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As the vehicle crested the brow of the hill the powerful headlights illuminated the isolated cottage. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was light shining from one of the downstairs windows. There was no sign of her car so she must have parked it at the rear. At least she’d arrived. The sense of relief told him how much he’d been worrying, wondering how she’d manage if she’d been late setting out, determined to make the rendezvous no matter what the conditions were like.
Bella saw the headlights and relaxed, smiling now. Evie.
Turning back to the fire, she fed it a couple more logs, dusted down her hands and went through to the kitchen, turning on lights and hanging up her coat on the peg behind the door.
She filled the electric kettle in readiness, taking two mugs down from the dresser. They would put the food away and discuss what to have for supper over a cup of tea. And later they’d open one of the bottles of wine that were lined up on one of the work surfaces. Really get in the festive mood—dress the tree. She owed it to Evie to do her damnedest to enjoy herself because her sister had obviously gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get this set-up organised.
She heard the clunk of the car door closing and hurried through. Evie would probably need a hand unloading. There was a smile on Bella’s sultry lips as she tugged at the heavy front door. She wouldn’t say ‘what kept you?’ or grumble about the length of time she’d been. She’d...
She froze, only her hands moving, going to cover her mouth as if to stern the cry of anguished outrage.
Jake. His tall, lithe body filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders made even hunkier by the sheepskin jacket he wore. Jake. The husband she’d parted from in a welter of anger and pain. The husband she’d never wanted to have to set eyes on ever again!
What in the name of sweet reason had brought him here? And how could she hope to forget him and all the pain and disillusionment, the shattered expectations of their marriage, when the cruellest reminder of all was standing in front of her, crucifying her with those cynical black eyes?
CHAPTER TWO
BELLA couldn’t speak. The shock of seeing Jake again had paralysed her, and for a long, intense moment he too was silent. But the clenching of his hard jaw, the bitter twist of his mouth, said enough. Said it all—that she was the last person he had expected or wanted to see, that she was too contemptible to waste his breath on.
Her mouth dried and her stomach clenched sickeningly when he broke the dark, silent punishment, looked beyond her into the shadowy little hallway and called out harshly, ‘Kitty!’
Clenching her hands at the sides of the soft warm leggings she’d chosen to travel in, Bella’s eyes went wide. She didn’t understand what was happening here, asked herself if the whole world had gone crazy, or if it was only her—or him. Then she met his accusing black stare as he switched his attention back to her.
The black glitter of his eyes was dangerous. Bella tried and signally failed to suppress a shudder. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded. ‘If you and my sister have set this up—’ He left
the threat hanging on the air—heavy, implicit.
‘I haven’t seen your sister. Why should I?’ She could answer him now, now the shock was receding, her heartbeat gradually approaching normal. ‘I can’t imagine why you should think Kitty might be here.’
Her water-clear grey eyes glinted coolly, but the small satisfaction of showing an aloofness she was far from feeling, evaporated like a raindrop in the heat of the sun when he remarked icily, ‘Don’t play games with me. I endured them when we lived together. When you walked out on our marriage I no longer had to. I don’t intend to lose that freedom now.’
He strode in out of the dark, snowy evening, closing the door behind him while she flinched with pain.
She had never played games with him. Never. Not in the way he obviously meant. She had never told him lies. And it was he who had first walked out, not she. And although, as he’d stated, his freedom from their relationship was a relief, he was turning the tables, heaping all the blame for what had happened on her head. Did he actually enjoy hurting her? Couldn’t he see that part of the blame was his? That he had driven her to do what she had done?
For a brief, poignantly remembered time he had given her joy. Now he only gave her pain.
Her mouth trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears, turning them to shimmering, transparent silver. Barely giving her white features a glance, Jake strode into the living room, and after a moment she reluctantly followed, only to hear his steps pounding up the narrow wooden stairs that led from the kitchen to the floor above.
She’d told him Kitty wasn’t here and he didn’t believe her. She crossed to the brightly burning fire and wrapped her arms around her body, shivering; the combination of the chill of the hallway and the spiralling nervous tension made her whole body shake.
She could hear him opening and closing doors. For some obscure reason he thought she and his sister had set this meeting up. But why on earth should they do that? It didn’t make sense. Did he think she was angling for a reconciliation—tired of earning her own living, missing his wealth, the hedonistic, self-centred lifestyle that had been hers for the taking?
Whatever, his attitude left little room for believing that he would want any part of such an obviously untenable scenario!
She pressed her fingertips to her suddenly throbbing temples. Where the heck was Evie? What on earth could be keeping her? She should have been back ages ago. With her sister around for moral support she could tell Jake where to go, where to put his nasty suspicions. Evie would back her up. They hadn’t seen Kitty and didn’t expect to.
Hearing him descending the stairs, she resisted the impulse to blindly run and hide and stood straighter, pulling air deep into her lungs, the midnight-jet of her long silky hair heightening her pallor.
But he didn’t seem to see her as he walked straight through and out into the night, and she thought, Thank God, he’s leaving! and collapsed onto a chair and clasped her hands around her knees to stop them shaking. She let the fettered tears fall freely now because he was no longer here to see her weakness.
But he was. Within minutes he was back inside, snowflakes glittering on his thick dark hair. “There’s no sign of her car. Any car. She hasn’t arrived yet.’ His black brows bunched with concern. ‘And how did you get here?’
‘On my broomstick!’ His reappearance, his witnessing the hateful feebleness of her tears—the shock of seeing him here at all—made her tongue acid. But the level look he turned on her had her muttering defensively, ‘I came with Evie. She had to go back to the farm for provisions. We’re spending Christmas here.’
A Christmas break that was meant to take her mind off the traumatic events of a year ago—not bring her face to face with the man who had set those events in train, the husband who now obviously loathed and despised her, considered himself well rid of her!
Where are you, Evie? she agonised. She felt distraught, her sister’s inexplicable lateness adding to her distress. Her mind was painting pictures of the little car stuck on an icy incline, or toppled over one of the precipitous drops that seemed to cluster around each and every one of the hairpin bends that made the mountain tracks so picturesque.
