His thumb and finger dug into her throat and she gasped at the pain. 'You knew you were pregnant the last time I saw you. Didn't you. . . ? Didn't you?' he demanded harshly, his rugged face livid with rage. 'You could have told me, you cruel little bitch,' he snarled.
She forced herself to stay cool, though inside she was trembling in fear at the force of his rage. He got to his feet and she could sense the threat of violence in his hard body as he leant over the table, breathing down on her hapless head. 'You're hurting my neck.' She gulped.
His hand fell away and he was around the table in seconds. 'Tell me. . . I need to know.' His long fingers gripped her shoulders, digging into her flesh. 'What did I ever do to make you hate me?' he demanded tautly, his iron self-control slowly reasserting itself. 'Why? Why do you hate me so much you would deny me my own child?'
She was puzzled, not so much by his anger—she had expected that—but by the hesitation, the hint of pain in his usually authoritarian tone. 'I was going to tell you, but you said you never wanted to see me again. There didn't seem much point,' she said brittlely.
Justin briefly closed his eyes, and she could have sworn that she saw his wide shoulders shudder. His hands squeezed her shoulders; she glanced up at his face and their eyes met.
'God forgive you, Zoe, because I don't think I ever will,' he said with a finality that was chilling. But, worse, she recognised a look of such torment in the depth of his deep brown eyes that she was struck dumb.
'Where is he now? I want to see him. Does he know I'm his father? Thank God I didn't give you the divorce you wanted. He is legally my child, and you've cheated me out of three years of his life. Well, not any more, Zoe.'
He was making her head spin with his questions, his comments, and she couldn't think straight. But he never let up.
'I intend to fight you for him. I'll challenge you through every court both here and in the States. I want my son, Zoe. I will have him.' His lips twisted in a Satanic smile. 'I will win, I promise you, and once I get him I intend to keep him. . .'
His words were cutting into her heart like a knife, and she couldn't stand any more. She had been battling to control her tumultuous emotions for far too long.
'Keep him? Keep him?' she cried. 'You fool, you don't understand. I would gladly give him to you this very second if only it would make him well.' Her eyes wild, she screamed, 'Val is ill—very, very ill. Why the hell do you think I'm here now? Do you think I enjoy leaving him with Margy while I trek halfway around the world seeking his father?' She was blinded by fury and fear, and, shrugging off his restraining hands, she leapt to her feet.
He was towering over her, large and intimidating, but she was beyond worrying about his threat. 'I would never have set foot in your home in a million years if it weren't for my son. But he needs you; you are almost his last chance, and I would sup with the devil if I had to, to save him.'
The tears filled her eyes but she dashed them away with the back of her hand. 'In this case, that happens to be you.'
She spun on her heel, not sure where she was going, but she was pulled back roughly into his arms and lifted completely off her feet.
'What the hell do you mean?' He looked down into her tempestuous little face. 'I?'
That was how Jess found them.
'My God! Justin, you didn't spend the night with her? How could you?'
Zoe felt his sudden tension as he slowly lowered her down the length of his hard body until her feet found the floor. She pushed herself out of his arms, red with embarrassment. His mistress was back. . . Her glance went to the tall, elegant woman and then to Justin's harsh face.
'You don't understand, Jess.'
The tender light in his eyes as he spoke to the other woman was enough for Zoe. She had to get out of there and fast.
'Understand? You're a fool, Justin.' She cast a disparaging glance at Zoe's tiny, disheveled figure. 'You've always been a pushover for her. Will you never learn?'
'Not now, Jess,' he said tersely. 'Just leave. Please.'
Zoe picked up her bag from the table and began edging towards the door. She had done what she set out to do; it was up to Justin now. But she couldn't bear to be the third wheel in a lovers' quarrel; she hadn't the stomach for it.
'Zoe, where the hell do you think you're going?' Justin demanded, just as she was slipping out of the door and into the hall.
She stopped. 'I need to get back to my hotel; I need a bath, a change of clothes.'
