An Inconvenient Husband

“Nicky, I don’t want to have to worry about you, do you understand?” His voice held command, but the underlying tension was audible. “I want to know you’re safe!”

She swallowed a nervous little laugh. Safe. How safe was she in the presence of her ex-husband? How safe was she from her own tormented emotions?

“Nicky?” There was a desperate sound in her father’s voice and her heart cringed. She closed her eyes.

“All right, Dad, if that’s what you want.” Her father had enough problems without having to worry about her.

He let out an audible sigh. “Good girl. Now I’d better call the police.”

Good girl. She winced. Well, no matter.

Blake turned as she put the receiver down. “Got answers to your questions?” he asked.

“It wasn’t what you’d call a very satisfactory conversation,” she said irritably.

“This isn’t a very satisfactory situation,” he returned dryly.

He was probably as delighted to be here with her as she was to be here with him. “I’ll have another drink,” she said, and caught a sudden spark of humor in his eyes, gone in an instant. He poured her another measure of whiskey and handed it to her without comment.

“Thank you.” She took a big gulp, wincing.

“Take it easy, Nicky,” he said mildly.

In answer, she glared at him and took another swallow.

He picked up the menu. “This little adventure has left me ravenous,” he commented. “I’ll order us some dinner from room service. What would you like?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’ve eaten all day. I’ve been sampling street food for an article I’m writing.” And even if she hadn’t eaten all day, she couldn’t imagine wanting anything now. She felt as if she were thrown into a nightmare and couldn’t get out. She raked her hand through her hair. She felt dirty and sticky and she didn’t even have a comb to fix her hair. She didn’t even have her purse. It was sitting on the living room sofa on top of her notebook.

She felt naked without her purse—no identification, no money, no credit cards. The magnitude of her helplessness flooded through her like the heat of the whiskey. Oh, God, what was she going to do?

“What should I be doing now?” she asked, feeling like a helpless child, sitting there on the side of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap like a timid schoolgirl, and he, standing, towering over her. She wasn’t used to asking anybody what to do. She was an independent, mature person and she usually knew what to do.

“Nothing, for the time being,” he said, studying the room service menu. “Relax.”

“Relax? Oh, sure, I’ll relax,” she said, trying to inject mockery into her tone, but it came out shakily, her voice trembling.

He glanced down at her face, and in the silence she glimpsed a softening in his eyes, a brief hesitation. He reached out and touched her cheek in a fleeting caress. “Everything will be all right, Nicky. You’re safe. And your father knows how to take care of himself.”

She dropped her gaze to her hands clenched in her lap. Her throat closed at the sudden gentleness in his voice, the touch of his warm hand on her cheek. She didn’t want to feel this way, this yearning to be held by him, to find comfort from the fear that clutched at her heart.

She swallowed hard. “I have nothing with me,” she said miserably. “No money, no clothes.” She glanced up at him. “Would you mind getting me a room in this place so at least I can shower and sleep? Tomorrow I’ll figure out what to do and pay you back.”

“You’re staying right here tonight,” he said calmly. “We might have been followed here and I’m taking no risks with you in a room by yourself.”

I don’t want to be alone with you, came the automatic reply. But it stayed silent in her head. She fought to be calm and rational and not let her emotions create havoc.

“I’m not your responsibility,” she said huskily. Her hands shook and she put the glass down.

His eyes held hers. “I’m making you my responsibility,” he said with calm authority.

Her father had asked him to take care of her, no doubt. Do what Blake tells you to do, he’d told her. “I suppose my father asked you over the phone. You could have told him to figure out something else, you know.”

He gave her an odd look. “There’s not much I would not do for your father.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

His expression was a mingling of surprise and impatience. “Come on, Nicky, you know why I admire and respect him.” He hesitated for a moment. “He’s been more of a father to me than my own ever was.”

She felt a sudden constriction in her throat. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said.

Blake frowned. “How could you not know?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I... you never told me you felt about him that way.”

She’d known they’d liked each other, of course. What she hadn’t known was the extent of Blake’s feelings for her father. Blake’s own father had left him and his mother when Blake had been five. He’d seen him all of three times since.

She drained her glass. She was exhausted and her head felt dizzy with the whiskey. Her capacity for rational thought and decisive action was severely limited, so for the moment she had little choice but to go along with what Blake suggested.

He gestured to the bathroom door. “Have a shower. It will make you feel better. There’s a bathrobe behind the door.” He picked up the phone. “Are you sure you don’t want something? A cup of mint tea with honey, maybe?”

Her heart made an odd little leap. She swallowed. “All right, yes. I’d like that.” Mint tea, after all, was good for the digestion. She came to her feet and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the cool tile wall and took in a deep breath. So he remembered she liked mint tea with honey. What did that mean except that he had a good memory? They’d been married for two years. Surely he remembered things about her likes and disk likes. After all, didn’t she remember plenty about him?

