by Evie Hunter
But a baby!
She hated babies, noisy at one end, smelly at the other and expensive all over. She didn’t want a baby, ever. She was too young and immature to look after a baby.
Andy’s baby. With big dark eyes staring up at her.
Pregnancy. Nine months of retching and throwing up. Weight gain. Swollen ankles. Varicose veins. Maternity clothes. It would be sheer hell.
Her hand pressed on her belly protectively. It was as flat as always, but somewhere in there a tiny human being rested, depending on her to look after it.
She couldn’t look after a baby. She could barely look after herself and the other people who depended on her. She had to make sure her father and Frankie were looked after, and she had a ruthless former Navy SEAL hunting her. Her life expectancy could be counted in weeks, not years. Now she had an extra responsibility.
She knew nothing about taking care of babies, but had a vague notion that it involved a lot of breastfeeding and nappy changing. Could she take a baby on the back of a motorbike, or would she have to buy a car? What about clothes? Did babies care if she put the wrong colour on them?
This was a disaster. She’d be a terrible mother. She couldn’t cope with a newborn. They’d take her baby away and give it to someone who could look after it properly.
Her hand tightened on her belly. No, they wouldn’t. She was keeping this baby. They could do what they liked, but she would protect it with her dying breath. She might be a useless mother, but it looked as if she was going to be a mother.
Time to get on with it.
She forced herself to put the pregnancy tests down on the bathroom sink.
One thing was sure. Nagsy’s price had just gone up. Way up.
Pregnancy sucked. Roz had never spent so much of her life trying not to puke.
From being someone who wolfed down whatever she could get, whenever she had time, she was now desperately trying to find things she could eat.
Her life had turned into a fight to eat without gagging and to keep the food down afterwards. She now lived on beans on toast, poached eggs, porridge, boil-in-the-bag fish (which drove Suzanne nuts), frozen grapes and cocoa.
Tea, coffee, bacon, green vegetables, potatoes, fried food or anything spicy turned her stomach, and choking down her folic acid tablet was a daily battle.
Oddly, although Patrick’s cologne forced her to open every window in the office in an effort not to retch, she still enjoyed the smell of the horses and the stables.
Maybe you’re a country girl at heart. Who knew?
She hadn’t told Patrick or Suzanne anything about being pregnant. In any case, Suzanne knew. She quietly cooked something bland at every meal and no longer set a wine glass for Roz in the evening.
Roz had taken to spending her afternoons, when she was supposed to be working on the ranch website, obsessing over the tiny life inside her. She logged on to pregnancy websites to see how much it had grown overnight. She worried about the lack of leafy vegetables in her diet and she dumped the packet of hair dye she had bought in Belfast. No matter how sick this baby was making her, she was taking no chances with its health.
The debate about continuing to ride engrossed her, but since there was no conclusion, she continued to ride out every day on the quietest horse in the stable.
Nagsy was coming along at an astonishing rate. Every morning, Roz dragged herself out of bed to watch him being trained and was impressed by his progress. At normal speed, he didn’t look like anything much but when his jockey gave the signal to open up, his choppy motion became smooth and elegant and ate up the ground. Sometimes it seemed he barely touched it.
Oh yes, she would have no trouble convincing Tim O’Sullivan that this horse was worth a million.
That was the figure she had set in her head as the price she would demand.
When she wasn’t surfing pregnancy and baby websites, she worked out the details of how she could make Nagsy look like a Gold Cup winner. She needed the paperwork to convince Tim he was the son of Shergar, a convincing time trial, and a convincing win. And also an opponent to drive up the price.
The obvious person was Andy McTavish. He was from the sort of family which bought expensive racehorses. Or even Dougal. But she knew that one hint of where she was and what she wanted, and Andy would have her on the first plane to some witness protection hell in France.
She toyed with the idea of insisting that her dad went into hiding with her, but she abandoned it. She loved him, but she knew that Peter Spring would never settle down to a life of law-abiding boredom.
