For the Babies' Sakes (Expecting) (Harlequin Presents, No. 2280) (11 page)

Faintly disconcerted by his manner, she gave a dismissive shrug. ‘No problem. Dan—'

‘Can't stop. Babies to provide for. Must go and check my e-mails.'

He was out of the kitchen door and halfway to his study before she could close her gaping mouth and say something. Clearing away the dishes, she went over his behaviour with a fine-tooth comb. And decided that he must feel as if he'd collided with a heavy goods vehicle.

She giggled. Her brain was in knots, too! Oh, babies, she thought, you've turned our lives upside down. So much for Dan's sensible plans. She and the babies had shot holes through them.

A short time ago Dan had decided that they'd live separately, and here he was, waking up to the fact that they couldn't stay away from one another. It would take a while for the penny to drop that they were meant to be together, she thought happily. She must give him time to adjust to the new situation.

He rang that evening, to say he'd be late and not to wait up for him. Unexpectedly gnawed by doubts, she finally went to bed around midnight and lay waiting nervously for his return.

A floorboard creaked and she scrambled out of bed, to
find him rummaging in the airing cupboard, a pillow and two blankets on the floor.

‘Dan! What are you doing?' she cried in surprise.

He emerged, tousle-haired, a folded sheet in his hand. He looked absolutely exhausted.

‘Sorry. Didn't want to wake you,' he muttered. ‘Thought I'd make up a bed in the guest room—'

‘No,' she said firmly, wrapping her arms around him. Her heart thudded with fear. If he rejected her now, she'd know he'd been with someone else.

The jealousy, the constant uncertainty was terrible. She hated it, but couldn't stop herself from wondering where he'd been—who he'd been with.

His mouth touched her temple but he made no move to hug her in return, his arms dangling by his sides.

‘I just need to sleep,' he said wearily. ‘I've been interviewing all day—'

‘Any luck?' she asked hopefully.

He frowned at his shoes. ‘Er…I think so.'

She beamed. ‘That's brilliant. You'll be able to ease up—'

‘No, Helen. It does mean that I can be here, and you can turn to me whenever you need, but I'll have to work darn hard. Look, let's discuss this in the morning. I'm bushed.'

‘Course. But you won't want to be making up a bed.' Bossily she gave him a push towards their bedroom. ‘Go on. Get undressed and crawl into ours. Is that your overnight bag?'

‘Yup.' He pushed a tired hand over his forehead. ‘My suitcase is still in my car.'

‘Headache?' she asked sympathetically.

‘Mmm.'

‘Bed,' she ordered.

And he seemed too shattered to argue. He lay as stiff
as a board, staring up at the ceiling. Helen switched off the lamp and gently stroked his forehead. If he didn't respond, she'd know. He must. Please let him love me, she thought.

‘Good?' she enquired softly.

‘Mmm.'

Gently her lips touched his temples. She felt him tense up and then in a sudden movement he rolled over and began to kiss her. Delighted, she sank into his arms with relief as he slowly and expertly made love to her.

This was it, she thought, surrendering to the passion that fired every nerve in her body. Dan was on his way back to her.

Sated and utterly content, she lay in his arms dreaming of their future. Gradually she became aware that Dan's muscles were imperceptibly tensing up. Hastily she began to kiss his throat, then his jutting jaw. His teeth were clenched. She tried to soften his mouth with kisses but his lips wouldn't respond.

Slowly her hands wandered up his body in the way he loved.

‘Tired,' he said tersely, and rolled away, his tense back preventing any further contact.

Frightened by the rejection, she tried to reason with herself. He
was
tired—beyond exhaustion. Most men wouldn't have been able to make love at all. Only someone as virile as Dan could have found the energy.

So she stroked his hunched shoulder in understanding, biting her lip to stop herself from commenting on the way he flinched from her. He was confused, she reminded herself.

‘Sleep,' she said, loving him desperately. And she curled her body against his, wishing that this period of waiting was over and they were normal man and wife again.

When she eventually began to breathe steadily and rhythmically, Dan eased his stiff body from where he'd been perching perilously on the edge of the bed and collected the sheets and blankets he'd abandoned on the landing, throwing them anyhow on the spare bed.

It was inconceivable that he'd broken his promise to himself. Furious with his weakness, he crawled between the crumpled sheets. Helen was very skilled in arousing him. But if he got into the habit of easing his sexual hunger with her, she'd begin to expect more from him than he was prepared to give. So it would have to be the cold shoulder from now on. She'd get the message soon enough.

