The Valentine Child

by Jacqueline Baird

  They stared at each other, the air around them crackling with tension. He divested himself of his own clothes, never taking his eyes off her, drinking in the sight of her pale skin, the soft, full curve of her breasts, the secret, downy hair.

  But Zoe was doing some observing of her own. 'Justin.' She breathed his name. Awed all over again by his superbly muscled form, which was naked and glowing golden in the dim light of one small lamp, she had forgotten how splendidly male, how powerful he was.

  Then he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the valley between her breasts. His hands curving around and down over her buttocks, he pulled her hard against him. His mouth trailed up her throat, and his dark eyes gleamed with a feral light in the semi-darkness.

  'Remember that night, Zoe? The night you promised to be mine?' he demanded, a sharp edge to his deep voice. 'My own personal valentine.'

  It was cruel of him to remind her—as if she could ever forget. She had imagined that it was a lucky omen, getting engaged on Valentine's day, but life had taught her differently. She slid her arms up around his neck and swayed against him.

  'Forget the past and let's enjoy tonight,' she pleaded. For once she wanted to forget all her troubles, all the heartache, and surrender herself to the mindless pleasure that only he could give her. Tomorrow she would count the cost, but now now!

  'Enjoy the sex; I take it you are protected?'

  'Yes,' she lied.

  'Of course, my wanton little wife.' His mouth covered hers again, but this time with passionate insistence.

  She felt the need in him; her legs trembled against his, her stomach quivered against his hard, masculine life force, and she opened her mouth, her tongue twining with his. He pulled back sharply.

  'Slowly, slowly, my darling.' Dazed by his kisses, she did not hear the sneer in his voice. 'It should be interesting discovering what you've learnt over the years,' he drawled with a cynicism that was lost on her as he swung her once more in his arms and deposited them both on the bed.

  He looked down the length of her. 'You're as beautiful as ever.' His hand closed over her breasts. 'But before you were a girl; now you are a woman.' His thumb grazed the tip of her breast. 'A surprisingly voluptuous woman in some areas.' His head bent and as his mouth sucked the rosy peak she arched up towards him, fire shooting from her breast to her loins.

  'You still like that?' He lifted his head to stare at her, his brown eyes glittering with sensual desire in the harsh contours of his handsome face. She met his eyes, her own wide and dazed with emotion.

  'You know I do,' she whispered, her hands lifting to shape his wide shoulders, flow down his strong arms, and move to the broad expanse of his hairy chest. 'I like anything you do,' she confessed throatily, and, like a sculptor moulding a work of art, she traced his masculine form, her fingers delighting in remembering the satin-smooth feel of his skin. Her hands stretched to his waist and around over his firm buttocks.

  'Zoe,' he growled, and leant down, his mouth lightly brushing her lips and then finding her breast once more. She lifted her hands and buried them in the thick, silky hair of his head, holding him against her as, arching, she offered him her aching breasts. She shuddered as his hot, moist mouth fed on one swollen nipple and then the other, until a strangled cry escaped her.

  The touch of his tongue and the caress of his hand as it stroked seductively down her body, his long inquisitive fingers tangling in the bush of blonde curls at her thighs and pulling, gently teasing, before they slid deftly into the soft, feminine folds of her most secret flesh, were almost more than she could bear.

  She was spinning out of control to a hot, healing place where nothing mattered but the pleasure he could give her and she could give him. His mouth followed the trail of his hands and she exulted in the hard rasp of his chin against her tender flesh, his seeking fingers that found every pleasure-point with unerring accuracy, the hard pressure of his mighty body.

  She traced the length of his spine, her small hand curving around the firm male buttock, seeking the hard core of him, but suddenly he grasped her wrist and pushed her hand away, rolling on to his back.

  'Not yet. Slow down,' he rasped urgently.

  But Zoe ignored him; she was consumed by a burning urgency. Perhaps subconsciously she knew this was all she would have of him; tomorrow would bring grim reality, but tonight was hers.

