Читать книгу It Started With A Kiss: The Secret Love-Child / Facing Up to Fatherhood / Not a Marrying Man - Miranda Lee - Страница 15

‘NO RINGING for a dinner drop tonight, Isabel,’ Rafe told her. ‘We need to get up, get dressed and get away from here for a while. Do something else for a few hours. Have a change of scene.’

Isabel’s head lifted and she smiled at him. ‘Yes, Rafe darling, but surely you don’t want me to get up and get dressed right at this precise moment.’

He stared back down into her cool blue eyes and wished he had the strength to tell her, yes, stop. Stop tormenting me. Stop enslaving me. Stop making me addicted to your body. And to you.

It was Wednesday, and they were back in bed, not long awake from an afternoon nap after a rather rigorous morning. They’d gone for a dawn swim after minimal sleep the night before and hadn’t bothered with swimwear. There was no one to see them, after all. No one to see what they did in the water. Or on the wet sand. Or in the hammock again.

The hammock…

Rafe swallowed as he thought of what he’d done to her in the hammock last night, how he’d used the silk sarong she’d been wearing to bind her hands to the rope up above her head. He’d never done anything like that before. And neither had she, if he was any guess.

But what a sight she’d been stretched out there, naked, in the moonlight. Rafe had been incredibly turned on. And Isabel…Isabel had been beside herself. She’d come so many times he lost count. In the end, she’d begged him to stop.

But he hadn’t been able to stop, not for a long long time.

And now he wasn’t able to stop her as she drew him deep into her mouth once more.

He moaned at the heat of it. And the wetness. It was like being sheathed in molten steel. He was going to come. He knew he was going to come.

His raw cry of warning stopped her, leaving him dangling right on the edge.

‘You have a problem, lover?’ she drawled huskily as she reached for one of the condoms they kept beside the bed.

He choked out a rueful laugh. ‘You’re cruel, do you know that?’

‘Now you know how I felt last night,’ she said as she protected them both. ‘Just as well my perfume acts as an effective insect repellent or I’d have been covered with insect bites.’

‘Instead, you have a few bites of another kind.’

‘Beast.’

‘You loved it.’

‘And you’re loving this. So why don’t you just lie back and enjoy?’

He sucked in sharply when she bent to take him in her mouth once more.

‘No, don’t,’ he groaned, and her head lifted, her eyes surprised. ‘No?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Not like that.’

He reached down and pulled her up and onto him, spreading her legs outside of his, then pushing his tormented flesh inside her once more. With a primal groan he grabbed her buttocks, kneading them as he rocked her quite roughly up and down on him. They came together, backs arching, mouths gaping wide apart, bodies throbbing wildly in unison.

‘Oh, Rafe,’ she cried, collapsing face down across his chest, her insides still spasming.

He held her to him till she stopped, though a shudder still ran through her every now and then.

Too much, he began thinking. This is all getting too much.

‘I have to go to the bathroom,’ he told her a bit brusquely.

‘No, don’t leave me,’ she begged, clinging to him.

‘Sorry. Nature calls.’ He was out of her and off the bed in a flash, lurching across the sea matting floor and into the bathroom. Closing the door, he leaned against it for a few air-sucking seconds before staggering over to the toilet, not really needing it except to do some essential personal housekeeping.

When he went to do just that, he stared down at himself in horror.

‘Oh, no…’ he muttered.

Not once had Rafe had a condom break before on him. Not once!

Till now…

His heart sinking, Rafe inspected the damage and it was the worst scenario possible. The darned thing had totally failed. Ripped asunder. Right across the tip.

Immediately he thought of Isabel and in his mind’s eye he could see millions of eager little tadpoles careering through her cervix and into her womb, swimming around with more energy than the Olympic water-polo team, watching and waiting to score a home goal.

What were the odds of their doing just that? he wondered frantically, his mind scouring his memory to recall what Isabel had said to him that Sunday just over two weeks ago. Something about her period being due that week. Probably early on in the week, he guessed. She’d said something about suffering from PMT that day.

Rafe did some mental arithmetic and worked out that if Isabel was a normal regular female with a normal monthly cycle, then she had to have already entered, or be entering, her ‘most likely to conceive phase’ right now.

Rafe sank down on the side of the spa bath. He might have just become a father!

His head whirled. So did his stomach. She was going to kill him when he told her.

Then don’t tell her, came the voice of male logic. It will only spoil everything. And there’s nothing you can do about it now. Besides, it might not happen. It might not be the right time. Even if it was, couples sometimes tried for years—hitting ovulation day right on the dot—and the woman didn’t fall pregnant. Let’s not be paranoid about this.

