The Faithful Wife

by Diana Hamilton

  Too right, he wouldn’t.

  Before he’d met her, her relationship with Maclaine had been common knowledge. The two of them—with the bastard’s wife of the moment making an uneasy third—had been the subject of endless behind-the-hand gossip, according to Alex Griffith, the long-time friend who had persuaded him to go to that fateful party. He had no reason to doubt his friend’s word. He would have had no reason whatsoever for inventing such a story.

  Neither of them had ever discussed her long-running affair. She, naturally enough, had never brought the subject up, and he had done his best to forget it. She’d been his—his alone—and he hadn’t been able to bear to think of her sharing such intimacies with another man. It had made him sick with jealousy. So he’d pushed it to the back of his mind, the present and the future all that mattered.

  But the present and the future had been irreversibly soured when he’d walked in and found them in each others arms. Though the rot had set in long before that, when he’d discovered she’d been seeing the other man and had gone back to work for his agency.

  He took his bunched hands from his pockets and pushed on the door, and she said, her voice shaky but challenging, ‘There was only one man before you. And that was a short-lived disaster.’

  He turned to look at her. It was a mistake. The huge eyes were pleading, begging for his trust, and she was trying to blink back tears, biting down on her lip to still the trembling. The desire to stop the trembling with his own mouth was strong enough to make him shake.

  He pulled in a ragged breath, forcibly reminding himself of her acting abilities, of the manipulative, devious side of her nature which had hatched the complex plan to get him here.

  ‘And why was that? Wasn’t he wealthy enough?’

  The deliberate insult was sheer, instinctive self-defence. The moment the words were said he regretted them deeply. His own wealth had never interested her during their marriage, and afterwards she’d returned every one of the generous monthly allowance cheques he’d had his solicitor send on his behalf.

  To his eternal shame, he saw her slim shoulders shake with sobs, her pale hands covering her face. He abandoned his hard-won caution and pulled her into his arms. What he felt for this woman was far stronger than wisdom.

  He loved her, moral warts and all. He had tried, God knew he’d tried, but he couldn’t stop loving her.

  ‘Don’t cry. Please don’t cry!’ His voice was raw with emotion. He couldn’t bear her to be hurt. He’d accused her of being something she never could be—a gold-digger, someone with her eye on the main chance. He knew that whatever else she was, she wasn’t that. She had always been extraordinarily naive about financial matters. ‘What I said was unforgivable,’ he declared against her hair, gathering her closer.

  Bella lifted her head from his shoulder to search his face, and the emotion coming from him bound them together in something sweeter than mere forgiveness. The anguish in his eyes was unmistakable. He rarely showed his emotions—she knew that—but when he did they were the genuine article.

  The way he’d lashed out at her had torn her apart, but his remorse was cementing the pieces back together. She opened her mouth to accept his apology and heard him groan, his head dipping as his lips stopped the words in her throat.

  His kiss was raw passion. Bella returned it—because this was what she’d been born for. To be his love, and only his. She had always loved him, always would. Like it or not, this man was her destiny.

  The wild race of blood through her veins matched the burning fever of his as, bodies clinging, lips plundering and willingly plundered, they moved, dreamlike, into the tiny hall and Jake closed the door behind them with his foot.

  ‘Bella—’ he murmured, but she made a guttural sound of protest and pulled his head down to hers again. She moved her mouth slowly, erotically, over his, tasting, stroking, melting under the onslaught of his wild response, her sweet seduction bringing his answering driven passion.

  She curled her arms more tightly around his shoulders, wanting to stay where she belonged. In his arms. Under his skin.

  In his life?

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS the sweet breath of sanity at last, drawing them back to where they belonged. Together. As they were meant to be, as they’d been born to be—no longer apart, lost souls in an empty, cold, black void. Together.

  Her bedroom. Bella didn’t exactly know how they’d got there. It wasn’t important. Only the hot hunger of Jake’s mouth as he branded every inch of her body with his raw possession mattered.