  She felt as though she had been in an emotional prison for years and had finally broken free. She followed him over, sprawling across his sweat-wet body, her long hair a tangled mass spread across his shoulders as her mouth found the male, pebble-like nipples buried deep in the soft, curling chest hair. She moved restlessly against him, her hands shaping his thighs as her teeth bit the tiny buds.

  'God, Zoe, what are you doing to me?' Justin groaned and, grasping her around the waist, he lifted her slightly.

  She raised her head and looked down into glittering black eyes, her own unfocused. She felt him shaking beneath her, then suddenly he lifted her higher and lowered her sharply down, impaling her with his male strength. She cried out as he filled her, her slender body clenching around him in convulsive need.

  He raised his head and, catching the tip of her breast with his teeth, sucked the hard nipple into the dark cavern of his mouth with the same rhythm as he surged into her pulsating flesh. She heard his harsh moan as she recognised her own whimpering cries. Every nerve, every sinew in her body pulled tight with an excruciating tension. She battled to breathe, then her body convulsed in a rapturous fulfillment, the ecstasy prolonged as Justin increased the tempo to explode inside her.

  'Zoe.' He rasped her name and held her hard down, his fingers digging into the flesh of her waist as his great body bucked uncontrollably beneath her in a shattering climax.

  She fell against his chest; she felt his arms close around her; she heard the rapid pounding of his powerful heart beneath her ear, her own body twitching in the aftermath of love.

  Some time later she didn't hear Justin's huskily voiced question, 'Are you OK?' She was asleep.

  It was a long, dark tunnel. Water seeped from the arched roof and trickled down the rough stone walls to sink into the soil, turning the ground to mud. She was cold to the bone and terrified.

  Then, in the distance, at the end of the tunnel, outlined in a silver glow, stood two figures. Zoe moved towards them, slowly, sluggishly, the mud holding her back. She saw them smile and her blue eyes widened to their fullest extent as she recognised them, her face radiant with joy. Justin and Val.

  She tried to hurry, but as she stretched out her hand towards them the figures turned and she froze in horror as the boy vanished, disappearing into the man.

  'No, no. Valentine!' she screamed.

  'Zoe, Zoe, wake up.'

  Her eyes flew open, the horror of the dream reflected in the blue depths. For a moment she was totally disorientated. But the large body looming over her and the hand on her head, smoothing her hair from her brow, were real.

  'You were having a bad dream.'

  'Justin,' she murmured, reality returning. She lifted her hand and outlined his square jaw, the slant of his cheekbones. He was warm and alive and in bed with her. But Val. . . God, no! She refused to see it as another omen. She was finished with superstition. It solved nothing.

  He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. 'I knowI'm no oil-painting his dark eyes gleamed with ironic amusement '—but I can honestly say that you're the only woman I've driven into having a nightmare. I would never have mentioned our first night together if I had known it would cause such a violent reaction. Are you all right?'

  She moved her hand around the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his night-black hair. He hadn't guessed her secret, and she wasn't going to tell him. Not yet. . . She needed him tonight. . .

  'More than all right,' she responded huskily, urging his head down and pressing her lips against his smiling mouth while her other hand found its way around his hard thigh.

  Zoe leant up
on one elbow. Careful not to disturb the sleeping man, she let her gaze wander over his rugged face, the softly curling hair. In sleep, Justin looked years younger and so like Val that it brought tears to her eyes. They had made love countless times—two healthy adults glorying in each other's body. She ached all over, but the biggest ache was in her heart. She could pretend to herself no longer. She loved Justin—always had and probably always would.

  With the added maturity that the years and her worry over her son had given her she knew that if she had the last few years to live over again, she would never have left Justin. The only reality in life was the family. She had allowed stupid, girlish pride to wreck hers, and she had to bear the guilt for it.

  She should never have let a drunken woman's ramblings, or the fact that her uncle had only been trying to do what he thought was best for her, break up her marriage. Nor should she have allowed Justin to think that Wayne was her lover because of childish tit-for-tat jealousy.

