The Valentine Child

by Jacqueline Baird

  'You want to be my friend?' His eyes hardened. 'Now, why, I wonder, do I find that so difficult to believe?' He smiled at her mockingly over the rim of his glass and she felt a wave of heat surge up her cheeks. Deceit did not come easily to her.

  'I know my appearing out of the blue like this must be a shock to you,' she offered. Gathering her scattered wits about her, she made a concentrated effort to disarm him. She turned slightly towards him and, fixing him with her dazzling blue eyes, continued, 'But in the past few years I have grown and matured a little, I hope, and it seems pointless for the two of us to be enemies.'

  She forced a casual smile and deliberately lowered her tone. 'We did share a lot together.' She lifted one shoulder languidly against the beautiful blue jersey, exaggerating her cleavage. She saw his eyes flick down to her breasts and quickly away, and her heart leapt; she was getting to him, she knew.

  'We had some fun,' she went on. Her knee brushed his thigh and she felt him tense. Heady with success, she ploughed on. 'And I'm sure Uncle Bertie would turn in his grave if he knew his two favourite people couldn't even speak to each other.'

  She felt guilty using her uncle but desperate need called for desperate measures, and nothing was sacred in the fight for her son's life.

  'Interesting and succinctly argued, my dear Zoe. You have grown up.' His arrogant glance trailed from the silky main of pale blonde hair down to where the low V of her dress exposed the tantalising curve of her firm breasts. 'I find I rather like the idea of you and me as friends—much more civilised,' he opined, with a hint of mocking amusement in his deep brown eyes.

  'Yes, yes, it is,' she agreed, grateful for his easy compliance while not questioning it. His arm around the back of the sofa fell to her shoulders, and her stomach tightened in revulsion at his touch. Or was it revulsion?

  'Good, I'm glad we agree, and it is good to see you.' He smiled lazily. 'It must be almost four years—we have a lot to catch up on.' Idly his long fingers massaged her shoulder, but her reaction was anything but idle. She tensed as she felt the old familiar ache ignite deep inside her, and his thigh brushing hers made her catch her breath.

  'You must tell me what you've been doing with yourself.' His hand slid down to her arm. 'You've obviously lost weight—you were always slender, but now you're almost gaunt.'

  'It's the fashion,' she muttered, angry with herself for her total inability to remain immune to the man's sensual charm. Hadn't she learnt her lesson in their ill-fated marriage? She was there for a purpose—a chance to save her son's life—and she would do whatever she had to, but no way was she falling under Justin's spell again. Once was more than enough.

  'Whatever.' He shrugged dismissively. 'You still look good and I'm not pressed for time tonight; give me five minutes to shower and change and I'll take you out to dinner.'

  'Out to dinner' was not what she had in mind—a crowded restaurant would not help her plan at all. 'There's no need to take me out,' she demurred. 'You must have had a long day. Why not show me the kitchen and I'll rustle up an omelette or something?'

  Justin stood up. 'What a very obliging woman you have turned out to be, Zoe.' A sardonic gleam of amusement flashed down at her and, clasping her hand, he pulled her to her feet. 'You still wear your wedding- ring,' he noted abruptly, turning her left hand over in his.

  Zoe glanced up at him, her sapphire eyes catching his, and she trembled at the flash of some undefined emotion in their dark depths and tried to pull away. His grasp tightened for a moment as if he would detain her, his gaze oddly intent on her lovely face, then suddenly she was free.

  'I wouldn't dream of allowing you to mar your soft hands with anything so mundane as cooking,' he drawled. 'My housekeeper will have prepared something. Help yourself to another drink. I won't be a moment.'

  She watched his departure with mixed feelings. Her plan was going well. But why was Justin being so obliging? She had fully expected to have to battle her way into his company. Instead he had almost immediately invited her to dinner. Strange!

  Uneasily she crossed to the drinks cabinet and helped herself to a small cognac. She needed it. . . She sipped the fiery liquid, her confidence slowly rising. No! Not so strange, she told herself firmly. After all, they were both mature, sophisticated adults. Well, Justin certainly was, she amended wryly, making her way back to the sofa and sitting down. She wasn't half so sure about herself. . .

