was ironic that, if James ever saw the canvas she’d been working on since her miscarriage, he would sweep her back to the doctor who’d diagnosed her with depression a few days after her miscarriage. No doubt he’d give her another prescription of anti-depressants, along with some more sleeping tablets.
As if pills could fix her problem!
Nothing could fix her problem but herself. Deep down, Megan had always known that. She’d finally thrown all the pills away a few weeks ago and hadn’t felt any worse. In fact, surprisingly, she’d begun to feel a bit better.
Deciding to leave the house and go to Hugh’s wedding was still a huge step for her, but she made it.
So here she was, dressed in the pale pink suit which had been her own going-away outfit, and which was now a size too large. She’d had to move the button on the waistband over to make sure the skirt stayed put. The jacket was a bit loose, but that was all right. It had once been somewhat snug. Her long dark hair was caught up in a French roll. She hadn’t been to a hairdresser in ages and this was the only sophisticated style which she could manage herself. Her make-up had taken her ages: foundation, lipstick and blusher to counter the pallor of her skin and lots of eye make-up, using toning shades of eyeshadow to complement her brown eyes and heaps of mascara. No eyeliner, however. She had tried it but her hands had trembled and she’d poked herself in the eye, making it water, so she gave up on that idea.
James had said she looked lovely when he’d first seen her today.
Inside, she’d shrunk from his compliment, in much the same way that she shrank from him whenever he tried to show affection to her. This time, however, she’d managed a small smile and a polite thank-you. Then, when he’d taken her hand as they walked up the gangway onto the yacht, she hadn’t snatched it away. She’d left it there.
That had been a mistake, Megan now realised as she stared down at where James still had her hand clasped firmly within his. Hand-holding might not be all that intimate an activity, but it was closer than anything Megan had allowed since her miscarriage.
Not once since she’d come home from hospital had Megan let James make love to her. Frankly, the idea of going to bed with him made her feel ill. Whenever he tried to take her into his arms she’d pull away with a sharp ‘no!’, after which she would usually make some pathetic excuse, saying that she was sorry, that she just couldn’t. Not yet.
He’d been amazingly patient with her, but she wasn’t a complete fool. She’d glimpsed the frustration on his face at times, had seen it increasing over the last month. He’d started working longer and longer hours, probably so that he didn’t have to be home with a wife who rejected him all the time. And she’d started spending more and more time down in her studio, painting. Sometimes she even slept down there.
Her letting James hold her hand might not seem like a big deal, but Megan could see that her husband was looking pretty pleased with himself just now. Pleased with her, too. He was sure to try to make love to her again tonight and he would be expecting her not to reject him this time.
The music started up—the traditional Bridal March—James’s fingers tightening around Megan’s as he pulled her to her feet. Their eyes met briefly, Megan startled by the sudden lurching of her stomach. She quickly looked away before he could see the shock in her face.
That couldn’t have been a spark of desire she’d just experienced, could it?
How perverse if it was. Wickedly perverse.
She didn’t want to want him. Ever again.
But if Megan was brutally honest with herself, this was what she’d been fearing all along, that, if she didn’t leave James, one day he would succeed in seducing her again. That was why she’d avoided all physical contact. And why she’d gone on the Pill. Because she’d known, deep down, that she was still vulnerable to her husband’s prowess in the bedroom.
Sex with James had far surpassed anything she’d ever dreamt about. Had from the word go, despite her virginity, and she’d simply thought him wonderful.
She’d thought him even more wonderful on their honeymoon. She’d been suffering a slight case of morning sickness during their two weeks in Hawaii and he couldn’t have been more considerate.
But when James had been away on business during the weeks leading up to their wedding, Megan had experienced a taste of what frustration was like. Memories of his expert lovemaking had tormented her every night during his absence, and she’d lain awake for hours as she’d relived every exciting moment.
By the time their wedding night had come around, she’d wanted him like crazy. She’d wallowed in their seemingly mutual passion that night, and had been upset when her nausea each morning had interrupted their lovemaking. She’d been looking forward to spending long hours every day in his arms. As it was, James had still made love to her each evening, and occasionally in the middle of the night as well, before her morning nausea kicked in.
By the time they’d returned from their honeymoon, Megan had become used to being made love to at least once a day. When James went back to work, however, their sex life had lessened somewhat. Megan had thought this was because James was tired. As the owner of one of Sydney’s most successful advertising agencies, he worked very hard. She realised now that he was probably bored with her. His mission had been accomplished, after all: she had been carrying his child and was blindly besotted with him.
She supposed it was possible that he thought she wouldn’t want him as much, once she became pregnant. Just the opposite was the case, however. She’d wanted James more than ever.
There’d been a few times when Megan was so frustrated that she thought of initiating things herself. Once, when they’d been swimming in the pool together on a hot summer night. Another time, when they’d been getting ready to go out on New Year’s Eve. James had been in the shower, whistling, and she’d suddenly been tempted to strip off and join him. She’d experienced a strong urge to do some of the things to him that she’d read about in books: bold, sexy things, with her hands and her mouth.
But, in the end, she hadn’t had the confidence.
Still, her desire for her husband, Megan now understood, had always been far greater than his desire for her. Which was only natural; she loved him.
She still loved him, despite everything. Loved him and, to her shock and shame today, still wanted him.
Where, in heaven’s name, was her pride?
Not much in evidence at that moment, her heartbeat quickening when he turned to her and smiled one of those supersexy smiles which had used to turn her to mush.
In desperation, she managed to extricate her hand with the excuse that she always cried at weddings and needed to get a tissue from her handbag.
‘I have to admit,’ James said as she rifled through her handbag, ‘that I never thought this day would come. Hugh always vowed and declared that he would never get married.’
Megan recalled what she’d overheard Hugh saying at the hospital; that marriage should be the result of true love, and nothing else.
‘Still, I have a feeling he’ll be more successful at marriage than his father,’ James whispered to her. ‘Not that that’d be hard. I’ve lost count of how many wives Dickie Parkinson has had, each one younger than the last. Hugh’s chosen very well, I think. Kathryn’s
