by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
Once inside the comfortably shabby room she said, ‘I can’t drink coffee any more. For the past couple of weeks even the smell has made my stomach lurch.’
‘I’ll take it back to the kitchen.’ He left before she could protest. Hope hesitated, then walked across to the window, staring out at green lawns and formal borders.
‘Sit down,’ Keir commanded from behind her, ‘and pour.’
After a speaking glance—one he parried with raised brows and an unsparing smile—she obeyed, filling in the intimidating silence with a couple of banal comments about the house.
He accepted the cup she handed him and held it, long fingers relaxed, as she poured tea for herself and added milk. Her hands were not relaxed; she held the cup and saucer too tightly.
To cover the tell-tale clattering of china against china, she asked, ‘What can I do to help while I’m here?’ The words sounded foreign and very lame so she hurried on, ‘You might as well make the most of me. If you want me to…well, to give dinner parties or things, I can do that.’
His expression didn’t alter, and yet she got a sudden, unexpected intimation of extreme anger. Her gaze flew upwards, registered a mask-like face, disciplined to reveal no emotion as he drawled, ‘Can you?’
A primitive warning prickled through her. ‘I’m actually a good cook—’
‘So is Maria,’ he said negligently, ‘and I don’t do much entertaining here. But if you want to invite friends, do so.’
Rebuffed, she snapped, ‘Thank you—you’re very kind.’
Keir picked up his cup and drank, pale eyes veiled by black lashes while Hope wondered edgily what had caused the crackling tension of the past few moments.
‘I’m not kind,’ he said evenly; then, as though the remark meant nothing, he asked about her exploits since she’d last been in New Zealand
With spirited determination she followed his lead. ‘I’ve driven a bulldozer in an opencast mine and organised a reunion for a family of five hundred. And I was kitchenmaid and part-time cook and general skivvy in a very upmarket bed-and-breakfast establishment on the border between England and Scotland.’
Keir’s angular face relaxed into amusement. She added dulcetly, ‘Also, I can do a brilliant manicure. Any time you want inch-long acrylic nails with fake diamonds embedded in them, you just let me know.’
‘A versatile woman,’ he drawled. ‘You’d be extremely useful on the farm—a wife who can drive a bulldozer is what every landowner wants. Not to mention your talent with fingernails.’ Did he anticipate some sort of shared life after the baby was born? No, of course not.
Because her heart leapt at that prospect, she responded curtly, ‘I won’t be here then.’ She paused, then added, ‘I’ll have to find something to do—something I can make a career of.’
‘Such as?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ she said with determination, ‘but I’m going to find out. Writing, perhaps. I’m good at travel writing—I’ve had quite a few articles accepted. I won’t be able to travel with the baby, but I’ve drifted long enough, and I need to be a good role model for him or her.’
Keir’s brows lifted. ‘If you find life here a little slow you could redecorate the homestead.’
Startled, Hope looked up. ‘I don’t know anything about decorating.’
‘It’s a project like any other. You wear your clothes with flair and an innate skill for colour and style—I don’t think you’d have any problems.’ His glinting glance drifted from the subtle golds and ambers of her shirt to the darker trousers that hid her long legs, stirring her hormones into swift, passionate urgency. ‘And from what you’ve just told me you can turn your hand to anything. Redecorating a house shouldn’t be any harder than organising a family reunion or selling a travel article.’ He delivered the challenge with the smooth efficiency of a knife slicing through silk.
‘Keir, this is ridiculous—you’d need to be an expert to do justice to this place.’
‘You can hire the expertise,’ he said lazily. ‘I’ve been putting it off because my grandfather loved the house the way it is, and it’s comfortable. However, it was last redecorated in the days when servants did the work, and a complete revamp of the kitchen and laundry area would make things much easier for Maria.’
Hope put her cup and saucer down with a small crash. ‘Does she want the place altered?’
