sorely tempted to give her what she wanted, until a swift glance at his watch reminded him that his car would be waiting downstairs.
‘Later,’ he promised, reluctantly drawing away from her.
After he’d gone, Keeley lay back against the pillows, blinking back the stupid tears which had sprung to her eyes. What was her problem—and why was she feeling so dissatisfied of late? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known what she’d been getting herself into when she’d married Ariston. She’d known he was a workaholic and he’d never promised her his heart. He’d been honest from the start—some might say brutally so—by telling her he could never love her. And she had accepted that. He was giving as much of himself as he was capable of giving—that was what she told herself over and over. She closed her eyes and sighed. It wasn’t his fault if her feelings for him were changing...if suddenly she found herself wanting more than he was prepared to give. And allowing those feelings to accelerate was fruitless; she told herself that too. She would be setting herself up for disappointment if she kept on yearning for what she could never have, instead of just making the most of what she did have.
So she ate the delicious breakfast prepared by Ariston’s cook and told his driver that she didn’t need him that day. She thought the chauffeur seemed almost disappointed to be dismissed and, not for the first time, she wondered if Ariston had asked him to keep an eye on her. No. She picked up her handbag and checked she had her mobile phone. She mustn’t start thinking that way. That really was being paranoid.
She thought about going to look at the autumn leaves in Hyde Park, but something made her take the train to New Malden instead. Was it nostalgia which made her want to go back to where she used to live? To stare at the world she’d left behind and try to remember the person she had been before Ariston had blazed into her life and changed it beyond recognition? She found herself walking down familiar streets until at last she reached her old bedsit, and as she stood and looked up at the window she wondered if she was imagining the surreptitious glances of the passers-by. Did she look out of place with her quietly expensive clothes and extortionately priced handbag as she chased the ghosts of her past?
She ate lunch in a sandwich bar and spent the afternoon at the hairdresser’s before going home to get ready for dinner, but she was unable to shake off her air of heaviness as the housekeeper let her in. She didn’t know what she’d expected from marriage to Ariston, but it certainly hadn’t been this increasing sense of isolation. She’d known he was tricky and distant and demanding, but she’d...well, she’d hoped.
Had she thought that living together and having amazing sex might bring them closer together? That what had started out as a marriage of convenience might become, if not the real thing, then something which bore echoes of it? Of course she had, because that was the way women were programmed to think. They wanted closeness and companionship—especially if they were going to have a baby. She knew she’d broken down some invisible barrier after he’d told her about the heartbreak of his childhood and she’d prayed that might signal a new openness. After the passion of their wedding night, she’d waited for that openness to happen. And then she’d waited some more.
And now?
Careful not to muss her hair, she pulled a silky black evening dress over her head. Now she was being forced to accept the harsh reality of being married to someone who barely seemed to notice her, unless she was naked. A man who left early each morning and returned in time for dinner. Who slotted in time with her as if she was just another appointment in his diary. Yes, he accompanied her to all her doctor’s appointments and murmured all the right things when they saw their baby son high-kicking his way across the screen. And very occasionally they drove out to the countryside or watched a film together—small steps which made her hope that non-sexual intimacy might be on the cards. But every time her hopes were dashed as those steel shutters came crashing down and he pushed her away—Mr Enigmatic who was never going to make the mistake of confiding in her again.
Ariston arrived home in a rush and went straight to the shower, emerging from his dressing room looking a vision of alpha virility, in a dark dinner suit which matched the raven thickness of his hair. He walked over to the dressing table where she sat and began to massage her shoulders—bare except for the spaghetti straps of her black dress. Instantly she felt the predictable shimmerings of desire and her nipples hardened.
‘Ariston,’ she said huskily as his fingers dipped from her shoulder to caress her satin-covered ribcage.
‘Ariston, what? I’m only making up for what I didn’t have time for this morning. And how can I prevent myself from touching you when you look so damned beautiful?’
She clipped on an opal earring. ‘I don’t feel particularly beautiful.’
‘Well, take it from me, you are. In fact, I’m tempted to carry you over to that bed right now to demonstrate how much you turn me on. Would you like that, Keeley?’
Did the leaves fall from the trees in autumn? Of course she would like it. But using sex as their only form of communication was starting to feel dangerous. The contrast between his physical passion and mental distance was disconcerting and...unsettling. Each time he made love to her it felt as if he were chipping away a little piece of her, and wasn’t she worried that soon there would be nothing of the real Keeley left? That she would become nothing but an empty shell of a woman? She fixed the second earring in place. ‘We don’t have time.’
‘Then let’s make time.’
‘No,’ she said firmly, rising to her feet in shoes which probably weren’t the most sensible choice for a pregnant woman, but this was the first time she’d met Ariston’s colleagues and, naturally, she wanted to impress. ‘I don’t want to arrive with my cheeks all flushed and my hair all mussed, not when I’ve spent all afternoon at the hairdresser’s.’
‘Then perhaps you should skip the hairdresser’s next time,’ he commented drily as he glanced at the elaborate confection of curls piled high on her head. ‘If it puts you in such a bad mood.’
It was one of those stupid little rows which spiralled up out of nowhere and Keeley knew she ought to dispel the atmosphere which was still with them when they got into their car. She wasn’t going to improve matters by sulking, was she? Laying her carefully manicured hand on his knee, she felt the hard muscle flex beneath her fingers.
‘I’m sorry I was grumpy.’
He turned towards her, the passing street lights flickering like gold over his rugged features. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said smoothly. ‘It’s probably just your hormones.’
She wanted to scream that not everything involved her wretched hormones—but she was aware that such a reaction would make a mockery of her words. She stared down at her baby bump instead, before lifting her gaze to his. Why not tell him about what else had been bugging her lately—a practical issue they could address and which might improve the quality of their lives? ‘Ariston.’
‘Keeley?’
She hesitated. ‘Do we have to have quite so many staff?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not quite sure what you mean.’
She shrugged a little awkwardly and began to fiddle with her jewelled handbag. ‘Well, we have a housekeeper, a cleaner, a cook, a driver and a secretary—as well as that man who comes once a week to water all the plants on the terrace.’
‘And? It’s a big apartment. They all have their necessary roles in my life.’
She didn’t correct
