The Faithful Wife (13 page)
What colour she did have drained from her lovely face and then quickly returned, concentrated in two hectic splashes lying against the high perfection of her cheekbones.
He reached out, his fingers curling around her arm, just above her elbow, keeping himself under tight control because he couldn't bear to bruise that tender flesh. He would never do her even the slightest harm
.
.
âWhat the hell do you think you're doing?'
Maclaine didn't recognise him at first; Jake could see it in his eyes. Then why should he? He hadn't gone out of the way to seek his former enemy's company. And he guessed the violence of his emotions must be stamped all over his face. Little wonder the man looked as if he was squaring up to throw him out of his house!
Jake left him in no doubt as to his identity, telling him smoothly, âI've come to collect my wife. Lovely party, but I'm afraid we can't stay.'
Bella went with him without a murmur. She was shaking inside, but wouldn't let it show. Aware of the intense silence in the room, the murmurs that were beginning to break out in their wake, the politely muffled hum of excitement, she stared steadily ahead, every nerve in her body stinging in sharp response to the determined man at her side.
She didn't bother to find her wrap, didn't even think of it, wasn't aware of the lack of it until the cold wind, the deluge of rain, made her gasp.
Silently, he swept her into his arums and strode rapidly between the parked cars. His body was as taut as steel. Anger? Her shocked mind hopelessly grappled for reasons.
There was a black cab waiting at the kerb, the meter ticking over. Jake put Bella in the back and went to give the driver instructions, giving her the opportunity to get her head together.
His behaviour could only mean one thingâhe still believed she and Guy were having an affair.
Could all that inner tension stern from the fact that she was still nominally his wife, his property, albeit unwanted property?
She couldn't believe that. He was the most urbane, controlled man she had ever known. It had to be something more, and yet she couldn't allow herself to hope. If he still loved her, needed her in his life, he would have told her so.
Wouldn't he?
âThere was no need to act like a caveman,' she said in a rough little voice she didn't recognise as her own as he joined her and the cab drew away from the kerb. âI would have left if you'd asked me in the normal manner. And you could have stayed, had a drink, joined in our conversation.'
She was plucking nervously at the hem of her dress. The fabric was sodden, even though he'd whisked her through the deluge as quickly as possible. And his clothes were worse, his hair plastered to his head.
In the dim interior light she could see the harsh black glitter of his eyes. He was having trouble hanging onto his precarious control; she knew that. The way his voice shook told her that. And one more push could do the trick, make him lose the last, tenuous hold and tell her exactly what this was all about.
She thought she knewâshe hoped she'd got it rightâbut she needed to hear it from him.
Taking her courage in both hands, reminding herself that it was probably now or never, she said tartly, âYou still think I'm capable of having an affair with Guy, right under Ruth's nose! Is that what you think of me? And now you'll never knowâwere we whispering sweet nothings, counting the minutes until we could be properly alone? Or were we having a nice, friendly, innocent conversation? Tough, isn't it?'
She got a response. Not the one she'd expected. But the way he gave a smothered groan and dragged her into his arms told her all she wanted to know.
Jake felt her body tremble in fevered response, her arms going out to him, fingers tangled in his hair, holding his head to deepen the already fathomless kiss.
His mouth moved slowly over hers, tasting the sweet moistness of her lips. His hands stroked over her body, needing to touch all of her, feel the heady warmth of her flesh beneath the clinging damp cloth.
She still wanted him physically; he knew that. Nothing she could ever say or do could hide that from him. Not when he touched her. And that was all he ever had to do. She couldn't hide the fire and the fury, the sheer meltdown of her response.
It was something to build on, something no other man could ever take from him. All he had to do was convince her that his scars had healed, that he could trust her, could be there for her always if she still wanted him to be. All she had to do was say yes.
Becoming aware that the taxi was at a standstill, Jake lifted his head and almost drowned in the shine of her luminous, bewitching eyes.
âWhere are we?' she murmured dizzily, hating the necessary withdrawal. In his arms there were no doubts, no fears. Together, close, they were one being, elemental.
âMy hotel.' He helped her out. His voice was ragged. The doorman hurried down, holding a huge striped umbrella over them both. Bella felt certainty, the joy of coming home, swell up in her heart, spilling over in a smile that would not go away, and was still there, hovering on her mouth, when they reached his suite.
But his eyes were serious, his mouth tight. âGet out of those wet things. Shower. I'll ring room service and get into dry clothes. After that, I've something to say to you.'
She shook her head and felt her hair finally tumble down, cloaking her shoulders. She pushed it back from her face impatiently. She wanted to get the talking over now. Stop him hurting. Tell him what she should have told him over a year ago.
If he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, did it really matter? What right had she to expect him to be perfect? And would she have trusted him, in a similar situation?
A year ago she'd been rigid with pride. Now she had none where he was concerned. She stretched out her hands to him. âSay it now. Please.'
âLater.' He ignored the offer to take her hands in his. His face could have been carved from stone. âYou're wet and cold. Do as I asked.' He tipped his head. âThe bathroom's through there.'
Dictatorial devil! she thought, but did as she was told because it seemed the quickest way to hear what he wanted to say to her. That he had decided to end the marriage, whatever the cost, seemed a distinct possibility. And yet the way he had claimed her, frogmarched her away from Guy and the party, the way he'd kissed her, his earthy moans of triumph when she had kissed him back...
