by Penny Jordan
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked insultingly, studying her hectically flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. ‘Isn’t Greg a satisfactory lover, or is it simply that you like a little bit of variety, because that’s what all that was about, wasn’t it, Lisa? You wanted to be here in my arms, didn’t you?’
‘No!’ she denied vehemently. How could he think such a thing? Her whole body was trembling helplessly and fear crawled down her spine as he looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t want you to touch me if… if you were the last man on earth!’ she snapped childishly. ‘Helen might go in for those sort of games, but I don’t. Now perhaps you’ll let me go.’ She tilted her chin proudly, defying him to refuse.
‘Helen’s all woman,’ he drawled, ignoring her demand. ‘She doesn’t have to play games to get across what she wants. It’s been five years, Lisa, and I reckon you owe me this.’
He bent his head and she could see the dark flecks in his eyes, the hard purpose of his mouth as it closed on hers, ruthlessly determined to shatter her defences and impose its superior male strength. It wasn’t a kiss of desire, Lisa recognised as she fought its dominance, it was a punishment, a brand, a pain that burned itself into her heart and left her crying silently inside, her lips bruised and swollen when Rorke released them.
‘I have to go now,’ he told her emotionlessly. ‘But I’ll be back, and when I come back I want your answer.’
‘And if it’s “no”?’ Lisa demanded huskily.
For a moment she thought he actually intended to strike her, and took an instinctive step backwards. Rorke’s mouth curled sardonically as he recognised her fear.
‘Like I said, a man’s entitled to the company of his only child—if you’ve any sense you’ll come, Lisa. You obviously love your son, even if you don’t give a damn for my father.’
He was gone before she could retort, leaving her bruised in body and spirit, wishing he had never come back into her life, wondering why on earth she had not punished him with the truth—because it would be a punishment to him to discover it. What a fool she was to allow the residue of old emotions to trap her into a desire to protect rather than to hurt. Hurt! Didn’t Rorke deserve to be hurt after what he had done to her? And yet she knew she could never be the one to retaliate. She just didn’t have it in her.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘MUMMY, Mummy, wake up!’
Drowsily, Lisa surfaced from sleep. Robbie was standing beside her bed, his small face determined, the blue-green eyes, all that he had inherited from her, looking accusingly at her.
‘Why are you still sleeping?’ he demanded, watching her. ‘I’ve been awake for ages!’
He had tried to dress himself, and a strong surge of love tugged at her body as Lisa propped herself up on one elbow to watch him. He was so sturdy and self-assured, this son of hers; so much his father’s child in everything he did. But Rorke would never acknowledge him. To Rorke he was Mike’s child. The thick dark hair, so like his father’s, tangled and unruly, curled round his still babyish little boy’s face, but despite the baby chubbiness, already in his bone structure Lisa could recognise Rorke’s.
A rattle in the hall heralded the arrival of the post, and suppressing a sigh Lisa swung her legs out of bed, as Robbie hurried downstairs to see what had arrived.
Lisa heard him coming back as she stepped into the shower. He was talking to himself; she could hear the high piping voice, and she smiled to herself, picturing him climbing the stairs. He still had to take them one at a time, and consequently it took him a couple of minutes to reach the top. She heard him pushing open the bathroom door, and called out to him to pass her a towel as she turned off the shower and opened the door. Her body stiffened as she realised that Robbie wasn’t alone. Rorke was with him, and it was Rorke who proffered the towel she had asked for, galvanising her tense muscles into action as she whipped the towel round her, securing it like a sarong, as she darted Rorke a look of bitter hatred.
‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed as she urged Robbie towards the door. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Robbie let me in,’ Rorke told her calmly, apparently completely undisturbed by the intimacy of their surroundings.
‘I want my breakfast,’ Robbie announced, looking from one adult face to the other.
‘Go down stairs, Robbie, I’ll be down in a minute,’ Lisa instructed, glancing coldly and pointedly at Rorke as he followed her on to the landing.
