Читать книгу The Christmas Baby's Gift - Kate Walker - Страница 7

MARRY in haste; repent at leisure.

Peta turned her head up to the pulse of the shower and let the hot water pour down over her face until the heated pounding numbed her skin. And all the time she wished, deeply and fervently, that she could also make it numb her thoughts.

But nothing would erase the uncomfortable phrase from her mind.

Marry in haste; repent…

‘No!’

The word escaped her on a cry of desperation and rejection and she hastily reached up and snapped off the shower, closing her eyes against the unwanted feelings.

In the sudden silence, the sound of her uneven, ragged breathing was unnaturally loud and disturbing. The sound of a harried animal, hunted and trapped, cornered with its back against the wall—and knowing there was no way out.

‘No…’ she said again, more softly this time, shaking her head so that drops of water spun off from the long, deep brown strands and spattered against the elegantly tiled walls of the shower cubicle. ‘Oh, no…’

The silence was too much for her. Too heavy. Too disturbing. She had to turn the shower back on to escape the thoughts that plagued her.

‘Peta?’

The sound of another voice—male, deep, and resonant, only just avoiding being drowned under the fresh rush of water—came to her from the direction of the doorway between the bathroom and the adjoining bedroom, making her lids fly open, blue eyes staring at the cubicle door in shock.

Blurred and distorted through the thickly frosted glass, she could just make out the shape of her husband’s tall, powerful figure, the rich colour of his hair. But she didn’t need to see him clearly. Her memory and her imagination could instantly supply every detail of the rest.

And that imagination swiftly sketched in the strongly carved, harshly stunning features: powerful cheekbones, a long, straight nose and darkly lashed brilliant green eyes. The vibrant, glossy gleam of his hair, closely cropped against an unruly tendency to wave, the deep brown shot through with lights of fiery copper that made it burn and glisten in the sun. And all of that set on the tautly muscled body of a natural athlete with wide straight shoulders, broad chest, narrow hips and long powerful legs. Legs that always seemed to be planted so firmly on the ground, as if he was staking his claim to the earth on which he stood, marking it out as his.

‘You in here?’

‘Who else would you expect to find in your shower—your bathroom?’

Her voice didn’t have quite the strength or the genuine lift of humour that she aimed for, but she was struggling with too many other feelings to be able to control it properly. Even at a distance of several metres, just knowing that Liam was there, in the doorway, made her naked skin tingle all over. It was as if the low, faintly husky rasp of his voice was like a caress over her exposed flesh, bringing the blood springing to the surface, and setting a pulse throbbing at her temples.

‘Our.’

‘What?’

Peta pulled her head from under the running water to listen more clearly.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said, our. Not my shower, but ours. Our bathroom too.’

The reproof was low, light, good-humoured, but all the same it sent a shiver running down Peta’s spine, chilling her blood in spite of the warmth of the water.

Our bathroom. Our shower.

Did he know what it did to her to hear those words on his tongue? To catch the deep, dark, faintly possessive note in the sensual voice? To recognise just what it was that had put it there?

To know that what he really thought he possessed was her?

To the rest of the world Liam Farrell might be her husband, the man with whom she was supposed to be celebrating her first wedding anniversary this late December evening. But Peta knew that the real truth was very much more complicated than that. And that was what had set her mind on its restless, disturbed pattern of thought for some days now.

‘Shall I join you in there?’

‘No!’

There had been nothing in the least bit dangerous or threatening in the question. As a matter of fact, it had been asked in the easiest, most laid-back way. But all the same it had Peta stiffening in instant rejection, her heart lurching into pounding in double-quick time.

‘Don’t!’

It was his silence that gave away his change of mood. The sudden total stillness of the blurred figure seen through the steamed-up glass of the shower door that revealed far more than anything he might have said just how much he disliked her response.

‘I—I mean I was just coming out.’

It was simply the idea of him doing as he had said that had sent her thoughts into overdrive, her body into the sort of tension that made her nerves scream in protest, her skin colouring in a rush of blood that had nothing to do the warmth of the shower. But at the same moment the image in her head made her pulses race, her heart pounding in heavy excitement. Under the fall of the water, her already heated flesh tingled in sensual anticipation of the pleasure that had become such a dangerous part of her life.

‘Okay. Come on, then.’

She could see through the frosted glass that he was reaching for the huge, thick white towel, shaking out its folds, holding it ready. And she knew that she had no excuse not to do as he said. To keep him waiting any longer.

‘Peta…’

Was she hearing right? Had there really been a note of warning in the low, steady use of her name? The noise of the still running water made it difficult to decide if it had truly been so or if it was simply her already over-sensitive mood that had made her believe it was there.

