An Interrupted Marriage (Silhouette Special Edition)

by Bright, Laurey;

  He was very close. His cheek showed a faint shadow where he’d shaved, and his neck was tanned. She fought the urge to put out her hand and brush away the hair from his eyes as it fell forward, to make him turn his head and look at her again.

  He did it anyway as he straightened. His hand, replacing the pen, missed the container, and the pen rolled.

  Jade automatically made a grab for it, and so did Magnus. As her fingers came down on the pen, his hand closed over hers.

  He didn’t lift it, and she felt its weight, and the tensile strength of his fingers. She could hear him breathing, and her chair moved very slightly as he put his other hand on the back of it, steadying himself. She was looking at their hands, at his fingers curving about hers.

  She thought he said, “Hell!” And then he lifted her hand within his, and closed his other hand about her upper arm, drawing her from the chair.

  Jade’s eyes met his, half-afraid, because his touch was not quite gentle. And he swore again, and said, “Don’t look like that.” His face was taut and angry, and for a moment before he lowered his head she thought that what she read in his eyes was some kind of contempt. But then his mouth touched hers with fierce control, moving lightly, almost teasingly at first, gradually becoming more demanding, an expert, carefully constrained seduction of the senses. She hardly knew when he’d persuaded her lips apart for him, and even then he didn’t take advantage of it straight away, although his arm about her waist tightened, and he leaned back on the desk, parting his legs and urging her forward to stand between his warm, hard thighs.

  He still held her hand, and as she instinctively clutched at his shoulder with the other, he moved their linked hands so that her arm was bent behind her, his free hand sliding down over the rounded curves, touching her thighs, intruding under her skirt.

  She felt her mouth open as he urged her closer to him, her back arched and her pelvis snug against his.

  And then he was kissing her deeply, freely, completely overwhelming her senses, so that the blood raced along her veins and beat in her ears, and her limbs felt fluid with pleasure.

  He dragged his mouth away, and she opened her eyes and saw that his were brilliant with passion, his cheekbones darkly flushed. He turned, so that it was she who was pressed up against the edge of the desk, and his voice rasped when he said, “Do you know when you first came to work for me, I used to fantasise about making love to you on your desk—or mine?”

  “No.” Her voice felt raw. He’d never told her that, even after they were married.

  The hand that had been caressing her beneath her skirt was on her breast now, moving over the fabric of her blouse while he watched, apparently fascinated. She knew he could see her arousal even through the blouse and the thin, seamless stretch satin of her bra, could feel it under his palm. He raised his eyes to hers and gave her a tight, glittering smile. “No, you didn’t? Or no, you don’t want to?”

  “I never...knew,” she managed to say, her eyelids growing heavy with desire as his hand went on stroking, kneading, discovering.

  “Do you want to?” he asked her. He released her briefly, only to drag both his hands into her hair, tipping back her head so that she had to look at him.

  “N-now?” Her voice faltered.

  “Have I shocked you?” His mouth came back to hers, in a kiss that was wild and hot and abandoned. She felt dizzy when he finally lifted his head and said, “We can’t, though, unfortunately. Mrs. Gaines is going to bring in afternoon tea any minute now.”

  That shocked her. She stiffened, coming upright, clutching at his sleeve to steady herself.

  Magnus stepped back, laughing. “Don’t panic. We’ve got a few minutes. Anyway, she knows that we’re married, and that we’ve been apart for a long time. I don’t suppose she’d be surprised.”

  “She’d be embarrassed,” Jade said, smoothing her hair, making sure her blouse was tucked in. “And so would we.”

  “You might be. How do you know I’m not a secret exhibitionist?”

  “You’re the one who mentioned we might be...interrupted,” Jade pointed out. “Anyway, after twelve months of marriage, I’d have known.”

  A strange expression crossed his face. “Are you sure? There seems to have been quite a lot I didn’t know about you, after twelve months of marriage.”

  “It...wasn’t very long,” she said, not quite sure what he meant. “Oh! The letters!” she remembered, and turned, wondering if in the heat of passion they’d crushed them. But the pages were away from the edge of the desk, and untouched.