She stripped off her clothes, taking in the sumptuous bathroom, the marble floor, the thick fluffy towels and the array of luxury toiletries, compliments of the hotel.

She filled the tub and put in some fragrant bath oil. Why take a shower when she could have a leisurely bath? It would relax her; it always did.

Except this time. Her head was too full of fearful questions and nervous apprehension. Would her father really be all right? What about her being in this room tonight? She felt like a nervous wreck thinking about being alone with Blake.

Blake who was still the same, and yet so different. He was still the same utterly attractive, man she had fallen in love with. He was also harder and colder. And the shine of laughter in his eyes was no longer there.

A knock came on the bathroom door and startled her. “Your tea is here. You want it in there?”

Her pulse leapt. “No, thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She let the tub drain, turned on the shower and shampooed her hair and rinsed off. It was good to feel clean again. The huge towel felt soft and luxurious. She wrapped another towel around her wet hair and pulled on one of the two hotel robes behind the door. Bundling up her clothes, she went back into the bedroom.

“Do you think we can get these washed by tomorrow morning?” she asked.

He glanced up from his newspaper. “Sure.” He reached for the phone. “Anything else you need? A toothbrush?”

She nodded. “Please.” She sat down at the table and poured the tea from a small pot and stirred in some honey while Blake was on the phone. Her body felt tense, her nerves frayed. She sipped the hot tea, surveying the dishes on the table, as yet covered and untouched. He had waited for her before eating. Always the gentleman. She moaned inwardly. Oh, God, she didn’t want to think about the past, about what had been.

He put the phone down and sat across from her at the table and took the covers off the plates, exposing an Oriental noodle dish with huge shrimp and a salad.

“It looks good,” she said for something to say.

“You can have some if you like.”

“No, thanks.” She sipped the fragrant tea. “You remembered I like mint tea,” she heard herself say.

His eyes met hers across the table. “Of course I do, Nicky,” he said, his mouth twisting in an odd little smile. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She shrugged uneasily. “I don’t know, I just...” Her voice faltered. “I just didn’t think it would be something you’d remember.”

“I remember a lot. More than is comfortable.” He picked up fork and glanced down at his food.

Her heart contracted. She remembered, too, and it certainly wasn’t comfortable. She stared into her cup, wondering about the sleeping arrangements, what he had in mind. There was only the one bed, king-size as it might be. They could easily sleep in it together and never know the other one was in it.

Sure, sure. She closed her eyes and swallowed more tea. She could suggest she sleep on the floor, or in one of the chairs. He wouldn’t let her. She knew him well enough. There was something terribly unreal about this situation.

“You look tired,” he said, surveying her face.

“I am. I was on my feet practically all day.”

“Tell me about your article.”

So she did, feeling relieved to have her thoughts distracted. “Have you ever eaten snake?” she asked, remembering seeing the creatures for sale in the market that morning—a lifetime ago.

“Tastes like chicken. Quite good.”

She grimaced. “It’s all in my head, I know, but I’m not ready for that adventure.”

Blake had finished his food and leaned back in his chair, only to come to his feet again when a knock came on the door. A smiling maid stated she had come to pick up the laundry. She had barely left when another one delivered a toothbrush.

As he once more closed and locked the door, Blake tossed Nicky the toothbrush. “If you want to go to sleep, go ahead. Would it bother you if I watched the news on TV for a while? I’ll turn it low.”

“No, of course not.” It was, after all, his room. “Where do you want me to sleep?” she asked.

He raised a dark brow. “In the bed, of course.”

“And you?”

“In the bed, too. Where else? Plenty of space. I’m sure we can manage. We have done this before, remember?”

Her heart lurched. “That was quite a while ago.” She sounded nervous. “And we were married.”

He gave her an impenetrable look. “Don’t stand there like a frightened virgin, for God’s sake. Don’t worry, I won’t force myself on you. I never have and I won’t now.”

Heat washed over her—a rush of anger, of memories, of embarrassment. No, he had never forced himself on her. All he had to do was smile his special smile, touch her softly, kiss her—anything at all and she was instantly aflame. Oh, God, she did not know if she would survive the night with him next to her in bed. She forced herself to be calm.

“Good,” she said tightly. “I’ll dry my hair and brush my teeth.”

“There’s toothpaste in my toiletry kit, and dental floss. Help yourself.” So cool, so calm.

“Thank you.” She swung around and went into the bathroom, feeling her legs trembling. She saw herself in the mirror, flushed, her eyes bright. A nervous virgin. She was pathetic!

