by Helen Brooks
Who on earth…? Victoria waited a moment, but then, when the bell rang again, slid off the stool and padded warily into the hall. The last thing she wanted to do at this very minute was to have to talk to anyone, but it was going to be one of those mornings, she could tell. It was probably the gas man or someone from the electricity board come to read the meter, she thought as she opened the door—whilst keeping the safety chain on this time— with a tentative, 'Yes?'
It wasn't the gas or electricity man—in fact all she could see initially through the crack was the most enormous bouquet of claret-streaked lilies and deep red roses, almost a perfect replica of her wedding bouquet. Her heart stopped and then raced on madly.
'Tory?' Zac's voice was warm and soft, and as different from earlier as it was possible to be. 'I never said I was thrilled about the baby in spite…in spite of everything.'
It was the little moment of hesitation that did it Zac Harding never hesitated—hesitation wasn't in his vocabulary—and for the first time Victoria realised he was as bemused about the baby as she was. She opened the door.
'Hello again.' He was standing there with a look on his face that matched his voice, and although she knew it was stupid, and that she mustn't falter in her resolve to keep him very firmly at arm's length, Victoria melted. She just couldn't help it.
'Hello.' She managed a nervous smile as her eyes went to the flowers. 'Are these for me?' she asked shakily.
'Coals to Newcastle in view of your present job, but yes, they're for you,' Zac said softly. 'And I forgot to say how beautiful you look too—radiant in fact Motherhood suits you.'
'Beautiful?' Her head shot up in surprise and panic. He didn't think he was going to wheedle his way back into her life with cajoling charm and flattery, did he? She might be mad, but she wasn't that mad; not with a certain flame-haired, voluptuous Italian still very definitely on the scene.
'Yes, beautiful,' Zac affirmed, his voice cool now. He had noticed the alarm bell and now changed the subject with smooth control. 'And talking of motherhood, and fatherhood,' he added wryly, 'you do realise that there are decisions to be made and I have a right to be involved in them? We have to reach some sort of compromise.'
He was too calm and reasonable all of a sudden, Victoria thought suspiciously. Compromise was another word that was foreign to this man. But… She stared at him, her mind racing—she couldn't take too many of the sort of rows they had had that morning. She wasn't like him; she wasn't tough and hard and ruthless, with a win-at-all-costs mentality and a beat-the-other-guy-into-the-ground philosophy, added to which—her heart stopped and then speeded on like an express train—she had one major handicap where her relationship with Zac was concerned. She loved him. Even after his betrayal, she loved him. More fool her.
She would never be able to live with him again—even if Gina was out of the equation the hurt and distrust had gone too deep—but if only for her own peace of mind a compromise would be best, and certainly their child would benefit if its parents were on speaking terms. She decided to meet him halfway, reaching for the flowers and inclining her head as she said, 'Come in,' her voice as neutral as she could make it 'I can spare a few minutes.'
'Thank you.' The dry note in his voice acknowledged her lack of enthusiasm but Victoria was too tied up with her own turbulent thoughts to notice.
'Do you want a cup of coffee?' she asked him carefully once he was in the flat, his big dark presence making her tiny home even tinier. 'I've just made a pot.'
'A coffee would be very nice, thank you,' Zac said with suspect meekness as he wandered through to the sitting room.
'Sit…sit down.' She stood in the doorway and waved a hand at one of the chairs before fleeing into the kitchen, the flowers clutched to her chest, and once in the small, compact space she leant against a smart, white oak cupboard as she prayed for control.
She had to be cool and composed—matronly, she told herself feverishly as she rummaged about in one cupboard after another for a vase, finally settling on a big square water jug and plunging the base of the bouquet in without removing the Cellophane at the top of the bouquet, turning away to the coffee maker in the next moment without noticing the bouquet was moving to one side and causing the jug to tilt.
The crash the water jug made as it hit the tiled floor almost made Victoria jump out of her skin, and brought Zac shooting out of the sitting room like a bullet from a gun.
