Читать книгу Mistresses: The Consequences Of Desire: Beach Bar Baby / Walk on the Wild Side / Claiming His Own - Heidi Rice - Страница 13

SEVEN

‘Ouch. Damn it!’ Coop yanked his hand out of the casing, and threw the wrench down on the deck. Blood seeped from the shallow gash at the base of his thumb, through the thick black smear of engine grease. He sucked on it, getting a mouthful of grit to go with the metallic taste of his own blood.

‘What’s all the cussing for?’ Sonny’s head peered out from the captain’s cabin.

‘That damn propeller just took a chunk out of my hand,’ he snarled. ‘Cussing’s required.’ He boosted himself onto the deck. Tying the rag he’d been using to clean off the drive shaft around the injury, he sent his friend an angry glare. ‘That lug nut won’t budge—probably because it’s been rusted on for thirty years.’ With his hand now pounding in unison with his head, after one too many drinks last night at The Rum Runner, he was not in the mood to be dicking around with Sonny’s ancient outboard motor.

Sonny tilted his head to one side, sending him a calm, searching look. ‘Someone sure got out of bed the wrong way again this morning.’

Coop ignored the jibe. So what if he hadn’t been on top form lately? Ever since a certain English girl had left him high and dry, her lush body and eager smile had got lodged in his frontal lobe and it had been interfering with his sleep patterns.

Going back to The Rum Runner last night for the first time since Ella had run out on him had been a mistake. Henry had started jerking his chain about ‘his pretty lady’, and he’d somehow ended up challenging the guy to a drinking contest. Staggering home at three a.m., and being violently ill in his bathroom had only added injury to the insult of too many tequila slammers and too many nights without enough sleep.

No wonder he wasn’t at his sunniest.

‘Isn’t it about time you got rid of this bucket?’ he said, letting out a little of his frustration on Sonny’s boat.

Sonny stroked the console with the affection most men reserved for a lover. ‘My Jezebel’s got plenty good years in her yet. And with Josie’s wedding to pay for, she’s going to have to make them count.’

Coop knotted the rag with his teeth, his temper kicking in. They both knew The Jezebel hadn’t seen a good year since Bill Clinton had been in the White House. And that he’d offered to bankroll Josie’s wedding a million times and Sonny had stubbornly refused to accept the money. But after a morning spent with a raging hangover trying to fix the unfixable when he should have been going over his business manager’s projections for the new franchise in Acapulco, he wasn’t in the mood to keep his reservations about Josie’s nuptials to himself any longer either.

‘What is Josie getting hitched for anyway? She’s only twenty and they’re both still in college. What are they going to live on?’

‘Love will find a way,’ Sonny replied with that proud paternal grin that had been rubbing Coop the wrong way for weeks. Hadn’t the old guy figured out yet he was shelling out a king’s ransom to kick-start a marriage that probably wouldn’t last out the year?

‘Will it?’ he asked, the edge in his voice going razor sharp.

Sonny nodded, the probing look sending prickles of unease up Coop’s spine and making his thumb throb. ‘You know, you’ve been mighty bitchy for months now. Wanna tell me what’s going on?’

Months? No way had it been months since his night with Ella. Had it? ‘This isn’t about me, Sonny,’ he said, struggling to deflect the conversation back where it needed to be. ‘This is about Josie doing something dumb and you not lifting a finger to stop her.’

‘Josie’s known her own mind since she was three years old,’ Sonny said without any heat. ‘Nothing I could say would stop her even if I wanted to.’

Coop opened his mouth to protest, but Sonny simply lifted up a silencing finger.

‘But I don’t want to stop them. Taylor’s a good kid and she loves him. And it’s not them I’m worried about.’ Sonny rested his heavy frame on the bench next to Coop, his steady gaze making the prickles on Coop’s spine feel as if he’d been rolling in poison ivy. ‘You’re the one hasn’t been right ever since the night you picked up that tourist girl in the Runner.’

‘What the...?’ Coop’s jaw went slack. How did Sonny know about Ella? The old guy was always butting into his personal life, because he was a romantic and he thought he had a right to. But he’d never spoken about Ella to anyone. Did Sonny have X-ray vision or something?

‘Josie says you seemed real taken with her the next morning. But she’d run off? Is that the thing? You miss her?’

Damn Josie—so she was his source.

‘It’s not what you think.’ Coop scowled, trying to cut the old guy off at the pass before this conversation got totally out of hand.

He didn’t miss Ella, and he wasn’t ‘taken with her’. Whatever the heck that meant. It was nothing like that. She’d just got under his skin, somehow. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He could wait it out. Give it a couple more weeks and surely the almost nightly dreams he had, about those bright blue eyes wide with enthusiasm, that sunny smile, that lush butt in the itsy-bitsy purple bikini...

He thrust his fingers through his hair, annoyed by the low-level heat humming in his crotch as the erotic memories spun gleefully back—and the weird knot under his breastbone twisted.

