Claiming His Wife

Of course he would!

And even if he didn't love her now, love could grow, couldn't it?

Rough-drying her hair with the towel he'd dis­carded, she wandered through to the bedroom, the prickle of excitement deep inside her beginning all over again as she wondered which of her many new garments would be the most flattering and the sim­plest to remove!

CHAPTER EIGHT

'You are certainly a different person now,' Roman commented smoothly. He looked at ease, one arm draped along the back of the bench seat, his fingers touching the tousled copper strands of her hair as it tumbled over her shoulders. But his relaxed smile didn't reach eyes that seemed, in the half-light of a misty dawn, strangely wary. 'Is it the year away from me, from Spain, that has made you so? Being back in England has made you happier?'

Cassie glanced quickly away, swung her legs up on the upholstered bench seat that hugged the far side of the rose-smothered summer house and leant back against him.

She really didn't want to think about that year of separation, or the two years that had gone before. What had started out as a cold-blooded, wicked bar­gain had turned into a truly wonderful second hon­eymoon. She didn't want anything to spoil it.

Five weeks of wedded bliss, of lazy sun-drenched days, velvet, perfumed nights, wild bursts of passion in the most unexpected places, at the most unex­pected times—lovers getting to know every intimate detail of each other's bodies in their own secluded paradise. Being shut away from the outside world had left her feeling she inhabited a haven of magical unreality.

But unfortunately reality was about to poke its nose in, she conceded reluctantly. Of course he would want to know why she'd walked out on their marriage. Only by raking over the past could they hope to put the future right. And if she looked reality squarely and bravely in the face she would have to admit that she still didn't know whether he wanted her to stay with him beyond the three-month limit he'd set.

And she was almost certain she was pregnant.

She dragged a sigh up from the bottom of her lungs. The cold breath of reality was definitely un­comfortable.

Roman said, his voice controlled, 'It is a subject that interests me, even if you would prefer not to think about our misguided marriage.'

'Misguided?' she echoed tremulously. After these last rapturous weeks, did he still think their marriage had been a mistake? How could that be, when they had become so close? Physically, at least, though there had been times when she'd been sure some­thing was troubling him.

He snatched in an impatient breath. 'Look at me when I'm talking to you!' he commanded gruffly, placing strong hands on her hips and swinging her round so that her feet hit the

tiled floor and she was slewed across the cushions, facing him.

Cassie could feel his anger and it made her want to weep. Something was wrong, very wrong, and she had to face it, not keep brushing it under the carpet, pretending it was all in her imagination. She asked, as calmly as she could, 'Roman, what's on your mind? Something is.'

She met his brooding eyes, try­ing not to show her anxiety, her very real fear. 'We've been happy together, you know we have, yet there have been times when you've seemed to dis­tance yourself... times when you've looked at me with something like disgust. I want to know why.'

He gave her a lancing look, his mouth tight round the words that suddenly poured from him. 'When we first married I thought I could make you content— happy, even. But after our wedding night together it became painfully obvious that I couldn't. You couldn't bear it when I touched you. Now it seems you can't get enough of sex,' he uttered darkly. 'So who taught you? You certainly didn't allow me that privilege.'

'Oh!' She felt her face burn with sudden outraged colour. How could he think such a thing, let alone say it? The morning sun was beginning to break through the mist, the air shimmering with opaline colours; outside the summer house, a stand of euca­lyptus trees swayed gracefully in the slight breeze, their misty white branches and silver leaves ghostly in the growing light. But inside it was darker, Roman's face shadowed and suddenly somehow for­bidding.

A shudder rocked her body.

'You are cold? Or have I touched a nerve?' Roman asked drily.

'Not cold, angry,' she framed vehemently. 'How could you think that of me, after the way we've been together? I don't sleep around! You're the only man I've ever made love with!'

Even though she was only wearing a pair of brief turquoise cotton shorts and a matching bra-style top, the morning was warm. Too warm, really. She felt a band of perspiration form above her short upper lip and saw by the tightening of his mobile, utterly sen­suous mouth that her instinctive and truthful reply hadn't impressed him.

He believed his assumption was the correct one, that since leaving him she'd been indulging in mul­tiple affairs. And was he jealous? Roman, jealous! squashed the surge of hope very decisively. Letting herself believe that her husband really did love her could be dangerous, could lead to a disap­pointment that would be almost impossible to bear. "Why are you asking all this? Why now?' she asked dully, hopelessness dousing all that vehement anger as she at last understood the insulting reality of what had been troubling him.

Was everything about to end? It certainly looked that way, especially since he obviously didn't believe her assertion that she hadn't been with any other man.

For the first time since they'd been back together they hadn't instinctively turned to each other, making love until the sun burned holes in the sea mist, taking in turns to fetch breakfast in bed. This morning the sun that had woken her had been perfunctory, but his suggestion that they take their coffee down to the summer house hadn't bothered her. Not until now. Was he already tiring of her, as had once been strin­gently prophesised? Was his stubborn belief that she'd been unfaithful the excuse he was looking for?

Cassie hugged her arms around her midriff, shak­ing inside now. Everything seemed spoiled, about to fall apart. 'Leaving aside your insulting remarks about my supposed promiscuity, I thought we'd—' she lifted her slender shoulders in a hopeless gesture '—we'd settled our differences.'

'With sex? I think not.' The white shirt he was wearing gleamed in a sudden shaft of sunlight. Impressive shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. 'I admit that at first I found your unexpected response to me astonishing, and, being a normal male, I de­lighted in your sexual generosity. But that was the froth, was it not? It is what's beneath the surface that interests me.'

Male lust—was this Roman's way of warning her that mere lust was what the last five weeks had been about? Cassie pondered miserably. She was a hun­dred per cent thankful that she hadn't let herself hope that he was learning to love her. Well, she hadn't, not really.

She didn't know what he wanted to hear her say, but at least he was giving her a little breathing space as he bent over the coffee tray on the low table, pour­ing from the silver pot, sugaring hers.