Page 22 of The Forgotten Wife

He stopped in the doorway to the living room and stared down at her. “We will discuss the highly stimulating topic of your leaving when you’re better recovered. And rest assured, it’s a conversation I intend to thoroughly exhaust.”

“Why? You didn’t care when I walked away.”

His eyes narrowed. “Trust me, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

Shock floored her for a moment. “What do you mean, I couldn’t be more wrong? The evidence speaks for itself. You haven’t so much as called in six months.”

“Because what’s ailing our marriage needs more than a phone call. I think we can both agree on that.”

He moved from the doorway, and the warmth of his body penetrated hers, throwing her fractured thoughts into further disarray. She sucked in a desperate breath, casting her eyes around the room to distract the dragging sensation in her abdomen.

Decorated with simple comfort in mind, the room was spacious, with plump white sofas that gave it a refreshing serenity. Assorted dyed cushions lent splashes of colour to the airy space. It was her favourite room in the villa. She’d spent a lot of time in here during their honeymoon, just reading orwatching her favourite programs on the large screen with Nick. That was, when they weren’t swimming in the sea, lounging by the pool, or in bed.

The last thought flushed her face and body with even more desire. She jerked away as he lowered her onto the sofa, anxious to hide her body’s insane reaction from him. Unfortunately, her effort caused her to bump her shin on the low table, and she couldn’t stop her gasp of pain.

“Are you all right?” Nick steadied her, concern etched on his face.

“Yes, just a little clumsy.” She leaned down and rubbed the spot in an effort to shield her face from him.

He straightened after arranging cushions under her feet. “I’ll be right back with the cream. Try not to tango with any more solid objects while I’m gone.” She heard the smile in his voice but didn’t look up, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard him leave the room.

Her respite didn’t last. He was back within minutes, carrying her chilled lemonade in one hand and the antiseptic cream in the other. He perched on the table in front of her and placed a gentle hand on her ankle. When he lifted her foot onto his lap, what breath she’d barely retained left her lungs. Her gaze flew to his, but he was intent on squeezing the medicine from the tube.

“This might feel a little cold.” He looked up, and his grey eyes collided with hers. Her mouth went dry, and words deserted her.

She nodded but was nevertheless unprepared for the touch of his hands. The first time he’d applied it on the plane, she’d been battle-exhausted and barely conscious. Now, wide awake, she looked into eyes that still had the power to render her senseless.

The chilled cream raised goose bumps on her skin in direct contrast to the warmth of his touch that sent such raw excitement zinging through her veins. In response, her nipples peaked wantonly beneath her dress.

He frowned at her sucked-in breath.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” His eyes held concern.

She bit her lip and fought to hide her reaction. “No, it doesn’t hurt, but you were right, it was a little bit cool.” Let him think it was the antiseptic that had made her gasp, not the feel of his warm hands against her flesh. She looked down at his long, tapered fingers moving against her instep in a smooth massage. He took his time, rubbed firmly but gently until the balm was absorbed.

Then he started on the other foot.

She stifled a moan as molten sensation oozed through her and settled low in her pelvis. Her nipples tightened further, and she wished she’d worn a bra under her white sundress. The last thing she wanted was for Nick to guess her state of near-mindless excitement. But it was no use.

Starved of his touch, her body unfurled like a petal to a new day, flowering in readiness for his possession. She could already feel the telltale moistening between her legs and surreptitiously squeezed her thighs together, eager to curb the hot arrows of need shooting into her sex. His thumb brushed against the arch of her foot, and she bit back a groan. She’d beg him to glide his hands higher if he didn’t stop soon.

Think of something else, something to kill this feeling stone cold.

For once her mind obliged, although she could’ve done without the mental image it displayed.

Like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face, the image of her husband, implacable, callously daring her to leave him, denying her the one thing she yearned for, rose in her mind. Sickening pain replaced rampant lust. She jerked her foot away from where it rested on his taut thigh and folded it next to the other on the sofa.

Nick looked up in surprise at her abrupt withdrawal, his eyes darkening with incomprehension.

“Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?”

She bit back the bitter laughter that rose in her throat. “Would

you care to specify which hurt you’re talking about, Nick? I have quite a selection to choose from.”

“Tinkerbelle, we need to talk about this but not now?—”

“Please don’t call me that.”

---