A Passionate Affair

‘Oh, you, thinking of your stomach at a time like this,’ Hannah chided smilingly through her own tears.

Marsha walked up the steps and into the house with her arm in Hannah’s, and once in the beautifully light-oak panelled hall the Jamaican housekeeper pushed her in the direction of the drawing room, saying, ‘The cocktails are all ready. You go in and sit down a while, and I’ll call you through in a few minutes.’

‘Thank you, Hannah.’ It was Taylor who answered, taking Marsha’s arm as he led her into the gracious rose and pale lilac high-ceilinged room which had French windows opening out on to the grounds at the back of the house.

Marsha knew what she would see if she walked over to where antique lace was billowing gently in the slight breeze from the garden. Clipped yews bordering an old stone wall, in front of which was a manicured lawn enclosed by flower beds, and behind it a splendid Edwardian summerhouse now used as a changing room for the rectangular swimming pool of timeless style that Taylor had installed ten years before, when he had bought the house.

She walked over to one of the two-seater sofas dotted about the room and sat down before she said, ‘You should have told me you were bringing me here.’

‘You wouldn’t have agreed to come,’ he answered quietly, a silky note in his voice.

‘So you tricked me. Clever you.’ It was acidic.

He poured a pale pink cocktail, and then one for himself, and it was only after he had handed her the tall fluted glass and sat down himself opposite her that he said, ‘Why is it easier to believe lies than the truth? Have you ever asked yourself that?’

‘Meaning regarding you and Tanya, I suppose?’ she said flatly.

He sat back in his seat, studying her over the rim of his glass. ‘Has it never occurred to you that you might be wrong about all this?’

Hundreds, thousands of times, but wishful thinking didn’t stand up when confronted by harsh reality. She would never forget the churning of her stomach when she had made that call to Germany, or the sickening feeling when the hotel receptionist had put her through to Taylor’s room and the bright, fluttery voice of Tanya had answered. ‘No.’ She swallowed. It was hard to lie with his eyes on her. ‘I might be a fool but I’m not certifiable.’

‘I see.’ He set down his drink and then steepled his fingers, his gaze never leaving her face for a moment. ‘Then we won’t waste any more time tonight discussing it. Drink your cocktail.’ And he smiled the smile which lit up his face. The rat. The low-down, cheating, lying, philandering rat.

Marsha stared at him, the misery she had been feeling replaced by a healthy dose of anger. How dared he sit there smiling like the cat with the cream when he had all but destroyed her eighteen months ago? Without taking her eyes from his, she set her glass down with a little touch of defiance. ‘Is Tanya still working for you?’ she asked baldly. He was not going to dictate what they discussed and what they didn’t, not after kidnapping her!

‘Of course.’ He undid his dinner jacket as he spoke, slipping it off and slinging it across the room to another sofa, before loosening his tie so it hung in two thin strands on either side of his throat.

‘Of course.’ She put a wealth of sarcasm into her voice.

He picked up his glass again, draining it before he added, ‘But only for the next month or so, unfortunately. I shall be sorry to lose her; she’s a damn good secretary and they don’t grow on trees.’

‘She’s leaving you?’ Marsha raised fine eyebrows in what she hoped was a mocking expression. ‘Dear, dear. A better offer?’

‘Not exactly.’ He stood up, moving across to her and handing her her glass again. ‘Drink up. There’s time for another before Hannah calls us through, and I’ve ordered a taxi for later.’

She accepted the glass simply because she felt she needed the fortifying effect the alcohol would have on her nerves. It tasted heavenly, but Hannah had always been able to mix a mean cocktail. After two sips, she said, ‘If it’s not a better offer, why is she going?’ Lovers’ tiff?

‘She’s having a baby at the end of September.’

Marsha drank deeply, using the action as an excuse to break the force of his eyes on hers. ‘Thank you.’ She held out the empty glass with a brittle smile. ‘That was lovely.’

‘Wasn’t it?’ he murmured softly. He strolled over to the cocktail cabinet, his movements easy.

Marsha wondered whether Hannah would support her if she demanded to leave. So this was why he had made the move after all this time? Tanya was pregnant. By him? The pain which sliced through her was too severe to continue down that path, so she brushed the possibility aside until she could consider it when she was alone.