She might have been tiny but she had an inner core of pure steel, and she had never needed it more than at this moment. She could not blame Jess for her fury; she felt dirty herself. But if the other woman's dagger looks were meant to unnerve her they would not succeed. Too much was at stake.
Zoe ploughed on bravely with her mission regardless. She firmly told Justin her room number. 'Call me when you're free. I'll be there until Monday.'
His black head tilted to one side and he studied her pale face with a chilling implacability. 'You're in no fit state to go anywhere by yourself, and I don't trust you not to disappear.'
'Disappear?' A glimmer of a smile twisted her lips, Margy's admonition ringing in her mind: 'Hog-tie him if you have to'. 'I can promise you there is no fear of that,' she said with a touch of irony. 'I'll be in all weekend waiting for your call.'
'Really, Justin, you're not going to fall for that?' Jess interrupted. 'You're far too intelligent.'
'Shut up, Jess.' Justin walked past her to Zoe, and, curling his fingers around the top of her arm, glanced back over his shoulder at his mistress. 'I'll call you later.' He looked down at Zoe. 'I'll give you a lift to your hotel.'
Zoe swallowed at the remote look on his darkly attractive face, and, with a brief nod of her fair head, she agreed.
She felt drained of all emotion as she walked with Justin through the underground car park to where a sleek black Jaguar was waiting. He handed her into the front seat and slid in beside her.
She watched him deftly manoeuvre the car out into the Saturday morning traffic with enviable ease. One hand rested lightly on the gear lever; the long fingers of his other hand curved delicately around the leather- bound steering-wheel.
She had a vivid image of those same fingers on her naked flesh last night and her pulse leapt with remembered pleasure.
He really was an incredibly sexy man, she thought, glancing sideways at his hard profile. Unfortunately he was completely lacking in morals where women were concerned. It was just as well, she acknowledged with dry irony, or she would never have ended up in his bed last night.
She sighed and stared out of the window. It was raining, the sky a dull, leaden grey and an accurate reflection of her state of mind. She sighed again.
'Valentine,' Justin drawled, 'What kind of name is that for my son?' He glanced at her, his face cold and expressionless. 'Though I shouldn't be surprised: you always were a fey, whimsical kind of child.'
She made no response, and they drove in a lengthening, tense silence that did not improve when they reached the Savcy.
'Get out,' Justin ordered curtly, and before she had gathered herself sufficiently to open the door and slide out he was around the car and taking her arm in a vice like grip. He passed the car keys to the valet and hustled her into the foyer as if she were an errant child.
When he demanded her room key from Reception, she tried to object. 'There is-'
'Shut up.' He was in a furious temper beneath his controlled exterior, and he flung her into the lift as if she were a rag doll.
But it was no more than she had expected, she thought with stoical resignation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Any hope of her ordeal being over quickly was squashed as Justin, granite-faced, pushed her into her own suite and closed the door behind him.
He came towards her. 'Now talk,' he commanded arrogantly. 'And you'd better make it good. I want to know everything about my son, and what you've done with him.' His hands dropped to her narrow shoulders and he stood staring
down at her, his black eyes burning on her. 'I've had it with you, Zoe; you've gone too far this time.'
For once the dynamic, powerful Justin had lost his poise; her revelations had clearly knocked him for six. But it gave her no joy. She had thought that after the night they had spent together. . . her realisation that she still loved him. . .
How naive could one get? She shook her head in disbelief at her own folly. The arrival of Jess had shown Zoe just how degrading her position was. Justin wanted nothing from her but his son.
She drew on her last reserves of strength, determined to concentrate strictly on Val’s welfare, and, wiping her own shame and humiliation from her mind, looked Justin straight in the eye and said flatly, 'Please let me go. I need the bathroom, and, in any case, what I have to tell you can't be discussed in a rage.'
She was a mother first and foremost and she refused to discuss her precious son in anger. Too much was at stake and it was vital that she win Justin's support.
A cruel smile smile curved his lips; he caught her face between his hands and pressed his mouth hard down on hers in a savage parody of a kiss, declaring his power and domination.
