by Miranda Lee
He looked surprised, but pleased. ‘Well, that’s a bonus. No delay there, then. What about your periods? Are you regular? When was your last one?’
‘Oh...I—er—um...a couple of weeks ago, I think.’
He gave her a mildly exasperated look. ‘Can’t you be more specific than that? Conceiving is not a hit and miss affair, you know. It’s an exact science. Now think again. When exactly is your next period due?’
Samantha battled to keep a threatening blush from appearing. She flicked over her desk calendar in a pretence of looking at dates till she had herself under control again. ‘Two weeks Sunday,’ she stated with a return to cool efficiency. Thank the lord she was regular and it hadn’t taken much thinking about. She needed all her brain power to keep her wits about her and stop Guy from finding out her secret.
He seemed eminently satisfied. ‘What incredible timing! This means we don’t have to waste this month. We can get started tonight.’
Her whole stomach somersaulted. ‘Tonight! But I can’t! I mean...’
His face stiffened, his eyes hardening. Oh, God, she should have realised that, once having made a decision, he would want to be off and running. Guy was not a proscrastinator. He was a man of action. A doer.
‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ he said sharply. ‘You haven’t got a date with that creep who won’t marry you, have you? If you have, cancel it! There’s no future there. Besides, you made the rules. No other lovers was the deal, wasn’t it?’
She gulped. ‘Yes.’
‘Then that’s settled? And in case you’re worried about catching anything from me, put your mind at rest. I’m a very careful man.’ He slid a speculative glance her way. ‘I can’t imagine you taking any unnecessary chances, but I suppose I should ask.’
‘I have never been at risk,’ she said. Norman had been as virginal as she had. As she still was, in an emotional sense.
‘Can you be sure?’ he persisted. ‘This man you’ve been involved with—is he a swinger?’
She had difficulty keeping a straight face. ‘You might describe him that way. But I...I’ve never actually slept with him.’
He was taken aback. ‘But you said you had.’
‘No, Guy,’ she denied. ‘I said I’d had a close relationship with him. But there’s been no sexual intercourse.’
His frown was swift and dark and prolonged. ‘You’re not a virgin, are you, Sam?’ he said at last.
She stiffened. ‘No.’
‘That’s a relief,’ he said, and Samantha wanted to hit him. She might have if there hadn’t been a knock on the door at that moment.
Guy glanced at his watch. ‘That’ll be Rolf. Unfortunately I’ve just remembered I have a business dinner I can’t get out of this evening, but I could meet you afterwards somewhere. I should be able to get away by nine-thirty. Look, we can decide on a suitable place to meet here in town after Rolf’s gone. I can’t think now.’
With that he walked briskly to the door, covering the reception area with athletic, confident strides. The door was yanked open. ‘Come in, Rolf,’ he said heartily, as though everything were nice and normal at Haywood Promotions. ‘Great to see the sun shining, isn’t it? Would you mind getting us some coffee, please, Sam? Some biscuits too. We have a lot of work to get through today and need some fortification.’
She grimaced as both men disappeared into the inner sanctum. He needed fortification? That was a laugh. The man was a machine, without sensitivity, without feelings, without heart! Why she loved him she couldn’t fathom, but love him she did, madly, desperately. And tonight she was going to be able to express that love in the most intimate way.
Tonight...
Samantha glanced at the wall clock and groaned. It was going to be a long, long day.
CHAPTER FIVE
NINE twenty-five that evening found Samantha sitting at a table in the Sailor’s Shanty restaurant, waiting agitatedly for Guy to arrive. She’d been there a full ten minutes, but he still wasn’t late. He’d said nine-thirty. She hadn’t planned to be early, but the taxi she’d caught had fairly whizzed into town, catching every green light on the way.
Her eyes flicked around the restaurant and adjoining cocktail bar, and she fancied it was probably a regular haunt of Guy’s. A dimly lit affair, tucked into a side-street not far from Circular Quay, it had a cosy, intimate atmosphere suited to rendezvous with members of the opposite sex.
