For the Babies' Sakes (Expecting) (Harlequin Presents, No. 2280) (3 page)

‘Of course I do,' he said sternly. ‘I'm worried about you. I think you're ill—'

‘I
am
ill! And you're making me feel worse! I came home because I've got flu!' she cried miserably, hanging onto the basin as if her life depended on it. Her stomach churned horribly but she couldn't be sick even though she felt as if she might.

‘Then you must get to bed—'

‘Bed!'

Her eyes met his in the mirror and he flinched from her scything glare.

‘What? What did I say?' he demanded thinly.

‘Do you intend to change the sheets first?' she hurled in anguish.

He gasped as if she'd lashed him with a whip. She saw his tight stomach muscles contract and recognised the pain that had rocketed through him. He looks ghastly, she thought. And tried not to care.

‘I don't
need
to change the sheets!' he grated.

Her eyes widened. Passion had struck somewhere else, then!

‘So you didn't make it to the bedroom!' she cried wildly, unable to bear the thought of Dan being so crazy for another woman. ‘You couldn't wait, I suppose! Where, then? Tell me so I can avoid that place! Tell me! In the hall? The stairs? I'll burn the carpet,' she threatened. ‘Rip up the floorboards. Have them replaced—!'

‘Helen! Stop this! You're being irrational—'

‘I know!' she cried in distress. He'd made love to Celine. How could she ever get over that? ‘And with good reason!' she sobbed. ‘You brute! I hate you for doing this to me!'

Unable to control herself, she whirled around and hammered her fists into his naked chest. He let her, taking the blows—presumably because he knew he deserved every one of them. And she was exhausted by her outburst.

‘Stop it, Helen. Calm down,' he urged.

‘Then tell me what happened! I have a right to know!' she moaned, suddenly going limp in his arms.

‘I
will,'
he said gruffly, holding her up. ‘Don't upset yourself,
please
. Just trust me—'

‘Are you
mad
?' she railed, feeling his strength sustaining her. His wonderfully lithe, powerful body, she thought. Then jealousy struck as she imagined his eyes looking at Celine with desire, his hands touching, arousing… She sucked in a tortured breath, unable to bear it. ‘Go away, Dan!' she sobbed. ‘I don't want to see you or hear you or think of you ever again!'

‘Don't say that!' His grip tightened. His eyes blazed. ‘Don't ever say that, Helen! I'm not going anywhere—'

‘You'll have to. You can't possibly explain this away.'

Her eyes were dead. She thought she'd never smile again.

‘I can. I will. But first you must get into bed before you get pneumonia. You look—'

‘I
know
what I look like!' she raged. ‘Plug ugly! My hair is a mess and I look worse than a typhus victim. Oh, sidle off to glamorous, voluptuous Celine and leave me to crawl into bed on my own!'

‘Poor love. What a hell you're in,' he rasped, stroking her plastered-down hair with a masterly semblance of affection.

And she almost succumbed. She wanted to be loved by him so badly, wanted to be held and cuddled and cosied up so much, that she stood there with her eyes closed, longing, wishing, adoring. Smelling his familiar and much-loved body smell. Feeling his warmth and energy. Hearing that seductively coaxing voice and finding her muscles relaxing in response.

‘Come on, darling.'

Her eyes snapped open at the husky coaxing. His fingers were unbuttoning her jacket! Shocked rigid, she knocked
his hand away, stricken by the fact that he'd done the same to Celine only a short time ago.

‘You—you
animal
! Is that your solution? Is that all you can think about? A quick roll in the hay? Don't you have any conscience, any moral values at all? Just…leave…me…al
one
!' she wailed, beside herself with grief.

‘Calm
down
! That wasn't my intention at all. I was trying to help,' he said tautly. ‘Or are you intending to get into bed fully dressed?'

‘Right now I don't care! Just…don't…touch…me!' she flared.

‘Fine. If that's what you want…'

Taking her at her word, he let go and her legs gave way. She slid to the floor, weeping with frustration, racked with misery. A pathetic little heap, she thought. A ludicrous idiot wearing wellies. Oh, how he and Celine would sneer at her later!

‘Stupid, stubborn woman!' Dan muttered under his breath.

Angrily he pulled her boots off before she could stop him, flinging them in the bath. She retaliated by curling up in a foetal position, her body shuddering with huge, uncontrollable sobs.

‘G-g-go 'way!' she mumbled through her tears, desperate to be alone.

‘No.'

Dan ignored her flailing hands and feet and grimly removed her clothes. Once or twice she scored a direct hit on him, judging by his grunts, but he wasn't deterred.

In a hostile silence they wrestled and thrashed around the slippery floor, though her resistance was feeble. When he'd peeled off her stockings and she was down to her bra and pants she gave up the struggle, too weak, too resigned to his determination to humiliate her.

