Page 10 of Groom Gamble

And he wants me to have his babies. My suddenly inventive mind sees black-haired, hazel-eyed kids laughing as they play on Streatham Common. I see my boss spinning around a little girl with soft brown hair and grey eyes like his own.

“But it would be like an arranged marriage? No expectations of love,” I say faintly. “A sort of marriage of convenience?”

He dips his chin in assent.

It was me who came up with the idea, and so I can’t expect love, and yet my stomach lurches as though I’ve walked all the way up the stairs and expected another step.

Because being a wife to a stranger would be one thing. There wouldn’t be any feelings on either side, and I could get on with being a mother without love muddying the relationship.

But with Dexter Streatham, that’s impossible. There’s no chance of me being happy with just having his children and being his convenient wife.

It would hurt far too much.

I love him. The whole reason for this arranged marriage idea was to get over my feelings for my boss, so my heart didn’t tap-dance every time I saw him, not trap me in a lifelong situation where I pine for his affection but never have it.

So for the sake of my sanity, I have to top my most stupid action again today. Sorry organism and orgasm, you’re relegated to third place.

“I can’t marry you.”

4

DEX

She will. She absolutely will marry me.

The alternative is unthinkable. Another man, having Sophia?

No.

“Thank you for the offer, if it was that.” She tilts up her chin. “But I’m going to useLondon Matchmakers.”

Jealous rage rises in me like a fire sparking into life.

I assumed she wasn’t interested in marriage and children, since my previous assistant picked her out and I’m a demanding boss. I require absolute commitment, and I pay generously for it.

But if she’s marrying? Even though I’m too old for her, and she’s too sweet for me, she’ll be mine.

If I were a good man, I would let this go.

“Why?” I snap.

“Because…” She hesitates, all the certainty of a moment ago seeping away. “Two reasons.”

“Which are.”

“Good reasons.” Nodding, she wipes her hands on her skirt and presses her lips together. She’s stalling, and it’s unlike her. Usually Miss Berry is serene and organised.

I give her time to think up her spurious excuses because I like that I’m seeing a different side to her.

“Safety,” she says after a few seconds. “He wouldn’t be a mafia boss. The London mafias are dangerous.”

“Are you suggesting I couldn’t take care of my family,” I reply slowly.

“No.” She gulps and quickly backtracks, twisting her hands together.

Nervous. No wonder. That’s a nonsense reason, and we both know it.

“Second, I want children. That’s important. A sperm sample will ensure the best possible chance, and you’ve refused to do that.” She becomes steadier as she gets more confident of her reason. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”