‘You don’t have any family, do you, Tara?’
She flinched. ‘No. I told you at my interview that my grandmother brought me up after my mother died, and my grandmother has also since passed.’
Lucas nodded. Had she? He hadn’t bothered probing much beyond that first interview, because if you asked someone personal questions, there was always the danger they might just ask them back. And Tara had impressed him with her work ethic and the fact that, physically, he hadn’t found her in the least bit distracting. What a short-sighted fool he had been.
Because the truth was that she was looking pretty distracting right now—with those wild waves of hair bright against the whiteness of the pillow and her amber eyes strangely mesmeric as they surveyed him from beneath hooded eyelids.
‘Why don’t you put some clothes on?’ he said, shooting the words out like bullets. ‘And we’ll have this discussion over breakfast.’
‘Okay.’ Tara nodded, not wanting to say that she didn’t feel like breakfast—just relieved he had turned his back and was marching out of the room, wanting to be free of the terrible awareness which had crept over her skin as his green gaze had skated over her in that brooding and sultry way.
After showering and shrugging on an enormous bathrobe, she found him drinking coffee in the wood-panelled dining room—another room which was dominated by the Manhattan skyline and she was glad of the distraction.
‘I can’t believe the size of this place,’ she said, walking over to the window and looking down at a green corner of what must have been Central Park. ‘Why, even the bathroom is bigger than the hostel Stella and I stayed in last Christmas!’
‘I’m not really interested in hearing how you saw New York on a budget,’ he drawled. ‘Just sit down and eat some breakfast, will you?’
As she turned around Tara was about to suggest it might do him good to stay in the kind of cramped accommodation which most people had to contend with, but then she saw a big trolley covered with silver domes which she hadn’t noticed before. On it was a crystal jug of juice, a basket covered by a thick linen napkin, and on a gilded plate were little pats of butter—as yellow as the buttercups which used to grow in the fields around Ballykenna. She’d thought she wasn’t hungry but her growling stomach told her otherwise and she realised how long it had been since she’d had a square meal. And she’d been sick last night, she reminded herself.
She walked towards the trolley to help herself but Lucas stayed her with an imperious wave of his hand.
‘No. I don’t want you collapsing on me again,’ he instructed tersely. ‘Sit down and I’ll serve you.’
Tara opened her mouth to tell him she was perfectly capable of serving herself, but then a perverse sense of enjoyment crept over her as he offered cereal and eggs, fruit and yoghurt, and she sat there helping herself with solid silver spoons. Because if she allowed herself to forget her awful dilemma for a moment, this really was role reversal at its most satisfying! The food was delicious but she ate modestly, a fact which didn’t escape Lucas’s notice.
‘No wonder you always look as if a puff of wind could blow you away,’ he observed caustically. ‘You don’t eat enough.’
She buttered a slice of toast. ‘My book on pregnancy says little and often if you want to try to avoid nausea.’
‘Just how many books on pregnancy are you reading just now?’
‘As many as I need. I know nothing about motherhood and I want to be as well prepared as possible.’
Wincing deeply, he sucked in a lungful of air. ‘You say you want this baby—’
‘I don’t just say it. Lucas—I mean it,’ she declared fiercely. ‘And if for one moment you’re daring to suggest—’
‘I wasn’t suggesting anything,’ he cut across her, his expression darkening. ‘And before you fly off the handle, let me make my views plain, just so there can be no misunderstanding. Which is that I’m glad you’ve chosen to carry this child and not...’
‘Not what?’ Tara questioned in bewilderment as his mouth twisted.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he snarled.
‘Oh, I think it does.’ She drew in a deep breath, putting her napkin down and realising almost impartially that her fingers were trembling. ‘Look, we’re not the same as we used to be, are we? We’re no longer boss and employee.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘I’m not sure how you’d define our relationship now—the only thing I’m sure about is that we’re going to be parents and that means we need to be honest with each other. I’m not expecting you to say things you don’t mean, Lucas, but I am expecting you to tell me the truth.’
The truth. The words sounded curiously threatening as they washed over him and Lucas stared at her. For a man who had spent his life denying and concealing his feelings, her heartfelt appeal seemed like a step too far and his instinct was to stonewall her. Yet he recognised that this was like no other situation he’d ever found himself in. He couldn’t just buy himself out of this, not unless he was prepared to throw a whole lot of money her way and tell her that he wanted to cut all ties with her and his unborn child for ever.
He would have been a liar if he’d said he wasn’t tempted...
But how could he do that, given the bitter reality of his own history which had been revealed to him by that damned lawyer? Wouldn’t that mean, in effect, that he was as culpable as his own mother had been?
And look how that had turned out.
‘Have you given any thought to how you see your future?’ he demanded.
Tara shook her head. ‘Not really. Have you?’
‘Finish your breakfast first.’
But Tara’s mouth felt dry with nerves and it was difficult to force anything else down, especially under that seeking green gaze—and she noticed he hadn’t touched anything himself except two cups of inky coffee. ‘I’ve finished,’ she said, dabbing at her lips with a heavy-duty linen napkin.