For a moment he contemplated telling her that he'd taken Celine back as his PA, then decided it would only make Helen hostile. They needed to get on in a civilised, adult way and any mention of Celine would ruin that aim. Even he had mixed feelings about what he'd done.

He set the alarm on his watch. Rose at an ungodly hour, crucified his body with an ice-cold shower in the guest bathroom and pulled on the clothes he'd worn the day before.

He hated not wearing a clean shirt. It reminded him too vividly of being called dirty at school, because his school shirt had had to last a week. And all too clearly he recalled the evening he'd tried to wash it in the bathroom sink. To his horror, he'd discovered it hadn't dried in the morning. The feel of that damp shirt on his skin and the laughter from his class mates would always remain with him.

But painful memories or not, he wasn't going to risk getting a clean shirt from the bedroom and waking Helen.

Taking tea and toast into the study, he switched on his computer and forced himself to redeem his stupidity of the previous night by creating an exemplary database for a national brewery.

Some hours later, the door opened and he heard the pad of Helen's bare feet and the swish of silky material as she crossed the room.

‘Gosh!' she cried cheerfully. Too cheerfully for his liking. ‘You're up with the lark! Don't know how you have the stamina!'

He didn't turn around. Instead, he continued to stare at his computer screen, though it might as well have been gibberish for all the sense he could make of it.

‘It's not a question of stamina. I've got to work.'

‘Do you really have to?' she asked gently.

He punched a few keys, frowning at them irritably.

‘How the hell else can we survive? Look, is there anything in particular you want? I'm in the middle of something important here.'

The swishing began again, coming nearer. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a long silky skirt in a kind of lemon colour. He could smell her, too. The orange and geranium soap she used. It was interfering with his brain.

‘I brought you some tea,' she murmured.

The mug appeared in his line of vision. So did her bare arm, a golden brown from the two weeks of summer weather. He resisted an urge to press his mouth to the soft inside skin and waited while she placed the mug on a clear space above the batch of papers to the left of the keyboard. This action meant she had to stretch forwards and for a brief second or two her body was in close proximity to his. Warm. Softly curved, luring his hands like a Lorelei.

He hardened his resolve and glued his gaze to the monitor.

‘Ri-i-ight,' he drawled, as if his mind was elsewhere. And it was.

‘I wanted a quick word,' she said breathily.

The back of his neck tingled. He was so very aware of her. The entire length of his body had begun to quiver.

‘So long as it
is
quick.'

Busily he tapped in a random figure, knowing he could erase it later.

‘I want your undivided attention,' she said with a husky little laugh. ‘Shall I pull the plug on you and crash the program, or do I get it?'

Dredging up an irritable grunt, he folded his arms and swivelled his chair around. Somehow he kept his face grim. But inside he was aching to reach out and touch her.

She'd brushed her hair back so that her heart-shaped face could be seen glowing in its full glory, the smoky eyes sultry beneath heavy black lashes, honeyed skin contrasting with pearly teeth as she smiled her irresistible smile.

She wore an eye-bogglingly brief top, rather like the kind Indian women favoured, its scarlet silk just managing to contain some of her magnificent breasts. But not quite. There was enough cleavage and swelling flesh for his hands to twitch rebelliously.

The effort to remain detached made him bark at her.

‘Well?'

Her teeth snagged her lip. ‘You moved to the spare room,' she said, direct as always.

‘I need my sleep.'

He returned to the screen, hoping that would suffice. Her hand pushed back an imaginary strand from his forehead and he felt his body liquidise.

‘Didn't you like last night?' she asked provocatively, her hand shaping to the back of his head, travelling to the nape of his neck and stimulating every nerve he possessed.

Dan cursed silently. She wasn't going to take the hint. He'd have to spell it out. Roughly he caught her hand and pushed it away. With difficulty he got up and put several paces between them. And presented her with his back for good measure.

‘I'm a man,' he said coldly to the filing cabinet. ‘Of course I enjoyed it.'

‘Then sleep with me.'

It was all so simple for her. His dark eyes glittered as he turned to glare at her.

‘You'd be like a whore to me. Is that what you want?' he asked bluntly.

Her eyes rounded. She took a step back. ‘Dan, you know it's not like that—!'

‘It is. We agreed what we'd do. We live here separately till the flat—'

‘I know, but I thought—'

His irritable stride stopped her in mid-flow. He reached his desk and sat down again. His fingers rested on the keyboard. He pressed the space-bar with an aggressive thumb, the screen-saver disappeared and his client's database filled the screen again.