‘It was a one-night hook-up,’ he continued, trying to convince himself now as much as Sonny. ‘We hit it off. But only...you know.’

Just shoot me now.

He shrugged. He wasn’t about to get into a discussion about his sex life with Sonny. The old guy had given him chapter and verse as a teenager about respecting women, and he didn’t need that lecture again. One thing was certain, though: Josie was dead meat next time he saw her for putting him in this position. Whether she had a ten-grand wedding to attend in five weeks or not.

‘I don’t think Ella and I are going to be declaring any vows,’ he said, going on the defensive when Sonny gave him that look that always made him feel as if he had a case to answer.

He did respect women. He respected them a lot. Sonny just had a quaint, old-fashioned idea that sex always had to mean something. When sometimes all it meant was you needed to get laid.

‘She lives thousands of miles away, we only spent one night together and she wasn’t looking for anything more than I was. Plus she was the one who ran out on me.’

Sonny’s eyebrow winged up, and Coop knew he’d said too much.

‘I see. So you’re the boy that can have any woman he wants. And she’s the girl that didn’t want you? Is that what’s got you so upset?’

‘I’m not upset.’ Coop flexed his fist, his hand hurting like a son of a bitch. ‘And thanks a bunch for making me sound like an arrogant jackass.’

Sonny smiled, but didn’t deny it, and Coop felt the flicker of hurt. ‘You’re a good-looking boy with more money than you need and a charming way about you that draws women like bees to a honeypot. You’ve got a right to be arrogant, I guess.’

‘Thanks,’ Coop said wryly. He didn’t kid himself, Sonny hadn’t meant it as a compliment.

Money wasn’t something that floated Sonny’s boat; it was the one thing they still argued about. Because as far as Coop was concerned, money mattered, more than pretty much everything else. It made everything easier, oiled every cog, gave you options, and that all-important safety net that he’d lacked as a kid. He’d craved it for the first twenty years of his life. But now he had it, it meant more to him than just the luxuries, or the good times he could buy with it. It meant respect. Status. It showed people that he wasn’t the worthless little trailer-trash nobody he’d once been. But best of all it meant he didn’t have to rely on anyone but himself.

He liked Sonny, respected the guy more than any other guy he had ever known, but, the way he saw it, Sonny had way too many responsibilities in his life—to his five kids, his three grandkids, all his friends and acquaintances, not to mention Rhona, the wife he’d had by his side for over thirty years. Maybe that worked for Sonny, he certainly didn’t seem to mind it, but, as far as Coop was concerned, that wasn’t something he was looking for. A man could be an island—if he worked hard enough and had enough money to make it happen—and life was a lot easier that way.

‘Aren’t you headed to Europe next week?’ Sonny pushed on, not taking the hint. ‘Why not look this girl up and see how she’s doing?’

Coop stared blankly at his friend. He’d thought about it; of course he had. He had a meeting with some financiers in St Tropez who wanted to talk about franchising options for Dive Guys in the Med. It was only a short hop from there to London, where Ella lived. But...

‘I don’t know. if I went all the way out to London just to hook up, she might get the wrong idea.’ He sure as hell didn’t want Ella thinking this was more than it was.

‘Why would that be bad?’ Sonny’s rueful smile made Coop feel about as smart as the lug nut he’d been trying to shift all morning. ‘If she’s the woman of your dreams.’

‘Damn, Sonny, Ella is not the woman of my dreams,’ he shot back, getting exasperated.

What was with Sonny? Was all this wedding garbage messing with his head and making him even more of a romantic than usual?

He hardly knew Ella. And he didn’t have dreams about women. Well, not apart from R-rated ones. For the simple reason that he was more than happy being an island.

‘If you say so.’ Sonny shrugged, undaunted. ‘But my point is you need to go get your sunshine back.’ Sonny jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the glimmering turquoise water that stretched towards the horizon. ‘And if it’s across that ocean that’s where you oughta be.’ His smile thinned. ‘Because until you do, you’re not a heck of a lot fun for anyone to be around.’

Coop frowned as he finally got the message. So that was it. Sonny wanted him out of the way while him and his family geared up for Josie’s big day.

He felt the sharp stab of hurt. But guessed the old guy had a point. He had been pretty grouchy the last couple of months. Sleepless nights and sexual frustration could do that to a guy. And whatever was going on between him and Ella, it didn’t seem to be getting any better. ‘Have I really been that bad?’ he asked.

Resting a solid hand on his shoulder, Sonny gave it a fatherly pat. ‘Boy, you’ve been bitchier than when you were working all hours to set up your business.’

‘Sorry.’

Sonny squeezed his shoulder. ‘Don’t be sorry, man, go do something about it.’

Coop nodded. What the hell? Trying to talk some sense into Josie and her folks about the wedding was a lost cause. And he could do with more than the two-day break he’d planned for his trip to the Med. Why not book a flight that routed through London? Stop over for a few extra days, book a suite in a classy hotel, see the city, and if he happened to be in Ella’s neighbourhood at some point, why not look her up? If she wanted to throw some more sunshine his way—and maybe give him an explanation as to why she hadn’t stuck around to say goodbye—why should he object?