'What the…?' He took in Victoria standing amidst a sea of water and jagged glass, and his sharp, 'Don't move, stay exactly where you are,' checked any movement she might have made.
He reached her in two strides, his shoes crunching fragments of broken glass, and whisked her up into his arms before Victoria could say a word, retracing his steps to the threshold of the kitchen and into the small hall beyond where he stopped, looking down into her flushed face and making no attempt to set her down. His eyes were dark and glittering and she was mesmerised.
'I've heard of keeping the little woman in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, but I've never realised how impractical it is before,' he said huskily. 'With someone like you, that is. Why won't you wear shoes, Tory?' he asked wryly.
Her habit of going barefoot whenever she could had been a bone of contention when they were courting, especially after she had trodden on a wasp on one occasion in her mother's garden, and on another had driven a half-inch wooden splinter deep into the soft flesh at the base of her toe. He'd shouted a bit then.
'I…I don't like shoes.' He had slipped his suit jacket off during his sojourn in the sitting room, and now, held close to the soft silk of his shirt, Victoria could smell the warm scent coming off his skin and feel the prickle of body hair beneath the smooth material. 'I never have,' she added weakly.
It wasn't fair that one man could be so devastatingly attractive, so sexy, so incredibly, broodingly male…
'Perhaps that's why your feet are so perfect.' But he didn't look down at her feet; his eyes were seemingly locked onto the soft moistness of her lips, and then his mouth was coming closer, and closer still. And she knew she wanted him to kiss her.
Victoria shut her eyes as his mouth touched hers, but then, when the kiss ended almost before it began, the light stroking of her lips not at all what she had expected, they snapped open in surprise. That was it? she asked herself confusedly. But…
'You seem to have miraculously escaped any injury,' Zac said briskly as he set her down on the thick wool carpet. 'Now you stay here out of harm's way while I clean up. I presume there's a dustpan and brush somewhere in that hidey-hole of a kitchen?'
'I… Yes. Umm…' Pull yourself together. 'The dustpan is under the sink,' Victoria managed stumblingly, hearing her trembling voice with very real disgust.
She had been in his arms, held next to that wickedly male body, and he had kissed her in much the same way he would kiss a maiden aunt, Victoria thought miserably. Perhaps her changed shape had put him off? The thought was crucifyingly painful. The cleverly cut lines of the dress with its low, low waist hid her shape wonderfully well, but he would have felt only too clearly what the dress hid. He probably thought she was fat and ungainly— repulsive even? She stood lost in a black abyss of despair.
'Victoria?' he had been talking but she only heard her name.
She came out of the dark morass of her thoughts to find Zac had cleared away every last speck of glass, and the kitchen floor was now drying and gleaming. 'Oh, thank you.' She managed a smile.
'I asked you if you had a bucket or something to stand the flowers in for now?' Zac repeated patiently. 'You can arrange them later when you've got more time.'
Fiercely masculine men like him should never do household jobs, Victoria thought, with an apology to all the feminists in the world, but the touch of domesticity emphasised rather than defused his powerful appeal, making it disturbingly dangerous. She didn't want to fancy him—there was nothing she wanted less in all the world— but she was aching with a desire that was hot and lustful and very
, very earthy.
'A bucket?' His patience sounded as if it was wearing thin.
'Oh, yes, a bucket. Of course.' Victoria tried to take control of both the situation and her own weakness as she opened the tall narrow cupboard wherein the vacuum cleaner was housed, and reached over it to the shelf where a lone bucket—hitherto unused—was sitting. He must think she was going doo-lally!
She turned to the sink, placing the bucket under the cold tap and turning the water on as Zac tied the big parcel he had made of the broken glass with string and wrapped it round with more newspaper before putting the whole in a big black dustbin sack.
And then she jumped for the second time that morning as Zac barked—just as she was about to lift the bucket onto the floor, 'What the hell do you think you are doing now?'
'What?' All thoughts of soft yearning vanished as she glared back into his angry face. 'What's the matter?' she snapped tightly.
