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it was like. Drew would come in. He would look at her, those tawny
eyes going dark. He would be gentle, sweet, patient. She could almost
feel his long, clever fingers skimming over her skin. He would tell her
how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. Then he would carry her
into the bedroom, and show her.
Patiently. Tenderly. Pa.s.sionately.
By ten o'clock she was anxious. By eleven, uneasy. By midnight, she
was frantic. Her calls to the studio only told her that he had left
hours before.
She imagined a terrible accident. He would have been in a hurry to get
back to her, as anxious as she to begin their life together in the big
soft bed. He might have been careless, and his car ... They
wouldn't know where to reach her-the doctors, the police. Even now Drew
could be lying in some hospital bed, bleeding, calling for her.
She was working her way down the lists of hospitals ivhen she heard the
key in the lock. Before he could open the door, she was there, swinging
it open and failing into his arms.
"Oh, Drew, I was terrified."
"Easy, easy does it." He gave her b.u.t.tocks a quick squeeze. "Anxious,
are we?"
Drunk. Part of her mind tried to deny it, but it was there in the
slurred words, the sway of his body, the smell. She stepped back to
stare at him. "You've been drinking."
"Just a little celebration with the lads. Not every day a man gets
married, is it?"
"But you ... You said you'd be here by ten."
"Christ, Emma, you're not going to start nagging me already?"
"No, but-I was worried, Drew."
"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" He struggled out of his jacket and let
it fall to the floor. It wasn't often he got drunk, but tonight it had
been so easy to let one drink follow another. Tonight, he'd climbed one
more rung to the top. "And look at you. The perfect picture of the
blus.h.i.+ng bride. Beautiful, beautiful Emma, all in white."
She did blush. There was desire in his eyes now. The kind she'd seen
before, the kind she'd imagined seeing in them tonight. "I wanted to
look beautiful for you." She went easily into his arms, lifted her mouth
to his in innocent trust.
He hurt her. His mouth was fierce and hot. He nipped hard at her
bottom lip as he pushed himself against her. "Drew." She tried to
struggle back, alarmed by the memory flash of Blackpool in her darkroom.
"Drew, please."
"Don't play that game with me tonight." He caught her hair in his hand
and dragged her head back. "You've made me wait long enough, Emma. No
excuses tonight."
"I'm not. I just-Drew, can't we-"
"You're my wife now. We do it my way."
He pulled her to the floor, ignoring her pleas and struggles. His hands
were rough, tearing the filmy lace as he bared her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to suckle and
squeeze. The speed and urgency frightened her. It wasn't right, she
thought frantically. It wasn't right lying on the floor, the lights
