INTERRUPTED LULLABY

by Valery Parv

  She squirmed beneath him, feeling an achy sense of pleasure-pain that threatened to spiral into something more if she didn't move soon. He looked as if he wouldn't mind, and she knew he was more than capable of it, but a sense of self-preservation kicked in, belatedly she knew, but there all the same. "That does it, I'm going to take a shower."

  His eyes sparkled wickedly. "Alone?"

  "Certainly alone."

  "Over my body."

  That was moot since his was over hers at that precise moment, but she bit back a murmur of protest when he shifted. "The shower isn't big enough for two," she insisted.

  "We'll stand very, very close together."

  He was as good as his word. The shower wasn't large, as she had warned him, and he did, indeed, stand close to her. So close that he was forced to make love to her again, making her laugh as he snagged a condom from her toiletries bag and struggled to put it on under the streaming cascade. It was a novel experience. In all the time they were together, they had never made love in a shower before. When she said so, he smiled lazily. "I can't think why not."

  Neither could she, now she had tried it. Being pressed against the cool tiled surface by the weight of Zeke's body, feeling warm water stream over them while he eased himself into her, was one of the most extraordinary experiences of her life.

  Afterward he kissed droplets of water off her nose. "Have I told you how beautiful you are?"

  She shook her head. "I must look like a drowned rat."

  "A water nymph," he amended. He turned off the water and kept an arm around her as they stepped out of the shower in tandem.

  She shivered slightly as he wrapped a bath sheet around her and began to towel her dry with slow, eddying strokes that stoked new fires of desire deep within her. "I never dreamed that having a shower could be such an experience," she said.

  "So sexy, you mean?" He dabbed water off her face and kissed her again. "Haven't you heard the saying, 'variety is the spice of life'?"

  She fluttered her lashes at him. "Life with you is definitely spicy."

  "Keep that up and we'll never get out of this bathroom." The thought didn't particularly bother her, she found. She had never felt more womanly, more gloriously alive, than she did right now. She sent a prayer of thanks to the woman from the hospital whose odd behavior had driven Zeke to come to the island. And to her old friend, Ryan, for making Zeke jealous enough to bring them back together.

  If they were together, came the disturbing thought. However wonderful this interlude might be, and it was already proving to be pretty amazing, she wasn't sure what it meant for the future.

  She decided not to worry about it now. For this time, however short, Zeke was hers again, and she was most definitely his. She wondered how she could feel so exhausted and exhilarated all at once.

  "Hungry?" he asked as he finished toweling himself off.

  "Yes, but we'll have to go out. There's no food in the house and I … haven't had time to shop."

  "It's all right, I brought groceries."

  A pang shot through her. Had he been so sure of her? Then he added, "I wasn't counting on anything, if that's what you're thinking. I thought if you wanted me to go to a hotel, I'd leave the supplies for you. You mentioned on the phone that the cottage was isolated."

  It was something, she supposed, not sure she believed him. She hated to think this had been coldly premeditated when, for her, it had been as unexpected as rain out of a blue sky. It was probably easier to think of it as an aberration, than that she couldn't live without him, she acknowledged to herself. But it wasn't true. If he hadn't flown to the island, she would have found some excuse to go back, she knew.

  She reached for a hair dryer hanging on the wall, but paused before switching it on. "What would you have done if I'd turned up on your doorstep in America?"

  His hungry look was almost an answer. "Were you planning the trip?"

  "I was thinking about it." Only the thought that he was involved had kept her away.

  She saw him read the thought and he took the dryer from her hand, letting it dangle by its cord as he enfolded her in his arms. "God, Tara, why did we waste so much time?"

  "Oh, Zeke, I love you."

  She hadn't meant to say the words, and knew from the shock in his eyes that he didn't want to hear them, but she couldn't take them back. She touched a finger to his lips. "I don't need you to say you love me. It's enough that you're here."

  He freed his mouth. "It wasn't enough before."

