Their Secret Baby (5 page)

It was sharp, vehement, emphatic. She didn’t want to revive those memories; didn’t want to recall them at all. For the first time she had put them behind her, out of her mind, and she wanted them to stay that way.

‘So what do you want to do?’

She looked up into his darkly watchful face. She had been studying that face throughout the evening, opposite her, across the table, in the candlelight. The blue eyes, the long, thick lashes, the sensual mouth…

She’d watched that mouth with a fierce concentration. She’d seen it smile, laugh, sometimes twist cynically. She’d seen him touch his napkin to it, raise his glass, and when it came away the firm fullness of his lips had been stained faintly with the rich burgundy of the wine.

And it had been impossible not to wonder—to imagine the feel of it on her mouth, on her skin…

‘Caitlin?’

‘I want you to kiss me.’

It clearly wasn’t the last thing he was expecting. His reaction showed no surprise, no hint of shock. Instead he just inclined his head slightly, those deep blue eyes widening, darkening, and the sensual mouth that had so fascinated her curled into the faintest hint of a smile.

Leaning forward, he touched his lips to her cheek, soft and warm and enticing.

‘Like this?’

Sanity begged her to say yes. To say that was what she had wanted. All she had wanted.

That was the safe way.

But safety wasn’t what she wanted. She had thought that she was safe with Josh and their future, but it had only taken a day or two to turn that on its head and leave her, even though she hadn’t known it at the time, standing with the ruins of what she had thought her life to be lying all around her.

She’d had enough of safety. She didn’t believe in it any more. ‘No.’

It was a moan of protest, of complaint.

‘No, that’s not what I want. Not enough.’

She heard his breath draw in between his teeth, met the deep intensity of his gaze head on and read her fate in it.

‘Then tell me what you want, Caitlin. Show me.’

It took the space of a heartbeat, the tiniest of movements, to turn her head until her mouth met his, until their lips were against each other, their breath mingling, their eyes locked.

‘I want this…’ she said and took his mouth in a slow, lingering kiss. ‘I want this—and more.’

His only audible response was faintly muffled laughter, but his physical response was all she had wanted. His lips took the kiss from her and returned it with full force. Slow and sensual and growing in demand with each second that ticked by. His tongue slid out and ran along the opening of her mouth, promising, enticing, provoking.

And Caitlin gave herself up to that provocation.

Her mouth opened to him, a faint sigh of surrender escaping, turning into a sound of pure longing and need. And, hearing it, he reached out, enfolded her in his arms, holding her hard against him. A slight twist of his body, a hint of pressure on hers, brought her down onto the back of the settee, her hair supported by the soft grey cushions, her face lifted up to receive the force of his mouth.

For long, heated, mind-swirling seconds she was lost in sensation. In the taste of him on her tongue, the warmth of his body surrounding her, the scent of his skin against her own. And the heavy, yearning thud of her heart made her blood pound inside her skull in some ancient, primitive rhythm of need, the steady march of hungry senses along the heated path that could only lead to one inevitable end.

‘Then we’re thinking alike,’ he murmured, his voice raw and thick and echoing the need that was building up inside her. ‘We both want the same thing.’

Wanted it enough to discard the warning shouts of his beleaguered brain, Rhys acknowledged inwardly. He had fought that battle long enough and quite frankly he was tired of it. The baby wasn’t here, wouldn’t be here tonight. Tomorrow he would see her, hold her…

He had concentrated on that hunger for so long that he felt he had been almost erased in the process. Tonight he had other hungers, other needs. Ones that this woman could share with him. He could feel the wanting in her restless body as she stirred against him, making him harden and ache in cruel demand. And one by one his thinking processes shut down.

The delicate, transparent top she wore over the elegant dress almost melted away under the pressure of his hands, discarded somewhere on the settee beside them. Her skin felt like warm silk under his touch, soft and fine and delicately perfumed. He bent his head to kiss all the way up one arm, and across the smooth curve of a shoulder, and felt her heart kick hard as his lips touched the pulse point at the base of her neck.

‘Matt…’ she sighed longingly. ‘Matt…’

The single syllable of the assumed name, the
wrong
name, sounded foreign and disturbingly alien in his ears, shaking him out of the sensual haze he was in. He wanted to deny it, to reject it—to refuse even to allow her to use it.

‘No!’

It was harsh and rough, a jarring sound of rejection, and it forced open those stunning golden eyes, so that they looked into his in sharp concern.

‘No?’ she questioned in obvious uncertainty.

It was like receiving a dash of cold water in his face. Like the unwanted invasion of chill reality into the heated haven they had created for themselves.

