To Love, Honour and Disobey

by Natalie Anderson

  And for once she shared the burden.

  Chapter Seven

  SEB watched Ana sleep. He should be running—far and fast. But he couldn’t. Just couldn’t. He had an inkling of what she must have suffered—and with such quiet strength. Hadn’t he seen his mother suffer—for years—as the other children she’d longed for had never eventuated? Hadn’t he felt the helplessness, the hopelessness—hadn’t he seen the heartbreak?

  Yes, he knew something of the devastation Ana must have felt. And even though that baby had been unplanned, even if she’d never wanted children, he could understand why and how its loss had devastated her.

  Because wasn’t there a hurt inside himself right now? As if a part of his heart had been skinned. A facet of it he hadn’t felt before. Hadn’t he missed out on something precious too? What would that child have looked like? Would it have had her vivid blue eyes or his pale ones? Undoubtedly it would have been tall and dark…

  He closed his eyes and blanked his mind. Not going there. Kids had never been part of his plan—never would be. He inhaled. What had happened was just fate, wasn’t it? It was just the way it was meant to be. But how he wanted to make it all go away.

  He sat in the chair across from the bed and saw when she stirred. Finally she opened her eyes. From the distance he saw her lose colour as consciousness returned and memory came with it.

  She sat up quickly, pulled the sheet up to cover herself. ‘I’m sorry I wailed all over you last night. I’m over it. Really.’

  In some ways she was—physically over it, and she’d been making plans to get on with her life. That was why she’d sent the divorce papers, wasn’t it? She wanted closure so she could move on.

  ‘It’s OK. I’m glad I finally know,’ he muttered, his voice rusty. ‘I’m sorry.’

  And he was. Desperately so. But there was still a problem. Closure was elusive—and would remain so unless they worked it all through.

  ‘You’ll want to get back to the mainland.’ She rubbed her forehead with her fingers, hiding her eyes from him.

  ‘No. I’m not ready to leave the island yet.’ He wasn’t ready to leave her. For he wanted closure too, wasn’t that why he’d come all this way? When, having finally found out where she was, he hadn’t been able to just sign it all away without seeing her for himself.

  And once he’d seen her, he’d known why he couldn’t just sign. It was still there. Just as it was for her. That damn electricity, the inferno that blazed between them. They had to go on and finish it. They’d got off the bus too early last time—they had to get to the end of the ride now.

  He tossed the packet of condoms on the bed. ‘I got those from the office.’ He held his breath. God, could he be more blunt? But he didn’t know how else to approach it.

  She looked at them and the colour returned to her cheeks in a flood. ‘I don’t want sympathy sex.’

  He gritted his teeth as he heard her anger. ‘That’s not what I’m offering.’ This wasn’t bloody sympathy sex. This was I-can’t-control-my-lust-for-you passion—and he was desperate to get rid of it. For both their sakes.

  ‘Well, what are you offering?’

  ‘What do you want?’ He couldn’t stop the rasp in his voice. He knew what he wanted—he wanted as he’d never wanted before. He wanted to make her feel good. He wanted to make himself feel good. Because right now he felt like crap and instinct screamed at him that the only way to feel better was to get close.

  She drew her knees up to her chest. Her hair hung in a mess around her face and her red-rimmed eyes were vivid blue and shielded. ‘I want what we agreed,’ she said fiercely. ‘The fling we should have stuck to a year ago. A few days of indulgence to burn it out. Then you go your way, I go mine.’

  She had changed. Was tougher—not the marshmallow of a year ago. Now she was asserting her desire—and desire was it. He let go his breath with a kind of relief. For wasn’t that it for him too? Wasn’t that all he wanted—or had he changed?

  He stood, unable to keep from moving a moment longer. He couldn’t think any more. Couldn’t do anything but bow to instinct. He knelt on the bed, leaned over her, pressing her back against the pillows so she was in no doubt of his need.

  And her hands lifted, fingers wide as she put her palms to his scalp and pulled him closer still. Her mouth opened beneath his and she kissed him with the same sort of desperation he was drowning in.