‘Peta…’

No mistaking that voice! The ominous undertone had her rushing to switch off the water once again, smoothing back the sodden dark strands of her hair.

How could she face him, feeling the way she was right now? There was only one way to do it, she told herself. Play it his way. The way it had been from the start of this marriage. The way she knew that Liam wanted it to be, because he had declared that openly to her face when he had not so much proposed as outlined a business venture to her. But for the past few months she had known that she couldn’t go along with the original terms of their arrangement, and she had tried desperately to find a way of telling him so.

Marry in haste; repent at leisure. Once more the phrase echoed inside her head as she opened the door of the shower cubicle. But she pushed it away with all the strength she could muster, desperately dragging up the smile that she knew he would expect from her and praying it would hide the truth.

Marry in haste; repent at leisure.

The words had been plaguing Liam’s thoughts all day long. He had woken up with them running on a loop through his mind and he hadn’t been able to switch them off for more than a moment since.

He supposed it was inevitable that today, the first anniversary of his ill-considered rush into matrimony, would bring such thoughts to the surface. But, if the truth was told, he hadn’t expected the feeling of self-reproach, the kick of What the hell have I done? to be quite so savage.

That wedding, just four days before the previous Christmas, had seemed like the answer to so many prayers—so many problems. But uncharacteristically he hadn’t thought things through. There had been many developments along the way that he had just not anticipated. And this latest change in his circumstances was one that had knocked him completely off balance. How had he ever got himself into this situation?

‘Peta, damn you, are you coming out of there or do I have to come in and—?’

The words evaporated on his tongue, choked off hastily as the shower-cubicle door was pushed open and his wife stepped out.

Damn, damn, damn it! Did he really need to ask himself how or why he had trapped himself in this marriage? If he did, then just to look at her gave him his answer.

Silently he cursed his body’s instant response to Peta’s physical appearance. He only had to see her to want her—and want her with a force and a hunger that came close to actual physical agony. The swift, brutal tightening below his belt, the twist of desire, was so sharp, so savage he had to bite back a cry of pain, of protest.

‘Or you’ll come in and…what?’

Did she know just how provocative she looked, standing there, trails of water still running down her stunning body, the normally pale ivory of her skin flushed pink by the warmth of the shower? Did she know what it did to him to see her lush form exposed so blatantly, revealing the high, full breasts, narrow ribcage and waist, the long, smooth lines of hips and thighs, sweeping down to the delicate ankles and feet?

Of course she did! She couldn’t be unaware of it. She saw and felt the results of her impact on him in bed every night. It was what had brought them together in the first place. What had pushed them into this ill-considered marriage in such a rush.

Sex, pure and simple. Though there was nothing remotely pure about his thoughts right at this moment.

‘Liam?’

His silence had disturbed her. Her sapphire eyes were narrowed in confusion, a frown drawing her fine, dark brows together.

Deliberately he switched on a grin that was wickedly provocative, letting his own green gaze sweep over her from the deep brown hair clamped tight around the fine bones of her skull by the water, down to where her small pink toes curled on the soft bronze carpeting.

‘Do you have to ask? You know what would have happened… If I’d joined you in that shower you wouldn’t have been able to get out. Instead we would still be in there, having wild, passionate sex.’

It was only what she had expected him to say, after all. Only what he had always said, all through the three hundred and sixty-five days of their married life. If he had said anything different now, then it would have rocked the boat desperately, shaking the foundations they had built this relationship on. And that would be dangerous. It would risk her coming to suspect that things had changed. That they were no longer how they seemed.

And that was something he wasn’t prepared to admit to himself yet, let alone to her.

‘We still could.’

Invitation sparked in her eyes, lighting their blue depths, and an enticing smile curled the rich fullness of her mouth.

‘If you want…’

He was tempted. God help him, but he was tempted when she looked at him like that, with that wicked sparkle in her glance, that curve to her mouth. He could even see just the very tip of her pink tongue where it rested on the edge of her lip. She looked like nothing so much as some small, contented cat that was watching a saucer of cream being poured, anticipating its rich taste with delight.

She was totally unembarrassed by her nudity. Standing tall and proud and straight, completely unfazed by the fact that she wore nothing at all while he was still fully dressed in the elegant silver-grey suit, darker grey shirt and silk tie that he had worn for a business meeting that day.

But then she had to know that she was beautiful. Surely no woman could see her own face as it was now—with its high, slanting cheekbones, the richly coloured full mouth, the deep, deep blue of her eyes—in all the purity of its essential beauty, every trace of make-up and any other artifice washed away, and not know how stunning she was in masculine eyes. In anyone’s eyes.

