To Love, Honour and Disobey

Praise for Natalie Anderson:

‘Natalie Anderson is one of the most exciting voices in steamy romantic fiction writing today. Sassy, witty and emotional, her Modern Heat™ are in a class of their own…an extraordinary new talent who can blend passion, drama, humour and emotion in one unforgettable read!’

—CataRomance

‘MISTRESS UNDER CONTRACT is a fantastic contemporary romance full of intense emotions, funny moments, blazing sexual tension and moving romance; don’t miss it!’

—Pink Heart Society

‘Natalie Anderson’s HIS MISTRESS BY ARRANGEMENT is a charming romance of childhood friends reconnecting. It’s both fun and flirty, and conveys the wonderful feeling of finding someone you can truly be yourself with.’

—RT Book Reviews

‘Don’t come near me now.’

Ana halted. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I want to kiss you. I want to do more than kiss you.’

Thwack. The ball hit the tree again. And her legs could hardly hold her up.

‘You have no idea what I want to do to you,’ Seb-muttered, fists clenched, muscles bulging. His bare torso shone with sweat. He was primed.

Heat flooded in her most secret places. And she was the one panting, as if she was the one doing the crazy workout in the heat of the afternoon.

He stopped, stood with his hands on his hips and glared at her. ‘We started something back then, Ana. And for me it isn’t over. I thought it was. But it isn’t.’

Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, Natalie Anderson decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and, boy, is it that! Especially writing romance—it’s the realisation of a lifetime dream kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Mills & Boon® novels…She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website any time—she’d love to hear from you: www.natalie-anderson.com

Recent titles by the same author:

HOT BOSS, BOARDROOM MISTRESS

BETWEEN THE ITALIAN’S SHEETS

PLEASURED IN THE PLAYBOY’S PENTHOUSE

BOUGHT: ONE NIGHT, ONE MARRIAGE

Chapter One

ANA didn’t know what she was going to do with all the photos. She’d taken hundreds—and hadn’t the heart to delete a single one of them. Good thing she’d brought an extra couple of flash cards with her. Africa was everything she’d hoped it would be—wide, wild and incredibly hot. Totally different from anything she’d experienced and she sought to capture it—so she could hold onto the sense of freedom when she returned home.

Even now, with the truck pulled over to the side of the road on the outskirts of Arusha, she had her camera up and ready. She leaned her head over the side to see what it was that Bundy, the driver, was doing. Talking to someone. She could see him smiling up at the stranger who had his back to her.

Ana smiled too, enjoying the view. Bundy’s friend was quite a specimen of a male. Ana let the sensation wash over her—for the first time in almost a year having a pleasurable physical reaction to a man. A sliver of excitement sparked in her belly, the momentary wondering—what if? She wriggled in her seat and angled her head for a better look. Oh, yeah. A definite what if.

She giggled. Fantastic, finally she was back to normal. Whole, healthy and actually able to feel a touch of sexual heat. She lifted the camera, clicked a couple of times. And then zoomed.

Denim shorts showed off strong, bronze calves and hinted that the thighs were equally muscular. Hands rested on narrow hips accentuating a great butt. But it was the shoulders that got her. His torso was one hell of a wide triangle—so wide the fabric of his shirt pulled slightly at the seams. Broad, broad shoulders that were built to be hung onto. The kind of physique to make a woman feel ultra feminine—and as Ana was such a giantess she needed a big man to make her feel feminine. Unfortunately there weren’t enough of them around, and when she did find the occasional one he was never interested in her. For some reason big men always seemed to want petite women. But she could forget that reality for now and just enjoy this present fantasy. She took another picture. His hair was cropped close—almost army kind of close. The tips of her fingers tingled, wondering what it would be like to run her hands over his scalp. Interesting.

But the best thing definitely was his height. Bundy wasn’t short but this guy was a good half head taller than him. Being so horrendously tall herself, Ana had always been drawn to very tall men and he had height in abundance. In fact this guy—from the back at least—had everything. Now if only he’d turn around and fulfil the whole fantasy of male-model gorgeousness.

