The Billionaire's Bride of Innocence

‘Why me?’

‘Because you were perfect,’ came his smoothly delivered reply.

‘Did you mind that I was a virgin?’

‘Mind? Why would I have minded?’

She shrugged. ‘Because I was inexperienced. I dare say after a while you found me rather boring in bed.’

‘Megan, darling. I am being honest. I never thought you boring in bed. At the same time that doesn’t mean that I would not have one day moved our love-life in a more…imaginative direction. I get the impression you wouldn’t object if I did during our second honeymoon…’

‘What do you mean by a more…imaginative direction?’

‘I don’t think this is the time or place to go into detail. If you trust me, however, as the more experienced partner, I will show you when we get to Dream Island.’ His eyes caressed hers in the most seductive fashion.

Prologue

MEGAN lay on her side in the hard, narrow hospital bed, hoping and praying that the injection the doctor had given her would start working soon. She could not bear to be awake for much longer. Could not bear the pain of her loss for another minute.

Yesterday she had been so happy, the ultrasound showing that she and James were to become the parents of a dear little boy. She’d been over the moon. So had James.

His lovemaking last night had been extra gentle and tender. They’d talked for ages afterwards, discussing what names they would give their son. They’d finally settled on Jonathon, after James’s older brother, who’d been tragically killed in a car accident some years earlier.

The cramps had started during the early hours of this morning. Then had come the bleeding. James had rushed her to the hospital and the doctors had done their best. But nothing could save her baby.

Tears flooding her eyes once more, Megan pressed a smothering fist into her trembling mouth when a sob threatened to escape. She didn’t want anyone to hear her weeping. She didn’t want to listen to any more words of comfort, or sympathy. All she wanted was oblivion. So she bit down on her knuckles and endured her grief in tormented silence.

Time dragged. So did Megan’s heart.

Finally, the sedative did its work and she drifted off to sleep. She did not see her husband re-enter the room a short time later. Did not see the distress on his face as he stared down at his sleeping wife. With a sigh he stroked her hair back from her face, then bent to kiss her softly on the cheek. Shaking his head, he straightened then strode from the room.

It was some considerable time before Megan stirred. Even then, her eyes stayed shut, her head feeling thick and heavy. She could hear voices in the room: male voices—gradually she recognised them as belonging to her husband’s two best friends.

‘James has been out there talking to that doctor for a long time,’ Hugh said irritably.

Hugh Parkinson was the only son and heir to a media fortune. Although he was a playboy by reputation, Megan had always found him rather sweet. He’d been best man at her wedding and had made the loveliest of speeches.

‘He’s probably worried about Megan’s condition,’ Russell answered. Russell McClain was one of Sydney’s most successful real-estate agents.

The three men had been best friends since they’d shared a room at boarding school. And, whilst they had little in common besides their wealth and their love of golf, their friendship had endured for over twenty years. Megan sometimes envied their unconditional affection for each other. She’d never been a girl to make friends easily, being somewhat shy and introverted.

‘Huh!’ Hugh snorted. ‘More likely making sure that she can have more babies.’

Megan was shocked, both by the reproach in Hugh’s voice and the inference behind his words. Surely he didn’t think James had only married her because she’d been pregnant! That wasn’t right. James loved her. She knew he did. Why, he told her so all the time!

‘He should never have married that poor girl,’ Hugh raved on. ‘It was wrong. No, damn it, it was downright wicked. Serve him right if she can’t have more kids.’

Megan’s mouth fell open. Why was Hugh being so cruel and so condemning of his friend?

‘That’s a bit harsh, Hugh,’ Russell said.

‘No, it’s not. Marriage should be about true love, not satisfying an egotistical need to reproduce.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with James wanting a family. It’s unfortunate that he doesn’t love Megan, but he is very fond of her.’

Megan had almost stopped breathing by this stage, the emotional pain of her miscarriage eclipsed by a shock even more devastating than the loss of her baby. She could survive that loss—eventually—if she had her husband’s love.