He'd be comparing her body with Celine's. Would be
thinking that women should wear man-trap underwear with lace and fringes and holes and tassels, she thought miserably. Not neat-fitting, passion-killer cotton.

And he'd be secretly glad she'd discovered his affair because that would give him an excuse to leave her and get a decent replacement. Someone svelte and gorgeous who made pets of spiders and loved muddy countryside.

‘I feel sick,' she muttered weakly, wondering how the elegant Celine fitted into that description of Dan's perfect woman.

With an exasperated grunt, he tightened his towel around his narrow hips and raised her, wrapping her up in a warm bath sheet. Her shivering body sank gratefully into its soft folds as she held onto the edge of the basin again, wishing she could be sick and get it over and done with.

The nausea subsided and she turned away disconsolately. Dan took hold of her again, towelling her wet hair and then washing her horribly blotchy, tear-stained face. It was dangerously lovely, like being nurtured by her mother when she was a child, after she'd been ill with measles and had been allowed her first bath for a few days.

But her mother hadn't picked her up, or carried her back, to bed and it was this that was almost her undoing. Clutched in the shelter of Dan's strong arms, Helen fought to overcome a fierce urge to snuggle up to the glorious firmness of his naked chest and wrap her arms around his neck. This was her husband. It was the first time for months that they'd been physically close and her hormones were reacting accordingly.

Stone-faced, he undid her bra, his eyes lingering on her breasts. Her hopes rose. Perhaps he did find her attractive, despite everything…

Her spirits plummeted as, without comment, he pulled her sulkily compliant arms into a warm nightdress and tucked the bedclothes up around her neck.

It was then that she saw he was aroused. But was that, she wondered suspiciously, because he and Celine had been disturbed before…before…
it
had happened, and he was still unsatisfied?

Tormented by her thoughts, Helen turned her face away, her eyes tightly shut in a vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing again.

She wouldn't cry. Her head had to be clear, her brain sharp. She had to make plans. Illness was making her act like a victim, but when she felt better she'd stand up for herself and fight for her rights.

The mattress shifted under Dan's weight. His hand came up to brush dark strands of hair from her hot face.

‘I'm sorry you feel so rotten. What can I get you, sweetheart?' he asked softly.

‘A divorce!'
she blurted out from the depths of her misery.
‘Now!'

T
HERE
was a terrible silence. Helen didn't breathe or move, appalled at the finality of what she'd said—and its inevitability. She could feel Dan's shock like a seismic wave and sensed that his muscles were screwed up as tightly as hers.

And then he spoke, in a strangely halting and husky voice as if his heart was breaking, too.

‘I'll get you a hot-water bottle and a thermometer. And a hot honey and lemon drink. When you've slept and you feel a little better, we'll talk.'

‘Talk now! Before you have a chance to come up with some slippery explanation!' she jerked.

He gazed at her with sad and unnervingly remote eyes.

‘Do you trust me so little?' he asked quietly.

Helen felt bitterness scourging her insides. Trust? She would have staked her life on him. He had held her hopes and her love and her future in his hands. And he'd let her down.

She shuddered. It was as if she'd reached the depths of hell and suddenly she wanted to drag him there, too.

‘If you came home unexpectedly and found
me
half naked, surrounded by several pairs of boxer shorts and socks, riding boots, assorted spurs, scarlet jackets and a collection of plumed helmets,' she retorted coldly, ‘wouldn't you assume I'd jumped into bed with a Brigade of Guards?'

Dan went a sickly colour. His jaw worked as though his teeth were grinding together.

‘I'll get that drink.'

He couldn't get away fast enough, she thought, her face forlorn. Not only was she physically ugly to him, but she was showing a vicious, sarcastic side to herself she'd never known had existed. He'd always adored the funny slant she had on life. But now her tongue was turning to acid and burning her as well as him.

Was it any wonder, though, that she felt like lashing out? Miserably she burrowed deep into the bedclothes. She'd surrendered her heart to Dan and he'd rewarded her loyalty with the worst betrayal of all, just two years into their marriage. Of course, she thought glumly, it had been a farce for some time and she hadn't even noticed.

All those late nights when he'd been supposedly expanding his already successful business, working with clients in the evenings and on weekends… He'd been with
that woman
. His exhaustion had been for other reasons than writing software, doing mega-buck deals and travelling around London till all hours of the night.

And, although she adored the career she'd chosen,
she'd
only worked overtime because she'd hated coming home to this vile house, to the emptiness and silence and the half-decorated rooms. Her eyes blazed in fury. All the while, he'd been cavorting with the luscious Celine and wining and dining her—

‘Here you are.'

At Dan's voice, she shot up, furious at being deceived for so long. Her hand flew out, knocking the offered mug from his grip. Locking eyes, they both ignored the sticky mixture as it oozed over the duvet. She had questions in her glittering gaze. He seemed to be in deep shock.