‘If you don’t mind,’ she told him icily, ‘I’d like to get dressed. ‘I realise that good manners are apparently completely alien to you—otherwise you’d never have come up here in the first place,’ she added when he refused to move, ‘but getting dressed is something I prefer to do without an audience.’
‘You surprise me,’ was Rorke’s cynical comment, as he stepped past her, and as she opened her bedroom door Lisa found she was shaking with a mixture of temper and reaction. Just for a moment as she stepped out of the shower and saw Rorke there time had telescoped, present and past mingling, and just briefly, for the merest heartbeat, she had experienced again all those emotions she had known at seventeen.
But she wasn’t seventeen any longer. She was twenty-two and the mother of a five-year-old son whose father refused to acknowledge him, and that was somthing she would be wise not to forget.
She dressed quickly in jeans and a checked shirt. The jeans were relatively new ones and emphasised the slender length of her legs. Her hair, tangled and slightly damp from the shower, curled riotously on to her shoulders, and with an impatient gesture she tied it back into one long plait, securing it with a rubber band.
As she reached the kitchen she could smell coffee and toast. She pushed open the door, and the domesticity of the scene that greeted her took her by the throat, reminding her of how very vulnerable she still was no matter how much she might want to deny it. Robbie was sitting in his chair, eating toast. Rorke was standing beside him talking to him. Both of them looked up as she walked in, identical expressions in their eyes. If Rorke could see what she could see he would never imagine that Robbie was anyone else’s child. But he didn’t want to know about Robbie’s parenthood, she reminded herself, hardening her heart. He had wanted to believe what Helen had told him. Perhaps he had even then been regretting marrying her; wanting a way out. He had certainly never made any attempt to find her before—and now that he had it was for Leigh’s sake, not his own.
‘We’re going to fly a long way in a huge plane,’ Robbie told her matter-of-factly as she sat down, adding innocently, ‘We’re going with my daddy.’
Lisa’s head shot up, her eyes widening in shock.
‘It’s all right,’ Rorke announced, anticipating her. ‘I’ve explained to Robbie that I’m his father.’
‘You never told me much about my daddy,’ Robbie interrupted, accusingly. ‘You said it was mostly the two of us, Mummy.’
Oh, for the logic of youth, Lisa thought on a sigh, choking down the fierce wave of anger she felt against Rorke. How dared he walk calmly into her life, throwing out orders, telling Robbie that he was his father, carelessly and casually, not giving a thought to the effect it was likely to have on the little boy once he discovered the true situation?
‘Something wrong?’ Rorke had followed her across to the sink, watching her fill the kettle with hands that trembled betrayingly.
‘Of course there is,’ Lisa whispered savagely. ‘How dare you tell Robbie that you’re his father!’
‘If he doesn’t believe it, no one else is going to,’ Rorke told her quietly, ‘and I won’t have my father upset, Lisa. It’s imperative that he’s given some reason to hold on to life, that’s what the experts say, and I’m hoping that Robbie will prove to be that reason.’
‘You planned this, didn’t you?’ Lisa said bitterly. ‘You didn’t come here to take me back at all. You wanted Robbie…’
‘My father wants you both,’ Rorke corrected. A muscle beat angrily in his jaw and Lisa wondered at his hardness, his ability to ride rough
shod over everyone else simply to get what he wanted.
‘So you knew about Robbie?’ she ventured bitterly.
‘I knew you were carrying a child—you told me so yourself, remember?’
She darted a look at the hard, implacably set features and wondered at his control over his emotions. He hated her, she knew that, and yet for his father’s sake he was prepared to take her back to St Martins and Robbie with him, acknowledging Robbie as his son, even though he believed him to be Mike’s.
But Robbie was his son, and had every right to live on St Martins; every right to expect to be treated as Rorke’s son, and she did not have the ability to deprive her child of that right, Lisa decided achingly.
‘It’s perfectly all right, Lisa,’ Rorke said softly, watching the play of emotions over her face. ‘I’ve never believed in punishing the child for the crimes of its parents, and Robbie won’t suffer for his fathering at my hands. Besides, all I’m concerned with here is my father and his return to health.’
