Читать книгу Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition - Heidi Rice - Страница 10

CHAPTER FIVE

LUKE shifted into second gear to take the turn into Regent’s Park and glanced at the woman sitting silently in the passenger seat. Only the high curve of her cheekbone was visible behind the glossy curtain of hair. The burnished blonde highlights haloed round her head in the sunshine. She’d been staring out the window for the last ten minutes. Not only that, but she’d said barely three words since they’d left the ultrasound suite.

It was starting to worry him.

From his short association with Louisa DiMarco he knew she wasn’t the quiet type. On their one and only date he’d been captivated by her bright, sharply witty and pretty much non-stop chatter despite himself. Of course he’d witnessed a much sharper side to her tongue once he’d told her who he was. But he’d still prefer those rapier-sharp barbs to this oppressive silence.

He pressed his foot on the accelerator. The park had a twenty-mile-per-hour speed limit, but at three o’clock on a Friday afternoon, and with the weathermen forecasting glorious sunshine across the country for the whole weekend, the sweltering city was already deserted.

As the majestic avenue of oak and maple trees whisked past, the dappled shade bringing some respite from the afternoon heat, Luke contemplated Louisa’s reaction. Maybe her silence was a blessing in disguise. He needed a chance to regroup, reanalyse the situation, rethink his position as well.

In all the time he’d spent brooding since yesterday—his resentment building at her irresponsible behaviour—it had never even occurred to him that she might not know she was expecting a child. Weren’t women supposed to have a sixth sense about this sort of thing?

But she’d had absolutely no clue—no inkling. As she’d lain on the doctor’s couch, looking fragile in the oversized robe, the naked shock on her face had been genuine.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked from beside him, interrupting his train of thought. She still wasn’t looking at him.

‘To your place,’ he said.

She turned, then, looking mildly surprised. ‘Do you remember where it is?’

He nodded, not quite able to speak as he took in the stunning face that he could now admit had been lodged in his brain for twelve agonising weeks—the rich chocolate-brown eyes, the full lips, the high cheekbones and the honey-toned skin that he knew tasted as sweet as it looked.

He remembered every detail from that night—not just her address. The chilly spring air as they had strolled through Regent’s Park after leaving Mel and Jack’s. The feel of her warm, lush young body pressed against his side. The fresh scent of the petal blossom that had blown over them in the breeze. Her captivating laughter when she’d tried to catch it as she danced down the path in front of him, her arms outstretched. The rich taste of the late-night cappuccino they’d shared on Camden High Street, and the flirtatious way she’d licked the milky foam off her lips.

And even more devastating than those memories were the ones that had come after.

Her arms clinging around his neck as he carried her into her tiny flat. The taste of her mouth on his—strong coffee and sultry innocence—as he bared her breasts in the cramped hallway. Those shocked sobs she’d given as he’d stroked her to her first climax, and then the feel of her, tight as a velvet fist around him, as he rocked them both to a brutal, devastating finish.

Yes, he remembered a lot more than just her address.

She stared out the window again. ‘I need to go back to the office, actually. I’d appreciate it if you’d drop me there.’

‘I’m taking you to Havensmere.’ He might have to rethink a few things, but his main plan was still solid. ‘We’re only stopping at your place to pick up your stuff.’

Her head whipped round, her eyes darkening to a vivid black. He braced himself, more than ready for the onslaught.

Louisa’s insides were still pretty much mush, but the indignation sprinting up her backbone gave her energy levels a considerable boost. ‘You know what, Devereaux? I don’t have to do what you tell me. So you’d better get over that little delusion right now.’

She watched him brake at the lights. His eyes flicked to her waist. ‘Under the circumstances, you should call me Luke,’ he said calmly.

‘I’ll call you what I like, Devereaux.’ It was petty and rude, and she knew it, but she didn’t want to call him Luke. She’d called him Luke that night.

