The Millionaire's Christmas Wife - Page 4

She had reached the lift when he caught her, his hands fastening on her forearms as he had moved her to face him. ‘Listen to me,’ he’d said urgently. ‘Let me explain.’

‘I don’t want you to explain.’ She had been beside herse

lf with shock and pain. ‘I saw enough to know exactly what was happening.’

‘You don’t, that’s what I’m trying to say. Listen, I didn’t know she was there—’

‘She’s your secretary, in your office, half-dressed and you didn’t know she was there?’ she’d all but screamed at him. ‘Surely you can come up with something better than that?’

‘It’s the truth. I’d been working and gone to get myself a coffee—’

‘Since when do you get your own coffees?’

‘Since everyone’s gone home for Christmas.’

‘Not everyone, Jay,’ she’d shot back, incensed he could think she was so gullible. ‘You’re here and so is she. If you wanted a coffee, couldn’t Belinda have got it?’

‘I thought she’d left with the others.’

‘And you’re telling me you came back and there she was, lying over your desk with her skirt up round her ears and everything on offer?’

Belinda had appeared behind Jay at that moment, her blouse fastened and not a hair out of place as she had purred, ‘Miriam, I’m so sorry,’ as her feline eyes had glittered with satisfaction.

‘No, you’re not.’ She’d stared straight into the carefully made-up face. ‘You’re not sorry at all. You’ve always wanted him, haven’t you? Well, be my guest. He’s all yours.’

The lift had opened right on cue and she had stepped into it, Jay following her a second later. As the doors closed Belinda stood watching them, her face impassive, but the green-flecked eyes narrowed on Jay as he said, ‘You’re not going like this, not until I tell you what happened. Surely you don’t think for one moment I want her?’

She had actually put her hands over her ears at that point. ‘Don’t treat me as though I’m as foolish as my mother, Jay, because I’m not. I saw what I saw.’ As he had reached out to touch her she had slapped his hand away with some force. ‘Don’t, don’t you dare,’ she’d shouted, on the verge of hysterics. ‘I never want you to touch me again.’

‘Stop this.’ His face had been white and shocked but now he was getting angry too, his voice harsh as he’d ground out, ‘I’m asking you to let me explain.’

‘And I’m telling you I don’t want to hear.’ The lift doors glided open in Reception and now she lowered her voice, aware of the one remaining receptionist on duty as she said, ‘I suggest you get back to her because I don’t want you.’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Ridiculous or not, that’s the way I feel.’

‘I’ll take you home. Wait while I get my jacket.’

‘I’m not waiting for you, Jay. I thought you knew me well enough to understand that word doesn’t feature in my vocabulary. I watched my mother waiting for my father for years and years.’

‘You’re being unreasonable. I’m asking you, telling you to wait here for two minutes while I get my jacket, OK? If you’re not here when I get down there’ll be hell to pay, Miriam. I mean it. We’re going to talk this through and it’s not going to ruin our Christmas.’

Ruin their Christmas? She stared at him with huge eyes. Was he mad? She’d just caught him with another woman and he was talking about ruining their Christmas? What about the rest of their lives?

As soon as he had disappeared into the lift she left the building, hailing a taxi which had—miraculously in the circumstances—passed by empty. Once in the apartment she threw a few things into a suitcase, work-ing purely on automatic and praying all the time Jay wouldn’t arrive before she had left. She had just exited the apartment block and crossed the road when a taxi screeched to a halt outside the building. Melting into the shadows, she watched as Jay leapt out of the car. It had been too dark to see his face clearly but she hadn’t had to to know he was furiously angry. It was evident in every line of his body.

Once he had gone inside she had made her escape. She hadn’t gone to her mother and stepfather, knowing that was the first place he’d try, but instead had booked into a hotel for the night. From there she had phoned her mother and told them the dinner party on Christmas Eve was off and why, and asked her to let everyone know. It was only when her mother had become somewhat tearful that she’d promised she’d go and see them the next day and stay over Christmas. Then she had had a long hot bath and cried enough tears to fill it twice over before falling asleep exhausted at some point in the evening.

When Jay had turned up at her mother’s the next day she hadn’t been surprised; he’d been phoning her mobile every few minutes but she hadn’t taken the calls. He’d given the same explanation, adding Belinda had had too much to drink at the Christmas party, which was why she’d acted as she had. He wasn’t excusing her, he’d said crisply, but apparently she’d gone to sleep in an empty office somewhere and then arrived in his while he was getting himself the coffee. He had walked in to find her reclining on his desk, half-undressed. She could believe him or not, but that was the truth. She’d said she chose not to believe him and he had left after telling her not to be such a little fool and to take time to think logically. He wasn’t going to beg and plead, he’d added. Trust was an essential ingredient in any marriage and it was about time she grew up and realised that.

His attitude had shaken her. He had seemed so staunch in what he said, totally unwavering in his explanation of what had happened. By the time she’d returned to work after the Christmas break—the worst time of her life—she had been weakening. Her mother had been insistent she’d made the biggest mistake of her life in walking out on Jay and—mainly, Miriam admitted, because she badly wanted to believe his version of events—she’d begun to think she might have got it wrong.

Then on that first morning back at work Belinda had phoned her.

Miriam sat up in bed. This was ridiculous. She was never going to be able to sleep now and why she was doing a post-mortem at this late stage she didn’t know. Everything was cut and dried and had been for ages. She had made her decision in January and it was irrevocable.

Switching on the light, she reached for a book on the table next to the sofa bed. She read a couple of pages without taking a word in; all she could focus on was the memory of Belinda’s sugary-sweet voice on that morn-ing ten months ago.

Tags: Helen Brooks Billionaire Romance
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