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'Imaginary lovers are perfect, but bloody unsatisfying. I may not fulfill the criteria of all those mawkish romances you read, but I do assuage your needs,' he assured her with arrogant confidence.
She dismissed the possibility that the idea of her fantasising about another man whilst she was in his arms was fuelling his antagonism. He had no reason to be jealous of her love; he didn't want it himself. He'd spelt that out pretty clearly.
He was also as wrong as he could get about the criteria. He filled all the criteria of dream lover—all except one: he didn't love her to distraction.
'Perhaps the difference is we don't make love, we have sex.'
'I haven't noticed you complaining.'
'I've got lovely manners.'
'I used to think so...' He switched off the engine as they drew up outside the stable block and gave her the benefit to his full attention—something she found hard to bear. 'Will your lovely manners make you feel obliged to agree when I suggest we go indoors and "have sex"?' There was no missing the irony in his voice.
'No.' She reached out and touched the side of his hard jaw. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her open palm. 'But wanting to touch you will,' she confessed huskily.
Hot satisfaction flared in Ethan's eyes, and without saying a word he got out of the car and tore around to the other side with flattering speed to open her door.
'It's not very practical with a houseful of people,' she said regretfully. Already aroused, she was filled with writhing frustration by the knowledge that this verbal foreplay was going nowhere.
'If you had a spontaneous husband that might be true, but you have me. I've planned meticulously for this eventuality, and we have the place to ourselves for the next two hours at least.'
She gaped at him incredulously, but he was too busy being distracted by the length of leg she exposed whilst climbing out of the car to notice. 'You planned...?'
'Always be prepared,' he intoned piously. 'The boy scouts had a profound effect on my development.'
'I doubt very much if they had anything like this in mind.'
'And if my house weren't filled to overflowing with strangers,' he responded, sweeping her unexpectedly up into his arms, 'I wouldn't have to go to such elaborate lengths to get my own wife alone.'
'Your mother isn't a stranger, and Dre—'
'Shut up. I don't want to talk about my mother.' He proceeded to tell her what he did want to talk about, and Hannah was happy to listen.
Hannah got back home a little after seven. Faith and Drew had left that morning so, after the children had gone to bed, she and Ethan would have the whole evening to themselves. The first time since... Her cheeks flushed with pleasure as she recalled this new and exciting phase in their relationship; this wondrous circumstance was never very far from the forefront of her thoughts.
The passing days hadn't diminished her sense of wonder at the joys of intimacy. Where it would eventually lead them, she didn't know, but for once she was inclined to^ feel optimistic.
Perhaps it was even the time to admit to him her feelings. She had to tell him before they became too transparent to disguise. Would the gift of her love be something he appreciated? That was the troublesome million-dollar question that made her break off humming the cheery tune under her breath and begin chewing her upper lip.
He had certainly thawed out a lot during the past days, and not just with her. Although he hadn't gone so far as to laugh at his misinterpretation of his mother's matrimonial plans, she had got the impression his wry sense of humour had eventually appreciated the situation. He'd gone along with the proposed family get-together with his prospective stepfather with every appearance of approval, and he and Drew both seemed ready to accept that their mutual first impressions had been wrong. When Ethan capitulated, he did it in style.
Hannah was still on a high, and all things felt possible—even telling her husband she loved him! The afternoon had really boosted her confidence. Jean-Paul had arranged an informal meeting for her with the head of the French department. In retrospect it had been lucky he'd given her such short notice—she hadn't had time to talk herself out of it, or see problems where there weren't any.
It had all been very encouraging, and she'd been bubbling with enthusiasm when she'd stopped off at the pub for a drink with Jean-Paul and his wife, who was on maternity leave from her teaching post in a local secondary school.
The kitchen was empty, so she assumed Ethan was upstairs getting the children ready for bed. She looked at her reflection in a large gilt-framed mirror before going upstairs. The girl with the flushed cheeks, bright, shiny eyes and glossy hair looked unfamiliar to her; it was an image she would like to get used to. She was just straightening the neck of her red chenille jumper when Ethan's voice made her spin round.