  Her flesh trembled, ached, burned for him. And her hands were making a clear, silent statement of fevered repossession as her fingers dug deeply, stroked and stroked again, exploring every millimetre of that strong, demanding male body. The body she knew so intimately—every muscle, every bone, every last pore of his sweat-slicked skin marked on her brain, never to be forgotten, not even if their parting had lasted through eternity. That was what was important, too. Nothing else.

  Clothing scattered everywhere. Heated bodies close together, twisting, writhing in the immensity of their need to be closer still, so close that each was absorbed into the other. Fever and passion and the inescapable, beautiful simplicity of home-coming.

  Bella arched her hips expressively. demandingly towards him, her whole body quivering. Her mouth was urgently seeking his, tasting him, opening to the renewed savage plunder of his lips, responding feverishly, drawing him into her, the invitation accepted by him with a ragged groan as he slid deeply between her parted thighs.

  One moment of sheer, exquisite ecstasy. A still, unmoving savouring of the rapturous, breathtaking moment of joining. Her body tightly enclosed his until he gave a ferocious cry and plunged deeper, taking them higher and higher into the wild storm of passion until it took them both and shook them into a million brilliant shards of pulsating light.

  And then the slow descent to peace. Soft murmurs, slow touching, the gentle glow of the aftermath—slick bodies close, but softly now, her hair splayed out across his firm, wide chest, her head fitting naturally into the angle of his rangy shoulder and her lips moving softly against his hot skin. One of his hands idly stroking the gentle flare of her hip, the other resting heavily on the damp tangle of curls between her thighs.

  Bella sighed, a tiny fluttering exhalation, as peace and tranquillity, both strangers for so long, took her gently down to sleep.

  The sky was black against the windowpanes but the bedside light was on when she woke to the sound of the door opening—Jake, naked, soft dark hair rumpled, carrying a tray.

  ‘What time is it?’ She raised herself up on one elbow, pushing her hair out of her drowsy eyes—drowsy eyes drowning in love for him.

  ‘Almost eleven. One more hour and it will be Christmas morning.’ His lazy grin was heart-stopping. Bella actually felt her heart stop then start again, racing on out of control as he instructed gruffly, ‘Move over, woman. I’m freezing. Warm me.’

  She lifted the edge of the soft down duvet, her heart clenching with unadulterated joy as he slid his big body in beside her. Everything was right again; she knew it was. It just had to be!

  Nothing had been said. Talk hadn’t been necessary, after all. Their bodies had said everything that needed to be said.

  Wrapping her arms around him, she cuddled her warm body against his icy skin, totally forgetting the loaded tray until Jake growled, ‘Watch it! You want to share a bed with a mountain of toast and a lake of tea?’

  The temptation to heave the tray off the bed and take her in his arms was enormous. They had made love in the very truest sense of the time-honoured phrase, and it had been all he had dreamed of during the last barren year. And more. So much more.

  Yet there were questions he had to ask. Everything had seemed so cut and dried a year ago, almost to the hour, when he’d discovered her in her former lover’s arms. The end. The love of a lifetime over and done with, shattered by what his eyes had told him.

  But t
he events of the last couple of days, and the explosive need of the last hours, had shown him differently. It was far from over. Whatever happened it could never be completely over, not for him. Or for her?

  He had to find out how much blame he carried for the way she’d taken up her old career, her old lover.

  She was sitting up amongst the pillows, the pert, rosy tips of her breasts just visible above the edge of the duvet, her black hair a silken cloak around her slender white shoulders.

  Jake said round the sudden constriction in his throat, ‘Eat up. I woke starving, and didn’t think either of us would want to cook at this time of night. My earlier efforts with sandwiches were enterprising, but scarcely edifying, so I played safe and made toast.’

  ‘Looks scrummy.’ Bella took a thick slice of hot buttered toast from the plate and bit into it enthusiastically, telling him round a mouthful, ‘Your sandwiches were delicious, once I managed to get my mouth around them! Don’t put yourself down. And I ate my share, or didn’t you notice?’

