‘Cormack,’ she whispered. ‘Should we be doing this?’
‘I can’t not do it,’ he answered simply. ‘Unless you tell me to.’
She shook her head. ‘That isn’t fair!’ she protested. ‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘Well, then.’ He smiled, but it was a smile tinged with sadness as he drew her down onto the bed and began to kiss her with all the restrained and sensual exploration that she remembered from the very first time he had made love to her.
Except that this time she knew what to expect, knew that the act of lovemaking itself would surpass all her wildest dreams, and she returned his kiss willingly, eagerly, until she heard the deep sigh of pleasure which meant that he was finding restraint very difficult indeed.
His hands were actually trembling as they peeled the shirt from her body, and she lay naked and bathed in silver moonlight as she watched him kick off his jeans, doing her best not to squirm with impatience until he was back beside her on the bed.
Just before he entered her he told her that he loved her, but Triss scarcely heard him—her body was crying out with so much need for the fusion with his.
It was quite unlike any other time they had been intimate together, and Triss was moved beyond words by the surprisingly slow, erotic coupling which took her to unimagined heights. Cormack was more tender than she had ever known him, and she felt as though he was piercing the very heart of her as her kiss-muffled cries echoed softly around the room.
And I love him too, she thought. Still. More than I have allowed myself to admit. I must tell him...
But in the end she told him nothing—not straight after they had made love, anyway. She was too dazed. Too elated. Too smugly complacent as she lay tangled with him amid the rumpled sheets and contemplated a future which was suddenly bright—a future which included Cormack.
They were drifting in and out of an easy, warm sleep, when somewhere in the distance Triss heard the ringing of a telephone which went on and on and on. Oh, why doesn’t somebody answer it? she wondered half impatiently, and then the ringing stopped abruptly.
Somebody had, she thought with relief.
Through the mists of sleep she heard a rapping on the bedroom door, and Cormack stirred beside her, his finger and thumb moving instinctively to tantalise her nipple.
‘Oh,’ she sighed, and shifted her body towards his, and he gave a low laugh as he ran his hand possessively over her bottom.
‘Cor-mack!’ yelled a voice from outside the door. ‘Phone!’
‘Go away!’ growled Cormack as he let his mouth drift lazily over Triss’s breast. ‘I’m busy!’
‘It’s urgent!’ persisted the voice. ‘It’s Helga!’
Triss felt him freeze, and then he sat up. And the expression in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. For written in their lapis lazuli depths she could read despair. And guilt.
And Triss knew that whoever Helga was—Cormack was involved with her.
He didn’t say a word to her as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and began pulling on his jeans. He didn’t have to, for self-condemnation had etched an unbearable strain on his features.
By the door he paused, turned round and said, in a voice of almost unendurable tension, ‘Triss?’
But she shook her head, clapped her hands fiercely over her ears like a child and buried her face in the pillow.
And only when she heard the door click behind him did she sit up, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and begin to plan her escape.
CHAPTER NINE
TRISS closed her eyes and forced the memories to recede, and when she opened them again she was momentarily disconcerted to find herself sitting in her cosy bleached-oak kitchen at St Fiacre’s—miles and months away from snowy Brighton—with Cormack watching her thoughtfully.
‘We never resolved that night together, did we, Triss?’
She swallowed the last of her wine. ‘What’s to resolve?’
‘Plenty.’
‘No!’ She refilled her glass and saw him frown.
‘You should eat something,’ he observed.
‘Go to hell, Cormack Casey! When I need a nanny I’ll look for one—and I certainly won’t choose a philandering—’
‘Triss! For God’s sake, stop all this!’
‘Give me one good reason why I should!’ she yelled.
‘Simon,’ he answered simply.
‘That isn’t fair,’ she said bitterly. ‘That’s emotional blackmail!’
He gave her a long, steady look. ‘Don’t talk to me about emotional blackmail, Triss,’ he said quietly. ‘Because in those particular stakes you played the trump card by keeping my son a secret from me. If that isn’t emotional blackmail, then I don’t know what is.’
‘Yes, I did!’ she declared. ‘And if you want to know why I did it then I’ll tell you! I did it because it made me feel good. I enjoyed the planning of it and the thought of it! I enjoyed carrying the secret around with me, if you must know!’
And it had only stopped being enjoyable when she had been confronted with Cormack again, and had realised the enormity of her actions in keeping his own flesh and blood hidden from him. And now, instead of feeling triumphant about her act of revenge, she felt mean and low and nasty.
But she was not going to tell him that. Why should she? Telling him would only reveal her dangerous vulnerability where he was concerned. And besides, he had shown very little in the way of considerate feelings towards her.
‘And all because of Helga?’ he asked sadly.
‘Don’t you dare make it sound as though Helga was just some casual acquaintance of yours! You were having an affair with her, weren’t you?’
‘I had been—’
‘So what was she doing ringing you up at six in the morning on New Year’s Day? That does not sound like the behaviour of an ex-lover to me.’
Cormack sighed. ‘Would you give me the opportunity to explain?’
Triss bit her lip—hard. Anything to stop that threatening and give-away wobble in her voice from developing. ‘Is there any point?’ She scowled.
