‘Wow!’ said Cameron softly, minutes later, when he had recovered enough to catch his breath.
She was still too dazed to speak. They lay tangled in each other’s arms while their hearts gradually steadied to something approaching their normal rhythm, and Alessandra laid her head across his chest, listening to the thundering gradually become muted.
Until, eventually, the reality of what they’d done began to creep insistently into her subconscious, although, in her state of post-coital bliss, she drowsily found that it really didn’t seem that important.
She must have slept, because, when she opened her eyes, it was to find her head still pillowed on Cameron’s chest, which was rising up and down with the slow, steady movements of sleep. Possessively she slowly coiled her finger in a whorl of the dark hair which arrowed down his flat stomach and felt him stir with pleasure. ‘You do realise what we’ve just done?’ she asked him sleepily, the lethargy leaving her abruptly as the full import suddenly hit her.
There was lazy amusement in his voice as he answered. ‘I’ve got a pretty good idea.’ He abstractedly stroked her hair which lay fanned across his chest, letting the dark, silky tendrils slide through his fingers like sand.
Alessandra suddenly felt very cold. ‘No, I’m serious. You might have made me pregnant, Cameron!’
‘I know.’
She sat up to look at him, her hair falling all over her naked shoulders. ‘Don’t you even care?’ she demanded in disbelief.
‘Of course I care.’ He opened his eyes and looked at her, but not before she had surprised some unfamiliar emotion there, swiftly gone before she could analyse it. ‘How likely is it?’
She shook her head distractedly. ‘Oh, lord—I just don’t know! They say it only takes the once. Cameron! For heaven’s sake—don’t go to sleep on me!’
He opened his eyes again reluctantly. ‘Why not?’ He yawned hugely, slowly stretching his arms above his head with the indolent grace of a jungle cat. ‘It’s instinctive to want to sleep after—’
‘You’ve spilt your seed, as you so delightfully put it?’ she cut in caustically, and he shrugged his broad, bare shoulders, unable to repress the careless grin which had driven every last bit of fatigue from his face.
‘Well, I have to admit—I did find it pretty delightful, yes. Didn’t you?’ he teased.
Alessandra frowned. He just didn’t seem to realise the possible significance of what had just occurred. ‘The fact that we weren’t using any form of protection, you mean?’
‘Mmm. I’ve never done it like that before—with an element of risk—ouch!’ He caught the small clenched fist which was flying towards his shoulder and planted a tender kiss on it. ‘Don’t hit me, sweetheart! What I’m trying to say is that it satisfies a very basic urge in me that I never knew I had before.’
‘And you can wipe that grin off your face!’ she told him crossly, but then he drew her closer and all the anger drained out of her.
‘Relax,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘It isn’t in the middle of your cycle, is it?’
‘No,’ she answered slowly.
He creased his brow as he calculated. ‘In fact—it’s pretty near the beginning?’
‘Yes,’ she said, in a small voice.
‘So the odds are stacked against it happening, aren’t they?’
‘I suppose so.’ She absent-mindedly rubbed her finger against the stubbled shadow on his chin as he gazed unseeingly at the ceiling.
But the fear hovered at the back of her mind like a dark cloud, and threatened to overshadow one of their few precious evenings together. So she forced herself not to think about it any more. ‘What do you want to do tonight?’ she whispered.
He refocused his eyes and gave a lazy, provocative smile. ‘Why don’t we talk about it when we’ve had some champagne?’ he asked casually, reaching for his discarded trousers. ‘I feel in the mood for celebration.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALESSANDRA opened her eyes to see a golden dragon lavishly embroidered on a scarlet satin background, and sat up in horror as she stared at the sumptuous hangings which surrounded Cameron’s four-poster bed.
Still slightly disorientated, she looked around at the rumpled, creased sheets, and the indentation on the pillow next to her where her husband had lain for some—but most definitely not all—of the night!
And, as if her thoughts had magically conjured him up, she looked up to see Cameron’s tall, rangy figure leaning indolently against the wall as he watched her closely. His hair was damp and ruffled from the shower, and he was wearing a robe of the softest black towelling, which drew attention to the powerful thrust of his thighs, so that he resembled every woman’s fantasy figure. As usual.
Her frightened gaze met his coolly questioning eyes, but he merely lifted his eyebrows and said casually, ‘Breakfast?’
She nodded automatically. Food was the last thing on her mind, but, with Cameron gone, it would give her the opportunity to pull herself together. ‘Please.’
‘Coming right up,’ he said drily, and left the bedroom.
She groaned out loud as she flopped back against the pillows and remembered everything.
Everything.
What had Cameron said to her last night after the incident on the sofa? About the chances of her becoming pregnant? He had said that the odds were stacked against it. Oh, heavens!
She closed her eyes but even that failed to shift the sensual images as memories danced triumphantly in her mind. Well, the odds had almost certainly been lessened by a considerable margin over the course of the evening and the night which had followed.
How could I have done? she asked herself in disbelief. Knowing the risks, how could I have participated so often and so willingly?
Perhaps it had been the champagne—she’d certainly drunk half a bottle of the stuff on an empty stomach. But no. She couldn’t really blame the champagne. There were two people who were responsible and two alone.