‘Forget the ministrations. Let's get the explanation over with,' she scowled, secretly appalled by her uncontrollable feelings.

‘Better, I think, that it should wait,' Dan said, stilted
and withdrawn as he glared down at her. ‘You're clearly in a foul mood—'

‘What do you expect?' she spluttered.

‘A fair hearing! And I'm not going to get it at the moment, am I?'

Her mouth took on a bitter shape. ‘Did you give our marriage a fair chance?'

He blanched. ‘Yes. I did.'

‘Oh? How long for?' she demanded. ‘A week? Or did you manage a month before you started playing the field? How long, Dan? How long has this been going on?'

‘It hasn't. I have not been unfaithful,' he said doggedly.

He swallowed and she thought there was the hint of moisture blurring his dark eyes.

Perhaps he was sorry now. There'd be all the problems of splitting up: sharing out the wedding presents and deciding who paid what for the furniture and carpets…

It was a nightmare. No wonder he looked sick.

She heaved in a huge breath. ‘You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe.'

With a face set like concrete, he handed her the hot-water bottle. She contemplated hurling it at the hideous vase his best man had given them, but grudgingly took it. She needed the warmth. Her body was as cold as Siberia.

Dan drew up a chair and sat heavily in it, the towel parting to show an expanse of tightly toned thigh. Incongruously, she wanted to touch the satiny skin.

‘Temperature,' he said dully.

So
he
was miserable, she thought, jerking out of her mooning over him. Annoyed with herself for being so easily diverted by his long, powerful legs, she snatched the thermometer from him and stuffed it into her mouth, glowering at him from under her dark brows. After a moment he looked away, unable to hold her gaze. Guilt, she thought, and felt no pleasure in the certainty.

Hauling himself up as if his body were a lead weight, he moved slowly to stand by the window, the beautiful triangle of his back a stiff barrier between them. Incredibly, his dejection upset her. She tried to hate him but her heart kept betraying her efforts.

It was awful seeing someone as confident and unassailable as Dan look so diminished. He'd always given the impression that he could withstand anything that was thrown at him. All his movements had been vigorous and definite, his muscular body brimming with energy.

Now he looked as if the life-blood had been drained from him. Sympathy oozed from her and she felt herself crumple. Feeling weak, she slumped back into the plumped-up pillows, her mouth releasing a soft moan.

He was probably contemplating the future. The house would have to go, for a start. That was why he looked so bleak and depressed. He adored Deep Dene.

Whereas she was dreading the consequences of his adultery for a different reason: because she had loved him with all her heart. She pushed that from her mind, postponing the empty black hole that was her future without Dan.

She gave a little gasping intake of breath, realising that she
still
loved him. Madly and deeply—despite her low opinion of him. You couldn't immediately switch off something that had been all-consuming and magical for years and years. Heck, they'd known one another since their teens and neither of them had ever looked at anyone else. Till now.

Her slender arm lifted and angled to cover her anguished eyes. It would take ages for the hurt to go away—if it ever did. Already it was searing her heart with a cramping agony and her mind seemed to be churning with disjointed thoughts…

The thermometer was slipped from her mouth and she sullenly opened dark and angry eyes to see Dan studying
it, his face still bent over hers, close, touchable, the strong planes of his face achingly near.

‘Well. Let's see.' Low and husky, his voice seeped like hot lava into her bloodstream, startling her with unwanted sensuality. Breathing heavily, he stared at her shoulder and she hastily slid the errant satin shoulder-strap of her nightie back into place. ‘Normal,' he declared in a tone that was anything but.

Collecting her ragged nerves together, she blinked and frowned in disbelief.

‘Can't be. I feel rotten.'

‘See for yourself.'

She did, and was surprised. ‘Then I've eaten something dodgy,' she muttered, unable to take her eyes from the sultry lines of his mouth.

He straightened, taking away temptation. ‘Do want to sleep, or do you feel up to listening to me properly?' Dan asked stiffly, the proud carriage of his head telling her that he was going to brazen this out.

‘Sleep? Do you think I could sleep with this on my mind?' she cried, her body still pulsing with warmth.

‘No. Of course not. All right. But on one condition. I want you to avoid making any sarcastic remarks till I've finished,' he said in a horribly distant tone.

Suitably chastened, she felt her lip quivering. She shouldn't behave like a prize bitch. Shock seemed to have turned her into a different woman, someone who wanted to lash out and yell and behave like a wounded tigress. He'd done this to her. Made her no better than an animal.

‘I'm sorry. I lost control. I felt…'

‘I understand,' he muttered, as if he didn't want her to spell it out.