And she had resolved not to think about Andy. He was her past. Now, she was alone.
All day long, she repeated this to herself, and managed to believe it when she was working. It was the evenings which were hardest. Until she had cut herself off from everything personal, she hadn’t realized how many friends she regularly contacted by e-mail or Yahoo. She couldn’t log into any account under her own name, and she was wary about creating a fake profile to use other sites where she was known. Someone had once told her that writing style was as distinctive as handwriting, so she stayed off the internet. The empty hours jeered at her.
She didn’t want to become entwined in the O’Haras’ warm circle. She knew she wouldn’t be able to resist their friendship for long, and would end up telling them more than was wise. She couldn’t put them in danger.
When had her life become so empty?
33
Although she was exhausted all through the day, and had to fight the urge to nap, it was hard to sleep at night. When she did, her dreams were bright and vivid.
She was back in the playroom of Lough Darra, and Andy was naked. The subtle lighting made him a study of dramatic contrasts. His eyelashes were long and dark against his cheekbones, and the muscles of his abdomen were hard ridges. His distinctive scent, a combination of healthy male and spicy cologne, filled her nostrils and she had no urge whatsoever to be sick. Instead, it filled her with hunger.
She licked her lips and was rewarded by the sight of his penis lengthening and thickening. She moved towards it.
‘No, you don’t. Not yet.’ Andy’s voice was rough, but the command in it was clear. ‘I want to look at you first.’
She blinked. Until he had spoken, she had no idea she was naked.
She stood there obediently while he circled her, examining her from head to toe. What would he think of the changes since he had last seen her? In spite of the cheap shampoo she used, her hair was brighter and thicker. She knew she had lost weight, though she had no idea how much. The ranch chalets didn’t run to unnecessary extras like scales. The tiny life inside her didn’t show yet.
‘I didn’t give you permission to lose weight.’ Andy spoke from behind her. One finger traced down her back, sending chills through her body, and ended up on her bottom. ‘This ass is mine. I want it in prime condition.’
He came round in front of her again, and frowned down at her. ‘Have you been taking care of yourself? You belong to me. You don’t have my permission to neglect your health.’
She wanted to laugh. All her energy was going into staying as healthy as possible. She had never been as conscious of what she ate or drank. But she was distracted by having Andy so close. The roughness of his jaw was irresistible. She raised her hands, lured by the texture of the evening stubble. Being so near to him made her breathing quicken and her heart pound.
She stood on tiptoe and pressed a brief kiss on his lips. They were hot and firm, and moved under hers, but he didn’t do as she had hoped and grab her into a full embrace.
Instead, he kissed her back, before taking a seat on the divan, facing her.
His pose might be casual to the point of arrogance, but his cock rose proud and demanding, with a pearly drop on the tip revealing his readiness.
Roz moved towards it eagerly, licking her lips in anticipation. She would give him an experience that would drive him out of his mind.
‘No, don’t touch me.’ He poi
nted at the spot on the carpet where she had been standing. ‘Stay there.’
‘Are you kidding me? You’re turning down a blow job? Have you turned into a woman while I was gone?’ It wasn’t exactly her area of expertise, but in her experience, no man ever turned down a blow job. Once a woman had that cock in her mouth, he was hers.
He smiled grimly. ‘Oh, we’ll definitely get to that later. Much later. Now I want you to kneel.’
He couldn’t be serious. She was Little Red. Men competed to kneel at her feet. She had never knelt for anyone. ‘Or what?’
It might be interesting to see what Andy would do. The prospect of a naked wrestling match had a certain appeal.
‘There is no “Or what?” Kneel.’ He stayed sitting where he was, waiting.
At that moment, she hated him. She would have enjoyed having him force her to her knees. The big strong man who wanted her to submit so much that he compelled her to obey. But this was torture. Andy expected her to kneel simply because he told her to.
And there was a tiny part of her, deep inside, that wanted to. Her pride fought but, despite it, her knees buckled and she knelt.
