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‘Why not? At least one of us can say the words.’

‘How can you expect me to marry you when you’re acting like this?’

‘You know why you’ll marry me, Sarah, and it has nothing to do with me.’ He pulled a pair of boxer briefs in place, then stalked to the bed. ‘Well, maybe it has a little to do with me,’ he corrected, his fingertip moving to the sheet and tugging at it lightly. So lightly that she could have held it in place easily, only her treacherous hands weakened, letting it drop. And when he moved that same, demanding finger from the sheet to her breast, she just sat there as he traced the outline of one nipple, his gaze falling to her breasts in a way that started to stoke every flame inside her anew.

She had to fight it, though, or she would lose herself to this completely. Worse, to him. She needed to stay strong. If she had any hope of remaining afloat in this life, this marriage, she needed to show what she was made of. Even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she reached up, caught his hand, and pushed it away, firing a furious look at him before scrambling out of the other side of the bed. She brought the sheet with her, covering her body as best she could, dragging her hair over one shoulder.

‘You’re right. I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you because I have absolutely no choice,’ she clarified. ‘And you can spend the rest of your life knowing that you blackmailed the woman who turned up on your doorstep with the best of intentions. Deal?’

She’d surprised him, and she was glad. She let the words sit between them, not wanting to analyse why she didn’t feel any better about the shot she’d landed, why—if anything—she felt a rush of guilt throbbing through her. God, but she desperately needed space from this man.

* * *

He’d stowed her suitcase in the same bedroom she’d slept in two and a half months earlier. Sarah rifled through it, pulling out a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting shirt, adding socks and sandshoes, then grabbing a cap. She was still so angry—and so charged with other emotions that were far more complicated to understand. She’d be lying to herself to pretend disappointment wasn’t one of them, though. It curdled in her belly, making her loathe him because of how much she wanted him, even when she knew he was a complete and total bastard.

‘Where are you going?’

As soon as she stepped out of her bedroom, he was there. Though not, she suspected, by design so much as coincidence. She whirled around, hating that her heart hammered into her ribs at the sight of him, dressed now in jeans and a blue-collared shirt that emphasised the deep mahogany of his tan.

‘Away from you.’

‘Damn it, Sarah, stop being such a child.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘Are you kidding me?’

He rocked back on his heels a little, jabbing one hand onto his hip. ‘We have to talk.’

‘We can talk later. I need fresh air.’

He looked beyond her to the front door, down the end of the wide corridor. ‘It’s still warm.’

‘I’m wearing a hat.’

He looked sceptical.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she snapped. ‘Better out there than in here, anyway.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘You’re missing the point.’

‘You can’t get fresh air when I’m there?’

‘I lied. I want a break from you.’

Despite the tension, a smile twitched on his lips, and it pulled at something inside her, something she hated, because it was softening.

‘Look, I know I’m probably fucking this up left, right and centre. Is that what you want me to say?’

She stared at him, his admission the last thing she’d expected.

‘I genuinely believe this marriage is the right thing for all of us. You, me, the baby. But if you don’t agree, tell me why.’

‘And you’ll change your mind?’

‘Depends on if your reasons make sense.’

She opened her mouth to snap back, or to say anything, but the truth was she didn’t know if she wanted to. She didn’t want to admit her romantic ideas about marriage to him, so she settled for the more plausible facts at hand. ‘We don’t know each other. It seems like madness to get married under these circumstances.’