Gypsy

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘My pride has nothing to do with it—’

  ‘Oh, come on, Lyon.’ Purple eyes challenged tawny. ‘It would have ended between us sooner or later anyway.’

  ‘Would it?’

  She frowned at the flatly spoken question. ‘If you expected me to go on as we were for the next five years or so you were out of luck!’

  ‘Why?’ he grated. ‘I could have given you anything you wanted—except marry you.’

  ‘Because you already had a wife!’

  ‘You knew that when we first started seeing each other. The fact that you thought I was divorcing Marilyn didn’t alter the fact that she was still my wife when we began our affair. God, I can’t believe marriage was so important to you that you threw away what we had!’

  ‘Why not?’ she taunted. ‘Most women want permanence, a husband and eventually a family.’

  He pushed her away from him. ‘You’ve had them both.’

  But not together. It would have been wonderful if Ricky had been able to go through this pregnancy with her. He had been so concerned for her, was already proving himself to be an indulgent father-to-be, toys for the baby appearing almost daily in the second bedroom at their apartment that was going to be turned into a nursery. Shay had teased him that if he continued like that the baby wouldn’t be able to get in the room! He had just laughed, and so had she, enjoying her pregnancy.

  Lyon’s eyes were like icy slits as he seemed to read the happy thoughts going through her mind. ‘I shouldn’t be late back tonight, and Mrs Devon will be upstairs in her apartment if you need her later.’

  He sounded just like a concerned husband leaving his pregnant wife alone for the evening—and she wouldn’t allow him that privilege. ‘You’re at liberty to return here whenever you feel like it,’ she told him haughtily. ‘And I certainly don’t need you to tell me how my household runs!’

  Instead of the anger she had been expecting, Lyon gave a satisfied smile, touching her cheek gently before leaving the room. He moved with animal grace as he descended the stairs, wishing Mrs Devon a cheery goodnight on his way out.

  It was only then that Shay realised why he was so damned pleased with himself; she had just given him permission to stay on here in her house. Unwittingly goaded into doing so, but she had given it!

  * * *

  SHE SHOULDN’T have slept so much today, she told herself as she tossed and turned in the bed, unable to fall asleep despite the hands on her bedside clock telling her it was well after midnight.

  But she knew her insomnia wasn’t all due to the fact that she had had two lengthy naps today. A lot of it was due to the fact that tonight she was aware of Lyon’s presence in the bedroom opposite hers.

  He had been back about an hour now; she had heard him moving about the room as he undressed before going into the bathroom to take a shower, and then the slight movement of the bed as he sat on its side. She had been conscious of every sound coming from that room the last hour, couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t stop being aware of Lyon’s movements.

  She needed a bath to cool off, or calm down. She needed to relax somehow, knew she shouldn’t let Lyon’s presence here disturb her so much. Heavens, she had lived in the same house as he had for the first two years of her marriage, so why should tonight in her house be any different? Because Ricky wasn’t there to protect her! Lyon had felt no compunction about coming to her suite at Falconer House the night of the funeral, so why should he stay away tonight?

  The bath did much to calm her, and she dismissed the thought of Lyon across the hall as she repeated the nightly ritual she had of rubbing oil into the taut skin stretched across her swollen body, so far managing to ward off the stretch marks with this little bit of care.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She almost dropped the bottle of oil she held in her agitation at Lyon invading her privacy in this silent way, hastily pulling her robe around her as his dark gaze seemed fixed on her gleaming body. ‘How dare you just walk in here?’ she spluttered her indignation, feeling very vulnerable in her vanity.

  ‘I heard the water run for your bath,’ he spoke absently, moving towards her. ‘What were you doing when I came in?’ he repeated.

  He was standing over her now, and Shay was uncomfortably aware of the fact that her only piece of clothing was clinging to her stickily. She usually rubbed off the excess oil before going to bed, Lyon’s intrusion interrupting the ritual, and now she felt very uncomfortable.