The décor was appropriate to its name: small wooden tables covered with checked tablecloths; plenty of ropes, nets and anchors hanging from the high-beamed ceilings; old lamps sitting on tea-chests in the corners. All the waiters were rigged out in sailor suits and the maître d’ was dressed as a ship’s captain with a dashing white uniform and cap.
Of course, the pièce de résistance was the dance-floor and the sultry singer playing at the piano in the corner. Already several couples were swaying in sensuous unison under hazy red lights, their hands and bodies making movements more like foreplay than dancing.
Samantha felt her throat going dry as she watched a particularly amorous pair drift close by her table. It reminded her forcibly of why she was here, why she had gone to so much trouble with her appearance, why she was trembling inside with anticipation of the night ahead.
But she was also reminded of the inevitable consequences to what she was about to do. And, while Guy had convinced her of his sincerity at being a good father, Samantha knew that to embark on this course was to take a terrible risk with her future happiness. Could she cope with having Guy make love to her, then watch him move on to someone else? Could she cope with having him in her life, yet not really in it?
A waiter stopped by her table and asked again if she wanted a drink. Again she declined. She was too agitated to hold a glass, too nervous, too...
A sob caught in her throat and she closed her eyes tight. Oh, Guy...Guy... Do you have any idea how much I love you?
Emotion welled up inside her and she had to lean her elbows on the table and hide her face for a moment. Just in time she gathered herself, for as she straightened and opened her eyes she saw Guy making his way towards her across the smoke-filled room.
The lump was back in her throat as she watched him approach. For the sight of him had put the death-knell on any last-second urge to run away. She couldn’t. She wanted him too much. She had to hold him in her arms, even if it was only for a few precious days and nights. At least afterwards she would have his child to love. Though right at this moment she couldn’t seem to see that far ahead, or grasp such a reality.
She tried not to stare at him, looking far too handsome in a dashing charcoal suit and subtle ivory shirt, a flash of confident colour in the turquoise tie and pocket handkerchief. Only his hair defied his overall look of urbane elegance, a rebellious lock flopping down across his forehead.
At least she felt happy with her own appearance. More than happy. She’d been quite excited by the reflection that had flashed back at her in the mirror just before she’d left home. Nevertheless, when Guy drew up at their table and began surveying her closely Samantha’s chest tightened with that old lack of confidence she used to feel as a teenager.
‘Well, well,’ he drawled, lifting a sardonic eyebrow and pulling out a chair to sit down. ‘Something tells me you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel, Miss Peters.’ His blue eyes sparkled with dry amusement as they skated over the way her normally restrained hair was now framing her fully made-up face in an elegant mass of curls and waves.
It had never occurred to Samantha that Guy would find her improved appearance in any way amusing, and it had a deflating effect. She had hoped he would be pleasantly surprised by—even turned on by—her ‘new’ self.
So much for all your hours of preparation, dummy, she castigated herself privately.
Guy was definitely not turned on as he settled back in his chair, his expression remaining at best only mildly amused. His understated reaction brought a degree of despair and a wealth of self-anger, but Sama
ntha knew that to reveal either was out of the question.
Smothering her agitation with great difficulty, she adopted an equally casual attitude, lifting her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. ‘You’ve seen the type of ad on TV, haven’t you, Guy? Prim and proper secretary goes home, takes down her hair, whips off her glasses and tailored jacket, undoes the top three buttons on her blouse, sprays herself with perfume, and voilà—instant vamp!’
He chuckled. ‘Not quite the same, I’m afraid. Firstly, you don’t wear glasses, and while your hair has come down the buttons on your blouse are still firmly done up, I see.’ He leant forward slightly and sniffed. ‘The perfume is vampish, though. Yes...quite nice.’
If Samantha had had it with her she would have poured the whole bottle over his insensitive male head. Quite nice, she thought tartly. What sort of compliment was that? Didn’t he know she wanted him to rave about how she looked? Tell her she was breathtakingly beautiful and could think of nothing but to take her home to bed this instant?
