The Blackmail Pregnancy (12 page)

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s not relevant to it. This is about us.’

‘Us?’ She swivelled in her seat to stare at him. ‘There is no “us”. There’s no point flogging a dead horse, and as dead horses go this one is really starting to stink.’

He thrust the car into gear savagely and roared into the next lane on the Harbour Bridge.

‘You really know how to aim your kicks,’ he said.

‘I had a good teacher.’

‘So it seems.’

Cara tightened her arms across her chest and stared out of the window.

‘Are you serious about leaving the business?’ he asked as he pulled into his driveway some time later.

‘Deadly serious.’

‘But why? You’ve put so much into it. Why throw it all away now?’

‘I no longer feel committed. I want a change.’

‘It’s because of Megan, isn’t it?’

She shrugged coolly.

‘Do you want me to dismiss her?’ he asked.

‘Would you do that?’ She turned to look at him.

‘It would be difficult,’ he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘But if that’s what you want, then—’

‘No.’

‘No?’ His eyes meshed with hers.

‘No. I want to have a change. My heart’s not been in the business since…for quite some time.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, unclipping her seatbelt. ‘I could go back to university, take up some sort of study. Psychology, perhaps.’

‘One psychologist in the family is surely quite enough.’

‘But I’m not in the family,’ she said. ‘Any more.’

He didn’t answer. She followed him into the house and wondered if she’d annoyed him again. His mouth had tightened and his shoulders had hunched as if in tension. She couldn’t work him out. Surely he should be relieved that she was leaving without a fuss. It would make his future life with Megan so much easier without her trailing after him in lovelorn despondency.

‘How soon before you finish the house?’ he asked once they were inside.

Cara put her bag down and ran a hand through her hair.

‘A week,’ she said. ‘Maybe two. I’ll leave after that.’

‘You’re not leaving.’

She stared at him across the small distance between them.

‘I have to leave,’ she said. ‘This isn’t working, Byron. Surely you can see that?’

‘I see it, but I don’t feel it,’ he said, reaching for her.

She suddenly found herself jammed up against his hard body, her breasts tight against his chest, her legs weakening at the intimate embrace.

‘Byron, no.’

‘Cara, yes,’ he said, his eyes boring into hers. ‘This is all we have left. I want you and you want me. That’s all that matters for now.’

A hundred denials came to her mind, but not one of them made the distance to her lips. Instead she opened her mouth to his descending one and was totally lost in the maelstrom of his touch on her flesh. Fire raced along her veins, flicked along her nerves and set her aflame. His touch was a lighted taper to the tinder of her love for him. She had no hope of escaping the onslaught of heat. It totally consumed her, casting her doubts and fears to the furthest reaches of her mind while she basked in the temporary glory of being in his arms.

He carried her to the bedroom and joined her on the huge bed without once breaking his kiss. Her own mouth had turned savage. It assaulted his with an intent that spoke of deep, unanswered longings. Clothes were a barrier soon dispensed with. Cara heard whimpering cries and realised with a start of surprise that they were her own. Thin wails of pleasure panted from her mouth as Byron caressed every inch of her body, bringing her to a place of intense ecstasy that surpassed all that had gone before. Her body ached for him with an emptiness only he could fill. He filled it with a deep thrust of his aroused body that sent her slim form back into the mattress with a deep sigh of relief. At last he was where she most wanted him!

Byron heard his own garnered breathing. He fought for control, wanting to prolong the intensity of feeling but sure he could not. She totally undid him. She always had. His rigid control shattered under the brush of her lips, the skim of her hands, the enclosure of her tight body. He felt her reach the summit and he soon followed, in a tide of pleasure that pulsed right throughout his body, leaving him spent, still inside her, his chest heaving against hers, their legs still entwined, his heart still thudding in the cavity of his chest.

He could feel his eyelids closing on the words he wanted to say. Her spent body was now curled into his stomach, the soft curves of her bottom pressing against him intimately, reminding him of all they had shared in the past. Perhaps it was too late to say what he had to say. They’d both moved on in their different ways.

