by Diana Fraser
She pulled the sheets up around her and wriggled away from the intruder. The man stepped towards her. “Keep away from me or I’ll scream!”
A hand reached out to her but all she could do was open her mouth in a silent scream, frozen in the moonlight.
“Gemma! It’s only me. Callum.” She collapsed against him, shaking, unable to speak a word. He pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. She breathed in his familiar male smell—it was him, it was Callum. Not Paul. “What’s the matter? Bad dream?”
She nodded her head against his chest as she tried to rid her mind of the image of the man who haunted her, who she doubted now, would ever leave her nightmares. “Real bad.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
Slowly her heart thudded back to normal. Surreptitiously she wiped her tears with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. She pulled back. “No. It’s nothing.”
“Didn’t sound like nothing.” He held her at arm’s length as he tried to decipher the truth from her expression. But she couldn’t tell him. To begin with she’d been too scared to tell anyone her secret in case Paul got to hear of her whereabouts. Now she trusted Callum and she knew her secret would be safe with him. But Callum was marrying her, believing her to be Gemma Winters, heiress of Blackrock, descendant of Mackenzie country pioneers, like he was. Callum didn’t strike her as the sort of person who would easily accept deceit. There wasn’t a dishonest bone in his body. He’d rather devastate with the truth than save his soul by lying. She, on the other hand, couldn’t devastate with the truth. Her baby’s future depended on it.
“Just a bad dream,” she repeated. She sucked in a difficult breath. “Anyway, what are you doing here? You said you’d be staying overnight in Christchurch.”
“I decided to drive back. The thought of what was waiting for me here made a three-hour ride over rough roads bearable.”
She grinned. “Is that so? And what exactly is waiting for you here? Is it a chat you’re wanting?”
“Of course. That’s exactly what I was thinking about every minute of that long ride home.”
“Well, let’s start with your mother, then. How did she take the news about the wedding?”
He shrugged. “She’s fine.”
She smiled then. “I bet she wasn’t. You just don’t want to talk about it.”
He pushed a strand of hair back off her face. “You’re getting to know me.”
“Yes, I am. You’re not hard to know, Callum.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Am I so simple then?”
She cocked her head to one side and grinned. “Yes, actually. Simple, predictable.”
He made a deep growling sound at the back of his throat. It was fun teasing him.
“Is that right?”
“Umm,” she relented as he moved his mouth closer to hers and her eyes slipped to those lips, so sensuously carved in his otherwise strong face. “Yes, it is. That’s what comes of being so damned solid and upstanding.”
“Strange, a few weeks ago you called me controlling and arrogant.”
“Yep, you’re all that too. But that’s like the top layer of your character, the annoying bit that everyone sees and some people—possibly myself included—judge you on. But under that layer is the bedrock that makes you so predictable. It’s that bedrock that makes the controlling and arrogant bit less scary because I know it comes from something far more honorable.”
“Honorable, I like.”
“Me too.”
Slowly he pushed his fingers into her hair and cupped the back of her head, bringing her lips even closer to his. “And the unpredictable?”
“Well, I’m sure with a little persuasion, we can work on that.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
She leaned towards him and touched his lips with hers. She pulled away and looked up into his eyes, hard and colorless in the white moonlight. She shifted further away, reminded once more of her nightmares.
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that it?”
The rumble of his voice in his chest, pressed against hers, cleared away the last traces of her nightmare. “Just warming up. There’s more where that came from.”
She lifted her fingers to his lips and touched them briefly to reassure herself further. They weren’t Paul’s hard, lean lips, pulled tight in barely reined in anger; Callum’s were full of passion and generosity at that moment. In the cold light of day they appeared less generous but that was because she knew now that he was always under control. Or nearly always.
She replaced her fingers with her lips. She leaned into him once more, tasting him as her fingers had touched him. Still he made no move. She was determined to shatter his control. She flicked her tongue against his lips and they parted, allowing her entry. She reached her hand up to his chest where she felt the solid thump of his quickened heartbeat. He opened his mouth further and she smiled and pulled away. Who had control now?
“Umm, getting better. What next?”
Slowly she unbuttoned his shirt, concentrating on taking her time, on teasing him with her slowness and the occasional soft scratch of her nail against his chest, against his stomach and lower. Her hand rested on his belt. She continued to flick her tongue across and between his lips as she slid her hands around him. A shudder of deep longing ran through her body.
She undid the belt and button and sunk her hands beneath the band of his trousers. His stomach muscles contracting under her touch, allowing her to dive deeper between his skin and his trousers. She teased him briefly before shifting her hands around him, pulling her to him.
His hands caressed her neck and collarbone, moving out to her shoulders, pushing the covers down until her naked body was revealed. He dipped his head and kissed the top of each breast before his mouth enveloped her exquisitely sensitive nipple. She gasped and plunged her fingers into his hair, the gold dimmed in the cool moonlight.
“God, Gemma, I’ve missed you.” His hot breath heated her breasts as his hands moved down over her stomach, touching it reverently, gently caressing its roundness. “The baby, it’s so hard to believe.”
