by Helen Brooks
'Apparently it's not an unheard-of practice for the wife to live with her husband before the birth of their child,' Zac said expressionlessly. 'I hear it's even considered normal in some quarters.' He glanced at her, his face implacable.
'Maybe.' Victoria's voice was tart. 'But we aren't a normal couple, are we, so that hardly applies to us?'
'What's normal?' He turned to look fully into her eyes, his hard, handsome face unfathomable. 'It's different for everyone.'
'Zac, I'll be all right.' She took a deep breath and willed herself to be calm. 'I'm going to be very sensible and careful.'
'I know you will, Victoria.' He smiled, but it didn't reach the coal-black eyes. 'Because I shall be looking after you. Now, we can either go straight to the house if you're going to continue to be difficult, or if you are prepared to act like a sensible mother-to-be we'll call at the flat and pick up whatever you need. It's up to you,' he said pleasantly.
He had to be the most arrogant, overbearing man in the world. All Victoria's tender, warm feelings—induced by his concern and gentleness and the way he had taken care of her—had evaporated into frustrated anger and irritation. Hundreds, thousands of women coped alone in her circumstances—many a good deal worse off than her—and got through perfectly well, she thought savagely. Didn't he credit her with any common sense at all? Apparently not. But he was holding all the cards and he knew it.
'Well?' He started the engine, his profile imperturbable.
'I hate you.' Childish, but if she was being treated like one she might as well behave like one, Victoria thought mutinously.
'Charming.' He didn't sound as if he cared one little bit.
'I…I need some things at the flat.' As well he knew.
'Right.' He reached across to the glove compartment and pulled out a pad and pencil, handing them to her before he began to move down the hospital car park towards the exit in the far distance. 'Make a list of what you want and where it is, because when we get to the flat you are not moving out of this seat Ross said complete bed rest and he meant it You've had a lucky escape; don't push your luck. Okay?'
He glanced at her—one razor-sharp, swift look—when she didn't answer immediately. 'Okay?' he pressed grimly.
'Okay,' she agreed sulkily. 'But once we get back to the flat I shall have to phone Mrs Bretton and explain exactly what happened, and say you'll pop my keys in to her some time. That scribbled note you left was cursory in the extreme.'
'Mrs Bretton was not at the top of the list of my priorities right at that moment,' Zac said sarcastically. 'And don't do that,' he added in the next instant, his voice changing.
'Do what?' She met his eyes in the mirror warily.
'Pout like that,' he said thickly. 'You're a pregnant woman who's just had a nasty fall, but I find it difficult to remember that when you purse up your lips in that way.'
Now her face was a picture of amazement and disbelief.
'What's the matter?' Again the lightning glance before he pulled out into the main road. 'Am I supposed to be made of stone now? Is that it?' he asked irritably. 'Well, I'm not.'
'No…' He wasn't seriously saying he found her physically attractive, was he? she asked herself in bewilderment. In the last four weeks she had ballooned and she was painfully aware of it. If she and Zac had been together, if she had been one half of a close and loving relationship, her changed shape wouldn't have mattered an iota. And it didn't, not really, when she thought of the miracle happening inside her body. Nevertheless…
Victoria glanced at him sideways through her thick eyelashes as her thoughts ran on. Zac could have his choice of women; she was in no doubt about that. Leaving Gina Rossellini out of the equation for the moment, he only had to click his fingers and women would be there. Beautiful, vibrant, slim women—women who could still move sensuously and sexily, lissom women.
She glanced down at her rotund stomach and sighed inwardly. And here she sat, like a beached whale, and he was talking about fancying her. Was he being gallant? Her eyes narrowed in contemplation. It was possible, she supposed. It was the only answer.
By the time they had picked up her clothes and belongings, including the neatly packed case for her eventual admittance to hospital, and made their way to Wimbledon, Victoria had stiffened up so badly any movement at all made her gasp with pain.