‘It’s called Seduction,’ she stated with flat irony, recalling bitterly the high hopes that had inspired its purchase that afternoon on the way home.
High hopes! she scorned herself again. I couldn’t turn this man on sexually if I stripped off my clothes and did the cancan on the table in front of him.
The mental image of her doing such a thing rather tickled her fancy, however, for her underwear was very French and blatantly sexy. Another of her afternoon purchases!
A wry smile tugged at her mouth. Perhaps he won’t be so complacent when I do undress. The white lace bikini pants and suspender belt were supposed to be the latest in erotica. Or so the lady in the lingerie boutique had said. And the underwired white lace bra she had on gave her a cleavage one could get lost in.
But then she remembered that Guy fancied the less endowed variety of bosom, and the little that was left of her female confidence went up in smoke.
Her attention swung resignedly back to Guy, who was leaning back in his chair and dragging away on his cigarette as though his life depended on it. The thought insinuated that, for all his apparent composure, he might be finding the prospect of their sleeping together as daunting as she was.
Good, she decided savagely, her feminine pride finding solace in vengeance.
It was at that point she decided not to do a darned thing to help smooth his way. He wanted a child, didn’t he? He was the man, the hunter, the lover! Well, then, it was his job to do the hunting and the loving. Be damned if she was going to make things easier for the selfish, insensitive sod! If he’d had any common sense at all he would have fallen in love with her years ago and prevented all this nonsense!
Samantha sat there in mutinous silence, thinking that if she could have done so without embarrassment she would have gone to the ladies’ room and put her hair back up, then wiped off all the make-up, the smoky eyeshadow, the mascara, the foundation, the blusher and the scarlet gloss lipstick! As for the perfume... She was suddenly finding its musky scent cloying and overpowering.
The silence between them lengthened, becoming decidedly awkward, and in the end it was Samantha who ended it. ‘How did your business dinner go?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Did you get the contracts you wanted?’ His dinner had been with the directors of a new and up and coming music recording company.
‘No trouble,’ he answered curtly.
Typical, she thought with a dry bitterness. When didn’t he get what he wanted?
‘Let’s not talk shop tonight, Sam,’ he said abruptly, and darted a sharp glance her way.
Well, goodness gracious me, she thought with some surprise. He was finding this as awkward as she was. The idea rather pleased her.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ she asked, almost mischievously. ‘The weather? The state of the economy?’
His eyebrows bunched into an impatient frown. Clearly he disapproved of her light, bantering tone. ‘The matter at hand,’ he ground out.
Now it was Samantha’s turn to bristle at his tone. He might be her boss at the office, but here... tonight...they were equals. Partners. She would not be snapped at.
‘Oh? I wouldn’t have said it was at hand,’ she retorted in blithe defiance. ‘Unless, of course, you intend making love to me on the dance-floor. That couple over there are doing their damnedest, that’s for sure.’
Again his eyes snapped her way, glaring at her. ‘I find your facetious attitude most unlike you, Sam. Having a baby together is a very serious business.’
‘I’m well aware of that,’ she returned coolly. ‘Which reminds me, did you know that smoking lowers a man’s sperm count?’
His hand froze on the cigarette at his lips.
‘We don’t want to do anything that will make my conceiving more difficult and time consuming, do we?’ she added snakily.
His gaze was withering, to say the least, but then a reluctant admiration crept in, softening it. He shrugged and leant forward to stub out his cigarette in the glass ashtray, a slow wry grin coming to his mouth. ‘That would, indeed, be a catastrophe,’ he drawled.
Before Samantha could decide if he was being sarcastic or not he waved to a passing waiter, who came over immediately. Guy had that sort of effect on waiters.
Without deferring to her, he ordered a bottle of undoubtedly good claret and a plate of cheeses. But then, he already knew she liked claret. She had revealed as much once after he had come back from a trip to the Barossa Valley last year with cases of red wine and thrown a wine-tasting party.