But it seemed she didn’t.

Oh, God…

‘I could forgive him if the girl had conceived by accident,’ Hugh said. ‘Marrying her under those circumstances would have been the honourable thing to do. What I find hard to condone is that he deliberately set out to impregnate her first.’

Megan had to stuff her fist into her mouth to stop herself from crying out. It was just as well she had her back to Russell and Hugh or they might have seen her hand move.

‘I can understand why he did that,’ Russell remarked. ‘You must remember what he was like when he found out Jackie was barren. The poor bastard was beside himself.’

Barren! His first wife was barren?

James had told her his first marriage had ended because Jackie, an Australian supermodel, wanted a jet-setting lifestyle, whereas he wanted a normal family life. He’d claimed they’d been drifting apart for ages and had split up by mutual consent. It was obvious, however, from what his friends were saying, that James had divorced Jackie because she couldn’t have children.

Megan desperately tried to find some mitigating circumstances against such a ruthless course of action. Maybe they had been drifting apart. They couldn’t have been madly in love, or James would surely have suggested adoption. Unless, of course, he was one of those egotistical men who only wanted a child who carried his own genes. Hugh had implied as much.

‘I could forgive the man if he’d chosen a tough bird like Jackie,’ Hugh growled. ‘But, of course, that wouldn’t do the second time round, would it? James had to regain total control of his life. So he zeroed in on an innocent young virgin who was so swept off her feet by the dashing James Logan that she wasn’t able to see the wood for the trees.’

‘You don’t know Megan was a virgin,’ Russell pointed out. ‘She is twenty-four. Not too many twenty-four-year-old virgins around these days.’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Russ, you only have to look at the way she acts around James to know he was her first lover. She’s utterly besotted with him. He could tell her the world was flat and she’d believe him.’

Megan cringed, whilst Russell sighed.

‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t mean James won’t make a good husband and father. He’s a bit ruthless at times, but still basically a good man. And a good friend. We have no right to judge him, Hugh, we’re far from being perfect. And it’s not as though Megan knows the truth.’

‘But what if she finds out?’

‘Who’s going to tell her? Not us, that’s for sure.’

No, Megan thought wretchedly. You wouldn’t tell me. Not even you, Hugh, who obviously didn’t approve of James’s actions. Both of you stood up at my wedding and bore witness to James promising to love, honour and cherish me when you knew it was all a lie.

Megan froze when she heard the door open, followed by the sound of her husband’s voice.

‘Sorry to be so long,’ he said to his friends. ‘Megan still asleep?’

‘Hasn’t moved a muscle,’ Russell replied. ‘What did the doctor say?’

‘There’s no reason why, in time, Megan can’t have another baby. But he cautioned not to rush things. He said it’s going to take quite a while for her to get over this. She’s taken it very hard.’ He sighed a weary sigh. ‘We both have. It was a boy, you know,’ he went on somewhat croakily. ‘We were going to call him Jonathon…’

Megan hated hearing the distress in her husband’s voice. Hated the fact that she could still sympathise with his pain.

‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Hugh said, all condemnation clearly gone now. ‘We do know how much having children means to you. You must be feeling really rotten. Come on, we’ll take you for a drink. There’s a pub just down the road.’

‘I’ll have to check on Megan first.’

‘Sure thing.’

Megan felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek as he bent over her.

‘Megan, darling, can you hear me?’

Why, oh, why did she open her eyes?

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked her gently.

Her eyes filled with tears as she stared up into the face of the man she loved, and who she’d thought loved her.

‘Go away,’ she choked out. ‘Please…just go away!’ The sobs came in earnest then, shoulder-wracking, heartbreaking sobs. She simply could not stop.

‘I’ll get the nurse,’ he said.

The nurse hurried in, a kind, motherly creature who took Megan in her arms and just held her.

