The Marriage Truce. Sara Craven

important. And the dress I’m wearing for the wedding has long sleeves. Besides,’ she added, coolly and pointedly. ‘I always did bruise easily.’

      His swift smile was humourless. ‘Ah, yes. Of course. How could I forget? Whereas I, on the other hand, remained unmarked and untouched by everything—always. As if I have chain mail instead of skin. Is that what you’re saying?’

      She bit her lip. ‘Not exactly. I—I couldn’t expect you to care about—some things in the same way as I did.’

      ‘Presumably because I am an insensitive boor of a man, who understands nothing of a woman’s innermost feelings.’ His tone was suddenly icy. ‘You have a short memory, Jenna. In those first few months of our marriage I came to know all your most intimate secrets—including some you’d never been aware of yourself until then.’

      Her suddenly flushed cheeks owed nothing to the heat of the day.

      She said in a suffocated voice, ‘You have no right to talk to me like this. No right at all.’

      ‘I need no reminder,’ Ross said softly, ‘of all the rights in you that I was fool enough to surrender.’

      His words seemed to hang in the air between them, challenging, even threatening. Reviving old memories—old hungers. Shocking her with their potency.

      He was watching her, the dark eyes glittering as they travelled over her in unashamed exploration. The cream round-necked sweater and close-fitting blue denim jeans she wore were no barrier to the intensity of his scrutiny, she realised as she stared back at him, eyes dilating, lips parted. Aware of a small, unwelcome stir of excitement deep within her.

      Because he knew—none better—how she looked naked, after all the times he’d removed her clothes, his hands sometimes tender, often fiercely urgent. His lips caressing the warm skin he’d uncovered.

      She was horrified to feel her nipples hardening involuntarily under the sudden force of the recollection.

      This was what she’d always feared, she thought, swallowing. This was why she’d refused to allow any personal contact between them during the divorce, even in the safety of the lawyers’ offices. Or afterwards.

      Because she knew she could not guarantee to control her physical responses to him.

      However much she might have trained her mind to reject him, her body still shivered with remembered desire in his presence.

      Suddenly she felt heat blaze from him like a dark sun.

      And realised with swift, scared certainty that all she needed to do was reach out her hand …

      Her throat tightened. She thought, ‘I can’t do this.’ And only realised she had spoken aloud when she saw his face change. The firm mouth harden.

      Saw him take a step backwards, deliberately distancing himself from her.

      He said quietly, ‘Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice, Jenna. And neither do I.’ He paused. ‘However, it might be better for me to walk back to Thirza’s. I’ll see you later.’

      He turned and strode off down the quay.

      For a moment Jenna stood where she was, watching him go, then, slowly and shakily, she made her way across the cobbles to her car.

      She unlocked it and got in, stowing her bag on the passenger seat. Even fitting the key in the ignition. But she made no attempt to start the engine.

      Her heart was thumping rapidly and noisily, and she felt slightly sick. Certainly she didn’t trust herself to drive. Not unless she wanted to find herself, and the car, on the bottom of the harbour.

      She thought, I have to pull myself together.

      But that, of course, was easier said than done.

      She drew a deep breath and made herself review the situation. It had been lousy luck running into Ross two days in a row, but she’d make sure it didn’t happen again.

      She was bound to see him at the wedding, of course, but there would be plenty of other people around, and he would be easier to dodge in a crowd. And there would be the unknown Tim to act as safeguard, anyway.

      Apart from the wedding rehearsal tomorrow, there was no need for her to leave Trevarne House at all, and she would make sure that her every waking moment was full—even if all she could find to do was soothing Aunt Grace.

      She folded her arms on the steering wheel and leaned her forehead against them, feeling the prickle of tears against her closed eyelids.

      But who, she thought, with sudden desolation, is going to soothe me?

      And for that she could find no satisfactory answer at all.