by Anne Mather
‘I think you’d better go, Miss Johnson,’ she said now, and even Karen looked taken aback at the apparent authority in her tone. She crossed the room, albeit on rather stiff legs, and rang the bell for the housekeeper. ‘Mrs Grady will show you out. Please don’t come here again.’
Karen took an aggressive step towards her. ‘You can’t treat me like this.’
‘Oh, I think I can.’ Rachel’s voice gained more confidence from her enemy’s agitation. ‘You’re not welcome here, Miss Johnson. Be thankful I’m not calling the police to throw you out.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Karen stared at her hard, as if trying to ascertain whether she meant what she said. Then she gave a scornful laugh. ‘Imagine what the gutter press would make of you hounding your husband’s mistress. No, you’re bluffing, Mrs Riordan. You’re probably wetting your pants for fear I might go to the papers myself.’
‘Get out!’ Rachel’s voice trembled as she spoke, but her determination didn’t falter. As she was taller than Karen, she used her height to make her point. ‘Get out before I throw you out,’ she snarled, her hands balling into fists at her sides. And, although Karen retained her air of defiance, she moved reluctantly towards the door.
‘You haven’t heard the last of me,’ she said provokingly, and Rachel wondered where Mrs Grady was when she needed her. ‘Wait until I tell Jack how you’ve treated me. You won’t be half so cocky then.’
‘Oh, I’m the one who’ll be telling Jack about your visit,’ retorted Rachel recklessly. ‘Yes, he’s going to be delighted when he hears your opinion of his character.’
‘What do you mean?’
Karen was wary, and Rachel gave her a mocking smile. ‘I can’t wait to tell him that you think he only married me to get control of the company. I mean, you’re virtually saying he couldn’t have made it on his own.’
‘You cow!’
‘Me?’ Rachel was actually starting to enjoy herself in a disreputable way. ‘What’s the matter, Miss Johnson? Are you beginning to realise you might have said too much?’
‘No.’ But Karen was agitated. ‘I don’t care what you say, I’m going to have Jack’s baby. You might earn a few points for effort, Mrs Riordan, but I’m holding the winning card.’
Rachel’s nails dug into her palms, but before she could stop herself she said, ‘One of them.’ And, as Karen turned incredulous eyes in her direction, she added unforgivably, ‘Didn’t he tell you? I’m having a baby, too.’
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS LATE when Jack got back to Market Abbas.
The actual signing of the contract hadn’t taken long, but there’d been lunch with the Mayor, followed by a tour of the city, then drinks—something he always tried to avoid these days—before an early dinner with the architect, the surveyor, and other dignitaries. Jake knew they were only there for the ride, but he had to play along despite how he was feeling before he could reasonably take his leave.
It had all gone very well, and everyone had seemed satisfied with the deal. Jack felt he’d acquitted himself adequately considering he hadn’t been in the mood for any of it. Since he’d spoken to his doctor on Tuesday he’d been having a hard time making sense of his life, let alone anything else.
It was just as well he and Rachel spent so little time in each other’s company these days. In the early months of their marriage she’d have known instantly that something was wrong. These last few months had been hell. He was sleeping badly and his appetite was virtually non-existent. The pressure of work, of handling the continued expansion and the other responsibilities he had now that Rachel’s father was dead, was crippling. And now dealing with Karen Johnson as well had proved too much. Even Mrs Grady had noticed, but she knew better than to interfere.
Driving between the open gates of the house he’d built just after he and Rachel were married, Jack knew an overwhelming sense of relief. He was grateful for the darkness, too, to hide the weariness he knew must be evident in his face. After all, his home was over a hundred miles from Bristol, and, although he loved driving, he wished he’d let his driver take the wheel tonight.
But that would have meant Dan couldn’t have had a drink either, and that wouldn’t have been fair. And the last thing he wanted was for Dan to become suspicious of his health. He might feel it was his duty to inform Rachel. He had always been very fond of Jack’s wife.