Getting her out of the car was like manoeuvring a live sack of potatoes inch by inch—or so Victoria felt—and when Zac insisted on lifting her up into his arms again, and she heard his faint grunt, her face was scarlet and her voice strangled as she said, 'I'm…I'm sorry about this; I'm too heavy for you.'
'How can my wife and child be too heavy for me?'
His voice was low and husky, and when she looked into his face, and saw that he meant it, she had to remind herself over and over again as he carried her into the house—their house—that one of the reasons he had married her, probably the main reason by what she knew now, was to have a child that would bear the Harding name.
Despite her protests Zac wouldn't put her down until he placed her gently on the big king-size bed in the main bedroom, but he was panting a bit by then, and again Victoria felt hot with embarrassment and utterly tongue-tied.
She had felt in a total daze in his arms, not the least because in spite of her size, and the pain from her poor bruised body, she was fancying him like mad. No one man had the right to be so drop-dead gorgeous, she told herself resentfully as Zac straightened from the bed and raked back a lock of jet-black hair from his forehead. And he was gorgeous. Boy, was he gorgeous…
'Do you think a bath might relax those muscles?' He eyed her as she lay, half propped against the pillows and as tense as piano wire. 'Ross suggested heat along with the pain-killers.'
'A bath?' The thought of a warm bath was magic, and she had answered, 'Oh, yes, a bath would be great,' before it had dawned on her just what having a bath in her present circumstances would mean—namely Zac's help and assistance. But it was too late.
When she tried to backtrack, stumbling over her words, Zac's gaze was very steady and his voice cool as he said, 'Victoria, in spite of my confession earlier, I have no intention of jumping on you at the first opportunity if that's what you're thinking. You arc quite safe. And I have seen you naked before if you remember.'
There was naked and naked. She stared at him helplessly. He could call her vain if he liked, but the thought of appearing in all her glory and then lying in the bath with her belly tucked under her chin was not particularly appealing. And he thought she was worried he'd be fired with uncontrollable lust! Oh, Zac, Zac… Her earlier thought surfaced. It was either heroic chivalry or he was as blind as a bat. And she didn't know which she preferred.
'Stay there and I'll run the bath.' As he disappeared into the en suite Victoria tried to swing her legs off the bed so she was sitting on the edge, but the pain beat her.
She wasn't even going to be able to undress herself. The awful realisation prompted more squirmings, but by the time Zac walked back into the room she had given up and accepted fate had done its worst. She was as helpless as a baby.
'Right. The bath's ready, so let's get you out of these clothes. We'll take it nice and slowly, all right?'
Zac's voice was brisk—too brisk, Victoria recognised with burning awareness; he was clearly just as embarrassed as she was, but hiding it better—and as he slipped her shoes off she said hastily, 'Could you get my bathrobe first, please. I'll have it on the bed ready to put on once I'm…undressed.'
Stripping off would be bad enough. Stripping off and then sitting there stark naked while he sorted through her belongings for her robe was unimaginable.
It took him some time to undress her. Victoria found it was virtually impossible to raise her arms above her head, and so they were a minute or two juggling her dress off. In spite of Zac's gentleness her underslip proved even more difficult. And then she was sitting there in her bra, pants and tights, and wishing the ground would open up and swallow her.
>
It was as he peeled her tights down her legs that the baby decided to give an almighty kick, and with Zac's head virtually on a line with her swollen belly the movement couldn't have gone unnoticed. Victoria froze but the baby had no such qualms.
'Tory…' He froze, his eyes fixed on her rippling stomach as the baby shifted around a bit before kicking again, just to let her know it was satisfied with the new position.
And then Zac's eyes lifted to meet hers, and such was the look on his face that Victoria forgot all about her embarrassment and unease, and smiled at him as she said, 'It does that all the time at the moment; it's a right little wriggle-bum.'
'It's alive. It's moving, feeling…'
She didn't mock his amazed voice of the wonder in his eyes; she simply reached out and took one of his hands, placing it on his child as it continued to move inside her.
