The Faithful Wife (5 page)

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Authors: Diana Hamilton

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BOOK: The Faithful Wife
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‘And?'
‘And into his bed. Rumour has it he's going for his second divorce, and that the answer to every man's sexual fantasies will be Mrs Guy Maclaine the third.'
Over Jake's dead body!
His eyes narrowed, intent, Jake watched the way she smiled at Maclaine, never moving from his side, her sinuous body curving into the shelter of his like a delicate vine seeking support.
Maclaine was a big brute, with the kind of near-ugly looks some women might find attractive. She obviously did. But if he could do it, he'd take her away from him.
He had never felt like this before. The assault on his emotions, the upheaval going on in his normally rational mind, would have rocked him on his heels had he not surrendered himself to the inevitability of what was happening here.
Without false modesty he knew he was what his mother would have called ‘eligible'. Neither repellent nor in his dotage, and going places in the dangerously unstable world of high finance, beautiful women came with the territory. They came and they went; he didn't have time for a committed relationship and was always careful to point that out. But this—this was something very different...
He picked his moment, shouldering his way through the knots of brightly partying people just as Maclaine was politely allowing himself to be cornered by a red-haired, red-taloned woman of questionable sobriety.
‘Jake Fox,' he introduced himself, catching a flicker of uncertainty in those strangely fabulous eyes, an automatic withdrawal. ‘Single, solvent, law-abiding.'
He could have added ‘besotted', but didn't. And wouldn't—not until he'd come to terms with it himself, with this new and terrifyingly exciting experience. But he wasn't going to waste time on preliminaries either.
‘I'm giving my sister dinner tonight; I would very much like you to join us. The Dorchester. If you need reassurance that I am neither a seducer or a white-slaver, then Alex Griffith—whom I believe you've met—can vouch for my integrity.'
He angled his shoulders, effectively screening her from the rest of the party-goers, consciously staking his claim to her undivided attention. And watched as a million glittering lights danced in her eyes, her lush mouth quirking as she tilted her head back on her long, long neck.
His heart thumped violently. If she told him to get lost he'd have to try another tack, pursue her until she gave in out of sheer exhaustion!
The smile she had been trying to swallow defeated her, and she laughed. It was a ripple of perfection amongst the babble and shriek going on around them.
‘You have an intriguingly novel approach, Mr Fox! Direct, but not explicitly offensive. Tell me, does it always work?'
‘I don't know. I've never tried it before.' He grinned—probably fatuously, he thought. Her voice was as beautiful as she was. ‘And it's Jake. And you're gorgeous. And dinner—you will join us?'
She gave no direct answer. ‘You've been watching me. Since you arrived with Alex you've been watching me.'
A simple statement of fact. Yet it made his heart lilt. Apart from that brief moment when their eyes had locked she had, to all appearances, concentrated all her attention on Maclaine. But appearances were deceptive, because she'd been aware of him, aware of the way he'd been watching her, mesmerised. Aware. Of him. Maclaine might be her lover, but that didn't mean he couldn't cut him out!
‘Guilty. But, looking the way you do, you must take the blame.'
Suddenly her poise fell away. Her head drooped forward and soft tendrils of the artfully piled lustrous, midnight-dark hair gently moved against the pale, fragile neck, awakening in him a deep, atavistic desire to protect.
It was then he knew. Knew without a shadow of doubt that he wanted to possess this woman in every way there was. Take her, hold her, care for her. Make her his, and only his.
Marry her.
If marriage had ever crossed his mind it had been as something to be thought about some time in the distant future. When the future was safe, secure. When he was sure—sure that what he had to offer was solid and firm, couldn't be blown away by the cruel winds of chance that destroyed home and family in their backlash. As he had seen his home and family virtually destroyed by his father's obsessive and disastrously unsuccessful gambling on the world money markets.
But she had driven all that caution out of his head.
‘You will join us.' He made it a statement, as if there could be no question about the way their relationship would begin and develop. He didn't know he'd been holding his breath until she suddenly raised her head, the brilliance of her eyes, her smile, stunning him.
