A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion
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Did she? The answer was there without her having to think about it, and she spoke it out without considering her words. ‘I don’t know what to think any more. I was sure…’ She hesitated. ‘I mean, why would anyone make something like that up?’
He shook his head, his eyes mordant. ‘How long have you got? Come on, Fuzz, you can’t pretend to be that naive. There’s a hundred reasons why people turn sour.’
But it was your sister. Your sister. For a second she thought she had actually spoken the words out loud, but when his expression didn’t alter she knew the shout had just been in her mind.
‘I hoped when you’d had time to think about all this you would begin to question—at least that. If you couldn’t trust me, surely that wasn’t too much to ask, was it? But there was just silence. No contact, no phone calls, no answer to my letter. So I told myself to be patient, to wait. We loved each other and no one could take that away. Hell!’ It was bitter. ‘And I called you naive.’
Marsha stared at him for a moment before turning her head aside. She had the terrible feeling deep inside that everything had shifted again. Just when she had trained herself to get through each twenty-four hours without him he was back in her life, turning over all the stones to examine the dirt beneath. And she didn’t want to do that. It had nearly killed her, leaving him, but she had managed to crawl through the weeks and months since, and that was something.
She shut her eyes, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because someone has to. You would actually throw away everything we had without fighting for it. I realise that now. So it’s up to me to fight for both of us. Who was it? Who talked to you?’
‘I… I can’t say. I promised.’
He swore, a savage oath. ‘You promised me more. Remember? Love, honour, cherish, in sickness and in health? You owe me a name, damn it.’
‘Taylor, I—’
‘A name, Marsha. Then maybe we can start to get to the bottom of this. If I’d had my head screwed on I’d have done this months ago, instead of assuming you could actually reason like any sane human being.’
It opened her eyes and brought her head up. She was so angry she wanted to stamp and scream like a child. He was intent on blaming everything on her, even when the evidence against him had been stacked to the sky. He would never know how much she had suffered when she had made that call to the hotel and heard Tanya speak in her sexy little-girl voice from their room. ‘You don’t want to know who it was,’ she said tightly. ‘Take it from me.’
‘I do.’ His eyes were boring into her and his face was harder than she had ever seen it, unreachable.
She stared at him, Susan’s name hovering on her tongue even as her mind raced. If she told Taylor his sister had betrayed him, what would it do to his and Susan’s relationship? Smash it for ever. He was not the sort of man to forgive; she knew that. Whether Susan’s accusation was true or not, he would cut her out of his life with the ruthlessness that had got him to where he was now. And that would mean Dale, her husband, would lose his job, perhaps even their house, because no one would pay Dale what Taylor paid him.
Of course if Susan had lied she deserved all that and maybe more—but if she hadn’t…? And Taylor? What would it do to him? He loved his sister; she was all the natural family he had. Oh, what should she do? She was in a no-win situation here and so was he, if he did but know it. Tough as he was, his sister occupied a very special place in his heart, as he did in Susan’s. That was what made this whole thing so impossible. Susan had to have been telling the truth… didn’t she?
‘I’m sorry, Taylor.’ She kept her eyes steady despite the growing darkness in his face.
‘I see.’
No—no, he didn’t see, but what could she do? She would have to go and see Susan as soon as possible. Maybe talking to her would settle some things. ‘I… I can’t tell you. I would if there was a way, but—’
‘Forget it.’ His tone was final and very cold.
‘Forget it?’ Her mouth had opened in a little O of surprise.
‘Go and get dressed, Marsha.’ He stood aside, his face closed against her.
In spite of herself she reached out her hand, touching his broad chest in a helpless little gesture that carried a wealth of pleading in it. He didn’t move a muscle, merely watching her with narrowed amber eyes that were as cool and unemotional as the resin they resembled.
When her hand fell back to her side she turned swiftly and walked across the room without looking at him again, making her way to the guest room on legs that trembled. Once inside she locked the door, her eyes burning with unshed tears and the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. It was over. The look in his eyes had told her so.