  She smoothed the skirt of her dress over her thighs with a trembling hand. What could be more natural than two adults sharing a dinner? And if it led to something more then that was perfectly acceptable, she told herself staunchly. She wasn't a child, and she had slept with Justin countless times. . .

  She drained the glass and placed it on a nearby table. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she looked up as the man occupying her thoughts walked in, a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other.

  'Quite like old times—my wife waiting for me.' His dark eyes roamed leisurely over her reclining figure with a blatant sensual insolence that made her feel as if he had stripped her naked.

  She fought down the slow flush spreading through her body at his scrutiny, her confidence dipping alarminglyand a feeling of helplessness overtaking her as she stared at him. He had obviously showered and changed. Huge and casually dressed in a soft blue shirt and jeans, with a black lambs wool sweater draped elegantly over his broad shoulders, his black hair damp and curling on his brow, he looked years younger and his likeness to Val was heartbreaking.

  She swallowed nervously, looking away. Why was it that of all the men in the world Justin was the only one to make her heart race and her nerves quiver? It wasn't fair. Bitterness rose like gall in her throat; she should hate him that he was so vibrantly male, so alive, and her precious child. . .

  No, she must not think negative thoughts, she reprimanded herself, and glanced back at Justin. He was watching her, waiting. . . His dark, steady gaze was so like Val's that she was hit by an overwhelming sense of guilt.

  He placed the glasses on the table and finally his deep voice broke the long silence. 'A toast, I thought—to celebrate.' He deftly opened the champagne; the cork popped and bounced off the ceiling, the foaming liquid spurted from the bottle, but quickly the two glasses were filled, and he lowered his long body down beside her on the sofa. 'We can be friends! Isn't that right?' he questioned silkily.

  She shied away nervously; there was something about him that she couldn't put a finger on. And his smile, as he handed her a glass of champagne, didn't quite reach his eyes.

  'A toast. To old friends, hmm?'

  The words were polite, even banal. Justin appeared relaxed, affable, but beneath his sophisticated exterior she had an odd premonition that something dark and dangerous lurked. Her fingers brushed his as she tookthe glass, an electric sensation shooting up her arm. She flinched.

  'Careful, Zoe,' he prompted, his free hand closing over her wrist. 'Allow me.' In an intimate gesture he urged her hand holding the glass to her mouth while he lifted his own glass. His dark eyes caught and held hers. 'To a civilised friendship, my dear.'

  She tensed. His face, only inches from hers, was playing havoc with her veneer of sophisticated control, and she was sure that he must be able to sense it. So, with a calm she was far from feeling, she placed her small hand on his arm, her expression beguiling. 'To a long and civilised friendship,' she responded sweetly, and took a healthy sip of the champagne.

  There was nothing civilised about the murderous rage leaping in her companion's eyes, but, luckily for Zoe, she never saw it. By the time she was brave enough to face him again he had finished his drink, his large frame sprawled back on the sofa, a lazy smile in his brown eyes.

  'So tell me, what have you been doing with yourself the last few years? You don't have much of a tan for a Californian.'

  'Oh, I don't live in California!' she exclaimed, glad to get on to a neutral topic. 'I have a house in Maine, in a lovely little fishing village. Actually,
the area is rather like England '

  'Could be why it's known as New England,' he interrupted with a mocking grin.

  Her answering smile was completely spontaneous, and for the next few hours she felt as if she had stepped back in time. Over a delicious if simple dinner of a typically English dish—hotpot—he was a charming, witty host.

  'Not your nouvelle cuisine,' he said wryly as he carried a tray with a coffee-pot and two cups into the living- room, where Zoe was already relaxing once again on the sofa. 'But ideal for a cold March day.'

  The coffee finished, Zoe, sipping a glass of cognac, allowed her eyes to roam over Justin. He was lounging back beside her, his long legs stretched out before him; she noted the stretched denim over his muscular thighs and—whether it was the wine or the food or simply because she was feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks she wasn't sure—a sharp tug of sexual awareness lanced painfully through her.

