Harlequin Presents January 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Sheikh's Desert Duty\Nine Months to Redeem Him\Fonseca's Fury\The Russian's Ultimatum (29 page)

“Saved by the bell,” I murmured. “Don't think it will save you. Those boxers will be
mine...
”

But he was no longer listening. His jaw was tight as he answered the phone. “Rupert. What the hell do you want?”

Rising to his feet, he kept the phone to his ear as he stalked back and forth across the study, barking angry words into the phone—words I didn't understand, like EBITDA, proxy fight, flip-over and poison pill. Whatever it meant, it made Edward so angry that he utterly forgot me sitting half-naked in the chair, staring up at him, wearing his tie. He just paced back and forth in front of the fire. Caesar lifted his head and watched his master walk to and fro, as bewildered and alarmed as I was.

“And I'm telling
you
,” Edward bit out, “if you don't pull this together the shareholders will never forgive...no, it was
not
my fault. I set it on target. It was fine in September.” He paused, then strode five steps before turning. His pace was almost a stomp as he said acidly, “Oh, I'm sorry, was it
inconvenient
to the company that I had to take a few months off when I nearly died? Even half-dead, I'm twice the man you...” He halted, grinding his teeth. “No,
you
listen to me....” A curse came from his lips that made me flinch. “If the deal is falling apart, you're the one to blame, and the board of directors will see—” He stopped. His shoulders looked so tight that I was afraid of what he might be doing to the muscles of his shoulders and spine. He ground his teeth. “I know what you're doing, you bastard, and it won't work. St. Cyr Global belongs to me....”

I couldn't listen anymore. Sliding miserably off the chair, I grabbed my clothes that had been flung so eagerly to the floor. Shivering, though I was near the roaring fire, I pulled his tie off my throat. Edward's eye caught me, now standing in front of the enormous fireplace that was taller than me, and his expression briefly lightened as his eyes approvingly traced the scarlet lace bra and panties that had been a Christmas gift. From me to him. His forehead furrowed into a frown as, without answering his smile, I turned away and silently pulled on my long cotton sweater and black knit leggings.

“I'll be there tomorrow,” he snapped, and clicked off the phone. Coming toward me, he said, “What are you doing?”

“That should be obvious,” I said.

“Take your clothes back off,” he said huskily, pulling me into his arms. “We're in the middle of a game. There's no reason for you to quit. You're winning.”

Winning
. The word made me shudder. Because when he was on the phone, talking to that man—his cousin?— Edward's voice had sounded different. Harsher. Like someone who cared about winning. At any cost.

I'd come to see another side of Edward over the past few months. Even Jason Black, the man I'd thought I'd loved, now seemed like a pale shadow of memory compared to the devilish, sexy, arrogant man who'd become the center of my life. Edward knew the best of me—and the worst. For weeks now, I'd tried not to think about how soon I'd be leaving this magical place and returning to California, to face the real world. But now...

I pulled away from his embrace, avoiding his gaze. “You're going back to London.”

“That multibillion deal I told you about is falling apart,” he said grimly. “I'm going first thing in the morning.”

“On New Year's Day?”

“My
cousin,
” he spat out the word, “is trying to sabotage it. I've been gone too long. Once the deal's back on track, I'll get the stockholders together and see about eliminating him....”

“Eliminating?”

He snorted a laugh. “From the board of directors. What did you think I meant?”

I licked my lips. “Well...”

“You really do think the worst of me,” he said, sounding amused rather than offended. “But Rupert has a wife and young children he barely sees. I'd like to free him from all the pesky duties of COO, so he could devote more time to his family.”

“You could do that yourself,” I pointed out.

“Ah, but I don't have a family,” he said lightly. Leaning forward, he kissed my nose. “I couldn't be responsible for a houseplant.”

“That's not true.”

“Sadly, it is.”

“What about Caesar?”

The dog lifted his head at hearing his name. Edward looked down at him affectionately. “This lazybones? You know he's technically Mrs. MacWhirter's dog, not mine. And she'll be back from Scotland tomorrow. There's no help for it.” Edward stared down at me grimly. “I need to go back.”

In spite of his words, as I looked at his body posture, I'd never seen any man less keen to do anything.

“I understand.” I kept my voice even, squaring my shoulders and trying to look calm, though I wanted to cling to him and whimper. “I'll go pack my things.”

“Good.” He looked distracted. Geez. It's not like I expected Edward to say he was wretchedly heartbroken, and that he'd miss me desperately, but...

I suddenly realized that was exactly what I'd expected. We'd had a torrid ten day affair, months of friendship before that, and I'd actually thought I meant something to him. In spite of the fact that he'd warned me that I wouldn't. In spite of his warnings, in spite of my promise, I'd come to care for him. Really care.

I was so stupid!