‘You've made me an offer I can't refuse.' Mischief silvered her eyes with dancing starlight. ‘I'm dying to meet your sister!'
Then, just as quickly, her smile faded and her eyes became thoughtful, as if she was wondering what it was that had made her accept his invitation. With a minimal shrug of exquisite shoulders she turned to murmur her excuses to Maclaine, and Jake knew then—precisely then—that she was his...
 
Bella and Kitty had got along famously; dinner had been an unqualified success. Even if Bella had given her attention almost exclusively to the younger girl he had been content to watch and wait, knowing by the heightened colour that had glowed along her perfect cheekbones, the way she'd immediately veiled her eyes if they encountered his, that she'd been just as aware of the sizzling sexual tension as he was.
Leaving her at the mews apartment she'd shared with her younger sister, he had taken her acceptance of his offer to give her lunch the next day for granted. He'd rescheduled his Dubai meetings and had set out to win what he'd already considered his.
They'd been married eight weeks later. He had claimed the woman he'd been born to love, promising to keep her unto him until death did them part...
So much for promises, for dreams. Pain pushed at him. He pushed it away. He'd already spent too long on the rack of jealousy, so why prolong the agony? His face set, he raked out the dying embers and went slowly upstairs. - Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
 
Still sleepless, Bella heard his feet on the uncarpeted stairs and stared into the darkness, wide-eyed, holding her breath.
But the footsteps passed her door, and she curled herself on her side and cried herself to sleep. Because she had wanted him to come to her, to make love to her for one last time, to give her a final memory she could live with.
The memory she did have, of the single, blistering word he'd used before turning on his heels and walking out on her and Guy, was too demeaning to live with.
CHAPTER FIVE
B
ELLA came awake to the distinctive aroma of freshly brewing coffee wafting up from the kitchen directly beneath her bedroom.
The window was heavily curtained, so she had no way of knowing if the late winter dawn had broken, but one thing she did know: Jake was getting ready to leave. Without her.
She wasn't going to stay here on her own!
Jumping out of bed, shivering in the chilly air, she scrambled into the warm leggings and sweater she'd worn the day before and pushed her feet into her sturdy walking shoes, panic making her heartbeat very fast.
There was no time for refinements, even the most basic ones such as bathing, or brushing her hair. She wouldn't put it past him to be walking out of here right now, creeping out, because he wouldn't want her to wake and come racing after him! He had certainly made it perfectly clear that he didn't want her tagging along, under any circumstances. He didn't want her anywhere near him.
Well, he couldn't force her to stay. So she'd dog his footsteps every inch of the way, and if he didn't like it he could lump it!
Already breathless from her haste, she flew down the stairs and arrived in the kitchen with a clatter. The room was filled with clear bright light and the enticing fragrance of coffee. Jake, wearing the bulky sweater and warm dark cords he'd had on yesterday, was staring out of the window.
‘No need to break your neck. Nobody's going anywhere,' he said drily.
He turned from the window, his mouth curling. But it wasn't a smile, Bella saw. That tight-lipped grimace could easily have developed into a full-blown snarl if he'd let it; she didn't have to be an expert in facial expressions to recognise that. But it didn't stop her wretched body responding to him as if the reaction had been programmed in, right from the day of her birth.
He hadn't shaved, and the darkness of his tough jawline was more than the mere affectation of designer stubble. It made him look more dangerous, more forbiddingly exciting than ever before. And what was he talking about? Why had he altered his plans?
Answering her unspoken questions, he narrowed his eyes and drawled softly, ‘You even have the weather on your side. So how did you manage that? Magic?'
He turned abruptly away, bunching his hands in the pockets of his trousers, staring bleakly through the window at the winter wasteland.
Pushing past the hurtful contempt of his words, Bella made sudden sense of what he was implying and went to stand beside him at the window, careful not to brush against him—because touching him would be her undoing, she knew dam well it would.
Stealthy snow had fallen silently in the night, blown into drifts by the howling wind. Drifts of the glittering, pure white stuff were piled up against the sturdy cottage to the height of the window-frame. Imprisoning them here together. Evie and Kitty couldn't have hoped for a better result!