‘I think her husband wants a little girl; he has two boys from a previous relationship,’ Taylor continued with his back to her as he poured two more drinks. ‘But I guess all that matters in the long run is that the child is healthy.’

She sat very still as he turned and walked back to her, accepting the drink from him with a slight inclination of her head. So Tanya was married? When had that happened? The other woman had been a Miss when she had left Taylor. Had Tanya been seeing Taylor as well as the man who was now her husband at the time of the Germany trip? Did her husband know she had been more than just a secretary to Taylor at one time? A hundred questions were buzzing in her head, but she couldn’t ask any of them.

She raised her head as Taylor took the chair he had vacated, and for a moment her gaze met his. Her breath caught for a second at the look in his eyes. It was brief, and instantly veiled, but for a moment she had seen the inner man, the man she had known in the intimacy of their bed. The vital, vigorous, dynamic lifeforce which was Taylor, a force which let nothing and no one stand in the way of something he wanted. It was this magnetic power which had made her flee that night eighteen months ago, before he had had a chance to convince her that black was white, before that dark, dangerous energy of his reached out and smothered all rational thought and sense.

Contrary to what she’d expected, Taylor said nothing more as they sat and sipped their drinks in a silence which was fairly shrieking. The rich scents from the garden were drifting into the room on the warm breeze and a summer twilight was beginning to fall. The sounds of the birds as they began to settle down for the night and the drone of lazy insects about their business were the only intrusion.

Marsha resisted glancing Taylor’s way. She could feel he was watching her, his long lean body stretched out indolently in a very masculine pose, the amber eyes hooded and intense. He hadn’t moved a muscle, and yet the very air around them had become sensuous and coaxing. He could do that, she thought crossly, willing herself not to fidget in spite of the ripples of sexual awareness which had caused her nipples to flower and harden and her mouth to become dry. He could seduce by his very presence alone, and it was galling to have to recognise that his power over her body was just the same as it had always been.

She stared into her cocktail glass, determined it wouldn’t be her who would break the silence. And she wouldn’t mention Tanya West—or whatever her name was now—again either. Pregnant… The rush of emotion was so strong she had to purposely relax her fingers or risk breaking the stem of the glass. There had been a time when she had ached to have Taylor’s baby, and it had only been his insistence that they have some time enjoying each other together first that had prevented her from stopping taking the Pill. Of course she hadn’t been aware that Taylor was busy ‘enjoying’ other women too, she reflected sourly.

A minor commotion in the garden involving a great deal of frenzied squawking brought Taylor out of his chair in one smooth, fluid movement. To Marsha’s absolute bewilderment, he bent down behind a sofa close to the open French doors, re-emerging a second later with what looked like a child’s water gun.

‘Taylor?’ The question she’d been about to put to him was lost in the furore as he leapt out into the garden, firing as he went in a very personable imitation of James Bond. A moment later a loud yowl was added to the hubbub in the garden.

‘Got him.’ As Marsha joined Taylor outside, curiosity having got the better of her, he turned to her, satisfaction written all over his handsome face. ‘A couple more soakings and he’ll get the message.’

‘Who will get what message?’

‘The neighbourhood tom. He’s after the resident blackbird’s fledglings in one of the yews. The water doesn’t hurt him, but it sure as hell dents his pride when he skulks off like a drowned rat. Any day now and his male ego will acknowledge he can’t take any more of this.’

And Taylor would know all about male ego. Marsha was about to voice the thought when a blackbird sailed by their heads in what looked suspiciously like a victory dance. Taylor called after it, ‘Right on, buddy! He doesn’t stand a chance.’

This was the man who had started and built up a multi-million-pound business before he was thirty. Marsha felt she knew what Alice had felt like in Wonderland.

‘Listen.’ As she went to speak Taylor moved his head on one side, listening intently.

‘What?’ she whispered. ‘Is the cat back?’

‘No.’ He grinned at her, slinging the gun over his shoulder as he turned towards the house. ‘Hannah’s calling us for dinner.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE dinner was wonderful, but Marsha had known it would be. Hannah was an excellent cook. As course followed delicious course, accompanied by a wine which was truly superb, Marsha was aware that Taylor had set himself out to be the perfect dinner companion.