There were lights on in the house, even though it was after eleven o’clock. Someone must still be up, and he guessed it was Mrs Grady. The days when Rachel had waited up for him were long gone. His expression shifted to one of regret. He missed those late-night conversations with his wife, the opportunities they’d given him to get the events of the day into perspective. They hardly discussed the company these days. And since her father had died two years ago, he’d had no one in the family to share his problems with.
So whose fault was that?
But Jack had no desire to get into such things tonight. He was too tired, too depressed, too sick of being the boss of Fox Construction first and Jack Riordan second.
He sighed, and after parking the Aston Martin to one side of the entrance he got out of the car. He couldn’t be bothered to put it in the garage. If it was stolen, so be it. He didn’t much care either way.
His lips twisted. Life was like that. It gave you everything you’d ever want with one hand and took it back with the other. What was that word? Schadenfreude? Malicious pleasure at another’s expense? Yeah, that was probably a good way to describe the way fate had treated him.
His cellphone chirped in his pocket and, stifling a curse, he pulled it out. Karen! As he’d expected. He pressed the disconnect button and severed the call. She’d been calling him off and on all day—hell, for the past three months—and he had no desire to speak with her tonight.
Turning the phone off, he used his key quietly, mindful that Rachel was probably asleep by now. She’d always been a light sleeper, waking as soon as he’d entered their bedroom. Not that they shared a bedroom these days. Since she’d lost the last baby Rachel had left him in no doubt that she preferred to sleep alone.
There were lamps glowing in the wide entrance hall, casting a mellow light across the parquet floor. Paintings that he and Rachel had chosen together were only shadows against the walls, and overhead the Waterford chandelier was dark.
Most of the downstairs rooms opened into the hall, but the doors were closed and no inviting ribbon of light showed beneath any of them. There appeared to be a light on the galleried landing, but he ignored it. If Mrs Grady was still up, she’d be in the kitchen, and Jack walked through the doorway behind the stairs that gave access to the housekeeper’s domain.
To his surprise, the kitchen was dark as well. When he flicked a switch concealed lighting flooded granite surfaces and pale oak units but the room was empty. Scowling, he crossed to the double fridge and freezer, opening the fridge door and taking out a carton of milk. He glanced round for a glass, but that was too much trouble as well, so instead he raised the carton to his lips.
He took a healthy gulp, savouring its richness, wiping the smear from his upper lip with the back of his hand. The milk was cold and refreshing and, closing the fridge again, he took the carton with him when he left the kitchen to make his way upstairs.
It would probably do him more good than the fillet steak he’d only picked at earlier, he reflected, loosening his tie with his free hand. And Mrs Grady could hardly complain when she was always telling him he ought to have a more nutritious diet.
But he forgot all about the housekeeper as he neared the first floor landing. He was gradually realising there was too much light up here than could be accounted for by the courtesy light Rachel usually left burning. There was heat, and a curious smell of—what? Perfume? Incense? And a strange flickering incandescence coming through the open doors of Rachel’s room.
The first thing that occurred to him was fire. He could think of no other reason for the flickering light. His heart-rate quickened and
he tried not very successfully to calm himself. Oh, God, surely none of the calls he’d ignored had been from here?
Dropping the thankfully almost empty carton, he sprinted across the landing. Despite his protests, Rachel had moved out of the master suite and now occupied one of the four guest suites on the opposite side of the house. He couldn’t think of any other reason why her doors should be open, and, although there was an increasing tightness in his chest, he was more concerned about his wife than about his own health.
The sight that met his eyes almost took his breath away altogether. There was fire all right, and flames, but they came from dozens of scented candles set all around the bedroom. There were tall ones, thin ones, squat ones, and some that didn’t fit any particular pattern, and the heat and the scent were dizzying in their potency.
He halted in the doorway, one hand pressed to his madly beating heart, the other supporting himself against the jamb. He could see through a breathless haze that the bed was turned down, but the room was empty. As if some force had spirited Rachel away and left these burning symbols in her place.
