Free Forbidden Fire by Heather Graham Page A

love of God, Marissa, sign the damned thing.”
    She hesitated a second longer. Which name did she sign? Mary’s? Would things be legal then? Perhaps not. But if they weren’t legal, things would be better if they were caught!
    â€œMarissa!” Her name seemed to be an explosion of impatience. She started to write with trembling fingers, scrawling out her name in a far worse manner than he had done.
    She stared at it. It was very nearly illegible. But she knew what she had signed. Katherine Marissa Ayers. At the last moment, she had signed her own name. He would never know. “Ahearn” and the “Ayers” were close enough when written with fingers that trembled as violently as hers had done.
    Meg and Lucy stepped forward and signed the wedding license, then Mr. Blackstone did the same, and blotted all the signatures.
    â€œShall I get some champagne?” Meg suggested, and Mr. Blackstone looked up eagerly.
    â€œChampagne?” Ian mused. Marissa bit her lip in silence. “Champagne. By all means. What is a wedding without a toast?”
    â€œMy own sentiments exactly,” Mr. Blackstone agreed jovially.
    Meg left the room for the champagne and Mr. Blackstone sat behind the desk, finishing with the forms. Marissa and Ian stood in silence. Waiting.
    Then Meg burst through the door. Ian took the tray with champagne from her, setting it upon the desk. He observed the label with a critical eye, then shrugged and popped the cork. Champagne bubbled out, and he quickly began to pour it into the five flutes upon the tray.
    He handed one to Marissa. Her fingers curled around it. He smiled, grimly. “Till death do us part,” he said.
    â€œHear, hear!” Mr. Blackstone agreed. He lifted his glass and sighed. “To many years of marital bliss!”
    â€œOh, many years,” Ian said wryly.
    â€œTo a huge, full, wonderful family! Strong, handsome sons and beautiful daughters!” Meg cried, well into the spirit of the thing.
    Did neither she nor Mr. Blackstone see the hostility that lurked in Ian Tremayne’s eyes?
    They did not, but Marissa did. In silence, she sipped her champagne, then tossed her head back and swallowed the contents in a gulp. Ian’s lip curled as he watched her, and he poured her another portion of the vintage, then added to Mr. Blackstone’s proffered flute.
    â€œWell, then!” Blackstone said with a sigh as he swallowed his down and set the glass upon the tray. “The very best to you both. To you, good sir, and you, too, Mrs. Tremayne.”
    Marissa’s head jerked up. Blackstone locked his briefcase and lifted it from the table. Ian Tremayne opened the door for him. Blackstone bowed to Meg, and the little maid smiled and said goodbye and good luck once again and left. The more sedate Lucy followed quickly behind her. “Again, the best to you both,” Blackstone said, bowing just before he exited the room.
    Ian closed the door behind them. He leaned against it and stared at her.
    Once again, she saw the curl of a mocking smile touch his lips. “Ah, yes. Don’t look so startled, love. You are, you realize, Mrs. Tremayne. Just as you wished.”
    She started as he pushed away from the door and came toward her, catching her wrists, pulling her hard against his well-muscled form. “Yes, my dear, you’ve gotten exactly what you came for. Marriage. Are you happy?”
    She tugged uneasily upon her wrists, frightened by his sudden hostility. “Mr. Tremayne—”
    â€œSo very formal, Mrs. Tremayne.”
    â€œBut I’m not really—”
    â€œOh, yes, you see, that’s where you are mistaken. You are really my wife, Marissa. My wife,” he repeated softly.
    Then he dropped her wrists and headed for the door, pausing with his hand upon the knob. His crooked smile curved his mouth and he repeated the words once again. “I’ve a wife. Dear God, whatever possessed me? May heaven