He talked of inconsequential things, his manner easy, but Marsha kept reminding herself she wasn’t fooled by his lazy air and lack of aggression. This was Taylor, and she forgot it at her peril. She had lived with this man for eighteen months, and known him for nearly nine months before that, and one thing that time had taught her was that he was single-minded and unapologetically ruthless when he wanted something. And right now that was her.

The dining table had been intimately set for two, complete with candles and roses and scented napkins. In spite of her bulk, Hannah glided in and out with each course, her face beaming whenever Marsha glanced at her but otherwise uncharacteristically silent.

A cold-blooded seduction scene, Marsha told herself, and Taylor had used his charm to obtain Hannah’s assistance. What had he told the housekeeper about their break-up? Certainly not the truth; she would bet her life on it.

It was after dessert—a velvety, luxurious, smooth chocolate terrine topped with fresh cream and strawberries—that Marsha decided enough was enough. She had just related an amusing incident which had happened that day at work and he had laughed, the hard angles of his face breaking up into attractive curves. The danger signals had gone off big-time.

What was she doing? she asked herself furiously. How on earth had she managed to get herself into this ridiculous position? Taylor had re-entered her life with all the finesse and thoughtfulness of a charging bull elephant, and she had let him get away with bullying her into having dinner with him. And in their marital home at that! She needed her head looking at.

‘What’s the matter?’

She looked up to meet Taylor’s unreadable eyes, trying to disguise the sudden panic in hers by keeping her face deadpan. ‘I’m sorry?’ she asked coolly, through her whirling dismay.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I suspect we’re suddenly back to square one.’ The dark brows had drawn together. ‘Why?’

Did he have any idea how powerfully attractive he was? Marsha moistened dry lips.

But of course he did, she answered silently in the next moment. Born in a high-rise slum to a mother who drank and a father who was rarely around, Taylor had used his devastating looks, charm and rapier-sharp intelligence from an early age.

He had left home at fifteen, started his own sound equipment business at eighteen, with money he had begged and borrowed, and at twenty had been in a position to give Susan—who was four years younger than him—a home, after their mother had died of a drink-related problem and their father had taken himself off for good.

At the tender age of twenty-three he’d had his first million under his belt and more had followed. He was a self-made man, now thirty-five years of age, with a name which was both respected and feared for the ruthlessness it embodied.

But he had never been ruthless with her. The thought came from nowhere, and she countered the weakening effect it had on her resolve. Not outwardly anyway, but then secret affairs were the worst sort of ruthlessness. Susan had been sure there had been others before Tanya, but even if there hadn’t, one infidelity was one too many.

‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about,’ she said crisply. ‘We’re not “back” anywhere. We’ve never moved in the first place. You asked me to dinner because—’ She stopped abruptly. Why exactly had he asked her?

‘Because I wanted to be with you?’ he suggested smoothly.

‘Because you wanted us to part in a civilised way.’ She remembered civilised had been in there somewhere.

‘Making it up as you go along.’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach the magnificent tawny eyes. ‘Nothing changes, I see.’

She glared at him. If anyone in this room suffered from a severe aversion to the truth, it wasn’t her. ‘Now, look here—’

‘No, you look, my sweet, headstrong, perverse wife.’ He had risen with one of the swift animal-like movements characteristic of him, and before she could react he had drawn her to her feet, both hands gripping her elbows as he held her in front of him. ‘I intend to talk this through.’

‘I don’t want to talk,’ she protested, angry at the way his nearness was affecting her equilibrium. ‘There’s nothing to say and no need to talk.’

‘Maybe you’re right at that.’ His eyes had locked on hers, drawing her into the glowing amber as he filled her vision. ‘Action speaks louder than words, isn’t that what they say?’

She had arched back, but in one expert movement he had drawn her into him, his mouth coming down quickly on hers.

She struggled, but it was like beating herself against solid stone as he held her with the force of his body, his mouth plundering hers. She knew she was fighting herself as much as Taylor—the second his lips had touched hers she wanted him with a passion which frightened her more than anything else could have done. This was the man who had betrayed her, broken her heart and then sailed back into her life as though he had every right to be there. She couldn’t, she mustn’t, give in to him.

