To Love, Honour and Disobey

by Natalie Anderson

  Yeah, right.

  ‘Come on,’ he challenged. ‘Let’s check out the facilities.’

  In other words go straight to the bedroom.

  The view out over the Indian Ocean was open and stunning, and yet there was complete privacy. The furniture was intricately carved and there was comfort in everything. But her bones melted at the sight of the bed—so wide and big.

  But it could barely be halfway to midday. As if Seb cared. He ripped off the beautiful white coverings, leaving just the pure cotton sheet on the bed. He looked at the sheet, looked across at her.

  ‘What do you say, Ana?’

  ‘I say there’s still a bit of the pirate in you, Seb.’ But she couldn’t stop the smile. ‘Race you to the water.’ She flew out the open door down the small strip of sand and splashed into the water, uncaring about her shorts and tee getting another complete soaking. She heard his laugh and dive and licked her lips. Saltwater Seb was a flavour she adored.

  Uncaring of the water streaming from her clothes, she walked back inside, peeled off her wet tee shirt and shorts and rubbed the sand from her feet—refusing to ruin the whiter than white linen on the magnificent bed. The sheets smelled so fresh and the bed was soft but not saggy and so easy to stretch out on. Irresistible. She closed her eyes, spread her arms wide and enjoyed the sensation as the faintest of breezes teased dry her damp skin.

  Hands on her ankles pulled, yanking her body down over the smooth sheets so her feet dangled over the edge. She opened her eyes and found his laughing right into hers.

  ‘That’s what you’re used to, isn’t it?’ His hands slid higher up her legs, creating instant heat. ‘Your feet hanging over the edge of the bed.’

  ‘But they don’t have to in this one.’

  ‘No.’ He lifted her and put her back in the middle of the bed. Took each limb, one by one and spread them so she lay like a starfish. Mesmerised by the look in his eyes, she let him. He ran a finger under the instep of her foot.

  ‘They’re huge.’ She arched it.

  ‘If they were any smaller, you’d fall over.’

  She laughed. Too true.

  ‘Your feet are perfect. Your legs are perfect. No one could resist the silken feel of your skin and your waist is so tiny, your ribs.’ He spread his hand across her. ‘You think you’re such a giant when, really, you’re very fragile.’ His fingers traced lower. ‘Like this, when did you get this?’

  Her scar. His fingers underlined her scar. The pleasure she felt from his appraisal disappeared. She forced down the wave of panic. Could think of only one way to avoid the question. She rose to her knees. ‘I’m not fragile.’

  He was already naked, already aroused and it took nothing to distract them both. Kissing did it—would always do it, she supposed—the physical chemistry was sublime. And in that moment every last one of her reservations fled. This was nothing but a fantasy fling and she refused to let the past reality destroy the moment. She would indulge, have what she wanted—and all of it—on this magical island. She stretched out, so hot, and gloried in his sexual demand.

  As he took possession she let her head and shoulders fall, leaning over the edge of the bed, her long hair hanging loose all the way to the floor. She let her arms fall too, feeling as if she were flying as he pounded into her. She curled her legs hard round his waist, and he anchored her core to the bed as the rest of her swung freely through the hot air. She was drenched in sweat—her lower body literally riveted to his and yet she felt so free.

  ‘Incredible.’ He groaned. ‘You’re so bloody incredible.’

  Afterwards he grabbed her hand and pulled her all the way back onto the bed. Breathless, she felt insane with the bliss. He walked to the table, sliced some pineapple from the assortment of fresh fruit arranged on a platter. He held a piece to her mouth for her to taste. The juice was deliciously both sweet and acidic. She took the last of it into her mouth. He started to lick the juice from his fingers, but she grabbed his hand, and licked them for him—felt the kick inside again. She had let go of everything now, allowing nothing in her head but the desire—the animal need to be with him. All sensuality, no thought.

  His eyes didn’t leave hers as, keeping hold of his hand, she lay back on the pillows and demanded, ‘Do it again.’

