him, but it sure as hell dents his pride when he skulks off like a drowned rat. Any day now and his male ego will acknowledge he can’t take any more of this.’
And Taylor would know all about male ego. Marsha was about to voice the thought when a blackbird sailed by their heads in what looked suspiciously like a victory dance. Taylor called after it, ‘Right on, buddy! He doesn’t stand a chance.’
This was the man who had started and built up a multi-million-pound business before he was thirty. Marsha felt she knew what Alice had felt like in Wonderland.
‘Listen.’ As she went to speak Taylor moved his head on one side, listening intently.
‘What?’ she whispered. ‘Is the cat back?’
‘No.’ He grinned at her, slinging the gun over his shoulder as he turned towards the house. ‘Hannah’s calling us for dinner.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE dinner was wonderful, but Marsha had known it would be. Hannah was an excellent cook. As course followed delicious course, accompanied by a wine which was truly superb, Marsha was aware that Taylor had set himself out to be the perfect dinner companion.
He talked of inconsequential things, his manner easy, but Marsha kept reminding herself she wasn’t fooled by his lazy air and lack of aggression. This was Taylor, and she forgot it at her peril. She had lived with this man for eighteen months, and known him for nearly nine months before that, and one thing that time had taught her was that he was single-minded and unapologetically ruthless when he wanted something. And right now that was her.
The dining table had been intimately set for two, complete with candles and roses and scented napkins. In spite of her bulk, Hannah glided in and out with each course, her face beaming whenever Marsha glanced at her but otherwise uncharacteristically silent.
A cold-blooded seduction scene, Marsha told herself, and Taylor had used his charm to obtain Hannah’s assistance. What had he told the housekeeper about their break-up? Certainly not the truth; she would bet her life on it.
It was after dessert—a velvety, luxurious, smooth chocolate terrine topped with fresh cream and strawberries—that Marsha decided enough was enough. She had just related an amusing incident which had happened that day at work and he had laughed, the hard angles of his face breaking up into attractive curves. The danger signals had gone off big-time.
What was she doing? she asked herself furiously. How on earth had she managed to get herself into this ridiculous position? Taylor had re-entered her life with all the finesse and thoughtfulness of a charging bull elephant, and she had let him get away with bullying her into having dinner with him. And in their marital home at that! She needed her head looking at.
‘What’s the matter?’
She looked up to meet Taylor’s unreadable eyes, trying to disguise the sudden panic in hers by keeping her face deadpan. ‘I’m sorry?’ she asked coolly, through her whirling dismay.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I suspect we’re suddenly back to square one.’ The dark brows had drawn together. ‘Why?’
Did he have any idea how powerfully attractive he was? Marsha moistened dry lips.
But of course he did, she answered silently in the next moment. Born in a high-rise slum to a mother who drank and a father who was rarely around, Taylor had used his devastating looks, charm and rapier-sharp intelligence from an early age.
He had left home at fifteen, started his own sound equipment business at eighteen, with money he had begged and borrowed, and at twenty had been in a position to give Susan—who was four years younger than him—a home, after their mother had died of a drink-related problem and their father had taken himself off for good.
At the tender age of twenty-three he’d had his first million under his belt and more had followed. He was a self-made man, now thirty-five years of age, with a name which was both respected and feared for the ruthlessness it embodied.
But he had never been ruthless with her. The thought came from nowhere, and she countered the weakening effect it had on her resolve. Not outwardly anyway, but then secret affairs were the worst sort of ruthlessness. Susan had been sure there had been others before Tanya, but even if there hadn’t, one infidelity was one too many.
‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about,’ she said crisply. ‘We’re not “back” anywhere. We’ve never moved in the first place. You asked me to dinner because—’ She stopped abruptly. Why exactly had he asked her?
‘Because I wanted to be with you?’ he suggested smoothly.
‘Because you wanted us to part in a civilised way.’ She remembered civilised had been in there somewhere.
‘Making it up as you go along.’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach the magnificent tawny eyes. ‘Nothing changes, I see.’
She glared at him. If anyone in this room suffered from a severe aversion to the truth, it wasn’t her. ‘Now, look here—’
‘No, you look, my sweet, headstrong, perverse wife.’ He had risen with one of the swift animal-like movements characteristic of him, and before she could react he had drawn her to her feet, both hands gripping her elbows as he held her in front of him. ‘I intend to talk this through.’
‘I don’t want to talk,’ she protested, angry at the way his nearness was affecting her equilibrium. ‘There’s nothing to say and no need to talk.’
‘Maybe you’re right at that.’ His eyes had locked on hers, drawing her into the glowing amber as he filled her vision. ‘Action speaks louder than words, isn’t that what they say?’
She had arched back, but in one expert movement he had drawn her into him, his mouth coming down quickly on hers.
She struggled, but it was like beating herself against solid stone as he held her with the force of his body, his mouth plundering hers. She knew she was fighting herself as much as Taylor—the second his lips had touched hers she wanted him with a passion which frightened her more than anything else could have done. This was the man who had betrayed her, broken her heart and then sailed back into her life as though he had every right to be there. She couldn’t, she mustn’t, give in to him.
But the desire was as it had always been from the first moment she had met him—clean and hot and senseless. He was the master of the senses, her senses, whether she liked it or not, she thought desperately. He always had been.
The kiss was deep and potent, the taste and smell of him spinning in her head as she fought for control of the need which was raging through her flesh. It had been so long since she had been in his arms like this, and desire was a fire inside her which was spreading however she tried to dampen it down.
His mouth was urgent and hungry, but not cruel. Nevertheless, as she managed to jerk her head away for an instant, she gasped, ‘You’re hurting me. Let me go.’
Even as his mouth claimed hers again she felt him tense and knew her words had registered. For a moment he continued to hold her, so she could feel every inch of his powerful body, and then, with a low groan, he wrenched his mouth from hers. He was breathing hard, the trembling she’d felt in his body mirrored in hers. She was conscious of his chest rising and falling under the fine linen shirt as he fought for control for