But the desire was as it had always been from the first moment she had met him—clean and hot and senseless. He was the master of the senses, her senses, whether she liked it or not, she thought desperately. He always had been.

The kiss was deep and potent, the taste and smell of him spinning in her head as she fought for control of the need which was raging through her flesh. It had been so long since she had been in his arms like this, and desire was a fire inside her which was spreading however she tried to dampen it down.

His mouth was urgent and hungry, but not cruel. Nevertheless, as she managed to jerk her head away for an instant, she gasped, ‘You’re hurting me. Let me go.’

Even as his mouth claimed hers again she felt him tense and knew her words had registered. For a moment he continued to hold her, so she could feel every inch of his powerful body, and then, with a low groan, he wrenched his mouth from hers. He was breathing hard, the trembling she’d felt in his body mirrored in hers. She was conscious of his chest rising and falling under the fine linen shirt as he fought for control for one more second, and then suddenly—regretfully—she was free. And now she was fighting an almost overwhelming craving to fling herself into his arms again.

She instinctively hid behind attack being the best defence. ‘How dare you manhandle me?’ She ignored the hot, insistent flow of desire flowing through her shaking limbs. ‘You try anything like that again and I swear I’ll scream the place down. Maybe even Hannah would think twice about working for a man who forces women.’

He surveyed her for what seemed like an eternity without speaking, his hands now thrust into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Methinks the lady protests too hard.’ And then he smiled, as if amused.

He had to be the most infuriating man ever born. Why couldn’t he get angry at what she had just said? Instead he stood there looking immensely pleased with life, the arrogant, two-timing, conceited swine. She tried to match his composure when she said, ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Taylor. I’m counting the minutes, let alone the hours until I’m free of you for good.’

His smile disappeared. She would have liked to have felt triumphant, but merely felt sick at heart. To think they had come to this when it had been so good.

The entrance of Hannah, with a tray of coffee and the special shortcake she made—which was utterly delicious and melted in the mouth—silenced further sparring.

Hannah glanced at them both but made no comment, although the atmosphere was such you didn’t need to be the brain of Britain to work out all was not well. Whether the housekeeper had noticed her swollen lips and tousled hair, Marsha wasn’t sure, but if she had Hannah was being the soul of discretion—which wasn’t like her.

Marsha had sat down as the door had opened, but Taylor remained standing by her chair until Hannah left the room again, at which point he walked over to the window in the dining room and stood looking out into the dark night.

Marsha looked down into her glass and wondered if the excess of wine she’d consumed was making her maudlin. But it wasn’t the alcohol. It was the sight of Taylor looking good enough to eat that had her forcing back the tears. She wanted to be over him, she needed to be over him, so why couldn’t she manage her feelings as she’d learnt to manage the rest of her life?

She could feel the tension within mounting and wondered how much more of his silence she could take. But she wasn’t going to speak first. Silly, maybe, perhaps even childish, but she needed every small victory she could get with Taylor.

‘Fancy taking our coffees outside?’ He turned as he spoke, his tone so perfectly normal and matter-of-fact that Marsha could have floored him. Here was she, tied up in knots and suffering the torment of the damned, and he was Mr Cool.

She shrugged nonchalantly, lifting her eyes to meet his. ‘If you like, and then I really will have to go. I’ve an important meeting first thing tomorrow.’

‘Oh, yes?’ He raised enquiring eyebrows as he walked over to the table and lifted the coffee pot.

‘Jeff—he’s my boss and one of the producers—wants me to discuss ideas for a documentary we’ve been looking into. His researchers have given me reams of information, but I need to pull it together and sell the concept overall.’

She was unaware of how animated her voice had become as she talked about the work she loved, but he had stopped filling the coffee cups and was giving her his full attention as he said, ‘You’re his assistant, I take it?’

She nodded. It had been a huge boost to her self-esteem when she had snatched the coveted job from a host of other hopefuls, some of them internal applicants, mainly because Jeff had remembered her from her pre-marriage days. She had come across his path whilst on a training scheme for people who were expected to rise to become producers or managers for a different television company, and although the contact had only been fleeting he had obviously been impressed with her.

