Marriage Under Suspicion (14 page)

For a moment, startled, she considered resistance, but as his tantalising, deliciously

prolonged exploration of her body continued it was, she realised breathlessly, much

easier and infinitely more enjoyable to let him have his way. It was even becoming—nec-

essary...

And not, she discovered with real shock, too soon at all.

Her whole body seemed to sigh with joy as he entered her. He moved inside her

smoothly, fluidly, drawing her into his rhythm, then increasing it by subtle degrees,

thrusting deeper and deeper still.

Her skin slicked with sweat, Kate wound her arms round his shoulders, locked her legs

round his waist, holding him within her, driving herself and him to some passionate point

of no return.

Every sense, every nerve-ending was focused and intense. Their mouths were fierce,

almost feral in their demand, each of the other. No quarter was being asked, or given.

This time, as their control fragmented, the spasms which convulsed her body seemed on

the point of tearing her apart. She heard Ryan cry out, his voice breaking on her name.

They lay for a long time in each other's arms without speaking, her head pillowed on his

chest, his lips against her hair.

'Are you cold?'

She'd only shivered slightly, but he'd noticed.

'A little bit.' She sat up, feeling oddly shy. 'And I feel silly wearing these stockings and

nothing else. As if I was a centrefold in a magazine.'

Ryan grinned lazily. 'You look amazing. My own private fantasy.'

She reached for her dress, slid her arms into the sleeves. 'We've never done this before.

Made love down here, that is.'

'Then we should have done.' Ryan pushed aside her skirt to drop a last swift kiss on the

pale skin above her stocking-top. 'At least this bloody rug's justified its existence at last.'

He got to his feet in one lithe movement, supremely unselfconscious about his own

nakedness, and pulled her up to face him. 'Can you make it up the stairs, or do you want

to be carried?'

'Have you got the strength?' Kate pantomimed surprise.

His answering smile was wolfish. 'Just try me.'

'I thought I already had.'

'The night's still young.'

'That,' she said, 'is a boast I might ask you to make good.'

'And the pleasure,' he said, 'will quite definitely not be all mine.'

He put his arm round her waist, and walked with her up to their bedroom. Kate's body

was glowing with fulfilment, but, more importantly, deep within her was a tiny

blossoming of something that could be hope-—or even happiness.

She thought with new confidence, Everything will be all right now. It has to be...

Kate awoke slowly, stretching, boneless as a cat, as she dreamily absorbed the feeling of

total well-being that suffused her.

Eyes closed against the intrusive sunlight filtering into the bedroom, she let her mind drift

back over the events of the previous night, her mouth curving in gleeful reminiscence.

Making love with Ryan had always been good, but lately—maybe—it had become a little

cozy and domestic. Just a bit married. But last night had changed all that—had opened up

a whole new dimension, she admitted, burrowing deeper into the mattress with a small

sensuous wriggle.

They might have been strangers meeting for the first time, searching out each other's

most intimate secrets with eager, untiring hunger. Using their mutual pleasure to lift each

other to undreamed-of heights.

At times, her capacity to incite as well as respond had almost frightened her. There had

been a wildness in Ryan that was close to darkness, and some hidden, unguessed side of

her had surged to meet him.

As her hand was reaching across the bed to encounter him now. Except...

'

Kate's eyes snapped open, and she sat up staring at the empty space in the bed beside her.

Except that Ryan wasn't there. And her disappointment was almost absurd.

She had a clear memory of his arms around her and his lips against her hair as she'd

finally fallen asleep. Surely, this of all mornings, she had the right to expect to find him

close to her when she woke. Especially considering the state of total exhaustion they'd

both been reduced to, she remembered with a small delicious shiver. She'd have thought

he would have slept until noon.

And—if he wasn't here—where was he?

For a moment, she was very still, listening for clues—unable to detect the reassurance of

the shower running in the bathroom. She gave Ryan's rumpled pillow an uneasy look,

wondering if she could have imagined the whole glorious, sensual experience.

Then she heard unmistakable sounds of movement from the floor below, and relaxed.

Of course, he was getting ready for his trip. After all, she'd heard him speaking to the

organiser, arranging to be in Yorkshire by lunchtime. Naturally, he'd had to get up early,

no matter what his energy level.

Her lips quirked as she threw back the covers. And she too would have to move with the

speed of light if she was going with him. As she fully intended to do.- She had holiday

due, after all, and Louie could hold the fort for a few days. Maybe it would even help

keep her mind off her problems.

Whatever, there's no way I'm letting Ryan out of my sight, she thought mischievously.

Not any more.

She noticed, cheeks warming slightly, that she was still wearing those stockings.

Rather too decadent for the cold light of day, and laddered beyond redemption, she

decided, slipping them off before she reached for her robe.

As she reached the foot of the stairs, she stood, looking about her, feeling oddly shy.

Wanting Ryan to come to her—to hold her. To teach her by the caress of his mouth on

hers that last night had been no dream, but heated, golden reality.

His leather travel bag was waiting, already strapped up, in the middle of the floor. And

the door to his study was standing ajar.

Kate trod quietly over, and peeped in. Ryan was at his desk, putting files into his

briefcase. As the door creaked slightly, he turned, brows raised, and looked at her.

'Did I disturb you? I'm sorry. I meant to let you have your sleep.'

His voice was brisk, almost impersonal, Kate thought, jolted. It was certainly not the

greeting she'd anticipated.

She summoned a smile. Infused warmth, huskiness into her voice. 'Well, my plan was

rather different.' She glanced at her watch. 'How long can you give me to warn Louie, and

throw a few things in a bag?'