She shifted her grip on the camera, wriggling her fingers to let out the tension sparking in her muscles. Sex. She was actually thinking about sex.

Wow.

She half laughed again and took another picture. Knowing it was stupid but loving the freedom to enjoy a beautiful male. She hadn’t thought she’d ever have it in her again. After the hell of the last year it was great to discover she did. All she had to do now was return to London and hopefully find the paperwork complete. At last she could get on with everything. She’d known coming here was the right thing to do. And now she’d had the final proof of her recovery and the return of her zest for life—and her libido.

Bundy turned and the two men walked away from her around the front of the truck where she could no longer see them. No matter, she looked at the screen on her camera, smiled her way through the few snaps of the handsomest back view of a boy she’d ever seen.

Ever.

She smiled again. She was over it. She was finally, totally over it.

There was a bang and a bump and the truck jolted forward—on the move again. She glanced up as the others called out. It took a moment for her to realise there was someone new on board and that her fellow passengers were saying hi to him. That he was slowly walking down the aisle towards her. His gaze direct, relentless and inscrutable.

Ana hadn’t known it was possible to be frozen by flaming heat. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think and couldn’t believe her eyes. Yet somehow she was breathing, somehow she was seeing and sadly there was no denying who she was seeing. And she had to believe it.

‘Seb?’ Did she even say it aloud?

He was the one wearing denims cut off at the knee and the casual tee that totally showed off his broad shoulders. He was the one with his hair cropped sexy soldier short. He was the one standing so tall and making Bundy laugh.

He was the one inspiring her frisky fantasy—the first she’d had in months.

Oh, my, it was too ironic.

She blinked, hoping like hell she was seeing things.

But no. It really was Sebastian.

Her brain sent instant freeze messages to the melting softness in her body. She had just been eyeing up her ex.

Sebastian Rentoul. Her one and only one-night stand. Her one and only week-long fling. Her one and only whirlwind wedding.

Her husband. The father of her baby.

Her husband who had lied. Her baby who had died.

A thousand images flashed in the space of a second. The heat and light in the bar, the thrum of the beat as they’d stood so close, the lust in the touch, the laughter as they’d come together and uttered those foolish words. The anger in discovery of betrayal and miscommunication. The anguish in her lonely loss.

She hadn’t been granted the joy of knowing her child. Looking back on it, she hadn’t known her husband either. The man she’d fallen for was a fiction—a fantasy in her own needy head and heart.

It was excruciating what a fool she’d been. And the resulting pain had almost broken her completely.

Suck it up, Ana. Suck it up.

It was done. In the past and she was over it. She wasn’t going to fall apart at the mere sight of him. For one thing he didn’t know the half of it. And she didn’t want him to. She blinked again. He was coming towards her. She reeled it all in—stuffing the memories, and emotion, into her internal prison and padlocking the door. She shut off the camera and set it on her lap, not wanting him to see the pictures she’d just been giggling over. Good grief. That she’d just felt the burn for him?

She looked down. Moved faster when she saw it, twisting the thick platinum band off her finger. He definitely didn’t need to see she still wore his wedding ring. She hadn’t taken it off in all these months. She’d been going to. Of course she had. But she’d been told wearing one was something a lone woman traveller could do to try to deflect unwanted interest—and as she’d had it already…

She tucked it into her camera case. Even so, her tan exposed a pale ring of skin on her finger. But she could do nothing about it now. He wouldn’t notice—he wouldn’t be getting that close. She darted another look.

He was almost right beside her. Had a smile on but it wasn’t full strength. Not the knockout ‘come party with me’ number he’d hit her with that first night. Even so it was enough to shoot her temperature up. Too unfair that a guy like him should be given such a gift.

She summoned a bright smile of her own, ignoring her scattered insides. Pride dictated she keep it together.

‘Wow. Sebastian.’ OK so she sounded a little breathless. No surprise given the way her thoughts and her blood raced.

