A Passionate Affair. Elizabeth Power

smaller one turban-style round her wet hair, before padding across and opening the door.

      ‘Hi.’ Taylor smiled at her. ‘I was beginning to think you’d drowned in there.’

      ‘It was nice to have a bath for a change.’ And at his raised eyebrows she explained, ‘I only have a shower at home.’

      There was a quick, almost imperceptible change in his expression. ‘This is your home.’

      Marsha brushed past him, ignoring the swift reaction of her body to his nearness. She paused in the middle of the bedroom, turning to face him as she said, ‘Are my clothes ready now?’

      ‘No.’ He offered no more explanation before he said, ‘But, like I said earlier, you have a wardrobe full of things in our room. Come and select what you want to wear.’

      She stiffened. It was bad enough being in her old home in one of the guest rooms; she didn’t know how she would handle entering the room where they had enjoyed so many hours of love and tenderness and passion. But she couldn’t let him see that. He would regard it as weakness and play on it accordingly. ‘Fine.’ She raised her chin and aimed a level stare.

      Taylor’s mouth twitched. ‘Personally, I think you look great in what you’re wearing now,’ he said easily, his eyes going to her head. ‘Sort of… eastern, harem-like.’

      Marsha ground her teeth at the implication. No doubt he would just love to have his own little bevy of beauties dancing at his beck and call, but she was blowed if she’d be one of them. ‘I hardly think a handtowel wrapped round one’s head deserves such a comment,’ she said coolly.

      ‘Perhaps not.’ He tilted his head, and now the amusement crept into his eyes. ‘But a man can dream, can’t he?’

      She had no intention of continuing down this path, and she wished she had taken the time to put the towelling robe back on when he had knocked. It was infinitely more reassuring than a towel. Battling a number of emotions, none of which were clear, she said, ‘My clothes?’

      ‘Of course.’ He turned, opening the bedroom door and then bowing slightly. ‘When you’re ready, ma’am.’

      Even though she had prepared herself for the moment when Taylor opened the door to their bedroom, Marsha felt something akin to an electric shock travel down each nerve-end as she entered the big spacious room. The windows had been flung wide open, and the scent of lavender from the grounds below was sweet. Her eyes were drawn to the huge bed which dominated the cream and coffee-coloured room, but she forced herself to remain blank-faced as she marched across to her walk-in wardrobe.

      Everything was just as she had left it, she noticed, down to the last pair of shoes on the racks below her clothes—and the perfume she had worn during her marriage—a madly expensive extravagance first bought on honeymoon—still lingered in the air.

      She swallowed hard, keeping her back to the room as she selected a light pair of trousers and a short-sleeved top, along with a bra and pair of panties. There were several pairs of sandals at one end of the wardrobe, and she chose a low-heeled style suitable for a working day. She still intended to go into work that afternoon, but she wasn’t about to announce it again until she was ready to leave.

      ‘Thank you.’ After closing the wardrobe door she nodded at Taylor, who was leaning against the far wall, strong muscled arms crossed over his chest and a faintly brooding expression on his face. ‘I’ll see you downstairs, shall I?’

      ‘What do you feel? Coming in here again, I mean.’

      ‘What?’ He had taken her completely by surprise. Her eyes flickered with momentary panic, quickly controlled. She shrugged carefully. ‘It’s a beautiful room,’ she said steadily.

      ‘That’s not what I asked,’ he countered coolly.

      ‘How do you think I feel?’ She found herself glaring at him now and warned herself to tread warily. No show of emotion, no challenges. ‘A little sad, I guess,’ she added quickly.

      ‘A little sad?’ Something flashed in his eyes at her words. ‘A little sad as in having your guts torn out by their roots, or the sort of feeling you would have when watching a weepy movie?’

      ‘Taylor, I don’t want to do this.’

      ‘Tough.’ He took a step nearer and instinctively she brought the clothes up to her chest. ‘We’ve done it your way all through this and where have we got?’ His eyes locked on hers, anchoring her to the spot. ‘I want to know what you are thinking for once, damn it. All through our marriage—right from when we met, in fact—I’ve had to pull what you’re thinking out of you like a dentist extracting a tooth. I’m sick of it.’

      She stared at him, her eyes hot as her temper rose. ‘I didn’t ask you to bring me here,’ she shot at him furiously, ‘and if you’re so sick of me, wouldn’t it be best for both of us if I left right now?’

      ‘As always, you don’t hear what I’m saying.’ He reached her in one fluid movement, gripping her shoulders as he said, ‘I’m sick of the lack of communication, not you. There’s a difference there, if you’d open your eyes to see it. I never wanted a clinging vine who couldn’t say boo to a goose and lived in my shadow, but you’re something else. It’s like there’s an invisible wall round you, and however high I climb I never get to the top. You’ve never really let me in, have you? Not in all the months we were together did I ever feel I’d breached the guard you keep round the real you.’

      ‘And that’s why you slept with Tanya?’ she flung at him bitterly. ‘Because I didn’t fall at your feet and worship you like all the others?’

      ‘Give me strength! Listen, woman, will you? This is about me and you, not Tanya or anyone else. From the day I met you I’ve never looked at another woman. You’re enough—more than enough,’ he added scathingly, ‘for any man to handle.’

      ‘I don’t believe you.’

      ‘No, and do you know why you accepted those lies about me and our marriage so easily? Because you are frightened of the truth.’

      ‘You’re crazy,’ she said harshly, aware she would have bruises where his hands were gripping her.

      ‘About you? I must be, to put up with all this stuff and nonsense. You are petrified of letting go and giving me everything. That’s the crux of all this. If you trust me absolutely I’ll let you down—that’s what you’ve told yourself from day one. And then, surprise, surprise, you were told exactly what you were waiting to hear—I’d fallen from grace. I was having an affair. It must have been music to your ears.’

      ‘That’s a hateful thing to say.’

      ‘But this is Taylor talking, remember? The low-life, the scum who was fooling around just eighteen months after he had promised to forsake all others for the rest of his life.’

      ‘You’re hurting me.’ She was rigid and as white as a sheet under his hands.

      ‘Damn it, Marsha.’ His muttered oath had all the power of a shout, and she almost winced before she controlled herself. But he had released her.

      He stepped backwards a pace or two, as though he didn’t trust himself not to take hold of her again, and then, slowly and deliberately, he slipped his hands into his pockets. ‘You still believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m guilty as charged?’ he asked in a flat grim tone which frightened her far more than his rage.

      Did she? The answer was there without her having to think about it, and she spoke it out without considering her words. ‘I don’t know what to think any more. I was sure…’ She hesitated. ‘I mean, why would anyone make something like that up?’

      He shook his head, his eyes mordant. ‘How long have you got? Come on, Fuzz, you can’t pretend to be that naive. There’s a hundred reasons why people turn sour.’

      But it was your sister. Your sister. For a second she thought she had actually