'You. You're the matter. For crying out loud…' He raked back a lock of jet-black hair from his brow irritably. 'You were just about to lift that bucket out of the sink, weren't you?'
'Well, of course I was,' she retorted testily, her heart still beating a tattoo. 'I wasn't aware it could jump down all by itself.' She could be sarcastic herself when she wanted to be!
'You're pregnant, woman. You don't do things like sky-diving or running the London marathon, and you definitely, definitely don't do weight-lifting,' he said with biting derision. 'Don't you know what to avoid? Haven't you been to meetings, or whatever it is women go to at this particular time?'
'If you're referring to antenatal classes, I haven't been to any yet,' Victoria snapped back furiously. 'They start at the end of September, but I've managed quite well so far in case you hadn't noticed.' How dared he insinuate she'd put the baby at risk?
He glanced meaningfully at the black dustbin sack before placing it on the floor. 'Well, now you mention it…'
'Oh, shut up!' Victoria was too enraged to tread carefully. 'I was perfectly all right before you came round this morning as it happens, but you make me so nervous—' She stopped abruptly but it was too late. The black eyes had narrowed on her face.
'Do I? Do I make you nervous, Tory?' He sounded inordinately pleased with himself and she wanted to kick him, hard.
'Not nervous exactly.' She tried to backtrack, glancing away from him, but a hard male hand turned her gaze to meet his jet-black one and she trembled at the look on his face.
'What, then…exactly?' he asked softly.
'Zac, stop this.' She hadn't forgotten his obvious distaste at her changing shape, and it enabled her voice to sound firm, even curt. 'We're separated, that is the bare bones of the matter, and all this…bickering isn't helping me or the baby.' Oh, how could you, Victoria? How could you fall back on such a manipulative feminine ploy? her conscience screamed accusingly. Only for her to reply in the next breath, Self-preservation, that's how.
'I don't want to argue with you, Tory.' He was close, far, far too close, and the touch and taste and smell of him was all about her, causing her blood to run like liquid fire through her veins and her heart to beat so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear it. 'I want to do something quite different Something that doesn't involve the power of speech at all.'
'Do you?' She stared up into his dark, glittering eyes, drugged by the nearness of him.
'I want to undress you, very slowly,' he said softly, 'until you're naked before me, your breasts swollen and ready for my caresses and your body aching for my touch, my lips—'
'Zac, please. Please don't do this,' Victoria interrupted weakly, fighting the dark, fascinatingly sensual images his words were conjuring up. This was manipulative, Zac at his most dangerous.
'I want to explore your mouth, enjoy it, enjoy you,' he continued relentlessly, as though she hadn't spoken. 'And then my lips will claim every part of you—every part, Tory. Here—' his hand moved gently to her throat,'—and here—' a provocative finger ran lightly over her breasts that were ripe and hard in answer to his desire '—and here.' Now she shuddered helplessly as his hand moved with tantalising sureness from her breasts to her stomach, pausing slightly as his fingers splayed and caressed the swollen mound, before continuing still lower.
'Don't.' She caught his hand at the juncture of her thighs, her breathing ragged and her eyes hot and wild. 'Don't touch me.'
'Why? Because you want it so much?' he asked with cruel discernment, his voice unbelievably tender.
'No. No, I can't.' She pushed at him, the movement as ineffectual as the flutterings of a tiny trapped bird against the bars of the steel cage that enclosed it. 'I can't do this.'
He caught the desperate, agonised appeal in her voice and his hands became still, his voice losing the tender note and becoming almost flat as he said, 'You can, but you won't. But I can wait, Tory. I've got time on my side. You are my wife and you are carrying my child and you cannot fight me for ever. I know it and you know it.'
He brushed past her, reaching for the brimming bucket and emptying two thirds of the water out before he placed it on the floor in a corner, dunking the ends of the bouquet under the remaining liquid.