‘I thought that we’d already decided that, yes, for Simon’s sake, of course there is a point.’ His eyes narrowed as they took in the fact that she was perched tensely on the very edge of one of the high stools by the breakfast bar. ‘You don’t look comfortable there, Triss.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Then why don’t we take our wine into the sitting room? Have you any cheese?’
Triss nodded. ‘In the fridge.’ She thought about how ungracious she was being and resolved to make more of an effort. ‘Why? Are you hungry?’
‘Ravenous,’ he admitted, then shot her a deliberately lazy smile. ‘Something must have given me an appetite...’
Triss felt her cheeks burn and closed her eyes in horror. It was hard to imagine now what had taken place this afternoon within minutes of their meeting.
And did he have to remind her of it? There she had been, just seconds earlier, foolishly vowing to be nice to him, when clearly he had no compunction about embarrassing her.
‘Why mention that?’ she cried. ‘And why now?’
‘Why not?’ he challenged. ‘We’ve been studiously avoiding the subject ever since it happened. Is that something else which is to be brushed underneath the carpet, Triss? Ignored as though it never happened?’
‘It shouldn’t have happened!’
‘Maybe not,’ he admitted, and Triss felt her face crumple at his easy agreement. She took another huge slug of wine so that he wouldn’t see.
‘But it did happen,’ he continued, and went to open the refrigerator door and peered inside. ‘So maybe we need to ask ourselves why.’
‘Why?’ Triss echoed.
‘Mmm.’ His blue eyes were very candid as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. ‘Why, after everything that’s happened between us, did we still fall into bed with each other today?’
‘I would have thought that was fairly obvio
us,’ answered Triss repressively. ‘It’s one of the baser human instincts and it’s known as lust.’
He didn’t answer her, just pulled out a plastic box and began to take various lumps of cheese out. ‘Oh, go and sit down, Triss,’ he told her impatiently. ‘I’ll bring this in when I’m ready.’
She topped up her glass and took it into the sitting room and lit the lamps, so that the room looked warm and peachy and inviting. It was cold enough for a fire, too...
Minutes later, she had the beginnings of a blaze crackling in the grate. She sat down in one of the armchairs and must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes again it was to find Cormack towering over her, a tray in his hands with a bowl of something steaming on it.
She sat up. ‘That smells good. What is it?’
‘Soup. I found a carton in the fridge. And there’s a melted-cheese sandwich too.’
‘My favourite,’ she said automatically, pleased in spite of everything, and yet acutely aware that she was straying into dangerous emotional waters here.
‘I know,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll go and get mine.’
They ate their supper in silence, and when they had finished Cormack took the plates out. She could hear him stacking the dishwasher.
She had forgotten his scrupulous fairness about the allocation of household chores, and yet he managed to knock up a simple meal without losing one scrap of the blatant masculinity which was so much part of his appeal.
When he returned, he sat down on the rug in front of the fire and looked at her. ‘You say you don’t want an explanation about that night—’
‘I don’t!’ she put in quickly.
‘Is that because you are determined to think the worst of me?’ he probed quietly. ‘Does it make you feel better to imagine that I behaved like some brainless stud?’
‘Not really.’ And that’s a lie, Triss Alexander, said the voice of her conscience.
‘I think it does,’ he disagreed perceptively. ‘Believing the worst of me enables you to keep your hatred of me alive, doesn’t it, Triss?’
‘No.’
‘Yes!‘ His voice sounded angry now, and his blue eyes were spitting fire. ‘Don’t you think that after everything we shared together you at least owe me the courtesy of listening to an explanation?’
‘I’m listening.’
He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully, for it took him several moments to continue. ‘I met Helga a long time after we split up—’
‘How very convenient for you.’
‘Triss!’ he thundered savagely. ‘You are testing my patience to the extreme! Now, are you going to shut up and listen to what I have to say—or am I going to be forced to assert my mastery?’
Her heart raced and her mouth dried as her body responded automatically to his words. ‘Y-you w-wouldn’t d-dare!’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ Suddenly he smiled and the anger was gone—although the sexual promise wasn’t. ‘No, you’re right—I wouldn’t.’ There was a pause. ‘As I said, I met Helga nearly two years after you and I split up—’
‘And in all that time you never once contacted me!’ she accused him, aware even as the words tumbled out that she was giving herself away.
‘And neither did you,’ he retorted softly, ‘contact me.’
‘But you were the one who said you didn’t want to be friends—’
‘Not didn’t want to be,’ he corrected her. ‘I just felt we couldn’t be. That our somewhat tempestuous relationship was not a particularly sound basis for friendship. And I assumed that the relationship was dead since neither of us had been able to make it work.’
He shook his dark head. ‘I stayed alone for a long time, but when Helga came along she was...’ He shrugged and spread out the palms of his hands rather helplessly.
‘Tell me,’ she said, though the words choked her.
‘Easy, I guess.’ And then he saw her expression and shook his head again. ‘Oh, not in the commonly used sense. I mean that she was undemanding, uncomplicated—’
‘The opposite to me, in fact?’
