Understand? Yes, she understood. He was demanding she trust his word. His steady gaze was insisting she trust his word.
A trust she did not feel she could give him.
Could maybe never give him again.
‘Michael needs me,’ she murmured, and pulled free to leave the room.
That had been Friday. On Monday he was going up to Huddersfield to tie up the loose ends of the deal before the Christmas break. And after an awful weekend, during which they paid a cool kind of courtesy to each other, Rachel could only feel relieved that he was going.
But he reached for her on Sunday night. And, in the middle of their desperate attempts to achieve some level of mutual satisfaction from their shared passion, he broke one of her strictest rules—he spoke to her. He asked her to forgive him. It made her cry out in pained protest at his spoiling what they were managing to share. Her wretchedness curbed his tongue, but when he came into her there was a new urgency about him that verged on the tormented, and afterwards she found herself desperately wanting to comfort him when he just turned and lay with his face pressed into the pillow, yet was unable to because it would feel so much that she was conceding something too important to him.
She only wished she knew what that important thing was! The trouble was, she was beginning to lose sight of what exactly was causing all the dissension between them.
Lydia, she reminded herself. Lydia.
Yet even that name was beginning to lose its ability to wound as deeply as it used to do.
Over the next few days she threw herself into a mad splurge of last-minute preparations for Christmas. She stubbornly ignored her continuing nervous stomach as she became engrossed in bedroom re-organisation until, by the evening Daniel was due home, she was beginning to feel so limp she wondered if giving in and taking to her bed might not be a bad idea.
They were all in the sitting-room, trying to erect the huge Christmas tree that had just been delivered, when the door opened and Daniel walked in. A rueful smile softened his harsh features as he took in the sight of all four of them struggling between the prickly branches of a disobliging tree.
‘I see I’m still needed for a few small duties around here, then,’ he mocked, bringing four heads whipping around in surprise.
The children deserted Rachel to fall on Daniel instead, and he, with a cry of mock terror, fell down on the carpet as two wiry bodies landed on top of him laughing and whooping, while the third member of their little trio had to crawl his way over to his father as fast as his hands and knees could take him.
Rachel watched, her hands pricked full of pine needles but unaware of the stings, smiling stupidly at the miniwar taking place on her sitting-room floor.
And it was there, on a sudden surge of the sweetest insight she had ever experienced, that she saw the blistering truth as to why her life was so worth keeping as it was.
Family. Family love. A simple yet complicated interconnecting weave of love, from one to the other to the other, that bound them all together so tightly that even when one link broke and tried to tear them all apart it couldn’t. Because the others held on so fast.
Made it worthwhile to hold on fast.
And Daniel like this was the old Daniel. Not the one so rushed off his feet that he was too tired to take time out to wrestle on the floor with his children: to enjoy them—simply enjoy as they tickled him and made him shriek for mercy.
Michael sat on his middle, patting hard on the steel wall of a chest with both hands. ‘I give in—I give in!’ Daniel cried as Sammy straddled his shoulders to hold him down so that Kate could tickle him ruthlessly, the sly pair knowing Daniel couldn’t do a thing to save himself while Michael sat squarely on his middle. ‘Help me, Rachel!’ he pleaded. ‘I need help!’
She let go of the tree, watching it warily for a moment to be sure it wouldn’t fall down on top of them all before she went to pluck up Michael, tucking him under her arm so that she could tease Kate with a bit of her own medicine, leaving Daniel free to deal with Sam. In one swift economical movement he was on his feet with his eldest son wrapped in a bear-hug of a grip while he rained noisy wet kisses all over his disgusted face.
‘Yuk!’ Sammy protested, wriggling like an eel and loving every minute of it. There were not many ways to give six-year-old boys the kisses and cuddles they needed but were not allowed to admit to. But Daniel was using the best way right now, by making a game of it. And by the time he set Sam down on the floor the little boy was flushed with happiness and pretending utter disgust. Then he was laughing shrilly as Daniel went after a squealing Kate. She was easy to catch; it was very hard to feign reluctance when all you really wanted to do was to be wrapped in those big strong arms and hugged and kissed.
