Free Marriage by Deception by Sara Craven

back at the house? And that, almost certainly, would be what he was waiting to hear. Hoping to hear. And yet…
    The house was her domain—her little fortress. The place where she led her real life—not this pretence she’d been lured into.
    To invite him back would be to breach some invisible barricade, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.
    It was all going too far, too fast, she thought, swallowing. One false step and she could be out of her depth—the waters closing over her head.
    He said gently, ‘Stop struggling, darling. The choice is between filter and cappuccino, nothing else. Though I wish…’
    ‘Yes?’ she prompted at his hesitation.
    He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
    He’d been about to say, I wish you’d trust me, he realised ruefully, and he was in no position to ask any such thing.
    It had been good to watch her start to relax—tolaugh and talk with him as if they were together for all the right reasons, he thought, as they drank their coffee.
    Even so, he was aware that, mentally, she was still on guard. Emotionally, too, he told himself wryly. There was an inner kernel to this girl that was strictly a no-go area. That he suspected she’d fight to protect.
    So, he would proceed with caution, and anticipate the eventual rewards of his forbearance.
    There was silence between them, but it was a companionable silence, with neither of them believing they had to strive for the next remark.
    He watched her covertly as she sat, quietly at ease, looking down at the green-gold of the strega in her glass. He’d told himself more than once over the past twenty-four hours that she wasn’t his type, but now he found himself noticing with curious intensity that her mouth was soft, pink and strangely vulnerable now that she’d relaxed.
    Her lashes, too, were a shadow against that amazing creamy skin. He imagined what it would be like to see all of it—to uncover her slowly, enjoying every silky inch—and found his body hardening in sharp response. Like some bloody adolescent, he mocked himself, dropping his table napkin discreetly into his lap.
    But he had to be careful, because she still wasn’t convinced about him, and he knew it. One wrong move and there was a real danger she’d blow him away. Which he didn’t want, and, as he reluctantly had to acknowledge, not merely because he still had no clear understanding of her motivation or needs in replying to the personal ad.
    While they’d been eating he’d tried to probe gently,but had found himself blocked. She still wouldn’t let him get too near. Or at least not yet…
    And there had been a time when this would have suited him very well.
    While he’d been a foreign correspondent he’d kept well out of emotional entanglements. He’d told himself it wasn’t fair to keep a woman hanging around until he returned from yet another assignment, even if they were willing to do so—and, without conceit, he knew that there’d been several who’d been prepared to wait for as long as it took.
    Only that hadn’t been what he wanted—so he’d taken care to keep his relationships light, uncommitted and strictly physical, making it clear there was nothing more on offer. And inflicting, he hoped, no lasting damage along the way.
    But this time it was different, although he had no logical reason for knowing it was so—just a gut reaction.
    She glanced up suddenly and found his eyes fixed on her, and he saw the colour flare under her skin, and wondered if there was anything in his face to betray this swift, unlooked-for hunger that she’d aroused.
    ‘More coffee, Janie?’ He kept the words and the smile casual.
    ‘No, thanks.’ It irked her to hear him call her that, and had done all evening. In fact, she’d been debating with herself whether she should tell him her real name—indeed, whether she should come clean about the whole situation.
    But the truth had no part in this game they were playing, she thought, with an odd