‘And to ensure that you’re prepared to suffer my presence on St Martins, is that it?’ Lisa demanded in a choked voice. God, his arrogance made her long to hit him!
‘You’re the one who said it,’ Rorke drawled insultingly. ‘But yes. For my father’s sake, I’m prepared to do what I said I never would do, and that is to accept your son as my child.’
‘Big of you,’ Lisa muttered under her breath. ‘I’m sure Robbie will be most appreciative, if you’re around long enough for him to realise the sacrifice that you’ve made. Couldn’t you simply have told him that you were a friend? Children aren’t fools. Robbie is already aware of the fact that there’s only me—like all children he’s inquisitive and curious. Now you’ve told him you’re his father, he will expect you to be his father.’
Was he remembering as she was that he had sworn he would never acknowledge Robbie as his son?
‘And so I will be—at least for as long as you’re on St Martins.’
But what about after that? Lisa wondered with an aching heart. She was under no illusions. Rorke was simply using them to protect his father, and once Leigh recovered they would be cruelly and firmly jettisoned. For herself, she could cope—no pain could ever equal what she had experienced when she first left Rorke, but it was Robbie she was worried about now. Robbie who would suffer dreadfully if he was allowed to get too close to Rorke; if he did indeed come to accept Rorke as his father, and Lisa made a private vow that no matter what Rorke might tell the little boy she would do all she could to protect him.
‘I’ve booked us on the evening flight,’ Rorke told her. ‘You’ll need to do some shopping—buy Robbie some lightweight clothes, etc. I’ve telephoned home to tell them to expect us. If you manage to persuade my father to have this operation I’m willing to be very generous to you, Lisa.’ He looked round the small, cramped room, his glance indicating how easily he thought she would be tempted by his suggestion.
Anger, molten hot and bitter, churned through her.
‘Whatever I do, I’m doing for Leigh, not for you, Rorke,’ she threw at him, ‘and I don’t need bribing. I love Leigh…’
‘So much that you ran out on me and never even let him know where you were. Some love!’ Rorke sneered. ‘Didn’t you ever think about what you were doing to him? About the gossip that would ensue, especially when Mike Peters left the island only weeks after you?’
Mike had left the island? That was something she hadn’t known.
‘Don’t come the innocent with me,’ Rorke snarled. ‘I know the two of you were together in Paris. Helen saw you when she was on a buying trip. She let it slip…’
‘I can imagine,’ Lisa retorted hotly. ‘But she happens to have been lying. I haven’t seen Mike since I left St Martin’s.’
Rorke shrugged, plainly losing interest in the subject, and Lisa suddenly became aware of Robbie, who was watching with rounded eyes.
‘Why are you getting cross, Mummy?’ he demanded suspiciously. ‘Are you cross with my daddy?’
His lower lip trembled a little, and Lisa bit her lip, mentally chiding herself for letting Robbie witness their quarrel.
She was just about to reassure the little boy, when to her surprise Rorke scooped him up into his arms, holding him level with his face.
‘Mummy and I were just talking,’ he lied reassuringly. ‘It just sounded as though Mummy was getting cross.’
The explanation seemed to satisfy Robbie, and Lisa, who sometimes found his inescapable thirst for knowledge wearying, suppressed a small spurt of resentment that he should accept Rorke and his explanation so readily.
Robbie, though, was apparently engrossed in other matters. ‘If you’re my daddy, why haven’t you been to see me before?’ he asked queryingly.
‘I haven’t been able to,’ Rorke told him easily, ‘but I’m here now, and…’
‘And you’re going to take us home with you,’ Robbie supplied, obviously having been well primed. ‘My daddy lives on a real island,’ he told Lisa importantly,’ and I’ll be able to learn to swim properly. Will I have to go to school?’
School! That was something Lisa hadn’t thought about, but she suspected they wouldn’t be there long enough for her to need to worry too much about the time Robbie might miss off school. However, to her surprise, Rorke responded immediately, ‘There’s a school on the island, Robbie—you’ll like it, I know, and then when you’re older you’ll go to school here in England like I did.’