  "It was, only I didn't know it." She nestled closer against him. "I was influenced by my father, I think, wanting perfection, thinking I needed the gown, the altar, the piece of paper."

  His expression became bleak. "Lord knows, any woman is entitled."

  She shook her head. "They don't mean half as much as I thought they did, and not a fraction as much as what I have here right now."

  He gave her a wondering look. "You'd settle for so little?"

  "How can it be so little, when it's everything you have to give?"

  His hold on her tightened and her heart melted as she felt him tremble with the force of being so completely understood. "I don't deserve you," he rasped. He drowned out her reply in a kiss so scorching that she felt control slipping away again. "Perfect," he muttered.

  When he released her she felt dizzy, but fear made her say, "I don't want to be perfect." She never again wanted to live up to her father's impossible standards, or expect anyone else to live up to them for her.

  "You can't help it, you already are, for me." Understanding what he meant, she felt relief sweep through her. Unlike her father, in Zeke's eyes, perfection wasn't something she had to aspire to, it was bestowed on her through the power of his feelings. If he didn't want to call it love, she could live with it, she told herself. As long as he never stopped looking at her the way he was doing now.

  "We'd better get some food," he said, stepping back and returning the hair dryer to her.

  She understood that, too, and felt desire sweep through her again. He was telling her she was going to need the fuel.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  "When she was little, I told Tara that the penguins were windup toys put out on the beach by the rangers every evening for the tourists, and she believed me," Ryan said with a laugh. They had reached the coffee stage of an excellent meal and Tara was impressed to find that his wife, Jeanette, was a great homemaker as well as a skilled scientist. Liking her immediately, Tara rejoiced that her childhood friend had so obviously found his soul mate. She and Ryan had been happy to include Zeke in the dinner invitation. Now Tara wondered if seeing them together would influence Zeke.

  Did he ever yearn for what they had? Tara wondered, feeling a soul-deep longing grip her. Earlier in the evening she had watched him read to their gorgeous two-year-old son, Jonathon, and he'd been so good at it that a lump rose in her throat. At the child's insistence, Zeke had carried the little boy to bed on his shoulder.

  She knew family life fell a long way outside his personal experience but everyone could change. Her father's perfectionism had dominated much of her young life, but she had made a conscious decision to be different.

  It wasn't easy. There were still times when her best efforts seemed inadequate and she was tempted to demand too much of herself and others. Instead, she reminded herself that her father's way wasn't the only way and made herself enjoy the journey as well as the destination.

  But first people had to want to change. Did Zeke really want things to be different between them? The question nagged at her. As things were, he had everything, including her, without sacrificing his precious independence or committing himself to anything beyond the moment She hoped it was going to be enough for her.

  She made herself pay attention as Jeanette gave her husband a playful shove. "Tara was only—what?—five years old? You could have told her anything."

  He nodded. "I probably did."

  Zeke rested his
chin on one hand. "I'm having a hard time picturing Tara at five."

  Glad to redirect her errant thoughts, she shook her head furiously. "I was awful. Skinny as a rake and always too tall for my age."

  "She was full of beans, into everything and wanting to know everything," Ryan remembered. "She kept asking me how the penguins found their way back to the same beachhead every evening."

  "You told me they put signs up in Penguin," she said accusingly.

  "It was better than telling you I hadn't a clue."

  Jeanette gave her husband a fond look before leaning forward. "As you know, Tara, a man would rather make up something than admit he doesn't know the answer, even if he's only eight years old."

  Ryan contrived to look affronted. "Are we going to stand for this slander, Zeke?"

  Jeanette laughed. "You could storm off to the kitchen and fetch more coffee."

  Ryan gave a sigh of being put-upon but started to get up, taking the hint good-naturedly. Before he could leave the table, Zeke stood and motioned for their hosts to remain seated. "I'll get it. My turn."

  Tara rose, too. "I'll help Zeke. You and Ryan have done enough this evening."

