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They would live separate lives—with Alison busy working on her business in London, while he was engaged in the Waterfront deal in Manhattan.
As he bounded down the emergency stairs to his ninth-floor office, the thought was so enticing, he might even have been whistling.
CHAPTER TEN
‘CAN YOU GET them to rethink, Muhammad? We need that Indian silk. It’s a key component of the whole collection.’ Ally spoke rapidly, her nerves fraying as she opened the gate to the London town house. The smattering of rain permeated the thin sweater she wore. Deciding to walk home this evening hadn’t been the smartest idea, but she had wanted some fresh air after a week of eighteen hour days finishing off the designs. Panic constricted around her throat—and now the signature feature of every one might be missing.
She’d fallen in love with the stunning craftsmanship of the embroidered fabric offered by a charitable workshop in Mumbai. She’d been in negotiations with them for weeks—and everything had been going so well, they were due to sign the contracts an hour ago, when she’d got a call from her supplier, Muhammad Patel, with some very bad news.
‘They’re saying another buyer has promised them a better investment,’ her supplier replied. ‘I’m sorry, Ally, you’ve been great and I know they were really torn. Rohana was full of apologies when she told me,’ he said, mentioning the workshop’s owner who Ally had been dealing with. ‘But the other buyer’s got more clout in the marketplace.’
Which was code for another designer with an actual name had stepped in and offered, if not more money, then more exposure.
‘I understand,’ she interrupted him, because she did. ‘And please tell Rohana not to feel bad about this. They’ve got to make the right choice for their business.’
She shoved the phone into her bag, her anxiety threatening to choke her. What had she expected? She didn’t have a pedigree, just a rich husband willing to invest in a pipe dream. It had been two months since her deal with Dominic, since she’d started playing businesswoman and pretending to be a fashion designer, and she didn’t feel any more secure now than she had then.
Dominic had been wonderful, but he was busy, and she didn’t want to bother him about the minutiae of her business problems on the few days a month when she got to see him. After the almost-end to their arrangement a day into the marriage, she’d been determined to stick to her end of the bargain—and to enjoy every second of time she had with him.
The sex had been awesome. The way he could make her body feel was a revelation—the familiar heat blasted through her at the memory of their last merry meeting in Paris a week ago, when he’d had to attend the opening of a rail project his company had financed and he’d wanted her there.
She had become addicted to his texts. Usually a curt two lines telling her where and when he needed her to be. She’d travelled all over the globe in the last two months. To Rio, to Cannes, to Paris and Hong Kong and even Niagara Falls. Whenever he’d summoned her, she’d gone. She’d become an expert at smiling for the cameras, and addicted to the stolen hours they had alone together, before and after the balls and galas, the charity banquets and high-profile sporting events he needed his wife to be seen at.
They spoke often about her growing business. His advice and encouragement had proved invaluable and he seemed genuinely interested in her progress.
But the wall he had erected after the almost-collapse of their marriage remained. It had cost her not to try to breach that wall again, to talk about more than just sex or business, because the yearning to know him better, to understand every little thing about him, remained too. He fascinated her, he always had and that would never change. But she’d forced herself to be content with the companionship—and the spectacular sex—and to remember the deal they’d made. That this relationship had a sell-by date—a sell-by date she’d agreed to.
Plus she adored being with him, and she didn’t want to ruin their time together with pointless yearning for something more, when she already had so much.
Just as it was pointless to wish she could get his advice about this latest disaster. He always had a solution, and was willing to share his phenomenal expertise—but she didn’t see how he could help her with this.
She was an upstart, a newbie, in this business. She’d wanted to succeed, not just for herself, but also to repay him for his confidence in her. But renting a studio in Holborn, hiring a business manager and a personal assistant and a brilliant seamstress, didn’t suddenly make her a fashion designer. What it made her was a fraud—no wonder Rohana hadn’t wanted her beautiful fabrics gracing the Allycat Collection.
Ally closed the back door and dumped her bag on the hall stand.
She rubbed her belly, the dull ache from the period that had started that morning just one more thing to drag her spirits down into her boots.
She slipped off the wet shoes, and took a moment to knead her arches, which were sore after twelve hours spent on her feet directing traffic at the studio.
As she stood in the hallway where they’d first met again all those weeks ago, another wave of melancholy blindsided her.
Dominic had never returned to their London home... Her London home. Since that first night and the following morning.
She totally understood that. His life, his work, was in New York.
But as she stood staring into the empty hallway, she missed him. Terribly. Why not admit it? She missed him a little bit more every time she had to fly back to London without him.
How wonderful would it be to have him here tonight? To have that broad shoulder to lean on. That glorious body to explore, so she didn’t have to think about how she was going to drag herself back up after this latest knock-down.
She tried to shake off the loneliness and longing, as she had so many times before, and headed towards the kitchen.
Get over yourself, Jones. You’re just knackered. And scared.
As she approached the kitchen she picked up the muted hum of the TV playing a news channel.
She stopped. Hesitated.
Had Charlotte, the housekeeper, left the set on? Before she’d left for the evening?