‘She started working for my grandfather the day she left school, and she’s contented enough, but she’s not getting any younger. If you feel like doing it I’d be grateful.’ He got to his feet. ‘You don’t have to make up your mind now, but I know you—if you’re stuck here with nothing to do you’ll go stir-crazy. Good, you’ve finished your tea. I have some papers in my office that you need to look at.’
In the office he handed her a document from the top of a small pile.
Making sure she didn’t touch his fingers, Hope stared at the writing. ‘It didn’t take you long to set this up,’ she said gruffly.
‘I keep a solicitor on retainer,’ he told her impersonally. ‘Read it carefully and if there’s anything you dislike let me know. I’ve organised for you to see an independent solicitor who’ll look after your interests.’
Frowning, an odd chill pooling through her, she read the draft copy of the agreement.
Keir would pay all expenses for the child or children of their union until such time as it or they were in gainful employment. Further, he’d buy Hope a house, and pay her a substantial amount annually until she was able to earn her own living. The figure danced crazily in front of Hope’s astonished eyes. Huskily she said, ‘That’s far too much.’
‘We can negotiate,’ he said on an uncompromising note that made a mockery of his suggestion, ‘but you are the mother of my child. Any income I settle on you is rightfully yours.’
‘I feel as though you’re buying me off,’ she said tightly.
His brows rose. With cool, forbidding arrogance he said, ‘If you were the sort of woman I could buy off you wouldn’t be here, and I’d be demanding DNA tests.’
When the words settled down, she read that unless a court ruled otherwise they’d share custody of any child or children of their union.
‘Children?’ she asked.
He met her eyes with a bland look. ‘Lawyers always want everything dotted and crossed.’
She cleared her throat. ‘It looks pretty straightforward.’ The document dropped with a slithering rustle onto the polished wooden surface of the desk.
Keir said, ‘Good. Feel free to amend it. Would you like to go out to dinner tonight? I know an excellent restaurant not too far away, so unless you’re too tired we could go there.’
She flicked him a doubtful glance. Remote, harsh, his face was shuttered against her. The excuse he’d offered hovered on her lips, but pride forbade her to take the easy way out. The prospect of spending an evening in the house facing his armour of well-polished politeness was not inspiring, especially as she was so aware of him her body was sizzling. And the alternative, retiring to a lonely bed, dismayed her. ‘I’m not tired now,’ she told him, and to her surprise it was true.
Broad shoulders moved slightly. ‘Our child will be less of a shock to both the media and our friends if we’re seen out together occasionally before it arrives.’
She wasn’t the only one with pride; Keir was going to a lot of trouble to dampen down any publicity that came their way. Not surprising—what man would want the world to know that he’d been caught in the oldest trap of all, the baby trap?
‘Then we’ll go out to dinner,’ she said, with a touch of arrogance all her own.
Chapter Ten
‘MARIA, if I don’t do something I’ll go stark, staring crazy!’ Hope glared belligerently at the housekeeper, who had just snatched the business end of the vacuum cleaner away from her. ‘I’ve been here a whole month, pampered and waited on and barely allowed to move without someone checking on me, but I’m fine now. In fact, I’m just about bursting out of my skin w
ith energy.’
Although Maria grinned sympathetically, she kept a firm hold of the vacuum cleaner as she switched it off. ‘Keir told me to make sure you didn’t overdo things, and around here we’re in the habit of doing what Keir says.’ With her free hand she made shooing motions at Hope. ‘Go and sit in the conservatory; the mail’s here, so you can read the paper and I’ll bring you some tea. Once Keir comes home and gives you the OK you can start droving cattle for all I care.’
‘Don’t try and convince me you’re afraid of him,’ Hope grumbled, giving way.
Maria laughed. ‘Of course I’m not, but Keir never does anything without a good reason. If he says you’re not to do anything, he means it.’
He’d been in Europe a fortnight—with Aline—and Hope had missed him so much she sometimes thought she could taste it. Resigned, she turned towards the kitchen. ‘All right, but I’ll make the tea. Do you want a cup?’