  ‘With pleasure.’

  ‘Maximum pleasure.’ She closed her eyes.

  Seb looked out the wide open door frame and watched her sitting cross-legged on the sand combing her hair. As beautiful as a siren tempting a sailor to his death. He wished he were combing her hair. He wished she were sitting astride his lap and he were sinking deep into her, and having that glorious hair trail across his face and those long legs wound round him.

  She was an incredible lover. Hell, yes, she was incredible. He’d never felt so wanted, or felt such want for another in his life, had been surprised by her hunger and her aggression. Ana was assertive? Why, yes, she was now. If only he’d realised, he’d have come after her sooner.

  Every fantasy he acted on he wanted an immediate repeat. And more ideas filled his brain, tantalising him. So now the siren called and he was helpless to resist. He walked out to the beach, took the comb from her hand and did what he’d been dreaming of.

  The afternoon stretched long and lazy. He got a bao game and with Hamim’s help they learned how to play it. Her competitiveness came to the fore, especially when he proposed an adults-only kind of prize for the winner. He was intrigued by the way her mind worked, the way she skilfully strategised—and he wanted to know more. ‘You play chess?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘I used to play with Phil. And then at university—’ She broke off and coloured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My ex-boyfriend thought he could play.’

  ‘You whipped him every time, huh?’ Because she was good, she was smart and there was much more to her than big blue eyes and intoxicating long legs.

  She nodded. ‘He didn’t like it.’

  ‘What happened to ex-boyfriend?’

  Her eyes dropped to the board. ‘He found someone else. Someone shorter. Someone blonde.’

  So she’d been cheated on, huh? No wonder she didn’t believe him when he said he’d been single all this time. And there was that height thing again. ‘Someone crap at chess?’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t know. Probably.’

  ‘That man was clearly an imbecile. When playing for this kind of reward it’s not a bad thing to lose to you.’

  She looked at him slyly. ‘I thought you always played to win.’

  ‘Well, you have to admit this is a win-win situation.’

  She dropped some kete into one of the grooves on the board. ‘What was it like winning the Robertson case?’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘It was in every national newspaper for weeks. Of course I know about it.’

  The Robertson case had been ugly. The guy had let his TV talent show instant stardom go to his head. Had ditched his young wife of three years and their newborn babe and embraced the life of the rock star—and the starlet he’d met at the recording studio. He’d thought his newfound money and fame would swing it. Had appointed one of the biggest name divorce lawyers in the city—arguing his new wealth was his and not for sharing with his wife and child. His wife had appointed Seb. At the time it had been the biggest case of his career and had cemented his reputation. ‘Robertson had wanted his fight in court. He’d got it.’

  ‘And you won.’

  ‘There were no winners, not in a case like that,’ Seb still felt the anger. ‘There was a kid, Ana. A kid who when old enough will look back at that case and see that his father didn’t want him, didn’t want to know him, didn’t want to spend time with him and that he was forced by the court to pay money to help raise him. How’s that going to make him feel? And it happens all the time. Either the kids are rejected or they’re torn apart as the bargaining chip between two bitter parents.’

  He a
lways encouraged counselling, mediation, out-of-court settlements—anything to try to make it easier because those people had to deal with each other when they had kids. There was no end, no finality. All it was was a mess.

  ‘Was that what it was like for you, when your parents broke up?’

  He froze. Should have known that was where she was headed. That was why he never usually discussed his parents with women—they always wanted to probe deeper than he liked to go. ‘I was the bargaining chip, I guess. They both fought for me, over me.’

  But even though they’d both wanted him, he hadn’t been enough. Not enough to hold them together, not enough to make either of them happy. Most of their problems had been because they hadn’t been able to have another child. He—their one child—hadn’t fulfilled them.

  ‘I guess being fought over is better than being unwanted.’ He glanced up in time to catch her quick flinch and wanted to cut out his tongue. He reached across and touched her hand. ‘Hey, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ But her fingers slipped from his. ‘You’re right.’