  'You never did tell me why you changed careers,' she blurted, taking another drink of her cognac—anything to get her mind away from the slight friction of his thigh against her own, the overt sensuality of the man. Forgetting for the moment that she was supposed to be seducing him, she suddenly realised that he had skillfully discovered all about her home and career, and a couple of times she had almost slipped up and mentioned Val. But he had revealed very little about himself.

  She glanced back at him. He was gazing down at his drink, idly twisting the glass between his long fingers, his expression hidden from her.

  'I don't think I was ever cut out to be a judge—as you so rightly told me the last time we met.'

  'Oh, but. . .'

  'Don't worry.' His hand slid casually to rest on her thigh, and he squeezed it reassuringly. Except that, to Zoe, it was not reassuring—quite the opposite: intensely arousing. 'It had nothing to do with you. For years I went along with what Bertie wanted for me simply because he had been good to me and I wanted to please him. But I realised a few months after his death that it was his ambition I was following, not my own. So I went back to international law.'

  'Do you like it?' she asked breathlessly; his hand, idly stroking her thigh, was playing havoc with her nervous system.

  'I love it. I get to travel; I make vast amounts of money.'

  Then she remembered Janet; he had once worked with the woman in that field. She tensed. 'And I suppose you work with Janet again?'

  'Good God, no!' he exclaimed, easing up, his arm somehow finding its way around her shoulder. 'She put herself in a clinic and dried out and then married Bob. They have two children.'

  'Dried out?' she queried.

  'Surely you knew the woman was an alcoholic? Everyone else did.'

  She had a vivid image of Janet drinking from the champagne bottle at her twenty-first, and the thought that she had allowed Janet's drunken revelations to persuade her to run out on Justin was oddly disturbing, but, banishing her unease, she responded.

  'I never guessed. But Janet—with a family—the mind boggles.' She grinned, inexplicably lighter of heart.

  'Is it so strange for a woman to want a home and family, Zoe? Are you really such a determined career girl? The girl I married was longing to have a baby. I often wondered—if I hadn't insisted on waiting a year— if I had made you pregnant—would you have run away so easily?'

  The colour drained from her face. He was getting too near the truth, and she lowered her eyes, unable to meet his dark, enquiring gaze. The anger, the hatred and bitterness she had felt because he had married her but never loved her were no excuse for what she had done. She was flooded with guilt and remorse and combined with too much liquor it was a lethal combination.

  She opened her mouth to tell him about Val, but before she could confess Justin continued, 'Jess and I debated the point once. She's of the opinion that a child only makes a bad relationship worse. I'm not so sure.'

  The mention of Jess acted like a bucket of cold water over Zoe, reminding her exactly why she was here, and time was running out if her plan was to work. His girlfriend might be back any minute.

  'Yes, well, it is all rather academic now,' she said lightly, and, turning towards him, she deliberately placed her small hand on his chest. She tilted her head back to look up into his harshly attractive face.

  'Don't let's talk about the past. I'm much more interested in the present.' And, forcing a regretful smile to her lips and widening her blue eyes appealingly, she added, 'I'm glad we can be friends, Justin.'

  She inched her hand higher to where the top buttons of his shirt were open to reveal the strong line of his throat. Her fingers grazed his skin and she felt him tense. 'It is rather late; Jess will be back soon.' She was fishing, but she needed to know. 'I'd better get back to my hotel.'

  His dark eyes glittered dangerously down into hers as he caught her hand and held it trapped against his chest. 'Jess won't be back tonight, and you don't have to go— you can stay here.'

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, his lips kissing her fingertips, his eyes coolly assessing on her upturned face. 'You understand that I'm not into celibacy?' The corners of his hard mouth quirked in a sensuous smile. 'If that's going to be a problem for you, say so. I will understand,' he said smoothly.

  She understood all right. He was offering her what she had set out to get. It was there in the flare of desire in his eyes, quickly masked by his hooded lids. He sucked one of her fingers into his mouth and she trembled, her pulse galloping.