Unbelievable. Here he was looking totally at home as if he were the one who’d been on safari in Africa for the best part of the month. He even had a tan—she knew it took only moments in the sun for his skin to go that gorgeous burnished brown. It had done that during those few crazy days in Gibraltar. Oh, hell, she didn’t need to think of that again. From every angle heat crawled over her body, zeroing in on her middle.

‘Ana.’ He didn’t sound breathless. But he did sound quiet. He nodded at the empty seat next to her. ‘Mind if I sit here?’

Her smile became that little bit fixed. ‘Not at all. Please.’ She shifted on her own, moving that imperceptible half-inch nearer the side of the truck and away from him. Her heart thudded harder, all senses on acute alert as she clamped on the muscles.

No way, no way, no way. He couldn’t be here. And she couldn’t be thinking about…what she’d been thinking about. Not about him. ‘Fancy seeing you here,’ she said. ‘Africa. Of all places.’

He sat and the devilishness showed in his grin. ‘Quite some coincidence, isn’t it?’

‘Quite.’ As if it really were. ‘Who told you I was here?’

‘No one,’ he said innocently. ‘It really is a coincidence.’

Yeah, right.

He turned, watching her too close, sitting too close. ‘Oh, I got the divorce papers.’

Oh, so he was just going to throw that in casually, huh? Ana made her smile even sweeter. ‘Did you sign them?’

Please, please, please. Then this really would be over.

‘Not yet.’

Her heart skidded.

‘I wanted to see you first.’

‘Oh.’ Why? Hadn’t everything been said and done? Or rather not said and not done, which was frankly the way she’d prefer to keep it. They totally didn’t need a post-mortem. It had been a stupid, mad mistake and the best thing to do now was wipe the slate clean and move on. Away from each other and as fast as possible given how her body was reacting in such an off-base kind of way.

Sebastian took a couple of big breaths and tried to clear the mess from his head. Hell. He hadn’t imagined her being like this. He hadn’t imagined her looking like this. All these months when he’d thought of her she’d been quite different—pale, a little shy, compliant.

Here she was tanned, her hair was longer, loose and she was wearing only a singlet top and shorts. She looked light and bright and confident.

OK, so she’d been shocked to see him. The moment of recognition had written it all over her face. Not a pleasant surprise. But she was smiling again now. Eyes veiled for sure. But still a smile—an incredible smile, actually.

‘I wanted to see you. I wanted to…’ He hesitated. It had ended badly. Less than a week after the wedding there’d been a hell of a row and she’d walked. It had been his fault. And at the time he’d been a bit relieved—sanity had started to return. But then he’d started to wonder. ‘I wanted to make sure you’re OK.’

It had been a relief to finally hear from her—but just getting the divorce papers wasn’t enough. He couldn’t just sign them and forget. He had to see her for himself. To be sure. There weren’t many things in his life he regretted. But he regretted that week more than anything.

‘Well—’ her smile didn’t falter ‘—as you can see, I’m fine, Sebastian.’

That hint of challenge in her voice slipped into his blood like a needle shot of deadly virus. His body reacted on the spot. Could it fight it—finally build some defence—or would it succumb to the disease—again?

‘Yeah.’ He nodded, despite himself. ‘You are.’

She was more than fine. The ripple in his body told him that, the rise of temperature, of awareness. He might be looking at her face, but every cell absorbed her slender curves and incredibly long limbs that were so on show in those short, short shorts.

Memories stirred. Memories he’d buried. The scent, the laughter, the sparkle in her eyes and the satin of her skin. And her heat.

He was stifling hot now—it was Africa though, wasn’t it?—not because of her. It was the dry, inescapable heat of a continent almost always in drought.

Well, not quite. Because not only was he hot. He was hard. He suppressed the unexpected flare of desire. Surely not. Not going there again. He looked back on that week and it was like this blurred rush of events that had knocked the breath from his lungs and the sense from his head. Even now he couldn’t work out how it had happened. How he’d come to commit such folly.