As Sonny had said, he’d never had a woman walk out on him before now. That was most probably all this was really about. And if that made him an arrogant jackass, so be it. He needed to do something to get himself the hell over this hump he seemed to have got hung up on. So he could come back to Bermuda ready to smile through his teeth during his best friend’s daughter’s wedding.

What was the worst that could happen?

* * *

‘Stop eating the merchandise! I don’t care if you’ve got a cookie craving.’

Ella hastily wiped the white chocolate and macadamia nut evidence off her mouth. ‘Sorry, I can’t help it.’

Ruby sent her a superior look from the cappuccino machine, where she was busy whipping up a storm of decaf lattes and skinny mochas for the tennis foursome who had just arrived after a grudge match at the heath.

‘You should be sorry. I’d love to know how you’ve barely gained an ounce.’ Her gaze dipped to Ella’s cleavage, displayed in the new D half-cup bra she’d splashed out on the previous week. ‘Except on the bust.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Despite having consumed your own weight in confectionery in the last week.’

Ella grinned as she arranged the freshly baked passionfruit florentines on the ‘treat of the day’ display. ‘I’m simply making up for lost time. I could barely keep anything down for three solid weeks.’

Ella stroked the compact bulge that made the waistband of her hip-hugger jeans dig into her tummy. Even though she could not have been more ecstatic about the pregnancy, revelling in every change it brought to her body, puking her guts up every morning had got old fairly fast. And running a cake shop, where the cloying aroma of sweetness and the bitter chicory scent of coffee had been hell on her hypersensitive sense of smell, had been a particular brand of torture she had been more than happy to see the back of. Now she could simply enjoy all the other changes—well, all except one.

Her sex drive seemed to have mushroomed at the same pace as her bosom—if the lurid dreams she had most nights, in which a certain Cooper Delaney was a key player, were anything to go by.

Only last night, she’d woken up in a pool of sweat, her skin tight and oversensitive, her already enlarged nipples swollen and her engorged clitoris pulsing with the need to be touched. She’d never been all that self-sufficient, sexually speaking, before she’d met Cooper, but she’d had to take matters into her own hands more than once in the last few weeks, while visualising Cooper’s honed, ripped body driving into her and hearing his deep laconic voice growling ‘touch yourself’ in her ear.

Heat boiled in her cheeks, at the memory of last night’s frenzied and sadly dissatisfying orgasm. And the guilt that had followed. Was it possible that her body was playing tricks on her, constantly bringing up these carnal memories of her child’s father to push her into contacting him the way she’d planned to do weeks ago?

But that was before she’d done an Internet search on him. And a simple investigation to discover his contact details had brought the panic seeping back.

Because putting Cooper Delaney’s name and the words ‘Bermuda’ and ‘snorkelling’ into the search engine had brought up ten whole pages of references, not just to him but to Dive Guys, the phenomenally successful franchise he owned and operated in most of the Caribbean. A company that had been listed on the New York stock exchange for over three years and was—according to an article in Time Life magazine—one of the fastest-growing start-ups in the region.

She’d been in shock. Then she’d been upset that he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth about himself... Then she’d thought of the secret child in her womb and she’d begun shaking so hard she’d had to lie down.

Coop Delaney wasn’t a part-time boat captain and all around beach bum living a free-spirited, laid-back, itinerant existence on a Bermuda beach—he was an exceptionally rich and well-connected businessman with the money and influence to buy and sell her and Ruby’s little cupcake bakery several hundred times over.

How could she tell a man like that she was carrying his child? And not expect him to make demands? Demands she might not want to agree to? If he’d been the Coop she’d thought he was, she would have phoned him weeks ago. But now...

‘Check out the suit in the window.’ Ruby’s appreciative whistle woke Ella from her stupor. ‘That guy’s got shoulders even a happily married woman can appreciate.’

Ella’s gaze skimmed the top of the cookie display to see a tall man, with closely cropped hair step into the café. Recognition tickled her spine, then thumped into her chest as he lifted his head and shockingly familiar emerald eyes locked on hers.

She blinked rapidly, sure this had to be an apparition conjured up by her guilty conscience—but then his sensual lips quirked and the warm spot between her legs ignited.

‘Hi, welcome to Touch of Frosting, Camden’s premiere cupcake bakery. What’s your guilty pleasure this morning?’

Ella vaguely processed Ruby’s familiar greeting through the chainsaw in her head. ‘Coop?’ The word came out on a rasp of breath.

‘Hey there, Ella.’ The apparition winked, which had heat flushing to her hairline, before it addressed Ruby. ‘You must be Ruby. The name’s Coop. I’m a friend of Ella’s.’

He held out a deeply tanned hand in greeting as Ella heard Ruby’s sharp intake of breath.

