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A Husband's Regret (The Unwanted Series)(14)

By:Natasha Anders


"You've been in here for nearly an hour," he informed her grimly. She tilted her face to his, still shivering violently.

"I . . . I c-couldn't get warm," she stuttered, and he frowned,  evidently not catching that, but probably understanding the gist of it.  He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her nude, wet body to his. He  held her so tightly and so closely that the trembling abated almost  immediately. He led her out of the shower stall and unlocked the door,  leading her back into the master bedroom. He gently steered her toward  the bed and seated her on the edge, kneeling in front of her as he  patted her dry with the fluffy towel.

"You're wet," she observed inanely, noting the dampness of his T-shirt  and shorts while she tried not to stare at his muscular naked legs. He  had showered as well, if his damp hair was anything to go by. He caught  her words because he was looking directly at her when she said them and  shrugged in response.

"I'll dry," he dismissed. She noticed that it was still dark outside and  grimaced. She checked the time on the alarm clock on her bedside  pedestal; it was just after three thirty.

"Why did you come to my room tonight?" she asked hoarsely, and even  though she was looking right at him when she asked it, he did not  respond. Instead he lowered his eyes and continued to pat her dry. He  left her briefly to pad to the bathroom and returned moments later with a  smaller towel for her hair.

"We'll have to dry this," he was muttering. "You've been so sick; I  don't think it would be wise for you to sleep with wet hair. Where is  your dryer?" She pointed to her dresser and he picked her up, ignoring  the jerky movement of protest she made. He deposited her on the padded  seat in front of the dressing table, and Bronwyn was confronted by her  own haggard reflection. She looked a sight; her face was gaunt and  unnaturally pale, and her eyes looked feverishly bright and overly  large. The towel was still draped around her shoulders, but it had  fallen open to reveal the thin body beneath. To Bronwyn's own eyes she  looked too thin, and she wondered how Bryce had been able to bring  himself to touch her when she looked like this. He switched on the  machine and started drying her hair, running his fingers through it with  a rough tenderness. She blinked in surprise and sluggishly raised her  hands in an attempt to take the blow dryer from him.





  

"I can do it," she protested. He lifted the machine out of her reach and  watched her in the mirror until she dropped her arms in resignation. He  grunted in satisfaction and went back to the task of drying her hair.

When it was dry enough to suit him, he ran a brush through the dark,  silky mass and then tied it back with one of the hair ties lying  scattered on the dressing table. He picked her up again and deposited  her back onto the unmade bed, tucking her under the covers and tossing  the towel aside before climbing in beside her and dragging her stiff  body close to his. She lay with her head on his chest, listening to his  heart beat steadily beneath her ear and wondering what this was all  about. He remained silent though and eventually Bronwyn relaxed enough  to drift off to sleep again.





CHAPTER FIVE

Bronwyn cautiously opened her eyes to a sunlit bedroom. There was no  sign of Bryce, and instinct told her that it was way after midday. She  heard Kayla's joyful laughter outside, and she guessed the little girl  was in the swimming pool, probably with her father, who was diligently  teaching her how to swim. Bryce had had a childproof fence built around  the pool sometime during her absence, another one of those preparations  he'd made in anticipation of a child he'd had no idea if he'd ever meet.

Bronwyn sat up shakily, feeling refreshed yet strangely hollow. She felt  like someone who'd had a long and desperately needed sleep after the  death of a loved one, only to wake up to the discovery that even though  life would go on, it would be forever marred by the tragedy of loss. She  could not remember the last time she had slept so soundly, possibly  that last night before leaving Bryce two years ago; she certainly had  not had much peace of mind since then. She got up and made her way to  the bathroom, trying not to think of the night before. She wasn't sure  what any of it had signified and definitely wasn't sure where it left  her and Bryce.

