Читать книгу Marriage Under Suspicion - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

KATE opened unwilling eyes to discover broad daylight. She sat up slowly, propping herself on an elbow, while she pushed her hair back from her face with her other hand, and looked around her, dazed from a restless night punctuated by brief, disturbing dreams.

The first thing she registered was that the pillow beside her was rumpled, and the quilt had been thrown back, indicating that Ryan had spent at least part of the night with her.

Well, she thought, that was something—even if he hadn’t bothered to wake her.

She swung her feet to the floor, and padded across to the bathroom. Ryan’s damp towel was hanging on the rail, and a pleasant aroma of cologne, toothpaste and soap pervaded the moist air. But he had gone.

As she turned away, disappointed, a faint but persuasive scent of coffee invaded her consciousness, and she followed it down to the kitchen.

Ryan was standing at the worktop, buttering a slice of toast. He was wearing faded chinos with a plain white shirt. An elderly sweatshirt was draped round his shoulders, and his hair was still damp from the shower.

Kate leaned against the door jamb and watched him, allowing, with a shrug of her shoulder, one of the straps of her nightgown to slide down.

She said, softly, ‘Hi, there.’

‘Hi, yourself.’ His smile was easy, widening as his eyes surveyed her. ‘You look positively delectable, Mrs Lassiter. I don’t think I’ve seen that particular nightdress before.’

‘You were meant to notice it last night.’ Kate smiled back at him, pleasurably aware that her nipples were hardening under his scrutiny, and clearly outlined under the cling of the satin for his delectation.

‘Sorry about that.’ He didn’t sound particularly repentant. Nor did he come across to her as she expected. ‘I worked longer than I intended, and then I got interested in something on television. You know how it is.’

She said, gently reproachful, ‘You could have woken me—when you came upstairs.’

‘You were sleeping like a baby. I didn’t have the heart.’ He took a pitcher of fresh orange juice from the refrigerator, and poured her a glass. ‘Your morning tonic, madam.’

‘I can think of a far better pick-me-up than that.’ Kate spoke huskily, meeting his glance, knowing that he liked seeing her like this, flushed and tousled from sleep. She adjusted the strap of her nightgown, letting her hands linger momentarily on her breasts. ‘Why don’t we have—breakfast in bed?’

‘I told you why last night.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘As soon as I’ve drunk my coffee, I’m off to Whitmead.’

‘You’ve been invited to lunch.’ She heard a pettish note in her voice, and tried to sound more beguiling. ‘It surely won’t take all morning for you to drive there.’

‘Dad wants me to help him with some fencing.’

‘Oh.’ Kate straightened. ‘And that naturally takes precedence over your wife?’

‘It does today.’ He set the glass of orange juice down on the worktop. ‘You seem to have forgotten that you weren’t even going to be here.’

He paused. ‘Tell me, Kate, if the wedding had gone ahead, and I’d asked you particularly to come with me today, would that have taken precedence over the usual mopping-up operations?’

‘That’s not fair,’ she protested. ‘A wedding—or any kind of party—is entirely different. I set it up beforehand, and supervised the clearing-up afterwards. I don’t have a choice in this. It’s work.’

He shrugged. ‘On the other hand, it could simply be a question of priorities. And today mine have been decided for me.’

He pushed the slice of toast to one side, untouched, and walked to the door. On the way past, he turned to her, his hands reaching for her wrists, pinioning her suddenly against the wall.

Kate gasped, half in indignation, half in excitement, as she twisted against his imprisoning grasp in an unavailing attempt to free herself.

Ryan’s hazel eyes were unsmiling but intent as they looked into hers, watching her pupils dilate in anticipation, in the beginnings of an arousal she was powerless to control.

He leaned forward and kissed her slowly, almost insolently, his teeth grazing her lip, his tongue gliding against hers like heated silk.

Her response was immediate. Her mouth moved against his, sweetly, greedily. She lifted the hands which clasped hers, and placed them on her breasts.

She thought, exultantly, He’s mine.

His leg parted her thighs, pressing the satin of her gown against the moist satin of her body in a deliberate, tantalising friction which forced a tormented moan from her throat.

She wanted him so fiercely that it hurt. She needed to feel him sheathed inside her—to be taken, there and then, against the wall, or on the floor. She wanted to see his cool, ironic control shattered in tiny pieces. To possess him, to know that he was as driven and desperate as she was herself.

Even when he stepped back, his breathing hurried and harsh, she thought she’d won.

She hooked her fingers under the straps of her gown, and pulled them down, letting the folds of satin slide down her body, and cascade around her bare feet. She waited, her nakedness a challenge, her body heated and ready for his invasion.

And saw him smile at her.

‘Goodbye, darling,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t ever think I wasn’t tempted.’

He turned, and walked away from her towards the main door.

For a second, she was too shocked to move or speak. Then sheer outrage rescued her.

‘Bastard,’ she hurled after him, chokingly. ‘Don’t you dare walk out on me.’

But Ryan’s only response was to blow her one mocking kiss as he left.

Kate closed down her computer, and switched off the power, sitting for a moment and staring at the blank screen. She could only hope that what she’d stored over the past hour made some kind of sense, but she guaranteed nothing.

For once, her mind had not been on the job in hand.

Instead, she’d found herself going over and over again the events of the past twenty-four hours, as if she were trapped on some weary treadmill.

And the inescapable and unpalatable fact facing her was that, leaving aside whether or not Ryan was actually having an affair, her own relationship with him seemed to have reached some kind of watershed.