by Anne Fraser
She couldn’t resist him if her life depended on it. She could do nothing except give in to the feelings that were zipping around her. Her body melted into his as if it belonged there.
He groaned and, dropping his hands to her hips, pulled her against him. She fitted there in the circle of his arms as if once they had been one, and she let her hands go around his neck as she gave in to her need.
Still kissing her, he lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing and carried her out of the sitting room and into his bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed and she looked at him, knowing what was going to happen yet powerless to stop it.
His eyes were dark, almost hazy, as he looked at her. Without taking his eyes from her, he slid his hands up her hips and, hooking the top of her tights with his thumbs, he began to unroll them slowly. She lifted her hips to help him. Inside she was a mass of confusion. What little part of her brain that could still think was shouting, No! Don’t do this! But the far greater part was taken over by urgent need of her body. She knew she was helpless to deny him … or herself.
The only light in the room came from the lounge and the moon outside. It was dark enough to hide her shyness but light enough for her to read every nuance of his expression.
Once her tights were off he turned his attention to her blouse. He leaned over and dropped kisses in the hollow of her throat, across her collarbone, his hands all the while deftly undoing her buttons. He stopped kissing her as he drew the blouse apart. He was breathing hard as he looked down at her. Now she felt no embarrassment, no shyness, only wonder at the expression in his eyes.
Then she lifted her hips as he unbuttoned her skirt and let it drop to the floor.
‘You are beautiful,’ he said, his voice thick with desire.
She hated him being away from her even for a second and she pulled him back towards her. As he kissed her, she let her hands slide under his T-shirt, revelling in the feel of hard muscle under her fingertips. How could a man who was so toned be soft at the same time? she wondered as she lifted his T-shirt over his head. She pressed against him, feeling the hard warmth of his bare skin pressing against her. She wanted him so much, she didn’t know if she could wait a minute longer to feel him, all of him against her, inside her.
A small moan escaped her lips as she searched for the button of his jeans, her fingers brushing the hair that travelled from his belly downwards.
This time it was him who was helping her as his jeans came off.
Then he stretched on the bed beside her. She blushed when she saw the extent of his desire for her.
He slipped a thumb inside the cup of her bra, teasing one nipple and then the other, until she didn’t know how she could bear it.
Then his hand reached behind her, deftly unhooked her bra and her breasts sprang free.
He kissed her skin, running his tongue across each nipple. Her body was on fire. She couldn’t wait any longer. She was going to explode.
‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t hold on.’
‘Just a little longer,’ he promised. ‘But this time, our first time, I want to watch you.’
She shook her head from side to side. She wanted him inside her now. Moving with her. Filling this empty, aching void that she hadn’t known, until now, existed.
‘Shh,’ he said. ‘I promise you there will be time later.’
Giving in, she lay back, digging her fingers into his hair, curling her fingers tightly in an attempt to stop herself crying out as he inched his mouth downwards.
Dropping kisses on her belly, on the insides of her thighs, brushing his fingers gently between her legs. Then he removed her panties and just when she thought she couldn’t bear the exquisite pain of her need any longer, he slipped his finger inside her. He raised his head and looked deeply into her eyes as she arched her body up to him. She couldn’t help the cry that ripped from her throat as sensation after sensation rocked through her body. He was taking her somewhere she’d never been before, higher and higher, until at the top her body couldn’t hold on any longer and she lost all sense of who she was.
Her head was still reeling as she clutched him to her. She needed him inside her, and greedily she pulled him on top of her, opening herself to him and using her hands to guide him inside her. They rocked together, more and more urgently, until triumphantly she heard him reach his climax, just seconds before she followed him.
They lay, breathing deeply, their bodies hot and entangled. She felt as if every cell in her body had merged with his. She had never known sex could be like this, a heady mix of the physical and emotional. His hands were brushing over her hair. Lightly touching her shoulder.
‘My God, you’re not nearly as prim and proper as you appear on the outside, are you?’
She blushed, but hearing the laughter in his voice she couldn’t take offence.
‘I haven’t had many lovers,’ she murmured.
He propped his head on his elbow as he looked down at her. ‘I’m glad,’ he said simply.
His hand trailed lazily over her neck and then onto her breasts and her breath began to quicken. ‘I don’t want to think of you being with anyone else,’ he said possessively. ‘I want you to be mine. Just mine.’
Her heart started its hammering again. She was surprised he couldn’t feel it pounding against his hand as he continued to touch her body, searching for the spots that drove her wild. Didn’t he realise that wherever he touched her drove her wild? Her last coherent thought as she succumbed once more to the relentless demands of his touch was that she loved him. Loved him, completely, irrevocably and for ever. Before she could help herself the words slipped out. ‘I love you,’ she whispered as he once more took possession of her, body and soul.
Mac lay listening to the gentle sound of Abby’s breathing. Her hair was fanned out across his chest and he swore he could smell strawberries. It felt so right to have her curled up against him—right and peaceful.
