An Inconvenient Husband (5 page)

Good girl. She winced.
Well, no matter.

Blake turned as she
put the receiver down. "Got answers to your questions?" he asked.

"It wasn't what
you'd call a very satisfactory conversation," she said irritably.

"This isn't a
very satisfactory situation," he returned dryly.

He was probably as
delighted to be here with her as she was to be here with him. "I'll have
another drink," she said, and caught a sudden spark of humor in his eyes,
gone in an instant. He poured her another measure of whiskey and handed it to
her without comment.

"Thank you."
She took a big gulp, wincing.

"Take it easy,
Nicky," he said mildly.

In answer, she glared
at him and took another swallow.

He picked up the menu.
"This little adventure has left me ravenous," he commented.
"I'll order us some dinner from room service. What would you like?"

She shook her head.
"Nothing. I've eaten all day. I've been sampling street food for an
article I'm writing." And even if she hadn't eaten all day, she couldn't
imagine wanting anything now. She felt as if she were thrown into a nightmare
and couldn't get out. She raked her hand through her hair. She felt dirty and
sticky and she didn't even have a comb to fix her hair. She didn't even have
her purse. It was sitting on the living room sofa on top of her notebook.

She felt naked without
her purse—no identification, no money, no credit cards. The magnitude of her
helplessness flooded through her like the heat of the whiskey. Oh, God, what was
she going to do?

"What should I be
doing now?" she asked, feeling like a helpless child, sitting there on the
side of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap like a timid schoolgirl, and he,
standing, towering over her. She wasn't used to asking anybody what to do. She
was an independent, mature person and she usually knew what to do.

"Nothing, for the
time being," he said, studying the room service menu. "Relax."

"Relax
? Oh, sure, I'll
relax," she said, trying to inject mockery into her tone, but it came out
shakily, her voice trembling.

He glanced down at her
face, and in the silence she glimpsed a softening in his eyes, a brief
hesitation. He reached out and touched her cheek in a fleeting caress.
"Everything will be all right, Nicky. You're safe. And your father knows
how to take care of himself."

She dropped her gaze
to her hands clenched in her lap. Her throat closed at the sudden gentleness in
his voice, the touch of his warm hand on her cheek. She didn't want to feel
this way, this yearning to be held by him, to find comfort from the fear that
clutched at her heart.

She swallowed hard.
"I have nothing with me," she said miserably. "No money, no
clothes." She glanced up at him. "Would you mind getting me a room in
this place so at least I can shower and sleep? Tomorrow I'll figure out what to
do and pay you back."

"You're staying
right here tonight," he said calmly. "We might have been followed
here and I'm taking no risks with you in a room by yourself."

I
don't want to be alone with you
, came the automatic reply. But it stayed
silent in her head. She fought to be calm and rational and not let her emotions
create havoc.

"I'm not your
responsibility," she said huskily. Her hands shook and she put the glass
down.

His eyes held hers.
"I'm making you my responsibility," he said with calm authority.

Her father had asked
him to take care of her, no doubt.
Do what Blake tells you to do,
he'd told her. "I suppose my father asked you over the phone. You could
have told him to figure out something else, you know."

He gave her an odd
look. "There's not much I would not do for your father."

She stared at him.
"What do you mean?"

His expression was a
mingling of surprise and impatience. "Come on, Nicky, you know why. I
admire and respect him." He hesitated for a moment. "He's been more
of a father to me than my own ever was."

She felt a sudden
constriction in her throat. "I didn't know you felt that way," she
said.

Blake frowned.
"How could you not know?" he asked.

She shrugged.
"I... you never told me you felt about him that way."

She'd known they'd
liked each other, of course. What she hadn't known was the extent of Blake's
feelings for her father. Blake's own father had left him and his mother when
Blake had been five. He'd seen him all of three times since.

She drained her glass.
She was exhausted and her head felt dizzy with the whiskey. Her capacity for
rational thought and decisive action was severely limited, so for the moment
she had little choice but to go along with what Blake suggested.

He gestured to the
bathroom door. "Have a shower. It will make you feel better. There's a
bathrobe behind the door." He picked up the phone. "Are you sure you
don't want something? A cup of mint tea with honey, maybe?"

Her heart made an odd
little leap. She swallowed. "All right, yes. I'd like that." Mint
tea, after all, was good for the digestion. She came to her feet and went into
the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the cool tile
wall and took in a deep breath. So he remembered she liked mint tea with honey.
What did that mean except that he had a good memory? They'd been married for
two years. Surely he remembered things about her likes and dislikes. After all,
didn't she remember plenty about him?

She stripped off her
clothes, taking in the sumptuous bathroom, the marble floor, the thick fluffy
towels and the array of luxury toiletries, compliments of the hotel.

She filled the tub and
put in some fragrant bath oil. Why take a shower when she could have a
leisurely bath? It would relax her; it always did.

Except this time. Her
head was too full of fearful questions and nervous apprehension. Would her
father really be all right? What about her being in this room tonight? She felt
like a nervous wreck thinking about being alone with Blake.

Blake who was still
the same, and yet so different. He was still the same utterly attractive man
she had fallen in love with. He was also harder and colder. And the shine of
laughter in his eyes was no longer there.

A knock came on the
bathroom door and startled her. "Your tea is here. You want it in
there?"

Her pulse leapt.
"No, thanks. I'll be out in a minute."

She let the tub drain,
turned on the shower and shampooed her hair and rinsed off. It was good to feel
clean again. The huge towel felt soft and luxurious. She wrapped another towel
around her wet hair and pulled on one of the two hotel robes behind the door.
Bundling up her clothes, she went back into the bedroom.

