- -
- 100%
- +
‘No, Nadine, I’m not.’ He strode across to the bed where he deposited her travelling bag. ‘Were you imagining I was? Would you feel happier if the father of your child wasn’t around? Is that it?’
When she didn’t answer, too weary to launch herself into another verbal battle with him, he said, ‘Well, I’m going to be around—at every available opportunity. No child of mine is going to be deprived of its father-whether its mother likes it or not! So you’d better get used to the idea, sweetheart, and you’d better get used to it now!’
As he’d spoken he had tugged back the bedcovers on one side to reveal the crisp white pillowcases. Signs of a woman’s touch, Nadine couldn’t help thinking, although he had said Lisa didn’t come to the cottage. She guessed that he had someone in on a regular basis to clean.
‘You didn’t have to drag me away from my job—not so soon, anyway,’ Nadine protested tiredly, although feeling as she did at the moment she wasn’t totally averse to a break. ‘What am I supposed to do for the next few months, buried down here, miles from anywhere?’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ he drawled, pulling the chintzy curtains on the night-shrouded countryside. ‘And, as I said, I’ll make it my business to be around as often as I can. It might not be what you want, but you were certainly quick enough to agree to it when you were planning this little campaign of single motherhood for yourself. What you seemed to overlook was that it takes two to accomplish conception, and in any form of partnership you can’t have all your own way. When you’re over the worst and feeling better you can get back to your typewriter, if you feel inclined to, but I don’t see any point in your wasting all your valuable legal experience in some insurance office. You’ll probably find more job satisfaction—and certainly less risk to our child—working here, for me.’
Feeling the dressing-table immediately behind her, Nadine leaned back, with her hands on its smooth surface to steady herself, rocked by the absolute audacity of the man.
‘Why?’ she enquired brittly, too bruised and angered by his mistaken opinion of her even to try to defend herself, or to wonder exactly what he was proposing. ‘As surety? To make sure I pay back all the money you think I wheedled out of you? She finished with bitter cynicism, because—heaven help her!—she would. She didn’t know how. But somehow—some day—she would!
She caught her breath as he came too close for her to move away from the dressing-table, that elusive scent of him playing dangerous games with her senses as he caught her small chin between his thumb and forefinger and said, ‘Oh, you’ll pay.’ His tone was lethally soft. ‘But not in the way you’re imagining, Nadine. Money doesn’t even figure in the cost you’re going to have to settle with me. Now go to bed, like a good girl. Unless of course…’ His gaze strayed down across the inviting softness of the bed so that, panicking, she pushed at him with all her strength and caught his softly mocking laughter as he went out.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Nadine awoke the sun was shining through a chink in the heavy floral curtains and, curious to see exactly where she was, she clambered out of bed.
The room obviously faced east, she realised as she pulled back the curtains, squinting from the dazzling rays of the sun. It was reflected almost blindingly by the gleaming bodywork of the Mercedes, which was parked beneath her window in the lane. On the other side, beyond a five-bar gate, fields stretched away to forestry and gently rolling hills, while in the immediate meadow-partly flanked on the lane-side by a row of chestnut trees—two horses grazed, coats brown and sleek, at one with the still, peaceful morning. No wonder Cameron had said it was a good place to unwind!
A tap on her door made her turn sharply, suddenly conscious of her short white lacy nightie. And she must have hesitated too long with her quiet, tentative, ‘Yes,’ or might simply not have been heard, because suddenly Cameron was coming in, although he stopped instantly when he saw her.
‘I thought you’d still be in bed,’ he remarked, obviously surprised. His glance over the feminine nightdress that she knew revealed far too much of her legs lifted to the tousled riot of auburn hair. ‘I didn’t bring you a tray as I wasn’t sure how much you could stomach in the mornings, but if you feel like something more than just dry toast it’s all prepared.’
This caring, domesticated side of him was so different from the hard antagonist who had left her the previous night that the disparity threw her for a moment. That, and the fact that the light cotton T-shirt he was wearing with pale, well-tailored trousers showed the muscular strength of his chest and broad shoulders, emphasising the hard, lean line of his waist.
‘No. J-just toast,’ she stammered, although remarkably she didn’t feel too bad this morning, she realised, as quickly she tagged on, ‘And it’s all right. I’ll be down.’
‘Why? Does my being in your room make you feel uncomfortable?’ he quizzed, with that sensual mouth curving sardonically. Hitting the nail on the head! she thought as he turned and went out before she could even think of a suitable response.
He didn’t appear to be around when she came down into the sunny breakfast-room, although the round oak table was laid for two, with the second place having already been cleared. The smell of freshly toasted bread hung appetisingly on the air. She could see three slices in the toast-rack. And there was a freshly made pot of tea steaming under a padded cosy, even though she could still smell the lingering and rather nauseating aroma of coffee he had obviously made for himself. Clearly he’d remembered her saying yesterday how her pregnancy had given her an aversion to it, she thought, with a reluctant gratitude to him for that much at least.
He didn’t reappear before she had eaten two slices of the toast with honey and almost drained the teapot, and, having finished, she got up from the table, tugging at the rather tight waistband of her jeans. Soon she would have to leave them off for something a little more comfortable, she realised with a grimace, but at that moment there was something more pressing on her mind. Something she should have done last night, if she hadn’t been so exhausted, and which she could do more easily now while Cameron wasn’t around.
Crossing the little passage to the sitting-room and the phone that stood on the table behind the door, feeling like a criminal, afraid of being caught, quickly she dialled the number of the convalescent home.
‘Hello. It’s me, Nadine.’
The sister, a bright, breezy woman, informed her that Dawn Kendall was out, undergoing a routine appointment at the hospital, and instantly launched into a comforting patter on how the rehabilitation exercises were helping her immensely, telling Nadine that she shouldn’t worry.
‘Thanks. You don’t know what that means to me.’ She smiled, visibly relaxing, and then, hearing a sound along the passage, said quickly, much more quietly, ‘I’ve moved out of the flat, but you can reach me at this number—’ hurriedly she conveyed it to the sister ‘—if you need to call me at all.’
She tried to put the phone down quietly, and only succeeded in dropping it into its cradle with a noisy little clatter, realising how guilty she must have appeared as, with a little gasp, she whirled round to see Cameron watching her from the doorway.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.