Trembling, I tried to smile. “I'll go see about the next flight to L.A.” I bit my lip. “It's good timing, really. I should be thanking that cousin of yours. My stepfather invited me to spend a week on his set as an extra. It'll be fun to be a zombie. And I've heard New Mexico is beautiful....”

Edward focused on me. “What are you talking about?”

“You're going to London tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

I licked my lips. “So there's no point in me staying here.”

“None.”

“Right.” I set my shoulders and tried to arrange my face into a calm, pleasant, totally unfazed expression. “That means this is goodbye.”

His dark eyebrows raised. “You're abandoning me?”

“You just said there's no reason for me to stay!”

“There's no reason for you to stay at Penryth Hall,” he said with almost insulting patience, “because you're
coming with me to London.
”

I stared at him. In spite of his almost rude care in speaking the words, it seemed he hadn't said them carefully enough, because I still couldn't understand them.

“You want me to come with you?” I said dumbly. “To London?”

“Yes-s-s,” he said, enunciating even more slowly. “To
London.
”

I tried to ignore the rush of relief that went through me, the pathetic joy in my heart that he wanted me, that the moment of separation could be avoided for a bit longer. “But what on earth would I do there?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I could hire you back as my physio.”

“Come on. You can
jog
now. You don't need a physical therapist anymore.”

“Then,” he said huskily, “come as my full-time lover.”

“I'd live in London and just—spend time with you in bed?”

“Think of it as a vacation.”

“
You
won't be on vacation. You'll be working all the time.”

“Not at night.” He gave me a wicked grin. “I'll be your toy boy then, what do you say?” He came closer. “You'll have me all night. Isn't that what you love about me?”

I love everything about you,
I wanted to say
. The way you touch me. The sound of your voice. The way you make me laugh. Everything.

But I knew it was the last thing that he wanted to hear. It was supposed to be a physical affair, nothing more. I looked at him in the flickering firelight of his study. He was still dressed only in silk boxers from our strip poker match, and my gaze lingered at his powerful torso, hard-muscled biceps and thickly hewn thighs. Sex was enough, I told myself. It had to be enough.

“Diana?” He was staring at me. I realized I'd taken too long to respond.

“Of course that's what I love best,” I said, tossing my head. “What else is there about you to love?”

“Such a heartless woman,” he sighed, then drew closer. Nuzzling me, he cupped my breast through my thin cotton sweater. My nipples turned instantly hard, pressing up through the red lace of my bra, thrusting visibly against the sweater. He whispered, “Allow me to serve you, then, milady....”

Falling to his knees in front of me, Edward suckled me, pressing his mouth over my nipple. I gasped as I felt his hot mouth through the thin cotton and fillip of red lace beneath. His free hand wrapped around my other breast, then a moment later, he moved to that side.

My sweater disappeared, then the red lace bra. With a growl of satisfaction, he lowered his mouth to my bare skin. My head fell back, my eyes closed. His lips were hot and soft, satin and steel. When he drew back, I was shivering with need, just like the first time he'd touched me. As though we hadn't been making love four times a day, every day, for the past ten days.

“So we're agreed,” he murmured. Rising to his feet, he pulled me into his arms. “You'll come with me to London.”

“I can't just go there as...as your sex toy,” I said in a small voice, my stupid, traitorous heart yearning for him to argue with me, to tell me I meant more to him than that.

“I know.” He suddenly smiled. “London has a thriving theater scene. You can live at my house as you audition for acting roles.”

“Audition?” I said, trying to keep the fear from my voice.

“It's perfect.” Running his hands down my back, he kissed my cheek, my neck. “By day, you pursue your dreams. At night...you'll belong to me.”

Cupping my face, he kissed me, hot and demanding. I wrapped my arms around him, kissing him back recklessly, ignoring my troubled heart.

I couldn't give him up. Not yet. Not when I could still live in his world of passion and color and desire for a little while longer. I wanted to be the bold woman who wore red lace panties for her lover, and paraded around nearly naked. I wasn't ready to go back and be that invisible girl again. Not yet. I needed to be in his arms. I needed to be with him, one moment teasing each other, playing like children, and the next bursting into flame in the most adult way possible. It reminded me of the old definition of love—
friendship on fire...

No. My eyes flew open. I cared about Edward, sure. I liked him a lot. But that wasn't the same as being in love.

I couldn't let it be.

I like him, that's all
, I told myself firmly.
We have fun together. It's not a crime.

I pulled away. “All right,” I said, keeping my voice casual. “I'll come to London.”

“Good,” he said, with a low, sensual smile that said he'd never doubted he could convince me. Leaning me back against the poker table, he got me swiftly naked beneath the bright heat of the fire and made love to me.

And so the next morning, under the weak pink light of the dawn, I was packed up in his expensive car, along with the rest of his possessions, and driven east across the moor. Toward civilization.