He fought for breath, resting his full weight against the doorpost now, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. What did it mean? Was Rachel into some weird religious ritual or something? Why else would she have lit all these candles. Dear God, what was going on?
Fumbling in the inside pocket of his jacket, he found the strip of foil-wrapped pills the doctor had given him. Releasing one, he stuffed it in his mouth, feeling some relief as his heartbeat began to slow. Maybe Rachel knew about his condition and was trying to kill him, he thought, a faint smile appearing at the obvious irony. But what the hell? He’d be unwise to subject himself to too many shocks like this.
He was attempting to straighten up when the door to Rachel’s bathroom opened. As he stared in disbelief, she stepped, barefoot, into the room. In the light from the scented candles he saw her eyes dart in his direction. But then his gaze was riveted by the fact that she was practically nude.
But ‘nude’ was a relative word, he acknowledged, aware that sometimes the anticipation was more satisfying than the reality. Though not in this case. In a black lace half-bra that gave her small breasts a surprising cleavage, and the minutest black lace thong he’d ever seen, she was stunning. A slim, long-legged goddess, whose scant underwear revealed that her mane of sun-streaked blond hair was most definitely natural.
‘My God!’
The breathless oath was uncontrollable, and Rachel turned innocent eyes in his direction. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she said softly, as if she’d only just noticed him. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
Jack felt as though he must have died and gone to heaven. That mad sprint across the landing must have done it for him, and he was presently enjoying some fantasy life elsewhere. There was no way that what he was seeing was real. It was a dream. It had to be. A tantalising glimpse of how their lives could have been.
‘Hi,’ he said weakly.
It took an effort to get his tongue round the word. There were any number of things he wanted to say, he ought to say, but he was too bemused to be original.
‘You look tired,’ she said, seeming to float towards him across the thick white carpet that covered the floor. She halted in front of him, reaching up to push his unruly dark hair off his forehead. ‘Has it been a stressful day?’
Her fingers were cool against his hot forehead, and when she stretched the skimpy bra exposed a half-circle of the rosy flesh surrounding her nipple. She didn’t seem to notice, but he did. The heated scent of her body was more potent than the candles that surrounded her.
Jack felt his body hardening instantly. It might be more than two years since he and Rachel had made love, but he remembered how incredible the sex between them used to be. Unfortunately, he’d only had to touch her for her to get pregnant, and time—and painful experience—had taught him that she wouldn’t welcome his lovemaking again.
‘Rachel,’ he said, hearing the hoarseness of his voice, feeling his heart quickening its beat in spite of the drug he’d swallowed.
‘Come on, Jack,’ she responded, taking his hand and drawing him into the warmth and light of the bedroom. She gestured towards the huge Colonial-style bed that they had never shared. ‘Sit down. Would you like a drink?’
There was nothing Jack would have liked more, but he shook his head. If this were a dream he didn’t need alcohol to stoke his libido, and if it weren’t he shouldn’t be drinking alcohol, period.
He let her bring him into the room, allowed her to close the doors behind them and push him down onto the side of the wide bed. The truth was, his legs felt a little unsteady. But it was as much from the arousal she was generating as from the latent effects of his condition.
He caught his breath when she knelt down in front of him. What now? he thought, wondering if a man could die from illusions created by his own imagination. But all she did was remove his shoes and roll his socks down over his ankles. Then, when he was barefoot, she slipped those soft hands beneath the cuffs of his trousers and gently massaged his calves.
She offered him a demure smile when he rested back on his elbows, his damp palms pressed into the coverlet for support. Did she know it was the only way he could stop himself from reaching for her? She had to be aware of his erection. Dammit, it wasn’t something he could disguise, after all.
But all she said was, ‘There—doesn’t that feel better?’ as if her sensuous ministrations were something he was used to. She couldn’t be that ingenuous, he thought, so what in God’s name was she playing at? The pain in his groin had convinced him that, however unlikely it seemed, this was really happening.