There was a pause as Ryan fastened his briefcase. He said evenly, 'Why should you want

to do that?'

'Because I've decided to come with you—to your convention.' She laughed, pushing her

hair back from her face. 'I don't know whether Yorkshire would have been my ideal

choice for a second honeymoon, but I'll make the most of whatever's available.'

She paused, vainly searching his face for overt signs of delight. 'Is something wrong?

Aren't your pleased I want to be with you?'

'I'm delighted.' His tone was dry. 'Unfortunately, it's not going to be possible.' He sent her

a swift smile that barely curved his mouth. 'Another time, perhaps.'

It was a beautiful sunlit morning, but Kate found she was hugging her arms round her

body for warmth.

She said slowly, 'If I didn't know better, I'd say I was getting the brush-off.'

'Not at all. We both have separate careers. Sometimes they take us in different directions.'

Ryan shrugged. 'This is one of those times, that's all.'

'You seem,' she said, 'to be taking this very much in your stride.'

'It's certainly no big deal,' he retorted, slotting his laptop computer into its carrying case.

'You've already made it clear how busy you are at work. Can you afford to leave the

goldmine untended? Anyway, you'd be bored to extinction,' he added dismissively. 'As

well as the lectures and seminars, I've been asked to take a couple of workshop sessions

for aspiring writers.' He slanted an edged smile at her. 'And we both know that you're not

too keen on them.'

'Does it still rankle?' Kate drew a deep breath. 'The fact that I didn't want you to throw up

your City job?'

'A little more faith would have been appreciated.'

'But I did believe in you,' she protested. 'I believed in your writing.'

'But not in my ability to succeed at it.' His voice was ironic. 'You'd have preferred it to

remain a nice little hobby, quite outside the day job. Something to keep me at home in the

evenings.'

She winced. 'I was frightened,' she said defensively. And I still am now but it's about

something completely different. 'I've never pretended otherwise,' she went on quickly. 'It

seemed such a risk.'

'I took them every day at the office.' His voice was harsh. 'Quite desperate risks. With the

kind of money you can't even allow yourself to think about. But because you didn't know

about them they didn't worry you.'

She said incredulously, 'And this—this is why you don't want me to go with you to

Yorkshire?'

'No,' he said. 'I thought we agreed we both needed some space.'

'If that's the case,' Kate said, 'then, may I ask, what was last night all about?'

'I thought—sex,' he said. 'Satisfying a mutual need. Or is it a trick question?'

Was that what he thought? her stunned brain demanded. Could he really dismiss all that

ravishment and delight—the giving and taking of passionate love—as the mere

gratification of an appetite? Was that all that it had meant to him? All that she meant to

him—something to be used—then discarded the following morning as an irrelevance?

Pain twisted like a knife inside her.

Her voice shook. 'You—you bastard. How dared you treat me like that? As if I was some

kind of tart.'

'Because I thought you were on offer. The dress— the underwear seemed to be sending

out unmistakable signals.' His mouth twisted cynically as he surveyed her. 'I hope I didn't

misread them. God forbid I should do anything politically incorrect.'

She lifted her chin, glaring at him. 'Get out of here,' she said unsteadily. 'Go to bloody

Yorkshire— and stay there. Take all the space you want. And I don't care if you never

come back.'

'How fickle of you, darling,' Ryan drawled. 'Only a moment ago you were talking of

second honeymoons.'

'That,' she said, 'was when I thought we might still have a marriage. Not a sick joke.'

She turned and went out of the room, and up the stairs, trying not to stumble on the hem

of her robe. She reached the bed, and sat down on its edge, aware that her legs probably

wouldn't support her any more.

Listening for the sound of Ryan following her. Coming to make his peace. Their peace.

Wanting to bury her face in his shoulder and tell him that she didn't mean it.

To reach, mentally, the kind of attunement that they'd experienced physically the night

before.

Or had she simply been fooling herself about that? she wondered wearily. Men, after all,

viewed these things so differently. So basically. A need to be fulfilled, nothing more.

Maybe she'd imagined the spiritual and emotional dimension involved.

Even so, she couldn't let him leave like this. Pride didn't matter. She would have to make

the first conciliatory move. Call to him. Ask something neutral— like when the

convention was due to end...

Anything—no matter how trivial—that would bring him to her side. That would give her

a chance to make amends.

And to persuade him to take her with him. To convince him that they needed to talk.

Communication, she thought, instead of the chill silence of separation.

She got slowly to her feet, tightening the sash of her robe, steeling herself.

And heard, as she did so, the quiet, inexorable sound of the flat door closing.

'Ryan.' Her voice sounded frantic, echoing back from the high roof space. She ran down

the stairs, praying that it was a mistake. That he hadn't left, after all.

But the flat was empty, and Ryan was gone.

And for the first time, she realised numbly, she had no guarantee that he was ever coming

back.

It was the longest day she'd ever spent in her life. She used up a lot of it just huddled in

the corner of the sofa, staring dry-eyed into space, or wandering into the kitchen to make

yet another cup of coffee which the tightness in her throat wouldn't allow her to swallow.

She'd heard the phrase 'being in limbo' many times, but now she was discovering what it

meant.

She needed someone to talk to. Someone to tell her that everything would be all right.

Instant reassurance.

She rang Louie, but only got her answering machine.

She even telephoned Ryan's mother. If she said she was alone, maybe Mrs Lassiter would

ask her over there, she thought hopefully.

She wanted to sit in Ryan's old home, with his family round her. She needed to absorb