‘No, thanks, not just now.’
Once Hope had read the newspaper and drunk the tea, she sat back in the big chair and looked out across the garden, green and colourful under the golden swathe of the sun.
Spring was burgeoning with daffodils and the pretty Englishness of annuals; a magnolia held huge pink cups up to the sky, each one splotched with crimson at the base. Keir was due back in three days, and she didn’t know how she was going to cope. It had been bad enough before, when she’d been so tired, but now that her energy had poured back it was going to be sheer hell ignoring his powerful male magnetism.
And it was entirely her fault; she’d set the boundaries for their relationship, and he’d followed her lead. Since he’d known about the baby he’d treated her with exquisite, bloodless courtesy. They were very careful to be polite to each other, to discuss things like civilised people and keep their emotions firmly leashed.
Even when she’d been exhausted she’d wanted him with a primal passion. Now, she thought despairingly, her hands longed for the feel of black, thick, wavy hair, and she hungered to kiss him, to shiver at his deep voice, to climax to the driving, potent thrust of his body as he took her into that rapturous region that was theirs alone.
When it came to sex he understood her secret, unspoken needs and desires, and fulfilled her completely with his untamed male energy.
It would be perilously easy to become addicted. A shiver crawled across her skin; for the sake of her soul she had to resist.
‘I wish life was simpler,’ she muttered beneath her breath, unconsciously touching her waist where the child they’d made lay nested.
The afternoon dragged; Hope ate an early dinner, took a long luxurious bath, and got into bed with a favourite book.
When she sensed another presence she had to drag herself out of a dream. Lifting weighted eyelids, she mumbled, ‘Keir?’
‘Yes, it’s Keir.’
His deep, slightly slurred voice summoned a swift upwelling of emotion. ‘Oh,’ she said, smiling into his dark features, ‘you’re home. Good.’
His face tightened. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes,’ she said drowsily, responding to his presence with involuntary delight. ‘I missed you. How did it go?’
He laughed beneath his breath. ‘Well enough, but I missed you, too.’
Hope held out her hand, and after a moment he took it and sat down on the side of the bed. His long fingers smoothed across hers, sending her pulses soaring. ‘Maria says you’ve been driving her crazy this last week.’
It was so sweet to know he was back, to feel the strong warm clasp of his hand around hers. ‘I’ve stopped languishing like a lily,’ Hope said, smiling sleepily at him. ‘I feel so good I just might redecorate the whole house while you’re not looking. But I’ll settle for you calling Maria off. Every time I take a breath deeper than normal she’s there, terrified I’m going to exhaust myself.’
‘I told her to make sure you didn’t overdo things.’ But his voice was abstracted, as though he was thinking of something else.
Hope’s sideways glance followed his to their linked hands, dark skin against fine-grained ivory, blunt male power against delicate female strength. His face intent and absorbed, Keir stroked across her palm, then looped her wrist, his fingertips resting against the primitive drumbeat of her pulse. Hope’s breath came rapidly between her lips; a mixture of fire and honey overwhelmed her, its source Keir’s potent touch, his presence, the elusive, provocative body scent that was his alone.
He was aroused, she realised with abrupt urgency, and so was she, her body clamorous and seeking. He lifted her hand and kissed it, his mouth lingering on the blue veins at her wrist before moving to her palm. Sensation fired her nerves, ran like lightning through her, white-hot, consuming her with its forbidden lure.
‘Keir…’ she sighed, holding out her other hand in a gesture he couldn’t mistake.
He paused before saying deeply, ‘Are you sure?’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything,’ she said with stark honesty, accepting at last that she loved this man—had always loved him. And it wasn’t going to go away.
If all he had to give her was his passion then she’d accept that, not ask for more.
He was still looking at her hand, his thick, straight black lashes like fans against his strong cheekbones. Her heart swelled; when he glanced up suddenly her breath stopped in her throat as she met the full blast of his desire, the molten hunger he didn’t try to hide.
