Читать книгу A Passionate Affair - Elizabeth Power - Страница 11

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.

When the release came its explosion took them both into a shattering world of light and colour and sensation in which time had no meaning. There was no past and no future, and even the present consisted only of the swirling heights to which they had risen. Passion was the master, and it was all the more powerful for being denied so long.

Her head was resting against the hard column of his throat as he cradled her against him, the furious pounding of his heart beginning to diminish as he placed small burning kisses on her brow.

It wasn’t until he gently lowered her feet to the floor that she began to think again, but even then she was so wrapped up in his arms as he continued to hold her close against him that the full import didn’t register. ‘I love you, sweetheart.’ His voice was muffled above her head but warm with lingering passion. ‘Never doubt that for a moment.’

She continued to rest against the lean bulk of him, but now reality wouldn’t be kept at bay. She had allowed Taylor to make love to her. No, not just allowed it—encouraged it, begged for it, she admitted silently, feeling numb with shame.

‘This is where you say you love me too.’

The beginning of her reply was lost in his kiss as he bent his head, but after a moment or two the lack of response must have got through to him. He raised his head, his eyes taking in her mortified face. ‘We’re married, Fuzz,’ he reminded her evenly. ‘It’s okay to say you love me.’

He was saying it was okay for much more than that, and they both knew it. ‘We—we’re separated,’ she protested faintly.

He held her away from him for a second, his gaze conducting a leisurely evaluation of the space between them. ‘So we are,’ he agreed lazily, his voice deep with throaty amusement. ‘But I can soon remedy that again, if you so wish?’

In spite of herself her body tingled where his eyes had stroked, and now her face was scarlet. For months she had been fiercely telling herself that she was able to make a new life in which Taylor played no part. She was a career woman now; she was going to concentrate on that and that alone. Men, romance, sex—she didn’t want any of it. There were too many complications, too many compromises, too much heartache. And what had happened to all her grand thoughts and principles? Taylor had happened. He had crooked his little finger after eighteen months of silence and she had flown into his arms like a homing pigeon. It was her worst nightmare come to life.

‘We shouldn’t have done this.’ She pulled herself free, yanking the throw off the sofa and wrapping it round her. ‘It will only complicate things.’

‘I doubt they could get more complicated,’ he said mildly.

‘Of course they can.’

He didn’t contradict her this time. He simply stood there, stark naked and faintly amused as he surveyed her frantic face. After a moment he said, very calmly, ‘I don’t know about you but I’m starving. Shall we eat?’

Shall we eat? She stared at him, her cheeks pink and her hair ruffled. Men were a different species, they really were.

‘Fuzz, you haven’t done anything wrong.’ It was said in tones of insulting patience, the sort of voice one used with a child who was being particularly silly. ‘We’ve just enjoyed one of the most natural pleasures known to man—and woman.’ She went even pinker, as he had meant her to. ‘Besides which we are man and wife, for crying out loud. Or had that little fact slipped your mind with it being so long?’

Nothing about Taylor had ever slipped her mind. ‘The… the divorce.’ Had he made love to her just to put a spanner in the works? She wouldn’t put it past him. She wouldn’t put anything past him. ‘Will it make a difference if the solicitors find out?’

‘I tell you what, I won’t tell if you don’t.’ His face had closed against her as she had spoken, and now he bent to retrieve his clothes, beginning to dress with lazy grace.

She watched him miserably, more confused than she had ever been in her life. She loved him. She had never stopped loving him even when she had told herself she hated him for what he had done. But did she trust him? Did she really believe he had just been Tanya’s boss and that was all? Did she know, deep in her heart, that there had never been any other women since he had met her? The answer sent a bleak chill through her, quelling any words of appeasement.

Once he was dressed he looked at her, no expression on his face now. ‘I can’t carry you kicking and screaming out of that place of shadows you inhabit and into the real world,’ he said quietly. ‘And I can’t show you any more clearly how I feel. You’re destroying us—you know that, don’t you? Throwing away something which should have lasted for a lifetime and beyond. I know what your mother did was tough, along with the rest of it, but sooner or later you have to make up your mind whether anything at all is worth fighting for. If it is, we should be at the top of the list.’

‘I didn’t ask you to come here this morning,’ she said numbly.

‘No, you didn’t.’ He nodded his agreement. ‘But I came anyway, so that should tell you something. And don’t say it was because of what we’ve just done either. If it was just sex I wanted there are any number of women I could call on. That’s the way of it when you are wealthy and successful. I don’t want sex, Fuzz. I want to make love. With you. There’s a hell of a difference there. Do you see that?’

She stared at him, her eyes huge. ‘I don’t know what to think any more. I’m—’

‘Confused.’ Taylor confirmed his understanding with a nod. ‘But not knowing what to think is better than being sure of the wrong thing. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.’