Herself.
And Cameron.
It had been him, damn him! Him! She’d never seen him quite so out of control, not even on that night when he’d confronted her over the dress which the company had bought. Because last night there had been a lot more than mere lust or hunger about the way he’d acted. Something about the way he’d behaved that she found profoundly disturbing. Basic and primeval and possessive and demanding. As well as being the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.
She crept out of bed to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and went into the shower. She washed her hair with vicious energy as she resolutely told herself that Cameron was right—that it was near the beginning of her cycle, and the chances of her being pregnant were remote. Of course they were!
She pulled on the cherry-red towelling wrap which hung on the back of the door and went back to the bedroom, where there was still no sign of Cameron.
She had just finished blow-drying her hair when he walked in, his hair still slightly damp, that wretched robe flapping open as he carried in an enormously loaded tray which he deposited on the wide window shelf.
He looks positively indecent, she thought lustfully as he came over to her, bent down and kissed her. She could smell toothpaste and soap and shampoo and that light lime-tinged fragrance which was all his own.
‘Come and have some breakfast,’ he said softly, his eyes glinting as he pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m absolutely starving, aren’t you?’
‘A bit,’ she said noncommittally, but she went, unresisting, and let him sit her down and pour her a large cup of freshly brewed coffee which she had to admit did smell enticing. There were croissants and crusty bread spread out on the linen-covered tray, with black-cherry jam and a whole dish of plump strawberries.
‘My favourite,’ she commented as he popped one of the juicy red berries into her mouth.
‘I know.’
They shared a look which spoke volumes.
‘Look...’ he said, slightly awkwardly.
‘N
o, don’t.’ She shook her head. ‘You were right. It probably won’t happen.’ Without realising that she was doing it, her hand tensed over the flat line of her belly.
‘No.’ He nodded his agreement, then watched the movement of her hand like a man hypnotised until her questioning stare seemed to break him out of the spell and bring him back to the present with an effort. ‘What would you like to do today?’ he asked.
‘What about the dinner?’ she queried. Of all the nights for it to happen! The annual dinner-dance he always held for his England-based staff was a tradition which his grandfather had started many years ago. Quite frankly, she could have done without it on this particular weekend, but it would be the first time she had attended and she wanted to make a good impression.
She knew that it had always been held here in his house in previous years, but when she had arrived yesterday she hadn’t seen any preparations in progress to indicate that two hundred people would be besieging the place! So she had naturally assumed that Cameron had hired a large function room at a nearby hotel or conference centre.
He glanced at his watch. ‘In about an hour’s time, the caterers and florists will be descending in their droves,’ he said with a mock grimace.
Maybe she should offer to help; that was what a proper wife would do, wasn’t it? ‘Is there anything I can do?’
He smiled. ‘Yes. You can keep your husband entertained—it’ ll be absolute torture while they’re setting up. You won’t want to stay here, and neither will I. Which is why I wanted to know how you’d like to spend your day.’
She spread a croissant with jam and bit into it. ‘Surprise me,’ she told him with a lazy smile.
He did.
He gave Babette the day off and drove the car himself—not, thankfully, the big, showy limousine but the throaty, midnight-blue Porsche which Alessandra had always preferred.
It was the kind of carefree day they hadn’t had together in a long time. Too long, she thought fleetingly.
He took her ice-skating, which she’d never done before, and she couldn’t remember laughing so much in her life. After falling on her bottom for the sixth time, he took pity on her and took her hand, skating round the rink with ease while Alessandra clung onto him for dear life.
‘Stop!’ she yelled at him.
‘No,’ he answered with a ruthless grin.
‘Please, Cameron!’ She tried to sound deadly serious, but she was giggling too much.
He shook his head unrelentingly. ‘Not until you can skate on your own. Watch me. See the way my feet move.’
In the end she accomplished it and, perversely, was then reluctant to leave the ice.
‘Just one more circuit,’ she told him.
He smiled at her new-found enthusiasm. ‘Okay. One more. And then I want some lunch.’
He fed her hot dogs and potato crisps and strawberry milkshake, and they spent the afternoon munching popcorn in the cinema, watching a romantic film during which Alessandra had to keep swallowing sentimental lumps in her throat. Just what was it with her and films lately? she wondered.
Then, just before five, he parked in the city centre and took her firmly by the arm.
‘Now where?’
‘Time to go shopping.’
‘What for?’ she asked him in surprise.
‘You need a dress for tonight.’
‘But I’ve brought a dress with me,’ she explained patiently.
‘Which one?’
‘The lemon silk. You know,’ she prompted as she saw him frown. ‘Long, with fitted sleeves and almost backless.’
‘Don’t like it,’ he said decisively, then relented when he saw her disbelieving stare. To her certain knowledge he had liked it very much!
‘Okay, I do like it—you know I do. But for pity’s sake, Alessandra—if I can’t even buy my wife a dress...’
She remembered the fuss he’d made out of Andrew buying her the little black number and how angry she’d been at Babette’s choice of uniform, and so decided to play the diplomat. She held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘Okay! Okay! You’ve convinced me!’