Cara didn’t seem to need him the way he needed her. She’d steeled herself against vulnerability, fought to maintain her composure, while he was certain, deep down, she was aching with need just as he ached. He’d tried to fill the space she’d vacated but it had been a pointless task. No one came close. No one touched him quite the way she touched him. He wondered if her vulnerability had connected with his protectiveness in some sort of strange, elemental way, marking him as her protector for life. God knew, he wanted to protect her from the hurt of the past. He wanted to give her new hope, teach her to believe in herself, in them both, and embrace what life had to offer.

‘Cara?’ His voice seemed to fill the silence of the room.

‘Mmm?’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Did I rush you?’

‘No.’

‘I was in a hurry. You have that effect on me.’

‘I was in a hurry too.’

‘Making up for lost time?’ he asked.

He felt her nod her head against him, even though she didn’t speak. He felt the even pace of her breathing and knew she had fallen asleep. If only he could do the same so easily. He lay awake with her in his arms, the shifting shadows of night fading to let the early-morning sun anoint their bodies with an incandescent glow.

I
T WAS
after eight when Cara woke. She opened her eyes to see Byron tying his tie in front of the mirrored wardrobe.

‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ he greeted her. ‘Want to meet me for lunch?’

She sat up and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

‘I’m pretty tied up today,’ she said, thinking of the rest of the curtains arriving, as well as the tiler coming to measure the upstairs bathroom.

‘What about dinner? About seven?’

Cara chewed her bottom lip.

‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea,’ she said. ‘I’ll be leaving soon and—’

‘You’re not leaving.’

‘Byron, this is crazy. I can’t do what you want me to do.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘It’s not important now.’

No, she thought. Not since Megan sorted it all out for you.

‘It’s not going to work,’ she said desperately. ‘We can’t go back.’

‘No, but we can go forward.’

‘I’m not prepared to do that.’

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Because you can’t allow yourself to be happy?’

‘I don’t want my happiness to be at the expense of someone else’s.’

‘No one is going to be compromised by your happiness. No one.’

‘What about Megan?’

‘I told you before—Megan has nothing to do with this.’

‘How can you say that?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you care about her at all?’

‘Of course I do, but only as a brother should. She’s been a part of my life since the year dot.’

Cara examined his expression closely. She wanted to believe him, but how could she—knowing what she knew? It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps he wasn’t aware of Megan’s pregnancy. But why wouldn’t Megan have told him? Surely it would be the one thing that would drive a permanent wedge between her and Byron? She didn’t understand Megan’s motivation for not using it—as trump cards went it was surely the biggest anyone could want.

‘How many times have you slept with her?’ The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them.

Byron glared at her crossly as he shrugged himself into his suit jacket.

‘What sort of question is that?’

‘A perfectly reasonable one, I would’ve thought.’

‘Quite frankly, I can’t see the point in answering it. You didn’t believe me before; you’re even less likely to believe me now.’

‘Try me.’

‘I haven’t slept with her at all.’

Cara couldn’t quite disguise the disbelief in her eyes and he shook his head in frustration.

‘I told you it was pointless.’

‘But I heard that…’ Her words fell away as she ran her mind back over what she’d overheard in the corridor at the Rockcliffe home.

‘You hear what you want to hear and the rest you make up, with that martyred mindset you insist on adopting,’ he interjected, his tone laced with irritation.

‘But surely you must—?’

‘Stop it, Cara,’ he said heavily. ‘This discussion is now closed. I’m late as it is, and the traffic will be horrendous by now. I’ll call you later.’

She opened her mouth to speak but he’d already turned and left the room. She listened as his car drove away a short time after. She could almost see his long, lean fingers tight against the wheel in frustration, lines of tension running along his mouth as he concentrated on getting to work.

She threw back the bedcovers and headed for the shower, the inner muscles of her body protesting slightly at the sudden movement, reminding her with a sharp pang of the pleasure she’d felt in his arms the night before. The hot stinging needles of water hit her body relentlessly and she shut her eyes and let her face receive the cascading spray.

After the curtains had arrived and the tiler had been and gone Cara went for a long walk along the tree-shaded streets. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be secure enough to trust what Byron said instead of doubting him at every turn. Could it be possible that what she had overheard was wrong? That what had been exchanged between the nameless, faceless guests at the party had been nothing more than idle gossip, something to pass the time before the next drink was served? The more she thought about it, the more she had to admit Megan could have any number of lovers; she was popular and attractive and very confident. She was at ease in male company, unlike herself, who still found it hard to understand Byron’s physical attraction to her after all this time.

