Let's Pretend (Romantic Comedy, Contemporary, Second Chance, Sensual) (14 page)

Luc gently squeezed her hands. “And I’m trained to notice dangerous situations on the job. Despite wanting to hunt down that junky and teach him a lesson, I accept that you know what you’re doing, just as I do. Please, Belle, don’t let the fact you lost your dad in a helicopter accident make you think you’ll lose me next. I don’t plan on going anywhere for a good long time.”

Could she put her fear aside? Live life minus the tenterhooks? Was it possible to let go of her anxiety and simply enjoy her life with Luc? Or would a complete sever from him help to preserve her sanity?

“What if I still want a divorce?”

He released a breath along with her hands as he sat back on his heels. “Then I won’t stand in your way. I love you, Isobel. I want to give you whatever you want, even if it means ripping out my own heart in the process. I’ve had to watch my parents suffer through a marriage commitment they didn’t want. I’d never force you to do the same.”

Life would be far more miserable without Luc. “Is that why you didn’t contest the divorce?”

“Yes.” Though his jaw tensed, he spoke quietly, almost resigned to the possibility that he had lost her. “Love isn’t enough to sustain a marriage if it’s one-sided.”

 
Belle’s heart squeezed tight in response to Luc’s noble attempt to give her whatever she wanted, even as it clearly broke his heart. She reached out and cupped his bristly cheek in her palm.

“It isn’t one-sided, Luc,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “I love you, too. Nothing...absolutely
nothing,
makes sense without you.”

Despite his smile, Luc’s eyes glistened. “What are you saying?”

Renewed tears filled Belle’s vision, made his beloved face shimmer. “When a bullet enters the body, it isn’t the projectile burrowing into the body that causes the most damage. It’s the blast wave creating a cavity that destroys the organs within its path.”

“Honey, you aren’t making sense.”

“In plain speech, Luc, I love you, and these last few days have made me conclude that ending our marriage would be far more destructive than living with the possibility that you may get hurt.”

His smile widened as he placed his hands on her knees. “The divorce is the blast wave, right?”

Belle’s laugh came off teary. “Yes, the divorce is the blast wave.”

“If this comes down to a choice—you or the job—you know I’d choose you.”

“I’d never ask you to do that.”

“It’s how much I want to be with you, Belle.”

“I know.” She kissed him with all the gratitude inside of her. “You can’t give up your job,” she said when they ended the kiss. “Because I love a man in uniform.”

“You finally admit it’s the uniform.”

“Oh, it’s definitely the
man
in the uniform that does it for me.”

Luc moved to sit next to her on the bed. His heated gaze locked on her lips sparked desire low in her belly as he cupped the back of her head, drawing her close for another inferno kiss.

“You’re
kinda
hot in scrubs, yourself,” he whispered against her mouth.

Belle laughed, finally releasing months of tension and worry. “
Nobody
is hot in scrubs.”

“You think so?” He grinned. “Come here and let me show you what I think about when I see you in those green pyjama things.”

Belle was sure the whole neighbourhood must have heard her shriek of delight when Luc suddenly wrestled her back against the mattress.

~*~

IT WAS several hours and one missed flight later when Belle and Luc finally left the bedroom to tell Belle’s family they’d decided not to apply for the decree absolute.

As they stepped off the last tread, Luc dropped his arm around Belle’s shoulder and a kiss on her temple. “Are you ready for this?”

She tangled her fingers with his on her shoulder, her other hand playing with the hard muscle at his waist. “Absolutely.”

He chuckled. “So different from the last time we did this.”

“I know.” Was it only a couple of days ago she had warned Luc not to go overboard with the devoted husband act? Now it wasn’t an act, and Belle couldn’t wait to get back home to London with Luc.

Bring on the second honeymoon!

When they entered the lounge, Tommy was noticeably absent, but five pairs of eyes turned to stare at them with an atmosphere of anxious waiting.

Unable to keep the news to herself, Belle shouted, “We’ve reconciled.”

Mia was the first to squeal and launch herself at them, almost knocking Belle and Luc off their feet.

“I’m so happy!” She threw her arms around them and rocked them from side to side in a happy dance.

The other women joined in the bear hug, and Belle spotted Gran in her chair next to the fireplace. Hands clasped in her lap, she smiled a secret smile and gave Belle a cheeky wink.

“Gran, you did it.” Mia released them and hugged Gran tight enough to crack a rib.

Belle didn’t trust the spark of mischief in her sister’s eyes. “What do you mean, Gran ‘did it’?”

Mia released her grandmother, but sat on the chair arm beside her with an arm around the elderly woman’s shoulder. She looked down, meeting Gran’s enigmatic glance. “Are you going to tell everyone why you brought us here?”

Gran’s secret smile turned wicked, and she tapped her chin in thought. “Oh dear, it seems I’ve forgotten. Would you believe it?”

Vicki and Mia burst out laughing, while Luc, Belle and her cousins looked on in astonishment.

Then Luc joined in. “The
wily
little old lady!”

