He stood up, his hand beneath hers inviting her to do the same. She rose at his touch, waited.
He lifted a hand to her hair, as he had then.
‘Did I tell you that I like this new style?’ he said. ‘That you look wonderful?’
She didn’t answer, seeming to know that he was talking to himself rather than her.
He laid his palm against her cheek and she leaned into it, nestling against his hand, closing her eyes.
‘Look at me,’ he said.
And when she raised her head, lifted heavy lashes, he kissed her-no more than the touching of lips, it was deeper, more meaningful than any exchanged in hot passion. It said, as it had said then, everything he could never put into words. Say out loud. Admit to.
‘You remembered,’ she said, her sweet mouth widening into a smile.
‘How could I ever forget?’
A kiss. A cab ride. The slow sensual dance of a man and woman making love for the first time. Each touch something rare and new. Each kiss a promise.
‘You took me home,’ she said, tucking her arm beneath his and turning to walk the short distance to her flat. ‘And stayed to be dragged out of sleep by my four o’clock alarm call.’
‘I remember.’ Then, ‘That’s not why-’
‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘I understand now why you wanted separate rooms. Why you left my bed.’
‘Because the kiss was a lie. If I’d loved you, truly loved you, I’d have walked away then.’
Instead he’d deceived her. Deceived himself. Fooling himself that he was taking no more than the minimum.
Protecting himself from the moment when she’d see their marriage for what it was-a hollow sham. And then, when she’d done just that, driven away by his coldness, he’d discovered that there was no way of protecting himself from loving Belle Davenport. That he couldn’t live without her.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ivo.’
‘Why not?’
She didn’t answer, but as they reached her front door, she handed him the keys and he unlocked it, remained on the step. She didn’t take them from him, but walked up the stairs, leaving him with no choice but to follow.
She’d already tapped on the flat door by the time he joined her. ‘No answer. Daisy’s still out,’ she said, standing back so that he could open that door too, dropping her bag on the hall table before sliding her hands around his neck.
‘Belle…’
He’d said her name in just that way too, that first time. Then it had been a warning that once he’d stepped over the threshold there would be no turning back. Now it was more complex.
He wanted her and right at this moment he was sure she wanted him, but it was simple need, comfort they both craved. Afterwards, nothing would have changed.
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Just lie with me, Ivo. Hold me.’ And, for the first time since he’d known her, the tears that brimmed in her eyes spilled over and ran, unchecked, down her cheeks. ‘Please. I’m so tired. I can’t sleep. But if you held me, just for a little while…’
Denying her was beyond him and he took her coat from her shoulders, hung it, alongside his own, on the stand, then took her hand and led her to her bedroom, undressing her slowly, as he had time without number, each button, hook, zip, each brush of his fingers against warm skin sweet torture. When she was naked, utterly defenceless, he lifted back the soft down quilt, settled her beneath it. Then he, understanding her need for closeness, began to undress.
This was new.
This was new, different, important beyond imagining.
For the first time in three years he was about to share a bed with his wife and not make love to her.
Or maybe he was. Because that was what this was, he thought as he slid in beside her, put his arms around her and pulled her back against him, fitting her to his body like a spoon. Gently kissed her shoulder, whispering soft words of reassurance, words of love that spilled out of some locker where they’d been stored away, not needed in this life.
This was the love, comfort, sharing, being there for someone that he’d been running from all his adult life. He nestled his face into the back of her neck, breathed in her familiar scent. Vanilla. Rose. Something darker, more potent that stirred the passions.
He’d imagined having to fight down his body’s aching need for her, do quadratic equations in his head to distract himself, but it wasn’t like that. This wasn’t about him; it was about Belle. Giving back all he’d taken.
And conversely feeding his desire on a completely different level, transcending the purely physical; this closeness, just holding her, met his needs, fulfilled them in every way that mattered. And he closed his eyes.
CHAPTER TEN
BELLE stirred, turned over and found that she was still lying in Ivo’s arms. She’d slept-not surprising; she rose at four every morning to go to the studio.
But it wasn’t her brief nap that made her feel brand-new. It was Ivo, holding her, being there.
She’d slept and he hadn’t left her.
All her dreams rolled into one. Or as near as they could be and she grinned, madly, stupidly happy.
‘This brings a whole new meaning to the expression “they slept together”,’ she said.
Then, because this felt like the start of something new, something different, rather than an ending, she reached out to lay her hand against his heart.
He caught her wrist, held her an inch away from his skin.
‘Belle…’
She ignored the warning. He believed she wanted more than he could give her and because of that had kept her at a distance. Kept himself at a distance.
He was wrong.
Now she knew the truth a world of possibilities opened up before them. Before her. There were countless children for whom she could make a difference, with her time, her love, her money. There was only one man. And with one arm trapped beneath her, one hand occupied keeping hers captive, he was at her mercy. With her hand neutralised she did what any woman would do and used her mouth to break down his resistance.
She heard the hiss of agony as she laid her lips against his heart, feeling the hammer of it. His skin was warm, like silk beneath her tongue.
He tried to speak, caught his breath as she curled her tongue around his nipple, tasting him, savouring him as it responded, tightening to her touch. The power was all hers and she used it, taking her mouth across his chest to the concave space beneath his ribs. He gathered himself then, made an effort to put an end to this raid on his senses, but he’d left it too late and the soft twirl of her tongue around his navel wrung a groan, more pain than pleasure, from him.
He was a strong-minded man, but his body betrayed him, rising to meet her. She welcomed it with open mouth.
Ivo had swiftly discovered that quadratic equations were no match for his wife when she was set upon seduction. That when he should have been saying ‘No…’, the only word he seemed capable of saying was ‘Yes…’ That when she straddled him, leaned forward so that her luscious breasts stroked against his chest, sheathed herself on him, as she said, ‘I love you. Love me, Ivo…’ that the small warning voice hammering away somewhere inside his head was wasting its time.
Afterwards, when they’d made love with no secrets, no barriers between them, she cried. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, dashing her tears away with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t do this…’ Then, smiling, if somewhat shakily, ‘You didn’t bargain on this when you dropped by with that package, did you?’
‘I might start sending them to you myself if this is the welcome I get,’ he said. Then, ‘Or you could just come