She gritted her teeth, dragged the towel from her head and reached for the dryer mounted to the wall. She switched it on full, using her fingers to comb through her hair and lift it to dry it, the noise of the dryer an odd comfort. Her chest felt tight and for a terrible moment she was afraid she might break out in tears for a reason she couldn’t even fathom. Concentrating on the whining noise of the hair-dryer, she managed to control herself and the moment passed.

Her hair was very short and naturally curly and it didn’t take long to dry. She took the toothbrush from its box and looked around to locate Blake’s black leather toiletry kit, the same functional model he’d had years ago, but probably a newer version. A hairbrush lay beside it. Hesitating, she picked it up and used it to give her hair a quick going over now that it was dry.

The toiletry kit stood open and she took out the toothpaste and brushed her teeth, then searched for the small box of floss. It seemed to be an oddly intimate thing to be going through his kit, but he’d told her to do it. There was nothing but the usual stuff inside—a razor, a can of shaving foam, antiperspirant, aspirin, some first aid cream, his toothbrush and the dental floss. She took it out, cut off a piece and tossed the box back into the kit.

Back in the room she found Blake watching CNN, his shoes and socks off, bare feet propped up on the bed. Even his feet still looked familiar. She’d be able to pick them out of a thousand other pairs.

She stood in front of the bed, hesitating. Now, she could casually take off the bathrobe and slide between the sheets, but it was more than she was prepared to do with him having a front row seat for the show. When they’d been married she’d never worn anything to bed, but they were no longer married and if she was going to sleep in the same bed with him she was damn well going to wear something.

“Do you have something I can sleep in?” she asked. “A T-shirt?”

He gazed at her for a moment, as if her simple request needed digesting. Then he gestured at the dresser. “Second drawer on the right. The blue one is good and long.”

Was he making fun of her? She couldn’t tell. She found the T-shirt, went back into the bathroom and pulled it on. It was a good thing he was big and she was so small. The T-shirt reached almost mid-thigh.

“Charming,” he commented as she came back into the room. There was unexpected humor in his voice. “Do you honestly think that thing is going to keep me from ravishing you if I felt so inclined?”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped.

He laughed. “Go to sleep, woman, you’re overwrought.”

It was easier said than done. The bed was comfortable, the sheets cool and crisp, but her body was tense. She listened to the soft murmur of the television. It seemed ages before he turned it off. Had he been waiting for her to be asleep before coming to bed? She heard him move around, go into the bathroom, heard the shower running.

She pictured him standing in the falling water, naked, wet, soapy, bubbles clinging to the hair on his chest. It was so easy to visualize. She knew everything about that body, the way it felt pressed intimately against hers. A wave of memories washed over her and her body reacted with treacherous need.

Her heart pounding, she jerked upright in bed.

This was crazy. She was crazy. She could not stay here. She should call someone. Who? She didn’t even have any clothes to put on. Oh, God, this was like a bad movie.

The shower was turned off. She scooted back under the covers, eyes closed, body rigid. He was drying himself off, wiping his face, his chest. He was brushing his teeth.

Stop it! Stop it!

The door opened quietly. Footsteps came softly toward the bed. She felt his weight on the mattress, the movements of his body as he made himself comfortable on the other side, heard the click of the lamp as he turned it off.

Silence, punctuated by the throbbing of her heart. She opened her eyes and stared into the darkness, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. After a while she heard Blake’s slow, regular breathing. He was asleep.

She felt an unreasonable, bitter anger. Here he was, asleep, not bothered at all by her being in his bed.

Well, why should he? They’d been married once, but that was over now. He’d probably had ten women since her.

She didn’t want him if he begged her. The thought almost made her laugh out loud. Blake never begged for anything.

She was floating in crystal blue water and the sky bloomed in soft pastels, greeting the rising sun. So beautiful—she sighed with the wonder of it. Gentle waves lapped sensuously against her skin, taking her back to the beach, back to Blake who was waiting for her to come to him.

Pink sand. So beautiful. So soft. She lay down and stretched out her arms to touch the warmth, to touch Blake, pleasure curling languorously through her body.

He felt warm and solid and she snuggled closer against him, his breath brushing her face. The sun rose higher and higher, the air grew hotter and hotter. She murmured his name, breathing in the familiar scent of him, her body flooding with trembling need, wanting him, wanting him.

Trembling need. Dizzying hunger. And an aching sadness. Her fingers tangled in his thick hair, slipped down his neck to his back. It was smooth and strong under her hands. She shifted a little, searching for his mouth, kissing him, hearing the soft groan coming from deep inside him.

It was so wonderful to kiss him, to feel the sweet, seductive yearning. So why this sadness? The soundless tears? As if she knew she would never have what she so desperately craved. As if all of this was just a fragile illusion.

