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‘Get some sleep, Bella.’ His voice, she noted sinkingly, was distinctly abrasive. He vacated the bed as soon as she slid beneath the duvet. ‘Watch the stars.’ He sounded softer now, the suggestion light. ‘It’s a beautiful night, and if you listen hard enough you might just get to hear sleigh-bells!’
And then he was gone. Bella wanted to jump out of bed and run after him, but common sense stopped her. They’d been apart for a year, the break-up full of acrimony and distrust, their coming together again volcanic. He would need a little space to get things straight in his head, come to terms with the resumption of their marriage, let it sink in.
Just because she had no doubts at all it didn’t mean he didn’t have a few lingering around somewhere. So she’d give him that space and time. For as long as it took him to shower and come back to bed, anyway.
Then she’d wrap her arms around him and hold him close and tell him how much she loved him. How very much. Assure him that things would be different, that she wouldn’t ask for what he couldn’t give her. His love was all she needed.
Whenever he had to be away on business she’d go with him. Take a crash secretarial course, perhaps, kill two birds with one stone—feel useful and be useful.
Guy wouldn’t be pleased when she quit on him. But he’d soon find someone to fill her post and, valued friend though Guy was, being with Jake was far more important.
Jake stood under the punishingly cold needles of the shower, his teeth gritted, his emotions in chaos. He’d never know how he’d kept his hands off her.
When she’d dropped the bath towel her skin, in the dim light, had gleamed like magnolia petals, the gentle, sensuous curves and planes of her body a voluptuary’s dream.
He’d closed his eyes and kept them closed, fighting to quell the need—the need to make love to her until there was no space in his head for thought. But that would be morally wrong.
He loved her, and always would; that wasn’t in doubt. And earlier their lovemaking had been spontaneous, inevitable. He grimaced, turning off the shower and reaching for a towel. He wouldn’t touch her again until he knew he could take her back into his life without bitterness.
Until he came to terms with her affair, put it out of his head and learned to trust her again, there was no real way they could make a future together.
He was going to have to discover if that was possible.
He hoped to hell it was.
CHAPTER TEN
‘YOU’RE up early,’ Jake said.
Christmas morning, not yet quite light. And, yes, Bella was up early. She’d been up for ages. She was moving around the kitchen doing housewifey things to keep her mind from brooding over everything else.
‘There’s fresh coffee in the pot, and orange juice in the fridge. Help yourself while I cook breakfast.’
She sounded bright enough and normal, didn’t she? She looked OK, clad in the faithful leggings and sweater, her hair neatly scooped back and fastened at the nape of her neck, the skilful application of makeup hiding the tell-tale signs of a miserable, wakeful night.
Just an ordinary woman doing ordinary things. Disguising the utter misery inside her, the hateful feeling of being used and discarded.
She laid bacon slices and tomato halves on the grill pan, then reached for the eggs, and Jake said, ‘The full works, is it?’
He was leaning against the worktop sipping his juice, and her head came up as she caught the thread of tension in his voice. Dark sweater, dark jeans, shadowed black eyes. He had shaved, but he still looked as if he had a five o’clock shadow, the harsh lines of his face telling the story of his own restless night.
‘As we’re leaving tomorrow I thought we should use as much as we can from the fridge. Such a waste, otherwise.’ She slid the bacon under the grill and drizzled some oil into the frying pan. Did she sound laid back and in charge of her life, all that inner despair and hopelessness nowhere in sight?
And what right did he have to look as if he’d spent last night tossing and turning, agonising, when she knew differently?
Waiting for him, all done up in slinky oyster satin, she’d snuggled into the blissful warmth of the duvet, watching the stars just as he’d suggested, rehearsing exactly how she’d tell him how much she loved him, how she’d changed her plans for the future so they’d fit happily with his. That he mustn’t think she was making sacrifices because, when it came down to it, all she wanted was him.
She’d sort of mesmerised herself into falling asleep, waking in the early hours and not finding him beside her. Bewildered, disorientated and alone, she’d switched on the light and checked the time. Two o’clock. He couldn’t have been in the shower for two whole hours!
Anxiety had taken over then. Had he slipped on the soap and knocked himself out? Leaping from the bed, she’d scurried to check. That vividly imagined disaster hadn’t happened. But another one had. She’d discovered him sound asleep in his own bed.
He hadn’t been lying awake, pretending, had he? She hadn’t taken time to check. Just flicked the light on, viewed the rigid mound under the duvet that was similar to her own, and flicked it back off again. She’d crept back to her own room on leaden legs, saturated with that hateful, hurtful feeling of having been used.
He’d had no reason to pretend to be asleep. The facts punched holes in her brain. He hadn’t wanted to be here, that was for sure. He’d even said their separation was a relief. He was a very physical man and she’d been around, and willing—more than—and was still his wife, of sorts. So he’d done what any man with rampaging male hormones would have done—taken advantage.
Used her and discarded her.
If he’d seen a future for them and their marriage he sure as hell wouldn’t have gone back to his own bed! He would have come back to her, if only to talk, maybe suggest they try again, make a go of their marriage this time.