She walked across to the bed and sank down on it, still holding the clothes in her hands. He didn’t want her any more. He had said he was sick of her and the last minute or two had proved it. She ought to be pleased.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, the tears falling hot and fast as she rocked to and fro in an agony of grief, feeling more desolate than she had ever felt before.
Five minutes later and she had pulled herself together sufficiently to pick up the telephone and request a taxi-cab. After washing her face she dressed quickly, running a comb through her hair and applying some lipstick—the only item of make-up she had with her.
She couldn’t countenance an afternoon in Taylor’s company; she felt too raw. Okay, it might look as if she was running away—and maybe she was, she admitted wretchedly—but this was pure self-survival. Reaching for her handbag, she extracted a little notebook and scribbled a quick message to Hannah, promising the older woman she would ring her soon and arrange for them to meet up somewhere. Then, feeling like someone in a bad drama on TV, she crept carefully downstairs and out of the front door, hurrying down the drive.
She was so relieved to see the taxi waiting just beyond the entrance to the drive she could have kissed the small balding man behind the wheel. Instead she clambered in quickly, giving him the address of the bed-sit and then changing her mind in the next instant and telling him to take her straight into work. If Taylor came after her—and it was a big if, considering how they had parted—she would rather have the security of a work environment than be all alone at the bedsit.
She didn’t begin to breathe freely until they were well on their way, and right until she actually walked into the building she felt as though at any moment a hand would tap her on the shoulder or a deep unmistakable voice would call her name. But then she was in the lift, being transported to her floor, and she knew she had done it.
And, strangely, in that moment she felt more miserable than ever.
CHAPTER SIX
‘WHEN do you think he’ll realise the bird has flown the nest?’
Nicki placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of her as she spoke, and Marsha took a careful sip of the scalding liquid before she said, ‘He must know by now.’
‘Worried?’
‘No.’ Marsha’s fingers tightened on the mug. ‘Why should I be? He doesn’t own me, and I’m blowed if I’ll let him tell me whether I can come into work or not.’
‘Good on you.’ Nicki was all approval. ‘He ought to be crawling on his hands and knees begging forgiveness for the way he’s treated you.’
Marsha looked up from the coffee, her eyes narrowing. She might be wrong, but hadn’t Nicki changed tack somewhat from yesterday? Then she had been urging her to give Taylor the benefit of the doubt. Now she sounded as if she’d like to punch him on the nose. ‘What have you heard?’ she asked flatly.
‘Heard?’ Nicki flushed a deep pink as she sat down at her own desk, fiddling unnecessarily with some papers as she said, ‘What makes you think I’ve heard something?’
Marsha didn’t bother to reply, merely raising her eyebrows and lowering her chin while she waited for the other woman to look up.
There was a pause before Nicki glanced at her. ‘It’s just something Janie said, that’s all.’
‘Which was?’
Nicki wriggled uncomfortably. ‘Penelope has swung the contract for Kane International and he—your husband—is taking her out for a meal to celebrate.’
Marsha shrugged. ‘It’s a free country,’ she said, as lightly as she could.
‘Dinner at the Hot Spot.’
Marsha took a moment to steady her voice. ‘We’re separated, Nicki. He’s allowed to see anyone he wants.’ The Hot Spot was the latest big sensation with London’s jet set: a nightclub where you could dance the night away and even get breakfast in the morning. No one went there just for dinner.
Nicki sniffed a very eloquent sniff. ‘I’ve never liked tall dark men,’ she said flatly. ‘Especially when their egos match their… hat size.’
‘I’ve never seen Taylor in a hat.’
The two women stared at each other for a moment before they both smiled weakly. ‘I’ll get you a sandwich while you get stuck into that report,’ Nicki said quietly.
‘Thanks.’
The rest of the day passed without incident. Nicki insisted Marsha have dinner with herself and her husband, and after a pleasant evening in their Paddington flat they drove her home, waiting outside until she waved to them from the bedsit window to say all was well. Their concern was sweet, but made Marsha feel slightly ridiculous. Taylor wasn’t violent, for goodness’ sake, or dangerous—not in an abusive sense anyway. She knew he would rather cut off his right hand than raise it to a woman. She very much doubted his pride would allow him to try and see her again anyway, outside of the divorce court.