His heart beat against hers. She could feel it against her breast, hear it. So wonderful. Two hearts beating together. She clung to him, closer still, her arms around him. Comfort and bliss. She fought the sadness, wanting only to feel the magic of their bodies together. “Hold me,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”

“Nicky?” A sound from another world, harsh, tortured.

She felt dragged into consciousness, heart racing, darkness everywhere. She gulped in air, disoriented, feeling the roughness of an unshaven chin, the warm skin of a naked body intimately close against her.

Light flooded the room, and she found herself staring into Blake’s smoke-gray eyes. Oh, God, she thought, freezing over. I don’t believe this.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE was over on his side of the bed, intimately nestled against his naked body—an intimacy that left no secrets hidden. She tore herself away. “I... you woke me up,” she muttered inanely.

“Sweetheart, you woke me up,” he said wryly. “Too bad. I was quite enjoying it.”

She’d noticed. “I must have been having a nightmare,” she returned, mortified. “You, in my bed.”

He laughed softly. “Some nightmare. You were kissing me and touching me with quite some passion.”

“I was dreaming of someone else.” She didn’t know where she got the presence of mind to come up with that one.

“I thought you said it was a nightmare. Are you trying to confuse me?”

As if there were even the faintest possibility that she could. She grasped the sheet, her hands clenched into fists. “I don’t remember! I have no idea what I was dreaming or doing. I was sleeping! And then you woke me up!”

He braced his elbow against the mattress and propped his head up on his hand. He observed her with maddening calm. “Right. I apologize. I should have let you finish your...eh, dream.”

“Why didn’t you, if you so enjoyed it?”

His mouth curved. “I am capable of controlling my baser animal instincts.”

“You never did before!”

“I never had to before—with you.” Faint amusement in his voice.

“And why did you now?”

He shrugged. “This was different.”

“So what was different? Why not have a little bonus of free sex?” She didn’t like the way she sounded—the sharp, cynical edge to her voice. It wasn’t her, not really.

One dark eyebrow quirked up. “It was different, for one thing, because you used to be fully conscious, well, most of the time. When you weren’t I could be assured you wouldn’t regret it later, since you, as my loving wife, were willing and wanting any time, anywhere.”

She didn’t know why this should make her feel embarrassed or humiliated, but it did. “You make it sound as if I were some kind of nymphomaniac! You’d be gone for weeks on end! Wasn’t I supposed to want you when you came home?”

He gave a crooked smile. “I’d have been very disappointed if you hadn’t.”

He was making fun of her. She hated him. He was so in control of himself. Always in control. She couldn’t stand it. Always calm and confident. He did not lose his temper. He seldom got angry. He never complained.

“Complaining is a sign of weakness,” he’d once told her. “If you don’t like something, either accept it and go on with your life or do something about it, take action. Don’t waste time moaning about it.”

She’d taken this bit of wisdom to heart and vowed not to be a moaning, complaining wife. Not much good it had done her. It was an unhappy thought. Not that she was complaining, of course.

She moved over further to the very edge of the mattress, feeling the T-shirt twisted up around her waist. She yanked it down as she struggled out of bed. It was four-thirteen, she read on the digital clock next to the bed. In the bathroom she drank a glass of water, wishing she could just walk out of the place, away from Blake, away from the nightmare of being with him again. Her eyes in the mirror looked dark and huge in her pale face.

How could this possibly have happened? How could she still feel like this about him after all these years, knowing it was useless, knowing he could never give her what she really needed ...

She closed her eyes, feeling tears burn behind her lids, seeing his face, the humor in his eyes. Maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t controlled himself, if they had made love. Then at least she could have had the comfort of not having been the only one losing control.

She groaned inwardly. What was she thinking!

A knock on the door. “Nicky?” Blake’s voice, low but insistent.

“Go away,” she said thickly, remembering she hadn’t locked the door. “Leave me alone.”

He opened the door. He had a kain wrapped around his waist, a sarong with colorful stripes. “Come back to bed.”

She blinked away the tears. “Don’t come barging in here!”

“Just making sure you’re not trying to sleep in the tub,” he said casually. “You can have the bed. I’ll do some work. I’m usually up early anyway.”

She knew that. She knew too damn much for her own comfort. She stared down at her hands gripping the cold edge of the sink, gathering her composure. She raised her head and looked at him. “All right, thank you.” Spoken like a lady. She was proud of herself.

Nothing more was said. She slid back into bed, and he sat at the desk and began to type on his laptop computer. The staccato rhythm was oddly relaxing—a dry click-clack that had nothing to do with emotion and desire.

Bright sunlight awoke her, streaming over her face and body. She struggled against it briefly, turning around and burying her face in the pillow. But consciousness claimed her and with it the knowledge of reality. She lay still and opened her eyes. Blake had pulled back the curtains, and was pouring coffee at the small room-service table that must have been wheeled in while she was still asleep. She’d been dead to the world.

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