  She swung her legs to the floor. ‘Trying to make sure I don’t get stretch marks,’ she snapped. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of knocking before you enter a room?’ She marched over to the bathroom to get a towel, closing the door behind her, looking up indignantly as Lyon pushed into the room behind her. ‘Lyon, please!’ she gasped.

  ‘Let me.’ He took the towel from her, taking her back to the bed to lay her gently on the sheet.

  ‘Lyon—’

  He parted her robe, revealing her glistening skin, gently patting her dry with the towel. ‘I interrupted.’ He picked up the bottle of oil, pouring a little into his palm as he gently used both hands to caress the swell of her body.

  ‘Lyon, no!’ she protested weakly.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ he insisted, his hands moving slowly, rhythmically, over her silken flesh.

  She shouldn’t be letting him do this to her, but as a heated warmth spread through her body, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stop him.

  Shay closed her eyes, the oil he was slowly massaging into her body warmed by his hands before he touched her. His hands smoothed oil either side of her stomach, down to her lower body, before moving up again. His movements were soothing even while she felt her senses leap. She became languorous, too comfortable to move as Lyon continued the gentle caresses.

  ‘He should have got the girl, you know,’ Lyon suddenly murmured.

  She squirmed protestingly as those sensuous hands travelled up the sides of her heavy breasts. ‘Hm?’ she groaned as her breasts ached in a completely different way from their usual fullness.

  ‘Leon de Coursey.’ Lyon’s fingers grazed her responsive nipples.

  She raised heavy lids. ‘You’ve read the book?’

  ‘Several weeks ago.’ He concentrated on gently kneading the oil into her hips.

  She closed her eyes again. ‘Men like that don’t “get the girl”,’ she told him firmly, desperately searching for the strength to end this. But his hands felt so good on her body!

  ‘Page one hundred and twenty-three was our last night together, wasn’t it?’ One of his hands curved over the mound of her womanhood, Shay’s gasp turning to a groan as that hand slowly began to move. ‘Shay?’ he prompted persuasively.

  ‘Yes!’ she gasped as he increased the pressure, feeling the moist heat begin to take control of her body as he probed her softness with a knowledge that had her writhing against him.

  As the reality of what was happening to her washed over her, Shay sat up to push his hand away, clasping her robe to her as she knew she had been on the edge of complete sexual release. Just from Lyon’s touch!

  She was breathing hard in her agitation. ‘And at the end of that night I felt the same loathing for you that Adelia felt for de Coursey!’

  Lyon straightened as she stood up, wiping the oil from his hands on to the towel. ‘The same loathing you felt just now when I touched you?’

  She swallowed hard, whimpering softly. How could she deny her arousal of just now; Lyon had felt the ready moistness of her, had probed the velvet warmth of that desire.

  ‘This time I’m going to “get the girl”,’ he grated.

  ‘No!’ Shay cried her panic.

  Lyon’s mouth thinned. ‘You may be able to control the characters in your books, Shay, make them do what you want them to, but you can’t control me. I lost you once, it isn’t going to happen a second time.’

  ‘I don’t want you!’ she gasped at his arrogance.

  He shook his head. ‘Maybe not me, but now
I know what you do want. I also know you can’t stop me. You’re going to be mine again, Shay. And this time you’ll stay mine!’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FALCONER HOUSE looked very beautiful, the surrounding trees an assortment of autumn reds and golds, the smooth lawns still beautifully green, varied flowers still brightly gracing the garden with their blooms.

  Shay walked slowly amongst the beauty, strangely at peace, even though she had fought so hard against coming back here. But last night had given her no choice. She couldn’t stay alone with Lyon at her mews home, and he wouldn’t leave unless she had him physically thrown out. And they all knew that if she did that there would be a great deal of publicity, publicity she no more wanted than Lyon did.

  Last night had given her no choice but to pack her bags and drive down to Falconer House. At least here there were other people to blunt Lyon’s threatening behaviour. And she did consider him a threat. Lyon had hurt her physically as well as emotionally six years ago, and he could do it again if he were given the opportunity. She had tried to tell herself that last night had happened because of her heightened sensuality due to her pregnancy; it was a well known fact that hormonal changes in a pregnant woman often made her feel sexy. And yet that explanation didn’t quite describe her behaviour, not when it had been with a man she hated. And that admission had drawn another one from her; the attraction she had always felt for Lyon couldn’t be as dead as she had believed it to be.