‘Hi.’ Ruby skirted the counter and grasped his hand in both of hers. ‘Cooper Delaney, right? It’s so fabulous to actually meet you.’

Ella heard the perk of excitement in Ruby’s voice and the laconic ease in Coop’s—and everything inside her knotted with panic.

‘Ella told you about me, huh?’ His voice rumbled with pleasure as the green gaze settled on her.

Say something.

Her mind screamed as she absorbed the chiselled perfection of his cheekbones, the tawny brows, the twinkle of amusement in those arresting eyes, and the full sensual lips that tilted up in a confidential smile. Arousal gripped her abdomen as blood pumped into her sex.

But then she noted all the things about this man that didn’t fit: the slate-grey single-breasted suit, the clean-shaven jaw, the short, perfectly styled hair that was several shades darker with fewer strands of sun-streaked blond.

She shook her head, a bolt of raw panic slamming into her chest as he passed his palm in front of her face. He was speaking to her.

‘Hey there, Ella, snap out of it. How you doing?’

I’m pregnant. And I should have got in touch with you weeks ago to tell you.

She opened parched lips, but couldn’t force the words out.

‘Ella’s great, she had her first—’ Ruby began.

‘Shut up, Ruby!’ The high-pitched squeal shot past the boulder lodged in her throat. Ruby’s eyebrows rose to her hairline but thankfully she obeyed the command, while Coop’s grin took on a curious tilt.

Ella skidded round the counter, galvanised out of her trance.

Get him out of here, then you can tell him. Sensibly, succinctly, and privately, without an audience of tennis players, yummy mummies, two giggling schoolgirls and your super-nosey best friend.

She owed him that much.

‘I’m taking a half-day, Rubes.’

Ruby’s brow furrowed.

Oh, dear, she’d have some explaining to do to Ruby, too. But that could wait, she thought, as she came to a halt in front of Cooper.

She tilted her head back, the effect of that lazy smile shimmering down to her toes. How could she have forgotten how tall he was? Taking a deep breath in, she got a lungful of his delicious scent.

He smells the same. Hold that thought.

But then the aroma of spicy cologne and soap and man triggered a renewed pulse of heat and the shudder of reaction hit her knees.

She grasped his arm, as much to stay upright as to propel him back out of the door before Ruby spilled any more confidential information. The bulge of muscle flexed beneath the soft fabric of his designer suit—which didn’t do much for her leg tremors.

He glanced at her fingers and grinned, pleased with her haste. ‘It’s great to see you too, Ella.’ That he didn’t seem particularly fazed by her fruitcake behaviour helped to calm some of the tension screaming across her shoulder blades. ‘I was just in the neighbourhood,’ he added. ‘And I figured we could catch up over....’

‘That’s wonderful, Coop,’ she interrupted. ‘But let’s go somewhere private so we can talk properly.’

‘Sounds good.’ His hooded gaze suggested he had made a few assumptions about her eagerness to get him alone. And talking was not at the top of his current to-do list.

The stupid tingles raced across her skin.

Do not hold that thought. You need to keep a clear head.

She crossed to the door, still clinging onto his arm, but stopped in her tracks when he didn’t move with her.

She swung back, ready to beg. ‘Please, my flat’s just round the corner. I have coffee. And cupcakes.’

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to Ruby, who had crossed her arms over her chest and was staring at her, the concern on her face making Ella feel small and foolish.

‘Cupcakes, huh?’ He laughed, but then his hands cupped her elbows, forcing her to relinquish her death grip on his arm. ‘I’m a sucker for cupcakes,’ he purred, then yanked her onto tiptoes. ‘But first things first.’ He dipped his head, bringing his lips tantalisingly close. ‘Don’t I rate a “welcome to London” kiss?’

Before she had a chance to confirm or deny, his mouth settled over hers, and every thought bar one melted out of her head.

Yes, please.

His tongue coaxed her lips open in hungry strokes, then tangled with hers. The shaking in her legs shot off the Richter Scale but his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her steady against the lean, hard line of his body. His scent enveloped her, clogging her lungs as she clung to him for balance, and drank in the glorious urgency of his kiss.

As they broke apart she heard the smattering of applause from the group of mums in the corner. The heat rose up to scald her scalp—but he was smiling at her with that appreciative, sexy twist of his lips she remembered so well from Bermuda and she swallowed down the renewed bolt of panic.

She had so much to tell him, and she still had no real clue how he would respond. But kissing him again, having his arms around her, had felt so good, she refused to allow her doubts to resurface. She was having this beautiful man’s baby—and it felt like fate somehow that he had come to London to see her.

He dropped his arms and slid one warm palm into hers. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He brushed his lips across her ear lobe. ‘I’m dying to taste your cupcakes.’

She grinned, sure her cupcakes weren’t the only thing he planned to taste. ‘You’re going to love them.’

She waved goodbye to Ruby, who sent her a wary smile back, then mouthed, ‘Tell him.’

