Free The Faithful Wife by Diana Hamilton Page A

on the future...
    â€˜I’ve managed this far; a few more steps won’t hurt me.’
    There was no condemnation in his voice, just a gruff thread of something she couldn’t put a name to, and she wound her arms around his neck as he carried her up to the bathroom with no apparent effort at all.
    He slid her down his body to put her on her feet, and she did her best not to sway or wobble. Out there, when the storm had worsened, she’d been truly frightened. But her hero had come and brought her home.
    He had always been her hero. Even when she couldn’t understand him, had believed he’d never really loved her and had married her because he lusted after her, she’d never been able to topple him off the pedestal she’d created for him in her mind. Which was strange, considering everything.
    Her throat tightened. There were things that had to be said. Now, in this softer, more receptive mood, surely he would listen?
    He released his hold on her slowly, as if reassuring himself that she wouldn’t fall in a wet and soggy heap, and bent to turn the bath taps on.
    She reached out and touched his arm, and he straightened immediately at the slight contact, his breath bunching painfully in his lungs. Turning to her, his eyes narrowed with concern as he saw the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Jake—’
    â€˜You’re back now, no damage done,’ he said quickly, his eyes sweeping her tense features. ‘Don’t waste your breath apologising.’
    â€˜I want to! Not just for taking off like that, but for everything else!’ she cried, needing him to know how much she regretted what she’d done, needing him to understand why she’d done it. There had been too many thoughts left unspoken in the past, culminating in a total lack of communication. She should have tried harder to make him listen, make him understand. She could see that now.
    â€˜Shh.’ He placed two fingers against her lips, silencing her, clamping his jaw tightly as he felt her mouth tremble beneath the gentle pressure, and stamping on the near-desperate urge to kiss her senseless as her lids fluttered closed, colour stealing into her flawless skin.
    He couldn’t listen to her raking over the past, hear her apologising for the act of adultery, promising it would never happen again. ‘No post mortems,’ he said thickly, taking his fingers from her mouth because touching her hadn’t been one of his better ideas.
    He tested the temperature of the water and turned off the taps. ‘What you need is a warm bath and a hot drink.’ He unbuttoned her soggy coat and removed it, his hands brisk, impersonal, his movements economical. Then he bent to tackle the laces of her walking shoes.
    Looking down at his dark head, his wet hair plastered to his skull, Bella bit back a groan as the breath snagged in her lungs, making her heart race. Willing her fingers not to reach out and touch—not yet—she curved them sharply into her palms.
    Maybe in a moment she could make her move...ask him to share the bath with her...? If the signs were right... If she had the courage...
    Out of those three years of their marriage they’d spent a total of one hundred and thirty-one days together. She knew the tally exactly. She’d kept a record.
    But she’d done her best, for the first couple of years at least, to make the most of their time together. And they’d shared a bath on many memorable occasions. Highly memorable occasions...
    Her heart felt as if it were about to explode in her chest, her body too narrow to contain such tumultuous emotions. They’d been so good together—sexually at least—their need, their physical generosity, dovetailing perfectly, their passion carrying each other ever higher, reaching unbelievable realms of rapture.
    Surely that spectacular closeness couldn’t all be lost? There had to be something left they could