  And so she had run—for there could be no other explanation for what she had done. After years of seeming almost as much an enemy as Lyon was Falconer House had seemed like her only refuge, a welcoming friend.

  Matthew had been pleased to see her, had asked for no explanation of her unexpected arrival, seeming to know it had something to do with his older brother. Her suite was ready as it always was, and the two of them had later lunched together before he returned to the office to work. With a mocking promise not to tell Lyon she was there. Matthew’s warped, and often cruel, sense of humour allowed him to see something amusing about the situation. She wished she could see it too!

  ‘He’ll find you, you know.’

  She turned to face Matthew as he joined her in the garden, the Falconer Estate designed to cater for his wheelchair, a small ramp bringing him down amongst the beauty of the rose garden. ‘I don’t happen to be hiding,’ Shay told him firmly.

  ‘Aren’t you?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Your attraction towards Lyon always resembled that of the rabbit for the snake.’

  Shay bristled indignantly. ‘I’m no longer an infatuated eighteen-year-old,’ she snapped.

  ‘You were never an infatuated anything,’ Matthew told her softly. ‘You loved Lyon like no other woman ever has or ever will. Even Ricky knew that.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ She shook her head. ‘Ricky knew just how much I hated Lyon.’

  ‘Ricky knew he was second-best,’ Matthew said gently. ‘He always knew that.’

  ‘He never was,’ denied Shay heatedly. ‘I loved him. We had a good marriage.’

  ‘I know that,’ he nodded. ‘And I’m glad you were able to make my little brother happy. But we all knew that what you and Lyon had together was the sort of love legends are made of, like Cleopatra and Antony.’

  ‘Their relationship ended tragically too,’ she dismissed hardly. ‘And Ricky wasn’t second-best for me. We had five wonderful years together, and if he had lived I hope we would have had fifty more.’

  ‘Have you ever noticed that sometimes things happen, tragic things at times, that work out to be necessary to the ultimate plan of things?’ Matthew spoke thoughtfully.

  ‘Ricky’s death could never be necessary in the “plan of things”,’ Shay cried angrily. ‘He was twenty-eight years old, a wonderful man, would have made a wonderful father for our child, so how can you even think that his death may have been necessary!’

  Matthew shrugged. ‘Why did Marilyn suddenly decide she wanted a divorce after all this time?’

  ‘Probably because she realised she was sick of being married to a man like Lyon! And also because she fell in love with Derrick.’

  ‘She’s worked with Derrick for years; she didn’t just suddenly fall in love with him.’

  ‘Then she just decided it was Lyon she was sick of,’ Shay dismissed, unwilling to admit that it had been her own sense of the inevitable that had stopped her falling apart after Ricky’s death. She wasn’t going to encourage Matthew’s idea that all of this was some sort of a master plan! ‘You aren’t going to tell me that it was also necessary in the “plan of things" to put you in that wheelchair!’ she challenged.

  She hadn’t meant to say anything that hurtful, knew he was deeply wounded as his face grew harshly cold, his hazel eyes frosting over.

  ‘My being in this wheelchair is through my own damned stupidity,’ he rasped.

  ‘Matthew, I—’

  ‘I thought I knew it all,’ he bit out, lost in bitter memories. ‘I came down from the top of that mountain as if I were floating on air. And then it all went wrong,’ he said flatly. ‘I lost control, flew off the side of the mountain at a tremendous speed. When I reached the bottom I couldn’t move my legs. I haven’t moved them since.’

  ‘Oh, Matthew, I’m sorry!’ She went down on her haunches beside his chair, grasping his tensed hands. ‘I didn’t mean it. I—’

  ‘It’s all right, Gypsy.’ Hazel eyes had softened compassionately as he gently squeezed her hands in his own. ‘I was intruding where I had no right to be.’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Have you ever known me to be wrong?’ he mocked with teasing arrogance.

