The Price of a Wife

'Why won't you have dinner with me, Josie?' he asked abruptly, and his hand tightened on her shoulder, moving her round to face him. 'Why are you so afraid of men?'

'I'm not!' she said, trembling, her heart pounding so hard it actually hurt. 'That's ridiculous.'

'I don't believe you.' His hand moved to tilt her chin upwards as he stared down into the green-flecked eyes he had been seeing in his dreams for the last week. 'And I don't believe I've been reduced to envying a cat either,' he said broodingly. 'And a ginger torn, at that.'

'He isn't ginger,' she protested faintly. 'He's brindle—'

He bent and took her parted lips in one swift movement, but instead of the fierceness she had expected the kiss was warm and intoxicatingly, wickedly intimate, blanketing her tremulous fears and causing her to shiver in anticipation as it deepened.

She knew she ought to be fighting this, pushing him away, but what her head was telling her was quite ineffective against the pulsing pleasure that had her in its grip as he tasted her slowly, almost leisurely, taking his time about the seduction with an arrogance that was all male.

After a few long, slumberous moments he moved her closer into him, fitting her tiny, slender shape against the swiftly rising desire of his body as he tangled his fingers in the richness of her hair, drawing her head back in order to achieve greater penetration of her mouth. His tongue was hard and thrusting, and she couldn't believe what it did to the sensitised contours of her mouth, but it wasn't enough. She wanted more, much more… As his hands moved in a thorough exploration of her soft shape, moulding her against his hardness while his lips trailed fire over her skin, she suddenly became aware of her state of undress and exactly how far things had gone.

'No!' She jerked back so suddenly that his fingers, tangled in her hair, wrenched her head painfully before he could let go. 'I don't want this.' She pulled her blouse together with shaking hands.

'Why?' He didn't try to reach for her again as she backed away from him to stand against the cupboard, her eyes wild. He merely folded his powerful arms as he gazed down at her, his eyes narrowed and his mouth taut. 'Why, Josie? What is it that you're so afraid of? Is it me? You think I'm too big? That I'd hurt you?'

'No!' Her embarrassment had turned her face crimson, the turmoil inside her making her feel faint. Why had she allowed him to make love to her like that? Why?

She knew what he wanted but she didn't have the mentality to be able to walk away from him once the affair finished; she just wasn't made like that. The cauterising pain of her early years had burnt any superficiality right out of her. When she gave her body she would give her heart too; she knew that. So why had she let things go this far? He would think she was a tease, the sort of woman who found it fun to excite a man, lead him on, only to draw back at the last moment.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you…' She shook her head desperately as she ran out of words. 'I'm sorry…'

'I wouldn't hurt you,' he said, with a softness that caught at her throat. 'You have to learn to trust people again, whatever's happened in your past—'

'Leave me alone!' He had to stop, had to cease being so understanding; it was killing her. What would he say if he knew the truth? she asked herself bitterly. That she was damaged, empty, nothing? That her body could do all sorts of things except the one thing it was made for? But then it wouldn't matter for what he wanted her for, would it? she thought painfully. Sex. A convenient affair. Dress it up how you like, that was what it boiled down to.

Perhaps that incident in the car in Germany had been a softening-up process, a way of convincing her that he wasn't a wham, bam, thank you, ma'am kind of man? That an affair with him would be a discreet, sophisticated kind of liaison? He had said he was past the stage of a sordid backseat amour that night..

'I've told you, I don't want any involvement, Luke, with anyone, and I mean it. If you gave me the job thinking I would be in the market to sleep with you—'

'That's enough!' His face was as dark as thunder now, and as she realised what she had just said her hand went to her mouth. 'I'll do us both a favour and forget you said that,' he growled furiously, 'but after we've cleared the air. I don't have to buy my women, Josie, whether it be with jobs or anything else. Is that perfectly clear? Is it?' he snarled when she didn't answer.

'Yes,' she whispered through numb lips. 'I didn't mean—'

'I know exactly what you meant, Josie.' He eyed her angrily, his body taut. 'But don't forget the old saying that people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. You respond to me the minute I touch you, and we both know it.' He turned abruptly, walking into the lounge and picking up his jacket and tie from the chair.

'Luke, please let me explain—'

'Explain what? There's nothing to explain,' he said roughly. 'I'll see you on Monday morning.'

He left without looking back, his back straight and his head rigid, and as the front door closed Josie sank down onto the kitchen floor as her legs finally gave way.

How could she have spoken to him like that? She must be mad. He'd never forgive her… And she couldn't blame him. She gazed blankly ahead, her face as white as lint. The way things must be looking to him now she couldn't really blame him at all. Blowing hot and cold wasn't in it…

She groaned softly as she thought of their lovemaking of what she had invited. But there was no way she could get involved with a man like him, no way at all. However it worked out, it would be a recipe for disaster.

CHAPTER FIVE

The weekend was an exercise in purging herself of self-pity and regret. She told herself, over and over again, that she had much to be thankful for. Her career was at its highest point ever, she didn't have, and never had had, the financial worries that dogged so many people all their lives, she was young and healthy and strong in mind and body.

And there was even a positive side to the accident too… She would never have to endure plodding about like a hippopotamus with straddled legs and aching back as she had seen so many expectant mothers do. Morning sickness, dirty nappies, broken sleep and all the worries connected with infant inoculations, diseases, illnesses, bullying at

school… These would all pass her by.

She was her own person, answerable to no one. She could please herself—travel or stay at home, be up at the crack of dawn or stay in bed all day at weekends.«. The list was endless. It was the same list she had drawn up thirteen years ago, when she had hauled herself out of the abyss of bitter grief and pain, and it still worked well…mostly.

Monday morning brought a June heatwave that caused the dry London streets to shimmer with light under a cloudless blue sky, and produced a bevy of girls in bright summer dresses and bare legs.