  And for a moment, just a moment, he was sorry she hadn’t asked for more.

  This was it, wasn’t it—the searing attraction, the need for that deep indulgence? Despite everything it was still at the centre of it all. Nothing less, nothing more.

  Ana’s breath took for ever to regulate, and only moments after it had, she shifted in his arms, woke him, roused him again. Determined this time, to get it right and see it to the end. Because at the back of her mind the clock was ticking—Africa was all they had. When they said goodbye to the heat, they said goodbye to each other.

  And she knew she had the strength to do that. This past year had shown her she had the strength to handle anything—even him.

  She was glad he knew. Had never thought she’d feel that, but his sensitivity had surprised her. She’d appreciated the comfort of his arms as she’d cried. And she’d seen the hurt in him too—somehow that had helped soothe her own. She wasn’t alone in her sadness for the baby any more—he felt it; he understood something of it. And that was enough to make it that little bit more bearable.

  They spent the day swimming, sleeping. Not talking of anything but commonplaces, playing bao, keeping it light. And yet they turned to each other even more frequently than before. The passion fast, hungry and still never enough.

  The tiny island was exquisite and offered every comfort, yet with the luxury came other facilities—phone, fax, email. In the late afternoon she watched him take his PDA over to the office. Yes. Real life was going to have to intrude—they couldn’t avoid the future for ever. She went to their banda, giving him the space to get his messages in private. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to become involved in his life back in London. The separation was looming and it was best to start distancing now. But when he walked in twenty minutes later his expression was too grim for her to ignore. ‘Bad news?’

  He pressed a button and tossed the gadget onto the table by the bed. ‘Dad reckons he’s getting married again.’

  ‘No way. Who to?’ Ana gaped.

  ‘What with Mum going for the fourth last year, they’re just a joke.’ He flopped back on the bed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘I can’t believe it. And it’s happening Saturday. This Saturday.’ He groaned. ‘So soon—why the hell is he in such a rush?’

  The giggle just bubbled from her. ‘Like father, like son, I guess.’

  ‘What?’ He lifted his head up and then grinned—sort of. ‘Oh, yeah. But that’s not–’

  ‘Yeah.’ Not real. She watched him clearly struggle with the news. ‘Does it really matter, Seb?’

  ‘I can understand them having lovers—fine,’ he said, throwing his arms wide on the bed. ‘Have as many as they want. But what’s with all the weddings?’

  ‘You don’t think it’s kind of romantic?’

  ‘No. It’s desperate.’

  ‘Seb—’

  ‘Look, you haven’t been ring-bearer too many times over.’ He sat up. ‘It’s tacky.’

  ‘So it’s all frills and fifty bridesmaids?’

  ‘Ugh,’ he groaned again, but eventually it turned into a laugh. ‘Depends. No two are ever the same.’

  ‘Have you met this bride?’

  ‘Briefly.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t think it was serious. But I guess he was one behind Mum on the wedding count so he had to catchup.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘No. Allocation of assets, experiences—they’ve got to make sure they have exactly the same.’

  ‘But there was only one of you. How did they go about sharing you?’

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nbsp; He looked at her, shrugged in a helpless, resigned kind of way. And instead of answering, he asked, ‘Ana…?’

  She knew what he wanted. And she gave it.

  When she woke late the next morning she found he was already dressed and looking distant.

  ‘You’d better pack your bag, Ana. We’re leaving at lunchtime.’

  So that explained why he’d barely let her rest through the night. Why he’d woken her time and time again with his incredible caresses. The hour had chimed.

  Mentally, he’d already left, his mind miles away as he stared out over the water—clearly not seeing the beauty of it, judging by the size of the frown on his face. Was his problem still his father? She didn’t ask; Africa was at an end and she needed to withdraw, too—to handle it with maturity. It was the contract they’d agreed.

  Ten minutes later she stood on the deck and watched him swimming, tireless strong strokes as he went back and forth parallel to the beach. She was fascinated.