‘But you’ll have to get rid of the posh suit. You wouldn’t want to ruin it…’

The provocation was too much. His heart lurched, his blood heating, a stinging tightness below his belt telling him instantly how much at the mercy of her seductive teasing he was. He had never been able to resist. Couldn’t do so now.

For the space of another couple of heartbeats he almost followed her lead. The habits of the past year almost reached out and entangled him in their grip again, unthinking response driving him in an automatic direction before he had time to reconsider. He had even tugged at his tie, loosening it at the knot, smiling into the darkness of her eyes all the time, when reality caught up with him sharply, kicking him hard in the ribs, and made him rethink.

‘Perhaps not…’

He tried to make it sound relaxed, casual, indifferent even, and wasn’t at all sure whether he’d come anywhere close. Then he saw the change in her expression, the shadows that had clouded the clear blue, and knew that he had succeeded better than he had ever anticipated. Better than he had ever wanted.

But it was too late to back out now.

‘Here…’

He held out the white towel, forcing himself to ease the revealingly tight grip on the soft material.

‘Better wrap yourself up.’

Reproach flashed from those beautiful eyes, a reproach he fully expected her to put into words. If there was one thing he had learned about this wife of his, over the past year, it was that she didn’t mince matters. If she felt angry, or disappointed, or dissatisfied, she said so. But to his surprise she bit her lip visibly, and a faint shiver shook her slender form.

‘You’re cold.’

He was grateful for the extra impetus to get her to move. A single drop of water had escaped from the darkness of her hair at her shoulders and was trailing a slow, delicate path over the creamy surface of her skin, and down… It slipped across the curve of one lush breast, touched the rose-tinted tip and hung for a composure-shattering second from the tight bud of her nipple.

Once more hot desire gave him a harsh, burning kick in the gut. Liam swallowed hard, spoke hastily, hunger making his voice rougher than he had anticipated. ‘Come on, Peta—don’t just stand there! Wrap yourself in this towel and get dry.’

Perhaps he’d been mistaken. Seeing reluctance where there was none. Now she moved forward, into the enveloping folds of the towel, without hesitation, without protest.

The towel enfolded her slim form easily. So easily that it twisted something deep inside Liam. That slenderness was part of the problem. Part of what was fretting away at the fabric of the marriage they had built up together. Peta wasn’t still supposed to be as slim as on the day he had married her. Kids had been a major part of their agreement—and one year later there was no sign at all of any baby on the way.

‘Thank you—I’m fine now.’

Peta forced herself to say it. She had to say something to fill the uncomfortable silence that had descended. Something to distract him from his awkward question. How could anyone be cold in the superbly heated, luxurious bathroom of Liam Farrell’s home?

But of course it hadn’t been cold that had made her shiver so revealingly. Instead it had been the disturbed state of her thoughts.

‘I’d better go and dry my hair or I’ll never be ready in time.’

The ease with which he let her go only added to her confusion and mental discomfort. She had been prepared for an argument, some sort of protest at least. This wasn’t the Liam she knew so well. This Liam was in a very different mood from the one she’d assumed he was in from the moment he’d first made that provocative remark about the shower, pushing her to reply in similar vein.

She’d expected that he would try to kiss her, to hold her close. To assert once more the powerful sexual attraction that always flared between them. The same attraction that had had her whole body throbbing in response simply to the sound of his voice. And she had been prepared to handle that.

But not this strange, almost cold indifference.

Something was very wrong here. Something that she had been aware of for days, like the throbbing ache of a tooth that needed filling and wouldn’t stop nagging.

Dear God, please let it not be that he had guessed the way she was feeling.

‘What’s wrong?’

The question came so unexpectedly from behind that she actually jumped like a startled cat as she padded her way, bare-footed, across the rich bronze carpet towards her dressing gown.

‘Wrong? What do you mean, wrong?’

Her voice was uneven and rough, revealing her inner turmoil, and the hand that reached out to grasp her hair-brush was not perfectly steady.

‘How could anything be wrong?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

Unhelpful as well as enigmatic.

‘Liam, I’m fine.’

His response was an inarticulate sound of sceptical disbelief that had her clamping her fingers too tightly round the brush handle, the skin showing white at the knuckles.

‘All right!’

Impetuously she swung round to face him, then immediately wished she hadn’t as she met the full force of those brilliant, stunning green eyes head-on.

‘All right,’ she tried again, less forcefully this time as a new wave of tension gripped her. ‘Seeing as you obviously don’t believe me—why don’t you say what’s wrong? Why don’t you explain what made you ask that question in the first place?’

His shrug was a masterpiece of controlled indifference, one that seemed to shake off her question as totally unimportant. But the casual nonchalance of the gesture was belied by the laser-like intensity of his gaze, the burning focus of those deep eyes on her face. Peta shifted uncomfortably under its scrutiny, feeling as if a much-needed protective layer had been scraped away from her skin, leaving her disturbingly raw and vulnerable.

