A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion. Kathryn Ross
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and it added to the pleasure she was experiencing. Her body felt as if it was one hot, sensual nerve.
‘You’re so beautiful, so delicious.’ The soft whisper came at a time when he was caressing her aching breasts with sure fingers, each light touch sending electricity bolts right down to her toes. ‘I could eat you, devour you.’
And she wanted him to. She couldn’t stop her hips moving against him in an invitation that was as old as time, and moans shuddered through her body as the scent of him surrounded her in an intoxicating bubble.
He was powerfully muscled, without an ounce of surplus flesh, his body hard and uncompromisingly male, and as her hands roamed over his wide shoulders and strong chest her desire reached fever pitch. She felt the cool night air on her breasts and realised he must have undone the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons on her jacket without her being aware of it. But it was when his hands cradled her breasts, his fingers having pushed the filmy lace of her bra out of the way, that she found the strength to push him away.
‘No.’ She took a step backwards, her legs shaking so much she felt they wouldn’t hold her. ‘I don’t want this.’
He made no move towards her, merely raising a dark eyebrow as he said, ‘That’s not what your body is saying.’
She stared at him, forced to admit to herself that her whole body was so sensitised by his lovemaking that every move he made registered on her nervous system. ‘I’m not saying that I’m not physically attracted to you,’ she said carefully, ‘but that is something quite different.’
‘You’ve lost me.’ He sounded tolerant, and she didn’t trust that. Tolerance was not one of Taylor’s attributes.
‘We’re no longer an item, Taylor. That’s what I’m saying,’ she said firmly.
‘We never were an “item”, Fuzz. We were married, remember?’ He didn’t sound quite so tolerant now. ‘Or should I say we are married.’
She did up the buttons on her jacket as swiftly as her trembling hands would permit, furious with herself for giving in so easily to what was clearly a ploy on his part. He thought he only had to turn on the charm and she would fall at his feet, she thought caustically, ignoring the little voice in her head which added nastily that he was quite right.
‘I think it’s high time I went home.’ She raised her chin as she spoke, desperate to hide the burning sense of shame that had flooded every part of her.
‘You are home.’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’
‘You mean you want to go back to that lonely little box you inhabit, right?’
She reared up like a scalded cat at the insult to the home she had so carefully put together. ‘You say the taxi is waiting?’ she asked, with a cool dignity she was very pleased about afterwards, when she thought about it.
‘That it is.’ The amusement was back in his voice, and nothing could have been more guaranteed to hit her on the raw.
‘Then thank you for dinner,’ she said icily, ‘but I really do have to leave now.’
‘I’ll tell Hannah you’re leaving. You were going to say goodbye to her, weren’t you?’ he added disparagingly.
‘Of course I was.’ She frowned at him, hurt that he could suggest otherwise. ‘I’ve no quarrel with Hannah.’
‘She’ll be most relieved to hear it,’ he drawled mockingly.
‘I hate you.’
‘That’s the third time you’ve said that today. Are you trying to convince me or yourself?’
CHAPTER FOUR
MARSHA awoke very early the next morning, before it was light, after a sleep which had been troubled and restless. After making herself coffee, she took a mug out on to the balcony along with her duvet, snuggling under its folds as she sat and watched the dawn break.
Taylor had insisted on accompanying her home in the taxi the night before, despite all her heated protests, but contrary to her expectations hadn’t done so much as hold her hand on the journey back to the bedsit. After telling the driver to wait, he had escorted her to the door of the building—again with her protests ringing in his ears—and then up the stairs to her floor.
She had faced him defiantly then, waiting for the move she’d been sure he would make after that scorching kiss back at his house in Harrow, but he had merely nodded to her without smiling once she had opened her front door, wished her goodnight and left.
Which left her where? she asked herself now, her tired eyes searching the pink and mother-of-earl sky in front of her as though it could provide an answer. Had he admitted defeat? Was he going to leave her alone now she had made it crystal-clear how she still felt?
She drained the mug, setting it down on the floor beside the chair before letting her head fall back against the cane as she shut her eyes. She was right about all this—him, their marriage, Tanya, everything—wasn’t she? But of course she was. She had to be. The misery of the last eighteen months couldn’t be for nothing. He had slept with Tanya in Germany, even if he hadn’t done so before, and from what Susan had said there had been a before. Several befores.
But he had seemed so…plausible. She opened her eyes again. The hum of traffic and sounds from the street beyond the cul-de-sac were louder now the city had begun to wake up and go about its business. But then he’d always been able to make anyone believe anything. That was one of the gifts he had which had shot him from obscurity to extreme wealth in such a short time.
She wriggled restlessly, drawing her cold toes into her hands under the duvet. The day was due to be another hot one, but the morning air was decidedly cool.
She still loved him. The truth which had haunted her sleep wouldn’t be denied in the harsh light of day. She would always love him. The love which had been such a blessing when they were together and happy would forever be a millstone round her neck. And because she loved him so much she could never go back to him.
She rose, her movements jerky with pain, and, leaving the duvet on the chair, strode back into the room to make herself another coffee.
She had been aware of Taylor with every cell in her body last night, and that alone told her she had to be strong. She had done her days and nights of weeping for what might have been. That was over. Maybe if she had been a different type of woman, one who was able to turn a blind eye to her man’s little liaisons, perhaps, or if she hadn’t loved him quite so much, things might have been different. As it was, he would destroy her.
She didn’t intend to live the rest of her life looking about her for the next notch on Taylor’s bedpost to emerge, or, worse still, become like one or two women she’d known in the past, who had gone through their partner’s pockets every night looking for signs that they were playing away from home.
She cupped her cold hands round the hot mug of coffee, inhaling its fragrance even as the chill within deepened. She had had her time of being naive and starry-eyed, of thinking that there really was such a thing as happy endings in this tough, dog-eat-dog world, but she knew better now. And she would not make the same mistake again.
Taylor had left her without a word last night, and that was for the best. She saw that now. He had got to her despite all her efforts to keep him at bay, he had breached the wall she had built around her emotions as easily as he had always done, but she would make sure it did not happen again. She wasn’t quite sure how she would manage it, but she would—if they met again, that was.
She drank the coffee scalding hot, sitting at the breakfast bar, before marching on to the balcony and retrieving the duvet from the chair.
Once the bedsit was put in order, she showered and washed her hair, making up her face quickly and expertly before dressing in a pale lilac cotton suit with a boatneck jacket and short pencil-slim skirt. She didn’t normally dress so formally for the office, but with the