She nodded, sobering a little.

‘Great to meet you, Ruby. I’ll bring her back in one piece. I swear.’ He sent Ruby a farewell salute as he opened the café door for her and she stepped outside. The sky was dark and overcast, a summer storm brewing, but excitement rippled.

Against all the odds, Cooper Delaney was here. And she would get the chance to tell him her news face to face. Now the initial shock had faded, she knew it was the best possible scenario. She could prepare him properly, before she told him. Explain exactly how it had happened and how much it meant to her, and make sure he understood he didn’t have to be a part of the life growing inside her if he didn’t want to be. That he had no obligations.

But surely him turning up here had to be a sign. Of something good. He’d come all this way to see her, and he’d kissed her with such fervour. The chemistry between them was still so strong, so hot. And there had been definite affection in his gaze too, the way his hands had steadied her, held her close.

He hadn’t forgotten her, any more than she had forgotten him.

He slung an arm across her shoulders. ‘Lead the way, my little cougar. But put a fire under it,’ he said, casting a wary glance at the ominous thunderclouds overhead. ‘It looks like we’re about to get soaked.’

She chuckled, giddy with anticipation and tenderness, as a fat drop of rain landed on her cheek. ‘My road is the second on the left.’ The crash of thunder startled her for a moment, then the deluge of fat drops multiplied into a flood, drenching her T-shirt and jeans in seconds.

Laughing, she darted out from under his arm, the chilly summer rain plastering her hair against her cheeks and running in rivulets between her breasts. ‘Come on, toy boy. I’ll race you there,’ she said, before sprinting off in a burst of energy.

They would work this out. Nothing bad could happen today. She was sure of it.

* * *

‘Come back here...’

Cooper raced up the shadowy stairwell guided by that pert ass outlined in wet denim, his own shirt sticking to his chest.

He tripped, cursed, then finally caught up with her, his crotch throbbing now. Running with a hard-on was never a good idea, but he’d been waiting months to get his hands on her again.

Her light, infectious laugh bubbled through his blood, doing weird things to his equilibrium as he followed her into the shoebox apartment at the top of the stairs. He slammed the door behind him, taking in the compact living room, the kitchen counter, the couch covered in colourful cushions. Then grabbed a hold of one hundred pounds of wiggling, giggling female, and refused to let go.

‘Got you.’ He held her close, taking the time to study the open, heart-shaped face, the huge blue eyes that had haunted his dreams for weeks.

Maybe he had missed her, more than he thought.

‘And you’re not getting away from me any time soon,’ he declared. Although she wasn’t exactly trying too hard.

His lips captured hers in a hungry kiss, while he peeled off the drenched cotton T-shirt to discover the damp lemon-scented female flesh beneath.

He cupped her generous breasts, the pebbled nipples digging into his palms through her bra, then pinched the swollen tips, while his mouth drank in her soft grunts of excitement.

Her fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him back. ‘I have to tell you...’ Her voice came out on a whisper. ‘We have to talk.’

‘Later.’ He nipped her bottom lip. ‘Sex first. Then cupcakes. Talk after that.’

He delved to find the hook on her bra and sent up a silent prayer of thanks as it popped open. Dragging the wet hem of her T over her head, he ripped off the sodden bra.

When she was bare to the waist, her breasts heaved with her staggered breathing, the large reddened nipples like ripe berries, sweet and succulent.

‘Those are even hotter than I remember.’ He lifted his gaze, saw the flush of colour on high cheekbones, the blue of her eyes dilated to dark, driving need.

Cupping one heavy orb in his palm, he licked round the peak, heard her moan, then bit tenderly into the swollen tip, his erection now huge in his pants.

Her back arched as she thrust into his mouth, moaning softly as he suckled harder.

Finding the zipper of her jeans, he yanked down the tab, and delved beneath the clinging, constricting fabric to cup her. She sobbed as his fingers widened the slick folds, and touched the heart of her. She bucked, then grasped his wrist.

‘Stop!’ she cried. ‘I’m going to come.’

‘That’s the general idea.’ Panic clawed at his chest. If she said no now he was liable to die.

She stared at him, her need plain in the wide pupils, the staggered pants of breath. ‘I want you inside me. It’s been too long.’

‘Not a problem.’ He chuckled, relief flooding through him as the tension in his groin begged for release. ‘Then let’s get naked. Fast.’

The sound of frantic cursing, of tearing fabric, of buttons hitting the linoleum flooring filled the small room as they wrestled to get their wet clothes off as fast as humanly possible.

After what felt like several millennia she stood naked before him, her gaze darkening further as those bright eyes dropped to his groin. His erection twitched, the pulse throbbing at its tip, steady and relentless.

He lifted her against the wall of the apartment, wedging himself into the space between her thighs. Clasping her generous hips, he assessed those spectacular breasts. She’d gained some weight since their night in Bermuda and it suited her—the belly that had been so flat across her hip bones now pillowing his erection.

