Read Online Innocent on Her Wedding Night by Sara Craven - Free Book Online
Authors: Sara Craven
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chicken portions and defrosted them in the microwave. She found onions and garlic in the vegetable rack, and jars of capers and black olives, along with tinned tomatoes and dried pasta in the storage cupboard, and began her preparations.
This is what it might have been like, she thought suddenly, if we’d had a real marriage. I’d have been making dinner just like this, while I waited for him to come home.
Then jeered at herself for her own sentimentality. Their first home together would have been the penthouse in the glamorous apartment block which Daniel had already occupied, which had its own restaurant, with a delivery service. She wouldn’t have been expected to lift a finger. And when they’d eventually set up house, that would have come with a full complement of staff too. Something that would no doubt apply to the house he’d just bought.
She found herself wondering a little wistfully what had happened to the penthouse, recalling how she’d roamed around it open-mouthed the first and only time he’d taken her to see it.
She remembered the sofas like thistledown, the Persian rugs that gleamed like jewels from the vast expanse of polished floor in the living area. She thought of the gleaming bathroom, tiled in a magically misty sea-green, with its enormous tub and the equally spacious shower cabinet. Big enough, she’d told him rapturously, to hold a party in, and had seen his lips twitch.
And most of all she remembered the bedroom. How she’d stood in the doorway, not daring to venture further, and stared speechlessly at the huge bed with its gold silk cover, her mind going into overdrive as the actual implications of being Daniel’s wife came home to her as never before.
Because, up to then, physical contact between them during their brief engagement had been almost minimal, she’d realised with bewilderment. He’d held her after—after Simon, but that had been to comfort her. And he’d kissed her when she’d said she’d marry him. There’d been other kisses since—of course there had—but they’d invariably been light—even teasing. Yet she’d found them intensely disturbing nonetheless.
At no time, however, had there been any real pressure from him to change their relationship to a more intimate level. And, in spite of her happiness and longing, she’d been too shy of him, and too conscious of her own inexperience, to initiate any deeper involvement herself.
It had suddenly occurred to her that they were completely alone together, without fear of interruption, and she was sharply, achingly, aware of him standing just behind her.
Her body had tingled as she’d felt the warmth of his nearness, the stir of his breath on her neck, and she’d wished—desperately—crazily—that he’d turn her into his arms and kiss her with passion and desire, as he’d done so often in her imagination. And that he’d lift her and carry her over to the bed, silencing all her doubts and uncertainties for ever as he made love to her.
Maybe that was why he’d brought her there? Because he didn’t want to wait any longer. He wanted all of her. Everything she had to give.
And maybe he was only waiting for some sign from her.
She had half turned towards him when she realised just in time that he was moving, stepping backwards away from her. He’d said quietly, almost casually, as he glanced at his watch, ‘We should be going.’ He’d paused. ‘If there’s anything about the décor you want to change, you only have to say so.’
And, wrenched by something deeper than disappointment, she’d stammered something inane about the flat being beautiful—perfect. That she wouldn’t want to alter a thing.
She supposed he must have sold it at some point after their separation, but why hadn’t he acquired something similar—with its own gym, swimming pool and every other convenience known to the mind of man—instead of slumming it here?
So he didn’t want to be tied into a long lease? But Daniel
This is what it might have been like, she thought suddenly, if we’d had a real marriage. I’d have been making dinner just like this, while I waited for him to come home.
Then jeered at herself for her own sentimentality. Their first home together would have been the penthouse in the glamorous apartment block which Daniel had already occupied, which had its own restaurant, with a delivery service. She wouldn’t have been expected to lift a finger. And when they’d eventually set up house, that would have come with a full complement of staff too. Something that would no doubt apply to the house he’d just bought.
She found herself wondering a little wistfully what had happened to the penthouse, recalling how she’d roamed around it open-mouthed the first and only time he’d taken her to see it.
She remembered the sofas like thistledown, the Persian rugs that gleamed like jewels from the vast expanse of polished floor in the living area. She thought of the gleaming bathroom, tiled in a magically misty sea-green, with its enormous tub and the equally spacious shower cabinet. Big enough, she’d told him rapturously, to hold a party in, and had seen his lips twitch.
And most of all she remembered the bedroom. How she’d stood in the doorway, not daring to venture further, and stared speechlessly at the huge bed with its gold silk cover, her mind going into overdrive as the actual implications of being Daniel’s wife came home to her as never before.
Because, up to then, physical contact between them during their brief engagement had been almost minimal, she’d realised with bewilderment. He’d held her after—after Simon, but that had been to comfort her. And he’d kissed her when she’d said she’d marry him. There’d been other kisses since—of course there had—but they’d invariably been light—even teasing. Yet she’d found them intensely disturbing nonetheless.
At no time, however, had there been any real pressure from him to change their relationship to a more intimate level. And, in spite of her happiness and longing, she’d been too shy of him, and too conscious of her own inexperience, to initiate any deeper involvement herself.
It had suddenly occurred to her that they were completely alone together, without fear of interruption, and she was sharply, achingly, aware of him standing just behind her.
Her body had tingled as she’d felt the warmth of his nearness, the stir of his breath on her neck, and she’d wished—desperately—crazily—that he’d turn her into his arms and kiss her with passion and desire, as he’d done so often in her imagination. And that he’d lift her and carry her over to the bed, silencing all her doubts and uncertainties for ever as he made love to her.
Maybe that was why he’d brought her there? Because he didn’t want to wait any longer. He wanted all of her. Everything she had to give.
And maybe he was only waiting for some sign from her.
She had half turned towards him when she realised just in time that he was moving, stepping backwards away from her. He’d said quietly, almost casually, as he glanced at his watch, ‘We should be going.’ He’d paused. ‘If there’s anything about the décor you want to change, you only have to say so.’
And, wrenched by something deeper than disappointment, she’d stammered something inane about the flat being beautiful—perfect. That she wouldn’t want to alter a thing.
She supposed he must have sold it at some point after their separation, but why hadn’t he acquired something similar—with its own gym, swimming pool and every other convenience known to the mind of man—instead of slumming it here?
So he didn’t want to be tied into a long lease? But Daniel
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