‘I think you've got the wrong idea about us. What happened was a one-off. I needed sex, you were there.'

‘Is that all it was?' she asked in indignation.

He ignored the question. ‘When the builders have finished the flat, it'll be better for both of us. You can get on with your own life.'

‘No, Dan! I want—'

‘Helen!' He jerked his head around, fixing her with a hard and direct gaze that held nothing loving in it, nothing affectionate or even lustful. ‘I made a mistake last night. This is how I want to live: apart from you. The only way I can live. We must set boundaries and not step over them. We have a past, a sexual past, and it keeps interfering with our new arrangement. But I can't use you like this. I won't sleep with you again. We are not an item any more because you won't trust me and without mutual trust our relationship could never survive. So don't expect anything
from me but the courtesy and respect you're due as the mother of my children.'

‘That's really how you feel?' she said shakily.

‘I can't say it any plainer than that.'

‘I see. Thank you. Now I know where I stand.'

He watched the colour drain from her face. And then she walked out; slowly, heavily, as if she carried an unbearable weight. Struggling with a strange, hurting sensation in his chest, he told himself that it was for the best. The last few weeks had been hell. They knew where they stood now and he could devote himself to work and preparing for the babies.

No more sex with Helen. No more temptation. The safety of estrangement beckoned. It was what he wanted. Definitely.

With a sigh he reached for the phone and called Celine.

I
T RAINED
for weeks through the late summer and autumn. Helen barely saw Dan, other than when he took her shopping, or on the rare occasions when she asked him to do a job for her.

But every contact was a nightmare: a cocktail of delight and agony, hunger and despair. Between them the atmosphere crackled with static as they fought to remain polite and neutral, while underneath deep and desperate passions flowed.

Dan was presumably anxious that he wouldn't be overcome by any sexual desire, she… She longed to be held by him, to be touched tenderly, to be loved.

Whenever he gazed at her a fraction too long, she held her breath, wondering if he'd break his self-imposed celibacy—or even if he'd give her a friendly hug. None came. He was ruthless with himself and she felt that the chances of their marriage being mended were getting less and less likely.

She tried to goad him. Wore provocative tops, stretched out her long, slender legs, which he'd always worshipped and had loved to kiss from the toes to her thighs in delicious, slow caresses. He merely made his excuses and left.

Tension built up till she could hardly bear to be near him. The urge to reach out and stroke his arm or brush his increasingly dishevelled hair was overwhelming.

Her hands would tremble as they linked together in an effort to stop herself from reaching up to his rigid face and gently stroking away the tautness until it was relaxed and normal again.

But, above all, she missed the feel of him curling around her in bed, missed his sleepy kisses, yearned for his companionship and his physical presence; just being there, silent perhaps, but there. Her husband. The man she loved.

And then they were all alone. The builders finished the flat and said their farewells, presenting them both with flowers and wine, kisses and handshakes. That made them smile for a short time afterwards, but soon their faces returned to their habitual frozen politeness.

The house looked fabulous, as Dan had predicted, the stunning reception rooms beautifully furnished and decorated, the light pouring in from carefully restored windows onto the polished oak floors with their thick Persian rugs and gleaming antique furniture, silverware and expensive oil paintings.

And for what? So they had a perfect home, the house of their dreams, a garden to die for. But its sheer perfection emphasised the emptiness of her personal life.

What fun would it be, to swim in the pool alone, never to splash Dan and squeal when he tried to duck her? Who would join her in the vicious, hilarious games of croquet they'd originally planned on the vast lawn, or, as Dan had threatened, thrash her at tennis on the purpose-built court?

People must envy her. If they only knew!

In the middle of an ante-natal class in the nearby town of Lewes, Helen stared moodily at her huge twenty-six-week bump—which other people kept telling her was hardly worthy of the name ‘bump' at all—and finally acknowledged the fact that Dan wasn't likely even to fancy her any more. Despite what everyone thought about her figure, her Mata Hari days were over and in her eyes she had taken on the appearance of a barrage balloon.

He'd made it clear that he didn't love her. And now he'd have lost any interest in her physically.
If
he ever
stayed around, it would be for the sake of the babies. And she wasn't sure that was a good enough reason.

On the mat beside her, the red-haired Kirsty was practising her breathing, assisted by her milkman husband Tom. They giggled a lot and touched a lot and looked at one another all the time as if the world were contained solely in the space around them.

That was how it should be for her, Helen thought sadly.