He didn’t rise to the challenge, didn’t even bother to reply, but left her fuming until he whipped the car onto her street and parked a few doors down from her flat.

‘You’re tired and you’re over-emotional,’ he said, in the same measured tone that so infuriated her. ‘You’ve had a shock. I understand that.’

He certainly had a lot to learn about her, she thought, if he figured accusing her of being virtually hysterical was going to calm her down. She crossed her arms and fumed in stony silence.

‘I don’t want to fight with you about this,’ he continued. ‘But we’ve got a lot to discuss, and Havensmere is where we’re going to do it.’

She straightened, uncrossing her arms and bracing them on the seat, ready for battle. ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t want to go anywhere with you.’

He pushed the thick hair off his brow, pulled the key out of the ignition and gave a heavy sigh. ‘I know.’

For the first time she noticed the lines of fatigue around his eyes. When he looked at her she noticed something else—something that surprised her. Was that concern? Had he been as deeply affected by today’s events as she had? she wondered.

‘Whether we like it or not,’ he continued, his tone rigid, ‘we’ve made a child together, and we’re going to have to deal with the consequences. You need to lose the hostility. It’s counterproductive.’

Good grief, he’d done it again. Just when she was starting to feel ever so slightly sympathetic towards him, he’d made her mad. It was as if he had an innate skill for winding her up. But she held on to the caustic retort that wanted to spit out.

Something he’d said had sent a tremor of fear skidding down her spine. What did he mean by ‘dealing with the consequences’? He was rich, influential, and he’d already taken the initiative with her medical treatment. She’d been in a trance back at the doctor’s office, but she had heard him setting up another appointment with the receptionist.

Was he even now planning to pressure her into an abortion?

The thought that he might not want this baby should have made her angry, but instead it made her feel unbearably sad—and bone-sappingly weary. The brief spurt of temper that had sustained her fizzled out.

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right about a few things. She was tired and over-emotional—and frankly in shock. All of which meant she was in no fit state to argue with him now—a man who was obviously an expert at getting his own way. She needed to get a decent night’s sleep first—marshal her forces. Going to his stately home in Wiltshire would buy her some time in that regard.

But there was one thing she wanted to get clear before she gave in to any more of his demands.

‘Frankly, I find your patronising, pushy behaviour “counterproductive”. Maybe if you stopped treating me as if you owned me, I’d “lose the hostility”.’ Well, a bit of it, at any rate.

His eyebrow shot up, and she could see he wasn’t pleased with her assessment of his character. His jaw hardened as he controlled his response.

The muscle twitching in his cheek brought on a brutal flash of memory from that night. He’d looked exactly the same when he’d been buried inside her, filling her unbearably, desperately holding back his orgasm while her body burst into flames. The physical reaction that followed the blast of memory shocked Louisa into silence. Her thigh muscles loosened, her nipples hardened and she felt a long liquid pull low in her belly that could only mean one thing.

Arousal.

She clenched her thigh muscles, wrapped her arms round her waist. What was wrong with her? He’d used her, hurt her, and now he was about to try and force her to abort her baby and still her body yearned for him.

Ignore it.

‘What’s wrong?’ His deep, urgent voice reached her through the turmoil. ‘Are you sick?’

Louisa forced the panic down. ‘I’m fine,’ she murmured.

He brushed his fingertip down her cheek. ‘You look pale. Are you still suffering from morning sickness?’

She pulled away from the electric touch. ‘No.’ She certainly wasn’t feeling sick at the moment. Far from it.

She took in the frown on his face and noticed the clean, lemony scent of his soap. Of course. That was it. The sudden jolt of desire had to be the pregnancy hormones mucking about with her libido. Hadn’t she read somewhere that pregnant women responded instinctively to the scent of their child’s father? Something to do with pheromones? The panic edged back and she eased the death grip of her arms around her midriff. She wasn’t attracted to him. It was just some weird chemical reaction. But as she tried to relax in her seat her erogenous zones continued to rebel.

