A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion

She glared at him. If anyone in this room suffered from a severe aversion to the truth, it wasn’t her. ‘Now, look here—’

‘No, you look, my sweet, headstrong, perverse wife.’ He had risen with one of the swift animal-like movements characteristic of him, and before she could react he had drawn her to her feet, both hands gripping her elbows as he held her in front of him. ‘I intend to talk this through.’

‘I don’t want to talk,’ she protested, angry at the way his nearness was affecting her equilibrium. ‘There’s nothing to say and no need to talk.’

‘Maybe you’re right at that.’ His eyes had locked on hers, drawing her into the glowing amber as he filled her vision. ‘Action speaks louder than words, isn’t that what they say?’

She had arched back, but in one expert movement he had drawn her into him, his mouth coming down quickly on hers.

She struggled, but it was like beating herself against solid stone as he held her with the force of his body, his mouth plundering hers. She knew she was fighting herself as much as Taylor—the second his lips had touched hers she wanted him with a passion which frightened her more than anything else could have done. This was the man who had betrayed her, broken her heart and then sailed back into her life as though he had every right to be there. She couldn’t, she mustn’t, give in to him.

But the desire was as it had always been from the first moment she had met him—clean and hot and senseless. He was the master of the senses, her senses, whether she liked it or not, she thought desperately. He always had been.

The kiss was deep and potent, the taste and smell of him spinning in her head as she fought for control of the need which was raging through her flesh. It had been so long since she had been in his arms like this, and desire was a fire inside her which was spreading however she tried to dampen it down.

His mouth was urgent and hungry, but not cruel. Nevertheless, as she managed to jerk her head away for an instant, she gasped, ‘You’re hurting me. Let me go.’

Even as his mouth claimed hers again she felt him tense and knew her words had registered. For a moment he continued to hold her, so she could feel every inch of his powerful body, and then, with a low groan, he wrenched his mouth from hers. He was breathing hard, the trembling she’d felt in his body mirrored in hers. She was conscious of his chest rising and falling under the fine linen shirt as he fought for control for one more second, and then suddenly—regretfully—she was free. And now she was fighting an almost overwhelming craving to fling herself into his arms again.

She instinctively hid behind attack being the best defence. ‘How dare you manhandle me?’ She ignored the hot, insistent flow of desire flowing through her shaking limbs. ‘You try anything like that again and I swear I’ll scream the place down. Maybe even Hannah would think twice about working for a man who forces women.’

He surveyed her for what seemed like an eternity without speaking, his hands now thrust into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Methinks the lady protests too hard.’ And then he smiled, as if amused.

He had to be the most infuriating man ever born. Why couldn’t he get angry at what she had just said? Instead he stood there looking immensely pleased with life, the arrogant, two-timing, conceited swine. She tried to match his composure when she said, ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Taylor. I’m counting the minutes, let alone the hours until I’m free of you for good.’

His smile disappeared. She would have liked to have felt triumphant, but merely felt sick at heart. To think they had come to this when it had been so good.

The entrance of Hannah, with a tray of coffee and the special shortcake she made—which was utterly delicious and melted in the mouth—silenced further sparring.

Hannah glanced at them both but made no comment, although the atmosphere was such you didn’t need to be the brain of Britain to work out all was not well. Whether the housekeeper had noticed her swollen lips and tousled hair, Marsha wasn’t sure, but if she had Hannah was being the soul of discretion—which wasn’t like her.

Marsha had sat down as the door had opened, but Taylor remained standing by her chair until Hannah left the room again, at which point he walked over to the window in the dining room and stood looking out into the dark night.

Marsha looked down into her glass and wondered if the excess of wine she’d consumed was making her maudlin. But it wasn’t the alcohol. It was the sight of Taylor looking good enough to eat that had her forcing back the tears. She wanted to be over him, she needed to be over him, so why couldn’t she manage her feelings as she’d learnt to manage the rest of her life?