  He watched the tip of her tongue peep out, licking buttery fingers, and his heart clenched inside his chest. Of course he’d noticed. He noticed everything about her. Always had.

  He took his mug of tea, cradling it in his hands, his voice carefully level as he asked, ‘You mentioned that dream you had—about having a home in the country, a family. Did it mean so very much to you?’

  She gave him a smiling, sideways look and helped herself to another slice of toast. She hadn’t realised just how hungry she was. All the frantic, physical activity of a few hours ago, she thought, her cheeks going pink.

  ‘It was what I’d always wanted,’ she agreed. But it didn’t seem so important now. Jake’s love, his trust, was all she craved. ‘I suppose,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘the whole thing—a settled home, a loving family life—something I’d never had—took more room in my head than it should have done. Basically, I was lonely. You were away so much. Out of the three years of our marriage we spent one hundred and thirty-one days together. I kept a record. Does that make me paranoid?’

  She supposed she must have been. She had counted days and hours, yearned for what she couldn’t have, losing sight of what was truly important—that she loved him, no matter what.

  ‘I had to be away, you knew that—or I thought you did,’ he reminded her gently, his eyes soft as he watched how hungrily she devoured the toast.

  He’d always known he had to stay ahead of the pack, not let anyone or anything pull him down. He had to be where the action was, use his brain, not rely on capricious luck as his father had done—losing everything in one fell swoop, plunging his loved ones into penury.

  ‘You could have travelled with me,’ he pointed out without rancour. If he’d known about her family background he would have understood the needs she’d had. It was important now for her to open up. And she seemed very relaxed right now, even smiling that wonderful, lazy smile of hers, the one that melted his bones right through to the core.

  ‘I tried that, remember? Brussels, Rome, New York.’ She took a gulp of tea. ‘There was only so much window-shopping I could stomach, and the museums all began to look the same. I usually found myself having dinner alone in our suite because you were held up in meetings. And when you did get back you were toting loads of paperwork. So that kept you occupied until the small hours, and—Oh!’

  Her hand hovered over the last slice of toast, withdrew. She picked up the plate and offered it to him guiltily. ‘I’ve eaten the lot. I just wasn’t thinking. Take this slice. I’m a greedy pig!’

  ‘You want it, you eat it. I ate mine while I was making yours,’ he fabricated. He would willingly starve rather than see her want for a single thing. Watching her eat with such unselfconscious enjoyment filled him with tenderness.

  ‘So I gave up and decided I might as well stay home,’ she completed. ‘Not that it matters. Not now. Not at all.’

  But it did. Jake knew it did. He knew now that he had his own burden of blame to carry. What had happened hadn’t been all down to her. If they got this right—and he prayed to God that against all the odds they would—things would have to change. He was willing, if she was.

  ‘And because you were bored you took up your modelling career again.’ He could understand that now, though it had made him possessively jealous at the time. It had been her career, and one she had handled well.

  He hadn’t put any pressure on her, but had been deeply thankful when she’d abandoned it on their marriage. He had never been able to quell the unreasonable jealousy, the desire to make her his exclusive property, the overweening distaste at the thought of millions of nameless males lusting after her much-photographed face and body.

  That, too, would have to change. If she wanted to pursue her career then that was what he wanted, too.

  She twisted round in the cosy bed, and Jake moved imperceptibly away. He was aroused enough already. If she touched him there would be no more talk...

  ‘You got it wrong,’ she assured him, her lovely eyes shadowed. ‘I’ve finished with modelling. You know that. When we married I told you I’d never stand in front of the cameras again. I meant it. Guy offered me the job of assistant manager in his agency’s New Accounts department. So I took it. And I know we didn’t need the money. My modelling career called on reserves of physical stamina, not the intellect, but I’m not a fool, Jake. I knew the healthy state of your bank balance, your investment portfolio.