He saw Lisa glaring at him, and put Robbie back on the floor. The little boy quickly became engrossed in his toys, leaving Lisa free to whisper bitterly, ‘Did you have to tell him that? He has an excellent memory, Rorke, and you said you didn’t want to punish him for my sins. How do you think he’s going to feel when he realises you’ve lied to him? That you’re just using us?’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Rorke told her, adding cynically, ‘What upsets you the most, Lisa? The fact that I might be hurting Robbie, or the fact that he could so easily have been my child if only Helen hadn’t told me the truth.’
‘The truth?’ Lisa laughed bitterly. ‘What do you know about the truth, Rorke? Nothing! Nothing at all!’
If she had any sense, she would refuse here and now to go back to St Martins with him, but the thought of Leigh tugged at her heartstrings. Leigh and Robbie, who would surely find much pleasure in one another. Could she, merely for selfish reasons of her own, deny them that relationship? In her heart of hearts she already knew the answer.
It was a hectic rush to be ready on time, and in the end, much to her surprise, Rorke suggested that he looked after Robbie while she did her shopping.
It wasn’t easy finding lightweight clothes for a small boy in mid-November, but at last it was all done, and after all, they wouldn’t be on St Martin’s for very long, Lisa assured herself as she hurried homewards.
It was growing dark as she walked along the road, and as she opened her gate she absently noted the familiar squeak. She would have to go next door and ask her neighbour to keep an eye on the house while she was away.
She pushed open the living room door, unprepared for the scene that met her eyes. Rorke was relaxing in one of the armchairs, Robbie asleep on his lap, and something about the totally relaxed and trusting face of her son made Lisa’s heart ache for all that she had lost. Quickly she dismissed the thought. It was not her fault if Rorke had refused to believe her; if he chose to believe Helen instead.
Something about the sleeping man drew her. She bent forward almost instinctively, her heart thudding as Rorke’s eyes opened. Just for a second they looked at one another, and then Rorke said dangerously softly, ‘Wondering how you’re going to manage without Greg? He is your latest lover, I presume.’ He said it so sardonically that Lisa felt anger flare hotly inside her, provoking her to retort bitterly,
‘Why the hell should I tell you? At least he’s honest and decent, which is more than I can say for Helen! I assume she is still the woman in your life?�
�� she added recklessly.
‘And if she is? You wouldn’t by any chance be jealous, would you, Lisa?’
‘Of what? Helen enjoying your prowess as a lover? As according to you I’ve never known that pleasure, I’ve nothing to be jealous of, have I?’
She had caught him off guard, Lisa thought with satisfaction, but in another moment he had himself under control, his expression mocking as he drawled softly, ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you what a powerful aphrodisiac the imagination can be, Lisa?’
His mockery infuriated her and she flung at him bitterly, ‘If you think I’ve ever imagined you making love to me…’
‘Haven’t you?’ he interrupted softly, watching her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. ‘Haven’t you, Lisa?’
Her expression gave her away, she knew. She licked her lips nervously, suddenly unbearably reminded of all those occasions when she had lain sleepless, reliving the touch of Rorke’s hands on her body, the hungry possession of his mouth. Perspiration broke out on her skin, her eyes drawn to the hard line of his mouth. Her body started to tremble, and a curious weakness robbed her of the ability to think logically. Rorke was watching her narrowly, his eyes on the parted warmth of her mouth. She swayed towards him, then suddenly Robbie stirred in her arms, breaking the spell which had held her in thrall. Rorke stepped back, his eyes cruelly cynical.
‘Careful, Lisa,’ he warned her bitingly. ‘You’re a woman now, with all a woman’s desires, but I’m not going to appease them for you.’
She was still trying to think of a fitting retort when he opened the door and walked out.
* * *
‘Mummy, I’m tired! When will we be there?’
‘Not long now, Robbie,’ Rorke soothed him, lifting his head from the papers he had been studying ever since they boarded the aircraft. It was a long flight for so young a child, and now Robbie was starting to grow restless.