‘I spent most of the time away thinking of you,’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘Longing for you, wanting you, wondering how you were. Talking to you on the telephone every night only fed my dreams.’
‘But now you’re home,’ she said, her voice creamy with anticipation.
He kissed her then, and when that long draining kiss was over said on her lips, ‘I love the way you say my name.’
‘Keir,’ she whispered, giving him the surrender he wanted.
And as they kissed again she thought dazedly that she wanted this, too, this long, bitterly fought surrender to love.
He made love to her with heart-shaking tenderness, with a passion that would echo through her for ever. Although as intense as their previous lovemakings, instead of the elemental urgency that had driven them before this time was marked by a slow, consuming sweetness.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he said unsteadily when he’d finished stripping her nightshirt from her. ‘Honey skin, and honey-coloured hair, and eyes of rich, dark amber. When we make love it’s like sinking into sweetness and fire and lightning…’
He spread her hair out on the pillow, then drew heavy tresses across her throat and kissed her through it.
‘And skin like silk,’ he said, cupping a breast that was heavy and charged with need. ‘Smooth and fine and hot.’
He explored her body with hands and lips until she was panting with need, desperate for him. She tried her own particular punishment for that, and although his face grew stark and compelling she couldn’t break his control. Still he caressed her with an exquisite gentleness that shuddered through her.
‘Now,’ she pleaded at last, so acutely conscious of him that she thought she would carry his image engraved on her brain for all time—sleek, tanned skin gleaming in the light, the long swell of muscle and the play of hair across his chest, down his flanks, and above it all the stark impression of force and power.
‘Yes, now,’ he said in his throat, and eased into her, rocking slowly, tormenting her with his single-minded restraint.
She made a soft, moaning noise in the back of her throat and rose to meet him, to claim him, to make him part of her.
But although he accepted that wordless challenge he refused to unleash his passion, taking her as though she was a virgin and for them both this was the first time. Lost in tenderness, she crested almost immediately, calling out wordlessly in the quiet old-fashioned room as the sweetness turned to a rage of surrender, followed immediately by the primitive fever of ecstasy. He came with her, yet even in his
climax his passion was curbed, transmuted into gentleness.
Afterwards he held her until she slept, but when she woke late the next morning he’d been called away to Auckland, and she was left to roam the house with a heavy feeling of foreboding.
Late in the morning she found out what that knot in her stomach portended. She was walking through the rose garden some previous Carmichael had constructed, imagining the transformation summer would make to these ruthlessly pruned bushes, when a movement from the verandah caught her eye.
Aline, she thought, watching the tall, slender woman walk gracefully and purposefully towards her. ‘Hello,’ she said with a smile she had to work really hard on.
Aline ignored it, and said with a curled lip, ‘So you tried to trap Keir by getting pregnant. How trite and silly and common of you. I hope you don’t think he’ll marry you. He’s a very responsible man, but he’s not an idiot.’
‘My relationship with Keir is none of your business,’ Hope returned shortly, unable to respond as vigorously as she wanted to because something about the other woman’s face revealed a kind of sick desolation.
‘Why not? We are—were—lovers.’
Even as Hope tried to deflect the impact of those curt words, she recognised the truth in the other woman’s eyes. Pain almost felled her, slamming into her with massive force. She wondered dimly if she was going to faint, but an inner strength born of pride kept her upright.
‘And we will be again, when he’s done his duty by you,’ Aline said calmly. ‘I can give him much more than you ever will.’
Oddly enough, the other woman’s voice and words, her attitude, eased something deep inside Hope. With relief, she accepted at last that Aline didn’t love Keir—would never love him.
‘Why are you so determined to marry him when you’re not in love with him?’ Hope asked, her voice oddly brisk and flat. ‘Don’t you think he deserves to be loved as you loved your husband?’
Aline’s beautiful face froze. ‘Leave my husband out of this,’ she spat.