of kids and a clinging wife. Only a deal like this, based on sound business requirements and no emotional expectations, could convince him to marry.

Joss was a loner to the core.

‘You’ve spent time in London, I believe?’ He should know more about the woman who was to be his hostess.

She nodded, her smile barely abating. ‘I was born there. Then we moved to Washington when my father took another diplomatic posting, then Paris and Cairo with short stints in between in Bakhara. We moved back to Britain again when I was twelve.’

‘And you enjoyed it?’ That much was obvious. ‘You have friends to catch up with there?’

Her smile faded and her gaze swept from his. It struck Joss she’d had her eyes fixed firmly on him all through their conversation. He felt an odd…lack now she’d turned away.

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

‘So it’s the shopping you’re looking forward to?’

‘No, I…’ She swung to face him, but this time her lashes veiled her eyes. Did she realise how sexy that heavy-lidded look was? No doubt it was one she’d practised. ‘Well, of course, shopping is part of the London experience.’ Her mouth curved in a smile but this time it didn’t have the same wattage. Its impact didn’t resonate inside his chest.

Good. That earlier response was an aberration. He had no intention of feeling anything for his wife other than satisfaction at the benefits she brought to his balance sheet: fuel resources to exploit and her personal connections in the region.

‘I can see you’ll enjoy yourself in London.’ He’d wondered if he’d face an emotional plea to extend their stay in Bakhara after the wedding. It pleased him she was so reasonable. They’d deal perfectly together. ‘The jet is fuelled and ready to go as soon as we reach the airport.’

‘That’s—’ She stiffened and sucked in a gasp. ‘My passport! I can’t—’

‘You can. Your passport is waiting at the plane.’

‘Really?’ She leaned forward, her eyes searching. ‘You had no trouble getting it from…from the house?’

‘My staff did it. I assume there was no difficulty.’ Joss surveyed her curiously. He’d almost swear that was shock on her face. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Wrong?’ Her voice stretched high. ‘Of course not. I just…’ She shook her head. ‘Everything’s perfectly fine, thank you.’ She turned away to watch the retreating city as the car sped towards the airfield. ‘How long till we reach the plane?’

Joss leaned back in his seat, intrigued by the flicker of emotions he’d seen in his wife’s face. He’d pegged her for a woman of unruffled sophistication, with the poise of a socialite who took world travel and privilege for granted.