Free The Unwanted Wife by Natasha Anders Page A

the text. Finally she exhaled gustily and clicked on the message.
    “Eating out tonight. Dress: casual. ‘Business thing’. Will be home by 6. Dinner @ 7:30”
    She groaned, Sandro and his damned “appearances”! She was tempted to simply refuse but didn’t have the energy for the argument that would ensue. At least he’d forewarned her this time, there had been a few incidences in the past where he had simply come home and told her that they were going out in an hour. A couple of times the events had been formal, leaving Theresa to scramble for appropriate dresses and silently cursing the fact that she hadn’t even had the opportunity to have her hair professionally done. Sighing softly, she gave up on work for the rest of the afternoon and instead decided to get her hair done. Looking good tonight would give her ego a boost if nothing else.
     
    Sandro was home promptly at six. Theresa was curled up on the sofa, flipping through the coffee table book by an extremely popular photographer, which she had just purchased on her afternoon excursion. He was a wildlife photographer but his subject matter this time round was a lot closer to home. His latest anthology, entitled “Man’s Best Friend” was all about dogs. Theresa, being a huge sucker for dogs, hadn’t thought twice before buying the book. Sandro paused in the doorway and she looked up to see his arrested gaze on her hair. She lifted a self-conscious hand to her newly-cut hair, knowing that it was a big change. She had had her waist length fall of Titian hair cut to just below her jaw. The style was straight and sleek, with a feathery fringe and Theresa loved the way it made her look and feel like a new woman. Something she was so desperately striving to be.
    Her hair had always been long, her father had absolutely forbade her to cut it and Theresa knew that the one thing Sandro absolutely adored about her, aside from her rather small breasts, was her hair. When he was having sex with her he was always touching, stroking or tugging at her hair. Now she waited with bated breath for his inevitable negative reaction to the cut which framed her face and emphasised her large, grey-green, eyes and high, delicate cheekbones. His hands clenched and he seemed to swallow with visible effort.
    “You look…” his voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat before starting again. “You look bellisima , cara .” His quiet voice seemed to ring with sincerity and something which, in any other man, would be akin to reverence. “Absolutely stunning…”
    She blinked.
    “Oh,” was all she could think of to say and he came further into the room, still so riveted on her hair and face that he very nearly tripped over a small footstool placed beside an easy chair. He frowned down at the offending piece of furniture before sinking down into the leather easy chair opposite the matching sofa Theresa was curled up on.
    “Uh…” he dragged his gaze down to the book in her lap and seemed strangely desperate to make conversation. “What are you reading?” His sharp eyes honed in on the title before he raised his gaze to hers in consternation. “ Dogs ?” He sounded so insultingly nonplussed that she hugged the book defensively to her chest.
    “I happen to like dogs,” she said fiercely and his strangely gentle gaze swept over her tight features before coming to a rest on the book she had clutched to her chest. He leaned forward and extended his right hand palm up.
    “May I?” He kept his gaze steady until she reluctantly let up on the death grip she had on the book and handed it over to him. “Thank you.” He leaned back and flipped through the glossy pages, pausing here and there before grinning almost boyishly up at her. He looked so breathtakingly handsome that for a long moment she didn’t realise that he was talking to her.
    “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” she whispered and his grin widened as he flipped the book toward her, tapping his long index