  And then she cursed her idiocy. She wasn’t going to stand all morning staring at him. So she went to the main complex, quite determined to find something to do to fill in the few hours till they left. She found the perfect distraction in the beauty spa.

  ‘Where have you been?’ He looked grumpy as she strode to where he waited by the boat, the bags already stowed.

  ‘I went for a massage.’

  ‘I’d have given you one.’

  She shook her head and laughed. ‘You know we’re over that.’

  He met her gaze for a moment and then looked away. She stood on the boat, smiled and waved to Hamim and then turned her back to the island. Determined to look ahead—in everything.

  Only hours later Seb led the way onto the big plane. Ana had never flown first class before and looked around at the amazing space.

  ‘We could have gone another class up.’ He watched her investigate all the things in the toiletry bag.

  ‘There’s another class?’

  ‘Beyond first class we could have had our own suite.’ He looked wistful. ‘Big bed and everything. But it was booked.’

  Thank goodness for that. She’d already mentally resigned herself to the fact she’d slept with him for the last time. And after what she’d let the beautician on Mnemba do this morning, there was no way she wanted him to see her even partially naked. It had been a good method of restraint.

  He read her expression with grim humour. ‘You don’t want to join the mile-high club with me?’

  ‘Not today.’ It wasn’t even a lie. Then she saw his surprise turn to determination. Felt his shift towards her as the atmosphere between them thickened to intimate. ‘No, Seb, we’ve left Africa.’

  ‘We’re still in its airspace, aren’t we?’

  ‘No.’ They were over it and she was not, not, succumbing again.

  Their luggage was the first on the carousel—one of the perks of spending ridiculous amounts of money on seats that became surprisingly comfortable beds. Not that he’d slept a wink of the flight. She pre-empted his move to take her bag, swinging it nonchalantly onto a trolley. He felt super grumpy now.

  She turned to him ‘Thanks—’

  ‘I’ve ordered a cab.’ He cut her off. ‘It should be there by now.’

  ‘Um…I’ll be OK—’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Ana, at least let me see you safely to your place.’

  They walked to the rank and he climbed into the cab after her. ‘You’re staying with Phil?’ he asked shortly.

  ‘Yes.’

  A flare of jealousy spiked into Seb’s chest. Stupid. He wasn’t surprised Phil hadn’t said she’d been staying with him. His loyalty was greater to Ana than to him. But it annoyed him nonetheless. If Phil had been honest he might have got to Ana before she’d gone to Africa. Hell, how long had she been staying there?

  Added to that, the thought of those two guys sitting either side of her on the sofa drinking their soy decaff lattes or whatever namby-pampy juice was flavour of the month, listening to her pour heart and soul out to them, got his hackles on end. She’d talk to them as she didn’t to him. God, had Phil known about the baby—his baby?

  The cab pulled in front of Phil’s building. It wasn’t far from Seb’s home. But it was far enough to bother him. ‘I’ll help you with your bag.’

  She raised a single brow. It was only the one pack but he was delaying the inevitable.

  She rang the bell. ‘I have a key if they’re not home.’

  Of course she did. But they were home. The footsteps came faster; Seb glared up at the security camera.

  ‘Ana!’

  It was Jack—Phil’s partner. The most conservative-as-they-come accountant you’d ever meet in your life. Older than Phil by a good ten years, he was the anchor to the flamboyant interior-design genius who’d just appeared in the doorway behind him.

  ‘Darling.’ Phil pushed past Jack and hauled Ana into his arms. ‘I was beginning to think you’d been eaten by a crocodile.’

  ‘Something like that.’ Ana’s tone was caustic.

  ‘Seb.’ Phil’s eyes glinted as he tilted his head to see who was behind her. ‘The crocodile, I presume,’ he added, closing the door behind them.

  Ana turned, looked surprised to see Seb still standing there. ‘What about the cab?’

  ‘It can wait. The meter’s still running.’ He wasn’t ready to leave yet.

  ‘Drink, Seb?’

  ‘Thanks.’ He followed them through to the lounge. He’d had no intention of stopping for a drink. A quick goodbye and that was it. But perversity seemed necessary right now.