He could tell her, he thought. And if he told her then he knew what would happen. She would be gone before he had finished speaking. She would be away and off this sofa—out of the room before he had a chance to stop her.

‘What is it?’

Rhys shook his head to collect his wandering thoughts. Was he seriously thinking of telling her who he was and why he was here? Telling
her
—this woman who hadn’t even let him know that his wife was dead, that his child had been born?

Was he seriously concerned about keeping the truth from her when she had so ruthlessly kept an even greater one from him?

‘What
is
it?’ It was sharper now, more edgily anxious. ‘What’s wrong?’

Suddenly it was as if something had dawned on her and she dragged her mouth from his, leaning back so that she could look up into his face, amber eyes travelling over every inch of his features in deep concern.

‘Are you—are you married?’

The relief at the fact that her question was so easy to answer had him throwing his head back and actually laughing out loud.

‘Is that what you thought? Isn’t it a little too late to concern yourself with that now?’

But laughter had been the wrong response, putting a new tension into her slender frame, an uneasy, anxious light into her eyes.

‘Answer the question! Yes or no. Are you married?’

‘No.’

He met her burning gaze head-on as he answered, his voice deep and firm, totally unwavering.

‘No, I can assure you that I am not married. I was—but not any more. I have no wife. There is no other woman—
no one
—who can come between you and me.’

At least not tonight, he told himself as her eyes closed briefly and a smile of relief crept over her mouth. There was no one who could come between them tonight.

‘So why the no?’

Somehow he managed to force his mouth into a lazy smile that hid his real feelings.

‘You don’t think I meant no, I don’t want this, do you? What I was trying to say is don’t let’s rush this—let’s take our time. And let’s do things properly—I want you in a bed with me, not some frantic fumble on an uncomfortable sofa.’

The explanation reassured her, he saw as the smile grew and the light came back on in her eyes. She had no more questions in her mind—for tonight.

Tomorrow, when he told her who he was and demanded access to his daughter, it would be so very different.

But tonight was tonight, he acknowledged as he kissed her lips once more and felt her immediate, unhesitating response, the way she pressed against him, the shuddering pleasure that rippled through her body.

Tonight was theirs.

And tomorrow could take care of itself.

‘I
REALLY
think we’d be more comfortable somewhere else.’

At first Caitlin only heard the sound of the words, not registering their meaning. She was too far gone in the burn of sexuality. Too adrift in feeling to allow any other sense like hearing to function properly.

‘Caitlin?’

Yes. Whatever you want. Wherever you want.

It was what she wanted to say but her voice wouldn’t work either. She could barely open her eyes. The lids felt heavy and would only lift far enough to leave a slit through which she could make out the blur that was his face.

He had kissed her senseless. Caressed every inch of her exposed skin until she felt that her flesh was throbbing with need, and she couldn’t focus her thoughts on anything beyond the feel and taste and scent of him. She was drugged on his touch and his kisses.

And the heat and hunger that pulsed between her thighs.

‘Caitlin!’

His voice was sharper now, taut with reproof. And with something else, something that echoed the yearning hunger deep inside her.

‘I’m perfectly happy to make love to you right here if that’s the way you want it,’ he muttered in a tone that was rough with impatience. ‘But as I said, this settee is just a little cramped and I really think that the comfort of a bed…’

‘Upstairs…’

Somehow she managed to form the word this time, hating the way she had to drag her mouth from his for the few seconds it took to frame it. She wanted him so much. Every bit of him. Every touch, every taste, every scent…

‘Let’s go upstairs.’

He let her roll out from under him on the small settee, then slither to the floor. But she barely had time to land before he caught her arms and pulled her upright, his lips fastening on hers with renewed demand.

‘Upstairs,’ he echoed thickly. ‘Show me where.’

Caitlin was never quite sure how they made it out of the sitting room and into the hall. They were both walking blind, their eyes fixed on the other’s face, their lips still kissing, tasting, nipping at each other’s mouth. And yet somehow they reached the foot of the stairs, but no further. Instead he slammed her back against the wall and kissed her hard and hot, his mouth yearning, his breathing ragged.

‘Do you know what you do to me?’ he demanded. ‘How you make me feel? How much I want you?’

‘I think I can guess,’ she teased and moved with deliberately wicked provocation, rubbing the cradle of her pelvis softly on the heated hardness of his forceful erection.

‘Caitlin!’

Her name was a choking sound in his throat.

‘Do you want me to throw you on the floor and take you here and now? Because that’s what you’re risking if you don’t stop tormenting me.’

The way she was feeling she didn’t think she’d mind. She didn’t even think she’d have the strength to protest if he tried it. But still she couldn’t resist teasing him just a little bit more.