  A discreet tap came at the door before Mrs. Gaines opened it and carried in a tray bearing two cups. Magnus cast Jade an ironic look and casually moved back to his own desk.

  When they had drunk the tea, Jade asked, “Is there anything more I can do for you?”

  She flushed at the way he raised his brows, his eyes making an explicit unspoken comment as they ran over her, but he said only, “No, I don’t need your secretarial services any more. You could take the tray out of my way, if you don’t mind.”

  She picked it up and walked away from him, but as she reached the door his voice stopped her. “The sooner we take that week away together, the better,” he said. “Have you given any thought to where you’d like to go?”

  She half turned, but kept her eyes on the tray in her hands. “I don’t mind,” she said. “Somewhere quiet. I’m happy to leave it to you.”

  “I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

  * * *

  She felt tense and restless, and decided a swim would help settle her body, if not her emotions. Arriving at the beach she found Glen and the baby sitting on the sand, Glen in swim shorts and Rose-Lee wearing a diminutive frilled yellow bikini with red polka dots, and a matching sun-hat.

  Jade laughed, and Glen looked up at her with a grin. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully. “My sister gave it to her. At least the hat’s practical.” It shaded Rose-Lee’s face so that Jade could see only a fat baby cheek and tiny pointed chin.

  “How do you like the beach, Rose-Lee?” Jade asked, making the baby look up with curiosity at the sound of her name, squinting in the sun.

  “She’s not too impressed with the water, but she’s enjoying the fresh air.” Glen made a grab for the baby’s fist just before it reached her mouth, with the remains of a handful of sand in it. “Going in?”

  “Yes,” Jade said. Seeing his shorts were dry, she said, “I can watch her for a while if you want a dip.”

  “Thanks, but you go first.” He picked up a plastic rattle and handed it to Rose-Lee. “Here, if you must eat something, try that.”

  When Jade came out and sank down on a towel, Glen ran into the water. Rose-Lee, bored with the rattle, was inspecting a piece of dried seaweed now, and Jade removed it twice from her mouth, finally sitting the baby in front of her on the towel and gently replacing the seaweed with a piece of smooth, whitened driftwood, saying, “I hope it hasn’t got too many germs on it.”

  Danella’s voice said, “She tries to eat everything in sight at the moment, and she’s never been sick for a day.”

  Dressed in a high-cut one-piece white suit, she dropped a towel on the sand and sat down beside Jade and the baby. Rose-Lee blew some bubbles and waved plump arms at her mother. Danella picked her up, made a face at her, and grinned. “Blub-blub to you, too.”

  “Did you enjoy your day with your friends?” Jade asked politely.

  “Yes, thanks. Where’s Magnus?”

  “Working. I worked with him for a while, but he didn’t need me any more, and I came down for a swim and found Glen here with the baby.”

  Danella threw a glance at her, and then stared over Rose-Lee’s head at the water. “You don’t have to explain. I trust Glen.” She paused, chewing on a thumbnail. “He says I owe you an apology.”

  “I don’t expect one,” Jade told her coolly, “and certainly not if you don’t think it’s owed.”

  Another look slid her way, and Danella sai
d shamefacedly, “No, he’s right. I shouldn’t have said all those things. The thing is, I have this possessive streak.”

  “I know.” Jade smiled dryly.

  Danella picked up the piece of driftwood that Rose-Lee had been playing with earlier and began absently digging in the sand. “I don’t really blame you for telling Magnus about the drugs. I hated you at the time, of course.”

  “You were only sixteen. I couldn’t let you ruin your life. You needed help.”

  “Yeah, I know I did. And Magnus tried to give it to me, only I wouldn’t listen.”

  She’d run away instead, and Magnus had been frantic, trying to locate her, worrying about what sort of life she might be leading, or if she was alive at all. For weeks he had scarcely come home, spending all his spare time hunting the streets of Auckland, then further afield as rumour and guesswork led him fruitlessly to other cities.

