Reclaiming His Wife. Susan Fox P.

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СКАЧАТЬ the only reason for his coming here had been to seduce her back into his bed—into his life—regardless of what she wanted? Of what was best for her?

      Even now, lying here with regret and shame as her bed partners, her swollen breasts were tingling from the memory of his kneading hands, the sensual throb at the core of her femininity from just thinking about him assuring her that if he came in now her body would open to him again as a flower opens to the sun, welcoming him into her; that she could only ever be whole and fully alive with this man as her lover.

      She got up quickly, slung on her dressing gown and darted into the bathroom, ignoring the biting chill while she forced herself to wash in the bitterly cold water.

      Downstairs, dressed in a black polo-necked sweater, thick shirt and jeans, she had started washing the dishes from the previous night with water from the kettle she had found already singing on the fire when the back door opened with a blast of cold air and Jared stood there, kicking snow off his boots.

      ‘Morning,’ he greeted her somewhat cautiously, coming in.

      ‘Morning,’ Taylor returned quietly, with half a glance over her shoulder, unable to look at him, not only because she felt too ashamed, but also because, if she had, she knew exactly what she would have seen. A dark, unshaven Jared sporting that brutish man-of-the-fells image in his thick country clothes and padded body warmer, and she was having enough difficulty keeping her anxiety over the previous night reined in, without letting him see how potently she was affected by him as well.

      ‘The power’s still off, as you’ve probably gathered.’ He was opening a cupboard, putting something away. ‘And there’s no sign of a thaw.’

      Taylor swirled hot suds around a plate with the washing-up brush. ‘No.’ The residue of last night’s feast had set hard on the china, refusing to be erased. Like their lovemaking, she thought, keeping her head down and scrubbing hard.

      ‘At least we haven’t had any fresh snowfall.’

      ‘Haven’t we?’ She sounded disenchanted but she couldn’t help it.

      After a marked hesitation, he said, ‘Did you put the kettle back on to boil?’

      ‘Yes,’ she answered, wondering why he appeared so coldly matter-of-fact. Was he recriminating himself for what had happened last night? Was he regretting it too?

      Behind her the cupboard door banged. ‘Did you sleep well?’

      Taylor scrubbed at the caked potato more violently. ‘Yes.’

      ‘No more problems with being cold?’

      Was he kidding?

      ‘No,’ she said tautly, her actions mirroring her agitation. Well, how else was she expected to feel? Last night they had both behaved recklessly and he wasn’t even mentioning it, which made the whole thing even more disconcerting.

      ‘For heaven’s sake, save your energy,’ he said, suddenly sounding impatient, ‘and leave that blasted plate to soak.’

      She dropped it abruptly. It made a dull clunk as it hit the bottom of the sink.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ He was opening the cutlery drawer, making its contents rattle as he rammed it closed again. His voice wasn’t too gentle. ‘Worried you might be pregnant?’

      She winced, because of course the thought had crossed her mind but it wasn’t just that. She hadn’t agreed to go back with him because, as far as she was concerned, nothing had changed. He would still love Alicia, no matter how much he convinced himself he couldn’t have her—that it was over. It was another man’s wife he really wanted to be the woman at his side. But last night, just as in the past, when he made love to her, she couldn’t think straight; tried to make herself believe that she meant more to him than just a substitute for someone else. Last night had been no exception because he had made love to her as though his heart and mind were free for him to do so—unreservedly and uninhibitedly—and she had let him, practically instigating it, while knowing that sooner rather than later they would become just another statistic in the eternal line of broken marriages, because she could never go back to him to be what she had been to him before, just a convenient little stand-in for somebody else.

      And now, of course, because of her foolish and utterly thoughtless behaviour, there was the worry, as he’d said, that she could be pregnant…

      ‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ she demurred, staring at the cup she was washing without even seeing it.

      ‘That’s obvious,’ he said brusquely, behind her.

      ‘I don’t want to be pregnant,’ she protested, fighting the idea, her deep buried fears surfacing above everything else.

      ‘No,’ he breathed heavily in acceptance. ‘You made your opinions and objections clear enough while we were living together. I should have known better. I could easily have used something. But then neither of us was in the mood for rational thinking, were we? Well, what’s done is done, Taylor. We can’t put the clock back. And if you are carrying my child, I’m sure you’ll work something out where it doesn’t inconvenience you too much.’

      ‘Like I did the last time?’ She spun round to face him with the washing-up brush in her hand, soapsuds flying everywhere. Her teeth were clenched from the pain of remembering, her green eyes over-bright with bitter emotion. ‘Isn’t that what you accused me of? Getting rid of our unborn child?’

      ‘No!’ He was dragging a hand across his cheek, wiping away suds from where she had splashed him. Soapy water ran down the dark shiny front of his body warmer. ‘I never said that.’

      ‘No? Only that losing our baby was exactly what I wanted!’

      With his wide shoulders held rigid, jaw locked tight, there was a bleak look about him as though remembering pained him too.

      ‘It was a… natural… assumption…’ he said, picking his words carefully ‘… in view of the way you were… the way you seemed to have no time for…’ He broke off on a heavily drawn breath. ‘For heaven’s sake, Taylor! Do I have to spell it out?’

      No, he didn’t, she thought, turning around again, her brush toying absently with the winking bubbles in the bowl.

      Throughout her short marriage, she had shied away from any contact with babies, refusing to show any interest in them; wanting one so desperately she couldn’t bear to inflame the need. Jared had scorned her lack of maternal instinct, but he had been unaware of her fears, taking her attitude as a total disregard—if not distaste—for children and motherhood, which was why he had been so derisive when he had seen her with Josh.

      Her pregnancy had been the result of an impassioned row, a making up during which, just as the previous night, neither had had the will nor the inclination to consider protection. She remembered the first tentative excitement she had experienced—the joy even—when she had first suspected that she was going to have a baby; then, when it was confirmed, the fear. She became withdrawn and introverted. Moody, too, she accepted with a mental grimace. So it probably wasn’t that surprising that he had picked up on those vibes; why he thought she was no less than relieved when he came home from that ten-day conference and she told him that she had miscarried.

      Numbly, she shook her head. No, he didn’t have to spell it out.

      ‘Don’t СКАЧАТЬ