‘There, there, dear,’ she crooned. ‘I know how you feel. I lost a baby once.’

But I’ve lost more than that, Megan agonised. I’ve lost everything!

And she sobbed all the louder.

‘Best leave her for now,’ the nurse directed at James, who was obviously hovering near by. ‘I’ll get the doctor to give her something stronger. She’ll be out of it for some time. Come back this evening. Hopefully, she’ll be feeling better by then.’

No, I won’t, Megan thought despairingly. I’m never going to feel better. Never!

Chapter One

Three months later…

SYDNEY in late April often belied the fact that winter was just over a month away. The nights and mornings could be crisp, but the days were usually warm and rain-free, the skies clear and blue.

The day of Hugh’s wedding was such a day. By midafternoon the temperature had reached a very pleasant twentyfour degrees, which was just as well, since Megan had little in the way of warm outfits to choose from in her wardrobe. She hadn’t been clothes shopping since she’d come home from hospital in January. In actual fact, she hadn’t been out of the house.

Till now…

Megan sat stiffly, her handsome husband beside her, in the second row of seats which had been set up on the main deck of the father of the groom’s super-yacht. When the invitation had first arrived, she’d immediately declined to attend. But James had said he wouldn’t go if she didn’t come with him. Then Hugh had called personally to ask her to reconsider. It wasn’t going to be a big wedding, he’d assured her. Only sixty or so guests.

‘It will do you good to get out,’ he’d argued. ‘You can’t go on like this, Megan.’

Which was true, of course. She couldn’t continue living the way she had, shutting the world out, shutting everyone out. Especially James. She had to make a decision whether to leave him or not, a decision which seemed beyond her. Making any decision seemed beyond her. The only way she made it through each day was by absorbing herself in the one activity she could rely on to provide some escape from the conflicting emotions which constantly besieged her mind.

Painting had always been an all-consuming passion for her, even when she was quite young. As a teenager she’d dreamt of becoming a famous artist one day, of having her works hung in the finest galleries in Australia. She’d begged her father to send her to art school after she’d graduated from high school and, much to her mother’s disgust, he’d agreed.

Megan had spent three years honing her craft, receiving much critical acclaim from her teachers, but not from the art world at large. She’d only ever had one painting exhibited—in a small gallery in Bondi—so it seemed unlikely she would ever achieve the level of success she’d once craved.

But she’d kept on painting, even after she’d married James, though it had been relegated to more of a hobby by then.

Now it was her one and only survival weapon, a way of coping.

It was ironic that, if James ever saw the canvas she’d been working on since her miscarriage, he would sweep her back to the doctor who’d diagnosed her with depression a few days after her miscarriage. No doubt he’d give her another prescription of anti-depressants, along with some more sleeping tablets.

As if pills could fix her problem!

Nothing could fix her problem but herself. Deep down, Megan had always known that. She’d finally thrown all the pills away a few weeks ago and hadn’t felt any worse. In fact, surprisingly, she’d begun to feel a bit better.

Deciding to leave the house and go to Hugh’s wedding was still a huge step for her, but she made it.

So here she was, dressed in the pale pink suit which had been her own going-away outfit, and which was now a size too large. She’d had to move the button on the waistband over to make sure the skirt stayed put. The jacket was a bit loose, but that was all right. It had once been somewhat snug. Her long dark hair was caught up in a French roll. She hadn’t been to a hairdresser in ages and this was the only sophisticated style which she could manage herself. Her make-up had taken her ages: foundation, lipstick and blusher to counter the pallor of her skin and lots of eye make-up, using toning shades of eyeshadow to complement her brown eyes and heaps of mascara. No eyeliner, however. She had tried it but her hands had trembled and she’d poked herself in the eye, making it water, so she gave up on that idea.

James had said she looked lovely when he’d first seen her today.

Inside, she’d shrunk from his compliment, in much the same way that she shrank from him whenever he tried to show affection to her. This time, however, she’d managed a small smile and a polite thank-you. Then, when he’d taken her hand as they walked up the gangway onto the yacht, she hadn’t snatched it away. She’d left it there.