She slept badly that night, tossing and turning and drifting into one nightmare after another until, at just gone six, she rose from her rumpled bed and had a long warm shower. Thank goodness it was Friday and she had the weekend in front of her to get a handle on all this. She needed to be able to take a long walk in the fresh air and get her thoughts in order.
She always thought better out in the open. It was a hangover from her childhood and teenage years, when she had liked nothing better than to escape the confines of the dormitory and communal dining hall and wander about in the grounds of the home, staying out until she was found and brought back by an irate assistant.
It was during those times that she had eventually come to terms with the fact that it was probably her fault she had been returned to the home twice when adoption attempts had fallen through.
She had told herself so often the story of how her mother would come back for her—arms open wide as she tearfully told her daughter how much she loved her—that she had been unable to separate fact from fiction. She couldn’t not be there when her mother came, she had determined, and so—much as she hated it—she couldn’t live anywhere else.
It was after her best friend had left the home and forgotten all her extravagant promises to write and visit that she had begun to face the prospect that just wishing for people to behave a certain way didn’t mean it was going to happen. But by then it had been too late.
She had been labelled withdrawn and difficult, and was no longer a cute little girl, but a gawky youngster approaching teenage years with braces on her teeth and spots on her chin.
By the time the ugly duckling had turned into a diffident and shy swan she had learnt she could rely on no one but herself. If she didn’t expect anything of anyone she wouldn’t be disappointed, and if she didn’t let anyone get near they wouldn’t be able to hurt her. Simple.
Only it hadn’t worked that way with Taylor. From the second she had seen him she had wanted him; it had been as clear and unequivocal as that. Not that she hadn’t known it was madness.
She turned off the shower, wrapping a towel round her and walking through into the main room. Sunlight was already slanting golden shafts into the room and the day promised to be another warm one.
Yes, she’d known it was madness, she reiterated as she dried her hair. Deep inside she’d continually asked herself how serious he was about relinquishing his love ’em and leave ’em lifestyle. Did he want her for a lifetime? Did he need her as she needed him? Could she handle the complex being that was Taylor Kane? Would he grow bored with marriage or, worse, her? Those questions had plagued her from day one.
‘Who fed your insecurities with the very thing you most feared?’ Taylor’s words came back to her with piercing suddenness, causing her hand to still before she threw the hairdryer on to the sofa.
He had insisted on his innocence that night eighteen months ago and he was still insisting on it. Had he sent her a letter giving the telephone number of this stranger who had allowed him to share his room in Germany? It was easy for him to say so now, when so much time had elapsed, and surely it was more than a little farfetched to think the letter had got lost in the post?
The ring of the telephone right at her elbow made her jump a mile, and she put a hand to her racing heart before glancing at her watch. Six-thirty. Who on earth was calling her at six-thirty?
She refused to admit she was expecting it to be Taylor, but the minute she lifted the receiver and heard his voice her heart galloped even faster. He had spoken only her name, his voice even, and she couldn’t tell what sort of mood he was in.
‘Hello, Taylor.’ She was pleased to hear her voice betrayed nothing of what she was feeling.
‘Did I wake you?’
Prevarication seemed the best response. She wasn’t about to let him know she had been up with the birds because he had invaded her dreams as well as every waking moment. ‘It is six-thirty in the morning,’ she said coolly. ‘I don’t normally rise before seven.’ Which was true.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ His voice was warm and soft and did the craziest things to her nerve-endings.
Marsha breathed out very slowly. ‘Most people reach for a book rather than the phone in that situation.’
‘I’m not most people.’
Now, that was definitely the truest thing he had ever said! She stared at the painted wall some feet away, trying to work out where he was coming from. He didn’t sound mad, but he had always been able to conceal anger very well. ‘What do you want?’ she asked carefully.
‘You.’ It was immediate. ‘But I’ll settle for breakfast.’
In his dreams! She forced a sarcastic laugh. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, well, I guess I can throw stones at Mrs Tate-Collins’s window and see if she’s in the mood for warm croissants. Say what you like, but I think I might be in with a chance there.’