‘I have staff at the house,’ he said, watching her intently. ‘The place has close to sixty rooms and over a hundred acres of grounds. We’ll have the time, space and privacy we need to discuss this properly and make the necessary arrangements.’

‘I’m not in the mood to talk tonight,’ she blurted out, panic seizing her at the thought of what he might mean by ‘necessary arrangements’.

His lips lifted in a wry grin and she realised she’d just agreed to go. ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Neither am I. But I want to drive down tonight, and I’d like you to come with me.’ He hesitated. ‘Please.’

After her ridiculous reaction to him Louisa wasn’t so sure agreeing to spend the weekend with him was the smart choice, but the look in his eyes when he said please tipped the balance. She had the distinct impression it wasn’t a word he was all that familiar with. That he’d said it to her made her feel as if she’d won some monumental victory. Added to that, exhaustion was beginning to settle over her like a heavy blanket. She didn’t have the strength to argue with him. ‘Okay, I’ll come. But only for one night.’

He nodded, got out of the car. She bent to gather her bag. He’d walked around the car and whisked the passenger door open before she had a chance to do it herself. He took her elbow as she stepped out. She dismissed the flutter in her stomach at his gallantry. She’d been fooled into thinking his good manners meant something once before.

He fell into step beside her as she walked to the Georgian terraced house where she rented the top-floor flat.

‘You should wait by the car,’ she said. The last thing she wanted was for him to come into her flat. The memories of that night were far too fresh already. ‘You’ll get a parking ticket if you don’t have a permit.’

He didn’t even break stride. ‘I’ll risk it.’

She stopped at the door, fiddled with the strap of her bag. He was going to make her say it. ‘I’d like to get my stuff alone, if you don’t mind. I’d prefer you didn’t come up to the flat.’

He studied her for several agonising seconds. ‘All right, I’ll wait here,’ he said, then tucked his forefinger under her chin. He stroked his thumb along her jaw. ‘But don’t be too long.’

She twisted her head away, disturbed by the sizzle of sensation the slight touch had caused. ‘I’ll take as long as I like, Devereaux.’

As a parting shot it wasn’t great, but it would have to do.

She stomped into the house and tried to concentrate on her irritation as she tramped wearily up the two flights of stairs to her flat. But as she threw some clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag she found she couldn’t block out the residual hum of arousal making her ache.

Louisa locked the front door to the house and picked up her overnight bag with a tired sigh. She spied Devereaux leaning on his flashy car, his butt perched on the glossy black paintwork and his face in profile as he spoke quietly into his mobile phone. From this distance she couldn’t hear what he was saying, but with his legs crossed at the ankles, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his sunglasses on he looked relaxed and confident. The thought made Louisa’s temper kick in at last. Here she was, facing the biggest, scariest, most awe-inspiring challenge of her life, and the man responsible was conducting business as usual. Her world had changed beyond all recognition in the space of an afternoon and he looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The fact that he looked so dashing, the insouciant pose accentuating his tall, lean build and the August sunshine highlighting that dramatic face and the perfectly cut waves of dark hair, only pushed Louisa’s temper further over the edge. How could he look so composed when she felt as if she’d been through an emotional wringer in the last hour?

Bolstering her exhaustion with resentment, Louisa marched to the car, her boot heels clacking on the pavement like a warning volley.

‘We’ll probably get there around eight,’ Luke said to his housekeeper. ‘Prepare the adjoining suite. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Mrs Roberts.’ He ended the call and turned to watch Louisa’s approach, alerted by the harsh click of her heels in the summer stillness. With her head held high, her eyes boring holes into him and her hips swaying enticingly in the skimpy dress, she looked like an enraged Amazon.

He considered it a big improvement on fragile and exhausted.

He pushed away from the car, ready and willing to handle whatever she might want to throw at him.

‘All set?’ he said, in a deliberately neutral voice.

