by Anne Mather
Jack pulled a face. ‘What are you saying? That I can’t handle it?’
‘Hell, no, Mr Riordan. Pardon my language. Everyone knows that it wasn’t until you came on the scene that the company really took off.’ Harry’s face was flushed now, but he wasn’t finished. ‘All I’m saying is, don’t be overdoing it—if you know what I mean? I’ve seen younger men than you collapse under the strain of too much success.’
Jack’s lips twisted into a wry smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘I mean it.’ And Jack was sure he did. ‘Now, I’ll leave you to enjoy your coffee in peace. Just let me know if you want another. I’ve got my own pot in the basement, and although I say it myself it’s as good as anything you’ll buy from one of them fast food places.’
‘I’m sure.’
Jack smiled a little more freely this time, and Harry gave him an old-fashioned salute before disappearing out the door.
When he’d gone, however, the letter had to be faced, and Jack didn’t hesitate before ripping it open. He was firmly convinced it would be from Karen, and he got something of a shock when he realised it was from his own doctor.
He supposed he’d been expecting a report much like the one Karen’s gynaecologist had sent him, and that was why he hadn’t associated the letter with himself. Now, however, he saw it was from Dr Moore, inviting him to visit the surgery at two o’clock that afternoon to discuss the results of the examination he’d had.
He didn’t know if that was good news or bad. Surely if it was bad news Dr Moore would have phoned him? Or perhaps not. Maybe the doctor thought a letter would put the whole situation on a more formal basis. And if he was going to deliver a cutting blow, wouldn’t it be better to do it in his surgery, where he had all the necessary resuscitation equipment if it was required?
Whoa! At this point Jack put the letter aside and got up from his desk. Dammit, he was becoming a hypochondriac—already anticipating the worst when he had no real reason for doing so. God, if only he could phone Rachel and ask her what she thought, ask her to come with him. But that was impossible, particularly after last night, and he accepted that for the foreseeable future he was on his own…
‘You’re going to do what?’
Rachel had been taken aback when Jack had arrived home from the office early two afternoons in a row, but that was nothing compared to the news he’d just imparted.
‘I’m going to Ireland,’ repeated Jack doggedly, standing in the doorway of her studio, much as he’d done the day before. Only this time there was a look of grim determination on his lean face. ‘For a month. Six weeks, maybe. I need a break.’
Rachel was stunned. She put down her paintbrush and wiped her suddenly unsteady hands on a cloth. ‘Are you going alone?’
Jack snorted. ‘What do you mean by that? This isn’t a holiday, Rachel.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘So when did you decide this? I didn’t even know you’d been in touch with your parents.’
He hadn’t been—until this afternoon. But Rachel didn’t need to know that.
‘It was a snap decision,’ he said, pushing a restless hand through his hair. ‘I’ve been feeling a bit—below par, as you know. It will give me a chance to—to take stock.’
‘But a month!’ Rachel couldn’t get past that reality. ‘What about the business? Don’t you have responsibilities, commitments?’
‘Hey, thanks for your concern.’ Jack was stung by the fact that her first thought had been for the company. ‘It’ll survive. It always has.’
Rachel looked discomforted. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,’ she muttered. ‘Of course I’m concerned about you.’ She hesitated. ‘I—I’d be concerned about anybody who felt they needed a month’s time out from their normal routine. I just don’t understand why you’re doing this. Is it something to do with what happened between—between us? Is this your way of telling me you want a divorce, after all?’
‘No!’ At least Jack could be honest about that. ‘I—it’s got nothing to do with our situation. But it will do us both good to have a breathing space. And Mum and Dad have invited us there dozens of times, but we’ve always cried off.’
‘Invited us?’
‘Me, then,’ agreed Jack, acknowledging that the one time Rachel had accompanied him on a visit to Ireland it had not been a success. They’d already been occupying separate rooms, and Jude and Maggie Riordan had definitely not approved of their son spending his nights sleeping in an armchair instead of sharing the old-fashioned four-poster with his wife. ‘They miss seeing the family.’