As he began to drift off towards sleep, an image of Abby, Emma and himself came into his head. They were laughing together as they shared a meal around the table in Abby’s kitchen. Abby and Emma were looking at him with such love and admiration it made him feel good. Better than he had felt in his life. But then he started. What had Abby said? She loved him. He knew women often said that in the throes of making love. They didn’t necessarily mean it. He groaned quietly. But Abby wasn’t any woman. She was strong and proud and honest. She wouldn’t have said the words if she didn’t mean them.
There was no chance of him falling asleep now. His mind was racing too fast for that. Gently he disentangled himself from Abby and eased himself out of bed. He wrapped a towel around his hips and crept out of the bedroom and into the sitting room. He opened the door to his small balcony and stepped outside into the cold air. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. He had been a crazy, selfish fool to let it get this far. He should have known better than to play with Abby. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. Ever since she’d appeared back in his life, his need to take her to bed had been like an itch he’d needed to scratch. But he hadn’t been thinking of her. What could he offer her? It was one thing to accept the responsibility of a child—there was nothing he could do about that, he had a duty towards Emma—but a relationship with Abby was out of the question. He hadn’t changed his mind about not wanting commitment. Commitments brought trouble and pain. Commitments were not for him. Even if he loved her.
He heard the pad of feet behind him and two soft hands crept around his waist.
‘What are you doing out here in the freezing cold? ‘ Abby asked, laying her cheek against his back. Her silky hair was like a caress against his skin, and despite everything he had just been telling himself he wanted her there, always.
Suddenly she moved away from him and he felt it like a stab to his heart. He had to tell her what he felt before either of them got in any deeper.
‘It can’t be ten o’clock. Grief, Emma’s due back at half past. I have to get home
.’ She had wrapped a sheet around her before coming onto the balcony and almost tripped over it in her haste to get back to her clothes in the bedroom. He smiled at her ungainly, faltering steps and had to force himself to stay where he was. If he touched her again, he’d be undone.
‘My shoes—where are my shoes?’ Abby’s panicked voice came from the bedroom. She had slipped on her skirt and blouse and rammed her tights haphazardly into her bag.
‘Hey, slow down. It’ll only take you fifteen minutes to get home. Plenty of time.’ He retrieved one of her high heels from under the sofa and the other from the floor halfway to the bedroom. ‘Your shoes, milady,’ he said.
She practically snatched them from his hands. ‘It’s no laughing matter,’ she said crossly. ‘I’ve never not been there for Emma when she comes home. She’ll be anxious. And anything could happen. There might be a fire. She could get trapped. Hurt herself and need me. What was I thinking, falling asleep?’
She put her shoes on and looked around feverishly. Mac picked up her coat from the arm of the sofa and held it out so she could slip her arms into it.
‘C’mon, Abby. You know nothing’s going to happen to her in the few minutes she’ll be alone. It’s just that you’ve been on too many rescues. That’s why you’re imagining the worst.’
She glared at him. ‘Being a parent brings responsibility, too, Mac. And one of those responsibilities is protecting your child from any danger.’
Mac knew it was useless to argue. Besides, which would he rather? The woman who was mother to his child caring too much or caring too little? He groaned inwardly. Wasn’t that the problem? Abby was the kind of woman who would always care too much. And he didn’t want or deserve that.
He was aware of her lips brushing his, and then she was gone.
Happily, Emma hadn’t got back by the time Abby brought her car to a screeching halt outside her little house. Everything was still in darkness. Mac was right. She had overreacted. But if anything should ever happen to Emma, she would simply die.
As she let herself in, she thought back over the evening. It had been the most exciting night of her life. A delicious thrill ran up her spine as she recalled how it had felt to be in his arms. She had never imagined that making love could be like that. Although she’d had lovers in her life before, neither of them had made her feel like that. Was it because she loved Mac? The thought frightened and excited her at the same time and she grew hot as she remembered how she hadn’t been able to stop herself murmuring the truth to him.
She ran upstairs and switched on the shower. It would give her time to regain her composure before facing Emma. As she let the hot water stream over her body, she pushed aside the memory of Mac’s hands. She could have sworn he wasn’t immune to her. But then again, what did she really know about men?
He didn’t say he loved you. The voice wouldn’t go away. But that was okay. For the first time in her life she was going to throw caution to the wind and let life take her where it would. If there was one thing being with Mac had taught her, it was that life was nothing at all if you didn’t take risks.
Nevertheless, she was still hurt and dismayed when over the next few days Mac was friendly but distant towards her. Although she hadn’t expected protestations of undying love, neither had she expected to be treated like a one-night stand. Had she flung herself at him? Now that he had slept with her, was he no longer interested? He still spent time with Emma on a regular basis, but his invites no longer included her. It was becoming evident she had made a dreadful mistake. But one she could not regret. Making love with Mac, loving Mac, had made her feel alive. And if part of that was the dreadful pain of rejection she knew deep down that she accepted that, too. At least Emma had a father who loved and cherished her. That would have to do.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT WAS another Saturday when Rebecca was on her own. Josh had gone to work, telling her that he had loads of paperwork to catch up on. Although he had promised to be back soon after lunch, it was almost three and he still hadn’t returned. It was typical of Josh. In the four years they had been married she had grown to accept that his work would always take priority over her.