She smiled and leaned her cheek against his head. “Not for me. Either I’m pregnant or I’ve got to go on a massive diet.”
He smiled and lifted his head, his hands still around her stomach, and pressed his lips to either side of her mouth. Her breath caught at his gentleness. He was so big and commanding that this gentleness was unexpected and excited her more than any macho show of unpredictability could. She thrust her hands in his hair and held him close, their kiss deepening, their tongues tangling and sliding against each other with an eroticism that made her rise until she was kneeling, naked, before him.
His hands smoothed over her breasts, so much larger now that she was pregnant, grazing her erect nipples with his thumbs. She closed her eyes as he lay her down onto the white sheets beneath him. She angled her mouth, wanting his upon her but he just smiled and shifted down the bed. His hands slid down the side of her body, caressing her new curves as they went, until his hands gripped her thighs and lifted her hips and raised her to his mouth.
She wriggled under his tight hold, lost in the vivid curls of sensations created by his tongue that flowed deep inside. Her gasps increased as coiling tensions within continued to build to an insistent rhythm.
And then he pulled away, leaving her panting and helpless.
He stood up and quickly undressed but he didn’t come down to her immediately. It gave her a chance to look at him, his strong, broad, muscled body. He was more than ready to enter her but he didn’t. He gazed down at her, his eyes sweeping up her naked length. She moistened under his gaze, her nipples growing tighter. She wriggled her hips in invitation. She’d never felt so ready, so swollen, so needy.
“Please,” she murmured.
“In time. Now, open your legs.”
She did.
“No. Wider.”
She felt vulnerable, exposed. The white moonlight shot across
her body. He stood to one side, one hand lazily exploring her body, watching her tremble with anticipation as he moved his hand lower, his finger trailing further down and round, circling her, feeling her wet and ready. He played with her, slickly moving around the lips of her sex, before shifting his thumb to smooth over that most sensitive of places—his eyes never leaving her face.
She turned from side to side, unable to look him in the eye, lost in the thrall of her senses. Her breathing was coming hard now.
And then he plunged his fingers inside her and her hips bucked, allowing him to push deeper and she came, pulsing around him, her knees falling open wider in invitation.
He needed none. He kneeled between her open legs and lifted her thighs over his arms and slid inside her. She gasped and closed her eyes.
He pushed deeper with one long, slow thrust, his length and heft filling her completely, fixing her with his power. He stayed there briefly before dipping his head and claiming her lips with his once more.
He pulled out slowly and teased her, pulsing lightly around her opening, arousing her and stimulating her. In desperation she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him into her, deeply and completely. He didn’t stop then, but thrust with a regularity, a predictability she had no argument with.
The spiraling coils of tension grew more taut, more intense, with each thrust until they came together, tight in each other’s arms. In the intensity of that moment neither moved as they sought each other’s eyes. In that instant Gemma could have sworn she felt what Callum was feeling. Then the moment passed, the contact was broken.
He rolled off her carefully, his hand roughly trailing over her full, tight breasts, her stomach and her legs, before resting back on her stomach again, which he’d been careful to protect from his weight. They lay for some minutes both looking up at the ghostly white ceiling, its plaster moldings highlighted by the moon shadows, listening to each other’s breathing settle.
“You okay?”
“Of course. More than okay.” She turned to look at Callum, thoughts tumbling through her mind. Should she tell him she was glad? Glad that he’d made love to her, glad that they’d breached the barrier that he’d erected since she’d arrived. It was all she wanted—him to love her and the baby. But before any words could form, he shifted his arm and pulled away.
Stunned, she lay back without saying anything, just watching the moonlight play on the wallpaper, the furnishings, just listening to his breathing. Long minutes passed and still neither said anything. He wasn’t asleep. She knew he wasn’t but she couldn’t break the silence his physical separation had brought between them.
Then he swung his legs around and put his feet on the floor, his hands spiking up through his hair. He held his head briefly before standing up. He still didn’t look at her.
“Where are you going?” Her words were a bare whisper.
“I’ll be back.” He sighed and plucked a robe off the back of the door. “I won’t be long.”
She didn’t reply, just watched him go. The gap had been breached, sure, but only briefly, only enough to make her realize that an even larger gap existed between them that had nothing to do with the physical. And she didn’t have the first clue how to breach that one.
Callum stood on the verandah looking across the dark land, listening to the soft wind playing in the trees behind the house and the occasional haunting territorial call of a morepork owl. He’d wanted Gemma so much but he’d got more than he’d bargained for tonight. And he didn’t have a clue how to handle the confusion of feelings that being close to her stirred within him. They made him vulnerable and he didn’t do vulnerable.