She made her way downstairs a little over half an hour later, wearing a  pair of faded jeans and an old T-shirt. The clothes were from her old  wardrobe and were too baggy on her. Bronwyn resolved to eat even more,  still feeling incredibly unattractive because of her thinness.

When she reached the living room, she stood at the open patio doors  staring out at the pair in the water for the longest time, feeling  ambivalent about the obvious enjoyment they seemed to find in each  other's company. She felt a little left out and again bitter toward  Bryce for allowing this to happen to them. She was about to turn away  and head in search of something to eat when Bryce glanced up and caught  sight of her. She could not see his expression because of the sun's  glare off the water, but he went strangely still before heading toward  the side of the pool and depositing a protesting Kayla on the paving  before heaving himself out alongside her.

"Daddy more swim . . ." the child was protesting, but he was watching  Bronwyn and did not see her display of temper. Bronwyn watched in  amazement as the little girl impatiently patted her father on his leg  and made a clumsy sign that Bronwyn knew signified "daddy" or "father."  Bronwyn was familiar with it because she had been meaning to teach her  daughter the word in sign language. Bryce looked down at his precocious  offspring and grinned when she said "daddy" with one of her chubby hands  again before making swimming gestures.

"Later, baby," he laughingly promised, picking her up and depositing her  on his wide, bronzed shoulders. "First we'll have some lunch with your  mummy." The child looked up and noticed Bronwyn for the first time. The  delight on her little face warmed Bronwyn's heart. Bryce had pretty much  monopolized the little girl's time since their arrival eleven days ago.  And while he sometimes seemed at a loss as to how to deal with Kayla,  he was muddling through without asking Bronwyn for any assistance. It  concerned her that he seemed so able around the child. She worried that  he might start to wonder why he needed Bronwyn around at all. Now that  she was feeling healthier, she vowed to spend more time with the little  girl whom she had missed so much. She wouldn't allow Bryce to usurp her  so completely any longer.

Bryce made his way toward her, and she stepped onto the patio, relishing  the feel of the hot, early autumn sun on her face. She picked up a  bright-pink beach towel adorned with characters from Disney's Finding  Nemo cartoon and held it up as he deposited the happily chattering  little girl into Bronwyn's arms. She wrapped the towel around Kayla and  hugged her small body close. Her daughter was bubbling on about  swimming, her daddy, and various other concerns that were of great  importance to any nearly nineteen-month-old little girl. Bronwyn nodded  and made the appropriate noises, but she was preoccupied with Bryce,  whose eyes were sweeping over her from top to bottom, making her feel  naked and vulnerable.





  

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly, and she shrugged, managing a slight smile.

"Well rested."

He nodded at her reply but seemed at a loss for words.

"I hope you're hungry. You're just in time for lunch," he said,  gesturing toward the glass-and-wrought-iron patio table situated close  to the huge stone barbeque at the other end of the large patio. Celeste  was just laying out what looked like a delicious lunch. The older woman,  always one of few words, flashed them a smile and retreated with a nod.

"I'm famished." She nodded and headed toward the table, depositing a  still-prattling Kayla into her high chair and placing the provided  plastic bowl and plastic spoon onto the surface in front of the toddler.

"She's a messy eater," Bryce pointed out with a wince, and Bronwyn  grinned, realizing that he must have discovered that particular trait  the hard way. Most of Kayla's meals seemed to wind up all over herself  and anybody else in the general vicinity, but the little girl obdurately  refused to allow anybody to feed her, insisting that she could do it  herself. It was a stubborn streak that she had inherited from her  father, and Bronwyn wished that she had been there to witness that  particular battle of wills firsthand. It must have been a novelty for  Bryce to discover someone as hardheaded as himself, especially someone  as tiny as Mikayla.

"I know." Bronwyn smiled. "She rejects any attempt to help feed her. I  usually give her extra portions in the hopes that she manages to get as  much of it into her mouth as she does all over everything else. But  sometimes I have to take the bull by the horns and feed her myself  anyway, despite her fervent protests."