Questions of Trust A Medical Romance - By Sam Archer Page 0,36

if she still went by that surname or had reverted to her maiden name. She and her man, Andrew, hadn’t married yet.

The receptionist checked the register, an old-fashioned book rather than a computer file. ‘Yes, I’ll ring up. Who shall I say is asking?’

‘Tom Carlyle. Her husband.’ He realised only afterwards what he’d said. A Freudian slip.

The woman picked up the phone and after a moment said, ‘Room 21. Second floor.’

Tom took the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering. She was alive, that much he knew. Outside her door he paused, listening. Then he chided himself for his behaviour, raised a fist and knocked.

‘Come in, it’s open.’

Her voice was muffled through the door and he couldn’t read its tone. Tom stepped inside, preparing himself for the worst. At the very least he expected to smell booze.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn. Rebecca was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, gazing at him. Her face wasn’t puffy from crying, as he’d anticipated. In fact she looked radiant. As she stood up he noticed her perfectly applied makeup, her artfully groomed blonde tresses of hair.

Tom waited just inside the door. ‘Rebecca, what’s going on?’

‘I wanted to see you in person, Tom.’ Her voice was different from how it had been on the phone. It was low, husky, without the choking quality of earlier. She took a step towards him.

‘You said you’d done something,’ he said. ‘Something… silly.’

‘I didn’t think you’d agree to see me otherwise, Tom. I had to say something to get your attention.’ Her voice was so low it was almost a whisper. Somehow she’d glided until she was an arm’s reach from Tom. She was wreathed in a subtle perfume he didn’t recognise, a musky aroma that seemed to seep from her pores. Tom couldn’t help staring at her. She was wearing a white silk dress, simple yet expensive looking, that clung to her figure, accentuating the curves of her hips and her slender thighs beneath. The neckline was low cut, her cleavage a deep shadow in the scoop. As she stepped close, he could see that her golden tan extended down the smooth slopes of her breasts, suggesting exposure to the sun unimpeded by a bikini top.

As if reading his mind, Rebecca breathed, ‘It’s everywhere, Tom. This tan. All over.’

Her scent, her mesmerising voice, caused the breath to cloy in his throat. He felt a tightening in his groin. She’d always been able to do this to him, to captivate him utterly as though he were a hapless sixteen-year-old in thrall to his hormones. Their lovemaking, before their wedding and in the early years afterwards, had been torrid, leaving Tom simultaneously drained and hungry for more, day after day.

She stood on tiptoes and whispered, her mouth close to his ear: ‘Can you picture me, Tom? On a beach? Stretched out, oiled and bared to the sun?’

The warm tip of her tongue touched his ear. With a cry he wrenched himself away, turning his back on her before he lost control of himself. Immediately Rebecca was up behind him, pressing her body against his, her breasts firm and full against his back, her arms sliding round so that her long-nailed hands splayed across his chest.

‘Please,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, Tom, please. I want you. I need you. On the bed, right now. Just like before. You want it too. I know you do.’

Her hand swept down towards the front of his trousers. He caught her wrist, pushed her arm away.

‘No, Rebecca.’ His voice was guttural.

‘Tom –’

‘No!’ He flung her arm away and broke free, stalking across the room and turning to face her when he got to the wall. She stood staring after him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, her head lowered, her lips full and moist and slightly parted. One of her hands reached up to a breast, her fingertip teasing the nipple which had risen visibly through the thin material. Her other hand roamed down over her belly and lower still.

‘Rebecca.’ Anger and lust mingled in him, and he concentrated on the anger, stoking it, allowing it to get the upper hand because he knew what would happen otherwise. ‘You tricked me.’

‘Like I said, Tom. I had to. Otherwise you’d never have agreed to see me.’

‘What do you want?’

She began to move towards him again. ‘You know what I want. Haven’t I made it clear?’

Tom held up his hand to fend her off but she continued to advance. ‘But why? Why