‘There's coffee in the pot.' He stepped back quickly, away from her. She could sense the tension in his hard body, hear it in his dark, gravelly voice.
She was right; he couldn't bear her to be anywhere near him. Finding her with Guy on that fateful night had made her physically repulsive to him. Yet there had been moments when she'd hoped...
‘We're going to have to try to live with this impossible situation.'
She could hear him moving about, and she could detect resignation in his voice now. A toneless monotone that told her quite plainly that being forced to endure her undiluted company was not something he was wildly excited about.
She could have done without his earlier sarcastic implication that she'd magicked up a snowstorm to keep him here. Very much against his will. She didn't know which hurt the most, bitter sarcasm or bleak resignation, but she wasn't going to give him a clue to the way he was tearing her to pieces.
Turning reluctantly to face him, her eyes went wide. He was shrugging into his sheepskin coat, already turning up the collar against the bitter weather outside.
He was going to try his level best to get out of here, preferring to take his chances in the arctic wilderness out there rather than spend another moment with her. He was leaving her stranded, walking out on her, dismissing her from his life all over again!
She knew he didn't love her, or trust her. But she hadn't realised just how much he hated her.
‘Where are you going?' Her voice sounded tinny, frantic even, and her face had gone red. She could feel heat creeping all over her skin. She had sounded like a nagging wife, but she couldn't help it She didn't want him walking out on her. Not again.
‘Don't worry. You and the weather have me neatly trapped.' His voice sounded as cold as the snow on the mountain tops. ‘Though what you hope to achieve is beyond me, particularly since you refuse to be honest enough to tell me.'
Bella narrowed her eyes into slits and glared right back at him, her temper rising rapidly now. How could you hate a person yet want him with a force that was pretty near overwhelming? Were love and hate really the different sides of the same coin, as people said?
He went to the outer door and drew back the bolts. ‘I'm going to dig a way through to the fuel store. I'd appreciate it if you did your part and fixed breakfast.'
He sounded weary, Bella noted crossly. Weary of the situation he found himself in. Weary of her. She watched him force the door open against the weight of snow, her chin jutting mutinously.
Anger was her only defence. She dredged up every last bit she could find. Do as you're told; she mimicked his voice inside her head. And vowed she wouldn't. Not ever again.
Besides, would it hurt him to offer her a kind word? Or, if he really couldn't manage that, simply a civil one would do! Didn't the insensitive brute remember what day it was? Christmas Eve—their fourth wedding anniversary! Did the date mean so little to him that he'd blanked it out of his mind?
Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them furiously away, despising herself for the weakness of wanting things he could never give her—his love, his trust, the way things had been for them at the very beginning, when it had been as if he had known she was his woman, and had reached out and taken her.
And she'd gone willingly because, almost from the time they'd met, she'd known she was his—for always.
But it hadn't turned out that way. The veneer of perfection had been very thin. Scratch it, and something ugly was staring you in the face.
As soon as he was out of sight she reached for her padded coat. She hadn't wanted him to walk out on her, but she was going to walk out on him. She couldn't and wouldn't endure the situation a moment longer!
Bella knew she was acting irrationally, but how could she think straight when he was around, looking at her with those black, contemptuous eyes, making it plain he believed she had instigated this unholy mess?
Walking out of here would show him just how wrong he was about that! And remove her from the disastrously growing temptation to try to make him believe she still needed him, that she only had to see him, hear his voice, to crave the touch of his lips, his hands—because for her the wanting had never stopped.
And even if he did believe her—which was highly unlikely—his vaguely contemptuous pity would be the best she could hope to achieve. He would tell her to control her libido until she could get back to Guy. And that she could do without!
Because of the wind direction there was less snow piled up in front of the cottage than there was at the rear. The sun shone brightly from a clear blue sky, and that was a heartening omen. She'd go carefully, she promised herself, sucking in lungfuls of the cold, cold air, pick her way until she came to the nearest habitation.
She'd show him she hadn't planned this sick farce! By taking this initiative, she'd damn well prove it!