  He’d had no idea about her past. But now he did, it just reinforced his decision on what he planned to do with his own life. ‘I’m never having children.’

  ‘Me, either.’

  His brows lifted—didn’t all women have a clucky side somewhere? ‘Why not?’

  She was staring at the board. ‘Because I don’t want anyone else going through what I went through.’

  OK, so they had more in common than he’d ever thought. ‘Nor do I.’

  She suddenly broke into a big smile. ‘Time to pay up, big-shot. I just won.’

  The longer they spent playing in the shade, the more outrageous the prizes for winning became—playful, teasing, and at one point, at her instigation, downright kinky. Seb’s sense of reality receded. It was like that mad week again—where all that mattered was touching her, being close to her. He simply couldn’t get enough.

  Ana was brushing her hair when she heard Seb swear. She turned, surprised at the vehemence. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘We’re out of condoms.’ He growled, a bitter, frustrated sound. ‘Hell, the last time we had a holiday fling we got married. This time it’d be just the thing if I knocked you up.’

  Her mind blanked. She heard a clatter and blindly reached out; her hand struck the wall. But the pain didn’t bring the world back.

  ‘Ana?’ He was beside her, his hands on her waist steadying her. ‘Are you OK? What happened?’

  She opened her mouth to say ‘nothing’. But he was so close, watching so closely. She saw as his thoughts tracked back over what he’d said, and down that horrible thorny path. She swayed again, suddenly remembering. It happened sometimes—with something so simple, a word, an image perhaps, just something that triggered the avalanche of hurt. It swamped her. So fresh, so raw, it could have been yesterday.

  ‘Ana?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on?’ He inhaled sharply. ‘No.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘No.’

  She stared, unable to move as she watched him work it out.

  ‘Oh, my God. I did knock you up.’ He gaped. ‘Is that where you’ve been this last year—having my baby? Where the hell is it? What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing!’ She snapped. ‘I’ve done nothing. You’re wrong.’ She backed away from him right up against the wall. ‘You’re so far wrong.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ He followed, trapping her with his big body. ‘Don’t even think about lying to me. Were you pregnant?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then where—?’ He broke off. Took a breath and spoke with furious deliberation. ‘You said you don’t want kids. Did you…did you get rid of my baby?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t!’ she yelled in his face. ‘It’s because of what happened that I don’t want kids. I’m not going through that again. I’m not losing another child again.’

  ‘What happened?’ Horrified, he asked, ‘Damn it, tell me what happened.’

  ‘I had a miscarriage.’ She felt sick as the pain seared into her. She hadn’t spoken of it in months but all of a sudden it was present—right in the room—the agony.

  ‘My baby.’ His lips barely moved.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Miscarried.’ He looked down. There was a long silence.

  She put her fingers to her forehead. Waiting, knowing the questions were coming and unable to bear having to answer them. She’d never wanted to have to answer them.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?’

  She closed her eyes—just for a moment. ‘I didn’t want to.’

  She heard his sharp inhalation and spoke quickly, preventing his interruption. ‘I was hurt.’ He’d shattered her illusions so ruthlessly that day when he’d come home more over the moon about his promotion than he’d ever been about marrying her. They’d rowed and she’d run. A couple of weeks later when she’d found out she was pregnant she had still been so hurt that there had been no way she was ever going to tell him. But a couple of weeks after that, reality had started to sink in. ‘I knew I was going to have to talk to you. I was just…’

  ‘Just what?’

  She sighed. ‘Summoning courage.’ But then she’d had to find more courage deep inside than she’d ever dreamed she’d need.

  He drew another breath, forced it out again. ‘Please tell me what happened.’

  She was silent. She hadn’t ever wanted to talk about it—not with him, or anyone. What was the point? It had happened. It was over. There was nothing he could do. Or that anyone could do.