'It's strong.' His voice was thick and there were tears in his eyes, and it touched her more than she could ever have imagined and a lot more than she would have liked. Because—whatever else had gone before—this was the real man, this was genuine. He might have had ulterior motives in marrying her, he might be ruthless and egotistical and a law unto himself, but he was her baby's father and he loved the little scrap of humanity inside her as she did. And she wished she had never come here today. Oh, she did. This was too poignant, too painful, too real.
'I think I need that bath now.' She tried to make her voice light and even managed a shaky smile as he stood up, still with that expression of dazed awe and wonder on his face.
He put the bathrobe round her shoulders before Victoria unclipped her bra, thanking her lucky stars that she had worn a front-fastening one that day, and as she slipped into the thick towelling folds he helped her gently to her feet, before pulling her lacy bikini briefs down past her knees after she had eased them off her thighs.
She looked down at his dark head as he did so, at the crisp black waves that showed the odd strand of silver over his ears, and wanted to weep when she thought of what might have been.
His face was studiously blank as he lifted her—stark naked— into the mass of perfumed bubbles a few seconds later, and just as expressionless when he returned some twenty minutes later and lifted her out again, enfolding her in a huge fluffy bath sheet before carrying her through into the bedroom.
This was the room they would have shared, Victoria thought suddenly as Zac placed her carefully onto the fresh, sweet-smelling covers. He didn't think he was…? Hot panic made her tactless, and she blurted, 'I don't want to turn you out of your bed, Zac. I can sleep in another room.'
'I don't sleep in here.' He had obviously switched on the electric blanket while Victoria had been in the bath because the bed was wonderfully warm and cosy. 'And I didn't expect an invitation, so don't worry.' It was cool and faintly ironic, but as she glanced at him she saw his mouth was tight.
There was another embarrassing moment when he eased her white silk nightie over her head, but at least the water had relaxed her muscles enough for her to raise her arms gingerly and help him, although she was very aware of his eyes on the heavy thrust of her breasts. And then she was in bed, with the covers tucked up round her chin and her hands clenched tensely under the duvet.
'A light lunch, and then a couple of those pain-killers Ross prescribed,' Zac said as matter-of-factly as though her being here were an everyday occurrence. 'Omelette and salad suit?'
'I…I don't want to keep your from your work or be a distraction or anything,' Victoria muttered painfully. 'I'll be fine if you want to go, really, and—'
'Victoria, you've come between me and my work and been a distraction from the first moment I set eyes on you.' Zac's voice was very dry. 'But—' he bent and lightly stroked her lips with his own, nuzzling them apart with his tongue and deepening the kiss until the liquid fire running through her veins made her fluid and worked better than any pain-killer '—moments like this make it all worthwhile.'
He straightened, his eyes mocking as they stroked over her flushed face. 'Now, lie back and relax, and let the warmth do its healing work, and I'll be back before you know it. I'll eat in here with you if you've no objection?'
He raised an enquiring black eyebrow and Victoria found her voice as she muttered, 'No, of course not. I mean yes, you're welcome…' She wasn't making much sense, she thought with burning self-disgust, but she just wished he'd go.
'Good.' He smiled, and it was a killer.
He didn't often smile like that, Victoria realised as Zac looked down at her for a moment more. Usually there was a touch of cynicism in the hard male face, a wariness almost, as though he was on his guard most of the time. Which he probably was, she acknowledged in the next instant. His world was fast and ruthless—no mercy asked for or given. He couldn't afford to be gentle or tender or loving…
But he had been with her. The thought jolted her physically and as she winced at the pain it caused her torn muscles Zac said, 'Lunch, and then I suggest you sleep the afternoon away. I'll go and sort out my chefs apron.'
'You wear an apron?' she asked mockingly.
