A Passionate Affair. Elizabeth Power

night eighteen months ago, before he had had a chance to convince her that black was white, before that dark, dangerous energy of his reached out and smothered all rational thought and sense.

      Contrary to what she’d expected, Taylor said nothing more as they sat and sipped their drinks in a silence which was fairly shrieking. The rich scents from the garden were drifting into the room on the warm breeze and a summer twilight was beginning to fall. The sounds of the birds as they began to settle down for the night and the drone of lazy insects about their business were the only intrusion.

      Marsha resisted glancing Taylor’s way. She could feel he was watching her, his long lean body stretched out indolently in a very masculine pose, the amber eyes hooded and intense. He hadn’t moved a muscle, and yet the very air around them had become sensuous and coaxing. He could do that, she thought crossly, willing herself not to fidget in spite of the ripples of sexual awareness which had caused her nipples to flower and harden and her mouth to become dry. He could seduce by his very presence alone, and it was galling to have to recognise that his power over her body was just the same as it had always been.

      She stared into her cocktail glass, determined it wouldn’t be her who would break the silence. And she wouldn’t mention Tanya West—or whatever her name was now—again either. Pregnant… The rush of emotion was so strong she had to purposely relax her fingers or risk breaking the stem of the glass. There had been a time when she had ached to have Taylor’s baby, and it had only been his insistence that they have some time enjoying each other together first that had prevented her from stopping taking the Pill. Of course she hadn’t been aware that Taylor was busy ‘enjoying’ other women too, she reflected sourly.

      A minor commotion in the garden involving a great deal of frenzied squawking brought Taylor out of his chair in one smooth, fluid movement. To Marsha’s absolute bewilderment, he bent down behind a sofa close to the open French doors, re-emerging a second later with what looked like a child’s water gun.

      ‘Taylor?’ The question she’d been about to put to him was lost in the furore as he leapt out into the garden, firing as he went in a very personable imitation of James Bond. A moment later a loud yowl was added to the hubbub in the garden.

      ‘Got him.’ As Marsha joined Taylor outside, curiosity having got the better of her, he turned to her, satisfaction written all over his handsome face. ‘A couple more soakings and he’ll get the message.’

      ‘Who will get what message?’

      ‘The neighbourhood tom. He’s after the resident blackbird’s fledglings in one of the yews. The water doesn’t hurt 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