The dumb wave of regret that her body had undergone that small change and he hadn’t been there to see it, to witness it, passed over like a shadow then disappeared as her breasts pressed into his chest—demanding more friction. He ducked his head, to suck at the pulse point in her neck, which beat in frantic flutters. Her addictive scent surrounded him, lemon and spice and all things nice.

His lips curved, holding her as she hooked toned legs around his waist. Her fingers threaded into the short, damp hair at his ears.

‘I haven’t got any condoms,’ he admitted, his mind trying to engage with the need to slow the hell down. To think through the driving urge to sink into her tight heat. He hadn’t had time to stop and pick any protection up because he’d come straight from the airport. And he hadn’t figured things would get this hot, this quickly. But could he risk it? Just this once? She was on the pill? ‘You okay with me using withdrawal? I’m clean, I swear.’

He felt her nod, and lifted his head to see her eyes, glazed with an emotion that made his heart thud against his chest wall like a sledgehammer.

‘So am I,’ she replied

It was all the permission he needed. His shaft jerked against her belly from the kick of desperation. Palming her buttocks, and angling her pelvis as best he could, he thrust home in one long, solid glide. Her slick, wet sex stretched to receive him, then massaged him like a velvet vice. Her head dropped back, thudding the wall, as he began to move, the thrusts jerky, desperate, the need quickly becoming too fast and furious, the need so raw and draining he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop now if his life depended on it.

She sobbed, her fingernails scraping his back as she clung on. Her muscles began to milk him, and he knew she was coming.

Don’t pull out. Not yet. Hold on. Damn it.

His seed boiled, driving up from his balls, hurling him closer and closer to the cliff edge, her sobs of completion beckoning him to come faster, harder. And a tiny part of his mind screamed to the animal inside him.

Now. Pull out, now.

He wrenched himself free. Dropping his head against her shoulder, kissing the salt, sweet taste of her neck, the pain of separation as devastating as the brutal, unstoppable roll of orgasm as his seed pumped into the welcoming softness of her belly.

* * *

‘Damn, that was even more awesome than I remember.’

Ella’s gaze shimmered back into focus as a rough palm touched her cheek and blunt fingers sank into her hair. Those deep emerald eyes searched her face, making her chest tighten.

She nodded, gently, feeling stunned, her sex still clenching and releasing from the intensity of her orgasm. Seemed absence didn’t just make the heart grow fonder.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her throat raw from the wellspring of emotion.

His lips curved, and he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. ‘Come on.’ He hefted her into his arms, bracing his forearm under her buttocks as she held onto his shoulders. ‘Let’s grab a shower. Then I want a cupcake.’

‘But we still need to talk,’ she murmured against his neck.

‘Sure. But first I want to see that magnificent rack covered in soap suds.’

She chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder, and draping her arms around his neck, her emotions too close to the surface to protest. Surely a few more minutes of intimacy, of getting reacquainted, wouldn’t do any harm—she’d waited this long already?

Locating the tiny bathroom at the back of the flat, he put her down to twist on the shower. But kept one hand on her hip, as if he were afraid she’d run off. She remembered leaving him, that morning with only a thank you. And felt the renewed trickle of guilt.

The water gurgled and spurted out of the shower head, the stream thin and underwhelming.

‘Is that as good as it gets?’ he remarked.

She smiled. ‘This is British plumbing we’re talking about. That’s the equivalent of Niagara Falls.’

His quick grin lifted her spirits and made the trickle of guilt dry up.

‘At least it’s hot,’ he said, testing the temperature before he hauled her into the cubicle.

‘Not for long.’

He grabbed her lemon verbena soap off the ledge, and worked up a lather, his hair plastered to his head, his eyes wicked with intent. ‘Then we better get this party started.’

Gentle hands cupped her breasts, lifting and testing the weight as his thumbs glided over pebbled nipples. The heat pulsed and tugged between her thighs.

She took the soap to wash him in return, putting all the emotion she felt into the task as her hands stroked the lean, muscular slopes of his abdomen, explored the roped sinews that defined his hip bones. She took his penis into her palm, felt it lengthen and harden as she caressed it.

Blood surged into her tender clitoris, and she knew she wanted him again, already, surging deep, the delicious decadent stretching feeling of his flesh entering hers. Touching her womb where their child grew.

Soon he would know, and, whatever his reaction, surely it would be okay, when this closeness, this physical joining felt so good, so right.

But then he lifted her breasts, the cooling water sluicing away the soap, and said, ‘I like the extra weight—it looks great on you.’

The approval in his gaze had the wave of guilt flopping over in her stomach. She couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t fair to him, or to their child. She drew away from him, her back wedged against the wall of the cubicle.

‘We need to get dressed. I have something I have to tell you.’

‘Okay.’

He flipped off the shower control, but took hold of her wrist as she opened the cubicle door. The sudden silence felt deafening, despite the blood roaring in her ears. He tugged her towards him as he stepped out behind her, tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. ‘What’s up? Is something wrong?’