She could feel the tension within mounting and wondered how much more of his silence she could take. But she wasn’t going to speak first. Silly, maybe, perhaps even childish, but she needed every small victory she could get with Taylor.

‘Fancy taking our coffees outside?’ He turned as he spoke, his tone so perfectly normal and matter-of-fact that Marsha could have floored him. Here was she, tied up in knots and suffering the torment of the damned, and he was Mr Cool.

She shrugged nonchalantly, lifting her eyes to meet his. ‘If you like, and then I really will have to go. I’ve an important meeting first thing tomorrow.’

‘Oh, yes?’ He raised enquiring eyebrows as he walked over to the table and lifted the coffee pot.

‘Jeff—he’s my boss and one of the producers—wants me to discuss ideas for a documentary we’ve been looking into. His researchers have given me reams of information, but I need to pull it together and sell the concept overall.’

She was unaware of how animated her voice had become as she talked about the work she loved, but he had stopped filling the coffee cups and was giving her his full attention as he said, ‘You’re his assistant, I take it?’

She nodded. It had been a huge boost to her self-esteem when she had snatched the coveted job from a host of other hopefuls, some of them internal applicants, mainly because Jeff had remembered her from her pre-marriage days. She had come across his path whilst on a training scheme for people who were expected to rise to become producers or managers for a different television company, and although the contact had only been fleeting he had obviously been impressed with her.

It had been her decision, along with a little gentle persuasion from Taylor, to leave the other company after her marriage, mainly because the sort of hours and commitment the five-year training scheme involved could be very antisocial, and she had wanted to be with her new husband as much as possible. In hindsight, it was a decision she bitterly regretted.

Her first at university, in English and Communication Studies, had meant constant hard work and dedication, but it had lifted her into the realm of high-calibre graduates. This had given her a ticket on to the training scheme, at which only a mere handful of the thousands who applied each year were successful. And then she had thrown it all away. But for the lucky break with Jeff she could well have found herself making the tea and sweeping up rather than back in the hub of things.

‘I’m pleased for you, Fuzz.’

His quiet voice brought her out of her thoughts and her eyes focused on his sombre face. She stared at him, knowing that certain something which had always used to sizzle between them was still there and hating the power it gave him. She made her voice cool when she said, ‘Really?’ putting a wealth of disbelief in the one word.

‘Uh-huh. Really.’ He had crossed his arms over his chest, studying her with those strangely beautiful tawny eyes which had always seemed to look straight into her soul.

‘Forgive me, but I find that difficult to believe,’ she said, allowing her gaze to freeze.

‘I do—forgive you, that is,’ he returned comfortably. ‘Mainly because I understand now just how fragile and insecure you are beneath that beautiful, resilient exterior.’

Insecure again. If he said that word once more she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions!

‘It was a mistake for you to give up your career when we married, but I didn’t realise that until it was too late. You needed the sense of self-worth it gave you. I thought I would be enough for you, that I could give you everything you needed, but it was too soon.’

‘Cut the psychoanalysis, Taylor,’ she said stonily. ‘The mistake I made was trusting you; it’s as simple as that.’

‘Nothing is simple where you are concerned, as I’ve learnt to my cost.’ He finished pouring the coffee as he spoke, seemingly totally unconcerned by her declaration. ‘I always thought someone was innocent until proven guilty in this country.’ He turned suddenly to face her for an instant. ‘Where’s your proof, Fuzz?’

Her body jerked as if she had been stung, but although she eyed him hotly she said nothing.

‘You won’t even do me the courtesy of allowing me to challenge the person who caused the breakdown of our marriage.’

‘You can challenge Tanya any day,’ she bit back swiftly.

‘Tanya is as innocent as I am of all charges.’ It was laconic. He placed the cups, sugar and cream, along with the shortbread, on the tray Hannah had left propped against the table. ‘Shall we?’ He waved his hand towards the garden before picking up the tray.

She walked past him out of the room, continuing down the hall and into the drawing room, whereupon she made her way out of the French doors. The automatic lights clicked on as she stepped on to the patio area beyond which the lawn lay. The sound of the small fountain falling into the lily pond at the side of the patio reminded her of many happy meals eaten alfresco, but she resolutely refused to dwell on the memory.

