Page 32 of The Forgotten Wife

Baby steps, the doctor had advised.

Not the most patient of men at the best of times, Nick was going insane waiting for answers. He’d never hidden the factthat he was a man who felt most comfortable in control of his destiny. The dent to that control, and yes, to his pride, when Tinkerbelle had walked away rankled deep; still rankled, truth be told.

The sinking realization that he hadn’t been enough for her made his fists clench. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. She’dclaimedhe was everything to her at the beginning. He’d believed her, dammit, believed they didn’t need anything else but each other.

He needed to know why she’d changed the rules. He certainly wasn’t prepared…Wasn’t equipped to grant her what she’d asked for…

The very thought of bringing a child into this mess made ice flow through his veins, bringing with it a sense of helplessness he hadn’t felt in a long time.

No. He wanted her back, but he wasn’t prepared to turn himself inside out for her. And he damned well wasn’t about to let her go. Which meant things were about to get…interesting.

He gave a hollow laugh, closed his eyes, and pictured her perfect body by the pool just now. Damn, the way the tiny bikini clung to her figure, barely leaving anything to the imagination, had made him so hot he’d forgotten how to breathe. She’d tried to hide herself from him, but he didn’t need to see to remember. The instant hard-on, the knot in his gut, and the hammering of his heart were proof enough his wife still held him in thrall.

But, he cautioned himself as he opened his eyes and clawed a hand through his hair, all of that meant nothing if he couldn’t trust her not to desert their marriage. Without trust, sex was just…sex.

He let out a frustrated sigh.

Straightening, he touched a button and brought his computer back to life. When he saw the picture of Richard Francis, his jaw tightened. The reporter’s features werenondescript—short, mousy-brown hair, an unkempt beard, and dull brown eyes. Nick minimized the file and tensed when he saw an email from John Allen.

Adrenaline shooting through him, he read it, only to sit back a second later.

Dammit,nothingwas going his way. He hit the first number on his speed dial.

“In a world made smaller by smart technology, how can it be this hard to find one man?” he snapped the moment Allen answered.

“Africa is a beautiful place, Mr. Andreakos. But it’s also a perfect hiding place if onechoosesnot to use any technology. We believe that’s what Mwana’s doing—opting for total electronic blackout so he can’t be traced. But he’s bound to surface sometime.”

Nick gritted his teeth. “I’m not a man who enjoys waiting around for things to happen.Sometimeisn’t good enough. If you have to go back into the jungle to flush him out, do it.”

He hung up in time to see Belle rise out of the pool, her body outlined perfectly in the sunlight. Lust slammed through him, momentarily erasing the ripple of anxiety that had taken solid root inside him.

Fucking baby steps. Well, if that’s what Belle needed, then baby steps were what she’d get. Starting with the familiar pastime that had brought them both pleasure in the past. A rare smile broke through his frustration as he picked up the house phone and relayed his instructions.

“Kalispera,pethi mou. I hope you’re feeling better after your swim?”

Now adequately clothed and seated in the cool living room, Belle looked up at the evening greeting. Nick came toward her, a box in his hand, closely followed by Sophia, the young maid, carrying a tray.

“What are you doing?” She answered his question with one of her own, surprise shrilling her voice when he paused next to her, put the box on the table, and started arranging the cushions more comfortably around her.

He indicated where he wanted the hovering maid to place the drinks and… popcorn?

“It’s Thursday,” came the cryptic reply. He sat next to her and dismissed the maid.

Belle tore her gaze from the play of taut thigh muscles beneath corded trousers.

“I know what day it is. That’s not what I asked. I asked what you?—”

“Have you forgotten? Thursday night is Trekkie Night. I’ve got, let’s see…Deep Space Nine,Voyager, and your favourite,The Next Generation. Or, if you insist, we can watch the latest movie. I’ll even try and stop myself from punching the screen when you swoon over the lead actor. So…want to toss me for it?” His easy smile nearly undid her, but she held fi rm, watching his hand disappear into his pocket and emerge with a coin. She drew in a shaky breath, unwanted memories pouring over her like a flash flood.

Their Thursday nights together were one of the things she’d missed most about her marriage. She’d hurry home from the parttime evening teaching position she’d taken near their London penthouse in Knightsbridge and set out the drinks and Blu-rays. After a leisurely shower, she’d make oodles of buttery popcorn sprinkled with cinnamon, just the way Nick liked it. Once he arrived, they’d unplug the phone and watch disc after disc ofStar Trek, sometimes mimicking the well-knowncharacters, until the silly role-playing inevitably culminated in torrid lovemaking on the sofa. A lump lodged in her throat at the painful memory.

“No. No, Nick, we’re not those people anymore.” It broke her heart to say it.

“We’re not closet Trekkies anymore?” he asked in a mock whisper, looking over his shoulder with exaggerated concern to see if anyone had overheard him. “I don’t think you’re allowed to leave the club once you’re in. I hear it’s likeFight Club, or something.”

Her lips reluctantly twitched as she fought the urge to smile, but pain registered deep inside her.

“You know what I’m talking about. We used to do that when…before… everything else happened.”

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