  Phil sent him an assessing glance and went straight to the harder stuff. ‘Whisky?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Single malt. One thing to be said about Phil, he had impeccable taste.

  ‘I might just put my bag in my room.’ So Ana wanted to run, huh?

  ‘Jack will do it, darling,’ Phil said smoothly. He took a sip from his glass and then smiled. ‘Fancy you two meeting up in Africa.’

  ‘Just fancy,’ Seb said coolly, refusing to rise to Phil’s stirring. Ana would find out it had been her friend who’d told him where she’d gone. What she would read into that he was sure he didn’t care.

  ‘I didn’t know you guys knew each other all that well.’ Ana hadn’t touched her wine. She looked tired and suddenly Seb’s arms ached with emptiness.

  ‘Seb’s a client now,’ Phil answered.

  ‘A very valuable one,’ Seb added drily. He’d paid a huge fee to Phil. But he’d been worth it. Purely for the fringe benefits—namely his association with Ana. Phil had all the info. But even he hadn’t revealed she was actually staying with him.

  Seb felt anger ripple through his body. He was angry about having to leave her here. And even angrier about feeling angry about it. He should be relieved. He should be over it. He’d had more sex in the last few days than he’d had all year. And the best sex of his life, if he stopped to think about it. Which he didn’t want to do, because now it was over. He stood. Time to go.

  Phil and Jack were unusually silent, unusually observant as Seb waited for Ana to walk out to the hallway ahead of him.

  She opened the front door and waited. He looked at her but she looked through him. All the intimacy was gone. She didn’t lean towards him, didn’t smile, just stood stiffer than a starched collar. It really was over for her, wasn’t it? She couldn’t wait for him to leave.

  So he didn’t kiss her. Held back with more muscle control than he needed in the last leg of a triathlon. Angry with everything. Because it was what they’d agreed—Africa and that was it. Cut and dried, and damned if he was going to mess it up any more.

  But the sharp edge of loneliness dug deep in the drive to his apartment. Cold, he tossed his bag by the door. He’d deal with it tomorrow. Better still get his laundry service to deal with it. He switched on his stereo to try to block the silence. Felt wrong inside. As if his stomach and his lungs had swapped places or something devastatingly uncomfortable.

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sp; Jet lag. That’d be it. Tiredness from the long flight. There was work to get on with and plenty of it, he noted as he skimmed his emails. There were details from his Dad as well on the next wedding of the century. Hell, if he had to work on another divorce for either of his folks that was it, he was charging them full fees. He shut down the computer, turned off the stereo too and cranked up the heating. He passed his bag in the hall, bent and pulled out the wooden bao set he’d bought on a whim on that last day. He held it in his hands, remembered the hours of frisky entertainment the game had spawned. Irritated, he put it high on the overcrowded bookcase and turned his back on it.

  It. Was. Over.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘SPILL it, Ana.’ Phil was sitting next to Jack on the sofa and together they were acting like an incompetent good-cop-bad-cop interview team.

  ‘Phil, she’ll talk if she wants to.’

  ‘I’m her oldest and dearest friend. I have the right to know.’

  ‘Only what she—’

  ‘I don’t need all the details, just—’

  ‘When she’s ready to tell you.’

  ‘Why don’t you go do the dishes? She’ll open up to me.’

  ‘Maybe she’d rather speak to someone who actually has ears, not ones that are just painted on.’

  Ana watched them digging at each other with the teasing glint so evident in their eyes. Their banter was never serious and always cute. But tonight it grated. ‘Can I say something?’

  ‘Sure.’ They simultaneously turned their heads towards her with synchronised Abba-esque speed.

  ‘I’m going to get an early night.’ She stood.

  ‘Oh, yeah, you must be worn out from all those hot nights in Africa,’ Phil said, more sarcastic than sympathetic.

  ‘The flight was long.’ She aimed to quell.

  ‘And cosy. Bet you went business class.’

  ‘First class. It was very spacious, actually.’ Liar. She’d been too close to him for her nerves. Now they were beyond frayed and almost at break point.