He placed the palms of his hands on the table in front of him, looking like a man who meant business. ‘So,’ he said, his emotionless gaze still fixed on her. ‘It seems there are several options available to us. We just have to work out which is the most acceptable, to both of us.’
Tara nodded. ‘Go ahead,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’m all ears.’
He nodded. ‘Obviously I will provide for you and the baby, financially.’
‘Do you want me to do a dance of joy around the room just because you’re accepting responsibility?’
His frown deepened. ‘It’s not like you to be quite so...irascible, Tara.’
Tara didn’t know what irascible meant but she could guess. Should she tell him her crankiness stemmed from fear about the future, despite his offer of financial support? Surely even Lucas could work that out for himself. She studied the obdurate set of his jaw. Maybe that was hoping for too much. He was probably thinking about his own needs, not hers. And suddenly she realised that she couldn’t afford to be vulnerable and neither could she keep second-guessing him. She was responsible for the life she carried and she needed to be strong.
‘Why don’t we just stick to the matter in hand?’ she questioned coolly. ‘Tell me what you have in mind.’
Was he surprised by her sudden air of composure? Was that why he subjected her to a look of rapid assessment? It was a look Tara recognised all too well. It was his negotiating look.
‘You have no family and...neither do I,’ he said slowly. ‘And since I’d already made plans to stay in New York for the next few months, I see no reason to change those plans, despite the fact that you’re pregnant.’
She thought how cleverly he had defined the situation, making it sound as if the baby had nothing to do with him. But perhaps that was exactly how he saw it, and Tara certainly wasn’t going to push him for answers. She was never going to beg him, not for anything. Nor push him into a corner. ‘Go on,’ she said calmly.
‘You could stay here and return to Ireland in time for the birth,’ he continued. ‘That would free you from unwanted scrutiny—or the questions which would undoubtedly spring up if you went back home.’
And now the surreal sense of calm she’d been experiencing suddenly deserted her. Tara could feel colour flooding into her cheeks as she pushed back her chair and sprang to her feet, her hair falling untidily around her face. ‘I see!’ she said, her voice shaking with emotion as she pushed a thick wave over her shoulder. ‘You’re trying to hide me away in a country where nobody knows me! You’re ashamed of me—is that it?’
‘If there’s any shame to be doled out, then it’s me who should bear it,’ he retorted, though he seemed mesmerised by her impatient attentions as she brushed away her unruly hair with a fisted hand. ‘I was the one who took your virginity!’
Was it her pregnancy which made Tara feel so volatile? Which made her determined to redefine his view of what had happened that fateful night, because didn’t his jaundiced summary of events downgrade it? Or was it simply that she had carried the burden of shame around for a whole lifetime and suddenly the weight was just too much to bear? ‘I wasn’t some innocent victim who just fell into the arms of an experienced philanderer,’ she declared.
‘Thanks for the uplifting character reference,’ he said drily.
‘That wasn’t how it happened,’ she continued doggedly. ‘That night we were just...’
‘Just what, Tara?’ he prompted silkily.
She stared down at her bare feet for a moment before lifting her heavy-lidded gaze to his. ‘We were just a man and woman who wanted each other and status didn’t come into it—not yours, nor mine,’ she whispered. ‘Surely you’re not going to deny that, Lucas?’
Lucas was taken aback by her candour and surprised by his response to it, because an emotional statement like that would usually have made him run for the hills. Maybe it was the naïve way she expressed herself which touched something deep inside him—something which unfurled the edges of the cold emptiness which had always seemed such an integral part of him. For a moment he felt almost...exposed—as if she were threatening to peel back a layer of his skin to see what lay beneath. And no way did he wish her to see the blackness of his soul.
So that when his groin grew rocky it felt almost like a reprieve, because wasn’t it simpler to allow desire to flood him? To let lust quieten all those nebulous feelings he hadn’t addressed since leaving the lawyer’s office and which had been compounded by the bombshell Tara had dropped in his lap soon afterwards? He looked at the wild spill of her hair and her sleepy amber eyes. The towelling bathrobe she had pulled on was swamping her slender body in a way which should have been unflattering, but it only seemed to emphasise her fragility and suddenly he knew he wanted her again and he didn’t care if it was wrong. Because the worst had already happened, hadn’t it—what else could possibly eclipse the prospect of unwanted fatherhood?
Slowly yet purposefully, he walked across the dining room towards her and now her cat-like eyes weren’t quite so sleepy. Their pupils had dilated so they looked night-dark against her pale skin.
‘Lucas?’ she questioned faintly. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Oh, come on, Tara.’ His voice dipped. ‘You’re a clever woman. Surely you’ve got some idea.’
He saw her touch her tongue to her mouth. Heard the sigh which escaped from her lips and a heavy beat of satisfaction squeezed his heart as he met her hungry gaze. He reached out and pulled her into his arms and instantly she melted against him, the quick tilt of her face silently urging him to kiss her.
So he did.