She couldn’t return his smile. She felt raw and exposed and his last words had done nothing to calm her agitation. Taylor was the master of manipulation. Had this morning been an exercise in psyching her out? If so it had been an extremely rewarding one as far as he was concerned.

‘Get dressed, Fuzz.’ His smile was replaced by a sombre gaze. ‘And I promise I won’t touch you again this morning, okay? We’ll eat, pretend this is just the beginning of a normal working day for an old married couple.’

‘I’m not hungry.’ She wondered why the bedsit seemed to have shrunk since he had walked into it.

‘You still need to eat.’

She wanted to argue, but she had the horrible feeling she might burst into tears if she did. Gathering up her clothes, she said, ‘I’ll just have a quick shower,’ and scuttled across the room, closing the door of the shower room firmly behind her and then locking it. Her body felt sensuously replete, the core of her throbbing faintly with a pleasant ache and her breasts full and heavy as she showered before dressing. She eyed herself in the small mirror before leaving the tiny room and groaned softly. She had the look of a woman who had just been made love to, sure enough. She was going to have to make up very carefully once he had gone.

She took a deep breath and lifted her head, opening the shower room door and walking briskly into the main room. And then she stopped dead. It was empty. He’d gone. She glanced about her as though she expected him to leap up from behind the sofa, and then she saw the note on the breakfast bar. Walking across, she picked it up, holding the rose which he had slanted across one of the pages from the message pad she kept near the telephone.

Sorry, urgent call on my mobile means I’ve got to cut and run. We’ll talk later. T

Marsha sank down on one of the stools, her heart thudding. T. Not even ‘love T’. And surely he could have waited a few minutes until she’d showered and dressed? Had he regretted making love to her? Or had he thought it would be easier on her if he left before she came out? She had said she wasn’t hungry, but—

Stop it. The command in her head was strong. No amount of rationalising would give her the answer. Only Taylor could do that, and she couldn’t ask him. She put down the note and the rose, staring at the deep red petals for a long time. She had let Taylor into her mind and her body this morning; she’d gone against everything she had told herself over the last eighteen months and had given him goodness knows what message. She was stark staring mad.

Coffee. She nodded to the thought. She was going to have a cup of strong hot coffee and then force herself to eat some of this food. She would need to be fully in command of herself when she went to see Susan this morning. The time had come. Or perhaps it was long overdue. Eighteen months overdue. If nothing else she should have insisted on seeing Susan and Dale once the initial shock had subsided. She realised that now. So perhaps, as Taylor had said, there was hope for her yet? But it wasn’t hope for herself she wanted, it was hope for them.

She frowned to herself, hating to admit just how much she needed him. From the moment he had come into her life, like a powerful, inexorable force, she had known she would never love anyone else. Taylor was part of her, he was in her blood, her bones, and whatever she did to try to forget him it didn’t work.

It had been so good when they had first been married … She let her mind wander back to those golden days in a way she hadn’t done for a long time because it was too painful. She had adored him, had been over the moon that a man like Taylor—sophisticated, handsome, wealthy, powerful—had noticed her. Not just noticed her but fallen madly in love with her if he was to be believed. And he had been so gentle, so tender with her.

She pushed back the silk of her hair, her eyes cloudy with the memories which were crowding in.

Right from their first date it had been enough to be together; they hadn’t needed anyone else. In fact it had been something of a sacrifice when they had shared their time with other people, even old friends. They had practically lived in each other’s pockets before they were married, their relationship so intense it had disturbed her when she stopped to think about it. Which wasn’t often. Not with Taylor by her side, filling every moment, every thought, every breath.

She sighed deeply, her body still holding the tingling awareness of their lovemaking and her breasts full and heavy with the remnants of passion.

She had told him they shouldn’t have made love, but it had seemed the most natural, the right thing to do. So where did that leave her?

Up the creek without a paddle. An old saying of the home’s matron, a severe, grey-haired lady with the name of Armstrong, came to mind. Matron Armstrong had been a Yorkshire lass, and full of such little gems, but she had been kind beneath her grim exterior. Marsha could still recall when the second set of prospective parents had returned her to the home, making no effort to hide their disappointment in her, and the way Matron had whisked her into her quarters once they had gone, feeding her hot crumpets and jam by the fire and talking long and hard about how stupid some grown-ups could be. Yes, she had been a nice woman, Matron Armstrong.

She sighed again, gazing round the bedsit as though the little home she had created for herself would help her sort out her confusion. Why did she still, knowing all she knew about Tanya—or at least thought she knew, she corrected, trying to be fair—ache for his touch, his love?

Because she loved him in a way she could never love anyone else.

The thought thrust itself into the forefront of her mind, causing her to lower her head as she made a sound deep in her throat.

She sat quite still for some minutes before raising her head, and now her mouth was set in a determined line, her eyes narrowed. She would go and see Susan and bear whatever came of their meeting, good or bad. She owed it to herself to do that, even if she didn’t owe it to Taylor.