Wife By Agreement. KIM LAWRENCE

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СКАЧАТЬ French classes,’ she agreed.

      ‘Perhaps it would be safer for you to look closer to home to satisfy your passions.’ His thumb moved in a circular motion over the small, rounded chin.

      ‘Do you speak French, Ethan?’

      ‘It wasn’t the search for intellectual stimulation that made you do a dangerous thing like get in that car last night. The man turned out to be an idiot, but what if he’d had a more subtle approach? Would a furtive kiss in the dark have been so unacceptable to you, Hannah? Isn’t that what you secretly wanted?’

      She tore her face from his grip. ‘The only person I’d like less to be touched by than Craig…is you!’ The insulting picture of herself as some sexually frustrated female desperate for male attention made her blood boil. Ironically, the only male attention she craved was his. At least he couldn’t taunt her with the truth.

      ‘Brave words.’

      A logical assessment later would tell her she’d backed his male ego into a corner and the outcome had been a foregone conclusion. Logic didn’t come to her assistance at the time.

      It was nothing like her imaginary kisses. Imagination didn’t have texture and warmth and taste. ‘Melting’ had been a word before; now it was a reality as her body dissolved in a rush of mind-numbing sensual delight. Her lips automatically parted under the imprint of his mouth. The taste of him glutted her senses.

      When it stopped her disorientation was total. She felt numb and strangely dizzy. She touched the back of her hand to her parted, slightly swollen lips. The eyes she raised to his face were still clouded with a misty languor. It afforded Hannah a tiny measure of satisfaction that Ethan looked to be equally stunned by his actions.

      Over the years Hannah had formulated a vague theory that for women it was easy to stop kissing—it was only men who were driven beyond sense and reason by such an essentially innocent pastime.

      Innocent! Oh, dear, it looked as if she’d have to reevaluate her hypothesis. Limited research was obviously to blame for her inaccurate conclusions.

      ‘That was childish of me.’ He was slipping back into his cool professional persona with insulting ease. An adjustment to his gold cufflinks, a judicious twitch of the tasteful tie.

      ‘Childish isn’t the first word that springs to my mind,’ she returned huskily. The destructive friction of his skilful lips and wicked tongue had filled her with an entirely adult ache. It began low in the pit of her belly, but spread just about everywhere.

      ‘I suppose you expect me to apologise.’ From the stubborn, closed expression on his face, she concluded this was unlikely.

      ‘Why? I liked it.’

      ‘Dear God!’ he grated, his stance growing more rigid as he discovered she was examining his lips with dreamy curiosity.

      The sharp exclamation brought Hannah belatedly to her senses. She bit hard on her criminally indiscreet tongue and felt the hot colour wash up her neck until her face was aflame.

      ‘I mean, a kiss is just…’

      ‘A kiss?’ he suggested.

      ‘Exactly,’ she said, relief making her go a bit overboard on the enthusiasm. ‘I don’t think we should mention…’

      ‘You liked it.’

      Hannah frowned, not trusting his suddenly innocent expression. ‘Your loss of control.’

      ‘That’s very generous of you.’ Perversely, he found himself vaguely dissatisfied that she was suggesting what he had wanted only seconds before.

      When the doorbell rang later that afternoon Hannah squared her shoulders and steeled herself for a dose of Alexa. She glanced at the clock on the mantel and frowned—she was early. Hannah was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, playing with Tom, and she smiled wryly as she pulled the child onto her lap, aware she was using him almost as a shield against the battery of criticism she knew was about to be lobbed at her head.

      ‘Mrs Kemp, it’s a Mr Dubois.’

      ‘Jean-Paul!’ Hannah exclaimed in pleasure as the figure behind Mrs Turner stepped forward.

      ‘Hannah, forgive the intrusion.’

      ‘It’s no intrusion—come in. Would you like tea, coffee?’

      ‘Coffee would be nice.’

      ‘Would you mind, Mrs Turner?’ She smiled at the housekeeper. ‘Sit down, please.’ She couldn’t understand what her night-class tutor was doing here, but, having stealed herself to face the dreaded Alexa, it was marvellous to see a friendly face. You’re a coward, Hannah, she told herself angrily. Show a bit more backbone!

      Jean-Paul Dubois settled himself in an armchair and looked admiringly around the room. Hannah saw his glance dwell on a framed picture of Ethan with Catherine: two beautiful people, the perfect couple. He was too polite to comment.

      ‘You have a lovely home.’ He pushed his wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. They were the only vaguely intellectual thing about the young Frenchman’s appearance. He looked more like a male model than a university lecturer, which was his daytime job.

      ‘Home’ had an optimistically permanent ring to it. ‘It’s been in my husband’s family for a long time.’ Ethan had inherited the place years ago from his father, and though his mother had first stayed on in her marital home she had left shortly after Ethan’s first marriage. Hannah had only met Faith Kemp once, at their own wedding, and the lady hadn’t bothered hiding her disapproval of the match. Hannah had heard with her own ears Faith read a scalding lecture to her son on the subject.

      ‘He is a beautiful bébé,’ Jean-Paul, said, laughing as Tom lobbed a pink elephant at his head.

      ‘Thank you.’

      Jean-Paul nodded at the question in her eyes. ‘You are wondering why I am here?’

      ‘It’s very nice to see you.’

      ‘You are a very talented student. Some people have a natural talent for languages—you are one of them.’

      Hannah flushed with pleasure. She’d certainly enjoyed the classes, but she hadn’t thought she was anything special. ‘I’ve had a good teacher.’

      ‘That’s why I wish you’d reconsider your decision to leave the class. I know there are many pressures when you have a family… The unfortunate accident—’

      ‘Stop right there,’ Hannah said, holding up her hand. Tom wriggled off her knee and went over to Jean-Paul, who took the theft of his spectacles in good part. ‘What makes you think I’m leaving the class? How did you know I’d had an…accident?’ She flushed a little as she said this.

      ‘Your husband spoke to me earlier,’ he explained.

      Hannah drew a wrathful breath. ‘He did, did he?’ she said quietly, with a brilliantly false smile.

      ‘I did tell him how sorry I would be to see you go. I know our classes are light-hearted, СКАЧАТЬ