Quivering with the tension of not knowing, she stripped off her sodden clothes and left them in a heap on the marble tiled floor. She felt as if she'd been wired up to an electric charge and any moment now would explode in a million fizzing sparks.
Her time under the shower was the absolute minimum, and she wrapped herself in the towelling robe supplied by the hotel management All that done in record time, she suddenly quailed at the thought of going out there and hearing what he had to say.
She felt like a prisoner in the dock, waiting for the jury's verdict!
Grabbing a towel, roughly drying her hair, she felt armoured enough to face him. An attitude of casual insouciance would surely help her cope, hide the state of her nerves.
But the room was empty. And there was nothing in the room to offer her any comfort. Luxurious, but impersonal. No sign of his occupation. She wondered how long he'd been staying here. Did he base himself here when he was working from London? She knew he'd off-loaded the Docklands apartment.
Didn't he ever feel the need for a home? A real, lived-in family home, where he could relax, let the rest of the world go hang, secure in his own personalised space?
Or didn't his surroundings matter to him? Was the acquisition of wealth and power the only truly important thing in his life?
And did surroundings matter to her? The answer, she knew, was yes. But he mattered more. She would live in a shoe-box with him, if he'd let her.
Room service had already delivered a tray of coffee. She wondered whether to pour herself a cup, but was afraid she wouldn't manage it. Her hands were shaking too much.
She let the towel slide from her edgy fingers, and stuffed her hands into the deep pockets of the robe. He walked through from what she presumed was the bedroom, and her heart stood still.
She loved him so much it was a physical pain. He'd changed into a pair of scuffed dark denims, and a black, soft cashmere sweater. He looked sexy as hell, but remote, grimly determined.
Her eyes met the dark enigma of his. She tried to read what was on his mind, but only when he spoke to her did she know. And when she did her heart twisted over and seemed to die, because surely this had to be the end.
âIn spite of what I'd heardâthat before we met you were more in Maclaine's bed than out of itâand in spite of what I'd actually seen, I tried to believe you spoke the truth when you told me you'd never had an affair with him,' Jake said bluntly, releasing her gaze as he walked over to the tray and poured from the elegant coffee-pot. âI even managed it for a time. To believe you, that is.'
He passed her a cup, one brow lifting as she took it, the cup rattling on the saucer in her jittery hands.
Bella put it quickly down on a glass-topped table, and put herself on the cream hide-covered sofa. It was a case of sitting down before she fell down. Her legs had turned to water.
âBut when I saw the two of you together tonight, I had to accept you could have lied. Noâ' he shook his head impatiently as she would have spoken in self-defence ââdon't say a word. Hear me out.'
He was pacing the floor now, endlessly, the muscles of his body taut. âAnd in that moment the whole world went black. But only for a moment. Trust came like a lightning bolt. I'd carried possessiveness too far, made too many false assumptions. Not waiting for answers, not believing them when they were givenâas they were given when you told me you had nothing to do with the set-up in that mountain cottage. I knew I could trust you with my life.'
The pacing stopped. He faced her. There was a self-denigrating twist to his mouth she had never seen before. It astounded her.
âCan you ever forgive me for that lack?' he asked rawly. âI failed you in every way that was important to you. I want us to start again. If you agree, things will be different, I promise.' He spread his hands, palms upwards, as if he held his life in them, offering all that he was to her.
âI've spent the last five days reorganising my working life. Delegating. Someone else can do the legwork. It's done. Sorted. My time will be spent with you and our family. If you still want my children.'
For the very first time she saw him unsure of himself, and she hated it. He shouldn't have to beg for what she freely wanted to give him. That he should subjugate his own needs, relinquish the cut and thrust of business, was a measure of his love for her.
She had only ever wanted his love, his trust. Everything else was irrelevant.
Happiness gushed through her like a wave breaking on rocks, and pure energy ran through her veins as she shot to her feet and covered the distance between them in jaunty strides.
âNow you listen.' She sounded breathless. âIt's my turn to come out with a few home truths.' She saw him flinch, every muscle tightening as if to prepare himself for a body blow, and couldn't bear it. Her hands went up to cup his beloved face, and she saw the vital spark of hope light up his eyes as she said throatily, âJake, I love you. Only you.'
She recognised the glow of intent deep in his eyes, and knew that in a moment she'd be held in his arms and there wouldn't be time for words, or any coherent thought left in her head. So she said with simple sincerity, âI'm glad you sorted things out in your head and learned to trust me. I can't tell you how much that means to me. But, to put the record straight, whatever you've heard about my relationship with Guy isn't true. Just sly gossip, spread by people with nothing better to do.
âI've already explained how he looked out for me, and he was and is my friend. And, yes, his marriage did go through a rough patch, largely to do with Ruth's apparent inability to conceive. But he desperately wanted it to work because he'd been married before and it broke up. I don't know why; he didn't tell me.
âAnd, yes, we were seen around together. In my job there were a lot of functions and parties and stuff I had to attend. I had no one to escort me. I'd only had one man-friend, and that relationship turned out to be a disaster.'
He had taken her hands in his, his dark head bent as he pressed tiny, lingering kisses into her palms. She dragged in a helpful breath and gabbled on, not sure how much time she had left to get everything said before her mind blanked out beneath this sensual onslaught.
âHe was a photographer who, I found out, thought bedding his female subjects one of the perks of his trade. If I thought very hard I might be able to remember his name! So Guy escorted me, and we ignored the gossip, and Ruth knew it wasn't true. And, tonight, he was trying to persuade me to take it up againâmodelling. I told him no.'
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