Then he refocused on her. Felt the tightening deep within. And knew. Sexual drive, physical compatibility, instant lust. Whatever you wanted to call it, they’d had it—by the oversized shipping-container load. But they hadn’t had anything else. They hadn’t had time for anything else—and no interest either. He never had interest in more.

He felt a vague stirring of panic. So he’d seen her. She was fine—clearly absolutely, completely, utterly fine. But now he was stuck on a truck with her for another week. Not well planned, Seb. He wanted to call out to the driver, to get off again, but they were out of the town now and heading towards some national park wilderness. OK. He sat a little further away from her. He could handle this, couldn’t he? He could control his more insane animal urges. Hadn’t he spent the last year discovering the meaning of discipline?

Ana looked out of the side of the truck and blinked. Trying to stop the fog from clouding her head. She’d forgotten. She’d totally forgotten. OK, so she’d made herself forget. It had been the only way to get through the heartache, by blanking out the electricity that had arced between them. But here it was back again. Like a flash, before she’d even realised it was him—making her body want to bend towards him.

As he was almost six foot five people couldn’t help but notice Sebastian—and that was just the height thing. While she knew all about that, that was where their commonality ended. When you added the rest of Seb’s body, the smile and the ice-blue eyes, you had an awesome package—something that definitely couldn’t be said for her. She was just overly tall, overly angular, overly shy. And there was something more about Seb. Something that transcended the physical. Something that made not just women sit up, but men too. That unspoken authority, his confidence.

A man in control—the man in control.

That was Seb. The one everyone said yes to. But she wasn’t going to let him take control of them again as he had that week. There was no them.

Confidence rippled through her. Yes. She was no longer the pushover he’d met back then. In fact the strength she now had was partly a result of his attention. There might have been nothing else, but that extreme passion had been something for her to cling to. No one had ever wanted her—or indeed had her—the way Sebastian had in that week. And for someone to have wanted her like that—even for just a short time—had been a huge boost to her self-esteem. For the first time in her life she’d felt beautiful. Such a shame, then, wasn’t it, that what had then happened had happened? But she’d learned from it—moved on and become determined to make something more of herself. Really she ought to thank him for giving her the fuel, the firepower to finally take charge of her life. ‘So you’re joining the truck?’

‘Yeah.’

Oh, well. That was going to be interesting. ‘It’s almost over.’ No hiding the thank-goodness-for-that in her tone. She smiled brighter to make up for it.

‘I’m staying on for a bit after.’ He grinned too, as if he knew her sentiments and understood the relief. ‘Doing some sightseeing on my own.’

‘Great.’ Good luck to him. She’d be on the plane and getting on with her life. But before then they had a week to get through. She processed the thought: they didn’t need to mix together much—could sit apart. Yet it was such a small environment on the truck. If only she’d made more of an effort with the other passengers she could hide amongst them. But she’d kept herself to herself—just quietly taking in the sights and enjoying her freedom.

The truck bounced along the road taking them further from the village. For once Bundy seemed intent on picking up the speed. Ana kept her focus on the vast landscape, enjoying the slight wind cooling her burning skin. It was a converted old army truck. The tarpaulin roof was invariably pulled right back so they could see all around, and be slow cooked in the sun. Only it was no slow cooker today—she felt as if she were being grilled on high.

The bang was loud. She lurched forward, bumped her head on the seat in front of her and in the same instant was thrown back into her seat.

‘Ow.’ It was the shock more than anything that made her cry out.

Swearing voices seemed to surround her. Loud and lots. Bundy in the cab hollered up an apology and an explanation. A blown tyre. She kept her eyes closed, feeling sick at the way her brain still rattled back and forth against her skull.

Fingers gripped her shoulder. Skin touched skin. She was compelled to turn. The sizzle kick-started her heart and she squeezed her eyes tighter together. Not wanting to acknowledge what he made her feel.

‘Ana, are you OK?’

She said nothing.

‘Ana?’ His fingers moved, stroking her shoulder, her arm. Every spot he touched burned. It was a wonder the smoke wasn’t curling up between them as he kindled her senses.

