A Husband's Regret (The Unwanted Series)(16)

She resisted the overwhelming urge to reach over and slap him for the blatant sarcasm in his voice.

". . . You went there directly after leaving here, to wait for me, right?"

"Why don't we just agree to let this matter go?" she asked, not in the  mood to defend herself against any more of his crazy accusations.

"No." He shrugged her request aside nonchalantly. "So, how is it that  you never once heard about my accident? Apparently it was in all the  papers and had news coverage on radio, television, and the Internet. Are  you telling me you missed all of that?"

"Do really think that I spent my days watching the telly and listening  to music?" she asked in exasperation. "I could barely drag myself out of  bed and into the shower most days. I was ill from the morning sickness,  exhausted, scared, and every day that passed without word from you sent  me deeper into depressed isolation. So yes, I'm telling you I missed  all of that!"

His eyes flickered and she thought she caught a glimmer of uncertainty  in them before they went icy with disdain again. She shook her head.

"When are Rick and Lisa due back from their holiday?"

"Saturday," he replied shortly before continuing on with the original  conversation. "So after it became painfully self-evident that I would  not be coming for you, what did you do then?" Not caring for the mockery  in his eyes and voice and fed up with his determination to disbelieve  every little thing she said, Bronwyn got up shakily and rounded the  table, reaching out possessively to take her daughter from his arms.

"I'll put her to bed," she told him without meeting his eyes.

"Your story is full of holes, Bronwyn, you know that," he murmured  almost gently. "I'd be willing to move on if you'd only admit to being  at the scene of my accident." She lifted blazingly furious eyes to his.

"It would be so terribly convenient for you if I admitted to that,  wouldn't it, Bryce?" she asked angrily. "That way you wouldn't have to  feel any guilt about driving your pregnant wife out into the streets. No  guilt about leaving her to fend for herself while she was so ill she  was terrified she would lose your baby. You wouldn't have to be  accountable for anything that has happened since the night I left. Well,  you can go to hell because I refuse to give you that satisfaction."

Bronwyn turned away angrily and carried Kayla back into the house. She  headed straight for the baby's room and after tucking her in, stood  beside the cot and watched the baby sleep, her heart absolutely  overflowing with love for the innocent child.

"You're worth everything, my darling," she whispered, leaning over to  kiss her short, silky curls. When she straightened up and turned around,  Bryce was standing in the doorway, still wearing nothing but his board  shorts. She frowned resentfully, annoyed that a deaf man could move so  silently, and moved to pass him. He barely shifted, crowding her  abominably as she tried to squeeze through the doorway and into the  hall. She flushed crimson when she inadvertently brushed against his  muscular naked chest. She frowned up at him, making sure he was looking  at her before she spoke.

"Get out of my way," she demanded, and he grinned lazily.

"Glad to see you're getting your fire back, babe . . ."

"Don't call me that," she reprimanded, and he grinned.

"You never complained before." She went an even brighter red as she  recalled the very rare instances during which he had used the endearment  in the past-always in the most intimate of circumstances and very  rarely outside of bed. He had used it now just to rattle her-she could  see it in his eyes. She pursed her lips and pushed her way past him. He  grabbed her wrist, just as she thought she'd managed to escape.





  

"Pierre and Alice are coming around for dinner," he informed her idly,  ignoring the way she tugged furiously, trying to get loose. "Try not to  embarrass me with any more lies or insincere shows of concern while  they're here." She gasped at the sharp stab of pain at his casual  cruelty.

"Bryce, I'm really starting to hate you," she stated conversationally, and he raised his brows lazily.

"Are you?" He smiled. "That's a shame. I did so enjoy being worshipped by you."

"I never worshipped you, you arrogant bastard!" she managed furiously.  "I loved you. More than you could ever comprehend." His grip slackened  and she tugged herself free. "I now see that you never deserved that  love!" He seemed unable to respond, merely keeping his level gaze on her  emotional face. She made a despairing little sound in the back of her  throat and turned to walk away.

"Bronwyn," he called after her, and she stopped, her back going rigid as  she braced herself for another blow. "If you loved me you would never  have left me."

"I didn't leave you, you jackass," she muttered beneath her breath,  knowing that he could not see the denial while she stood with her back  to him.

"You would never have driven off without giving me the chance to  apologize . . ." His voice was closer, and she knew that he had come up  right behind her. "You would have stayed to hear me grovel and beg your  forgiveness, because if you loved me, you would have known me well  enough to appreciate that an apology would not be far off." His hands  came to rest on her narrow shoulders, and she flinched as she felt the  warmth of his flesh through the thin cotton of her T-shirt. She turned  around slowly and lifted her eyes to meet his.

"I knew that," she admitted. "I left to give you some space to clear  your head and to give myself time to gather my own confused thoughts. I  knew you'd come and that's the reason I waited and waited and waited at  that damned beach house! I knew you would come . . . only you never did.

"When I eventually concluded that maybe you really wanted nothing to do  with us, I called your office to talk about child support and was quite  bluntly informed that-Mr. Palmer did not want to speak to me or hear  from me ever again-You weren't answering your cell phone, and nobody was  answering at the house." She watched as his eyes hardened and his hands  fell away.

"My God, can't you ever stop lying?" he muttered in frustration. "I  could buy into maybe being mistaken about seeing you at the scene of my  accident. I can even try to believe that maybe you hadn't seen a single  newspaper article, television report, or heard any radio news, but none  of my people would ever have said those words to you!"

"Oh, believe what you want, Bryce," she responded wearily and turned away. She was so sick of defending herself to him.

"Oh no you don't." He caught her arm in a bruising grip to prevent her  from walking away. "I spent two years looking for you, Bronwyn. Why  would I have told my staff to stonewall you when I was trying so hard to  find you? So you are not going to try to make me feel guilty about  something that I never authorized, something that would never have  happened, not in a million years!" She shook her head and stepped back,  jerking her arm violently out of his tight grip before deciding to make  use of some of the SASL that she had learned and using her hands rather  eloquently to say something quite unmistakable. For a second he was  taken aback, and he blinked a couple of times before bursting into  laughter, the sound so natural and spontaneous that it took her  completely by surprise.

"You didn't just tell me to . . ." He trailed off before saying the  obscenity, and she jutted her jaw stubbornly, refusing to be charmed by  his genuine amusement.

"So what if I did?" she asked defiantly. His eyes were still brimming with laughter as he shrugged.

"Nothing, I'm just impressed with your extensive knowledge of SASL." He shrugged and she went bright red.

"Not that extensive," she told him self-consciously. "It was the first  thing I learned because I knew that it would probably come in handy in  most of my dealings with you."

"Good call," he complimented, and she cleared her throat before moving  away from him without another word and retreating to her bedroom.





CHAPTER SIX

Alice De Coursey was not all what Bronwyn had been expecting. The woman  was a couple of years older than Bronwyn, about thirty, and so tiny that  she made Bronwyn feel like a giant by comparison. She could not have  been more than five feet tall and had a small, perfectly proportioned  body. She had soft brown eyes shielded by silly, little round glasses  and she was almost pretty in a wholesome way, with freckles splattered  across her nose and an endearingly mischievous grin. Her  shoulder-length, uncontrollably frizzy, sandybrown corkscrew curls gave  her a kind of Raggedy-Ann appeal. She was certainly not the  drop-dead-gorgeous woman Bronwyn had expected a beautiful individual  like Pierre De Coursey to fall for. She walked with a slight limp and  still had faint scars on her upper arms and a slightly longer, more  pronounced one on her round, firm jaw.