  So, do you think your illness is a bid to gain your husband’s attention? The voice intruded in her head—she recalled a woman in a white coat facing her. No! she heard her own voice giving its emphatic reply, and then the brief flash of memory abruptly faded.

  Eventually, after months of worry, Danella had telephoned from Sydney in Australia, hysterical and broke, and Magnus, dropping everything, had flown over to fetch her home. She’d been alternately remorseful and defensive, her mood swings a trial to live with as she battled to break her addiction, or gave up and disappeared again for days on end.

  Magnus had pulled strings to get her a job in his office where he could keep an eye on her, and she’d vacillated between gratitude for his help and resentment that he insisted on keeping her under his wing. He’d been remarkably patient with his sister, but occasionally the strain he was under showed, and he’d snapped at other people—his wife included.

  Rose-Lee reached for a passing grey-blue butterfly, and almost toppled. Danella lifted her closer and submitted to having her hair grabbed in a relentless fist. “I suppose if Magnus has taken you back, it’s not up to me to throw stones,” she said gruffly, casting a half shamed, half defiant glance at Jade. “You must have resented the time he spent on all of us, when you were just newly married, after all. I know I would’ve. And if I helped to send you off the rails,” she added hurriedly, as though wanting to get it over with, “I’m sorry.” Untwining the baby’s hand from her hair, she added with relief, “Look, Rose-Lee, here comes your daddy.”

  Glen had left the water and was running towards them. “Hello, love,” he said, bending to kiss his wife. “The water’s great. Want to go in?”

  Jade rose, picking up her towel. “See you later,” she said. She didn’t want to spoil her new, tentative rapport with her rather prickly sister-in-law by sticking around with Glen while Danella was in the water. Danella’s possessive streak had caused enough problems already.

  Chapter Eight

  Glen suggested they all go out for dinner at a nearby tourist hotel. “My shout,” he told Magnus. “Mrs. Gaines offered to babysit instead of cooking tonight, and your mother said she’d enjoy an evening out.”

  Magnus looked slightly surprised at that. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it, too, won’t we, Jade?”

  Inwardly doubtful, she had no choice but to agree.

  Jade felt locked in to a number of uneasy truces. Danella, perhaps mellowed and relaxed by a day freed of the stress of caring for a baby, was making an effort at being, if not friendly, at least normally courteous. Mrs. Riordan treated Jade with chilly graciousness. And Magnus was giving a careful performance, she decided, as the considerate husband, although he seemed reluctant to touch her. It was as though that torrid interlude in the study had never happened.

  For herself, she was abnormally conscious of the masculine grace of his every movement, of the faint scent of pine aftershave that teased her nostrils as he opened the car door for her, and the warmth emanating from his body while he drove, his arm inches from hers. Mrs. Riordan had elected to go with her daughter and son-in-law in their car, following behind.

  “You and Danella seem to be getting along,” Magnus said.

  “Fairly well,” Jade agreed. “I think that having a day with her friends helped. She needed some time off.”

  “From being a mother? She still seems too young for it.”

  “Perhaps she’ll always seem young, to an older brother.” Jade paused. “I imagine motherhood is like marriage—no matter how well prepared you think you are, the reality is different from your expectations.”

  “Is that how marriage was, for you?” He looked at her.

  “Wasn’t it, for you?” Jade countered.

  “In the end, yes. I suppose you’re right.”

  * * *

  When they arrived at the hotel they sat in a shaded courtyard for a pre-dinner drink. They must, Jade thought, look like a normal family party on a night out. Did other families have similar strains and tensions? Perhaps they did. Maybe most of them put up some kind of façde in public.

  At the other side of the table Glen was talking to Mrs. Riordan and Danella. He seemed eager to get on with his wife’s relatives, Jade reflected. Mrs. Riordan was looking reluctantly interested, leaning forward slightly in her chair, her sticks hooked over its arm.