‘Good girl.’
His voice was a caress and his smile so full of approval that her belly clenched and wetness flooded her thighs. What was wrong with her that it took so little to turn her on? ‘Now spread your knees so that I can see you.’
After the struggle to kneel, this was nothing. She had made the mental leap and was his to command. She parted her thighs, allowing him to see how aroused she was.
He whistled. ‘Oh, very good.’
Getting up, he moved around her, stroking her shoulders, running his hands down her arms. When he passed in front of her, his cock was so tempting that she stuck out her tongue for a lick. It was hot and jerked in reaction. ‘Naughty, naughty.’
He stood and moved to the back of the room. She looked around to see what he was doing, and he grinned at her. ‘You’re a very bad submissive, aren’t you?’
That hurt. ‘I knelt for you. What more do you want, peanut butter covered nipples?’
‘What strange tastes you have. We’ll try that someday, but now I’m going to help you.’ He held a long length of muslin in his hand, and he wrapped it around her eyes, tying it carefully so that it wouldn’t slip.
Her world was now reduced to the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands and the warmth of his body. ‘Clasp your hands behind your head.’
She did, able to feel the muslin and knowing she could pull it off in seconds. She didn’t. When she had dropped to her knees, she had given up control to Andy. Now she waited to see what he would do with it.
What he wanted was to drive her out of her mind. He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue plundering her mouth like a conqueror, but without allowing her to respond. He pulled back when, desperate for the taste of him, she tried to suck on his tongue.
Andy kissed his way along her jawbone to her ear, where he nibbled the lobe and explored the whorls. Her breathing deepened, from what he was doing and from the scent of male arousal so close to her. The warmth of his body was like a furnace, but the fire inside her was almost as hot.
His fingers navigated her upraised arms, testing the sensitive skin along the inner arm which was so rarely touched. She gasped, shocked by the intensity of the pleasure.
‘Hmmm, you like that, don’t you?’
She could hear the smile in his voice, and while one part of her wanted to zing him a smart answer to shut him up, most of her wanted him to continue, to do more.
He trailed his fingernails down her back, rendering her mindless.
She heard silly noises and it took her a moment to realize she was making them. As long as he continued, she didn’t care. One finger swiped across her nipple and she forgot how to breathe. They were so sensitive that she could barely touch them, but somehow, he knew that it would take the lightest pressure to taunt them to straining hardness.
Between the hand on her back and the one playing with her nipples, she couldn’t support herself, but it didn’t matter. Andy was there, holding her, taking her weight.
‘Good girl, trust me, I’ll take care of you.’
She gave herself up to him, allowing him to hold her up and do what he wanted with her body. The pressure inside her was growing tighter and tighter, getting ready to blow in an orgasm which she feared would take her head off. She didn’t care.
‘Oh, did I mention that you need my permission to come?’
‘What?’ she wailed. He couldn’t be serious.
‘Don’t come until I tell you. Let it wash over you.’
No, no, no, he had to be joking. But she knew he wasn’t. His hands continued to torment her, lavishing pleasure on her, finding all her most sensitive points and kissing and caressing them until she was writhing in his grasp. The urge to climax was so strong she felt dizzy, but she did her best to obey him, and tried to relax into the pleasure, allowing it to flow over her like water.
She was mindless and dumb, unable to form a single coherent thought or word, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Andy. Andy. Andy. The ball of fizzing pressure inside grew bigger and bigger. She wasn’t going to be able to contain it …
The banging on the door woke her. ‘Roz, Roz, come on, you’re late for training.’
She sat up with a jerk, panting and sweating, the sheets a twisted mass of cotton around her.
Dream. It was a dream. The most vivid, realistic dream she’d ever had, but only a dream. Her insides pulsed with demanding arousal and it would have taken one flick of a finger to bring her to a shattering, satisfying orgasm.