  ‘I knew all that.’ She smiled into his eyes, not wanting to denigrate everything he’d given her, but knowing it was important to explain the way she’d felt. ‘And, honestly, I knew our apartment was the last word in luxury—but you couldn’t grow roses round the door or walk out barefooted onto dewy grass on a June morning. And there was a limit to the number of times I could change the decor, buy cushions and rugs and flowers.

  ‘I guess—’ her eyes mirrored her regret ‘—that by the time I decided to take that job as a way of occupying my time, we weren’t heavily into communication. I told you I’d decided to accept Guy’s job offer. You assumed I’d be prancing in front of the cameras again.’

  Not heavily into communication was an understatement, Jake accepted ruefully. During that last year of their marriage there’d been a total lack of anything remotely like togetherness.

  He’d been increasingly aware of it at the time, putting it down to the large amounts of time he spent away from home. He had made up his mind to do something about it, had been on the point of telling her he’d delegate more, stay home, work from the London office. But it had been too late. He’d learned she’d been seeing Maclaine, had taken up her former career—or so he’d apparently wrongly assumed. He hadn’t been able to handle that.

  He removed the tray from where it lay on the bed between them and told himself it wasn’t too late. He wouldn’t let it be.

  Already he had accepted the lion’s share of the blame for what had happened. Bella had wanted, with more reason than most, the ordinary everyday things other people took for granted. A home that was a real home—not a sterile apartment that could have earned an award for being avant-garde—a husband who was around, babies. All the things he’d refused to give her.

  The worst part would be coming to terms with her affair with Maclaine. The sudden insight hit him hard.

  He didn’t know whether he could handle it, learn to trust her again.

  Bella watched as a shadow crossed his impressive features and took the light from his eyes. Her heart jerked. Had she complained too much when putting her point of view? But the air needed to be cleared if they were to go on. Were they to go on? And where to?

  Had Jake made love to her simply because she was there? The sexual chemistry between them was as strong as ever; that was a fact of life and it wouldn’t go away. Had her viewpoint of their marriage reinforced his conviction that they were poles apart in what they wanted, that all they had going for them was sex? Had he simply used her?

  No, she thought decisivel
y. Jake had far more integrity than that. And she was going to have to find a way to convince him that her dreams didn’t matter. She’d woken up at last. The reality of loving him was the most important thing in her life.

  ‘I’m going to take a shower.’ She slid her long legs out of the bed, needing to lighten the atmosphere that had for some reason suddenly become brittle.

  Perhaps her assumptions had been wrong, because the slow smile he gave her was warm enough to be reassuring. But he didn’t follow her to share the shower, as she had more than half expected him to. When she emerged at last, clean and scented and unwrapping herself from a bath sheet, she thought he was asleep.

  Eyes half-closed, she watched him. His male perfection made her breath stop in her throat For all his muscular strength; his body was lean and elegant. He had fallen asleep on his back, his arms crossed behind his head, and Bella, suddenly, had never felt less like sleep in her life.

  But she wouldn’t wake him. She’d creep beneath the duvet, cuddle up and stay awake all night, savouring every moment of this reconciliation.

  Because it was a reconciliation, wasn’t it?

  Refusing to entertain negative thoughts, she selected a slinky, bias-cut satin nightie and wriggled into it. For the first time she thanked Evie for her meddling. Brushed cotton pyjamas wouldn’t have had the same allure.

  When he woke, Bella knew from delicious experience, Jake would make a slow, erotic game out of removing it. And it wouldn’t be easy. A soft smile curved her mouth as she glanced down at herself. The oyster-coloured fabric clung to her breasts and tummy, then flared softly from just below her hips. Not a comfy garment to sleep in, but it made her feel good, supremely conscious of her femininity, her sensuality. She hadn’t felt like that since she and Jake had broken up.

  Her movements unconsciously sinuous, she walked towards the bed, her hand going out to snick off the bedside lamp, and Jake said, ‘If you’ve finished, I’ll use the bathroom.’