‘I would have thought that today of all days you’d be feeling happy and relaxed. That you’d be looking forward to the party tonight with excitement and anticipation. Instead I find that you’re nervy and distant…’

She was distant? What about the way he had been the past few weeks? What had made him so difficult, so unapproachable, just at the moment when she had most needed to try and talk to him?

The question almost escaped Peta but she bit it back just in time.

‘And if I am distant as you say—have you ever considered that it might just be the party tonight that’s making me feel that way?’

Another rough sound of disbelief escaped him and he actually shook his proud head in dismissal of her comment.

‘Oh, come on, darling! You know that isn’t true—I know it can’t be true.’

‘And why not?’

‘You know why.’

‘Tell me.’

Liam moved away from the doorway at last, strolling across the room to stand beside her, looking down into her wary blue eyes.

‘I’ve never seen you nervous—or even unsettled before any sort of social event. Nothing fazes you. And especially not tonight.’

‘No.’ Peta shook her head, sending her drying dark hair flying around her face.

‘No?’

That sceptical note was back in his voice.

‘No, nothing fazes you—or no, nothing’s wrong?’

‘No—not “especially not tonight”,’ Peta quoted back at him. ‘I don’t see why you think I should be so easy in my mind about tonight.’

‘And why the hell not?’

It was clear that his grip on his temper was wearing thin. The relaxed, drawling voice was becoming rather ragged at the edges.

‘There can’t be anything to worry you about tonight.’

‘Oh, can’t there?’

‘No—it’s a happy event. You know everyone who’s going to be here—family and friends. They’re all coming to help us celebrate—’

‘And that’s just it!’ Peta broke in, unable to hold the words back any more.

The double meaning of that ‘happy event’ was more than she could bear. She knew what ‘happy event’ Liam had been anticipating by this stage in their marriage. She was supposed to be pregnant by now. It was what they had both wanted at the start. What she still wanted, but not in the way she had originally thought.

‘What’s just it?’ Liam frowned impatient confusion. ‘Peta, you’re not making any sense.’

‘Maybe that’s because none of this makes sense.’

Peta began dragging the brush through her long dark hair, the rough, abrupt movements mirroring the edginess of her thoughts. The bristles caught in a couple of tangled knots but she didn’t pause, wincing faintly as she tugged them down.

‘What the—?’

Reaching out, he caught hold of her hand, stilling the nervy gesture with a grip so strong that she could do nothing but submit to his control.

But she didn’t have to look at him. She couldn’t look at him for fear of what she might read in his face. And so she kept her own head stubbornly averted, staring fixedly down at the carpet as if fascinated by the sight of his polished black leather handmade boots planted firmly on the thick carpet.

Staking his claim again. The memory of her own thoughts earlier came unwillingly to her mind, dousing the fire of her mutiny like a bucket of cold water tossed over a leaping flame.

‘Peta, sweetheart, are you going to explain just what is going on inside that delightful head of yours? What is it that is bugging you—and why?’

That ‘sweetheart’ was just too much. He used it casually, easily, without even thinking. He didn’t mean it. Not really. It was just a word, one he dropped into conversation without a care. It was what people—outsiders—expected a husband to say to his wife.

But not this husband. Not to this wife.

And she knew he never thought about the effect it might have. That he never for one moment considered how she might feel, hearing him direct that apparently loving term at her and knowing that it had no place anywhere inside their marriage.

Because love had no part at all in this relationship between herself and Liam.

At least, it had had none at the very beginning. The arrangement was a marriage of convenience from start to finish. No emotions involved in any way. Or, rather, that was how it was supposed to have been. How it had always been on Liam’s side. And on hers at first—at the very beginning.

But not now. Now things had changed. Changed so fundamentally that she was no longer convinced that she could continue with this marriage in the way they had decided just over a year ago. She didn’t think she could continue with it in any way at all. Not unless things changed in a way that just didn’t seem possible.

She had told herself that she would do as Liam wanted. Play it his way. But it was getting so much harder with every day that passed. Because she hadn’t stuck to the guidelines, the rules they had so carefully laid out from the moment they had agreed to this marriage of convenience. Instead, she had committed the worst sin of all.

She had fallen head over heels, totally, recklessly, blindly—impossibly—irretrievably in love with this husband of convenience of hers. And that love was the last thing he wanted from her.

And the knowledge of that fact had driven her to desperate measures. For the last few months, she had been actively taking steps to make sure she didn’t conceive the baby that she knew Liam wanted, even though it had almost broken her heart to do so.