  She should have stayed with him and fought for his love. It would not have changed the fact that their son was ill, but at least Val would have had the support of a father as well as herself over the past few terrifying months.

  As the early morning sun splintered through the window, outshining the single lamp's gold glow, she made a momentous decision. She was going to swallow her pride and confess everything—tell Justin she loved him and beg his forgiveness for hiding his son from him, and, hopefully, they could go forward into the future, supporting each other and better able to face the trials to come.

  She sighed contentedly, her decision made, and, wriggling down beneath the covers, put her arm around Justin's waist and snuggled up against his large, warm body. For the first time in ages she felt safe, protected and no longer alone with her worries, and, yawning widely, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Zoe stirred, opening her eyes lazily; the seductive scent of freshly ground coffee lingered in the air. She stretched out a hand but she was alone in the wide bed. Justin must be up making the coffee, she thought, a small smug smile lighting her eyes as the events of the previous night flickered through her mind. She hauled herself into a sitting position, and, flicking the tumbled mass of her blonde hair from her eyes, looked up.

  'Good, you're awake.'

  'Justin.' He was standing by the bed, naked except for a small towel carelessly tied around his hips, and the memory of the intimacies they had so recently shared made her blush scarlet. It was stupid, she knew, but she felt inexplicably shy.

  He leant forward and he felt her heartbeat accelerate, sure that he was going to kiss her, but instead he placed a cup of coffee on the bedside table and straightened up.

  'Thank you,' she murmured huskily, vitally aware of his imposing presence and the glitter in his eyes as they roamed over her flushed face. She felt her nipples harden as his gaze dropped lower. She was naked from the waist up and her first reaction was to pull the sheet up, but, with her decision of the early hours of the morning fresh in her mind, she didn't. She was an adult woman and this was her husband. . .

  'Very nice,' he drawled mockingly, 'but I haven't time this morning; drink your coffee and get dressed. I'll drop you off at your hotel on the way to the gym.'

  'There's no need. I'm quite happy to stay here until you get back,' she replied with a nonchalance she did not feel. She couldn't really blame him for suggesting the hotel. She had given him no reason to believe differently.

  She pulled the cover up over her breasts and, bravely raising her eyes to his, added firmly, 'We need to talk, Justin.' She had been a coward once, but never again. 'I have a confession to make; it's important and afterlast night she had been going to say, I realise I love you, but she never got to finish the sentence.

  'Last night was a one-off, Zoe,' he cut in ruthlessly. 'Good fun, but I'm not a fool. I know exactly why you were so willing to leap into bed with me.'

  'But you can't. . .' This wasn't going at all as she had envisaged. She stared up at him, unable to fathom the brooding look in his dark eyes. 'I only realised myself. . .'

  'I do read the gossip columns occasionally.'

  'Gossip columns?' What on earth was he talking about?

  'Cut out the innocent act, sweetheart,' he bit out. 'I've been expecting you for weeks—ever since lover-boy Wayne got himself engaged to a starlet. What happened? Get tired of you, did he?' he queried coldly. 'Or perhaps tired of waiting for you to be free?'

  His black eyes narrowed angrily. 'My God, you have some nerve, I'll give you that. Did you really think you could walk back into my life when Wayne dropped you and expect me to take you back? Was that what your pathetic attempt at seducing me last night was all about?'

  She flinched under his tirade, not really following his reasoning. 'No, it's not true,' she whispered, too stunned by his total misreading of the situation even to argue.

  She grasped the sheet tighter around her suddenly cold body.

  '' 'No, it's not true.''' He viciously mimicked her feeble denial. 'That's your trouble, Zoe; you wouldn't know the truth if it got up and smacked you in the face. You never did, as you proved conclusively years ago when you ran out on me.'

