A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion. Kathryn Ross
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out that everyone indulged in one or two blind dates in their lives. Marsha normally responded to such obvious wiles by ignoring them and changing the subject.
‘How come,’ Nicki said thoughtfully, ‘you can eat like you do and not put on a pound of weight? It’s not fair.’
‘I did miss lunch.’ It was said gently. Nicki ate the equivalent of a three-course meal every lunchtime, and there was always a bag of sweets in her desk drawer which was replaced daily, not to mention hot sausage rolls from the canteen mid-morning, and cakes or biscuits mid-afternoon.
Nicki grinned. ‘I wish everyone was as tactful as you, but I do so enjoy my food. And then there’s those evenings when the urge to pig out is just irresistible, and chocolate just sort of leaps up and waves its hands. Know what I mean?’
‘Marsha has never particularly cared for chocolate. Now, coconut ice is something else. I’ve known her to eat a pound or so of that all to herself in one sitting.’
The deep voice behind them was relaxed and cool, but as Marsha’s head shot round she saw the sculptured features of the tall man standing with Penelope could have been carved in granite. Admittedly the hard mouth curled at the edges with something which could have been described as a smile by those who did not know better. But Marsha did know better. And how. She fought for control, willing herself not to stutter and stammer as she said, ‘Taylor. What a surprise.’
‘Isn’t it?’ The startling tawny eyes with their thick black lashes were fixed on her shocked face. ‘But a pleasant one…for me, that is.’
‘You two are obviously already acquainted,’ Penelope drawled sweetly, her smile not quite reaching the blue eyes set in a face which was faintly exotic and very lovely. Marsha noticed the way the other woman’s hand had tightened on Taylor’s arm in an instinctive predatory gesture which said volumes.
She drew in a long, body-straightening breath and squared her shoulders. So that was how it was. But she should have known, shouldn’t she, with Taylor’s reputation? ‘We knew each other once, a long time ago,’ she said clearly, her tone dismissive. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some work to finish—’
‘Once? Oh, come on, Marsha, you’ll have these good folk believing we were ships that passed in the night instead of man and wife.’
Nicki’s mouth had dropped open to the point where she looked comical, but no one was looking at her.
Marsha’s clear green eyes widened infinitesimally, even as she told herself she should have expected this. Taylor being Taylor, he wouldn’t let her get away with snubbing him. A vein in her temple throbbed, but her voice was quiet when she said, ‘Goodbye, Taylor.’
‘You were married?’ In any other circumstances Marsha would have enjoyed seeing the ice-cool Penelope dumbfounded.
‘Not were, Penelope. Are.’ Taylor’s voice was as quiet as Marsha’s had been, but the steely note made it twice as compelling. ‘Marsha is my wife.’
‘Until the divorce is finalised.’ She had turned, but now she swung back as she shot the words at him. ‘And that would have happened a long time ago if I’d had my way.’
Her voice had risen slightly, calling forth one or two interested glances from people around them who hadn’t heard what had been said but who recognised anger when they heard it.
‘But…but your surname is Gosling, isn’t it?’
Penelope was staring at her as though she’d never seen her before, and in spite of the awfulness of the moment there was an element of satisfaction in being able to reply, ‘Gosling is my maiden name. Personnel are aware of my marital status—albeit temporary.’ She flashed a scathing glance at the tall dark man at Penelope’s side. ‘But when I said I prefer to be known as Miss Gosling on a day-to-day basis they saw no reason to object.’
‘This is most irregular.’ Penelope had recovered her composure and her tone was frosty. ‘I should have been informed.’
Marsha could have said here that her immediate boss, Jeff North, was fully aware of her circumstances, but she wasn’t about to get into a discussion on the rights and wrongs of it all with Penelope. Not with Taylor standing there with his eyes fixed on her face.
The brief glances she’d bestowed on him had told her he was as devastatingly attractive as ever. He had never been textbook handsome, his appeal was too virile and manly for that, but the hard, rugged features offset by tawny cat eyes and jet-black hair radiated magnetism. And the strong, tough face was set above a body which was just as vigorous, its sinewy muscles and a powerful frame ensuring women everywhere gave him a second glance. Or three or four or more.
This last thought made Marsha’s voice every bit as cold as Penelope’s when she said, ‘Possibly. Now, if you’ll excuse me?’ And she left without a backward glance.
It wasn’t until she got in the lift and attempted to press the button for the third floor that Marsha realised how much her hands were shaking. She stood stiff and straight until the doors had glided to, and then leant limply against the carpeted side of the lift, her stomach swirling. Taylor—here. What was she going to do?
And then the answer came, as though from somewhere outside herself. Nothing. You are going to do nothing, because nothing has changed from how things were this morning. He is not in your life any more. He can’t hurt you.
But if that was true why was she feeling as though her whole world had collapsed around her right now? The world she had carefully built up over the last months?
Shock. The answer was there again. Shock, pure and simple. It was so unexpected, seeing him like that. You were unprepared, taken off guard. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t over him.
The lift had stopped, and now the doors opened again, but for a moment Marsha stood staring blankly ahead, her mind racing. She wasn’t over him. She’d never be over him. You didn’t get over someone like Taylor. You just learnt to live with the pain that it was over.
‘Enough.’ She spoke out loud, the courage and self-respect which had enabled her to leave him in the first place coming to her aid. ‘No snivelling, no crying. You’ve cried enough tears to fill an ocean as it is.’
Once in the office she shared with Nicki, Jeff North’s room being separated from theirs by an interjoining door, Marsha sat down at her desk with a little plump. Of all the places in all the world, why was Taylor here? And was he Penelope’s new lover? The thought brought such a shaft of pain she pushed it to the back of her consciousness to think about later, once she was home. For now she had to get out of this place with a semblance of dignity, and she’d do it if it killed her.
It was at that point she realised she’d left her handbag, along with the papers she’d been looking at when Nicki had pounced on her, downstairs in the alcove. She muttered something very rude before leaning back in the seat and shutting her eyes for a moment. Great, just great. She’d have to go and retrieve everything, which would totally ruin the decorous exit she’d just made.
Footsteps brought her eyes snapping open and her back straightening, but it was Nicki who emerged in the doorway, and she was clutching the Baxter file and Marsha’s handbag. ‘You forgot these,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Sort of.’ Marsha managed a weak smile. ‘Thanks for these.’
‘All in a day’s work.’
Marsha had expected a barrage of questions the next time she saw Nicki, but when the other girl sat down at her own desk and began packing her things away, all she said was, ‘They’ve gone, by the way, Penelope and your—and him.’
‘Right.’ She’d explain a little tomorrow, but tonight she couldn’t face it. ‘I’m off too. We’ll talk in the morning, Nicki,’ she said, rising to her feet and reaching for her jacket. It was her brisk boss tone, something Marsha used rarely, but when she did Nicki knew enough to take the hint.
Once