  She followed Zeke into the kitchen and found him staring around the kitchen, a look of confusion on his face. "Why do women always hide things? I can't see any coffee here."

  Grinning because he was unwittingly proving Jeanette's point, Tara indicated a coffee percolator on a stand almost under Zeke's nose. "Do you think this could be it?" Checking to see that it was filled, she switched it on and rested her back against a cupboard while she waited for it to boil.

  He gave her a long-suffering look. "You're enjoying ganging up on Ryan and me, aren't you?"

  She touched his nose playfully, wondering if the wine Jeanette had served with dinner had gone to her head. A little, she decided, but it was more likely the afternoon she'd spent with Zeke, both before and after they'd finally managed to eat. It was just as well he'd brought supplies because they never did make it to the shops.

  "You must admit, it's better than what you thought I'd be doing with Ryan."

  He folded his arms and contrived a bland look. "I didn't think anything."

  "Yes, you did. You were jealous."

  "Was not."

  "Were, too. Stop arguing and come here," she said, pulling him into her arms and kissing him. She wondered if he could taste Jeanette's beef burgundy on her mouth, as she did on his. She felt him stirring again. But it felt so good to have her arms around him and his lips on hers that she couldn't make herself move away.

  "Bold tonight, aren't you?" he said, his mouth moving sensuously against hers.

  "Blame it on the red meat."

  One eyebrow canted upward, giving him a wicked expression. "If I'd known that's all it would take, I'd have brought steak with the groceries."

  Laughter bubbled inside her. "We did okay on canned oysters and asparagus."

  "Both well-known aphrodisiacs," he pointed out seriously.

  "Do they still count if they're canned?"

  His fingers threaded through her hair. "They did for us. But then, we never needed aphrodisiacs, did we?"

  She could hardly summon her voice. "No." All they had ever needed was each other.

  "How soon do you think we can escape back to the cottage?" he asked, reading her mind and the desire she was afraid showed in her eyes. "It isn't that I don't like our hosts' company. I do, but…" He didn't need to say any more.

  "I know. I feel the same way."

  "Then what are we doing here?"

  His hand wasn't quite steady as he picked up the now-bubbling coffeepot. She replenished the cream and sugar and followed him back to the dining room, feeling as if she had a neon sign around her neck: Property of Zeke Blaxland.

  "One more cup then we'll call it a night," he said on a slightly husky note. "It's been an exhausting day."

  Tara almost choked, thinking of how he came by his exhaustion. He hadn't looked tired a moment ago when they were in the kitchen. In fact he looked far more vibrant than he had when he arrived this morning, she would swear. It was as if an afternoon of passion had given him a new lease on life. Or perhaps it was the prospect of the night still to come. Picturing it, she felt her pulse quicken.

  "This baby farming story must have taken a lot out of you," Jeanette commiserated, making her own assumption. "Ryan and I talked about it and we think you deserve an award for the work you've done."

  "Seeing those babies reunited with their real families will be award enough," Zeke insisted. "In any case, much of the detective work was done by my informant at the hospital, allowing me to tie it all together much faster than I could have done otherwise."

  "Is that the end of it now?"

  Zeke shook his head. "The whole thing will be in court for years while the police and the lawyers fight their legal battles." How could he sound so calm and self-possessed when she was churning inside? Tara wondered. She knew he felt the same way. In the kitchen, the stirring of his need for her had been unmistakable. If not for the presence of their hosts, she suspected he would have taken her there and then, and she would have been more than willing.

  But he went on as if nothing was amiss. "I'm checking out a couple of remaining angles. You'll read about them when I have enough to go public. Then I'll feel I've done my job as a journalist."

  "You must be proud of what you've achieved."

  "I'll be happy when the last of the guilty parties is brought to justice, although that could take years."

  Tara put a hand over Zeke's. "I'm proud of him. So are the parents whose babies he traced." The informant may have provided the information, but Zeke had put it all together and forced the authorities to take notice, she thought with satisfaction.