  He was still the only man who could arouse the sensual side of her nature. His touch still had the power to turn her will to mush. It was galling to admit. It left a bitter sense of self-loathing in her troubled conscience but it didn't make it any the less true.

  She should have been ecstatic but instead all she felt was a profound sadness. This man had been the love of her life, and he had confirmed what she had always known. He was a man who betrayed the women in his life without a qualm.

  'But Jess. . .' She needed to hear him confirm his duplicity. It would help to ease her own sense of guilt.

  'Don't worry your head about Jess. She's a woman of the world, Zoe, the same as you.' And, lifting her on to his lap, he bent to her mouth.

  Much later she was to wonder if she had actually seduced her husband, or if it had been the other way around. . .

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Zoe had imagined that she would have to force herself to accept Justin's lovemaking, to tell herself it was for her son's life and just lie back and think of England!

  But at the first touch of his lips on hers she knew that she had lied to herself for years. She was swamped with emotions—feelings so intense that they stole the breath from her body and moisture stung her eyes.

  He'd never kissed her in quite that way before. She felt the soft touch of his mouth, the gentle nibble of his teeth against her lips, the lick of his tongue teasingly soothing the supposed bite, savouring the taste of her.

  'So lush, so soft,' he breathed against her lips. 'Open your mouth for me, Zoe,' he husked, his lips rubbing sensually against hers, taunting her into sharing the pleasure, and she did. . .

  Before, he had always been a silent lover, but now he had no such reservations, and his deep, throaty murmurings, interspersed with longer and deeper kisses, were her downfall—hot, damp heat filled her loins and she felt it burn through her whole body.

  As she was held on his lap her arms, of their own volition, wound around his neck; her mouth followed where his led. The husky male scent of him surrounded and seduced her; she felt the rigid muscles of his thighs beneath her and she pressed into his hard body with hungry need.

  'No,' he whispered roughly. 'Not here.' Rising to his feet, with Zoe held firmly in his arms, his breathing quick and unsteady, he strode through the apartment. He shouldered open the bedroom door, and kicked it shut with his foot, not stopping until he was standing next to the king-size bed.

  She looked searchingly up into the dark eyes so close to her own. 'Justin, I. . .' She wanted some reassura
nce, perhaps, that it wasn't simply a physical thing.

  'It's too late, Zoe. I'm too old for teasing games; I want you badly. Now!' he said harshly.

  She trembled with fear or frustration—she didn't know which. 'Yes,' she murmured. It didn't really matter which! She had to go through with it for Val—but also, her own innate sense of honesty forced her to admit, for herself. . . She had had nearly four long years of celibacy and she had never stopped wanting Justin, however much she had tried to deny it.

  She sighed, a deep, shuddering breath, as Justin stood her on her feet and quickly unbuttoned her dress, slipping it from her shoulders to pool in a heap on the floor.

  'Nice,' he growled, his hungry eyes slanting over her near-naked form, the proud tilt of her full breasts, and the wisp of lace briefs cupping her feminine curls.

  The urge to cover herself was compelling but juvenile. Justin had seen her naked countless times in the past, but it didn't stop her feeling helplessly exposed. Running her tongue nervously over dry lips, she forced herself to stand immobile, her arms at her sides; she couldn't afford to let him see her nervousness.

  And he didn't. His dark eyes glittered as they followed the tip of her tongue, while the fingers of one hand hooked in her briefs and pulled them down. His gaze lowered lazily over her naked body and then, dropping to his knees, he slowly unfastened her suspenders and trailed her stockings down her legs, and finally he glanced up at her and undid her garter belt. His large hands curved around her waist and he brushed her stomach with his lips. Her body jerked in instantreaction, and she bit her lip to prevent herself crying out.

  Justin rose to his feet and simply stared at her. 'I thought the first time I unwrapped my Valentine girl in this room that you were perfect.' He shook his dark head wonderingly.

  She raised her eyes to his. And I thought you loved me, she wanted to cry, but didn't. In those days she had believed that love made the world go round. A brief, ironic smile flitted across her softly flushed face. With maturity had come realism. Now she accepted that it was simple thermodynamics. . .