Something held her hand. The memory of dream Andy saying, ‘You can’t come until I tell you.’ She knew it was a dream. Her dream. All from her subconscious, nothing to do with him or what he wanted. This dream was all she wanted. But she couldn’t order her finger to make that one movement.
She struggled out of bed and into the shower, scrubbing herself with lukewarm water and being careful not to touch the parts of her body where she was sensitive. Not today. For today, she would obey Andy. She pulled on her jeans and headed to the flats where Nagsy was waiting.
It was going to be a long day.
Andy parked the Jeep in the garage and switched off the engine. Another false lead and another sighting of a woman who looked vaguely like Roz. This one was in Westport. The ‘woman’ had turned out to be a cross-dressing transsexual. If it wasn’t so heart-breaking, it would have been funny. He stretched, shrugged his shoulders and twisted his neck, trying to ease his aches and pains. He was bone tired from driving. He needed a bath and a Bushmills. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a night off.
The rest of the team had gradually drifted back to other jobs, but he wouldn’t give up. He would find Roz. He was sure of it. The main thing was to stay focused and not give up.
He longed for sleep. Every night he dreamt of her – deliciously filthy X-rated dreams, where she was naked and sorry for running away and breaking his heart. Andy gave a self-deprecating laugh. He had reached the age of thirty-four without someone breaking his heart. A few weeks with Roz had smashed it to smithereens. He welcomed the pain. It made him feel alive. Anything was better than feeling dead inside.
Andy made his way to the house and stuck his head into the kitchen.
‘Any sign of her?’ Maggie asked.
He shook his head. ‘No. It was someone else.’
Her expression was tinged with sympathy. ‘They’re in the library. Dinner’s in half an hour. I’ve made your favourite – steak and Guinness pie.’
‘Thanks, Maggie.’ A big plate of comfort food was exactly what he needed. No, he needed Roz, but this was second best.
In the library, his father was doing the crossword while his mother offered suggestions for the clues he was stuck on. ‘Eight down – the world’s murder capital.’
‘Chicago,’ Poppy said.
Dougal looked at her over the rim of h
is reading glasses. ‘It begins with “T”.’
‘Tegucigalpa,’ Andy told him.
His mother looked up and smiled. ‘You’re home, dear.’
She scanned his face and wisely didn’t ask about Roz, although Andy knew that she also missed her terribly. Changing the subject, she said, ‘We had a visitor today after you left. An American gentleman.’
‘Oh, who?’ Andy asked as he poured himself a drink.
‘He said he was sorry to have missed you. David, no, Darren Hall.’
Andy spun around, almost dropping the glass. ‘Hall was here?’
‘Big chap,’ his father said. ‘I gather he’s involved in your kind of work.’
Hall was here? Jesus fucking wept. That bastard had walked into his parents’ home. He wanted to punch something, preferably Hall. Instead, he took a sip of his drink and forced himself to calm down. He didn’t want to frighten his parents, but he would get Niall Moore to put a team on the place straightaway. ‘What did he say?’
‘Such a pleasant man. Lovely manners,’ Poppy rattled on. ‘When I told him that you weren’t here, he asked about Roz.’
‘He did?’ His hand tightened involuntarily around the glass until the sharp pattern of the crystal hurt his palm.
‘Well, I wasn’t sure what to say, but as he’s a friend of yours, I told him you and Roz were having a little time apart. That was alright, dear, wasn’t it?’
Andy sighed with relief. If Roz had been here, Hall would have killed everyone to get to her. ‘That’s fine, Mum. Did he say what he wanted?’
‘Only that he had something for Roz.’
The words were innocent, but Andy’s blood chilled in his veins. He knew what Hall had for Roz – an encounter with his diving knife, or a neatly broken neck. But it wasn’t enough to go to the local police with.
‘We’re not friends. He’s not welcome here,’ he told her.
He couldn’t leave his parents alone. He didn’t think Hall would be back. He had delivered his message, but Andy couldn’t risk it. They needed protection. His mind raced, seeking a solution.