But what if Isabel had fallen pregnant. What then?

Cross that bridge when you come to it, Rafe.

Right. Good advice.

Rafe stood up, jumped into the shower and turned on the water. Picking up the shower gel, he poured a generous pool into his hands and slapped it onto his chest.

But a baby, he began thinking as he washed himself. His baby. His and Isabel’s baby.

Talk about the best plans of mice and men.

Isabel lay there listening to Rafe in the shower and thinking she could do with a shower herself. She felt icky. But no way was she going to join him in there, not after the way she’d just carried on, clinging to him and pleading for him to stay with her like some lovesick cow.

How typical of herself! And how humiliating!

No wonder he’d bolted out of the bed.

Rafe was right. It was high time they did something else instead of have sex. She was beginning to fall into old ways.

Isabel sighed. If only he was less skilful in the lovemaking department. If only he didn’t know exactly the sort of thing which excited her unbearably. If only he didn’t always turn the tables on her such as just now.

She’d thought she was being the boss in the bedroom, as she’d used to be sometimes with Luke, but in a flash Rafe had whipped control out of her hands and she’d become his willing little love slave again, as she’d been last night.

Isabel’s face flamed as she thought how crazy it had been of her to let him tie her up like that. But, ooh, it had been so deliciously thrilling. And really, down deep, she’d never felt worried. There’d been no fear in her, only excitement.

It had been a game, an erotic game. Just as this holiday together was a game. Rafe knew that. And she knew that.

So why did she keep forgetting?

No more, she resolved. From now on she would stick to the rules. And to the agreed agenda. As for any silly idea she’d been harbouring of seeing Rafe occasionally after this fortnight was over… That was not on. Experience warned her if she saw Rafe outside of this fantasy setting she was sure to fall in love with him, or start relying on him for her day-to-day happiness. She’d been there, done that, and she wasn’t ever going there again. Heaven help her, if she couldn’t learn from her past mistakes!

Isabel was lying there under a sheet, feeling relatively in control once more, when Rafe emerged from the steaming bathroom, rubbing his brown hair dry with a bright orange towel, a lime-green one slung rather hazardously low around his hips.

Wow, she thought as her gaze ran hungrily over him. He really was gorgeous, even more so now that he was sporting an all-over tan. She loved the long lean look on a man, loved broad bronzed shoulders which tapered down to a small waist. Loved tight little buns.

Not that she could see his buns at that moment. But she had an imprint in her memory bank.

‘It’s time you got up, lover,’ he said, draping the orange towel over his shoulder and finger-combing his hair back from his face. ‘It’s just gone five. I want to be gone from here by six.’

‘Fine. I was just waiting for you to finish,’ she replied, but, when she swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat up, Isabel hesitated. There wasn’t anything for her to put on at hand. She hadn’t worn any clothes all day and the sarong she’d been wearing last night was still tied to the hammock. The rest of her clothes were in the walk-in wardrobe, and it was actually further to walk over there than it was to the bathroom.

It was silly that walking around naked in front of Rafe should bother her. He’d seen every inch of her up close and personal. Too silly for words!

Gathering her courage, she tossed aside the sheet she’d been clutching and stood up, wincing a little once she started walking. Oh dear, she was icky. That was another thing she found a bit embarrassing. How wet she was all the time.

Not that Rafe minded. He said it was a real turn-on.

Still, once Isabel reached the shower she lathered herself up down there with some degree of over-enthusiasm, as if by removing the evidence of her ongoing heat, she could better keep her cool around him. A waste of time, she realised on remembering she had nothing to wear to dinner tonight but the choice of three highly provocative outfits, all bought to tease and tantalise, herself as well as Rafe.

Which one would do the least damage? she wondered. The little black dress?

No. It was way too little, halter-necked with no back and a short tight skirt which looked as if it was sewn on, owing to the material being stretchy.

What about the blue silk petticoat-style number with the swishy skirt?

No. Not with her nipples standing out all the time like ready-to-fire cannons. The material was too thin and the bodice too clingy.

It would have to be the emerald and gold trouser suit. Although still provocative, she at least got to wear a bra, of sorts. But the outfit did have other hazards. Such as the fulfilling of an old fantasy of hers to look like a harem girl. The pants were harem-style, and the emerald material semi-transparent, shot with gold thread. The outfit was only saved from indecency by being overlaid with a thigh-length jacket. The bra of sorts was a strapless corselette, heavily beaded in green and gold glass beads and designed to manoeuvre even the smallest of breasts into a cleavage. Isabel’s breasts, though not large, were not small either. The result was eye-catching to say the least.