Cara’s own attraction towards him was easy to explain—she loved him and had never stopped doing so. He’d told her he no longer felt anything for her that first day when she’d gone to his office. She knew it was different for men, they could disassociate their physical feelings from their emotions, but she couldn’t quite quell the faint hope that in some deep place inside he still held some sort of feeling for her.

She thought about Fliss’s observations of her behaviour.
Did
she deliberately sabotage her own happiness in some deeply subconscious way because she didn’t feel entitled to it?
Was
she punishing herself just as her mother had done?

She sat on a harbourside rock and watched the boats drift past, their sails billowing in the wind like white doves. Time passed and still she sat and listened to the sounds around her, the playful sea breeze lifting her hair occasionally, the sun gradually sinking in the west in a red-golden glow.

‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’

Cara was jolted out of her silent reverie by the sound of Byron’s deep voice behind her. She got up from the rock and dusted off her linen trousers without meeting his eyes.

‘I’ve been looking for you for over two hours,’ he said when she didn’t speak.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her eyes skirted past his as she reached for her sunglasses on the rock. ‘I didn’t realise the time.’

‘Fliss was rushed to hospital just after four this afternoon. I thought you might like to know.’

‘Is she…all right?’ She looked up at him, her expression full of concern.

‘Mother and baby doing well.’ He gave her a smile that tore at the fabric of her heart. ‘A daughter in somewhat of a hurry, seven pounds three ounces, with jet-black hair and a very determined Rockcliffe chin—or so I’m told.’

Cara met his eyes, her heart thudding heavily in her chest.

‘What have they called her?’ she asked with a hollow feeling settling in her stomach.

‘Emma,’ he said proudly. ‘Emma Rose Millicent. I think the Millicent was put in to butter up Great-Aunt Milly.’

Byron suddenly frowned as he saw the tortured expression on Cara’s face. Tears were falling from her hazel eyes, scoring track marks down her cheeks, and yet no sound of crying came from her.

‘Cara?’ He touched her on the arm. ‘Are you OK?’

She started to cry then. Great hulking sobs that tore at him deep inside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her really cry. She wasn’t like Fliss, who bawled hysterically at soppy movies and even cutesy advertisements, especially ones with puppies or kittens. Cara always sat still and silently, as if she were completely detached from her emotions. It had intrigued him at first, and then it had annoyed him that she blocked so much feeling from her life. For in doing so she barricaded him off as well.

‘Cara, honey.’ He put his arms around her, drawing her sobbing frame into his solid warmth. ‘Hey, what did I say to upset you?’

She shook her head against his chest, unable to speak. He stroked the back of her silky head, cupping her neck with his palm. He didn’t know what else to do. The evening light was fading and he was standing with his ex-wife in his arms in a state of distress he’d never in his life witnessed before. Fliss’s howling over romantic comedies was nothing to this.

Gradually the deep sobs faded to hiccups and sniffles, which precipitated the emergence of his clean white handkerchief. He watched as she buried her face in it, and was surprised by the rush of emotion he felt.

‘Let’s go home,’ he said gently.

He led her back along the track to the street above, her hand totally encased in his. For once she didn’t pull away. He felt her fingers grip his, ever so slightly, and smiled to himself; perhaps she was beginning to trust him at long last.

When they got back to the house he led her to the big bathroom upstairs and ran a deep bath. She stood silently as he began to undress her, lifting her arms above her head like a child as he removed her top. Her face bore the ravages of her bout of crying but to him she looked beautiful. She looked like a real person instead of the cardboard cut-out that had annoyed him so much in the past. He felt as if he could reach out and touch her soul, so vulnerable was she. And he wondered then if she could learn to love him the way he loved her. Could she learn to trust him? Would she ever have the courage to tell him about her decision to end her pregnancy? The reasons for it, why she’d done what she’d done, even if he himself could never really understand or accept it.