‘I suppose.’
Rachel accepted that that was true. Since Jack’s parents had moved back to County Wexford, when his father had retired, they did miss their children and grandchildren. But the pretty whitewashed cottage they’d bought overlooking Lough Ryan always welcomed visitors, and Jack, being the eldest, was the favourite son.
‘Anyway, George is going to take temporary control of the company,’ Jack continued, as Rachel fretted over what his parents might say about her.
She was the only daughter-in-law who hadn’t given them any grandchildren, and they probably didn’t understand why she’d stopped sleeping with their son. What if he told them about Karen? What if he’d been lying and he was the father of Karen’s baby? She could well imagine the Riordans being somewhat ambivalent about the outcome.
‘Are you interested in any of this?’
Rachel realised suddenly that while she’d been staring blindly into space Jack had continued talking, and her cheeks deepened with embarrassed colour. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled awkwardly. ‘I was just thinking.’ She ran her tongue over her dry lips, ‘When are you planning on leaving?’
‘At the end of the week.’ Jack was terse. ‘I can’t go before then because I’ve promised to bring George up to speed. If he has any problems he can always reach me anyway. I’ll have my laptop with me, and it’s easy enough to keep in touch.’
Rachel lifted her shoulders. ‘You sound as if you’ve got it all planned out.’
Jack shrugged. ‘Pretty much.’
‘So how long have you been thinking about it?’
Jack grimaced. If she only knew! But all he said was, ‘I haven’t spent any time thinking about it. Like I said, it was a snap decision. And it’s not as if you’ll miss me while I’m away.’
Rachel stared at him. ‘What do you want me to say, Jack?’
‘Nothing.’ Jack hurriedly backtracked from another confrontation. He half turned away. ‘I just thought I ought to let you know what I’m doing.’
Rachel hesitated. ‘What about Karen?’
‘Karen!’ Jack blinked at her. ‘This has nothing to do with Karen.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ Now she’d started, Rachel felt compelled to pursue it. ‘Are you sure you’re not just running away from a difficult situation?’
‘God!’ Jack gasped. ‘Is that what you really think?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rachel didn’t honestly know what she thought, but she couldn’t believe this decision to take a month’s sabbatical was motivated by overwork and nothing else. ‘It just seems too—too convenient, somehow.’
‘Convenient!’ Jack would have liked to tell her exactly how inconvenient his heart condition was. ‘Do you really believe I’d let that—woman dictate my actions?’ He scoffed. ‘Think again, Rachel.’
‘Well, all right. But what do you think she’ll do when she finds you’ve left the country?’
‘Left the country?’ he echoed harshly. ‘You make it sound as if I’m running out on her, or something. I don’t care what she does, Rachel. But it seems obvious to me that you do. That even after everything I’ve said you still believe the kid she’s carrying is mine.’
Rachel caught her breath. ‘So she is having a baby?’
God! Jack closed his eyes for a moment, fighting for control. ‘It would seem so,’ he muttered at last. ‘But, at the risk of becoming boring, it’s not mine!’
‘How do you know that?
’
‘What?’ Jack’s eyes were cold now. ‘Well, duh—I think I’d remember if I’d slept with her.’
‘No, I meant why are you so certain that she’s not lying? How do you know she’s not making it up?’
Jack wiped the back of his hand across his sweating brow. ‘She sent me the result of a pregnancy test she’d taken,’ he admitted wearily, deciding there was no point in holding back. ‘Okay?’
‘No, it’s not okay.’ Rachel was incensed by his attitude. ‘When did she sent you this—this report?’
‘A couple of days ago, I guess. Does it matter?’
‘It matters to me if she’s sending my husband information about a situation he denies having any responsibility for,’ retorted Rachel hotly. ‘What did you do with it?’
Jack sighed. ‘I shredded it.’ He paused. ‘And forgive me if I find your indignation on my behalf rather hard to stomach. Until a few weeks ago you’d virtually forgotten you had a husband.’