'This child is a Harding, Victoria.' His voice was devoid of emotion as he straightened and turned back to her. 'And when you joined your body to mine as my wife you became a Harding. You're mine—absolutely—as I am yours.'
'How can you say that?' she hissed disbelievingly, finding her tongue at long last. 'What about Gina?'
'Gina is family and she is also a friend, but nothing more,' Zac said evenly. 'She has been merely a friend for a long time now, before I met you, but of course you do not believe that. However, I have no intention of continuing to bang my head against a brick wall on this subject, Victoria. When you are ready to listen to me we will talk; until then you must believe what you will.' He stated at her, his mouth straight.
The arrogance made her see red. 'Saint Zac, is that it?' Victoria asked cuttingly, her eyes burning. 'You don't fool me, Zac.'
He continued to look into her distraught face for a full thirty seconds more before turning, his voice cold as he walked into the sitting room saying, 'I've never pretended to be a saint; we both know that would be ridiculous. This is getting us nowhere, your mind is still closed, but, putting our feelings aside, the lines of communication must be kept open for our child's sake. Do you agree with that? Or would you prefer an ongoing war with no winners?'
He had collected his jacket from the sitting room and now appeared in the hall again, glancing at Victoria as she watched him from the kitchen threshold 'Victoria?' he prompted sharply, the Italian side of him very prominent 'War or peace?'
She shrugged wearily. 'I don't want to fight, but perhaps—'
'There is no 'perhaps' about it, and, knowing you as I do, I am sure you would not deprive this baby of what is rightfully his or hers. And in the long run that's exactly what you'd be doing.'
'That's emotional blackmail,' Victoria accused painfully.
'No, that is the truth,' Zac said coolly, 'but I have come to understand that you do not always recognise the truth, even when it is staring you in the face. However—' he raised an authoritative hand, cutting off the angry reply spilling onto her lips '—I will not labour the point.'
'Oh, thank you,' Victoria snapped with as much sarcasm as she could muster. How could one lone man make her so angry!
'You are welcome.' And he had the audacity to smile. 'We will put it down to your delicate condition.'
'Talking of which, I'd prefer to discuss this some other time.'
'I spoke of compromise, Victoria.' Now he was deadly serious, and again she bit back the retort she had been about to make as he continued, 'I do not want you to stay here alone, and I also don't like the idea of you continuing to work. It is unnecessary and may endanger the baby. And of course it goes without saying that I would prefer you not to have any contact with William Howard.'
'Is that all?' He was unbelievable. He was, he was
quite, quite unbelievable, she thought dazedly, too amazed to be angry.
'Now, am I right in assuming that you do not intend to comply with my wishes on any of those points?' Zac asked expressionlessly.
'Too right,' Victoria flashed back immediately.
'So our meeting for lunch or dinner on a regular basis— perhaps a couple of times a week, something like that, nothing heavy—whilst you insist on following your own star would seem a fairly reasonable compromise to you?' he said mildly. 'Yes?'
'What?' Victoria had the sudden nasty feeling that she had been outmanoeuvred by an expert. 'I haven't agreed to anything.'
'With a proviso that if you have any problems, of any description, it is me you call?' Zac added evenly.
This was not how it was supposed to go, Victoria told herself silently as she tried to gather her scattered wits together. He had never once shown any remorse about what had happened, and even, even in the unlikely event of his story about Gina being true he hadn't told her he was spending a good deal of money on an apartment for his ex-lover, let alone about the business deal with the Chigley-Brown faction and Coral. He hadn't talked to her, he hadn't consulted her—his secretary probably knew far more about his life than she did. Their marriage had been doomed from the start but she had been too blind to see it—he didn't want a wife, he wanted a puppet, but… Her hand went unconsciously to her stomach. There was more than the two of them involved now.
'I'm not ever coming back to you, Zac.' She hadn't meant it to sound so bald and cold but panic was uppermost again.
'I'm talking about dinner now and again, not bed,' he answered just as coldly. 'I want to keep an eye on my child, that's all.'