  'Please, Justin, you have to listen to me.' She swung her feet to the floor and stood up, the sheet draped haphazardly around her body. He caught her by the shoulders and held her away from him, but she swayed towards him, the urgency in her expression undeniable. 'I know I was wrong before, but I realised last night that I love you, and I.--------------------- '

  His fingers dug into her flesh for a second and then he flung her away from him with such force that she fell back across the bed, his fury hitting her like a blast from the devil's own fiery furnace.

  'You bitch! You don't know the meaning of the word, and I've wasted enough time already this morning. I'm sick of your games. Get dressed and get out.' And, swinging on his heel, he flung out of the bedroom.

  Zoe watched him leave, her eyes filling with tears. She brushed them away with the back of her hand and got up off the bed. She had done her crying over Justin years ago and nothing had changed. What had she expected?

  Nothing, her common sense told her. A big fat zero. . . Wasn't that why she'd decided to get him into bed without telling him about Val? Because she knew, had always known, that he didn't give a damn for her? But he would be furious when he found out about Val.

  Then she remembered Jess. The woman was probably due back any minute. Last night, in a sensuous haze, she had lost her wits completely. How could she have forgotten Justin's luscious girlfriend? But in the clear light of day the reality of her situation rushed in on her.

  Quickly she washed and dressed and went looking for him. He had said that he was sick of games and that was good enough for her. She had no more time to waste. She found him in the kitchen; he was leaning casually against the kitchen bench, drinking a cup of coffee. He looked up as she entered, his dark eyes as cold and remote as a polar icecap.

  'You took my advice, I see.' He glanced over her slight figure. She was dressed in her stylish clothes of last night but minus her make-up, and her hair was ruthlessly pulled back and fastened with an elastic band.

  'Yes, but before I go I have something to show you.' Sitting down at the kitchen table, she opened her bag and, rummaging around, withdrew a snapshot and held it out to him. 'This is Val, our son—the reason I'm here.' She saw no point in softening the blow; Justin didn't deserve her consideration. When had he ever considered her?

  He stepped towards her and took the proffered picture, glanced at it, and as she watched she saw him stiffen. 'I only have your word for that; this child could be any man's,' he said, cynicism icing his voice. 'I seem to remember you and I always took precautions. What kind of an idiot do you take me for, Zoe? Discovered how wealthy I am now, is that it?'

  It was lucky that she was already sitting down because otherwise, at his denial of her child, she would certainly have collapsed. She had thought that she had covered every eventuality, but it ha
d never crossed her mind that he would query his part in the parenting. She stared up at him through a mist of pain and rising anger which she did not attempt to hide.

  'No, it's not your money I need, it's you. Val is three years old; he was conceived the night of Uncle Bertie's funeral. If you remember, it was the one time in our brief marriage you actually spent the night with me, and we did have unprotected sex.'

  She caught a glimpse of shocked horror on his handsome face, but she didn't care if she hurt him. 'You're a lawyer.' Her mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. 'If you insist I'll agree to a DNA test to confirm the parenting, but it will have to be quick.'

  He was caught and he knew it, but he was obviously not ecstatic at the thought of a child; his granite-hard features showed no flicker of emotion. She briefly closed her eyes, her head drooping on the slender column of her neck, her son, her ever present worry, swamping her mind.

  'You knew you were pregnant when you left me,' Justin prompted stonily, and, pulling out a chair, sat down opposite her.

  Zoe, her head bent, studying her clasped hands, either didn't hear or ignored his comment. 'He was born the following February—Valentine's day—hence his name.'

  She was back in the past, a reminiscent smile softening her blue eyes. 'He was a beautiful baby, and it's stupid, I know, but I remember hearing this country and western singer on the radio. It was a song about a boy called Sue. He had given his son that name because he wasn't going to be around to look after him, and I thought, what with the day and all, Val was really very appropriate.'

  Long fingers caught her chin, their pressure hard as Justin forced her head back until he could look into her face. She recoiled at the blistering fury leaping in his eyes.

  'You knew—if not in England, in California.' The words came out harsh and clipped.

  'Knew what?' She had not been listening to him.