Her eyes blinked back treacherous tears. How could he know how deeply she mourned the man she had loved? How her very heart was shrivelling because her uncondi
tional belief in him had been shattered? She felt more than empty. There was nothing good left in her life. Nothing to look forward to.

‘I doubt that you do,' she whispered.

He looked down on her with an impassive expression, his tall figure dauntingly rigid.

‘It's not surprising you're on edge. You're not well. And you had a shock.'

Helen drew in a shaky breath. They were talking like polite acquaintances. She was apologising for ranting at him, he was making allowances for her. It was bizarre.

Helen nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Helplessly she gazed at his handsome face, which had so often turned her to jelly. Her mouth had kissed those dark and haunted eyes and even now her memory could vividly recall the silk of his thick lashes against the softness of her lips. Her fingers had stroked the fine jaw and she'd marvelled at the strength of the underlying bone. Time after time, her body had lain against his, ecstatic, replete…

And so had Celine's mouth, Celine's fingers, Celine's body.

Anguished, ripped apart by pain, she jerked her head away in a sudden, violent movement.

‘What is it?' he enquired urgently, gripping the fragile bones of her bare shoulder. His voice gentled. ‘Helen, tell me!' he coaxed. ‘Is it a pain? Where?'

Everywhere. She was hurting so badly. And he was trying to get round her with soft words of concern, imagining they could brush this aside and carry on as normal. But she'd lost the love of her life, her hopes for the future, father of her future children…

So many times she'd dreamed of their life together, of another, nicer house they'd have when they'd saved enough, a mews house in Chelsea perhaps; of the dinner parties with good friends; their much-adored children.
Four, she'd thought. To make up for the family Dan had never had, for the bruising childhood and emptiness of his youth. There'd be jolly outings, holidays abroad, a life built on love and happiness, the security of their high-powered jobs.

All for nothing. Because she couldn't ever let him into her heart again.

‘Helen!' he muttered in alarm when she screwed up her body in despair. His grip tightened and he shook her slightly. ‘Please! What is it?'

‘You! Don't you understand? I can't bear to look at you!' she yelled in misery.

Dimly she heard Dan thundering out of the room. To her confusion, she began to sob, because she'd wanted him to be there beside her, stroking, soothing… What a fool she was. It seemed she didn't know what she wanted at all.

Weak and defeated, she slumped against the pillows. Perhaps he was leaving and she'd never see him again. Horrified, she began to wail in earnest, her whole body succumbing to the sense of terrible desolation she felt.

To be alone, without him. Never seeing his face, never hearing his breathing beside her as they lay in bed together, never lovingly and lingeringly smoothing out that dent in his pillow…

Oh, why hadn't she seen the danger signs, noticed that they were neglecting one another, put her foot down and insisted that they had time together?

If only she could put the clock back! Then she'd never know he was really weak and flawed. But…was that so surprising? He'd had such a harsh and unloving upbringing… Maybe, she mused, he'd always covered up his faults, in a desperate attempt to make successive foster parents like him. And so he'd built his life on lies, on a mask that hid his true nature.

She almost felt sorry for him. And consequently was more muddled than ever. But she had to remember that he wasn't the man she'd imagined. She'd married an illusion—and couldn't live with the reality: someone who cheated and lied for his own selfish ends.

‘Helen.' His voice was strangled, close to her ear. She put her hands up to shut him out but he hauled her up and roughly dabbed at her streaming eyes. ‘Don't cry. Please don't cry,' he said rawly. ‘I've brought you some brandy. You must drink it—I insist. You'll be so ill…'

She couldn't be ill. She must be strong and organise her new life. See solicitors. Produce lists of things to do.

The jagged sobs came less frequently. She allowed him to hold the glass to her trembling lips, to enclose her feeble hands with his because they both knew she'd drop the glass otherwise.

The brandy silked a warm and beguiling path to her stomach and revived her. She kept her gaze fixed on the glass. On his hands. She'd always loved them. Big and capable but with long, slender fingers that had lain against her face while his mouth had slowly descended in a sweet or sometimes blistering kiss… She choked.

‘Just drink,' he husked. ‘Don't think about anything. Don't torture yourself. It's all right. Honestly.'

But it wasn't. And the sooner she accepted that the better. Though she couldn't help grieving.

‘How is it all right?' she whispered mournfully, her voice cracking midway.

He swallowed, some unknown emotion overcoming him. ‘It is. Believe me. We'll sort this out. I can't bear to see you so upset,' he husked.

‘You should have thought of that before you played hunt the dolly-bird,' she muttered.

His mouth clammed up and he stalked over to shed the towel and grab his robe, turning around once he'd drawn
it around his nakedness and had begun to yank the belt into an angrily tied knot.

‘You know how hard I've been working!' he lashed. ‘I'm not Superman. I would never have had the energy for a dolly-bird!'