Page 21 of The Return of Her Billionaire Husband

Juliette came over and perched on the arm of the sofa next to him. She raised her hand and began stroking her fingers through the thick strands of his black wavy hair. He gave a low deep groan but didn’t push her hand away. Every now and again her fingers would catch on a knot in his hair and she gently untangled it.

After a while, he raised his head from his hands and looked at her with his pitch-black eyes and something slipped sideways in her stomach. ‘You should have left five minutes ago.’ His voice was so rough it made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.

Juliette idly ran her finger down the slope of his nose. ‘Why should I?’

He grasped her wrist with the steel bracelet of his fingers and her heart gave an excited leap. His fingers were warm, the tensile strength an erotic reminder of other parts of his body that were hot and strong and potent. ‘Because I might not let you go.’

Was it the whisky talking? Or was he expressing feelings he had hidden from her in the past?

Juliette used her free hand to stroke his richly stubbled jaw. ‘Joe...why didn’t you tell me about your mother when we got married? You barely told me anything about yourself. And when I fished for information, you would shut me down or distract me with something else. Or disappear for days on end with work commitments.’

His gaze shifted from hers to stare at her wrist in his grasp on his lap. His other hand came over the top of her captured hand and his index finger traced each of the tendons on the back of her hand. ‘There wasn’t much to tell. My birth caused my mother’s death and my father did his best to raise me but her death was a dark cloud over our relationship.’

‘Do you mean he blamed you?’

He gave a lopsided twist of his mouth that wasn’t anywhere near a smile. ‘Not in so many words. But every year on my birthday since I was old enough to remember, he would take me to the cemetery and make me tidy her grave and put flowers there. I hated going. I found it creepy, to be honest. I put my foot down when I was fifteen and said I wasn’t going again. And I haven’t. Not once.’

Juliette’s heart contracted. She could picture him as a small toddler, not quite understanding why he had to perform such a morbid duty. And then in the years while he was growing up, still being forced to confront the reality of his mother’s death and his innocent part in it. So many pennies were dropping in her head she was surprised Joe couldn’t hear the loud tinkling. Was that why he had been so distant and aloof at their baby’s funeral? He had been almost robotic, hardly saying anything to anyone, not showing any emotion and not comforting Juliette in the way she had needed. Was that why he had never visited their baby’s grave? And during Juliette’s pregnancy, the further along it went, he had retreated into himself, closed off, distanced himself. Had he been terrified all along that the same thing could happen to her that happened to his mother?

‘Oh, Joe...’ Tears stung her eyes and she turned her hand over in his and gripped him tightly. ‘I wish I’d known. How terrible that must have been for you as a small child.’

Joe released her hand and rose from the sofa, moving to the other side of the room with his back towards her. ‘Why are you really here, Juliette?’ His tone had a cold razor-sharp edge. Accusing, cutting, callous.

Juliette swept her tongue over her carpet-dry lips. ‘I told you—I’m doing some research for—’

He swung around to face her with a brooding expression. ‘You’re a terrible liar.’ He moved across the room and rummaged amongst some things on the small table near a pile of books. He picked up a pen. ‘Got the divorce papers with you?’ He clicked the pen open and smiled a savage smile. ‘Where do I sign?’

Juliette rose from the sofa and hugged her arms around her middle. ‘It’s a really dumb idea to sign legal documents when you’ve been drinking even a small amount of alcohol. I think we should talk about this some other time.’

He clicked the pen on and off several times and she got the feeling it was his way of counting to ten to control his simmering anger. After a moment, he tossed the pen aside and walked past her out of the room, throwing over his shoulder, ‘I’ll let you see yourself out. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the way.’

Juliette closed her eyes against the sting of his parting words. But there was one thing she was certain of—no way was she leaving tonight. Not until they had chance to talk about things they should have talked about months ago.

* * *

Joe had enough trouble resisting Juliette when he was stone cold sober and even though he had only had a couple of shot glasses of whisky he knew it was wise to keep his distance. He was disgusted with himself for indulging in a pity party on his birthday. He mostly tried to ignore the date but this year had brought it all back. The anniversary of the day he’d met Juliette. The amazing night of hot sex he hadn’t been able to forget. The amazing night that for once had made him forget what day it was. The amazing night that had cumulated in a pregnancy. A doomed pregnancy, because that was the sort of stuff that happened to him, right? He had a poisonous touch and it was no good thinking it was going to change any time soon. If ever.

He knew why Juliette was here. Those wretched divorce papers. He couldn’t put off signing them for ever. English law stated a couple married in England could be granted a no-fault divorce after two years of separation. They had now been separated for sixteen months.

In another eight months they would both be free.

No-fault? Of course there was someone to blame.

Him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JULIETTE WAITED DOWNSTAIRS until she was sure Joe had taken himself to bed. She went back out to the foyer and carried her overnight bag rather than wheel it, so as not to disturb him. There were several spare bedrooms on the second floor to choose from. The master bedroom door was closed and in darkness, so she assumed Joe had settled down for the night. She toyed with the idea of checking on him but decided it was best to leave him to sleep off his devil-may-care mood. She didn’t trust herself around him, especially when he was in such a reckless state of mind. Besides, re-entering the room they had shared during their short marriage would test her in ways she wasn’t sure she could handle. Too many images came to mind of her being in that bed with him, her legs entangled with his, her body responding to his surging thrusts with wanton abandon.

She suppressed a delicate shudder and continued on her way to one of the rooms further along the wide carpeted corridor until she came to the closed door of the nursery. She stopped outside, unable to take another step. It was as if a thick glass wall had sprung up in front of her and she could go no further until she glimpsed her baby’s room—to see if it was as she had left it.

She had decorated the nursery herself, spending hours in there painting a frieze for the walls, making a mobile for the cot, placing soft toys on the floating shelves she had designed and got made specially. She’d chosen the pink fabric for the curtains with fairies and unicorns on it and made them herself. Every stitch, every brushstroke, every item had been placed there with love. Love for her baby.

They had found out at the twenty weeks scan they were having a little girl. At first, Juliette had wanted to leave it as a surprise but Joe had wanted to know. She understood so much more about him in hindsight—his uneasiness at that and the other appointments she’d managed to drag him to. She’d put his lack of enthusiasm down to the fact the pregnancy wasn’t planned, that they weren’t in love with each other, that they were only together because of the baby. But now she could see how difficult those appointments must have been for him. How he would be thinking of his mother and how his mother’s pregnancy with him had ended in his birth and her death. If only she had known, if only he had told her, maybe their relationship wouldn’t have floundered so badly after losing their baby.

Juliette still couldn’t say her name out loud. Emilia. Once she’d been out in London and a young mother had called out to a small child with the same name. Juliette had to leave the store—she didn’t even stay long enough to buy the things she had come for. She couldn’t hear that precious name without going to bits.

How would it feel to walk into her nursery?

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