Once dressed and made-up, Isabel stared at herself in the floor-length mirror which hung on the back of the walk-in wardrobe door and thought she’d never looked sexier. Her hair was up, though not in its usual French roll. She’d just bundled it up loosely in a very casual topknot, leaving strands of various lengths to fall around her face. The long green and gold crystal earrings in her ears would swing when she walked. If she could walk, she amended as she squeezed her feet into the outrageously high gold sandals she’d bought to go with the outfit.

‘Shake a leg in there, lover,’ Rafe called out. ‘It’s gone six.’

With a shudder which could have been excitement or apprehension, she dragged on the gauzy green jacket, sprayed on some perfume, then went to meet her master.

Rafe was out on the terrace, admiring the view in the dusk light and thinking that this place really was a fantasy come true when Isabel emerged from the bure, looking like something out of the Arabian Nights.

‘Well,’ he said, smiling wryly to her as he scraped back the chair and stood up. ‘If ever there was an outfit designed to turn a gay man straight, then you’re wearing it tonight.’

She laughed a slightly guilty-sounding laugh. ‘I didn’t bring any let’s-do-something-else clothes with me, I’m afraid.’

‘I see,’ he said drily. And he did. She was only here with him for the sex. She’d made that quite clear from the start.

And he’d been with her all the way. Till their little mishap this afternoon. Now, suddenly, everything had changed. Now, suddenly, when he looked at her, he didn’t see a delicious bedmate but a possible pregnancy.

Not that he didn’t still desire her. He’d have to be dead not to. It was just that other thoughts were now overriding his X-rated ones. Such as perhaps he should still tell her what had happened. It wasn’t too late for her to get the morning-after pill. They had a doctor on the island, he knew. And a chemist shop. He’d read the list of services available in one of the coffee-table brochures.

But, oddly, he hated the idea of her ridding her body of his baby—if his baby was in there. Peculiar, really, when he’d never wanted to be a father before. He still didn’t.

But she did. Want to be a mother, that is. She wanted one enough to have one on her own. So why not his? Better than having herself artificially inseminated. Bad idea, that.

‘Rafe! Why are you just standing there, frowning at me like that? What on earth are you thinking?’

‘What am I thinking?’ He took her arm and started propelling her down the path towards the jetty. ‘I was thinking that your idea of having a baby all by yourself is not a good one. In fact, it’s a very bad one. My mother found it extremely difficult raising me by herself, and she had help for the first eight years.’

‘Yes, well I can understand how raising you would have tried the patience of a saint,’ Isabel said. ‘But my baby won’t be having your impossible genes, Rafe, so hopefully my job won’t be quite so difficult.’

‘Is that so?’ Rafe smiled. He couldn’t help it. Irony always amused him.

‘Yes, that’s so!’ she pronounced haughtily.

‘But if you go through with this plan of yours to be artificially inseminated with some unknown donor, then you won’t have any idea what kind of genes your baby will inherit from its father. Surely even my genes would be better than the lucky-dip method.’

‘All that will be unknown is his name and address,’ she informed him somewhat impatiently. ‘I will know a lot of information about the donor. A complete physical description, all aspects of his health, his level of education, plus other personality traits such as his sporting interests and hobbies. That’s how I aim to choose him. I will look at the list of available donors and select the one which best fits my prerequisites.’

‘Fascinating. Here, I can see you’re having trouble walking in those heels. I’ll carry you.’ She went to object but he just swept her up into his arms and carried her across the sand towards the jetty.

‘Mmm. You’re as light as a feather. You know, I think you’ve lost weight since coming to this island. Too much exercise and not enough eating,’ he said, at which she pulled a face up at him.

‘We have to make sure you’re in tippy-top health, you know, if you’re planning to have a baby soon. Three good meals a day, and no silly dieting.’

‘Yes, Dr Saint Vincent,’ she mocked.

‘Just talking common sense. Of course perhaps you’re not serious about having a baby soon, or on your own at all. Maybe that was just talk.’

‘I’m deadly serious. We’re on the jetty now,’ she said curtly. ‘Please put me down.’

Rafe stared down into her eyes, suddenly aware of how stiffly she was holding herself in his arms. It hadn’t occurred to him when he picked her up that she might be turned on by it. Whilst her vulnerability to his closeness was very flattering, taking advantage of it wasn’t a priority of his at this precise moment.