She opened her eyes. Looked straight into the face that was so familiar yet was so different. Leaner, somehow more taut. He was looking right back at her—too close; their gaze locked. Instantly the voices of the others were muted. She heard nothing but the growing rush in her ears. It had been so very long. So long since her toes had curled in instinctive delight, so long since she’d felt that restlessness inside.

Her brain was thickening, but her blood thinning—zinging with mercurial fluidity around her body. She was melting, her core defrosting as yearning rose—for the passion that once made her mindless. His passion.

Her lips parted but no sound emerged. Mesmerised, she watched the lights shift in his eyes. The pale blue sharpened—reflected the shock. Then his pupils swelled, the darkness swallowing the ice. She could see the tension as the tiny muscles worked, narrowing his gaze just that little bit.

Her own eyes were fixed wide—she couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe.

After an age his attention dropped. She could feel his focus. Could read his mind and for just one moment she wanted it.

A kiss.

She jerked, pulling away from him. Concussion. Had to be. That could be the only explanation for that random moment of lunacy.

His hand fell and she heard him mutter the word she’d once ached to hear.

‘Sorry.’

So was she. Sorry he’d just walked back into her life. Even sorrier that her body seemed determined to celebrate the fact.

‘I’m going to help with the tyre.’ He stood.

She pasted another smile on her face as if that halfsecond had never happened. ‘Great.’

A week with Seb on board. She could handle that. Sure she could. No problem.

Chapter Two

ANA spent the next minute reminding herself that although Sebastian Rentoul had made her feel truly desired for the first time in her life, he had also been the cause of her darkest heartache. He’d been the flame that had burned through her until all that had been left inside was cold ash. The loss she’d felt took her breath away—her life’s blood. And he had no idea.

The only thing that mattered to him was his job. In that he was ruthless—viciously determined. He did whatever it took to climb to the top—wasn’t that why he’d done what he had with her? They’d been a one-night stand that went on a few days too long—a weekend getaway that had culminated in a wedding. Ana had been infatuated; she understood that now. Intoxicated by his desire for her, overwhelmed by how right she had felt in his arms. For once she hadn’t been too tall, or awkward. They’d been so physical her usual reticence hadn’t mattered—they’d been too busy to talk. She’d breathlessly, brainlessly said yes. And she’d been so excited about their future.

But it had lasted less than a week. Because when they had returned to London, and he to work, she’d found out about his promotion—the one that had depended on him stabilising his personal life. It wasn’t that he’d fallen head over heels for her at all. He’d simply needed a wife—and she’d been the malleable fling of the moment. The naïve fool.

When she’d accused him of it he hadn’t been shy about admitting it, ruthlessly acknowledging that he had no real belief in marriage—that he’d never meant it to be for ever. And so she’d found out—too late—that his life was one big game. He was a playboy. And he’d played her. Sebastian Rentoul got everything and anything and anyone he wanted. That conversation had been short and brutal. She’d walked out—run away. But for her, the worst had yet to come.

So in the end it took only thirty seconds to underline why she was definitely, totally, not going there again. But it was half an hour until the tyre was changed and they got back on board. Seb returned to the seat next to her and her pulse was still too fast, too erratic.

There was nothing for her to do but box on through it. ‘How’s work going?’

He sent her an ironic look. ‘It’s going well. Lots of cases. I’ve been working long hours.’

And partying even longer hours, she bet. She’d been wowed when she’d found out he was a lawyer—had been such an ignorant idealist. But Seb wasn’t that kind of lawyer. He didn’t don wig and gown and go defend the innocent or the persecuted. He did divorce. Representing high-powered wealthy people embroiled in the bitterest of partings.

Seb swung into action for them—dividing, conquering—making sure the cougar kept the house or the serial sleazoid avoided the alimony. Knowing his powers of persuasion, she knew it was a waste of his talent. He should be in the criminal courtroom. He’d have a jury free a man despite evidence caught on camera and with DNA back-up.