Her eyes flashed hot. ‘Here.’ She thrust a small leather holdall at him, then marched round to the passenger side. ‘Let’s get this over with, then,’ she said, jerking open the door and getting in.

He dumped her bag in the back and got in too. ‘I thought we agreed to ditch the hostility?’ he said mildly, turning on the ignition and pulling the car out onto the street.

‘Oh, did we? I must have missed that command. Sorry.’

Temper suited her, he thought. It gave her cheeks a becoming glow, made the caramel colour of her eyes even more striking, and had her glorious bosom heaving in a way that was—well, distracting.

He couldn’t help it. He chuckled.

‘Do you think this is funny?’ she demanded, as outraged as she was incredulous.

Luke stifled a laugh. She was right, it was hardly appropriate in the circumstances, but still he couldn’t resist saying, ‘You look great when you’re angry. I thought so that first night and I think so now.’

‘If that’s your cock-eyed idea of a compliment, I pity any woman unfortunate enough to get involved with you.’

‘Like you, you mean?’ he asked lightly, letting the insult pass.

‘One quickie does not an involvement make,’ she snapped.

‘As I recall it wasn’t quick.’

She didn’t say a word as he stopped at the set of traffic lights leading onto the Westway. He pressed the button on the dash to raise the convertible’s roof.

‘I don’t want to talk about that night,’ she said at last. The temper seemed to have drained out of her. Luke had to strain to hear her over the hydraulic hum. ‘I’ve been trying to forget it for the last three months,’ she finished.

‘Sounds like you’ve had about as much luck with that as I have,’ he said gently. He could see confusion and panic in her gaze when she turned to look at him. It gave him the leverage he needed. ‘I guess there’ll be no forgetting it now. For either of us.’

She sighed. ‘I suppose not. But that doesn’t mean we have to repeat the same mistake twice.’

Until she’d said the words, issued the challenge, it hadn’t even occurred to Luke how much he wanted to repeat their so-called mistake.

Yes, he found her incredibly attractive. Yes, she tantalised him as much as she infuriated him. And, yes, he hadn’t been able to forget her. But after the way their night together had ended he’d decided not to pursue her. He wasn’t a masochist.

But as she sat in his car, watching him—her chin stuck out, her eyes wary, her bottom lip trembling just enough to give her away—he knew he’d been fooling himself. It wasn’t just Jack’s offhand comments during their weekly game of squash that had got him clearing his calendar for the week, calling Harley Street and then storming into her office this afternoon. And it wasn’t the flickering image of their baby in the doctor’s surgery either.

He still wanted her. In fact he’d never stopped wanting her, and it was about time he admitted it.

When he’d seen the baby on the ultrasound screen there had been shock, sure, but right along with it had been a wave of masculine satisfaction that he couldn’t explain.

This baby was going to complicate his life. No question about it. He was no romantic fool, and he wasn’t a family man either. He didn’t even know what family meant. So why, on some elemental level, was he pleased about this pregnancy?

The answer was painfully obvious. His reaction to the baby—to his baby, he now realised—had been instinctive and purely male. With her carrying his child she was bound to him in a way she hadn’t been before. He’d stamped his claim on her in the most basic, primitive way possible.

From her combative behaviour this afternoon, though, he could see persuading her of this simple fact was going to take patience, single-mindedness and a degree of ruthlessness.

It was a good thing he had plenty of all three.

‘What happened that night wasn’t a mistake,’ he said, punching the accelerator as they drove up the ramp onto the elevated motorway out of town. ‘Not for me and certainly not for you. Or did you want to spend the rest of your life faking your orgasms?’

Louisa sucked in a shocked breath as his terse comment sliced right through her defences.

She’d told him that in confidence. How could he bring it up now?

The urge to punch him was so strong she began to shake.

She wanted to ignore his asinine remark and the memories it triggered. But as she swallowed down the hot ball of humiliation that surged up her throat the memories came flooding back anyway.