  Jeanette stirred sugar into her coffee and looked thoughtful. "What must it be like for those poor children, coming to know one set of people as parents, then being handed over to other people who are strangers to them?"

  "It's pretty traumatic stuff," Zeke agreed, thinking of one of the heart-wrenching scenes he had witnessed firsthand. Millions of others had shared the first of the reunions when it was broadcast on the national news. "The paper is arranging for professional counseling for the families, to help them adjust. It will take time."

  Jeanette passed around a plate of handmade chocolates. When they reached her, Tara shook her head. "I've already overindulged in your wonderful cooking." She might not be modeling anymore, but she was still the public face of Model Children. Zeke was a bad influence on her, she decided. He made her reckless and self-indulgent, but when he was around, she couldn't seem to hold back.

  "I'm glad you enjoyed the meal. It's not often we have celebrities to dinner."

  Zeke waved away the description. "Tara might qualify, but I'm only a working journalist. Sometimes the publicity is an inescapable part of the job but I'm glad most of it seems to be dying down now."

  "There's no chance of the babies remaining with the wrong families, is there?" Ryan asked.

  In the act of reaching for the cream, Tara paused, glancing at Zeke. He shook his head. "Of course not. Those criminals don't deserve to have children."

  "But if they were innocent, as one of them claims to be, what then?" Tara said. "In your article, one of the women who received a stolen baby was quoted as saying she didn't know what her partner had done. She was devastated to discover that she'd given birth to a sickly child and it had been exchanged for someone else's healthy baby."

  Zeke looked dubious. "I can't believe she's as innocent as she says. Surely a mother knows her own child?"

  "She might have suspected something was wrong, but new babies can look very similar. That's why hospitals put identity tags on them as soon as they're born," Tara said, thinking of the newborns she had seen before she was moved out of the maternity ward. They had all worn wrist and ankle tags.

  Zeke frowned. "If the price is high enough, tags can be switched and records altered. That's what happened wit
h the four infants who were given to new families in exchange for payment before the organizers shut the operation down. They didn't give up because they feared being caught, but because they had made enough money to head for safe havens overseas."

  Ryan stirred his coffee thoughtfully. "Then you weren't able to trace the key figures?"

  "The ringleaders have left the country, but the law will catch up with them eventually. In my final piece, I hope to name one more staff member who was involved, as soon as I have access to the hospital records. Then the rest is up to the police."

  "It's exciting stuff," Ryan said. "No wonder Tara has stars in her eyes whenever she looks your way."

  Tara lowered her eyes but Jeanette placed a hand on her arm. "Don't let that husband of mine bother you. He has a big mouth."

  "And Tara McNiven has the most expressive face I've ever known," Ryan said with a laugh. "She never could hide anything from me. Remember the Anzac biscuits your grandmother made?"

  "Unfair," she protested, relieved to have him change the subject, even if it was to a more embarrassing one. Ryan was right, he did know her far too well. He was quite capable of seeing that she loved Zeke completely, whether or not it was what Zeke wanted to hear.

  Zeke leaned forward, his eyes agleam. "What happened?"

  "You'd never know it from how she looks, but little Tara had the biggest appetite for miles."

  "She still does," Zeke interjected with a dark-eyed look that left Tara in no doubt what he meant. She looked away, feeling suddenly feverish and restless, glad that Ryan hadn't seen her reaction.

  He went on, "Her grandmother left a plate of freshly baked cookies cooling on a windowsill and Tara ate all but one. I was accused of eating them. I denied it, but her grandmother didn't believe me. Then she got one look at Tara's face and knew who the real culprit was. It wasn't the crumbs on her clothes that gave her away. It was that transparent expression she gets when she's up to something. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she has it now."

  So he had noticed. "You're imagining things," Tara said, flustered at being read so easily. She called on all her model training to keep her expression calm and aloof, although it was far from how she felt inside.