He did not flinch under her accusing stare. ‘If you like. I certainly wasn’t looking for a replica of the intensity I had shared with you, Triss.’
‘So what happened?’ she demanded. ‘It sounds as though in Helga you found your dream woman.’
He regarded her critically. ‘In theory, perhaps she was. She never answered me back the way you do. And she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body.’
‘So why no happy ever after?’ enquired Triss caustically. ‘Or did your night of sex with me put paid to all that?’
‘You can be such a little bitch,’ he told her softly, and something in his eyes warned her that she really was stretching his patience just that little bit too far. ‘I’m trying to tell it like it was, Triss—not how I would have liked it to be.’
And quite what he meant by that Triss didn’t know—but judging by the look on his face now was not the time to ask him.
‘So what happened?’
‘Nothing actually happened. We just drifted apart, I guess, so gradually that our meetings became less and less frequent. Helga never actually lived with me, and she was based in Paris—’
‘Paris again,’ interjected Triss bitterly, thinking of how they had met. She stared at him, not even bothering to disguise the jealousy in her eyes. She had always thought of Paris as their city.
‘Paris again,’ he agreed, and his face was sombre. ‘It was a totally different relationship from the one I had shared with you. When she was away I never actually missed her—not in the way I missed you.’ He smiled. ‘And Helga wasn’t in love with me either. She always said that she wanted to marry another German. And she has. I’m godfather to their baby, as a matter of fact.’
‘I see,’ said Triss rather faintly. Godfather? Which meant that not only must Helga have the highest regard for Cormack, but her husband must too. What a manipulative Irish rogue he was! ‘Carry on,’ she instructed primly, ‘with your story.’
His face was reflective. ‘I hadn’t seen Helga since October. She’d gone to visit her parents in Germany over Christmas.’
‘And you?’ she asked. ‘What did you do over that Christmas?’
‘I stayed home.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yep.’
Triss’s eyes widened. ‘But why? You must have had millions of invitations.’
He smiled, and it was like the sun coming out. ‘Not millions, Triss. Some.’
‘But you didn’t go out?’
‘I chose not to.’
‘And New Year’s Eve?’
He turned away and poured himself a second glass of wine, so that his face was hidden from her. ‘The New Year’s Eve party was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.’
‘I see.’
He shook his dark head. ‘No, that’s just the trouble—I don’t think you do see, Triss. When I walked into that party, I knew I had got it all wrong and that nothing had changed. That there was still this overwhelming passion which burned deep inside me.’ He challenged her with a piercing blue gaze. ‘And in you, too, however reluctantly.’
‘So you took me to bed, knowing—’
‘You make it sound like an intellectual decision,’ he objected. ‘Which it was not.’
She ignored the interruption. ‘Knowing that you were still involved with Helga.’
‘Knowing that I was on the periphery of involvement,’ he amended. ‘That everything between Helga and me had changed. It was over. It had been over for months.’
‘Had it?’
His gaze was unwavering. ‘Absolutely. She knew it and I knew it—it was just that neither of us had actually got around to putting it into words. So, while perhaps technically I should not have been with you that night, in my heart it felt morally right—and that remained the important thing.’ Although I knew that you would not feel the same,’ he added sombrely. ‘But, oh, Triss, it was right!’
She set her mouth in
to an obstinate line. ‘Isn’t that just a way of justifying your behaviour?’ she questioned. ‘If it feels good then it must be right?’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted eventually. ‘But all I can tell you is that it did feel good. And it did feel right. You know it did. And my son was conceived as a result of it.’ His face darkened and he added bitterly, ‘Or so I now discover.’
She found that her hands were trembling uncontrollably, so that she had to knit them together in a clasp in order to still them. ‘Well, just what did you expect?’ she demanded.
‘I expected you to tell me,’ he said simply, ‘that I was going to become a father. Was that not my right, Triss?’
‘And you think that slaking your lust for one night gives you rights, do you?’
He put his glass down with a white-knuckled hand. ‘If I had simply chosen to “slake my lust”,’ he bit out, ‘then I would have chosen someone a lot more uncomplicated than you to do it with! Someone, moreover, who was not carrying around a load of excess emotional baggage! Don’t make the situation any worse than it already is, Triss, by defining what happened between us that night in terms of mere lust!
‘And tell me,’ he continued relentlessly, his voice tinged with bitterness, ‘did your primitive form of revenge make you feel really good? Isn’t that what revenge is supposed to do?’
She thought about his questions carefully. ‘Of course it’s supposed to make you feel good—there is a sense of getting even when you embark on revenge—but...’
His eyes were very watchful. ‘But?’
‘As to whether it has actually succeeded in making me feel good...then, no. Not now, it doesn’t.’
‘And before?’
She resented the tone of his questioning, as though everything were that simple. As though he were the angel in all this and she the big, bad devil.
‘Yes, I suppose it did make me feel good for a while—although that was some time in coming after the initial bitterness. When Helga’s call woke us up that New Year’s morning, I couldn’t believe that you could make love to me when you were still involved with someone else. Quite apart from what it seemed to say about your attitude towards me, as a woman, it seemed to belittle what we had shared before.
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