'Not exactly, but I did give her one of my antihista-mine tablets for that bee sting she had this afternoon, and I forgot to mention they don't mix too well with alcohol.'
Ethan closed his eyes and swore softly but comprehensively under his breath.
'You can't talk to your mother like that, Ethan,' Hannah protested.
'I think we should get you out of here.'
'Unilateral decisions!' Hannah said, wagging her finger admonishingly in his face. She took him off guard as she pulled free of his supporting arms. 'Oh, dear,' she whispered as her knees began to buckle. Just before Ethan caught her, she asked the question that was uppermost in her mind.
'Is Miranda your Friday night, Ethan?' Call it acoustics or bad luck, but her voice carried clear as a bell from one end of the room to the other.
CHAPTER SIX
'How are you feeling now?'
'If you ignore the headache and the fact a sip of water makes me feel sick, I feel great. Who took my clothes off?' Hannah felt the bed give as Ethan sat down on it.
'Me.'
'I suppose you were there when I was sick too.' Could this humiliation get any worse? she wondered glumly.
'Yes.'
'Oh, God!' she moaned 'I want to die.'
'You mentioned that too. Life will probably look more appealing after you've slept some more.'
Hannah didn't reply, because she knew it wouldn't. Once she was better she'd have to face the full force of his anger and contempt. Selective amnesia would have been nice, but she could recall in horrifying detail every syllable and every sultry pout her lips had formed. There was a strong possibility she could never appear in public again without a brown paper bag over her head. The story of Ethan Kemp's mad, drunken wife would probably become legendary in the rarefied legal circles that Ethan inhabited.
Just thinking about it brought her out; in a cold sweat. She'd humiliated and embarrassed him in front of his colleagues and friends. How he must regret the day he'd married her. Tears seeped from under her closed eyelids and ran slowly down the curve of her cheek. She could taste the saltiness as they touched her dry lips...
When she woke again, Hannah did feel a lot better.
Her head felt muzzy and her stomach a little delicate, but other than that things were back to normal. She sat up and gasped. Not quite normal—Ethan didn't normally sleep in her bedroom armchair.
He was sound asleep. His head was thrown back, one of his hands brushed the floor and one knee was hooked over the armrest. The chair was much too small to accommodate his bulk.
Holding her breath, she tiptoed across the carpet. She almost tripped over his crumpled jacket and tie. Through his white shirt she could see the shadow of dark body hair. Sleep softened the lines of his strongly sculpted features; he looked younger—not exactly vulnerable, but softer. She clasped her hands together to resist the impulse to stroke back the hank of dark hair that flopped in his eyes.
He shifted slightly and she held her breath. She became suddenly conscious of the fact she was wearing only a pair of silky pants. If he woke up now and she was caught in all her voyeuristic glory...! With one last covetous look at his sleeping figure, she crept away. Taking great care not to make a sound, she closed the bathroom door-silently behind her.
By the time the room was filled by warm steam she was starting to feel more human. She might even be able to take his justified anger. Yelling at a semi-comatose victim couldn't compare with the pleasure of telling a conscious culprit exactly what he thought of her. Not being able to shout at her last night had probably only concentrated his sense of outrage, she concluded gloomily.
If only her lowered inhibitions hadn't brought her submerged jealously so visibly and audibly to the surface. The last thing she could remember before she'd passed out was Ethan's face, white with fury. He didn't flaunt his emotions for the public, and he hadn't needed to spell out the fact that he expected her to emulate his flawless public behaviour. Ethan Kemp's wife did not dance on table-tops and definitely didn't accuse her husband of infidelity!
She still revolved under the warm spray when some sixth sense told her she was no longer alone. It was only a hand across her lips that stopped her screaming. His face wasn't furious this time, more broodingly angry. Anger wasn't the only emotion revealed as the water streamed over his face. She contemplated the hungry, restless look in his eyes with breathless shock.
'I didn't want you to bring Lancelot in here with your screams,' he said, removing his hand from her lips. 'You appear to arouse the chivalrous instinct in my soon to be stepbrother. I suppose you were in on that little secret?'
Obviously I don't have the same effect on you, Hannah thought. She wanted to back away but she was rooted to the spot as firmly as a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car, her fate just as inevitable as that creature's. As Ethan's glance dropped insolently over her slim body, it was almost as if he was daring her to object to his presence.