‘It’s okay,’ he said, between huge lungfuls of air, not having to look up again to know what had caused him to nearly fall from the speeding mill beneath him. He reached out and decreased the speed, waiting until it had slowed to a walk before casting a look up at the doorway.
He was already breathing hard when he took in the sight of her, thankful that he had a reason to disguise his body’s natural reaction to her beauty, to her presence. She was simply glorious.
The long dark loose curls fell over her bare shoulders and hovered near her waist. Her leggings clung to shapely legs and he had a sudden and shocking urge to wrap his palm around the curve of her thigh. He drenched himself in memories of that night for just a moment before flinging the door closed on that train of thought. He was still staring at the way the vest clung to her breasts and to where it pulled tight across the increasing swell around her stomach. No. It was no longer a swell and had—in the last few weeks—most definitely formed into a bump. He marvelled at how her body had changed even in the weeks since their wedding, and couldn’t help the word forming in his mind possessively and with no uncertain amount of finality...mine.
* * *
Maria had heard him curse and was startled that it echoed the exact same thought crashing through her mind. She hadn’
t expected to find him here having returned from her walk by the lake, convinced that he had left before dawn to head to his office, as he had done almost every single day since their wedding.
But he was here. And he looked...
Her mouth actually watered.
Seriously, she thought to herself, am I that base?
Yes. Yes, I most definitely am.
A pair of soft grey sweatpants hung low on lean hips, showing off the taut muscles dipping beneath its waistband. Because, naturally, he was shirtless, and all-consumingly magnificent. The breadth of his arms, the sheen of sweat covering his skin, her eyes ate up every inch of him. The scars becoming less something that she noted, but more something that highlighted the way his sculpted muscles shifted along with his body’s movements.
She regretted the moment he reached for the T-shirt hanging from the bars of the treadmill, almost begged him not to cover up such sheer masculine beauty, and she very much hated that he felt he had to cover his body for her. He pulled it over his head, tugging it down over the breadth of his chest, and cut off the sight that had both shocked and enticed.
‘I wanted to do some yoga and thought that...’ She felt that she had to fill the silence, otherwise they might just continue to stare at each other, like combatants facing off against...what? Their desires? Their wants? Because she knew that he wanted her. She could see it in his eyes. And that made his almost continual absence from her presence so much harder to bear. She cut off thoughts that were beginning to feel a little too self-pitying and made her way over to the soft mat flooring by the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
‘Of course,’ he said as he started to leave.
‘I...’ she started, and then stopped, as he looked confused as to why she might want to continue to talk to him. Might want him here. She cursed inwardly again. She couldn’t go on like this. She couldn’t live like this. Two separate people in one house, barely seeing or speaking to each other. ‘I thought I’d take the car into town this morning.’
‘You have an obstetrician appointment?’ he asked, surprised, as if scanning his memory for some piece of missing information.
‘No,’ Maria replied, shaking her head, her curls cascading down the bare skin on her shoulders and back. That had been one of the last things they’d done together, met with the obstetrician—an efficient, kind Swiss national with gleaming offices and state-of-the-art equipment. They weren’t due to visit Ms Klein for another three weeks. ‘I wanted to go shopping.’
‘What for?’
‘A dress for the gala.’
‘What gala?’
She shivered at his tone, which was cut through with shards of icicles. She frowned, wondering whether it was the purchase of the dress that bothered him or the attendance at the gala they’d received an invitation to.
It had been the first and only piece of correspondence sent to her—well, them—since her arrival at Matthieu’s estate and the gentle scrolling swirl, Mr and Mrs Montcour, had caught her eye. She had been faintly surprised that she was acknowledged as his wife, not thinking that the news of their marriage had become public knowledge yet, but then had seen the silver insignia of Montcour Mining Industries in the bottom right-hand corner of the embossed invitation. Perhaps he had meant to tell her about the gala, presuming her to have a spare ball gown that would fit a burgeoning baby bump hanging in her closet. Either way, it didn’t matter. She was Mrs Montcour and as such had absolutely every right to open a letter addressed to her.
‘The one in Lausanne, this evening,’ she said slowly and clearly, because surely he was feigning such a blank, strange reaction. ‘I must say, I was a little surprised to find that you have a charity.’
‘I have three goldmines, two diamond mines and a multibillion-dollar business, why would it surprise you that I have a charity?’
‘Please don’t tell me it’s just a tax write-off,’ she bit back, resenting the dismissive list of his impressive assets. And suddenly she was angry. Angry that he seemed to think that she wouldn’t want to attend a charity gala they had been invited to. Angry that he insisted on leaving her alone to roam this sprawling, yet luxurious estate. A place seemingly made entirely of concrete and steel, the cold greys serving only to remind her constantly of its aloof owner. Angry that she felt she had had to explain or justify her movements. Surely she wasn’t trapped here and could come and go as she pleased?
‘We won’t be going,’ he said, his tone almost a growl and his hand cutting through the air between them as if punctuating his decree.
‘Why not?’
‘I have business to attend to.’
‘Well, I don’t.’ The thought of spending yet another night alone suddenly became impossible to her and everything in her wanted to escape. He looked at her then as if her wants and needs didn’t matter. As if she had grown two heads and four extra arms and he simply couldn’t understand her desire for more.
Enough. She’d had enough of tiptoeing around the father of her child.