‘I’ve never forgotten,’ protested Rachel, the suspicion that what had happened between them did form a large part of Jack’s desire to get away making her step nervously towards him. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’ She put out a hand and touched his bare arm where the sleeve of his shirt had been turned back to his elbow. ‘I wouldn’t like you to—to forget it.’
‘While I’m in Ireland, you mean?’ Despite the fact that the brush of those sensuous fingers was causing all the blood in his veins to rush to his groin, Jack refused to let her have the upper hand. ‘What are you afraid of, Rachel? That I’ll find some pretty Irish colleen and slake my animal lusts with her?’
‘Don’t be crude!’
Rachel would have withdrawn her hand at once, but now Jack captured her wrist and prevented her from moving away. ‘What’s the matter?’ he mocked, his green eyes narrowed between their screen of long black lashes. ‘Did I prick a nerve?’
‘No!’
‘No?’ He brought her wrist to his lips, his tongue caressing the fine tracery of veins on the inner side of her arm. ‘You’re a terrible liar, Rachel.’
‘Unlike you,’ she retorted, snatching her wrist away. ‘I don’t know why I believe a word you say.’
Jack arched a satirical brow. ‘So,’ he murmured, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘will you miss me?’
‘Why should I?’ she demanded. ‘Like you said, it’s a long time since you behaved like a husband.’
Jack growled. ‘I believe what I said was that you’d forgotten you had a husband,’ he reminded her harshly, once again aware of his rising pulse-rate. ‘But if you want to resume normal sexual relations, we can talk about it when I get back.’
Rachel’s jaw dropped. ‘You are so full of—’
‘Yeah, I know what I’m full of.’
‘I was going to say yourself,’ Rachel corrected him tremulously. ‘You really believe the world revolves around Jack Riordan and no one else.’
‘That’s me.’ Jack knew he couldn’t allow himself to get involved in some explosive confrontation, and he turned towards the door again. ‘Will I see you at supper?’
Rachel came after him. ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ she exclaimed. ‘You come here and tell me you’re leaving for Ireland at the end of the week, and then complicate matters by informing me that the woman who apparently thinks she has some claim on you is sending you medical reports about a baby you say you know nothing about—’
‘I don’t.’
‘Well—’ Rachel strove for a reason to keep him there. ‘What am I supposed to do if she comes looking for you?’
‘She won’t.’
‘How can you be sure?’
Jack groaned. This was getting far too heavy, far too emotional. ‘I’ll speak to her before I leave. I’ll tell her what I’m doing—’
‘Don’t you dare!’ The words rushed out before she could stop them. ‘Don’t you dare go near that woman, Jack, or—or I’ll never speak to you again.’
The vulnerability of what she was saying caused Jack to hesitate. He knew this wasn’t the place—and definitely not the time—for him to consider what he was thinking, but he couldn’t help it. He knew it was insane, he knew he would most probably regret it, but she ignited a need in him that was virtually impossible to resist.
‘You are one crazy woman,’ he muttered, dropping his jacket on the floor and sliding his fingers into her hair. Then, backing her up against the bench where she stored all her painting equipment, he bent his head towards her, ignoring the warnings he’d been given and falling headlong into the sensual hunger of her kiss.
Her lips opened beneath his and he didn’t hesitate before pushing his tongue into her mouth. Her hands came up to cup his face, stroking the evening roughness of his jawline before curling possessively into the longer hair at his nape.
She didn’t stop him when he thrust his thigh between her legs, didn’t object when he slipped his hands beneath the thin chiffon of her camisole top. She wasn’t wearing a bra for working, and her breasts were warm and deliciously aroused against his hot palms. He pushed the camisole up and exposed them to his burning gaze, before lowering his head still further and taking one swollen nipple into his mouth.
His tongue circled it, caressed it, suckled on it until Rachel felt a gushing wetness between her legs. Dear God, nobody could make her feel like Jack made her feel. And although common sense warred with the desire to give in to him, sensibility and reason were fighting a losing battle.