He left her alone in the shop while she made a selection of five gowns which she told him he could choose from. And she was secretly delighted when his choice matched her own. He picked out the virginal white sheath of satin, which fell in pleated folds to just above her ankles and was cut in a flatteringly simple, classic style.
She saw something very raw and proprietorial in the hungry gaze which raked over her as she paraded in front of him in true catwalk tradition. Saw, too, the envious look which the sales assistant threw her as Cameron ordered the matching hair clasp, shoes and lingerie.
‘You’re making me feel like a kept woman,’ she whispered softly into his ear as he handed over his credit card to pay for the purchases.
He stared at her intently, and something in that close scrutiny made her skin chill uneasily. ‘And would that be so very dreadful?’ he queried.
Alessandra gave a start, sensing something deeper behind his question. ‘I—don’t know.’ She stumbled slightly. ‘I can’t imagine it, somehow. Probably. I’ve never really given it any thought, but I think I value my independence too much.’
‘I know,’ he agreed, but his tone was oddly abrupt as he took the wrapped packages from the sales assistant and held the shop door open for Alessandra.
They drove home with a violin concerto playing loudly on the car’s stereo system, which wiped out the need for conversation, for which Alessandra was glad. And, when they arrived back in Prestbury, the house was scarcely recognisable. The whole building was lit up like a Christmas tree, and the light blazing from the uncurtained windows emphasised the gracious proportions of Cameron’s home.
White fairy lights were strewn in the branches of the avenue of trees which lined the drive, and silver ribbons were tied carelessly around the slender trunks of the two bay trees which stood in silver-painted pots on either side of the oak front door.
Alessandra made a small sound of pleasure. ‘Oh, Cameron—it’s beautiful!’ she exclaimed.
He smiled at her with understanding. ‘I know. I know. Now do you see why I don’t want to sell it?’ he added.
‘Yes,’ she replied gently, reaching up to touch the side of his face as she realised just how strong and how important to him his roots were. ‘I do.’
He took her hand and led her inside. The silver and white colour scheme was carried on right through the downstairs of the house, where balloons and ribbons hung from the walls and ceilings. Great vases of fragrant white roses were dotted everywhere, and Alessandra whispered mischievously into Cameron’s ear, ‘And was my dress chosen to make me blend into your colour scheme?’
He gave her a slow, sardonic smile which made her heart race. ‘You?’ he murmured. ‘Blend in? I don’t think so, somehow.’
The party was due to begin at eight and at six they went up together to change. Alessandra looked at Cameron across the bedroom as he began to unbutton his shirt, and gulped nervously as she kicked her shoes off.
He interpreted the look immediately. ‘There’s no need to look so damned combatant,’ he said drily. ‘I’m not about to start leaping on you again—’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘Sure you were. And, just to allay your worst fears, my darling—when I do start leaping on you, there won’t be any more nights like last night I’ll protect you from the dreadful fate of becoming pregnant.’ His eyes glittered as he patted the back pocket of his jeans. ‘While you were choosing your dress I made sure of that.’
Alessandra swallowed. ‘There’s no need to make it sound like—’
‘Like what?’ he queried, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Like the horror written all over your face when you woke up this morning?
Alessandra shuddered. When he put it that way, he made her seem so cold and so unfeeling. ‘It wasn’t exactly horror—’ she began, but he shook his head.
‘Oh, I think it was,’ he said quietly. �
��I was standing watching you, remember?’
Suddenly she felt as though she was on the witness stand. ‘That was—’
‘Because you remembered what we’d done during the night? Because for once we let our hearts rule us, instead of our heads?’
But wasn’t that one of the things which had drawn him to her in the first place, and she to him? That they used logic and sense, where others might have been governed by passion? Why, then, was he now making it sound like a fault, and on her part? As though she were as cold and calculating as a machine, instead of a person he loved and respected?
A great gulf seemed to appear between them, growing wider by the second, and Alessandra glanced across at him uneasily. ‘I don’t want to have another row, Cameron.’
‘That’s good. Because neither do I.’ He smiled coolly. ‘At least we’re agreed on something.’ And, picking up a towel, he walked into the bathroom.
When he reappeared they both seemed determined to make an effort, so that by the time Alessandra was almost dressed and Cameron was in the process of sliding the zip up the white satin dress the earlier tension had dissolved, and he had her complete attention as he provided her with an amusing account of how one of the director’s wives had ended up in the swimming pool demonstrating underwater ballet the previous year!
‘You aren’t serious?’ Alessandra bit on her lip with laughter.
‘I am. And that was the mistake another guest made—of not believing that she could do underwater ballet. Apparently she’d been the junior British champion. And instead of telling everyone she actually jumped in and showed them! She’d put on a little weight since then, but she was very good. We all thoroughly enjoyed the performance, but unfortunately her husband didn’t share our enthusiasm.’
‘Was he mad?’ prompted Alessandra.
‘He was absolutely furious.’
‘But why? If she was good.’
Cameron smiled at the memory. ‘She stripped off down to her underwear first—then decided it was too restricting, and that it would be far better to go au naturel!’
Long-Distance Marriage Page 10