‘It doesn’t apply to us because you didn’t actually sign it. I’m married to you, not your sister. We won’t make new rules. We’ll let everything progress naturally. I will try to loosen up a little on the rule front,’ Tore conceded because he was still hearingI liked itsomewhere in the back of his brain and just then it sounded like a remarkably soothing refrain.
It was strange how he no longer felt quite so trapped in the marriage, he acknowledged in surprise. The anger had gone. Violet was so grounded that she calmed him. She wasn’t creating a fuss about anything… Why should he? After all, if she could make him feel what she had made him feel when she was in his arms, she was more of an ally than an enemy. As for that demand for up-front cash that had once enraged him? Possibly, he was more than a little spoiled by the fact that large sums of money had always been available to him. He had never known poverty. And the way his bride dressed herself and the baby, she was pretty poor. He had already made arrangements to deal with that problem.
Progressnaturally?What did he mean by that? No more rules?
‘I don’t really understand what you mean by—’ she admitted ruefully ‘—progress naturally?’
‘If we want to kiss, we kiss. If we don’t, we don’t,’ Tore framed crisply, his dark, deep drawl curling up her spine like a caress.
Violet curled up sleepily. ‘So, no rules, then,’ she mumbled in relief.
And she fell asleep right there and then. Tore was rather disconcerted by that discovery. He remembered suspecting that his ambitious-to-keep-him bride might try to use sex to manipulate him and a quiet laugh escaped him. No, he didn’t think Violet in her alphabet pyjamas was likely to be involved in that power play. But over the years he had had more than one sexual partner who sought to manipulate him.
A week later, Violet traced her fingertips across the neat piles of silk, lace and the finest cashmere in her walk-in dressing room. An array of summer garments hung in the closets for her: pretty dresses, formal evening wear, beachwear and more luxury lingerie than she had ever seen outside a shop. There were even rows of footwear of all descriptions and handbags galore. It was time to have a word with Tore in private.
She descended the curving stone stairs, crossed the hall and traversed the lower floor corridor into the extension where Tore kept an office suite. Phones were ringing, quickly answered by formally dressed staff. Computers were humming. It was all business. There was a beautiful beach outside and the sun was shining, but inside the office space they could have been in any city location. Tore was dealing with a herd of guests under his roof by continuing work as usual. He wasn’t entertaining or rediscovering old childhood haunts with the guests, either; goodness no.
‘I’d like to see Tore…my husband,’ Violet added as a harassed assistant set down the phone and regarded her and the baby in her arms in open dismay.
The woman dealt a tentative knock to the closed door behind her and Violet slid in front of her and simply opened it, espying Tore lodged by the window while he dictated something into a phone. Sheathed in a dark grey suit, a midnight-blue shirt and silvery tie embellishing the slice of broad chest visible, he turned, enquiring emerald green eyes to her. Such beautiful eyes, jewels of light in that lean bronzed face, black lashes dipping as he studied her.
And that was a cue for butterflies in her tummy and a touch of overheating to kick in, a bit of a flush. With those physical reactions came uncertainty and a discomfiture, which she valiantly fought off. ‘Tore…’
Belle let out a squeal and opened her arms wide. Almost unbalanced by the little girl’s welcoming gesture, Violet set her daughter down on the wooden floor beneath her feet. Belle scrambled in Tore’s direction.
‘How can I help you?’ he asked pleasantly, tensing a little as Belle got closer.
Violet could have given him a list of how he wasnothelping her withhisguests,hisrelatives, whom he was ignoring, but the new wardrobe of clothes was currently top of that complaint list. ‘It’s the clothes, the new clothes you appear to have bought for me…’
Tore lifted a sardonic brow in apparent surprise.‘And?’
‘Obviously, I don’t need all that stuff,’ she objected.
Tore surveyed his bride, clad in faded jean shorts and a rather washed-out tee and flip-flops. ‘You need new clothes and it’s my role to provide them.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since I decided I didn’t want to see my wife and her daughter less well dressed than our guests. It’s a superficial thing and I don’t usually worry about those but I need to see you turned out correctly as my hostess…and squash any unpleasant rumours that I could be a tight wad,’ he quipped with amusement as Belle crawled across his feet and then when he didn’t appear to notice her arrival, turned and did it again.
Violet lifted her pointed chin, blue eyes flaring. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to buy me clothes, Tore!’
‘Seems remiss of you not to have guessed that I would take care of a problem like that,’ Tore countered, admiring the pink in her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes. Her black hair was piled in a messy bun on top of her head, odd little tendrils curling round her small ears, dark against her pale Celtic complexion. He throbbed against his zipper, reminding himself that she was in his bed at night but always fast asleep by the time he got there and still asleep when he rose at dawn. He was going to have to rearrange his routine, cut the very late nights and possibly the early starts as well. Evidently, she needed a lot more sleep than he did while he had decided that he needed rather more of her.
‘It wasn’t a problem,’ Violet contended curtly. ‘I’m quite happy wearing my own clothes.’
‘But I’mnothappy with you or Belle looking shabby.’ Tore finally bit the bullet and just came clean as Belle loosed a squeal of frustration. He dropped down and grabbed Belle where she was now clinging to his trouser legs, precariously standing and proud of the fact. ‘What are you complaining about?’ he asked the little girl as he swung her up into the air and she giggled, her rounded baby face a picture of delight. ‘Who lifted you out of your cot this morning when you were desperate to escape?’
Cheeks still burning from that label,shabby, Violet frowned. ‘You…did?’
‘Sì.I felt sorry for her and Stella wasn’t up yet. Belle and I had breakfast together,’ he shared with amusement. ‘I gave her a banana and water to keep her happy until Stella appeared.’
‘That was very kind of you. I should’ve been up…but the clothes? You really think they’re necessary?’ Violet prompted uneasily.
Brilliant green eyes rested on her. ‘I do and because I have no idea of your style, there’s a selection and you can return anything that you dislike. In the short-term, though, it means you have something to wear for every occasion.’
Violet lifted her arms to reclaim her daughter. That word,shabby, had hit her pride squarely where it hurt and she knew it was true. She didn’t spend money on clothes for her or her daughter. She was used to making do with what she had and that was a habit engrained from childhood when money had always been in short supply. Even though the bakery was doing well financially, she still didn’t spend on anything other than necessities. Now she reckoned she should have splashed out on some smarter clothing for her and Belle before the wedding. Tore had won the battle, she reflected tartly. No, it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to be embarrassed by his wife’sshabbyappearance.
‘You should come down to the beach with us this afternoon,’ she suggested because she had already developed the habit of letting Belle play in the sand and dip her toes in the surf for an hour every afternoon.