He lowered her carefully onto those wicked-looking shoes. ‘So tell me, Isabel, what are your prerequisites for choosing the father of your child?’

‘No.’

‘No? What do you mean, no?’

‘I mean no, Rafe,’ she said firmly as she marched on ahead of him out along the jetty. ‘I am not going to have this conversation with you,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you about my plans now. Why you’re even interested is beyond me.’

He hurried after her. ‘Oh, come on, don’t be like that. If we’re going to sit across the table and have dinner for a couple of hours we have to talk about something. And I’m curious.’

She spun round to look him straight in the eye. ‘Why?’

‘Why not?’

For a moment her eyes flashed with frustration, but then she shrugged. ‘I might as well give in and tell you whatever you want to know, because you won’t give up, will you? You’ll get your way, like you did with the black and white photos. You’re like that Chinese water torture.’

He grinned. ‘I’ve been told that before.’

‘I can imagine. But you can’t have it all your own way all the time. If I’m to answer such highly personal questions then I have a few of my own I want answered.’

‘Fair enough.’ He had nothing to hide and, frankly, was intrigued over what she might want to know. More than intrigued. Rather pleased. Maybe she didn’t want him just for sex. Maybe she wanted more, whether she admitted it to herself or not.

The prospect of having a more permanent relationship with this beautiful and spirited woman brought a rush not dissimilar to sexual arousal. He’d never been entirely happy with the thought of never seeing Isabel again after this fortnight was over, but had brushed aside any qualms over the rather cold-blooded terms she had set down because he wanted her so much.

But things were different now.

If she was carrying his child, then going their separate ways was simply not on.

Rafe couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting down her body, first to her breasts—his baby was going to be very happy with those!—and then to her stomach—athletically flat at this moment. But he could imagine how it would look in a few months’ time, all deliciously soft and rounded.

Isabel’s insides contracted when she saw the direction of Rafe’s eyes. He was thinking about sex again. She could tell. The way he’d just gobbled up her cleavage, and now he was undressing her further. He was making her all hot and bothered inside again, like he had when he’d been carrying her just now.

‘Now you stop that!’ she snapped, and his eyes jerked up to her face.

‘Stop what?’

‘You know what, you disgusting man. Now help me into this darned thing.’

The runabout rocked wildly when Isabel first stepped down into it, with Isabel almost tipping into the sea. ‘Maybe we should have called Tom to take us over,’ she said in a panicky voice as she clutched at the sides.

‘If you’d just sit down in the middle of the seat, Isabel,’ Rafe pointed out calmly, ‘everything would be fine.’

Isabel did just that, and everything was fine, with Rafe starting up the motor as though he’d been doing it all his life, then steering her safely back to the main beach where he eased the small craft expertly into another jetty. His confidence and competence at things marine and mechanical reminded Isabel that men like Rafe did have their uses in life, other than to give women mind-blowing climaxes.

If she kept him coming around occasionally, he could also be called upon to change light-bulbs, put new washers in leaking taps and even mow the lawn. Now that she was a home owner she’d have to do things like that from time to time.

When he climbed up onto the jetty with his back to her she ogled his body quite shamelessly, especially those tight buns, housed as they were tonight in tight black jeans.

‘Now you stop that,’ he said, turning and grinning down at her.

‘Stop what?’ she managed to counter, but her cheeks felt hot.

‘You know what, you disgusting woman.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she parried. ‘Now, help me out of here, and don’t let me fall in the water.’

‘Might do you good. Cool you down a tad.’

Isabel decided she really couldn’t let him get away with mocking her. Her glance was cool as a cucumber. ‘I thought you liked me hot and wet, not cold and wet.’ And she swept past him.

Rafe watched her stalk off up the jetty and smiled. She was a one all right. More sassy and sexy than any woman he’d ever met.

But he had her measure. She liked him. She didn’t want to but she did. That was why she was going to such great pains to put him in his place all the time. What she didn’t realise was that fate might have already propelled him out of his role as temporary lover into possibly something far more permanent. Father of her child.

Mmm. That was another thing he had to check up on. What the odds were of that.

‘Where are we going for dinner exactly?’ she asked him when he caught up and took her arm.

‘To the Hibiscus Restaurant. This way.’ He guided her along the planked walkway which connected the jetty to the main resort buildings which sat in several acres of tropical gardens just behind the beach.