The intense need he was generating made her want to slip out of her shorts, tear off her panties, and bare herself for him. Already she could feel his erection straining against his zipper, and the idea of making love here, in her studio, where anyone might see them, was both daring and shamefully exciting.
His hands had already slipped into her waistband, long fingers curving possessively over her bottom, giving her untold pleasure, when they were interrupted. The sound of someone clearing their throat behind them was like suddenly being plunged into a cold bath. Jack swore, but immediately pulled her camisole into place and moved away from her, pressing his stomach against the bench beside her as if he wasn’t yet prepared to expose himself to anyone else’s gaze.
‘I—er—I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs Riordan.’ It was Mrs Grady, as Rachel had already guessed, standing some way away but within speaking distance. ‘I’m afraid there’s a phone call for Mr Riordan. I told her you were busy, but—well, she insisted it was urgent. I’m sorry, but what could I—’
‘Did you say she?’
Rachel wasn’t interested in Mrs Grady’s apologies, and Jack knew an overwhelming sense of defeat. He was already fighting the dual demons of frustration and shortage of breath, but somehow he found the strength to turn and face them both.
‘I’ll take it, Mrs Grady,’ he said wearily, knowing exactly who it must be. He pushed himself away from the bench and straightened up. ‘In the den?’
But Rachel wasn’t prepared to make it that easy for him. ‘Who is it, Mrs Grady?’ she asked, even though Jack guessed she was as sure of the caller’s identity as he was.
‘It’s that Miss Johnson,’ replied the housekeeper apologetically, as Jack shook his head and strode somewhat unsteadily towards the house. ‘I don’t know what she’s doing, calling here. If it’s something to do with business she should confine herself to office hours.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I HAVE TO go up to London on Tuesday. Why don’t you come with me?’
Lucy issued the invitation on Monday morning, a week after Jack had left for Ireland, when Rachel was feeling particularly low. She’d called at the house because Rachel had told Mrs Grady she wasn’t accepting any phone calls, except from her publisher, and Lucy hadn’t spoken to her since the morning after they’d gone out for dinner.
Naturally she asked how things were with Jack, and Rachel had to admit that he’d gone away for a couple of weeks. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, hadn’t wanted to talk about anything sin
ce Jack had left. But she should have known that Lucy would soon worm the truth out of her.
‘Why?’ she asked at once—a perfectly reasonable question—and Rachel was obliged to explain that he’d felt he’d needed a break.
‘He’s been working almost non-stop since Daddy died,’ she continued hurriedly. ‘And he has been looking really tired in recent weeks.’
‘So why haven’t you gone with him?’
‘I don’t have the time,’ said Rachel quickly, refusing to say he hadn’t asked her. ‘Besides, he’s staying with his parents, and I’m not exactly their favourite daughter-in-law.’
‘Because you haven’t produced a baby every year?’ Lucy was contemptuous. ‘My God, it’s medieval! The Riordans are living in the past.’
‘Whatever.’
That was one subject Rachel wasn’t prepared to get into. She was still too raw from what she’d learned before Jack went away. However she tried to dismiss it, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Karen Johnson was pregnant, that she’d sent undisputed proof of her condition to Rachel’s husband. And if Jack wasn’t the baby’s father, who was?
It hadn’t helped that after the phone call that had interrupted them Jack had refused to tell her what Karen wanted. Of course Rachel’s attitude hadn’t helped either. She acknowledged that now. She’d been indignant, edgy, full of resentment at the way Jack had abandoned her to go and speak to the woman. That he hadn’t had much choice, that asking Mrs Grady to make some excuse would have been cowardly, had only occurred to her later. As it was, her reaction had soured the situation. Jack had again accused her of not trusting him, and instead of alleviating her fears he’d told her to believe what the hell she liked.
And that was how they’d left it. Jack had spent the days before his departure organising his affairs at the office, staying away from the house whenever possible, avoiding any opportunity for another argument. Rachel didn’t know if he’d seen Karen, if he’d told her what he was doing, but in any case she’d taken no chances and had refused to take any calls now he was gone.