It had been her decision, along with a little gentle persuasion from Taylor, to leave the other company after her marriage, mainly because the sort of hours and commitment the five-year training scheme involved could be very antisocial, and she had wanted to be with her new husband as much as possible. In hindsight, it was a decision she bitterly regretted.

Her first at university, in English and Communication Studies, had meant constant hard work and dedication, but it had lifted her into the realm of high-calibre graduates. This had given her a ticket on to the training scheme, at which only a mere handful of the thousands who applied each year were successful. And then she had thrown it all away. But for the lucky break with Jeff she could well have found herself making the tea and sweeping up rather than back in the hub of things.

‘I’m pleased for you, Fuzz.’

His quiet voice brought her out of her thoughts and her eyes focused on his sombre face. She stared at him, knowing that certain something which had always used to sizzle between them was still there and hating the power it gave him. She made her voice cool when she said, ‘Really?’ putting a wealth of disbelief in the one word.

‘Uh-huh. Really.’ He had crossed his arms over his chest, studying her with those strangely beautiful tawny eyes which had always seemed to look straight into her soul.

‘Forgive me, but I find that difficult to believe,’ she said, allowing her gaze to freeze.

‘I do—forgive you, that is,’ he returned comfortably. ‘Mainly because I understand now just how fragile and insecure you are beneath that beautiful, resilient exterior.’

Insecure again. If he said that word once more she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions!

‘It was a mistake for you to give up your career when we married, but I didn’t realise that until it was too late. You needed the sense of self-worth it gave you. I thought I would be enough for you, that I could give you everything you needed, but it was too soon.’

‘Cut the psychoanalysis, Taylor,’ she said stonily. ‘The mistake I made was trusting you; it’s as simple as that.’

‘Nothing is simple where you are concerned, as I’ve learnt to my cost.’ He finished pouring the coffee as he spoke, seemingly totally unconcerned by her declaration. ‘I always thought someone was innocent until proven guilty in this country.’ He turned suddenly to face her for an instant. ‘Where’s your proof, Fuzz?’

Her body jerked as if she had been stung, but although she eyed him hotly she said nothing.

‘You won’t even do me the courtesy of allowing me to challenge the person who caused the breakdown of our marriage.’

‘You can challenge Tanya any day,’ she bit back swiftly.

‘Tanya is as innocent as I am of all charges.’ It was laconic. He placed the cups, sugar and cream, along with the shortbread, on the tray Hannah had left propped against the table. ‘Shall we?’ He waved his hand towards the garden before picking up the tray.

She walked past him out of the room, continuing down the hall and into the drawing room, whereupon she made her way out of the French doors. The automatic lights clicked on as she stepped on to the patio area beyond which the lawn lay. The sound of the small fountain falling into the lily pond at the side of the patio reminded her of many happy meals eaten alfresco, but she resolutely refused to dwell on the memory.

She walked across to the wicker table and ticking-cushioned chairs she and Taylor had chosen together just after their marriage, when she had persuaded him that eating outside was fun, sitting down facing the yews and old stone wall. The flower beds were a riot of colour, their scent adding to the beauty all around her, and the sky was black velvet, pierced with stars.

She didn’t speak as Taylor placed the tray on the table and sat down, but as he went to add cream and sugar to her cup she said, ‘I take mine black now, thank you.’

He quirked a brow. ‘The cream and sugar queen?’

‘We drink coffee all day at work, and I’ve got used to it black.’ It was a silly thing, but she was pleased she’d surprised him.

‘I can see I mustn’t assume anything,’ he drawled mockingly, making her feel as though she was being puerile for the sake of it.

But she had changed in the last eighteen months, she thought militantly, and drinking her coffee black was the least of it. ‘Quite so,’ she responded evenly, as though she hadn’t caught the inflection in his voice, and she ignored the slight smile twisting his lips with an aplomb she was proud of.

There were six chairs grouped round the table, but he had chosen to sit in the one next to her rather than opposite, as she had expected, and now he was so close his shoulder was almost brushing hers. With an effort, Marsha relaxed her body, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how tense she was.

Some moments had ticked by before she said, ‘What did you mean when you said you’d known where I was every minute since we split up?’ It had been at the back of her mind all evening, she realised now with a dart of surprise as she heard herself speak.

‘Exactly that.’