He’d been so young when he’d married Claire and had loved and trusted her implicitly; he’d have given her anything she wanted. Turned out what she’d wanted was the thrill of the chase, not the actual commitment. Despite his doubts over her fidelity he’d let her go to Christchurch when she’d said she’d wanted to spend a few days in their apartment alone. He’d thought if he let her go, she’d get whatever was eating her out of her system and return to him. It wasn’t until the police had contacted him that he’d discovered she hadn’t been at their apartment, but at an old house that had had faulty electrical wiring. Claire had died in the fire, her lover had died and so had her unborn baby. He’d never know if it was his baby.
The pain of love betrayed, of sheer empty loss—because he’d allowed it—still ached deep in his bones, a physical pain that he knew now would never leave. All he could do to put it right was protect himself by keeping separate from Gemma and protect her with the care and control he’d stopped himself from giving to Claire.
He walked slowly into the house and up the stairs, back into Gemma’s bedroom and slipped under the covers beside her. There was no movement from her and he assumed she was asleep. He shifted to his side to face away from her. He couldn’t turn back the clock. He had to face this new intimacy with Gemma but he also had to find a way of keeping himself separate—his emotions under control, safe.
It had been a week since they’d first made love at Glencoe—a week of intimate nights and days when they’d hardly seen each other—Callum had made sure of that. But the lonely days were beginning to take their toll.
He leaned back in his office chair and looked out across the land, trying to focus on the things that had always been constant in his life. Trying to focus on anything but Gemma. The sun had yet to rise and the trees and grass were clothed in a soft opaque mist. But he could see through the softness, noticing the dryness of the grass, the curled leaves on the trees—the autumn was drier than normal. He’d have to tell his men to be more alert than usual to the ever-present danger of fire.
But even that threat was soon subsumed by thoughts of Gemma. He gritted his teeth and returned his focus to the computer. He wouldn’t think of Gemma now, it was too unsettling. He felt it tugging at him, confusing him with his feelings. He didn’t do feelings he reminded himself. Suddenly he felt a prickle of awareness rise up his back. He turned around. Gemma stood there, showered, dressed and with a determined look on her face. He groaned inwardly.
“Coffee?” He indicated the coffee on the table.
She shook her head. “No thanks. I’ve come here to talk.”
The stone-like heaviness sunk further inside. “About anything in particular?”
“Yes, as it happens. About us.”
“Really.” He kept his voice cool, neutral.
“Is this how it’s going to be? Nothing during the day, no civil talk, no intimacy, only passionate love-making at night?”
“Yes. What more do you want?”
“Talking might be nice. Sharing the odd meal would be,” she shrugged exaggeratedly, “I don’t know, civil maybe?”
“I’m busy during the day. You know that.”
“What I know is you’re hiding behind your work.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You wanted freedom in our marriage, you’re getting it.”
“That all changed when we became intimate at night. You know it did. How can we make love at night like we do and then act like complete strangers during the day, assuming I manage to catch a glimpse of you?”
“We just do it, that’s how. Look, I’ve no time for this.” His phone indicated the arrival of a text and he picked it up, thankful for the diversion. “It’s from Cassandra. She says she and Lucia are setting up a hen’s night for you next week. You don’t want that, do you?”
“Yes, I do. I know about it. She rang me.”
He frowned. “I hadn’t taken you for a party animal.”
“Just shows how little you know about me.”
He remembered Claire’s need to party, to be publicly—and privately it turned out—admired. “It’s up to you.”
“Yes, it is. That would be my freedom, wouldn’t it? Freedom to do as I like, when I like, except at night, except when I’m in your bed, lying there, waiting for you. So long as I’m willing to have you between my legs, you’re happy aren’t y
ou?”
He narrowed his gaze. “That’s crass, Gemma.”
“Yes, it is, and it’s the truth.”
She was too close now. She lifted her hand to his face and smoothed her fingers around his temples, until her palm cradled his chin, her thumb brushing against his lips. He closed his eyes. She was too close, he felt too vulnerable. “Tell me, what are you feeling now?”
It took all his strength to open his eyes and take hold of her hand and drag it down to her side. “Nothing. Because nothing is all I have to give, Gemma. Anything else died with Claire.”
He saw the hurt slam into her, heat flushed her face, brightening her misting eyes and her lips trembled for one brief moment before she tightened her mouth into a hard line. He saw she was angry and braced himself for an onslaught that didn’t come.
“You loved once. You can love again.” Her voice was far softer than he expected. It was as if all the shouting remained inside, grinding into the hurt he could see, deepening it until it was raw and bleeding.
“No, it’s not possible. I’m not made that way.”
“Perhaps you’re just marrying the wrong girl.”
“I’m marrying the girl I need to marry. End of story.” He didn’t watch her leave, just heard the door close quietly behind her.
He’d done what he’d had to do, but at what cost?
The Lake House Café was humming. Music from the live band pounded through her body, escaping through the open windows out into the dark of the night. While Gemma wasn’t exactly in the mood for dancing, she had been in the mood for getting out of Glencoe, which was now teeming with Callum’s family and close friends. She’d dressed with care hoping that Callum would see her in the provocative dress that showcased her newly plump breasts but hid her swollen stomach. But he’d been conspicuous by his absence.