LITMIR.BIZ

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What? What was she merely saying? That she hadn’t remembered him being so large? So powerful? Hadn’t consciously accepted the fact that he was really her husband and that they would have to share their lives? Hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that she was attracted to him? ‘I’m merely saying,’ she continued determinedly, ‘that it won’t be easy. We don’t know each other. I don’t know how they do things in Poland,’ she added aggrievedly, ‘but...’

      ‘I’ve never lived in Poland, and I’m only half Polish. And I never said it would be easy. Of course there will be a period of adjustment—we don’t know each other, and I have no more desire to be married than you do. But you needed somewhere to stay, and I needed a wife, so calm down and stop imagining difficulties that might never arise. She’s six years old, Alexa...’

      ‘I know how old she is.’

      ‘Vulnerable and frightened...’

      ‘I know!’ she agreed tearfully, ‘But look at me! I can’t even cope with myself, let alone a child!’

      ‘Of course you can cope with her,’ he stated impatiently. ‘You coped today. I know it will take time. I know that. You’ve lost all that was dear to you. Your home, your business. Dav...’

      ‘Don’t,’ she begged.

      ‘But you have to talk about it. You can’t keep shutting it away as though it never happened.’

      Yes, she could. It was easier that way.

      ‘He sold your home, your livelihood, whilst you were in the hospital...’

      ‘I hadn’t been paying the rent!’

      ‘Of course you hadn’t been paying it! How could you? He never came to visit you...’

      ‘He came once,’ she interrupted defensively.

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed grimly, ‘whilst you were unconscious. He never wrote, explained...’

      Shoving her hands over her ears, she begged, ‘Stop it. Please. Just stop.’

      He sighed, gently reached out to remove her hands, stared into her white, distressed face. ‘He ran out on you, Alexa. Face it. Accept it. The man’s a rat.’

      She knew he was a rat. She didn’t need it spelled out.

      Removing her hands from his, she turned away, stirred aimlessly at the soup. ‘The Davids of this world can’t accept—ugliness,’ she murmured. ‘They can’t help it any more than I can help some of the things I do.’

      ‘You aren’t ugly!’ he argued, with an irritability that she would have thought foreign to his nature. ‘You look fragile and lost and hurt. Has he been in touch?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I am sorry, but...’

      ‘But your own troubles come first,’ she stated quietly. ‘I know that.’ He looked as though he were about to say something, but in the end said nothing. ‘I’m not running out on you, Stefan, I just...need a little time to get used to this. Tell me about the house you’ve bought. I didn’t know you were buying one. You never said.’

      ‘No,’ he denied wearily. ‘I contacted a house-hunting agency, asked them to find me something near the school.’

      ‘And you bought it sight unseen?’ she demanded in astonishment.

      ‘Yes. They sent me photographs.’

      ‘But you can’t buy a house from a photograph!’

      ‘I already did,’ he said flatly. ‘But it won’t be ready for occupation until next week at the earliest. We’ll have to find a hotel—I gave her my word Alexa,’ he added quietly. ‘Promised her that we would be her family. I can’t go back on that.’

      ‘No. I’ll bring this soup through to the lounge, shall I?’

      He examined her face for a moment, then nodded, returned to the lounge.

      Letting her breath out on a long sigh, she relaid the tray, poured the soup into a bowl, cut up the remains of the crusty bread, took a moment to compose herself, then carried it through.

      He was lying back in the chair, his eyes closed.

      ‘Stefan?’

      Nothing.

      ‘Stefan!’

      With a tired sigh, she put the tray on the footstool and gave his shoulder a shake.

      He merely turned his head to one side, exhaled gently.

      Great. After returning the tray to the kitchen, she trailed slowly back to the lounge. Staring at him, at a strong face softened by sleep, she wondered again how on earth she could have been such a fool. Because he was persuasive? Attractive? And he was attractive. No, she admitted honestly, the man was devastating. High Slavic cheekbones—inherited from his mother, she supposed—well-shaped brows, thick lashes, a well-shaped mouth and a determined chin. And she knew absolutely nothing about him.

      How did you live with a man you didn’t know? What did you talk about? She couldn’t discuss his work because she didn’t know anything about it. The wedding had, of necessity, been rushed. She’d looked awful; he’d looked grim. But he’d been kind, gentle as he’d pushed the ring onto her finger, kissed her cheek. He’d given her a rueful smile, a quick hug... Separate rooms in the hotel, the court hearing to grant custody, and then he’d gone back to the States.

      Absently twisting the wedding ring round and round on her finger, a little frown in her eyes, she continued to watch him. Articulate, clever, a man whose thoughts and feelings eluded her. He’d paid some money into an account for her—which she hadn’t yet touched. Bought and paid for. A husband in name, an employer in reality. A business arrangement. And she wanted more, she thought bleakly. And how on earth had she not known all this six weeks ago? Six months ago?

      She stared at him and she saw the man she had liked, laughed with. The same face, the same nose, mouth—how could she not have known?

      How could she know now? She didn’t know. Only knew that it was different. That she wanted to touch him. Be held. Feel his mouth move under hers.

      With a little shudder, she closed her eyes tight, clenched her hands to stop them from touching. Because supposing she did touch him? Trailed her fingers down his cheek? And he woke? What then? He wanted a wife for a year, not for life.

      Had he ever been in love? she wondered. Felt about someone as David had professed to feel about her? No contrast between two men could have been greater. David was slight, fair, charming, a liver of life. Shallow. And a rat. Stefan was large, dark and—intriguing. But he loved his niece. Wanted to make a home for her. Was determined to do so. At any cost? Yet she had liked him. Felt comfortable with him. So why didn’t she now? Why, in God’s name, did everything have to change?

      You expect too much, Alexa. Think too much. You deliberately isolated yourself out here—no one to talk to, laugh with—of course you’re reacting to him like a fool. You’ve been lonely, that’s all it is.

      And he’s tired, jet-lagged, sleeping, she thought humorously. And she’d been nervous, babbling foolishly... Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow, when he was rested, when she was calmer, things would be better. But he was too big, she decided. Took up too much room. Massive shoulders, long arms and legs, a broad chest, and those deep green eyes seemed to see too much.

      Mr Jones emerged from under the chair, gave her a sheepish look, and half-heartedly wagged his tail.

      ‘And what do you think you’re playing at?’ she asked him mock severely.

      He cocked his head to one side, and she grinned. But dogs were highly sensitive, weren’t they? Knew when someone wasn’t quite right. She had never known him to hide under a chair before. But she couldn’t move Stefan, couldn’t wake him... She didn’t have any spare blankets... With another sigh, she walked across

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