She wasn’t going to let him get away with being so succinct. ‘That’s not an answer,’ she said, finishing her coffee.

‘Of course it is.’ He turned his head, the amber light on her face, but she kept her gaze on the shadowed garden. ‘You didn’t really think I would just let you walk out of the house and my life, did you?’

Her stomach trembled. ‘Who…? How…?’

She didn’t know quite how to put it, but he seemed to understand what she was trying to say. He shifted slightly in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and as she caught a faint whiff of his aftershave a hundred nerves went haywire.

‘I employed someone, okay?’ he said mildly.

No, not okay! Mega not okay. ‘You employed someone?’ she said, so shrilly a number of birds protested in the trees surrounding the garden as their slumber was interrupted. ‘You had me watched? Like…like a criminal?’

‘Don’t be childish,’ he said calmly as her eyes met his. ‘I wanted to make sure you were all right, that was all. You are my wife, my responsibility.’

‘The hell I am!’

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head at her. She deeply regretted there was no coffee left in her cup to fling at him. ‘I would like to leave now.’ She stood to her feet, her eyes blazing.

‘Sure.’ To her absolute amazement, Taylor rose lazily. ‘The taxi’s been outside for the last few minutes. I didn’t think you’d want to be too late on a working day.’

‘Who was he? This guy you had spy on me?’ Much as she would have liked to storm off with her nose in the air, she really wanted to know.

‘He was a she, and from one of the most reputable firms in the country.’ He looked at her squarely. ‘And there was no question of spying. She merely checked now and again that you weren’t in any trouble, that everything was okay. That was it.’

‘And who I saw and where I went and with whom?’ Indignation lit her eyes and flushed her cheeks.

He was magnificently unperturbed. ‘Of course. You are my wife.’

‘We are separated.’

‘You’re still my wife, Marsha.’ The use of her name checked her even more than the tone of his voice, which had suddenly chilled.

She looked into amber eyes which had become as dangerous as those of a big cat, and just as hard. ‘I shall never forgive you for this,’ she said shakily. ‘To have me watched, put under surveillance as though I’m the one in the wrong—’ She wished with all her heart she had met someone in the last months, gone out on a date or two, flirted a little—anything to puncture that giant ego.

‘Then it is merely another crime to be added to the list, yes?’ He shrugged as though bored.

‘And you obviously don’t care about any of your crimes, right?’ she snapped, furiously angry with his offhand manner and lack of remorse.

‘If you are referring to my supposed affair with Tanya, I plead innocent to all charges, remember?’

She glared at him, wondering how it was that he could so get under her skin, even when she knew exactly what he was playing at. She ought to be able to ignore his arrogance, but it grated on her unbearably. ‘I want the bloodhound called off.’

‘I doubt the very attractive woman concerned would appreciate being labelled a dog.’

He was laughing at her! She stared into the hard face, quivering with righteous indignation. ‘I can think of worse things to call her,’ she said forcefully.

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘Does she know the sort of man she’s working for?’

‘I think so.’ He was regarding her lazily. ‘More to the point, do you?’

‘Only too well.’

‘Now, that I doubt.’ He caught her upper arms in his hands, holding her in front of him and looking deep into her eyes as he said, ‘But before I’m finished you will know, Marsha. That’s a promise.’

‘Let go of me.’ She stood rigid in his grasp, glaring furiously up at him. ‘I don’t appreciate being subjected to brute force.’

‘Brute force?’ His eyes pierced her with laser brightness. ‘There’s times I wonder what planet you’re on.’

His complete refusal to accept any blame for his actions made her see red. ‘You’re the lowest of the low—you know that, don’t you?’ she hissed bitterly. ‘I hate you—’

Anything else she might have said was cut off by the simple expedient of his mouth on hers. She knew enough not to struggle this time, willing herself to show no feeling at all as he brought all his sexual experience to the fore in a kiss that was tender and erotic and deep in turn. He gently probed her mouth until her lips parted for him of their own volition as resistance drained from her, in spite of all her efforts to remain unmoved.

He was just too good at this, she thought feverishly. He always had been. In the early days she had been enchanted to find a man who kissed like Taylor, who made it into an art. The trouble was it had left her with no defences, no barriers to the response he could always bring forth with seemingly effortless skill.