She walked across to the wicker table and ticking-cushioned chairs she and Taylor had chosen together just after their marriage, when she had persuaded him that eating outside was fun, sitting down facing the yews and old stone wall. The flower beds were a riot of colour, their scent adding to the beauty all around her, and the sky was black velvet, pierced with stars.

She didn’t speak as Taylor placed the tray on the table and sat down, but as he went to add cream and sugar to her cup she said, ‘I take mine black now, thank you.’

He quirked a brow. ‘The cream and sugar queen?’

‘We drink coffee all day at work, and I’ve got used to it black.’ It was a silly thing, but she was pleased she’d surprised him.

‘I can see I mustn’t assume anything,’ he drawled mockingly, making her feel as though she was being puerile for the sake of it.

But she had changed in the last eighteen months, she thought militantly, and drinking her coffee black was the least of it. ‘Quite so,’ she responded evenly, as though she hadn’t caught the inflection in his voice, and she ignored the slight smile twisting his lips with an aplomb she was proud of.

There were six chairs grouped round the table, but he had chosen to sit in the one next to her rather than opposite, as she had expected, and now he was so close his shoulder was almost brushing hers. With an effort, Marsha relaxed her body, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how tense she was.

Some moments had ticked by before she said, ‘What did you mean when you said you’d known where I was every minute since we split up?’ It had been at the back of her mind all evening, she realised now with a dart of surprise as she heard herself speak.

‘Exactly that.’

She wasn’t going to let him get away with being so succinct. ‘That’s not an answer,’ she said, finishing her coffee.

‘Of course it is.’ He turned his head, the amber light on her face, but she kept her gaze on the shadowed garden. ‘You didn’t really think I would just let you walk out of the house and my life, did you?’

Her stomach trembled. ‘Who…? How…?’

She didn’t know quite how to put it, but he seemed to understand what she was trying to say. He shifted slightly in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and as she caught a faint whiff of his aftershave a hundred nerves went haywire.

‘I employed someone, okay?’ he said mildly.

No, not okay! Mega not okay. ‘You employed someone?’ she said, so shrilly a number of birds protested in the trees surrounding the garden as their slumber was interrupted. ‘You had me watched? Like…like a criminal?’

‘Don’t be childish,’ he said calmly as her eyes met his. ‘I wanted to make sure you were all right, that was all. You are my wife, my responsibility.’

‘The hell I am!’

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head at her. She deeply regretted there was no coffee left in her cup to fling at him. ‘I would like to leave now.’ She stood to her feet, her eyes blazing.

‘Sure.’ To her absolute amazement, Taylor rose lazily. ‘The taxi’s been outside for the last few minutes. I didn’t think you’d want to be too late on a working day.’

‘Who was he? This guy you had spy on me?’ Much as she would have liked to storm off with her nose in the air, she really wanted to know.

‘He was a she, and from one of the most reputable firms in the country.’ He looked at her squarely. ‘And there was no question of spying. She merely checked now and again that you weren’t in any trouble, that everything was okay. That was it.’

‘And who I saw and where I went and with whom?’ Indignation lit her eyes and flushed her cheeks.

He was magnificently unperturbed. ‘Of course. You are my wife.’

‘We are separated.’

‘You’re still my wife, Marsha.’ The use of her name checked her even more than the tone of his voice, which had suddenly chilled.

She looked into amber eyes which had become as dangerous as those of a big cat, and just as hard. ‘I shall never forgive you for this,’ she said shakily. ‘To have me watched, put under surveillance as though I’m the one in the wrong—’ She wished with all her heart she had met someone in the last months, gone out on a date or two, flirted a little—anything to puncture that giant ego.

‘Then it is merely another crime to be added to the list, yes?’ He shrugged as though bored.

‘And you obviously don’t care about any of your crimes, right?’ she snapped, furiously angry with his offhand manner and lack of remorse.