The waiter departed hurriedly, as though his life depended on giving prompt service, and Guy relaxed back in his chair, his blue eyes watching her closely through the haze he himself had contributed to. ‘Can you stay the night at my place?’ he asked softly.
Her stomach curled over at the unexpected seductive quality in his voice, but she kept her eyes remarkably steady. A light little laugh tripped from her lips, obscuring any shakiness in her voice. ‘I haven’t brought an overnight bag with me, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I think you could manage without, don’t you?’ he murmured, the smile hovering on his lips turning decidedly wicked and sexy.
God, she had to admire his style! In a few seconds he had changed from brusque boss to the supreme Casanova, unruffled, superbly confident, dashingly suave. Her insides began to churn as she wondered what he had in store for her, what he had planned.
Because he would have a plan. Of that she was certain. Guy always had a plan. He didn’t let things happen by chance. This subtle shift into his Don Juan mode was only the first stage in what she would imagine was a complex strategy to have the night run oh, so smoothly.
The arrival of the bottle of claret took on a different perspective with the change in Guy’s manner. Aha, Samantha thought cynically. That had been move number one. Some wine to soothe the female’s nerves and dull her inhibitions. Or had move number one been the choice of this place all round? The soft lights, the sexy music, the general atmosphere of intimacy.
Yes, she thought with a surge of irritation. Yes... He had already been planning his moves at the office that afternoon, the callous, conniving, calculating devil! Yet he’d sounded so matter-of-fact when he’d suggested this place, so...businesslike!
She glared down at the table as he filled up her glass with wine, trying to get her resentment under control. You have no right to be annoyed with him, she tried telling herself. You took up his offer with open eyes. You even made the initial proposition. Stop being so juvenile, so...female! You knew this wouldn’t be the complete fulfilment of your dreams. Be grateful that he is trying to make it seem romantic. Don’t fight it. Go with the flow!
‘Just what I need,’ she said, sweeping up her goblet as soon as his hand retreated. ‘Shall we toast your success tonight, then?’
Her perfectly innocent reference to his business success earlier in the evening brought a highly amused twinkle to his eyes. ‘Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch, Sam. We haven’t been to
bed yet.’
She couldn’t help it. She blushed. Which was not at all sensible, under the circumstances. The unemotionally involved and down-to-earth Samantha Peters would not blush. Luckily Guy didn’t seem to notice in this dim light, and her with all her make-up on. Still, it annoyed her, making her determined not only to get her irrational pique under control but to act as blasé as he was.
‘Oh, I’m not worried about that,’ she quipped with an airy wave of her free hand. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage perfectly. You’ve had enough practice.’
He must have missed the bite in her last remark, for he laughed. ‘Too true. Though this is a first for me tonight, given the situation.’
‘You mean the first time you’ve taken a woman to bed you don’t fancy?’
This time he didn’t miss her underlying tartness, for his eyes snapped to hers. He looked puzzled, then thoughtful. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I meant the first time I’ll be trying to make a woman pregnant.’
She looked away from his probing gaze and drank some wine, but she could still feel his eyes upon her.
‘I think, Sam,’ he said firmly, ‘you’d better say now if this is beyond you, if you’ve changed your mind. It’ll be too late in the morning. There’ll be no question of an abortion where a child of mine is concerned, believe me.’
Her eyes jerked back to clash with his, her expression one of proud dignity. ‘Nor mine.’
They glared at each other for a moment. Then he smiled, disarmingly, winningly. ‘That’s what I like about you, Sam. You have courage, and spirit. We’ll make a fine baby together, won’t we?’ He lifted his glass in recognition of that fact and drank.
A tiny whimper fluttered up into her throat, but she caught it just in time. She was grateful to be able to drop her eyes and concentrate on the wine. That way he wouldn’t see the wild array of emotions that must have flashed through her eyes at his words. The joy. The love. The utter despair...
Lowering her glass to the table, she picked up a square of cheese and ate it with robotic precision.