That had been a mistake, Megan now realised as she stared down at where James still had her hand clasped firmly within his. Hand-holding might not be all that intimate an activity, but it was closer than anything Megan had allowed since her miscarriage.

Not once since she’d come home from hospital had Megan let James make love to her. Frankly, the idea of going to bed with him made her feel ill. Whenever he tried to take her into his arms she’d pull away with a sharp ‘no!’, after which she would usually make some pathetic excuse, saying that she was sorry, that she just couldn’t. Not yet.

He’d been amazingly patient with her, but she wasn’t a complete fool. She’d glimpsed the frustration on his face at times, had seen it increasing over the last month. He’d started working longer and longer hours, probably so that he didn’t have to be home with a wife who rejected him all the time. And she’d started spending more and more time down in her studio, painting. Sometimes she even slept down there.

Her letting James hold her hand might not seem like a big deal, but Megan could see that her husband was looking pretty pleased with himself just now. Pleased with her, too. He was sure to try to make love to her again tonight and he would be expecting her not to reject him this time.

The music started up—the traditional Bridal March—James’s fingers tightening around Megan’s as he pulled her to her feet. Their eyes met briefly, Megan startled by the sudden lurching of her stomach. She quickly looked away before he could see the shock in her face.

That couldn’t have been a spark of desire she’d just experienced, could it?

How perverse if it was. Wickedly perverse.

She didn’t want to want him. Ever again.

But if Megan was brutally honest with herself, this was what she’d been fearing all along, that, if she didn’t leave James, one day he would succeed in seducing her again. That was why she’d avoided all physical contact. And why she’d gone on the Pill. Because she’d known, deep down, that she was still vulnerable to her husband’s prowess in the bedroom.

Sex with James had far surpassed anything she’d ever dreamt about. Had from the word go, despite her virginity, and she’d simply thought him wonderful.

She’d thought him even more wonderful on their honeymoon. She’d been suffering a slight case of morning sickness during their two weeks in Hawaii and he couldn’t have been more considerate.

But when James had been away on business during the weeks leading up to their wedding, Megan had experienced a taste of what frustration was like. Memories of his expert lovemaking had tormented her every night during his absence, and she’d lain awake for hours as she’d relived every exciting moment.

By the time their wedding night had come around, she’d wanted him like crazy. She’d wallowed in their seemingly mutual passion that night, and had been upset when her nausea each morning had interrupted their lovemaking. She’d been looking forward to spending long hours every day in his arms. As it was, James had still made love to her each evening, and occasionally in the middle of the night as well, before her morning nausea kicked in.

By the time they’d returned from their honeymoon, Megan had become used to being made love to at least once a day. When James went back to work, however, their sex life had lessened somewhat. Megan had thought this was because James was tired. As the owner of one of Sydney’s most successful advertising agencies, he worked very hard. She realised now that he was probably bored with her. His mission had been accomplished, after all: she had been carrying his child and was blindly besotted with him.

She supposed it was possible that he thought she wouldn’t want him as much, once she became pregnant. Just the opposite was the case, however. She’d wanted James more than ever.

There’d been a few times when Megan was so frustrated that she thought of initiating things herself. Once, when they’d been swimming in the pool together on a hot summer night. Another time, when they’d been getting ready to go out on New Year’s Eve. James had been in the shower, whistling, and she’d suddenly been tempted to strip off and join him. She’d experienced a strong urge to do some of the things to him that she’d read about in books: bold, sexy things, with her hands and her mouth.

But, in the end, she hadn’t had the confidence.

Still, her desire for her husband, Megan now understood, had always been far greater than his desire for her. Which was only natural; she loved him.

She still loved him, despite everything. Loved him and, to her shock and shame today, still wanted him.

Where, in heaven’s name, was her pride?