She stared at the receiver as she tried to assimilate the implication of what he had just said. ‘Where are you, exactly?’ she said flatly.
‘Exactly?’ The pause was deliberate. ‘Well, if we’re talking exactly, I’m on the second paving slab to the left of the steps which lead up to the front door of your building.’
He was outside? For a second she was tempted to tell him to go ahead and wake Mrs Tate-Collins, but knowing he would almost certainly call her bluff restrained her. She didn’t want him sitting in the basement telling Mrs Tate-Collins all the ins and outs of this ridiculous situation, as he knew full well.
She tried one last time. ‘Go home, Taylor.’
‘No chance.’
She dipped her head, shaking it irritably before she said, ‘Doesn’t what I want count for anything?’
‘Absolutely not. We’ve done it your way over the last months and what have we got? No nearer to sorting anything out and even more tangles in the web.’
‘I could get a restraining order. That way you wouldn’t be able to keep harassing me.’
‘You could try.’ It was mordant. ‘But I doubt if any court in the land would agree that offering you dinner, giving you a helping hand when you were sick and then calling by with breakfast constitutes harassment.’
She took a deep breath to combat the anger his supremely confident voice had aroused. He took the biscuit for sheer arrogance. ‘I’ll open the front door.’
‘Thanks.’
Sixty seconds later a light knock announced his arrival. She had just had time to pull on a pair of cream cotton combat trousers and a sleeveless top, but with her newly washed hair shining like raw silk and her skin fresh and clean from the shower she felt more than able to hold her own. She didn’t rush to answer the door, waiting for a moment or two before she pulled it open.
Taylor was standing with a box in his arms, his smile lazy and his amber eyes reflecting the golden sunlight from the landing window. ‘Good morning.’ He waited for an invitation to enter.
She inclined her head, refusing to let him see what his presence did to her. He was wearing black jeans and an open-necked black denim shirt and he looked magnificent. ‘Come in,’ she said grudgingly.
He quirked a brow at her tone but said nothing, walking past her and then standing just inside the room. ‘This is great.’ He couldn’t quite disguise his surprise.
‘I like it.’ She had opened the balcony windows first thing, and now he walked across the room, after depositing the box on the breakfast bar, standing and looking out over the rooftops for a moment or two.
Turning, he said, ‘Did you have to do much when you first moved in?’
‘Quite a bit.’ It felt very strange, having him stand in her little home, and to cover her agitation she began to unpack the box of food he had brought as she detailed her additions and alterations to the bedsit.
He had brought warm croissants, as he had said, along with a selection of preserves in tiny individual jars, and cold cooked meats, cheese, hard-boiled eggs and potato salad. Melon, kiwi, grapefruit, mango and other fruits—all ready prepared and sliced in containers—along with a variety of cereals and fresh orange juice made up the box, at the top of which lay a deep red rose, its petals still damp with the morning dew.
Marsha made no comment about the rose, placing it to one side. It seemed safer.
‘Do you really mind me bringing breakfast round?’
He had come up behind her, his breath warm on the back of her neck. She was not fooled by the gentle persuasive tone. He was using the Kane charm, and it could be lethal on occasion. ‘Actually, yes.’ She used the excuse of fetching plates and bowls to put a few feet between them.
‘Why?’
She turned, her hands full, and found herself facing his chest. He had moved as lightly and swiftly as a cat. ‘Because this is my home and I prefer to invite callers.’ As he made a move to take the crockery from her she said, ‘I can manage, thank you.’
‘I’m sure you can.’ He took it, nevertheless, setting it down on the breakfast bar and then perching on one of the stools which he had pulled out further into the room. ‘But there’s more to life than managing, surely?’
She warned herself not to get drawn into this. ‘You know what I meant.’
‘And you know what I meant. I’ve existed, not lived, the last eighteen months. Tell me you haven’t done the same.’ He raked back his hair as he spoke and the simple action created a surge of sexual need inside her she couldn’t believe.
‘I’ve been fine. I am fine.’ She stared straight at him, refusing to blink as she lied.
‘You’re getting better at lying, but you’ll never really master the art,’ he said comfortably.
