A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion

‘Thank you, Hannah.’ It was Taylor who answered, taking Marsha’s arm as he led her into the gracious rose and pale lilac high-ceilinged room which had French windows opening out on to the grounds at the back of the house.

Marsha knew what she would see if she walked over to where antique lace was billowing gently in the slight breeze from the garden. Clipped yews bordering an old stone wall, in front of which was a manicured lawn enclosed by flower beds, and behind it a splendid Edwardian summerhouse now used as a changing room for the rectangular swimming pool of timeless style that Taylor had installed ten years before, when he had bought the house.

She walked over to one of the two-seater sofas dotted about the room and sat down before she said, ‘You should have told me you were bringing me here.’

‘You wouldn’t have agreed to come,’ he answered quietly, a silky note in his voice.

‘So you tricked me. Clever you.’ It was acidic.

He poured a pale pink cocktail, and then one for himself, and it was only after he had handed her the tall fluted glass and sat down himself opposite her that he said, ‘Why is it easier to believe lies than the truth? Have you ever asked yourself that?’

‘Meaning regarding you and Tanya, I suppose?’ she said flatly.

He sat back in his seat, studying her over the rim of his glass. ‘Has it never occurred to you that you might be wrong about all this?’

Hundreds, thousands of times, but wishful thinking didn’t stand up when confronted by harsh reality. She would never forget the churning of her stomach when she had made that call to Germany, or the sickening feeling when the hotel receptionist had put her through to Taylor’s room and the bright, fluttery voice of Tanya had answered. ‘No.’ She swallowed. It was hard to lie with his eyes on her. ‘I might be a fool but I’m not certifiable.’

‘I see.’ He set down his drink and then steepled his fingers, his gaze never leaving her face for a moment. ‘Then we won’t waste any more time tonight discussing it. Drink your cocktail.’ And he smiled the smile which lit up his face. The rat. The low-down, cheating, lying, philandering rat.

Marsha stared at him, the misery she had been feeling replaced by a healthy dose of anger. How dared he sit there smiling like the cat with the cream when he had all but destroyed her eighteen months ago? Without taking her eyes from his, she set her glass down with a little touch of defiance. ‘Is Tanya still working for you?’ she asked baldly. He was not going to dictate what they discussed and what they didn’t, not after kidnapping her!

‘Of course.’ He undid his dinner jacket as he spoke, slipping it off and slinging it across the room to another sofa, before loosening his tie so it hung in two thin strands on either side of his throat.

‘Of course.’ She put a wealth of sarcasm into her voice.

He picked up his glass again, draining it before he added, ‘But only for the next month or so, unfortunately. I shall be sorry to lose her; she’s a damn good secretary and they don’t grow on trees.’

‘She’s leaving you?’ Marsha raised fine eyebrows in what she hoped was a mocking expression. ‘Dear, dear. A better offer?’

‘Not exactly.’ He stood up, moving across to her and handing her her glass again. ‘Drink up. There’s time for another before Hannah calls us through, and I’ve ordered a taxi for later.’

She accepted the glass simply because she felt she needed the fortifying effect the alcohol would have on her nerves. It tasted heavenly, but Hannah had always been able to mix a mean cocktail. After two sips, she said, ‘If it’s not a better offer, why is she going?’ Lovers’ tiff?

‘She’s having a baby at the end of September.’

Marsha drank deeply, using the action as an excuse to break the force of his eyes on hers. ‘Thank you.’ She held out the empty glass with a brittle smile. ‘That was lovely.’

‘Wasn’t it?’ he murmured softly. He strolled over to the cocktail cabinet, his movements easy.

Marsha wondered whether Hannah would support her if she demanded to leave. So this was why he had made the move after all this time? Tanya was pregnant. By him? The pain which sliced through her was too severe to continue down that path, so she brushed the possibility aside until she could consider it when she was alone.

‘I think her husband wants a little girl; he has two boys from a previous relationship,’ Taylor continued with his back to her as he poured two more drinks. ‘But I guess all that matters in the long run is that the child is healthy.’

She sat very still as he turned and walked back to her, accepting the drink from him with a slight inclination of her head. So Tanya was married? When had that happened? The other woman had been a Miss when she had left Taylor. Had Tanya been seeing Taylor as well as the man who was now her husband at the time of the Germany trip? Did her husband know she had been more than just a secretary to Taylor at one time? A hundred questions were buzzing in her head, but she couldn’t ask any of them.

She raised her head as Taylor took the chair he had vacated, and for a moment her gaze met his. Her breath caught for a second at the look in his eyes. It was brief, and instantly veiled, but for a moment she had seen the inner man, the man she had known in the intimacy of their bed. The vital, vigorous, dynamic lifeforce which was Taylor, a force which let nothing and no one stand in the way of something he wanted. It was this magnetic power which had made her flee that 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.