‘No, I just...’ She gulped past the tightness.

Not yet. Get yourself together first. You need to tell him gently. Carefully.

Her gaze dropped to his erection. She certainly couldn’t function, let alone think clearly, while he was standing naked in front of her, visibly aroused.

‘I just need a minute.’

His grip had loosened, his gaze puzzled, but not yet wary. She pulled her hand free, headed for the door. ‘Shall we get dressed? I can meet you in the living room in ten minutes? Make you that coffee I promised?’

He shrugged, grabbed a towel from the rail to wrap around his waist. ‘Sure.’

She darted out of the door before he could change his mind.

* * *

‘All right, let’s have it, what was so important we couldn’t finish what I was busy starting in the shower?’

Ella smiled at the rueful tone, and glanced up from the cupcakes she was busy arranging on a plate.

He stood with his legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the kitchen counter. He’d changed into a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt, which must have been in the bag he’d had with him. Had he come straight from the airport, then, to see her? She felt a renewed spike of optimism, of hope.

She’d figured so many outcomes for what she was about to tell him, but none of them had included the possibility that he might be pleased with her news. Yes, it would be a shock, but why had she assumed it would necessarily be a disaster?

She never would have guessed he would come to London, or the chemistry between them would have remained as hot for him as it still was for her.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ She gestured towards the living area. ‘The coffee will be ready any minute.’

His brows lifted, the rueful grin taking on a mischievous tilt. ‘It’s not coffee I want.’ Stepping close to hold her chin, he gave her lips a quick peck. The kiss felt casual and affectionate. The hope swelled in her chest. ‘But we’ll play it your way, for now.’

He settled on the sofa, while she fussed over the coffee for another precious few minutes, getting her thoughts lined up.

Finally she couldn’t put it off any longer. Sitting on the opposite sofa, she placed the plate of cherry-chocolate cupcakes on the coffee table and poured him a cup of coffee. She had a momentary wobble when he told her he took it black, and it occurred to her how much she didn’t know about him.

Don’t chicken out now. Telling him is the first step to finding out all those things you don’t know.

She took a long fortifying sip of the fennel tea she’d made for herself. ‘I’m not sure where to start,’ she began, galvanised by the thought that she was excited about taking this new step.

He lifted a cupcake off the plate. ‘Then why don’t you start by telling me why you ran out on me?’

‘I didn’t,’ she said, frowning at the slight edge in his voice. ‘I woke up and you were gone. I figured you’d run out on me.’

‘Damn, seriously?’ He looked genuinely stunned, which was a balm to her ego.

‘Well, yes. And I felt uncomfortable with your friend Josie there.’ She remembered the spike of dismay and asked, ‘Who is she, by the way? She seemed to know you exceptionally well.’

His eyebrows rose and his lips crinkled. ‘Are you jealous?’

Colour stained her cheeks.

He chuckled. ‘Josie’s like a kid sister. An annoying kid sister. Believe me, you’ve got nothing to be jealous of.’

‘I didn’t say I was jealous.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He sent her a confident smile. And she huffed out a laugh. The tension in her chest easing.

He took a large bite of the cupcake, held it up. ‘Damn, that’s good.’ Finishing it off in a few quick bites, he placed the paper casing on the plate. ‘So why don’t you spill it, whatever it is you have to talk about. Before we get back into the shower.’

The colour in her cheeks flared again, under his watchful gaze. ‘Okay, it’s, well, it’s sort of hard to say right out.’

She gulped down the new lump in her throat.

‘Yeah? That doesn’t sound good.’ He sent her a crooked smile. ‘I really hope you’re not going to tell me you’re married.’

She laughed, the tension dissolving a little. ‘God, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s...’ She examined her fingers, suddenly shy rather than scared. Wouldn’t it be amazing if he was actually as excited about this as she was? ‘Actually, I’m pregnant. That’s why, well, I’ve gained some weight.’

The crooked smile remained, but the curiosity in his eyes turned to astonishment as his gaze dipped to her breasts and then her belly. He straightened on the sofa, his mouth opening. Then closing. Then opening again. ‘You...? You’re expecting a kid? You don’t look pregnant.’

She waited for the obvious next question, but he just continued to stare at her belly.

‘Well, I’m only twelve weeks, so it doesn’t show much yet.’ She placed her hands on the slight swelling, suddenly keen to emphasise it for his benefit.

His head lifted. She’d expected surprise, even shock when he made the connection; she’d even prepared herself for annoyance, and anger. What she hadn’t prepared herself for, though, was the way the relaxed, sexy charm had been ripped away to be replaced by complete horror. ‘Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?’

Her pulse throbbed painfully in her neck, and she cradled her abdomen, the urge to shield her child, instinctive. She couldn’t speak, so she simply nodded.

He leapt up from the sofa like a puppet who had been rudely jerked on stage. The vicious swear word echoed around the tiny room. ‘You have got to be kidding me? It can’t be mine—you said you were on the pill.’