Michael watched, his little face alive with the fun of it all. And Rachel hugged him to her, gaining comfort from his warm little body, when really what she wanted to do was beg for her turn as, once upon a time, she would have done—quite brazenly.
That Daniel was thinking along similar lines was clear when he set Kate down on her feet, then fixed his uncertain gaze on Rachel. Feeling suddenly shy and self-conscious, she handed him Michael, lowering her fineveined lids over her eyes as he took the hint and rolled back down on to the floor to tease his younger son into infectious baby giggles.
The Christmas tree chose that moment to begin creaking warningly. Rachel reached it in time, but not before she became lost in pine branches. Another hand, longer and stronger than hers, appeared just above her own, Daniel’s lightning-quick reactions allowing him to leap off the floor and snake out a hand to take the weight of the tree from her, easily pushing it upright again. Rachel then found herself being disentangled by firm but gentle hands.
‘You’ve scratched your cheek,’ Daniel observed huskily, and lowered his mouth to place his lips on the tiny mark by the corner of her mouth. His tongue flicked out to soothe the tender spot, and she quivered.
‘Hello,’ he murmured softly, grey eyes gently noting the blushing shyness in her expression.
‘Hello,’ she answered huskily, having difficulty meeting his gaze. Then his mouth was lowering again, demanding a slower, deeper, much more intimate kiss. He felt warm and vital, the hard-packed leanness of his muscled body so achingly familiar to her own. And she closed her eyes, giving herself up to the sheer uncomplicated beauty of the embrace.
The doorbell chimed, breaking them reluctantly apart as the twins shot off with a yelp to let Daniel’s mother in, since she was expected at that moment.
‘Y-Your mother is taking them to the Christingle service,’ Rachel breathlessly explained.
‘She is?’ he answered absently, his eyes smoky as they roamed her blushing face. ‘Good,’ he murmured, and kissed her again, softly, tenderly, lingeringly, his warm mouth clinging to hers even when his mother walked into the room and halted abruptly when she realised what she was walking in on.
Rachel didn’t even hear her. A love she had thought she had lost for good was welling up inside her, fanning a beautiful sensual warmth into every part of her tingling frame, and with a sigh that was like the soft whisper of a breeze against his mouth she slid her hands up his arms and curled her fingers into the silken darkness of his hair.
They were both out of breath when they eventually broke apart. Daniel turned to smile at his mother, but his vision was not quite focused, and Jenny Masterson’s smile was unsteady as she gazed at them both with undiluted hope written in her anxious eyes.
It was only after Rachel had helped bundle the children into their warm anoraks, while Daniel secured the tree, that she remembered the re-organisation that had gone on upstairs while he had been away, and she bit down on her bottom lip, wondering how she was going to tell him and weakly putting the moment off until she had no choice.
They waved the children and his mother off together, Daniel’s arm a possessive clamp around Rachel’s waist as Jenny trotted off with Michael wrapped up warm in his push-chair and the twins skipping along besi
de her, chatting away nineteen to the dozen.
Daniel closed the door. The silence inside the house seemed strange after the noise of a minute ago.
‘Come with me while I change?’ he invited, tentatively offering her his hand.
She took it meekly, letting him pull her up the stairs behind him to their bedroom where Daniel gave a contented sigh and moved away from her to begin tugging at his tie.
Rachel watched him from the door, her hands twisting together in front of her. ‘Er…’ she began.
He didn’t seem to hear, his steps taking him right into the bathroom. Then…
‘What the—?’ He was out of the door like a bullet, staring at her incredulously, thinking, she knew, all kinds of things which had to hurt.
‘I had to put my parents somewhere!’ she burst out defensively. ‘This was the only practical solution!’ She waved an agitated hand at their room, where the bathroom already stood shiny clean and empty of all their personal toiletries. She had emptied one of her wardrobes into Daniel’s. It had been a tight fit, and she was ruefully aware that their clothes were going to need a good pressing before they would be fit to wear again. But…
‘And where,’ he gritted, ‘are you and I sleeping?’
