A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion. Kathryn Ross
Читать онлайн книгу.A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion - Kathryn Ross
liked it or not, she thought desperately. He always had been.
The kiss was deep and potent, the taste and smell of him spinning in her head as she fought for control of the need which was raging through her flesh. It had been so long since she had been in his arms like this, and desire was a fire inside her which was spreading however she tried to dampen it down.
His mouth was urgent and hungry, but not cruel. Nevertheless, as she managed to jerk her head away for an instant, she gasped, ‘You’re hurting me. Let me go.’
Even as his mouth claimed hers again she felt him tense and knew her words had registered. For a moment he continued to hold her, so she could feel every inch of his powerful body, and then, with a low groan, he wrenched his mouth from hers. He was breathing hard, the trembling she’d felt in his body mirrored in hers. She was conscious of his chest rising and falling under the fine linen shirt as he fought for control for one more second, and then suddenly—regretfully—she was free. And now she was fighting an almost overwhelming craving to fling herself into his arms again.
She instinctively hid behind attack being the best defence. ‘How dare you manhandle me?’ She ignored the hot, insistent flow of desire flowing through her shaking limbs. ‘You try anything like that again and I swear I’ll scream the place down. Maybe even Hannah would think twice about working for a man who forces women.’
He surveyed her for what seemed like an eternity without speaking, his hands now thrust into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Methinks the lady protests too hard.’ And then he smiled, as if amused.
He had to be the most infuriating man ever born. Why couldn’t he get angry at what she had just said? Instead he stood there looking immensely pleased with life, the arrogant, two-timing, conceited swine. She tried to match his composure when she said, ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Taylor. I’m counting the minutes, let alone the hours until I’m free of you for good.’
His smile disappeared. She would have liked to have felt triumphant, but merely felt sick at heart. To think they had come to this when it had been so good.
The entrance of Hannah, with a tray of coffee and the special shortcake she made—which was utterly delicious and melted in the mouth—silenced further sparring.
Hannah glanced at them both but made no comment, although the atmosphere was such you didn’t need to be the brain of Britain to work out all was not well. Whether the housekeeper had noticed her swollen lips and tousled hair, Marsha wasn’t sure, but if she had Hannah was being the soul of discretion—which wasn’t like her.
Marsha had sat down as the door had opened, but Taylor remained standing by her chair until Hannah left the room again, at which point he walked over to the window in the dining room and stood looking out into the dark night.
Marsha looked down into her glass and wondered if the excess of wine she’d consumed was making her maudlin. But it wasn’t the alcohol. It was the sight of Taylor looking good enough to eat that had her forcing back the tears. She wanted to be over him, she needed to be over him, so why couldn’t she manage her feelings as she’d learnt to manage the rest of her life?
She could feel the tension within mounting and wondered how much more of his silence she could take. But she wasn’t going to speak first. Silly, maybe, perhaps even childish, but she needed every small victory she could get with Taylor.
‘Fancy taking our coffees outside?’ He turned as he spoke, his tone so perfectly normal and matter-of-fact that Marsha could have floored him. Here was she, tied up in knots and suffering the torment of the damned, and he was Mr Cool.
She shrugged nonchalantly, lifting her eyes to meet his. ‘If you like, and then I really will have to go. I’ve an important meeting first thing tomorrow.’
‘Oh, yes?’ He raised enquiring eyebrows as he walked over to the table and lifted the coffee pot.
‘Jeff—he’s my boss and one of the producers—wants me to discuss ideas for a documentary we’ve been looking into. His researchers have given me reams of information, but I need to pull it together and sell the concept overall.’
She was unaware of how animated her voice had become as she talked about the work she loved, but he had stopped filling the coffee cups and was giving her his full attention as he said, ‘You’re his assistant, I take it?’
She nodded. It had been a huge boost to her self-esteem when she had snatched the coveted job from a host of other hopefuls, some of them internal applicants, mainly because Jeff had remembered her from her pre-marriage days. She had come across his path whilst on a training scheme for people who were expected to rise to become producers or managers for a different television company, and although the contact had only been fleeting he had obviously been impressed with her.
It had been her decision, along with a little gentle persuasion from Taylor, to leave the other company after her marriage, mainly because the sort of hours and commitment the five-year training scheme involved could be very antisocial, and she had wanted to be with her new husband as much as possible. In hindsight, it was a decision she bitterly regretted.
Her first at university, in English and Communication Studies, had meant constant hard work and dedication, but it had lifted her into the realm of high-calibre graduates. This had given her a ticket on to the training scheme, at which only a mere handful of the thousands who applied each year were successful. And then she had thrown it all away. But for the lucky break with Jeff she could well have found herself making the tea and sweeping up rather than back in the hub of things.
‘I’m pleased for you, Fuzz.’
His quiet voice brought her out of her thoughts and her eyes focused on his sombre face. She stared at him, knowing that certain something which had always used to sizzle between them was still there and hating the power it gave him. She made her voice cool when she said, ‘Really?’ putting a wealth of disbelief in the one word.
‘Uh-huh. Really.’ He had crossed his arms over his chest, studying her with those strangely beautiful tawny eyes which had always seemed to look straight into her soul.
‘Forgive me, but I find that difficult to believe,’ she said, allowing her gaze to freeze.
‘I do—forgive you, that is,’ he returned comfortably. ‘Mainly because I understand now just how fragile and insecure you are beneath that beautiful, resilient exterior.’
Insecure again. If he said that word once more she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions!
‘It was a mistake for you to give up your career when we married, but I didn’t realise that until it was too late. You needed the sense of self-worth it gave you. I thought I would be enough for you, that I could give you everything you needed, but it was too soon.’
‘Cut the psychoanalysis, Taylor,’ she said stonily. ‘The mistake I made was trusting you; it’s as simple as that.’
‘Nothing is simple where you are concerned, as I’ve learnt to my cost.’ He finished pouring the coffee as he spoke, seemingly totally unconcerned by her declaration. ‘I always thought someone was innocent until proven guilty in this country.’ He turned suddenly to face her for an instant. ‘Where’s your proof, Fuzz?’
Her body jerked as if she had been stung, but although she eyed him hotly she said nothing.
‘You won’t even do me the courtesy of allowing me to challenge the person who caused the breakdown of our marriage.’
‘You can challenge Tanya any day,’ she bit back swiftly.
‘Tanya is as innocent as I am of all charges.’ It was laconic. He placed the cups, sugar and cream, along with the shortbread, on the tray Hannah had left propped against the table. ‘Shall we?’ He waved his hand towards the garden before picking up the tray.
She walked past him out of the room, continuing down the hall and into the drawing room, whereupon she made her way out of the French doors. The automatic lights clicked on as she stepped on to the patio area