The Billionaire's Blackmailed Bride
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CHAPTER THREE
THE weeks that followed were like a fairy tale to Emily. She was head over heels in love with Anton Diaz. The love she had thought she had felt for Nigel was nothing compared to how Anton made her feel. There was no point in denying it. She only had to hear his deep, melodious accented voice to go weak at the knees, and when he touched her excitement buzzed through every nerve in her body. She wanted him in ways she had never dreamed of before, but now kept her hot and restless in bed at night.
Thinking about that first night now, four weeks later, as she sat in front of the dressing mirror applying her make-up, ignited a slow-burning heat in the pit of Emily’s stomach. But then that was something that pretty much happened every time she thought of Anton these days. A secretive smile curved her full lips as she ran a brush through her hair and rose to her feet.
Anton had been in New York for almost a week, and she ached to see him again. In fact she ached for him, because for some reason there had been no repeat of that first steamy episode except in her head.
They had enjoyed themselves over a few dinners and a trip to the theatre. She had accompanied him on several high-profile social occasions that included his business acquaintances, and the one time they had attended a film premi`ere he had quite proudly confirmed to the waiting photographers that they were an item.
But it was their relationship on the sexual front that puzzled Emily. Innocent though she was, she knew deep in her heart she wanted him with every fibre of her being. Given his reputation, she knew the best she could hope for was an affair, and she had confidently expected to be invited to his London penthouse. Within a week of meeting him, she had prepared for their relationship to progress to the physical, but it had not advanced at all. On the contrary, Anton had never even suggested taking her to his apartment, and made a point of drawing back after a kiss or two, while she was left aching for more…
Still, perhaps after a six-day separation tomorrow night would be the night, she thought as she clipped the diamond studs in her ears and stood back to view her reflection. But first she had to get through tonight. A family party for her uncle Sir Clive Deveral’s birthday.
Her mother’s brother was a bachelor and it was a bit of a tradition that he dined with them all on his birthday before heading off later to his club and his old navy mates to reminisce and get drunk. She had made a determined effort to dress up for her uncle because she knew he really appreciated glamorous women.
He had told her so when, in his own bumbling way, he had tried to comfort her after her disastrous engagement. He had confided that years ago he had lost his fianc'ee to another man, but he had soon got over it; with so many glamorous women to choose from he preferred to play the field. Then realizing what he had said, he had exclaimed, ‘Not that I mean you should play the field. Heaven forbid. I simply meant there are plenty more fish in the sea,’ and made her laugh.
He was a real sweetie and Emily adored him. She had spent many a school holiday at his home, Deveral Hall in Lincolnshire, or at his rather dilapidated villa in Corfu. When her childhood dreams of being a ballerina were dashed by her increasing height it was her uncle who had taught her never to waste time hankering after things that she could not change and move on. Then he had got her interested in archaeology and sailing and swimming in the warm waters off the Greek island and had been instrumental in her decision to be a marine archaeologist.
She smiled at her image in the mirror. The dress she wore was a strapless silver lam'e that clung to every inch of her body like a second skin to end six inches above her knees. She had left her long hair loose and she was wearing ridiculously high-heeled diamant'e sandals that showed off her legs to the max.
Emily was still smiling to herself as she walked down the stairs to join the family for pre-dinner drinks. Her uncle would love her outfit—he was always telling her that the latest generation of men on the Fairfax side of the family needed shocking out of their staid conservatism once in a while. For that reason he always turned up at any family dinner in a velvet dinner jacket and outrageous waistcoats. The rest of the family would probably have a fit.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and headed towards the sound of talk and laughter coming from the drawing room, and then turned again as the doorbell rang.
‘I’ll get it, Mindy,’ she said as the flustered housekeeper popped out of the kitchen.
She opened the door and her mouth fell open with shock. ‘Anton, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t due back until tomorrow.’
‘Obviously I got back not a minute too soon.’ His dark eyes glittered with some fierce emotion as they swept over her. ‘You look unbelievable, though I find it hard to believe you dressed like that for an evening at home. Who is my competition?’ he demanded, his dark eyes narrowing with anger on her face. Then without a word he hauled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his own in a hard possessive kiss that knocked the breath from her body.
When he finally allowed her to breathe again she looked up into his burning black eyes. ‘What was that for?’ she gasped.
‘To remind you, you are mine. Now who is he?’
‘You’re jealous—you think I am going out with another man,’ Emily prompted, ridiculously delighted, and, lifting a finger, she stroked the firm line of his jaw. ‘You have no need to be, Anton. There is no other man, and we are having a birthday party for my uncle,’ she explained, a broad smile curving her slightly swollen lips. ‘Come and join us. You will make the dinner table up to an even number.’ And she watched as what looked surprisingly like a blush stained his high cheekbones.
‘What can I say?’ He groaned, holding her away from him. ‘Except I’ve missed you.’ His eyes roamed hungrily over her and then, grabbing her arm, he urged her inside. ‘I have to speak to Tom.’
‘Why?’
‘I want to marry you, and I need to ask his permission.’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’ He folded her against his long body. ‘Marry me, Emily. I can’t wait any longer.’
Not the most romantic proposal in the world, but Emily’s blue eyes filled with tears of happiness. Suddenly everything made sense. Anton, wonderful Anton, the man she loved with all her heart, the man she had been worrying would never take her to bed, actually wanted to marry her. Now his behaviour made magnificent sense. She had heard the rumours of his many mistresses, but with her he had behaved with admirable restraint because he wanted more, he wanted her to be his wife, he loved her.
‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she cried, and flung her arms around his neck.
‘What is going on out here?’
Anton raised his eyes and looked at Tom over the top of Emily’s head. He had shocked himself by proposing marriage so precipitously. He had had it all planned, the ring in his pocket, a romantic dinner, a skilful seduction; instead he had blurted it out in the doorway like an idiot. But hell! If ever a woman looked like sex on legs and ready to bed it was Emily tonight, he reasoned, so naturally he had to get in quick. And Emily had said yes, mission accomplished. Not that he had doubted for a moment she would say yes, and he refused to admit it was the thought of Emily seeing another man that was responsible for his hasty proposal. He straightened his broad shoulders and tightened his arm around Emily’s waist.