Belle’s chuckle turned into a full belly laugh.

Gran had pulled another fast one on them. Evidently, she’d known all this time they’d ended their marriage, and had orchestrated a family gathering to force them to come clean, or reconcile.

Luc pulled Belle to him and claimed her mouth in a firestorm kiss filled with promise for a future based on unbreakable commitment. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Belle noticed her family creeping from the lounge, leaving her and Luc in their private cocoon.

He drew away, his intense gaze searching hers. He stroked a forefinger down her cheek. “Have you any idea how much I love you, Mrs. Delaney?”

A lump rose to her throat. It’d been a while since she last thought of herself as Mrs. Delaney, Lucas Delaney’s wife. She was both Dr. Murphy and Mrs. Delaney. Out of the two titles, ‘Mrs. Delaney’ made her heart sing.

For answer, Belle pressed her mouth to his, not caring that he had to have seen the tears of joy glistening in her eyes.

“Oh, Luc, I’ve missed you. How could I ever have thought it possible to live without you? I love you so much.”

He rewarded her with a grin before melting her with another kiss. As each transmitted their deep love for the other in a thorough, sexy embrace, Belle felt sure that whatever the future held for them, they’d meet it head-on in steadfast union.

*~*~*~*

Thank you for reading
Let’s Pretend
. I hope you enjoyed Belle and Luc’s story. Now please allow me to introduce you to Andrew and Michelle in this excerpt from
Divorce Etiquette
.

Divorce Etiquette

by

Monique DeVere

© Monique DeVere 2009

Chapter One

B
y the time Andrew Boston reached for the phone, it had rung seven times.

Seven nerve-grating rings and if it rung once more he was going to throw it, the desk, the computer and quite possibly the entire contents of his plush tenth floor Docklands office out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

To say his day wasn’t going well was an understatement. It was barely ten o’clock, and he’d already been at his office six hours dealing with a North American software company run by dyslexic chimpanzees.

How the company had survived this long was beyond him. Clearly, he was their last resort. The desperate call for help two days ago now left him sitting amongst a mountain of paperwork and business accounts.

His assessment of the company’s recovery was dire. Nevertheless, his job was to bring order to businesses in chaos.

Where was Juliet? And why couldn’t company owners seek professional business help before they ran into trouble?

He gave the reinforced windows a considering look as he lifted the receiver. “Andrew Boston.” Annoyance at having to answer a call his assistant should have intercepted vibrated in his voice.

“Boston. You want to tell me why your wife is trying to take my company?”

The angry reference to a wife he no longer had threw Andrew. Something clenched deep in his gut at the mention of her. He rubbed the back of his neck to relieve some of the tension caused by six hours of hunched-over concentration.

He hadn’t seen Michelle since December. Running into her at his parents’ annual Christmas party had been a surprise, but they’d been civil. Not that he could imagine Michelle being anything other than painfully civil toward him.

He didn’t want the reminder of his ex-wife. Regrets and thoughts of might-have-
beens
habitually followed, and he refused to dwell on his mistakes.

He pushed the thoughts away. “What are you talking about, Lydell?”

Andrew swung his chair around to face the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows lining the wall behind him.

Patrick Lydell’s craggy voice crackled through the phone line. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t know your wife is working for Kirkham and Hull, or that they’re representing William Evans, who’s trying to steal my company?”

“Of course I know where Michelle works, but this is the first I’ve heard of a takeover.”

“Well let me tell you something, my boy,” Patrick ran on. “And you can tell this to your wife. I’ve worked too hard to sit back and let anyone—especially Evans—take my company from me in some hostile bid. If she’s looking for a fight, she’s got one.”

The phone crashed down in his ear.

Andrew glared at the handset, slammed it down, and stood with shoulders rigid. He dug his hands into his trouser pockets to keep from giving in to the impulse to fling the thing against the far wall.

After listening to what Michelle thought of him last Christmas, he’d vowed to stay out of her life. And, as she’d taken pains to point out, she was no longer his responsibility.

As a thought occurred to him, he bit back a word that would make his mum flick his ear if she heard him utter it. Michelle owned twelve percent equity in Lydell Electronics, which placed her in the position of possible insider trading.

His day just got worse.

He had to go and see Michelle.

****

Michelle wasn’t having a good day.

She couldn’t concentrate and had been reading and re-reading the same few pages of a company report for more hours than she cared to admit. Mainly, she’d been unable to stop thinking about today’s date—July twenty-first—and what it signified.

“Ms. Boston, your husband’s on hold.”

Michelle glanced up from the company report and looked at the intercom on her desk as if it were a foreign object. Hours of due-diligence must have interrupted her brain signals, because she was sure her assistant had just said Andrew was on hold.

Why would he be phoning her? Surely not because of the date? She frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose as she glanced out the window of her South Bank office. It’d been seven months since she last saw him, and she’d almost begun to believe she wouldn’t see him again for a long time—the rest of her life, if she had anything to do with it.