He kissed her for a long time—long enough for her to start wriggling distractedly, in a way which only stoked his growing desire. He covered her lips in kisses, then turned his mouth to her throat, loving the way her head fell back to give him access to her neck and revelling in the way her thick hair brushed so sensually against his hand. He undid the robe and bent his head to kiss her tiny breasts, flicking his tongue hungrily over her thrusting nipples. And when her hips circled in wordless plea against his aching groin, he inched his fingers up her thigh. Up over the silken surface of her skin he stroked her until at last he found her tight little nub and began to play with her and she was begging him not to stop. Until she was letting him back her up against the dining-room table and he was seriously thinking about sweeping all the crystal and silver and breakfast remains to the floor—and to hell with the mess—when he drew back and looked down into her dazed face.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he growled, his hands on her shoulders now.
Tara’s throat constricted. Her breasts were aching and the syrupy heat between her thighs was making her wish he’d start touching her there again. She wished he hadn’t stopped. That he’d just carried on with what he’d been doing and ravished her right there, in the dining room. She might have only had sex once before, but she badly wanted to do it again. She wanted to be carried along on an unstoppable tide of passion like the first time—she didn’t want to have to make a decision about her actions.
But that was naïve—and short-sighted. She couldn’t regard sex like candy—something she could just take when she felt like it. Not when there were so many issues they still hadn’t addressed. Wouldn’t that be totally irresponsible? There were a baby and a future to think of.
And without that baby she wouldn’t be here in his arms like this, would she? She would be back home in Ireland while Lucas carried on with the rest of his life without her.
‘No,’ she said, shrugging his hands from her shoulders and taking a step backwards, even though her quivering skin still seemed to bear the delicious imprint of his fingers. With firm fingers she pulled the front of her robe together and knotted the belt tightly. ‘This is not going to happen.’
His expression told her he didn’t believe her. To be honest, she couldn’t quite believe it herself.
‘Are you serious?’ he demanded.
‘That’s the whole point, Lucas,’ she said, and suddenly her voice acquired a note of urgency as she stared into his beautiful face. ‘I am. Very serious. I mean, what precisely are you offering me here?’
The flattening of his mouth told its own story. A cynical indication that he now found himself on familiar territory—that these were female demands being thrown at him, something which had been happening all his life. ‘I should have thought it was perfectly obvious what I’m offering you, Tara,’ he said. ‘Sex, pure and simple. Because the bottom line is that we still want each another—surely you’re not going to deny that?’
No. She couldn’t deny what was obviously the truth—not when her nipples were pushing insistently against her robe, and his frustrated gaze indicated that their silent plea hadn’t gone unnoticed.
‘So why not capitalise on that?’ he continued, with silky assurance. ‘Stay with me here in New York and be my lover?’
The passing seconds seemed to drag into minutes as his words sank in. ‘Your lover?’ she verified slowly, thinking it was an inaccurate description when there was no actual love involved.
‘Sure. It makes perfect sense. I can make sure you look after yourself and we can enjoy some pretty incredible downtime.’ He gave a slow smile as his gaze travelled to the tiny pulse which was hammering at her neck. ‘What’s not to like?’
The fact he had to ask was telling, but Tara reminded herself that Lucas had never been known for his sensitivity to other people’s feelings. She told herself he wasn’t trying to insult her, or hurt her—he was just doing what he always did and taking what he wanted. And right now he wanted sex.
Perhaps if she’d been a different kind of woman she might have agreed. If she’d been worldly-wise she might have smiled contentedly and sealed the deal in the master bedroom of this luxury hotel suite. But not only was she inexperienced, she was also afraid. Afraid she would read more into physic
al intimacy than Lucas ever intended. Afraid of falling under his spell as she’d seen so many other women do and then being heartbroken when he tired of her, as inevitably he would. After all, this passion had happened so suddenly—it was likely to end just as abruptly, even if he hadn’t already had a track record for short-lived affairs.
She still knew so little about him. He was the father of her child yet she didn’t have a clue what his own childhood had been like, because he’d never told her. Just as he hadn’t told her what—if any—role he wanted to play in their baby’s life. Wasn’t the sensible thing to do to stay here and address all these issues in a calm and collected way? Not let desire warp her judgement and threaten to turn her into an emotional wreck.
‘Yes, I will stay here,’ she said slowly and then, before he could touch her again and make her resolve waver, she started backing towards the door. ‘But not as your lover, although I will continue to be your housekeeper.’
‘My...housekeeper?’ he repeated blankly.
‘Why not? That was the role you originally offered me, before—’
‘Before you spent the night in my bed?’ he growled.
‘It wasn’t the whole night, Lucas. I left shortly after two a.m., if you remember.’ She cleared her throat and forged on. ‘If you’re moving into an apartment you’ll need someone in post here and nobody knows the job better than me. It’ll allow us to get to know one another better and to think about what’s best for the future.’
‘Wow,’ he said sarcastically. ‘That sounds like fun.’
She told herself afterwards that he could have tried to persuade her otherwise, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Maybe he was already having second thoughts. As he stood silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline, he seemed to symbolise cool, dark composure—while she felt churned-up, misplaced and frustrated.
The Argentinian's Baby Of Scandal Page 9