  But her heart sank, for she knew there was no getting out of it—not with him so close like this, so intensely scrutinising her. He was watching her every blink, her every breath, monitoring her tiny quivering. At the very least she had to tell him the basics.

  ‘I was in Bath—that’s where I’d gone after I left you. Everything was OK for a few weeks. I was getting my head around it. Then…’ She shrugged, not wanting to go into any more detail.

  ‘Had you been sick? Did you fall?’

  ‘Nothing like that. It just happened. The doctor said I’d never know why. I didn’t have any of the usual risk factors. It was just one of those things.’

  ‘But you were going to keep it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  His eyes bored into her. ‘Would you ever have told me I had a child? Would you ever have found that courage, Ana?’

  ‘Eventually,’ she muttered. When she had herself sorted.

  ‘You never should have run away.’ He swore. ‘Where does it get you, Ana? How can you think you can get away with avoiding everything? Especially something as big as this?’ He stood silent for a long time. All of a sudden his body bunched again and he lanced her with an even more intent look. ‘Even now you’re not telling me the whole story, are you?’

  She couldn’t hold his gaze, looked to the floor, wanting to disappear into it.

  ‘The scar. My God. This is how you got that scar.’ His hands cupped her face, tilting it up to his with surprising gentleness. ‘Isn’t it?’

  Why hold any of it back now? He knew enough, was guessing the rest.

  ‘I had a lot of pain. I fainted. I don’t know what happened. I was in and out of it. I remember parts of the ambulance ride. Telling them…’ She’d wanted them to save her baby. ‘It was an ectopic pregnancy. I went straight into Theatre. When I woke up it was all over.’ They’d had to remove her fallopian tube and her ovary had been damaged. She’d stayed in hospital for a few days. And gone back to her empty flat to recuperate—to nothing.

  She could feel the tension in his fingers.

  ‘That can be life-threatening.’

  Her heart contracted. ‘My baby died.’

  ‘You could have too.’

  Yes. It had been that serious. And there had been a moment—the darkest of moments—when she’d wished she had. She had lost everything. And had no one and no place she felt she could turn to.

  There was a l
ong silence. He didn’t let go of her. She could feel his breathing, deep and unnaturally regular as if he was concentrating hard to control it. She waited for the explosion. She could feel his anger like a living thing radiating from him. But it wasn’t harsh words and a raised voice that assaulted her senses.

  ‘It must have been awful for you.’

  It was a whisper that arrowed straight under her armour. Sympathy wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

  ‘You must have felt so alone.’ His finger stroked down her cheek. ‘You didn’t tell anyone, did you?’

  She released a shaky breath. ‘There wasn’t anyone…around.’

  There was a moment again, where she felt the wave of effort it took him to stay silent and she could read the hurt in his eyes. She appreciated it. She appreciated it so much that her control began to slip.

  ‘I’m sorry you were alone,’ he said quietly. ‘I wish you had told me but I kind of understand why you didn’t. I just wish I could have done something.’

  ‘There was nothing anyone could do.’ Her voice cracked. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does.’ His arms slid around her, pulled her away from the wall and cradled her in a loose embrace. ‘It does matter.’

  And now, months later—surely too late—he comforted her. And she needed it. How she needed it.

  ‘It matters so much,’ he muttered into her hair.

  It had. It still did. And she didn’t know when the pain would diminish. She had tried to put it from her mind, tried to focus on getting her life back on track and firing up her career. And it had worked—until she’d seen him again. In that instant feeling had started to flow again. Starting with desire at its most basic, but the sexual spark had warmed up all of her emotions. And now that the gates had been unlocked the flood was impossible to stop. Her heart opened and the hurt poured out. His arms tightened, supporting her as she crumpled.

  The tears were hot and salty and hurt her eyes and they wouldn’t stop. And she couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t stop the sobs, the choking as the agony burned its way out. She cried for the things that she’d longed for—for love, for family. And she cried because she simply couldn’t keep holding it in. All the while he held her tight, murmuring somethings, nothings, the soft sounds of comfort.