"Do you think we
can get these washed by tomorrow morning?" she asked.

He glanced up from his
newspaper. "Sure." He reached for the phone. "Anything else you
need? A toothbrush?"

She nodded.
"Please." She sat down at the table and poured the tea from a small
pot and stirred in some honey while Blake was on the phone. Her body felt
tense, her nerves frayed. She sipped the hot tea, surveying the dishes on the
table, as yet covered and untouched. He had waited for her before eating.
Always the gentleman.

She moaned inwardly.
Oh, God, she didn't want to think about the past, about what had been.

He put the phone down
and sat across from her at the table and took the covers off the plates,
exposing an Oriental noodle dish with huge shrimp and a salad.

"It looks
good," she said for something to say.

"You can have
some if you like."

"No,
thanks." She sipped the fragrant tea. "You remembered I like mint
tea," she heard herself say.

His eyes met hers
across the table. "Of course I do, Nicky," he said, his mouth
twisting in an odd little smile. "Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged uneasily.
"I don't know, I just..." Her voice faltered. "I just didn't
think it would be something you'd remember."

"I remember a
lot. More than is comfortable." He picked up fork and glanced down at his
food.

Her heart contracted.
She remembered, too, and it certainly wasn't comfortable. She stared into her
cup, wondering about the sleeping arrangements, what he had in mind. There was
only the one bed, king-size as it might be. They could easily sleep in it
together and never know the other one was in it.

Sure, sure. She closed
her eyes and swallowed more tea. She could suggest she sleep on the floor, or
in one of the chairs. He wouldn't let her. She knew him well enough. There was
something terribly unreal about this situation.

"You look
tired," he said, surveying her face.

"I am. I was on
my feet practically all day."

"Tell me about
your article."

So she did, feeling
relieved to have her thoughts distracted. "Have you ever eaten
snake?" she asked, remembering seeing the creatures for sale in the market
that morning—a lifetime ago.

"Tastes like chicken.
Quite good."

She grimaced.
"It's all in my head, I know, but I'm not ready for that adventure."

Blake had finished his
food and leaned back in his chair, only to come to his feet again when a knock
came on the door. A smiling maid stated she had come to pick up the laundry.
She had barely left when another one delivered a toothbrush.

As he once more closed
and locked the door, Blake tossed Nicky the toothbrush. "If you want to go
to sleep, go ahead. Would it bother you if I watched the news on TV for a
while? I'll turn it low."

"No, of course
not." It was, after all, his room. "Where do you want me to
sleep?" she asked.

He raised a dark brow.
"In the bed, of course."

"And you?"

"In the bed, too.
Where else? Plenty of space. I'm sure we can manage. We have done this before,
remember?"

Her heart lurched.
"That was quite a while ago." She sounded nervous. "And we were
married."

He gave her an
impenetrable look. "Don't stand there like a frightened virgin, for God's
sake. Don't worry, I won't force myself on you. I never have and I won't
now."

Heat washed over her—a
rush of anger, of memories, of embarrassment. No, he had never forced himself
on her. All he had to do was smile his special smile, touch her softly, kiss
her—anything at all and she was instantly aflame. Oh, God, she did not know if
she would survive the night with him next to her in bed. She forced herself to
be calm.

"Good," she
said tightly. "I'll dry my hair and brush my teeth."

"There's
toothpaste in my toiletry kit, and dental floss. Help yourself." So cool,
so calm.

"Thank you."
She swung around and went into the bathroom, feeling her legs trembling. She
saw herself in the mirror, flushed, her eyes bright. A nervous virgin. She was
pathetic!

She gritted her teeth,
dragged the towel from her head and reached for the dryer mounted to the wall.
She switched it on full, using her fingers to comb through her hair and lift it
to dry it, the noise of the dryer an odd comfort. Her chest felt tight and for
a terrible moment she was afraid she might break out in tears for a reason she
couldn't even fathom. Concentrating on the whining noise of the hair-dryer, she
managed to control herself and the moment passed.

Her hair was very
short and naturally curly and it didn't take long to dry. She took the toothbrush
from its box and looked around to locate Blake's black leather toiletry kit,
the same functional model he'd had years ago, but probably a newer version. A
hairbrush lay beside it. Hesitating, she picked it up and used it to give her
hair a quick going over now that it was dry.

The toiletry kit stood
open and she took out the toothpaste and brushed her teeth, then searched for
the small box of floss. It seemed to be an oddly intimate thing to be going
through his kit, but he'd told her to do it. There was nothing but the usual
stuff inside—a razor, a can of shaving foam, antiperspirant, aspirin, some
first aid cream, his toothbrush and the dental floss. She took it out, cut off
a piece and tossed the box back into the kit.

Back in the room she
found Blake watching CNN, his shoes and socks off, bare feet propped up on the
bed. Even his feet still looked familiar. She'd be able to pick them out of a
thousand other pairs.

She stood in front of
the bed, hesitating. Now, she could casually take off the bathrobe and slide
between the sheets, but it was more than she was prepared to do with him having
a front row seat for the show. When they'd been married she'd never worn
anything to bed, but they were no longer married and if she was going to sleep
in the same bed with him she was damn well going to wear something.

"Do you have
something I can sleep in?" she asked. "A T-shirt?"

He gazed at her for a
moment, as if her simple request needed digesting. Then he gestured at the
dresser. "Second drawer on the right. The blue one is good and long."