She’d expected this accusation, on the numerous occasions when she’d had this conversation in her head. But all the careful explanations, the reasoned arguments, the excuses absolving her all seemed to pale into insignificance in the face of his frantic denial. And all she could manage was, ‘I know, I realised when I found out you may have got that impression, but I—’

‘You lied to me?’ He stepped forward, the stance threatening.

Somehow she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not physically, but she could see the turmoil of emotion and it made her insides tangle into tight, torturous knots, the guilt that she’d kept so carefully at bay for weeks creating a yawning chasm in the pit of her stomach.

‘Why the hell did you lie?’ He dug his fingers into his hair, sending the damp strands into deep furrows. ‘Unless... Hell... You wanted to get knocked up? Is this a set-up? You figure I’ll pay you off?’

The accusation came so far out of left-field, she hadn’t seen it coming before it had smacked into her chest and hurled her heart into her throat. ‘What? No. I never...’ Her denial choked off at the contempt in his eyes. ‘You used a condom—how could I have planned it?’

‘I knew the cute and clueless act was too good to be true. But I fell for it anyway.’

‘What act? What are you talking about?’

‘Drop it, okay. You’ve got what you wanted.’ His eyes slid back to her belly, the light in them harsh and resentful. ‘My bun in your oven.’

‘No, you don’t understand. It was never planned.’ The justification, the explanation at last came tumbling out. ‘The pregnancy was...is an accident. It was all so rushed and...I didn’t think it would matter that I wasn’t on the pill.’

‘You didn’t think it would matter?’ His voice rose to a shout. ‘Are you nuts? I told you I didn’t want to risk it. What the hell about that did you not understand?’

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t think I could....’ She faltered, unable to reveal the truth about her medical history, her fertility issues, the test results she’d gone to Bermuda to escape. She couldn’t tell this stranger about any of that; it would make her too vulnerable, too raw, especially now, with her throat already aching with unshed tears.

‘You don’t have to be involved.’ She scrambled to justify, to explain, to avert the terrible feeling of loss. ‘I’ve made the decision to have this child. I want it. Very much.’ Her hands shook, the trembling having moved up from her toes, to her knees and across her torso.

Don’t you dare cry.

Why hadn’t she said all of this to start with, before she’d told him about the pregnancy? He obviously thought she was some kind of gold-digger. If she could just make him understand he didn’t have to feel responsible for this child, everything would be okay. But even as she told herself it, a part of her was dying inside at the knowledge that Cooper Delaney hated her now.

‘I just thought you should know.’

‘Right, so now I know,’ he snarled. ‘Thanks for that. And what the hell am I supposed to do with the information? You’ve told me a part of me is going to be walking around on this planet and I don’t get to have any say in that?’

She shook her head, the tears drying up inside her. Stay firm. Stay strong. Don’t break, not this time. ‘No. No, you don’t.’ She firmed her lips to stop them trembling. ‘I won’t have an abortion. And nothing you can do or say will make me.’

He flinched. ‘Who said anything about an abortion?’

‘I won’t do it. I want this baby very much. If you don’t, that’s okay. You never have to have anything to do with it.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Marching past her, he grabbed his bag off the floor. ‘Like that’s going to work.’ He slung the leather holdall over his shoulder and opened the door. Rain slashed down in angry currents against the hall window. But the summer storm that had seemed so cleansing, so perfect, so passionate only hours before, now appeared grey and dark and oppressive.

He sent her one last scathing look over his shoulder, the look of betrayal in his eyes palpable. And then slammed the door behind him.

She sank down against the wall, her legs too shaky to hold her, and pressed her forehead into her knees. And listened to his footfalls, heavy on the stairs, fade away into nothingness.

* * *

Coop stumbled out onto the street, his heart hitting his ribcage hard enough to shatter bone. Rain slashed at his face as he dumped his bag on the sidewalk and smashed his fist into the brick wall that marked the perimeter of her apartment building.

Pain hurtled up his arm, lanced across his knuckles, but went some way to dulling the terrifying emotions consuming him.

You dumbass. What the hell were you thinking? Coming here? Trusting her?

He sucked the battered knuckles, and picked up his bag in the other hand.

He hailed a cab, jumped in out of the rain and shouted through the grill, ‘Take me to a hotel.’

‘How about the Renaissance, sir? It’s pricey but very plush.’

‘Sure, great, whatever,’ he croaked, his voice hoarse, his whole body starting to shake. He didn’t give a damn where he went—he just had to get away from the memory of those big eyes glossy with unshed tears.

But then he caught the glittering pink logo on the window of Ella’s cupcake store as the cab sped past it. The panic boiled in his gut as the taste of her lingered on his tongue and the residual heat throbbed in his crotch. Mocking him.

He sank his head into his hands and wanted to howl with pain and frustration.

God help him, it didn’t matter what he did now, or how much money he made or how fast he ran—he could never ever be an island again. And it was all his own damn fault.