He’d hated her for it when he’d found out. A business acquaintance had mentioned he’d seen Cara in Sydney, informing him of her very obvious pregnancy. Byron had still been agonising over how to confront her about it when his business associate had called again and told him he’d seen Cara once more, but she was no longer pregnant and there was no pram in sight. He hadn’t believed it at first,
couldn’t
believe it, but then he’d recalled all the arguments they’d had about starting a family. In the end he had called her, just the once, but her mother had answered the telephone and before he’d been able to stop himself he’d asked if it were true. Edna Gillem had informed him that his child had been dispensed with and he had no business contacting her daughter any more.

He hadn’t bothered to contact Cara after that. Instead he’d got shamefully drunk and ended up having a one-night stand which he still hated to think about.

He helped Cara step into the warm water and wondered if she regretted it now, if that was what her weeping was about. The news of Fliss’s baby had been the trigger, but why? Cara had always claimed never to want children, and yet seeing her interact with his nieces and nephews had made him wonder if she was being entirely honest with herself.

‘I’ll go and rustle up something to eat,’ he said, running a hand through his hair as he looked down at her.

She didn’t answer.

‘Cara?’

She looked up at him, her eyes still red-rimmed and swollen.

‘Byron, I…’ She ran her tongue across her dry lips and began again. ‘Could I just go to bed?’

His frown was one of concern.

‘You’re not hungry?’

‘I’m tired,’ she said, and reached for a towel.

He handed it to her and without hesitation wrapped it around her and began drying her.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said as her hand touched his.

He stilled the movements of his hands as he looked into her eyes.

‘If I don’t do it I might be tempted to do something else instead,’ he confessed ruefully.

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she answered quietly, her eyes never once leaving his.

He looked at her in mild surprise.

‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’

She nodded.

‘Now?’ he asked. ‘Right now?’

She nodded again.

He touched her cheek with one finger, trailing it down to trace the outline of her soft mouth. She opened her mouth on his finger and the tug of her teeth sent arrows of sensation straight to his groin. She stepped into his arms and he crushed her to him, breathing in the scent of her.

He carried her to the bedroom. He watched her following the movements of his hands as he removed his clothes and desire kicked him deep in his gut.

She didn’t say a word. Her hands and mouth spoke for her. Byron relished in her display of feeling. It might not be love but she wanted him, and that would have to do for now.

Cara sent her hands on a journey of exploration. She touched Byron’s face, outlining each of his features: the patrician nose, the straight black eyebrows, the lean line of his chiselled jaw with its sexy masculine shadow which grazed her fingers in a slight rasp. She trailed over his neck and shoulders, rediscovering the contours of his muscled form. She heard his tight intake of breath when her fingers found the cave of his navel. She dawdled there, tantalisingly so, knowing he was waiting for her next move with bated breath. She could see it in his dark, desire-heated eyes as they followed her. She wriggled down slightly and began to tiptoe her fingers one by one through the dark trail of hair arrowing down to where he most ached for her touch. It made her feel powerful and feminine to be able to have this effect on him.

‘Oh God!’ he groaned as her mouth found its target.

She lingered there for as long as she dared, feeling his control slipping, tasting it on her tongue.

He stilled her movements with his hands on either side of her head.

‘Honey, I can’t take much more.’

She looked up at him through the curtain of her eyelashes and he groaned again, before hauling her up and underneath him, trapping her with his body.

‘Now I’ve got you,’ he said against her mouth. ‘It’s payback time.’

Cara shivered in reaction to the playful threat in his words. His mouth took hers in a searing kiss before moving down her body, lingering over the hardened peaks of her breasts before travelling further, until she was writhing under the ministrations of his tongue. He let her subside for a few moments before sliding into her warmth to take her on another journey of ecstasy.

When it was over Cara lay in the circle of his arms and two tears slipped unchecked past her lashes. Byron felt the moisture on his forearm and gently turned to look down at her. He blotted another spilling tear with the blunt end of one finger, his eyes warm as they held hers.

‘I seem to be having the strangest effect on you lately,’ he observed.

She bit her lip, and he frowned when a sob broke free.

‘Cara?’

She burrowed against his chest and he laid his hand on the back of her head and let her cry. God knew, she had a lot of crying to catch up on, but he hadn’t realised how it would impact on him to hear her do so. It tore at him where he didn’t want to be torn.