‘If you are referring to my supposed affair with Tanya, I plead innocent to all charges, remember?’

She glared at him, wondering how it was that he could so get under her skin, even when she knew exactly what he was playing at. She ought to be able to ignore his arrogance, but it grated on her unbearably. ‘I want the bloodhound called off.’

‘I doubt the very attractive woman concerned would appreciate being labelled a dog.’

He was laughing at her! She stared into the hard face, quivering with righteous indignation. ‘I can think of worse things to call her,’ she said forcefully.

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘Does she know the sort of man she’s working for?’

‘I think so.’ He was regarding her lazily. ‘More to the point, do you?’

‘Only too well.’

‘Now, that I doubt.’ He caught her upper arms in his hands, holding her in front of him and looking deep into her eyes as he said, ‘But before I’m finished you will know, Marsha. That’s a promise.’

‘Let go of me.’ She stood rigid in his grasp, glaring furiously up at him. ‘I don’t appreciate being subjected to brute force.’

‘Brute force?’ His eyes pierced her with laser brightness. ‘There’s times I wonder what planet you’re on.’

His complete refusal to accept any blame for his actions made her see red. ‘You’re the lowest of the low—you know that, don’t you?’ she hissed bitterly. ‘I hate you—’

Anything else she might have said was cut off by the simple expedient of his mouth on hers. She knew enough not to struggle this time, willing herself to show no feeling at all as he brought all his sexual experience to the fore in a kiss that was tender and erotic and deep in turn. He gently probed her mouth until her lips parted for him of their own volition as resistance drained from her, in spite of all her efforts to remain unmoved.

He was just too good at this, she thought feverishly. He always had been. In the early days she had been enchanted to find a man who kissed like Taylor, who made it into an art. The trouble was it had left her with no defences, no barriers to the response he could always bring forth with seemingly effortless skill.

She knew she was melting against him, and yet she could no more have stopped her body’s response than she could have stopped breathing, and the past and the present were forgotten as the magic that was his mouth took her senses. Taylor shifted his stance slightly to take more of her weight, one arm going round her waist and the other moving to take a handful of her hair as he pulled her head back gently for greater access to her mouth. The position and feel of him brought a torrent of memories to mind, and all of them good.

His tongue curled round hers, probing in a way that sent tremors throughout her whole body, and then his mouth moved to one earlobe, nibbling gently. Heat was flowing in her veins, intensified by his tongue as it traced a delicate path in and around her ear in a sensual pattern that had her legs trembling.

Her eyes were closed now, colours and sensation merging as she gave herself utterly to the bewitching assault. She could feel his arousal, hard against her softness, and it added to the pleasure she was experiencing. Her body felt as if it was one hot, sensual nerve.

‘You’re so beautiful, so delicious.’ The soft whisper came at a time when he was caressing her aching breasts with sure fingers, each light touch sending electricity bolts right down to her toes. ‘I could eat you, devour you.’

And she wanted him to. She couldn’t stop her hips moving against him in an invitation that was as old as time, and moans shuddered through her body as the scent of him surrounded her in an intoxicating bubble.

He was powerfully muscled, without an ounce of surplus flesh, his body hard and uncompromisingly male, and as her hands roamed over his wide shoulders and strong chest her desire reached fever pitch. She felt the cool night air on her breasts and realised he must have undone the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons on her jacket without her being aware of it. But it was when his hands cradled her breasts, his fingers having pushed the filmy lace of her bra out of the way, that she found the strength to push him away.

‘No.’ She took a step backwards, her legs shaking so much she felt they wouldn’t hold her. ‘I don’t want this.’

He made no move towards her, merely raising a dark eyebrow as he said, ‘That’s not what your body is saying.’

She stared at him, forced to admit to herself that her whole body was so sensitised by his lovemaking that every move he made registered on her nervous system. ‘I’m not saying that I’m not physically attracted to you,’ she said carefully, ‘but that is something quite different.’

‘You’ve lost me.’ He sounded tolerant, and she didn’t trust that. Tolerance was not one of Taylor’s attributes.