She swayed, her legs trembling, when he released her. 'Why?' Her tongue licked her swollen lips.
'A reminder!' he said tightly. 'I'll order coffee, but don't keep me waiting too long.'
Ten minutes later Zoe reluctantly walked back into the sitting-room. She had taken the time to have a quick shower and change into a pair of well-washed jeans and a baggy black sweatshirt. Barefoot, with her small face scrubbed clean and her pale, silky hair dragged back and fastened with a blue silk scarf, she had no idea how ridiculously young and vulnerable she looked.
A grim smile touched Justin's mouth when he saw her. His hand shook as he ran it through his thick hair. 'You look so damned innocent. How the hell do you do it?'
'Cursing me will solve nothing,' she said, her blue eyes flickering over him. He was perched on the edge of his chair, a coffee-jug and cups untouched on the table in front of him. She knew she had hurt him badly by denying him his son, but recriminations could come later. First, she needed to explain and get him back to the States with her.
She sat down on the chair opposite his and, leaning forward, filled two cups with the thick, dark brew. Automatically adding one spoonful of sugar to his, she handed it across to him.
'You remembered how I like my coffee; pity you couldn't have remembered to tell me I had a son as easily,' he said with biting sarcasm.
'Please, Justin. Let me tell you in my own way.'
'I can't wait.' His formidable, dark face looked grim. 'It should be interesting. It's not every day that a man is so spectacularly betrayed by his own wife.'
'I never wanted—'
'Cut the excuses, for God's sake! And give it to me straight.’ His sensuous mouth curved contemptuously. 'That is, if your devious little mind can grasp the concept.'
She bowed her head, unable to face the banked-down rage in his dark eyes, and began to speak. 'Val is a beautiful little boy—a real live wire, full of curiosity for life, and he looks very like you.
'But last fall I noticed he was much quieter than usual; at first I put it down to the bad weather at the time.' A dry chuckle escaped her. 'My English half blaming everything on the weather, I expect.'
She glanced across at Justin and for a second she faltered, deterred by the unforgiving hardness of his expression.
She swallowed. 'He caught a cold. The doctor gave him antibiotics, and he seemed to recover, but not properly. After Christmas when he started pre-school he still wasn't a hundred per cent. The doctor took a blood test, and confirmed he was anaemic, but when, after vitamins and iron, he was still no better there were further tests.'
Her bottom lip trembled and she had to take a deep, steadying breath before she could go on. Reliving the past desperate weeks and exposing her pain to another person was one of the hardest things she had ever done.
'Go on,' Justin prompted implacably.
'We took a trip to the hospital in Portland; the consultant there recommended a transfer to New York University Hospital and a world-renowned consultant in the field, Professor Barnet. More transfusions, more tests, until a week ago they finally came up with the answer—Fanconi's anaemia, a very rare disease.'
She said the hated words by rote; it was the only way she could deal with the enormity of what had happened to her beloved boy.
'Cause not known. Treatment—a week on Monday Val starts a course of chemotherapy. Ideal solution—a bone-marrow transplant. The problem is that I've been screened and I'm not a match for him.'
Only then did she lift her head.
Justin had gone white about the mouth and his features had settled into a rigid, impenetrable mask, which made what she had to ask him a hundred times harder.
'I'm hoping you will be,' she said, her blue eyes huge and pleading in the unnatural pallor of her small face. 'It's not hard, Justin, believe me. A simple blood test, and, if you match, the transplant is a breeze—honestly,' she insisted urgently. 'A simple operation to extract the marrow from the base of your spine. Two nights in hospital—three at most; nothing worse than a backache.'
'Stop! Stop right there,' he commanded flatly. 'First, have you consulted the best medical opinion available?'
For the next half-hour Zoe was treated to a ruthless cross-examination, Justin's decisive yet politely impersonal questions beating down on her until she wanted to scream and finally did. . .
'But will you do it?' she cried. 'I have your seat booked on Concorde on Monday. Please simply say yes.'