  ‘Matthew, I shouldn’t have said what I did,’ Shay told him determinedly, tears in her eyes for the way this strong man suffered every day of his life for a youthful impetuosity.

  ‘Neither should I,’ he said ruefully. ‘By this time I should have learnt to mind my own business.’

  She moistened her lips, still crouched down in front of him. ‘Did Ricky tell you—did he really think he was second-best?’

  Matthew patted her hand. ‘It didn’t matter to him, all he ever wanted was you.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Gypsy, you can’t change the past, unfortunately that’s something that will always be with us.’

  Perhaps she had once loved Lyon the way Matthew believed she had, but Ricky, of all people, had to know she had stopped loving him; Matthew just couldn’t have realised that.

  ‘I’m only concerned with the future, the future of my baby and me,’ she told him firmly.

  * * *

  THE MAN who watched her knew that he was going to be included in that future. She was a magnificent creature, her purple eyes glowing, the black hair cascading down past her shoulders. She was proudly pregnant in the pale lilac dress, a dark-eyed gypsy of a woman burgeoning with her child.

  He knew every silken inch of that body beneath the dress, knew that she had run from him because he knew her so well. Last night her body had quivered beneath his hands, had cried out for the release he could give her, a release she had finally denied herself.

  But she couldn’t go on fighting him for ever, and the relief of finding her here far outweighed the anger he had felt at her disappearance from London. Although he didn’t particularly like the way she and Matthew were holding hands.

  ‘We’re all concerned about that, Shay.’ Lyon stepped out of the house, looking down at them, his mouth tightening at the way Shay was instantly on her guard as she straightened. Perhaps he should go a little slower with her, give her a chance to get used to his being back in her life. If only he didn’t want her so much!

  ‘You’re early,’ Matthew drawled.

  Lyon looked coldly at his brother. ‘Keeping tabs on me, Matthew?’ he rasped.

  Matthew’s mouth quirked. ‘Not particularly. We just weren’t expecting you just yet. I don’t think Shay was expecting you at all.’

  Lyon gave his brother an impatient look before turning to
Shay, his mouth thinning at how pale she had become. She was frightened of him! What the hell did she expect him to do, force himself on her? He had never needed to use force on Shay, and he knew he would never need to do so now either.

  ‘I telephoned the house,’ he revealed flatly. ‘Mrs Devon told me you had packed your suitcases and gone. She’s very worried about you,’ he added reprovingly.

  ‘I told her not to be,’ Shay said jerkily.

  He gave a scornful snort. ‘None of us can turn our emotions off just because we’re told to!’

  Emotions? This man didn’t even know what they were!

  She had been grateful to Matthew as he was the one to answer Lyon’s opening comment, not certain she would have been able to if pressed, her mouth going suddenly dry. Lyon had looked dangerous as he stepped out on to the terrace, his eyes flinty, totally unlike the liquid-eyed man that had oiled her body the evening before. She had known he would be angry at her sudden departure from her mews home, but already she felt safer from his threats with the cryptic Matthew as a buffer between them. This man wasn’t going to make an emotional conquest of her a second time!

  ‘You can, Lyon,’ she derided haughtily. ‘You’ve always been able to turn your emotions on and off to suit the occasion.’

  Matthew watched them with amusement, hazel eyes alight with mischief. ‘Well?’ he prompted his brother.

  Lyon looked at him. ‘Well what?’ he growled.

  A perplexed frown marred Matthew’s brow. ‘No come-back?’ He sounded disappointed.

  Lyon’s mouth twisted. ‘None that I intend making in front of you.’

  ‘You’re spoiling my fun,’ Matthew drawled.

  ‘Why don’t you go and get your own girl and stop interfering in other people’s lives?’ the other man sighed.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody silly!’ Matthew exploded angrily, a mulish look to his face as he propelled his wheelchair up the ramp.

  ‘Matthew—’

  ‘Cripples aren’t in fashion just now!’ Matthew cut icily through Shay’s concerned exclamation. ‘I won’t be joining you for dinner,’ he snapped before going inside the house.