‘We’re no longer an item, Taylor. That’s what I’m saying,’ she said firmly.

‘We never were an “item”, Fuzz. We were married, remember?’ He didn’t sound quite so tolerant now. ‘Or should I say we are married.’

She did up the buttons on her jacket as swiftly as her trembling hands would permit, furious with herself for giving in so easily to what was clearly a ploy on his part. He thought he only had to turn on the charm and she would fall at his feet, she thought caustically, ignoring the little voice in her head which added nastily that he was quite right.

‘I think it’s high time I went home.’ She raised her chin as she spoke, desperate to hide the burning sense of shame that had flooded every part of her.

‘You are home.’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

‘You mean you want to go back to that lonely little box you inhabit, right?’

She reared up like a scalded cat at the insult to the home she had so carefully put together. ‘You say the taxi is waiting?’ she asked, with a cool dignity she was very pleased about afterwards, when she thought about it.

‘That it is.’ The amusement was back in his voice, and nothing could have been more guaranteed to hit her on the raw.

‘Then thank you for dinner,’ she said icily, ‘but I really do have to leave now.’

‘I’ll tell Hannah you’re leaving. You were going to say goodbye to her, weren’t you?’ he added disparagingly.

‘Of course I was.’ She frowned at him, hurt that he could suggest otherwise. ‘I’ve no quarrel with Hannah.’

‘She’ll be most relieved to hear it,’ he drawled mockingly.

‘I hate you.’

‘That’s the third time you’ve said that today. Are you trying to convince me or yourself?’

CHAPTER FOUR

MARSHA awoke very early the next morning, before it was light, after a sleep which had been troubled and restless. After making herself coffee, she took a mug out on to the balcony along with her duvet, snuggling under its folds as she sat and watched the dawn break.

Taylor had insisted on accompanying her home in the taxi the night before, despite all her heated protests, but contrary to her expectations hadn’t done so much as hold her hand on the journey back to the bedsit. After telling the driver to wait, he had escorted her to the door of the building—again with her protests ringing in his ears—and then up the stairs to her floor.

She had faced him defiantly then, waiting for the move she’d been sure he would make after that scorching kiss back at his house in Harrow, but he had merely nodded to her without smiling once she had opened her front door, wished her goodnight and left.

Which left her where? she asked herself now, her tired eyes searching the pink and mother-of-earl sky in front of her as though it could provide an answer. Had he admitted defeat? Was he going to leave her alone now she had made it crystal-clear how she still felt?

She drained the mug, setting it down on the floor beside the chair before letting her head fall back against the cane as she shut her eyes. She was right about all this—him, their marriage, Tanya, everything—wasn’t she? But of course she was. She had to be. The misery of the last eighteen months couldn’t be for nothing. He had slept with Tanya in Germany, even if he hadn’t done so before, and from what Susan had said there had been a before. Several befores.

But he had seemed so…plausible. She opened her eyes again. The hum of traffic and sounds from the street beyond the cul-de-sac were louder now the city had begun to wake up and go about its business. But then he’d always been able to make anyone believe anything. That was one of the gifts he had which had shot him from obscurity to extreme wealth in such a short time.

She wriggled restlessly, drawing her cold toes into her hands under the duvet. The day was due to be another hot one, but the morning air was decidedly cool.

She still loved him. The truth which had haunted her sleep wouldn’t be denied in the harsh light of day. She would always love him. The love which had been such a blessing when they were together and happy would forever be a millstone round her neck. And because she loved him so much she could never go back to him.

She rose, her movements jerky with pain, and, leaving the duvet on the chair, strode back into the room to make herself another coffee.

She had been aware of Taylor with every cell in her body last night, and that alone told her she had to be strong. She had done her days and nights of weeping for what might have been. That was over. Maybe if she had been a different type of woman, one who was able to turn a blind eye to her man’s little liaisons, perhaps, or if she hadn’t loved him quite so much, things might have been different. As it was, he would destroy her.