Nevertheless, when she got to her feet again, putting his eyes on a level with the black strings that tied the thong at her hips, he couldn’t look away. His eyes were irresistibly drawn to the cluster of blond curls that were visible through the black lace, and he couldn’t deny she was sexy as hell.
‘Relax,’ she said now, coming closer and reaching for his tie, which he’d partly loosened as he came upstairs. Slender fingers dealt with the knot, and if Jack hadn’t been so conscious of her hip against his thigh he’d have admired her expertise.
As it was, he thought that relaxing was totally beyond his current capabilities. Which wasn’t helped when she lifted one leg to kneel on the bed beside him and started unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingertips brushed his skin, her nails scraping sensually over the fine dark hair that arrowed down to his navel and beyond. She was steadily driving him crazy and he had to stop her.
‘Rachel,’ he protested weakly, but when he lifted his hand he lost his balance and his back hit the mattress with a distinct thud. Then, to his amazement, she climbed totally onto the bed and threw one leg across him, straddling him as she continued to unfasten his shirt and pull it free of his pants.
The knowledge that her spread thighs were pressing down onto his groin almost overwhelmed him. He’d never been so close to losing control, and he closed his eyes to shut out the incredible sight of her leaning over him, her luscious breasts only inches from his mouth.
He felt her push his shirt and jacket over his shoulders, and then she turned her attention to the buckle on his belt. He knew he ought to stop her. He wanted to stop her, he told himself. But his hands wouldn’t obey what his brain was telling them. Instead, he let her loosen his pants and draw the zip down partway.
‘Mmm,’ she murmured, and he knew she must have discovered that his boxers were no barrier to the heavy thrust of his shaft. But, although he’d expected her to stop then, she only drew the blue silk aside and took him into her hands.
‘Rachel,’he muttered, his eyes opening to find her bending to caress him with her tongue. ‘What do you think I’m made of?’
Rachel lifted her head, her smile strangely triumphant. ‘Oh, I know what you’re made of,’ she said, her tongue appearing again, to circle her lower lip with seductive deliberation. ‘Flesh and sinew and—’ she stroked a finger along his
length ‘—blood and bone. Exactly what a man should be made of, don’t you agree?’
Jake expelled a tortured breath. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Rachel arched brows that were several shades darker than her hair while eyes as deep a blue as indigo assessed him with disturbingly intensity. ‘I thought I was helping you to undress,’ she replied with artless innocence, and Jack swore.
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Mmm.’ She nodded eagerly. ‘I had some tea earlier. Iced tea. Would you like some?’
Jack stared at her disbelievingly. ‘Are you for real?’
‘I hope so.’ She straightened her spine, so that her weight was lifted off him, and ran exploring hands down her body from her breasts to her hips. ‘I think so.’ She paused. ‘Don’t you think I am?’
Jack didn’t know what to think. ‘Is this some sick game you’re playing?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Because I have to tell you, if it is, I—’
‘It’s no game, Jack.’ Rachel looked positively offended now, and as he watched with incredulous eyes she swung herself off him and started to crawl towards the edge of the bed. ‘I just thought we might—connect. You know? But—if you don’t want to…’
‘Want to?’ Jack echoed her words with a feeling of frustration that knew no bounds. ‘God, Rachel, of course I want to.’ He pushed himself up, tearing off the shirt and jacket that were restricting his arms and tossing them on the floor. He restored himself to some semblance of modesty and scrambled after her, only his hipbones and good fortune keeping his pants from slipping down his thighs. ‘For pity’s sake, come here!’
With his heart pounding so heavily against his ribcage that he was afraid it was going to burst out of his chest, he managed to snag her ankle, preventing her from climbing off the bed. And although he’d expected her to object she didn’t. She let him pull her towards him, twisting obediently onto her back and provocatively spreading her legs.