And then her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat at the vivid picture on the screen of her mind as his smile took on a distinctly wicked slant and he said, 'Sure I do. Nothing else, mind, just an apron.' He turned, walking with easy animal grace to the door, and as he stepped out onto the landing he glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes glittering, and shut the door quietly behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next few days were bitter-sweet, but perhaps the emphasis was more, on bitter, Victoria thought to herself on the morning of the fifth day, when the knife-like pains in her back had settled into nothing more than twinges and she could actually pad along to the en suite with only minor discomfort.
On her first day of enforced idleness Zac had had a television set installed in the bedroom—a monster of a thing that made Victoria feel she was at the cinema every time she watched it—and had bought armfuls of novels and magazines for her to read, along with the biggest basket of fruit Victoria had ever seen and a box of chocolates to match.
He had been the perfect nurse—cooking her light, appetising meals, and keeping her supplied with drinks in between, running her hot baths, massaging her aches and pains, and even washing her hair on the afternoon of the fourth day and drying it for her with her hairdryer as she sat tensely on the side of the bed.
It had been that last exercise, when added to the massages, that had convinced Victoria that come hell or high water she had to be up and about before much longer. The feel of his large firm hands stroking their way through her hair as he had sat beside her on the bed, his hard thigh against hers and the scent of him all about her, had been a form of exquisite torture. And apart from that first kiss on the day she had arrived he had given no sign—by word or action—that he was the slightest bit interested in her in a physical or romantic sense.
She knew he was working from home now—his massive study on the ground floor of the house was kitted up with all the latest electronic wizardry—and she had heard several callers come and go at various times over the last few days, but beyond the odd telephone call when he was talking to her in her room his work didn't intrude into her sphere at all. And it was unfair—she knew it was unfair; she'd told herself so over and over again along with berating herself for her gross ingratitude—but she was feeling more and more like a bird in a gilded cage.
And so, after a tasty breakfast of toast with grapefruit marmalade followed by eggs, bacon and mushrooms, Victoria washed and dressed with extreme care, moving slowly so as not to wrench the still tender muscles, and ventured downstairs before Zac's daily—a robust personage called Mrs Watts—arrived.
She had brushed her hair until it hung in gleaming feathered wisps of white-gold to her shoulders, made up her face and even applied a discreet dab of her favourite de Givenchy perfume behind her ears, but still, when she reached the hall and stood gazing around for a moment, she felt painfull
y gauche and nervous.
'What the hell do you think you're doing now?'
Zac's voice was irate, but the sharply defensive reply she intended to make died on her lips as she swung round and saw him, clad in a short, midnight-blue towelling robe and clearly little else, standing in the doorway of his study.
He had obviously just had a shower before coming downstairs—she remembered she had heard the telephone ring earlier when she had been dressing, and now realised it must have been a business call necessitating a trip to the study—and his thick, damp hair was curling over his forehead, giving him a faintly boyish air. But there was nothing boyish about the hard male body. Victoria found she couldn't tear her eyes away from his hairy chest, just visible where the robe gaped open, his muscled forearms and legs and powerful, broad shoulders. He was overwhelmingly, thrustingly masculine, and his virility was all the more threatening because of the self-assurance that was completely natural and quite formidable. He was a man who was completely at ease with his body.
'I can't stay upstairs for a moment longer; it's driving me mad.' She smiled brightly as she spoke, hoping she hadn't ogled him as blatantly as she feared. 'And your doctor friend did only say a few days in bed,' she reminded him firmly.
He nodded slowly. 'How do you feel?' He moved into the hall on bare feet and as he reached her side she caught a faint whiff of his musky aftershave and her stomach trembled.
'Fine, fine, absolutely fine.' Oh, stop babbling, Victoria, she told herself silently. Get a grip, girl. And then, more for something to say than anything else, she added, 'You've got your study round, then? No doubt it's the hub of the house?' She glanced behind him towards the open door.
'I always feel the bedroom is the hub of a house myself,' Zac murmured conversationally, 'but come and have a look if you like. It's worked out well for my purposes.'