A Christmas Night to Remember(33)
She glanced at him as they walked into the foyer, knowing her limp was more pronounced tonight but unable to do anything about it. ‘I think I’ll go straight to my room,’ she said tightly. ‘And I’m not hungry. I’ll skip dinner, if you don’t mind.’
‘Hungry or not, you need to eat.’
‘No, Zeke. I don’t. I told you—I’m going straight to bed.’
They had reached the lift, and once the doors closed he faced her in the carpeted little box, his voice dangerously soft. ‘Dinner is compulsory, Dee. Unless you want me to choose for you, I suggest you look at the menu.’
‘For goodness’ sake.’ Truly exasperated, she glared at him. ‘What are you going to do? Force-feed me?’ she said irritably.
‘If necessary.’ He nodded. ‘Exactly that.’
She could see he wasn’t joking. ‘I’m not a child, Zeke.’
‘Then don’t act like one. You have been seriously ill and you’re still recovering. You need good food and plenty of it.’
This was ridiculous. ‘I think I’m quite capable of knowing when I want to eat, thank you very much,’ she said tartly.
Zeke raised his eyebrows as a smile flickered across his sexy mouth. The action said far more than words could have done and aggravated her further. Did he have to be so irritatingly chauvinistic? Melody thought waspily. And so certain he was always right?
She gave him what she hoped was a quelling glare and stared at the lift door as though it was the most interesting thing on the planet, knowing it was useless to argue. Nevertheless she was bristling like a furious little alley cat, determined not to give ground, when they opened the door to their suite. Whether Zeke was right or wrong didn’t matter. It was his peremptory attitude that had got under her skin.
The lights from the Christmas tree and the couple of lamps Zeke had left on made the sitting room dangerously cosy as they took off their coats—a miniature home from home. Zeke slung his jacket on a chair, loosening his bow tie and opening the first two or three buttons of his shirt as he walked across to the coffee table where the room service menu was sitting. ‘Now,’ he murmured smoothly. ‘I think the steak will do me nicely. How about you? And the raspberry and limoncello trifle sounds good. I’m starving.’
Melody plumped down sulkily on one of the sofas. She wouldn’t have admitted to a living soul that her mouth had watered as he spoke. ‘I had beef for lunch,’ she said stiffly.
‘How about oven-poached salmon with fennel and beetroot?’ Zeke suggested amiably. ‘That’s a light alternative and not so rich as most of the other dishes. Perfect to tempt the appetite.’
She shrugged, knowing she was acting like the child he had accused her of being but not knowing how else to protect herself against the temptation he presented. He looked more hard and sexy than any man had the right to look, and his lazy air and lack of aggression didn’t fool her one bit. ‘I think I will have a bath,’ she said flatly, as Zeke picked up the telephone, leaving the room without waiting for him to reply.
Once in her bedroom she shut the door and leaned her weight against it, wondering for the umpteenth time how she had got herself into this situation. ‘It’s just one night,’ she whispered. ‘Nothing has really changed.’ Her plans hadn’t altered, and Zeke couldn’t keep her married to him by force when all was said and done. She just had to keep her head and by this time tomorrow she could be somewhere else—anywhere else. Her soft mouth dropped unknowingly and she levered herself upright with a shuddering sigh.
She wanted to be a million miles away from Zeke, and yet she longed to be where she could see and watch and touch him every minute of every day. How was that for inconsistency? And she couldn’t let him see or even sense what she was feeling. She was no match for him at the best of times and his formidably intelligent mind and finely honed senses—attributes which had caused him to rise like a meteor in the world he inhabited—were at their most astute when concentrated on a problem he needed to solve. And at the moment she had no doubt that was how he viewed this situation. He hadn’t even begun to accept their marriage was over, everything about him proclaimed it, and so she had to remain strong and focused.
Melody didn’t linger in the bath, drying herself thoroughly and slipping into a pyjama vest top and matching loose trousers and then pulling on the fluffy bathrobe for added protection. She hadn’t heard a sound from outside her room but as she opened the bedroom door she could hear carols being sung. A carol concert was in full swing on the TV as she entered the sitting room, young choir boys singing ‘Silent Night’ with a purity of tone that was inexpressibly poignant.