‘You’re the one who insisted on a bed,’ she whispered against his ear, letting the warm tip of her tongue trace the curving line of its outer edge, the softness of his lobe.

Her smile grew wide as she heard his groan of sensual near-agony.

‘And I’m taking you upstairs to find you one.’

‘I don’t think I’ll make it.’

‘I’ll make it worth your while.’

She was moving as she spoke, sliding towards the first step, inching upwards so that he was forced to come with her or lose the burning contact that made her feel as if her body was melting into his.

‘I promise you a kiss for every step…’

She gave him the caress he had earned by managing to come up alongside her now.

‘There are only twelve of them. Surely you can manage that.’

His only response was another groan, making the laughter bubble in her throat.

‘Just twelve—eleven now…’

She slid up to the next level, her back against the wall, her breasts and hips brushing sinuously against him as she moved.

‘And ten…’

The number was crushed against her lips as he moved with unexpected swiftness, coming up beside her and taking the kiss she had promised.

This time she was the one who almost weakened. The one whose body sagged, whose knees nearly gave way. But he was there, so close that she could wind her arms around his neck, let her weight rest on his shoulders as somehow she managed to find the strength to climb once more.

‘Nine…’ He took the number from her.

It was whispered against her breasts, deliberately provoking, his mouth hot on the exposed flesh that curved above the low neckline of her dress, his breath whispering down inside her cleavage, curling round the hardened nipples that thrust demandingly against the rich dark fabric.

‘N-nine,’ she echoed on a broken sigh, her heart clenching just to
imagine
what it would feel like to have his hands where his breath had been.

His mouth.

Nine steps to go. She might just make it if they hurried. She might just last the length of time it took to reach the landing, her bedroom, without going completely mad with desire. Without screaming at him to stop delaying, to stop playing with her, and take her
now
.

But no one had said that she couldn’t join in the fun.

And so she bent down and pressed her own kiss on his warm and ready mouth. At the same time she stroked her fingers through his hair, slid them down over the width of his shoulders, under the edge of his collar. She felt the beat of his pulse, the warmth of his skin, and her own heart raced in reaction. Lingering deliberately, she trailed her fingers along the strong line of his throat to where his tie was tugged loose at the neck of his shirt.

‘This will need to go,’ she muttered, easing the button from its fastening, slipping her fingers in even further. ‘And this…’

‘Caitlin…’

She didn’t know if his rough-voiced use of her name was protest or encouragement but she really didn’t care. With the top two buttons undone, she trailed her fingers down the hard plane of his chest, swirled them round in the crisp hair that her touch encountered, then let them move lower.

‘Caitlin!’

She wasn’t quite aware of how he moved, how fast, how suddenly. She only knew that somehow he was beside her, his arms coming round her, swinging her up and into his grasp. There was a dangerously worrying moment when he swayed slightly and she feared that he might drop her, or fall, but it only lasted the space of an anxious heartbeat. The next second she was held firmly against him, the tensile-steel strength of his muscles supporting her easily. He looked down into her upturned face, blue, blue eyes glinting wickedly, and he grinned in fiendish triumph.

‘Eight,’ he said, moving on to the next step with a determined stride and then up again. ‘Seven. Six—five…’

With each count his steps grew faster, more resolute, taking her upwards, swift and sure, not a second’s hesitation.

‘Three, two, one…’

He reached the landing, paused, looked around him only briefly, and then moved with unerring accuracy in the direction of her room.

The door was kicked open wide, and he carried her inside, only pausing when the darkness of the room, no light coming through the tightly drawn curtains, forced him to a halt.

‘None,’ he muttered, raw and final, and, turning her in his grasp, he lowered her slowly to the floor, letting her slide all the way down the length of his lean body, in an obviously deliberate mirroring of her teasing provocation at the bottom of the stairs.

‘That’s seven kisses you owe me, sweetheart,’ he reminded her, holding her tight when she would have slipped away. ‘You promised.’

‘Only on each step!’ she laughed, shaking her head in the darkness. ‘That was the arrangement.’

‘To hell with the arrangement!’ His voice was a deep, husky growl. ‘Seven kisses I’m owed, and seven kisses I’ll take.’

‘You haven’t earned them!’

But she gave him them all the same, as she had known she would. At least she tried. She started with one kiss, a brief, light, flirtatious caress on his demanding mouth, then dodged away again, meaning to move on to another, similar one almost at once. But two things stopped her.

The man she was kissing and her own powerful sensual hunger.

She kissed him again—and this time she couldn’t get away. Her lips touched his, tasted, lingered, clung. And at the same time his hands came up around her neck, long fingers lacing in the fall of hair, curving against the bones of her skull, holding her unable to move.