Not much in evidence at that moment, her heartbeat quickening when he turned to her and smiled one of those supersexy smiles which had used to turn her to mush.

In desperation, she managed to extricate her hand with the excuse that she always cried at weddings and needed to get a tissue from her handbag.

‘I have to admit,’ James said as she rifled through her handbag, ‘that I never thought this day would come. Hugh always vowed and declared that he would never get married.’

Megan recalled what she’d overheard Hugh saying at the hospital; that marriage should be the result of true love, and nothing else.

‘Still, I have a feeling he’ll be more successful at marriage than his father,’ James whispered to her. ‘Not that that’d be hard. I’ve lost count of how many wives Dickie Parkinson has had, each one younger than the last. Hugh’s chosen very well, I think. Kathryn’s a lovely girl. And very sensible. Oh, wow!’ he exclaimed. ‘What is it about brides that means they always look absolutely gorgeous?’

Megan was glad to have something to distract herself from the turmoil in her heart, her head turning to watch the bride walk down the aisle.

Megan didn’t know much about Kathryn Hart, only that she’d been Hugh’s PA. But James was right. She made an absolutely beautiful bride, dressed in a strapless white gown which had a tight beaded bodice and a gathered floor-length skirt. It was very similar in style to her own wedding gown, though hers had been ivory, not white. Kathryn seemed to float down the strip of red carpet which bisected the rows of seats, a long tulle veil trailing after her, her dark hair up and anchored in place by a tiara of white roses.

Megan’s eyes swung back to where the minister was standing along with Hugh and Russell, both looking resplendent in black dinner suits, white roses in their lapels. As handsome as both men were, neither of them could hold a candle to James, in her opinion.

Her eyes slid surreptitiously back to her husband, whose attention, thankfully, was elsewhere.

There was no doubt James was a striking-looking man: very tall and well-built, with a masculine face and deep-set, extremely dark eyes that commanded immediate attention. His cheekbones were prominent, his nose strong and straight, his mouth nicely shaped. His ears sat flat against his wellshaped head, which was just as well, because he always wore his dark brown hair very short, giving a tough-guy edge to his otherwise conservative image.

Women would still have thrown themselves at him, Megan conceded, even if he hadn’t been rich and powerful.

On top of that, he was always superbly dressed. The white-jacketed dinner suit he was wearing today was no off-the-peg variety. It had been tailored especially to fit him. But he looked just as good without clothes, she knew, his shoulders naturally broad and his muscles well honed from regular workouts in the gym. His quite magnificent male body was well-equipped to satisfy a woman in every way.

He satisfied me, she recalled. Every time.

And he’d satisfy you again, a devilish voice piped up in her head. All you have to do is let him…

Her face flushed at the temptation, a small groan escaping her lips.

When James’s head whipped round, she brought the tissue up to her mouth and tried not to look embarrassed.

‘You’re not crying already, are you?’ he said, but with an indulgent little smile.

‘Not yet,’ she croaked out.

‘You are a real softie, aren’t you? But I love that about you.’

Do you? she wondered as she wrenched her eyes away from his. Do you actually love anything about me?

Russell had said he was fond of her. That could be true, Megan conceded. James was always very nice to her.

But being fond of someone was a wishy-washy, lukewarm feeling, no match for the mad passion James had evoked in her from the start, and which she’d believed was mutual. How much of his so-called passion on their wedding night had been pretend? Did he have any real desire for her? Or was she just a means to an end?

Megan was well aware that men could not fake an erection. But it didn’t take much for a man in his prime—and James, at thirty-six, was still a young man—to become aroused. It was a well-known fact that men didn’t need love to want to have sex; just a willing woman in most cases.

She’d been very willing. And very naïve.

But not so naïve any longer.

If she ever went to bed with James again, she would have to do so with the full knowledge that he didn’t love her.

Could she do that? Could she really?

Before today, she would have said no. Definitely not!

Now she wasn’t quite so sure…