A few days earlier she had brought up the subject of children again. Josh had refused to even discuss it and they had argued. Since then they had been barely speaking. Josh was spending more and more time at the hospital and Rebecca had the distinct feeling that he was avoiding her.
She packed a sandwich and a flask of coffee. Josh hated hospital food. They could take their picnic and despite the cold, maybe they could find a bench and sit outside and talk. She blinked away the tears. When had they last talked properly? She couldn’t remember.
As she drove towards the hospital she suddenly felt nervous. She could hardly blame Josh totally for the gulf in their marriage. She could make more of an effort, take an interest in his work, even if it did bore her senseless. She would suggest they go into London for dinner, meet up with old friends. It would be like it had been in the beginning. Her spirits lifted. Perhaps they could still find their way back to each other and then if they did, Josh might agree to have children. She would make him see that a baby would make them happy again.
She turned into the hospital car park and searched for a parking place. Then she rooted around in the back seat of her car until she found the paper bag with the picnic. Once again she checked her make-up and her hair. Was that a frown line between her eyes? She shivered. Every day she was seeing signs that she was getting older.
She hopped out of the car and took a few steps towards the door of A & E. But then, to her left, sitting on a bench under a tree, she saw them. Josh and another woman. Like Josh, the other woman was wearing scrubs, and although her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was devoid of make-up, she was still startlingly beautiful in the way only certain women could be. Rebecca felt a flash of envy. She knew she was beautiful, too, but she needed the help of make-up. She didn’t have the natural beauty of the woman sitting next to Josh.
She was about to call out when she froze in her tracks. Josh threw back his head and laughed at something the woman had said. His arm was draped over the back of the bench, almost touching her shoulder. There was a familiarity about the gesture that spoke volumes. Rebecca couldn’t tear her eyes away. When had she last heard Josh laugh? When had she last seen him looking so relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world? When had she last seen him look happy?
The woman raised her face to Josh’s and smiled into his eyes. Rebecca’s throat ached and she raised her hand to brush away the tears that stung her eyes. Slowly she backed away, terrified now lest they see her. Although she couldn’t bear it, she knew. Knew with a certainty that rocked her soul. Josh was in love with this woman. Rebecca could see it in every line of his body, in the way it seemed as if she were something precious he had to protect.
Tears were blinding her as she groped her way back to the car. Whatever she’d had planned, whatever hopes she’d had for her and Josh making a go of their marriage, it was too late. If Josh loved this woman, he would be with her. He was too honest to continue with a marriage when he was in love with someone else. Anger was beginning to erode some of the pain. How could she have been so stupid not to have seen what was in front of her eyes? It wasn’t work that was making Josh spend all these extra hours at the hospital, it was another woman.
Rebecca gripped the steering-wheel with numb hands. He would leave her. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but soon. He would look after her financially, she knew that, but leave her he would. And all these years she had stayed with him—giving up her dream, her longing to have a baby, giving up her happy life in London to follow him here, to a place she knew she could never be happy—had been futile.
She turned the key in the ignition. She was damned if she was going to walk away with nothing. At the very least she would have a baby to love.
The telephone was ringing as Mac stepped in to his flat after playing squash. At first he did
n’t recognise the voice.
‘Mac? Robert here.’ Mac stood still. He had almost forgotten about the doctor in charge of doing the DNA test.
‘Hello, Robert. How’s it going? Have you news for me?’ Too impatient for small talk, he cut to the chase. He knew it was ridiculous but suddenly he was nervous.
Robert cleared his throat. ‘I do. You’ll get a letter confirming the results tomorrow, as will the other party, but I thought as a professional courtesy I would ring you.’
Get on with it, Mac wanted to shout down the phone, but he held himself in check. Robert could have left him to find out by letter.
‘And?’
‘I’m not sure if it’s good news or bad, but.’
If he could have reached down the telephone line and shaken Robert he would have done so. Why didn’t the man just get on with confirming that Emma was his child? As soon as he had the proof, he would ring the lawyer and start the proceedings that would allow him to be named officially as Emma’s father.
‘The test is negative,’ Robert said flatly. ‘There is no way at all she could be your child.’
The breath came out of him like an explosion. He hadn’t been even aware he had stopped breathing.
‘What?’ he managed. He couldn’t have heard right.
‘Emma Stevens is not your biological daughter. As I said, I have no idea whether this is good or bad news, but that is the result. A letter is on its way to her guardian.’
Mac felt the world tip. Emma was not his daughter. He couldn’t believe it. Everything in him said she was. He couldn’t love her the way he did if she wasn’t his flesh and blood.
He was hardly aware of thanking Robert and replacing the receiver. If it hadn’t been mid-afternoon, he would have poured himself a stiff whisky.
Emma wasn’t his child. Sara had either been lying or, he suspected, simply mistaken.