 
By the time he'd split enough dry logs to last for twenty-four hours, Jake's temper was high. And rising. He'd long since discarded his sheepskin coat, the heavy exercise keeping him warm, but his trousers were wet through to well above his knees—the unpleasant result of wading through the drifts to get to the shed to look for a shovel to clear the damn stuff!
He replaced the axe and shovel in the shed, flung his coat over his shoulder, gathered up an armful of logs and set off along the track he'd cleared from the shed to the cottage. He'd hoped for a rapid thaw, but it looked as if he wasn't going to get one. Great snow clouds were gathering ominously now, blocking out the sky.
He had never threatened physical harm to a woman in his life, but right now he felt like shaking Bella until her teeth fell out!
Why wouldn't the woman come clean and tell him exactly what she'd wanted to achieve when she'd ganged up with the sisters from hell and tricked him into coming here? The frustration of not knowing was almost worse than the deed itself.
There was no sign of breakfast, and the coffee-pot was cold. He told himself he wasn't surprised, and went through to dump the logs on the hearth, eyeing the cold ashes grimly.
She was probably holed up in her room, painting her nails and doing her face, expecting him to do all the donkey work!
He took the stairs two at a time, his black frown deepening as the wet fabric of his trousers clung clammily to his legs. If they were going to survive this damned incarceration without coming to blows there was going to have to be some give and take around here!
It took him less than five minutes to discover she was nowhere in the cottage, and mere seconds more to check out the front and verify what he'd sinkingly begun to suspect.
Footprints heading out of there, imprinted in the deep snow. Had the woman gone completely mad?
He collected his coat, glowered at the sky and slammed the cottage door behind him. Attention seeking, that was what this latest crazy stunt was all about!
He'd made his irritation with the situation pretty clear, refusing to play along with her game—whatever it was. So she'd trudged out into the snow, knowing full well he would feel obliged to fetch her back, thereby forcing him to give her his undivided attention.
When picking out this cottage for their ‘unexpected' reunion, she'd have made good and sure it was remote, far enough from any other habitation to make getting out on foot anything but easy—and totally impossible in these conditions.
And if he didn't have a conscience he'd sit back and let her get on with it, leave her to come crawling back when she realised that playing the injured heroine wasn't getting results!
By his reckoning, he'd spent around half an hour clearing the path and splitting wood. Even if she'd shot out of the front door the moment he'd exited the back, she couldn't have gone far in that small amount of time. And when he caught up with her he'd haul her back and lay down a few firm ground rules. By hell, he would!
Half an hour later he'd followed her trail to the rim of the valley and over, zig-zagging to avoid obvious drifts and on across the flanks of the now trackless mountains. Trouble was, it had started snowing again almost as soon as he'd set out, and it was rapidly becoming a blizzard.
The powdery snow was being blown around in ever-thickening flurries, filling in the marks of her passage. If he gave the storm another ten minutes, he wouldn't have a clue how to track her down. If he didn't find her soon, he never would.
Anxiety quickened his heart rate and he forced himself to move faster, cursing the elements. Despite her height, she was too fragile to last long in these desperate conditions.
He thought of the slenderness of her bones, the delicate grace of that ultra-feminine body, and groaned, pushing himself harder. His breathing was ragged now, more from the persistently clawing anxiety than from the very real exertion.
If anything happened to her he would never forgive himself.
When a rent in the swirling clouds of snow revealed a figure up ahead, gallantly trying to get up off her knees and pathetically failing, the sense of relief he felt forced him to face what he'd tried so hard to hide—he still cared deeply for the little witch. If he'd lost her out here his life wouldn't have been worth living; his future wouldn't have been worth having.
It took him two desperate minutes to reach her, to scoop her up from her knees and hold her as tightly as he could without crushing her slender bones.
‘Oh, Jake—'
Her voice was a whispery thread of sound against the wail of the wind, but he heard it, and it reached deep inside him and touched him where it hurt. It hurt like hell.
‘Don't talk,' he commanded gruffly, his heart twisting inside him as his hands went to steady her shoulders to allow him to search her face.
White skin was transparent with fatigue; lips were tinged blue with cold. But her eyes were clear bright pools, pools he could drown in, and the barriers went crashing down, each and all of them, as she spoke to him.

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