The Wife Before Me(48)

‘Not tonight.’ He breathed the words against the nape of her neck. ‘I want this to be extra special.’

He moved away from her and turned on the taps. Water cascaded into the bath. Steam rose and obscured her reflection.

‘I’ve been looking forward to being alone with you all night,’ he said. Slowly, deliberately, he eased down the thong she had worn and unhooked her bra. He removed his own clothes and left them in a tidy bundle beside hers. She used to enjoy watching him undress, his unselfconscious suppleness as he kicked off his shoes or unbuttoned his shirt. Now, as the muscles on his arms rippled, she thought of a panther, its graceful stealth as it drew closer to its prey.

‘Not here, Nicholas.’ Amelia stepped back from the bath and tried to ignore the gushing water. To show nervousness would only make the situation worse. ‘I want to be with you, too. But this is not going to work.’

‘Yes, it is,’ he replied. Aroused and eager, he took her hand. ‘We can make it happen. I love you. I know you doubt that sometimes. I’m sorry I give you reason to do so. But nothing will ever change my feelings for you.’ He cupped her face, kissed her lips. ‘I want you to be happy with me.’

‘I am, Nicholas.’

He shook his head. ‘You’ve lived with fear since you were a child. It’s distorted your ability to know true happiness. Your father―’

‘Please don’t talk about him. I can’t bear it.’

‘You’re shaking. Are you frightened of me?’

‘No… no. I’m cold. And tired. Let’s go to bed.’

‘Don’t be afraid, Amelia. I’ve been waiting all night for this moment.’

His grip was firm and confident as he led her towards the bath, where bubbles frothed and the blue lights shining on the wall cast an unearthly hue over their bodies.

‘Take my hand,’ he said. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you.’

She searched his face for anger, the hardening of his features that always signalled a mood change. The violence that would start soon afterwards. Could she trust the emotions she saw there, his tenderness and desire, the love that he claimed to be an enduring one? She lowered herself into the fragrant water. Jasmine, she thought. The sweet scent clung to the steamy air.

Nicholas sat beside her and slid his arm round her shoulder, drew her closer to him. ‘Do you know what I was thinking when you were dancing with Peter?’ Without waiting for a reply, he continued. ‘It takes two to tango and I’m the only one who knows the right moves.’ He slowly stroked a sponge across her breasts. ‘How does that feel, Amelia?’

She unclenched her teeth. ‘Good,’ she whispered. ‘So good.’

He leaned forward and turned off the taps. ‘That’s not so frightening, is it?’

‘Not with you beside me.’ She was no longer able to distinguish between a lie and the truth. The heat from the water was draining her energy and making it difficult to focus.

‘Every man at that party desired you tonight,’ he said.

‘You’ve a vivid imagination, Nicholas.’

‘Don’t call me a liar.’

She tried to concentrate on what he was saying but his voice seemed to be coming at her from a great distance.

He did not sound jealous, nor angry, but she had ceased trying to judge his moods by these outward signs. ‘I’m not,’ she replied. ‘Let’s just say you’re slightly biased.’ Her body jerked when he pressed a button on the side of the bath and a jet of water surged against her back. A second jet erupted between her thighs, the pressure sending rippling waves across the surface. A racing tide; she needed to escape but her body refused to obey her.

‘You breathe sex when you move, Amelia.’ He continued stroking her with the sponge. ‘You’re a flirt. Such a tease… those poor slavering goons watching you. If they could see us now.’

‘I love you, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘I’m not remotely interested in flirting with anyone but you. That’s not what’s bothering you. It’s Lilian Harris. What she said. Her behaviour was appalling.’

‘But you were responsible for it.’

‘If anyone was responsible for upsetting her, it was her husband.’

‘Whom you encouraged. It’s not the first time Peter Harris has made a fool of someone at the Christmas party. It’s a standing joke in the company. Who will it be this year? I never thought it would be my wife. You made quite an exhibition of yourself.’

‘That’s so unfair.’ Her voice should be trembling uncontrollably. Instead it was flat, expressionless. ‘We danced the tango. I followed Peter’s steps. It’s a dramatic dance.’

‘From where I was standing it looked more like a lap dance. All you were short of doing was screwing him on the floor.’

‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that. Have you any sense of the damage you’re doing to our marriage by treating me this way?’ She should sound angry but her words had slurred into a drawl that sounded unfamiliar to her. She tried to grip the edge of the bath and stand but her fingers slid helplessly away. She was unable to struggle when he grabbed her legs and pulled her down, shoved her head under the water. It roared in her ears, filled her mouth, blinded her. This was her nightmare, her memory, ready to claim her once again. She surfaced, gasping. She had to escape but her body was flaccid and she was unable to find the strength to push him away. He was smiling when he forced her down again. Blackness filled her eyes and it was no longer possible to fight him.