Aside from the reception area, which also encompassed the island store, there was a five-star hotel nestled amongst the palms which boasted two à la carte restaurants, a buffet-style bistro, a couple of bars, a casino games room and a pool which, from the brochures, had to be seen to be believed. One of the restaurants was called the Hibiscus, named no doubt after the lovely tropical flower which grew in abundance on the island.

‘I booked a table there while you were in the shower,’ he told her. ‘The woman on the other end of the phone said it was the most romantic of the restaurants here. I gather she thought we were honeymooners.’

‘And you didn’t tell her we weren’t,’ Isabel said drily.

‘Goodness, no. That way, we were assured of a good table. She said since it was a balmy night she’d give us one of the ones on the terrace overlooking the pool.’

‘Con artist,’ Isabel scorned.

‘Just being my usual clever charming self.’

‘Arrogant and egotistical, that’s what you are.’

‘You like me arrogant and egotistical.’

‘Only in bed.’

‘People spend a third of their lives in bed. Except when they’re on a pretend honeymoon. Then, they spend nearly all of it.’

Isabel laughed. And why not? Rafe had to be one of the most entertaining men she’d ever been with. It was impossible not to surrender to his charm, or be amused by his wit, which was wicked and dry, just the way she liked it.

‘I love it when you laugh,’ he said. ‘You look even more beautiful when you laugh.’

‘Do stop flattering me, Rafe. I might get used to it.’

‘Ooh, and wouldn’t that be dreadful?’

‘Not so dreadful. Just unwise.’

‘Why?’

She sighed as her good humour faded. ‘I told you once before, Rafe. I don’t want to have another relationship with a man whose idea of a relationship begins and ends in the bedroom.’

‘And you think that’s all I’d ever want from you?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

On whether you’re carrying my child…

‘On how good you can cook,’ he quipped.

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re saying the way to your heart is through your stomach? I don’t believe it.’

‘I do like my food. This way to the Hibiscus,’ he directed on seeing an arrowed sign veering off to the right through the gardens. ‘Mmm, I wonder what their wine list is like? Since there’s no extra charge, I’ll order a different bottle with each course.’

‘I’m not going back in that tin-can with you if you’ve been drinking heavily,’ she warned.

‘Me, neither. If I feel I’m over the limit, we’ll get someone else to take us back. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ She nodded. ‘And don’t encourage me to drink too much, either. I still haven’t got over the hangover I had from my last binge.’

‘Yes, but that was hard liquor. A few glasses of wine won’t hurt.’

‘Mmm. You’d say that. You’re probably trying to get me drunk so that you can have your wicked way with me.’

He laughed. ‘Honey, I don’t have to get you drunk to do that.’

Isabel winced. ‘I asked for that one, didn’t I?’

He gave her an affectionate squeeze. ‘Don’t be silly. I love the way you are.’

Isabel didn’t doubt it. Men had always been partial to whores.

Her stomach turned over at this last thought. She wasn’t a whore, but maybe, in Rafe’s eyes, she was acting like one. There again, maybe not. Rafe was not a narrow-minded man, and he didn’t seem to be afflicted with that dreadful set of double standards which some men dragged up to make women feel guilty about their sexuality.

Her mother, however, wouldn’t be impressed with the way she’d been behaving.

Isabel suppressed a groan. Why, oh why did she have to think of her mother? The woman was out of the ark when it came to her views on such things. She didn’t appreciate that the world was a different world now. Marriage couldn’t be relied upon any more to provide a woman with security for life. And men…men couldn’t be relied upon at all!

‘You’ve gone all quiet on me,’ Rafe said worriedly.

‘Just thinking.’

‘Thinking can be bad for you.’

‘What do you recommend?’

‘Talking is good. And so, sometimes, is drinking. You could do with a measure of both.’

‘You conniving devil. You just want to find out all my secrets.’

‘You mean you have some?’

‘Don’t we all?’

‘My life is an open book.’

‘Huh! Any man with designer stubble and a phantom’s head in his ear has to have some secrets.’

‘Not me. What you see is what you get. If you think I’m indulging in some kind of pretentious arty-farty image with the way I look, you couldn’t be more wrong. The phantom’s head belonged to my father. I wear it all the time because when I look in the mirror I’m reminded of him. I don’t shave every day because it gives me a rash if I do. As far as my clothes are concerned, I dress strictly for comfort, and in colours which don’t stain easily. I am who I am, Isabel. And I like who I am. Can you say the same? Aah. Here we are. The Hibiscus.’