Page 73 of Wife After Wife

His intentions seemed serious, genuine. But how well did she really know this man?

She got up to leave, and he walked with her over to the door. Pausing with his fingers on the handle, he looked down at her, and she caught the exquisite scent of him, now familiar. What his blue eyes had started, the pheromones finished, and her resolve was demolished like a tower block brought down by a ton of dynamite.

“Ana...” He pulled her close and kissed her, his passion taking hold, his arms encircling her, tighter, until her hips were pressed against his. He bit her bottom lip gently before moving down to her neck, planting soft kisses down its length.

She arched her back, desire sweeping aside coherent thought, but somehow, eventually, she found the strength to pull away.

“No,” she said, her hands on his chest, breathing fast. “I’m engaged. I can’t do this.”

He took her hands in his and raised them one at a time to his lips, creating little pools of heat on her skin. “Admirable,” he said. “But if you loved him enough to marry him, you wouldn’t be kissing me like that.”

“Don’t—”

“Ana, I’m in love with you. Desperately.” He gently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes. Now you’d better go, before my good intentions leave in disgust.”

•••

Percy moved to Dublin, and Ana was dismayed to discover how many hours of the day would pass without a single thought of him. As for the nights, while she phoned Percy before bedtime, conjured up his face as she drifted off to sleep, her dreams were sabotaged by Harry. Dreams so intense that she’d wake up on fire, unable to banish theimage of his eyes, the sensation of his hands on her body, his skin against hers.

September 1993

Ana’s heart was heavy as she boarded the plane at Dublin Airport. She’d given it her best shot. It was only the second visit she’d managed since Percy’s move to Ireland in June, and she’d been determined this one would be a success.

She’d failed, though Percy had no idea she saw it that way.

The first visit, back in July, was disappointing. His phone calls since he’d left had been upbeat, but she discovered that, in reality, he was dispirited. BWG Dublin consisted only of himself and four others, two of them part-time, and the important decisions were all made in London. Percy had no real power. Ana had put her own worries aside and spent the weekend bolstering his confidence, reminding him he’d been tasked with preparing for the influx of business and money. No doubt BWG was anticipating a surge in clients, and then he’d be able to take on new staff and more responsibility.

It had been exhausting, but she nudged him back on track, made him believe in himself again.

This weekend’s visit had been just as awful, but this time it was her fault.

She strapped herself into her seat, avoiding the eye of the man next to her. She sensed him ogling and opened herIrish Times, blocking his view of her head.

She marveled that Percy hadn’t read her mind, given it was so full of Harry. This weekend in his Dublin flat, she’d been on fire, like a rampaging tiger, after weeks of pent-up sexual longing. Visions of Harry drove her on, no matter how hard she tried to block them.

“Grrr!” Percy had said as she pulled him to her the minute they got through the front door, dragging him toward the kitchen worktop,yanking off his T-shirt and hopping up, wrapping her legs around him, and sending a bowl of green apples flying.

“You’ve missed me, then?” he’d said when she allowed him to breathe for a moment.

“You have no idea.”

Between visits to the bedroom, Percy had asked how the wedding preparations were coming along; each time he did, a cold panic had crept along her veins, dousing the fire.

She was paralyzed with indecision. Her rational self told her (while waggling a finger) that this was just a massive crush on her boss, and she’d be the stupidest of stupid idiots (or “eejits,” as Percy had taken to saying) if she risked her entire future, both personal and professional, for it.

But her heart, and the parts of her that didn’t have to respond via her head, told her to end things with Percy and wait for Harry.

Was she in love with Harry?

When she’d met Percy, it was a meeting of souls, a deep friendship. Sex had been slow, sweet, sensuous, controlled.

With Harry, it was all about excitement, abandon, secrets, passion; a physical attraction that left her reeling. And self-control was noticeably absent.

Which of those relationships would form the basis for a happy life, a contented future? Good, safe Percy, or bad, dangerous Harry?

As the plane was swallowed into the low cloud over Dublin, she attempted to look at her future objectively. Harry was a glittering prize, but she was under no illusions—he could be one of those trophies you had to give back after a year. She wouldn’t break off her engagement or risk her career for that. If she chose Harry, it would have to be for the long haul.

She dared herself to think the thought. Maybe she could one day be Mrs. Ana Rose, a queen of London society with a seat at Rose Corp.’s boardroom table.