Her hand fluttered in the vague direction of the other bedrooms. ‘It worked out quite well in the end,’ she told him nervously. ‘I had two new beds delivered, one in Sam’s room and one in Kate’s. Y-Your mother can sleep in Kate’s room with her.’ His mother always slept over on Christmas Eve—she liked to be there to watch the children open their presents on Christmas morning. ‘I’ll sleep in Michael’s room and y-you can sleep in Sam’s. It’s only for two nights, Daniel!’ she appealed for his understanding when he looked ready to explode. ‘You know we daren’t put the twins together or they’ll never sleep! And as it is the children are quite excited about it. They—’
‘Hell and damnation!’ he exploded anyway. ‘What is it with you, Rachel?’ he bit out furiously. ‘Why the hell should I give up my bed for your parents? Why can’t they sleep in the other beds? Or have you done this just to get another dig at me? Because if you have, I’m warning you, I’ve damned well had enough of it!’
Rachel bristled at the injustice. ‘Since when have my parents been any trouble to you?’ she retaliated. ‘You only have to put up with them once a year! Show them some consideration, for goodness’ sake! They’ll be driving down here tomorrow directly from closing the shop, and they won’t stop until they arrive. They’re bigframed, Daniel! And getting on in years. They won’t feel comfortable sharing with the twins!’
‘I can’t believe you’ve actually done this!’ he rasped, too angry to listen to a thing she was saying. ‘I come home after one hell of a week in Huddersfield— Huddersfield, for God’s sake!’ he derided, as though it were the end of the earth. ‘Looking forward to a peaceful Christmas in my own home—my own home!—and find I’ve been chucked out of my bedroom by a vindictive wife who can’t find enough ways to…It wouldn’t be so bad.’ He changed tack on a blankly staring Rachel, running his angry fingers through his hair. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if the damned house was big enough for me to get lost in if I felt like it. But because you refuse to move to something better, I have to lose my home comforts, Me!’ he choked. ‘A damned cash millionaireliving in a poky little cardboard box with three noisy little brats and a wife who…’
His mouth snapped shut, his angry gaze at last focusing on Rachel’s blanched face, ‘Damn,’ he sighed. ‘Damn, damn—damn.’
‘W-Why don’t you go to Lydia, then?’ she suggested shakily, her throat swelling on the thickness of unshed tears. ‘Perhaps sh-she’ll give you a better time all round!’
Spinning, she ran out of the room before he could say another thing! He thought her vindictive! He thought their home a poky little box! And his children! Those dear, sweet babies who loved him so utterly—he called them brats!
She banged the children’s supper dishes with gusto, soapsuds flying everywhere. She could have put them all in the dishwasher, but this felt better, giving her something to vent her anger on!
Two hands appeared on either side of her, effectively trapping her against the kitchen sink. And a warm mouth came down to nuzzle her nape. ‘Sorry,’ Daniel murmured. ‘I didn’t mean a single word of it.’
She sniffed, scrubbing at a plate that was in danger of losing its pretty flower pattern. ‘Why did you say it, then?’
‘Because,’ he confessed, then didn’t bother finishing, preferring to taste her throat instead.
‘Because?’ she prompted, hunching her shoulder in an effort to stop him.
‘Because I was disappointed,’ he rumbled. ‘Because I’ve thought of nothing else but that damned bed all week—with you in it. Because I’d forgotten all about the problem with your parents and I felt guilty for letting it slip my mind. Because,’ he sighed out heavily, ‘I don’t want to sleep in Sam’s room. I want to sleep with you. I want to wake up on Christmas morning with your face next to me on the pillow. Because—oh, there are a hundred damned becauses. But they all add up to one thing in the end. I blew my top because you were taking away from me the only place where I feel close to you any more. I need that bed, Rachel. I need it.’
On a sudden sob, she dropped the plate she had been wielding back into the water and spun around to bury her face in his chest. ‘Oh, Daniel,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so miserable!’
