The Millionaire's Christmas Wife

Had she been waiting for history to repeat itself? Miriam asked herself sickly. No; no, she hadn’t. She was sure she hadn’t. Jay was twisting things, that was all. But the thought still niggled as she went to the door, opening it and intending to call down the stairs for Jay to come up.

But he wasn’t downstairs with Clara. He was leaning against the wall opposite the door, his hands in his trouser pockets and his tawny eyes narrowed. His big black leather jacket and black jeans made his flagrant masculinity even more threatening than usual and her heart flipped at the sight of him. ‘I—I thought you were talking to Clara,’ she said inanely, taken off her guard.

‘The pit bull?’ he murmured pleasantly. ‘I saw no point in prolonging a conversation with her when she clearly wanted to rip my throat out.’

‘Clara’s a very good friend,’ Miriam said defensively.

‘I’m sure people said that about Attila the Hun and Ivan the Terrible but I wouldn’t have been interested in getting to know them either.’ His eyes narrowed still more. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

‘Of course.’ She stood aside for him to enter as though she didn’t hate the fact he was invading her private domain, closing the door and watching him as he glanced round the high-ceilinged room.

‘Cosy.’

It could have been patronising but even though she wanted to find fault with him Miriam knew he was being genuine. ‘I think so,’ she said quietly.

‘A little nest with a bird’s-eye view,’ he added, strolling over to the window and gazing out over the vista of rooftops and buildings touched with the morning sunshine. ‘How often do you sit and lose yourself in that expanse of sky?’

He knew her too well. Crisply, she said, ‘When time permits.’

He turned, shrugging off his leather jacket and throwing it over the back of the sofa. ‘I can smell coffee,’ he hinted, glancing at the remaining croissants. ‘Are those going begging?’

She could do nothing else but invite him to sit down, which he did with alacrity. Miriam busied herself fixing some fresh coffee and putting out more preserves to go with the croissants, trying not to think about how good he looked. He was wearing a pale lilac shirt tucked into his jeans, open-necked and with the sleeves partly rolled up. Narrow-waisted and lean-hipped, with broad shoulders, he looked like every young maiden’s dream—probably their mother’s dream too, she thought wryly. She could remember too many occasions when every woman in the room had been fluttering around his orbit. Thinking about it now, there had been too many dinner parties, too many functions and social gatherings where she’d had to smile and chat and pretend she didn’t notice some female or other turning inside out to get Jay’s attention.

‘I hope I didn’t interrupt your breakfast with the pit bull,’ Jay said mildly as she placed the fresh pot of coffee on the small bistro table before sitting down on the other chair.

‘Her name is Clara.’ She fixed him with stern eyes. ‘And like I said, she’s a good friend.’

‘I’m glad,’ he said softly, all amusement gone. ‘I didn’t like to think of you existing with strangers.’

It was expedient to ignore the note in his voice; she didn’t like what the tender quality did to her resolve to stay distant and aloof. Pouring them both a cup of coffee, she said flatly, ‘What is it you need to talk to me about?’ as she handed Jay’s to him.

‘Us.’

Her cup rattled on her saucer and she quickly put it down. ‘I thought we did that last night.’

‘We did. In part. But Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’ve finally got it through my obviously thick skull that what I thought was a great marriage wasn’t,’ Jay said very calmly. ‘You’re a bundle of contradictions and secrets, Miriam, but I’m willing to persevere with you.’

‘Thank you so much,’ she bit back sarcastically.

‘It’s a pleasure.’ He grinned unrepentantly. ‘The rewards will be worth it in the end.’ He’d devoured two croissants; now he reached for a third. ‘I think I’ll call in for breakfast more often, by the way—these are superb.’

‘Jay, we’re getting a divorce. That doesn’t usually mean a couple breakfast together,’ she said more calmly than she was feeling.

One eyebrow slanted provocatively. ‘No? Perhaps they should. Anyway, who says we’re getting a divorce?’

Miriam chose her words carefully. ‘I don’t want us to be enemies any more than you do, but I’m serious about this, Jay.’

‘And you think I’m not?’ The tawny eyes took on the texture of hard amber. ‘Then you know me as little as I apparently knew you.’

She stared at him. She would never win in a war of words—his mind was too quick, too agile, too altogether intimidating for any opponent who was foolish enough to take Jay Carter on. Without knowing it, she used a weapon that sliced through his composure like a knife through butter. Quietly, she said, ‘I don’t know what to say to you. I only know how I feel. I can’t be your wife any more and survive, Jay.’ Her words rang with honesty. ‘If anything remains of the love you said you felt for me, you’ll let me go.’

He stood up, a muscle clenching in his square jaw and his voice as low as hers had been when he said, ‘If anything remains? Hell, Miriam, you’ve really got no idea, have you? Can’t you just for one minute stop thinking of yourself as the betrayed victim and allow yourself to imagine what I might be feeling? My only crime is loving you. That’s it. And for that I’ve been hung, drawn and quartered.’

‘Don’t—don’t do this.’