‘When's your old man coming here, then?' whispered Kirsty between panting breaths. ‘I'm dying to get up close and personal with him. He's a hunk. I saw him drop you this evening and begged the Fates to make him stop but they must have been engaged on another line.'

Helen found a weak smile in response. She liked Kirsty very much and only Tom's constant attention had made her hesitate to intrude and ask Kirsty if they could meet up for lunch one day.

‘Dan's self-employed. He's got into the habit of working twenty-four hours a day and doesn't know how to stop,' she explained, evading the issue.

When the class had been wound up and Tom went to get their raincoats, Kirsty hesitantly touched Helen's arm.

‘Don't think I'm interfering, but…do get your Dan to come. You need a husband's support more than any of us,' she urged. ‘Tell him money isn't as important as personal support. Tom offered to take on another job to help make ends meet, but I said we'd manage. I'd rather he did his milk round and came home early as he does, giving me cuddles and cups of tea!'

Helen smiled again, this time rather wistfully. ‘I'll mention it when he collects me. Look…I'd like us to meet up somewhere. Can we have lunch some time?'

‘Great!' Kirsty enthused. ‘It's getting boring being at home so much because of all this rain. I've forgotten what summer was like, it was so brief. Thank heavens we live
on a hill, or we'd be flooded. What about you, any trouble with the floods?'

‘Fortunately we're on a rise, too,' Helen replied. ‘The village has been cut off twice because the river burst its banks and our lane was impassable for a while. If Dan hadn't bought a four-wheel drive we'd be in serious trouble, stuck out miles from anywhere.'

‘Tell you what,' Kirsty said, ‘it's Bonfire Night in two weeks' time. Our flat overlooks the High Street in Lewes and it gets a brilliant view of the procession. Have you ever been to the celebrations?'

Helen had certainly heard of the famous Bonfire Night there. Thousands flocked to the small market town to mark the fifth of November when Guy Fawkes had tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament and the King of England, some four hundred years earlier. And by all accounts, the event was spectacular.

‘No—Dan's always longed to, but we've never found the time—'

‘Then find it,' Kirsty said firmly. ‘With twins in the offing, it'll be the last chance you have of behaving like normal adults on Bonfire Night for years and years! Come to us, both of you. Bring a bottle and a packet of crisps or something. It's a fantastic sight. Tom's a Bonfire Boy—'

‘A what?' Helen giggled.

Conscious that the caretaker was hovering and hoping to lock up, they moved outside and stood in the porch.

‘There are loads of local bonfire societies,' Tom explained enthusiastically. ‘You join up and pay a subscription and hold money-making events, then your society has its own bonfire with elaborate displays. You make collections on the night and all the money goes to charity—'

‘And you get to wear a costume,' Kirsty said, her eyes twinkling. ‘Tom's a pirate. Junior will be enrolled from
birth if they can find an eye patch small enough. Honestly, you must come. It's an amazing sight. You should see the Zulu warriors! You'll never forget it. The whole street is filled with burning torches for as far as you can see and they roll blazing tar barrels down the road and there are fabulous bands—'

‘What about the rain?' Helen asked doubtfully.

‘They march whatever. Maybe it'll ease up by then. We've got two weeks, after all,' Kirsty said. ‘Please come!'

‘I'd love to,' Helen said on impulse. It would do her good. Get her out of herself. Though Dan would never come. ‘I'm not sure how Dan's fixed, but maybe he'd take time off and come, too.'

‘Right. Be in Lewes before six p.m. because they close the town. Park off the street for safety. There'll be thousands and thousands of people milling around. We can watch in comfort from our window. Here's our address.' She scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it over. ‘Must dash. See you!'

Helen waved goodbye, quite excited by the event. Soon after they'd arrived, the workmen had told her about the extraordinary celebrations, the huge bonfires, fantastic fire-work displays and set pieces—usually depicting somebody who'd been slated or exposed in some way by the newspapers. The builders' enthusiasm had spilled over to her and she and Dan had been very keen to go one day.

When the car drew up, she could hardly wait to tell him that she was going.

‘All right?' he asked with his usual cool detachment.

‘I am. Feeling great, actually.'

He flicked a glance at her face and she realised from his surprised expression that she hadn't been this animated for ages.

‘The class was that good?'

She gave a small chuckle. ‘Oh, not the panting and stuff. No, I've made friends with one of the mums. Kirsty. She and her husband Tom have asked if I'd like to watch the Bonfire Parade from their window in Lewes High Street on the fifth. They have a fabulous view. It's an unmissable opportunity.'

‘You're going alone?'