‘I know,’ he sighed, holding her close, letting the tears flow, stroking her back, his dark head coming to rest comfortingly on the top of her own. And once again his big frame became her rock, the place to run for the comfort she had always found given so unstintingly.
Eventually she sniffed herself back to some kind of calm, and Daniel pushed up her chin so that he could inspect the damage. She let him, as mute and petulant as Kate.
‘My mother will kill me if she sees you like this,’ he grimaced. ‘One look at you and she’ll blame me without even a hearing!’
Rachel smiled despite herself. But Daniel was right. Jenny invariably came down on Rachel’s side in a dispute, whether she was right or wrong.
‘Forgive me?’ he asked, gently pushing a wispy tendril of soft blonde hair away from her damp cheek. ‘Call a truce, Rachel,’ he urged. ‘Let’s make this a good Christmas—hell,’ he muttered, ‘I’ll even give up my damned bed if it makes you happy!’
‘Who said it made me happy?’ she objected, dipping her head so that she could rummage in his trouser pockets for his handkerchief, and having to suppress the urge to smile when her fingers brushed lightly down his groin so that he responded with a shuddering gasp.
‘You provocative little witch!’ he accused, knowing exactly why she had done it and ruefully amused by it. It revealed a glimpse of the old teasing Rachel—the one he’d thought lost to him forever. ‘A truce, Rachel,’ he pleaded huskily. ‘Please.’
‘You called the children brats!’ she reminded him sternly.
‘Did I say that?’ He looked genuinely appalled.
‘And more!’ she complained.
‘I wonder you didn’t throw something at me,’ he murmured contritely. ‘Forgive me and call a truce?’
She pondered the suggestion, taking pleasure in the way his fingers were lightly caressing her face and throat. ‘Are you really a cash millionaire?’ she enquired curiously.
‘Did I say that too?’ His sleek brows arched. ‘I must have been temporarily deranged.’
‘Are you?’ she insisted.
‘If I say yes, will it gain me a bit of respect around here?’ His smile was wry.
‘It might do.’
‘Then yes,’ he nodded. ‘You’re looking at a cash millionaire—several times over, I might add, just to push up my rating, you understand.’ It was said lightly, meant entirely as a tease, but it hurt something deep down inside her because she recognised that underlying the teasing was the real truth, that Daniel was indeed a very wealthy man and she hadn’t even reali
sed it. He was just Daniel to her. The man she had loved for what seemed all of her life.
‘Truce?’ he asked, lowering his mouth to nibble sensually at the corner of her mouth.
‘Yes,’ she mumbled, eyes closing in languid pleasure.
He lifted his head. ‘Because of my millions?’ he quizzed.
‘Of course,’ she smiled. ‘Why else would I give in to you?’
He laughed, his manner at ease because, if he knew anything about Rachel, then he knew she was not mercenary. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then turned them both towards the kitchen door. ‘Then come and talk to me while I change,’ he invited, and led them both back up the stairs.
The bedroom was lit by its usual warm peachy glow. Daniel sent the bed a wistful glance as they passed by it.
‘We can keep to our usual beds for tonight, of course,’ Rachel remarked casually, and received a stinging slap to her behind for her tease, and they entered the bathroom laughing as light-heartedly as they used to do.
It was a nice Christmas, happy, relaxed, light-hearted— but soon over. And the time came for Rachel to decide if she was going to go back to Zac’s class. Daniel made no comment, but his opinion was written all over his face whenever he caught her with her sketch-pad in her hands—which she in turn refused to comment on, simply because she wanted it to be her own decision with no manoeuvring from him.
So slowly, slowly, they slipped back to being guarded strangers in the same house. Rachel had to be aware that ninety nine per cent of the blame for this had to be because of their unsatisfactory achievements in bed. Daniel was a very sensual man, and her continued inability to give him all of herself challenged his virility. He hated the restrictions she placed on him: the darkness, the silence, the reluctance to go where their senses instinctively led them. And Rachel was afraid that if she didn’t do something about it, then he might go in search of a fuller satisfaction elsewhere. Again.
The Ultimate Betrayal Page 13
