He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [50]
Oh, Brett, don’t do this to me, she thought. You can’t make me a substitute for Marietta.
But none of her anguish was proof against the increasingly hungry way he kissed her.
Nothing could erase her own hunger as he tapped it right to its source, with his hands unerringly moving to the most sensitive parts of her body. Slipping beneath her bra to touch her breasts and tease her nipples to tight little peaks. Sliding beneath her tracksuit pants and cupping her hips, then moving beneath the elastic of her bikini briefs, holding her hard against him and kissing not only her mouth but her throat while she clung to him dizzily and her body, her very core, revealed to him all that he did to her.
She had no idea what made him raise his head suddenly, and made his hands go still. Then she heard it herself—car doors closing, voices, children.
Shock etched itself in her eyes and she all but fell as he released her. He immediately steadied her with his hands around her waist, but she went paler than she’d ever been before and could only stare at him, horrified.
He swore softly. ‘Nicola, don’t look like that, I’m sorry.’
She licked her swollen lips. ‘I... I...’ But nothing more would come out.
His face tightened as the doorbell pealed. ‘It’s OK, I locked it,’ he murmured. ‘We’ve got a few moments—we’ ve got all the time in the world.’
‘But I feel...’ I feel like a pawn in this game between you and Marietta—but then I always was, wasn’t I? she thought despairingly, and abruptly pushed herself away from him. ‘No, we haven’t,’ she said starkly. ‘You go. I’ll just tidy myself up...’ And she spun suddenly on her heel and ran for the safety and seclusion of her bedroom.
She had a shower—anything to delay the inevitable—and this time dressed with more care. She chose fine caramel cord trousers and a long-sleeved thin wool sweater in a misty jacaranda-blue with a plain round neck. She tucked the sweater in and added a thin, plaited gold leather belt to the pants. She put her locket on, then rummaged through her drawers and found a jacaranda and beige silk scarf which she tied around her neck jauntily.
Then she brushed her hair until it shone and fell like a river of pale gold to below her shoulders—and turned her attention to her face. She never used much make-up, but this seemed to be an occasion for it. Anything to draw attention away from the still stunned look in her eyes, the fact that she was unusually pale.
Ten minutes later she was satisfied. The lightest touch of foundation and some judicious use of blusher had done the trick. She added mascara to her lashes and stood back, then reached for Chris’s despised perfume but put it down almost at once. Enough was enough, and what was she trying to do anyway? she wondered. Upstage Marietta? When had that ever been possible? she thought sadly.
She was searching for a pair of shoes to complete the outfit when Sasha came to find her—a Sasha brimming with excitement but also saying that they’d missed her.
It touched her heart, and the hug Chris gave her did the same. Then she couldn’t put off greeting Marietta—a Marietta once again brimming with vitality and looking marvellous in black suede culottes, high-heeled boots and a suede waistcoat over a bottle-green shirt, her flaming hair tied back with a green velvet ribbon. Marietta was exactly the same as she’d always been. Nicola wondered what she’d expected.
‘Did you have a nice night, Nicky? I always used to enjoy the law society ball. It gave me great pleasure to wow the pants off them—as you may remember?’ Marietta turned to Brett with a mischievous look.
But Brett was watching her, Nicola saw, and made no comment. In fact he looked tall, withdrawn