‘Definitely. It'll be the last chance I have till the babies are nine or ten years old.'

He frowned. ‘You're planning on driving there on your own, and coming back late at night?'

‘That's the idea.'

‘I don't think that's wise.'

‘I'm going, Dan,' she said calmly. ‘Are you going to chain me to the stove?'

His brows got closer and closer together. ‘I'd better give you a lift and return later to collect you.'

‘No, they close the town. If you're worried about me being out late at night, then you'll have to come with me. Kirsty won't mind, she's been dying to meet you,' she said. ‘Don't worry, you won't have to sit around with us. Once you've done the polite chat for a short time, you can disappear for a few hours. Tom's in the parade, so he won't be there, either. We two women can have a good natter. Do what you like, Dan. I'm going and that's that.'

He grunted and seemed to be struggling with his interest in the procession and the ghastly thought of having to spend time with her.

‘All right,' he muttered. ‘You've given me no choice.'

Helen felt nervous about having Dan around her, even for a short time during the evening. All sexual tension had now vanished. They'd been so cold towards one another lately that she wasn't sure she could stand his glacial comments. The last time they'd been shopping, she reckoned she could have cut the atmosphere with a cushion.

In silence they drove through the rain, the headlights illuminating flooded fields everywhere. Dan seemed tense and annoyed, as if he resented her for forcing him to go with her on Bonfire Night.

He opened the front door of Deep Dene and, as usual, paused to politely enquire, ‘Anything you need?'

‘No, thanks. I'm whacked. All that panting and huffing. I'm going to bed,' she replied, rubbing her spine.

‘Problem with your back?' he asked.

‘A bit.' She gave a rueful sigh. ‘Not surprising, when you think of what it's having to support. If I didn't know different, I'd say there was a cartload of monkeys in my tummy.'

Frozen-faced, Dan turned away. ‘See you tomorrow. Sleep well.'

‘Goodnight,' she said in a forlorn little voice.

He hesitated, then, screwed up with tension, he strode quickly to his flat and went straight to his computer. As it whirred into action he wished he could have placed his hand on her abdomen and felt the babies moving. He was desperate to feel close to them. But he dared not touch her.

The last few weeks had been a trial of strength that he'd almost lost on several occasions. He was now so wound up with desire that he'd kept all contact to the bare minimum, punishing himself with cold showers, press-ups, fierce dedication to work and near rudeness to Helen.

None of that helped much. He still felt a knee-jerk response whenever he clapped eyes on her. Still wanted to tuck her into his shoulder and stroke her slender back, murmur wicked things in her ear and hear her giggle saucily as she did unspeakably erotic things to him. Sex was the very devil to control once it had been enjoyed.

There was something wonderfully sensual about Helen at the moment. The Empire line red wool dress flattered
and concealed, and, despite proclaiming that she waddled like a duck with chronic corns, she moved gracefully, carrying her pregnancy with pride.

Everything about her was soft and tempting. And he'd just elected to spend a good chunk of an evening with her in a couple of weeks! He groaned and decided to get out on the streets to watch the parade as soon as he decently could.

In the bedroom above he could hear her moving about. He sat staring at the monitor, aching for her. He couldn't hack it. Even this limited ‘togetherness' was destroying him inch by inch. If it weren't for the babies, he'd have been off and halfway around the world.

And then came a crash and a simultaneous scream.

He was out of his flat and bounding up the stairs three at a time before he even drew breath.

‘Helen! I'm coming!' he yelled.

Expecting the worst, nevertheless he felt a lurch in his chest when he saw her lying flat on the floor, a small occasional table overturned by her feet, ornaments and photographs scattered on the carpet.

‘Don't move!' he said urgently. ‘I'll get an ambulance—'

‘No, for heaven's sake, don't!' she cried, sitting up abruptly, her hair flying about her embarrassed face. Heartbreakingly beautiful. ‘I didn't fall, Dan. I was lying down
already
. I'm OK, honest. Please go. Let me roll myself up in my own good time. I hate you seeing me so clumsy.'

She was virtually naked, he realised, just a gaping satin wrap slithering erotically around her body. He gulped, overcome, his limbs suddenly heavy, brain slowing, breathing rapid, mouth dry…the usual signs. Damn.

‘Why were you lying down?' he groused.

She looked at him in wry amusement, her eyes bright, her mouth apologetic.

‘I was doing leg circles,' she explained. ‘And I circled a bit too vigorously and knocked over the table. I'm terribly sorry to drag you up here for no reason at all. I'm so clumsy—'