Susan Fox - Reclaiming His Wife

‘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 feel so bad about it, Taylor,’ he advised in a suddenly silken voice and she realised he was talking about last night. ‘Neither of us could have prevented it, and the way we are whenever we’re around each other… well, it was bound to happen sooner or later.’

‘Why? Because you were determined it would?’

He laughed softly behind her. ‘Hopeful, dearest, but not exactly determined.’

‘OK. So you got what you wanted.’

‘What I wanted?’ he breathed with harsh emphasis and, before she could sidestep, he was reaching out and pulling her back against the whipcord strength of his body. ‘What I wanted,’ he repeated, his words softly mocking now because his arms were already crossed over her breasts, and his hands were massaging the small mounds through her clinging sweater. ‘I think, my love, if I took you upstairs now, you’d be begging me again as helplessly as you were begging me last night.’ The reminder stung, scorching her cheeks with bright colour. ‘You want me as much as I want you—no matter how much your pride and crazy determination tell you otherwise. OK. Perhaps you were right once when you accused me of marrying you on the rebound. Maybe I didn’t show you enough love or appreciate you as much as I should have done. Possibly I neglected to do all the little things you needed me to do for you to feel wanted—perhaps I was away too much. Oh, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t still in contact with Alicia when I met you. God knows, I was!’ His deep voice seemed to rumble with an intensity of emotion and, recognising it, Taylor closed her eyes against it, against the longing to be able to move him to such a degree. ‘When I saw you at that party, you were like the promise of summer after a long, long winter, with your youth, your sexy mystique and your surprising innocence. You showed me something new, something different, something to hope for. And you excited me more than any woman I’d ever met.’

She wanted to keep her mind on what he was saying, hold on to her composure, but she couldn’t because of what he was doing to her. Even through the layers of her clothes her breasts were responding to his sensuous massage, his sweet provocation stimulating the more intimate and secret pathways of her body.

‘Give us this chance, Taylor.’

His lips against her ear whispered their trembling message, his teeth nipping the sensitive area now just above the neck of her sweater, so treacherously feather-light that she gave a small groan and dropped her head back against him.

‘What you’re suffering—what we’re both suffering from,’ he breathed, ‘is chronic frustration from being cooped up here together. It’s not surprising I’m going out of my mind with wanting you—with what I want to do to you. Especially when—deny it as you may, Taylor—you want it too.’

His breath came warmly across her ear, arousing her, bringing her hand up to the nape of his neck so that he wouldn’t stop, because, dear Heaven! she wanted him to do all those things he had spoken of, take her upstairs and make her his again, so that she could make him hers, and only hers…

‘No, Taylor,’ he said gently, reading all the signals. ‘That won’t do either of us any good right now.’ With amazing control he was removing her arm from around his neck, leaving her feeling oddly bereft and disappointed as his hands slid away from her. ‘Right now—for both our sanities’ sakes—I think you should concentrate on breakfast, while I finish off what I was doing outside. And then, my dearest, I’m yours for the rest of the day, during which you and I are going to get down to some really serious fun.’