  Magnus leaned over and brushed away a moth that whirred close to Jade’s glass as she set it on the wrought-iron table. “I could get a cottage on the shore of the Hokianga Harbour for a week,” he murmured. “It’s fairly remote, but quite comfortable. You did say you’d like a quiet place.”

  A cottage where they could be alone. Her heart quickened at the thought. “It sounds fine,” she said.

  “We can have it for a week, anytime in the next month or so.”

  “Longer than our honeymoon,” Jade said. They’d snatched three days then, a long weekend at a luxury hotel in Taupo.

  It had rained most of the time, but the rain hadn’t mattered. They’d been discovering each other in every way, delighting in finding that they both enjoyed cryptic crosswords and walking in the rain, hated tomato sauce, opera and the colour mauve. Delighting, too, in the more intimate discoveries that they made in the wide bed where they spent the three precious nights.

  * * *

  Magnus said, breaking into her thoughts, “You haven’t finished your drink. Do you want to bring it in to dinner?” He was on his feet, and Glen and Danella were helping Mrs. Riordan up, arranging her walking sticks.

  Jade picked up her glass and emptied it. “I’m ready.”

  The dining-room was discreetly lit and the table set with a red linen cloth and gleaming silver. Magnus, studying the menu, said, “I suppose you’d like the avocado and shrimp starter, Jade?”

  Glen smiled at her. “You like avocados?”

  “Love them.”

  That was another of the things she and Magnus had found out on their brief honeymoon—Jade was passionately fond of avocados, which Magnus heartily disliked, while she turned up her nose at the chocolate ice-cream sundaes that he found irresistible.

  She ordered the avocado followed by a lamb dish, and perhaps it was the bottle of wine they shared, or the effect of the surroundings and the novelty of dining out, but by the time the waiter presented the dessert menu, Mrs. Riordan seemed almost mellow, Danella was sparkling, and when they left the restaurant after lingering over coffee and liqueurs, Jade was feeling both stimulated and relaxed.

  On the way home, as Magnus followed the red tail-lights of Glen’s car, she found herself humming some half-remembered tune.

  Magnus turned briefly. “You sound happy.”

  “I’d almost forgotten what it was like.”

  Magnus said soberly, “Me too.”

  “Oh, Magnus!” Impulsively she stretched out her hand and touched his on the steering wheel. “I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

  He turned his hand and gripped hers, and his foot trod on the brake, bringing the car to a sliding halt at the side of the road. “If you mean that—” he said.


  “I mean it.”

  His fingers were cool and hard, curled about hers. “You should be careful about your promises,” he said strangely, “in case you can’t deliver on them.”

  Jade’s voice was husky, unsure. “I want to!”

  “And I want you to,” he said. “Heaven help me.”

  “Magnus—?” The intensity of his gaze, even in the near-dark of the interior of the car, almost frightened her. She wasn’t sure what he was getting at. He couldn’t mean that he didn’t want her any more. This morning had dispelled any thought of that. Instinctively she leaned towards him, her face lifting.

  Magnus made a low sound like a groan. One hand thrust into her hair, tilting her head as he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her without inhibition, without mercy. She felt an anger in him, and a driving need that she tried to meet, letting him delve into her open mouth, arching her body to his when his arm dragged her closer. Her taut-stretched throat began to ache under the onslaught of his kiss, and the hold he still retained on her hand moved to her wrist and became painfully tight, but even as her hand throbbed she didn’t protest, partly because she didn’t think that this hard-edged, headlong passion would acknowledge protests, and partly because despite those small discomforts, her blood was racing, and a slow heat was unfolding in the pit of her stomach, melting hotly through her limbs.

  Magnus broke off the kiss so abruptly that she gasped, shivering in his suddenly slackened hold. He released her hand, and shifted back into his seat as she automatically rubbed at her wrist to restore the circulation. He said unevenly, “Did I hurt you?”

  “You didn’t intend to.”

  “You’re very confident.”

  She stared at him, a faint unease stirring. “Of course.”

  “My God, but you take a lot for granted!” he said.

  Unease turned to fear. She squashed it quickly, deliberately. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but...I’m not sure what you mean.”