And he kissed her thoroughly, hotly, hungrily. Kissed her until her head was swimming crazily and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

It was only when they were forced to break apart by the need to snatch in air that Rhys released her. Just enough to move her head back in order to breathe, but no more.

‘Now, that’s a kiss,’ he told her, the air rasping into his starved lungs. ‘Not the silly, half-hearted things you’ve been offering. A proper kiss.’

Caitlin nodded silently, struggling to breathe properly herself.

‘And you owe me six more of those.’

He thought she would fight him, protest at least, but instead she swayed slightly towards him as if yearning to be closer. The faint waft of some warm, richly floral scent combined with the private aroma of her skin tormented his senses cruelly. He wanted to snatch her up again, take her in his arms and carry her to the bed, flinging her down and ripping the clinging dress from her.

He wanted to have her
now
. To bury himself in her welcoming body, sate himself with her, exhaust himself… That way, he might also drive out the unexpected and unwanted sexual pull she had for him. He had never anticipated wanting this woman so much when what he had come for was the opposite of sensual. He thought he had come for revenge. To be avenged on her for the way that she had taken his child, and kept her from him. He had thought that he could take that revenge and walk away.

Instead he found that he was obsessed by her, entangled in the sexual web she had woven around him. And he could not free himself until he knew if she could deliver what she seemed to promise. Until he had possessed her totally, steeped himself in the sensual delights her body offered.

But the tiniest lingering vestiges of common sense told him that he should take this more slowly, seduce rather than take her. He wanted her totally
his
in every way possible. Only then would she be unable to resist him, both physically and mentally.

‘Is there a light in this room?’ he asked, punctuating the words with a drift of kisses over her face, invisible in the darkness. ‘I can’t see a damn thing.’

Not that he was complaining. Not really. The blindness brought by the lack of light only served to heighten every other one of his senses, making them sharper, much more forceful, powerfully concentrated. Unable to see, he could taste and feel and smell this woman with an intensity that threatened to blow his mind, shatter his composure into a million tiny pieces.

But at the same time he knew that he wanted, needed desperately to
see
her. The moment of possession couldn’t come in the darkness, blind and invisible. He wanted to look into her face in the moment that he took possession of her body, see the expression that her passion put there, the glaze of desire in her eyes. And he wanted to see how that expression changed when she climaxed, how she came apart, finally and completely in his arms, in the moment when she could hide absolutely nothing from him.

‘Do we have to…?’ Caitlin sounded edgy.

‘Yes. I need to see you.’

With a small sound like a gulp in her throat, she moved, twisting in his arms, reaching out to some switch she could find in the dark. There was a faint click and a soft glow illuminated the room, coming from a lamp on a bedside cabinet.

‘That’s better. Now…’

The words faded from his tongue as he saw what else stood on the cabinet, beside the cream-shaded lamp.

The photograph in a pine-coloured frame. A photograph of a man. A tall, brown-haired, well-built man, smiling into the camera.

Or, rather, smiling at the woman behind the camera.

‘Who is that?’ he demanded, though he already knew the answer.

The way she hesitated, her eyes lowered, shifting awkwardly from one bare foot to another, only confirmed as much.

‘Who?’ Harder. Harsher. So much so that she flinched visibly.

‘It’s J-Josh,’ she faltered clumsily.

‘Josh. It’s
him
, isn’t it? The guy—the bastard who cheated on you.’

‘Yes.’

It was little more than a whisper and she was biting down hard on her lower lip, white teeth digging into the soft fullness.

‘And you keep his photo here—by your bed? Wasn’t it bad enough that he messed you about that way? Do you want to be
reminded
of it?’

‘I—loved him.’

‘But he clearly didn’t love you.’

He hated himself for saying it when he saw how she flinched at his words. But he couldn’t wish them back. How could she move on when every time she came to bed the image of this Josh was there, the last thing she saw before she fell asleep at night?

‘This has to go.’

‘I…’

Anger flared, hot and unthinking, when he saw how she hesitated; the way her gaze went to the frame and the face in it. Were those tears in her eyes? Did she still have feelings for the rat?

Snatching up the picture, he threw it onto the floor, bringing down his foot, heel first, on top of it, smashing the frame and the picture beneath. Shards of glass splintered round the fine black leather of his shoe, scattering like tiny diamond raindrops over the creamy-coloured carpet. Caitlin’s eyes followed his actions, but she stayed silent, not even opening her mouth to protest.

‘It’s you and me now,’ he told her harshly, his voice roughening as if it was coming from a painfully dry throat. ‘And I’ll not have anyone else intruding on us—least of all another man. Is that understood?’