‘I see the giant ego is still alive and healthy.’
‘However, I would say you’ve improved beyond measure with the putdowns.’
He had an answer for everything, impossible man. She had promised herself she wouldn’t show any emotion, but now her green eyes glowed like an angry cat’s as she glared at him. ‘You’re the only person who ever affects me that way,’ she said, without thinking about her words.
She saw the tawny gaze widen for a second and realised what she had said. ‘No one else is as rude or pushy as you,’ she qualified quickly.
He stared at her, his expression carefully masked but with a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth which was more annoying than any challenge. ‘Relax, Fuzz. I’m not about to leap on you and have my wicked way. This is just breakfast, okay?’
Too true it was. Did he really think she would just fall into his arms like a ripe plum if he made a move? She raised her chin. ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you again after the way I left the house.’
‘Yes, you did,’ he argued softly. ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to keep away from you.’
‘You managed it fairly successfully for eighteen months.’ She had intended her words to be barbed, but they merely sounded faintly woebegone.
‘I’ve told you why. You needed to face certain issues and work them through so you could see the truth for yourself and make the first move to reconciliation.’
‘Well, that didn’t work, did it?’
He smiled. ‘I do occasionally get it wrong. That ought to please you.’
She shrugged, picking up one of the fruit containers, only to have it taken out of her hand in the next moment. ‘Look at me, Fuzz,’ he said quietly, his voice gentle. ‘I mean really look at me. Can’t you see I’ve been in hell the last months? Don’t you know I’ve been half crazy?’
As he spoke, he stroked the back of his fingers across her cheek, his other arm enclosing her into the warmth of him. ‘Don’t.’ It was feeble and they both knew it.
‘The touch, the feel, the smell of you.’ His voice was even softer, the amber eyes mesmerising. ‘I’ve thought of nothing else. When you were in that wretched little bed and breakfast I used to come and park a few doors away late at night, just so I could be in the same vicinity as you. How’s that for crazy? And then when you moved here if I picked up the phone once to call, I did it a thousand times.’
‘Why didn’t you follow through?’ she asked weakly.
‘I thought I was doing the best for us, for our future. Those gremlins that dog you have got to be brought into the light and destroyed. Oh, Fuzz…’ He took her mouth in the gentlest of kisses, his tenderness beguiling her utterly. ‘You’re perfect, don’t you know that? Everything I could ever want.’
This time when his mouth fastened on hers the pressure was more intense, and now both arms held her to him. He was kissing her in the way she remembered, a way which made her body ache for him. His hands roamed up and down the silky skin of her arms before moving one strap of her top aside so his lips could caress the smooth flesh of her shoulder. She shivered and his attentions increased. Her arms instinctively lifted as he raised the bottom of the top and pulled it over her head.
‘Beautiful…’ It was a throaty murmur as his hands cupped and moulded the full mounds of her breasts, his thumbs playing over the hard peaks of her nipples. ‘Ravishingly beautiful.’
When his mouth took what his hands had just admired, she couldn’t help arching back, a moan escaping her lips as hot sensation curled like electricity from the tip of her left breast right into the core of her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, her legs trembling so much she couldn’t hide how deeply he was affecting her.
When his hands moved to the clip on her trousers she was beyond protest. His own clothes followed hers a moment later until they were both naked, their skin warm and moist. She inhaled the clean smell of his lemony aftershave, its sharp tang mixed with his own musky scent to produce an erotic perfume that was pure Taylor. She had so missed him… It was the only thought she was capable of.
There was a fire inside her as he explored her mouth and body with a slow, pleasure-inducing enjoyment which brought them both to the peak of arousal. And she touched him, running her fingers over the hard-muscled lines of his powerful body, across the broad, hair-roughened chest and the solid bridge of his shoulders.
There was an infinite hunger inside her which only the feel of him deep in her innermost being could assuage, and when at last he thrust into her molten body her muscles contracted to hold him tight in the silken sheath. She was leaning against the smooth cool wall now, but then he raised her with his hands on her bottom, forcing her long legs to wrap themselves around his hips as their bodies entwined still closer.