'God! Need you ask?' Disgust made his lip curl and she squirmed at the contempt in his black gaze as he added, 'Yes, of course.'
Her head fell back against the soft cushion and she closed her eyes. 'Oh, thank God. Thank God!' The relief was tremendous. She had hoped that Justin would do the right thing, but she had never been sure. It was as if the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders. She opened her eyes and looked at him. 'You'll never know how much this means to me, Justin.'
'I think I can guess; he is my son as well,' he returned drily. Getting to his feet and turning on his heel, he strode across to the telephone. He dialled a number and, holding the receiver to his ear, turned and leant against the table, watching her with cold dark eyes, his long lashes flicking against his high cheekbones. 'There's no need to wait until Monday. We'll leave today.'
'But---- '
He stopped her with a wave of his hand, and she listened in rising amazement as he instructed the unseen person at the other end of the telephone wire to have the jet standing by.
'How?' She seemed to be incapable of stringing two words together.'
His mouth curved sardonically. 'Easy, Zoe,' he said, coming towards her. 'I am a very powerful man in my own way.' He reached down and lifted her up out of the chair as if she weighed no more than a feather, his hands firmly around her tiny waist. 'But I certainly underestimated you, my dear wife,' he drawled harshly. 'Last night had nothing to do with Wayne Sutton, had it?'
She blushed fiery red as he set her on her feet, but kept a firm hold on her. 'No,' she mumbled; could he possibly have guessed? It was one thing to ask an estranged husband to donate bone marrow; it was quite another to try and get oneself pregnant by the same man, especially knowing he had a very lovely 'significant other' in his life.
'You have good reason to look ashamed,' he said with icy disdain, and, grasping her chin, he tilted her scarlet face back the better to see her. 'You deliberately let me do anything I wanted with your sexy little body last night in the hope of softening me up before telling me about my son.'
Now was the moment to tell him the truth—all of it. 'It. . .' She bit her lip.
'You're little better than a whore, but then I always knew that.'
She looked up sharply, meeting his contemptuous gaze with angry eyes. 'It wasn't like that,' she objected.
'Your reason was noble,' he admitted in a dea
dly quiet voice, 'But don't ever try to barter sex with me again. I will not be used that way. I prefer to do my own hunting.'
A dull foreboding made her shiver; if he ever discovered just how much she had tried to use him he would kill her. . . 'I wouldn't dream of it,' she said quickly, keeping a wary eye on him.
He smiled—a slow, wicked curve of his hard lips. 'Good,' he murmured, his arm tightening around her waist. His black head bent and his warm mouth fastened on hers in a long, sensuous kiss that made her heart thud in her breast.
She caught her breath as he pushed her away, staring up at him, bewildered and vaguely angry. 'Why did you do that?' she demanded shakily.
'You looked like you needed it, and I sure as hell did,' he grated. 'Now for the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. What have you told our son about me?' The demand was curt, his dark face taut with resentment. 'If anything.'
Zoe had been expecting the question, but it still did not make answering him any easier. 'You have to understand—Val is very young, and, well, Margy my friend's daughter Tessa is his best friend. Margy's husband was a sailor and he was lost at sea in a round-the-world yacht race.'
'You told him I was dead. . .?' he rasped.
'No, no, I'm trying to explain. Val only asked once about his father. I told him you were a very important lawyer working thousands of miles away across the sea, but one day he would meet you. I thought. Actually she hadn't thought very clearly at all; in the back of her mind she had simply thought, One day. But not yet. . .
'Don't bother, Zoe, I can read you like a book. After the five-year separation a quiet divorce and only then any mention of the child. I suppose I should be grateful he even knows I exist, but under the circumstances I don't feel particularly grateful. Call him now. I want to speak to him.'
Zoe glanced at her wristwatch. It would be early morning in Rowena Cove. Crossing to the telephone, she placed the call.
Within seconds she was speaking to Margy and, after exchanging the usual greetings, her friend demanded bluntly, 'Have you got him, Zoe?'
The Valentine Child Page 12