CHAPTER FIVE

“W
OW
. Y
OU
'
RE
NOT
looking so great.”

The girl sitting beside me on one of the plastic chairs lining the hallway had a concerned look on her beautifully made-up face.

“I'm fine,” I replied, trying to breathe slowly, fervently trying to believe it. It had been two months since we'd arrived in London, and I'd felt strangely queasy, almost from the day we'd arrived here. I'd thought it was from fear, and also the guilt of lying to Edward about how I actually spent my days. But today, I'd finally faced my fear. For the first time, I was actually forcing myself to stay through an audition, rather than chickening out and fleeing for Trafalgar Square like a safely anonymous tourist.

For an hour, I'd sat here in the hallway, practicing my lines in my head and waiting for them to call my name. Shouldn't the queasy feeling have gone away?

Instead, it had only increased as I waited backstage at a small, prestigious West End theater, surrounded by beautiful, professional-looking actors, who were loudly practicing their lines and doing elocution exercises, and taking no notice of me whatsoever. Except for the American girl sitting next to me.

“Are you feeling sick?” she asked now.

“Just nerves,” I said weakly.

“You look like you ate a bad curry. Or else it's the flu.” Wrinkling her nose, she leaned away from me ever so slightly. “My sister looked like that the first three months she was pregnant....”

“I'm fine,” I repeated sharply, then swallowed, my head falling back as another wave of nausea went through me.

So much for my acting skills. Clearly not fooled, the girl looked nervously from side to side. “Oh. Good. Well. Um... Please excuse me. I have to practice my lines...over there.”

Getting up, she left in a hurry, as if she'd found herself sitting next to Typhoid Mary. I couldn't blame her, because I felt perilously close to throwing up. Leaning my head against the wall, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. I was so close to auditioning now. In a moment, they would call my name. I would speak my lines on the stage.

Then the casting agents would tell me that I sucked. It would be hideous and soul-crushing but at least I could slink home afterward and no longer be lying when I told Edward that while he was working eighteen-hour days at his office in Canary Wharf, I'd spent the day pursuing my dreams.

Just a few minutes more, and it would be over. I tried to breathe. They would probably cut me off halfway through my lines, in fact, and tell me I was too fat/thin/old/young/wrong, or just dismiss me with a curt
Thank you.
All I needed to do was speak a few lines and...

My lines. My eyes flew open as I slapped my hand on my forehead. What were my lines? I'd practiced them for two days, practiced them in the shower and as I walked through the barren garden behind Edward's lavish Kensington townhouse. I knew those lines by heart. But they'd fled completely out of my brain and...

Then I really did feel sick and I raced for the adjacent bathroom, reaching it just in time. Afterward, I splashed cold water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked pale and sweaty. My eyes looked big and afraid.

My sister looked like that the first three months she was pregnant.

Leaving the bathroom, I walked out to the hallway. Then I kept walking, straight out of the theater, until I was outside breathing fresh, cold air.

My nausea subsided a bit. The sky was dark and overcast, not cold enough to snow but threatening chilling rain.

It was the first of March, but spring still felt far away. I walked slowly for the underground station, my legs trembling.

My sister looked like that the first three months she was pregnant.

The possibility of pregnancy hadn't even occurred to me. I carefully hadn't let it occur to me. I couldn't be pregnant. It was impossible.

I stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, causing the tourists behind me to exclaim as they nearly walked into me.

Edward had gone out of his way to take precautions. But I hadn't even worried about it, because I assumed Edward knew what he was doing. He was the one who never wanted to commit to anyone, and what could be a greater commitment than a child?

But there had been a few near misses. A few times he didn't put on the condom until almost too late. And that one time in the shower...

Feeling dazed, I walked heavily to Charing Cross station nearby and barely managed to get on the right train. I stared at the map above the seats as the subway car swayed. My cycle was late. In fact, I realized with a sense of chill, I hadn't had a period since we'd arrived in London two months ago. There could be all kinds of reasons for that. I was stressed by my halfhearted attempts at breaking into the London theater scene. I was stressed by the fact that I was lying to Edward about it. And then there was the nausea. I'd told myself my body was still growing accustomed to Greenwich Mean Time, or as the girl had suggested, I'd eaten a bad fish vindaloo.

All right, so my breasts felt fuller, and they'd been heavy and a little sore. But—I blushed—I'd assumed that was just from all the sex. The rough play at night was almost the only time I ever saw Edward anymore.

Every morning, his driver collected him before dawn to take him to his building in Canary Wharf, gleaming and modern, with a private shower and futon in his private office suite, and four PAs to service his every whim. Battling to save the deal that his cousin was trying to sabotage, he'd worked eighteen hours a day, Sundays included, and usually didn't return until long after I was in bed. Some nights he never bothered to come home at all.

But on the rest, Edward woke me up in the dark to make love to me. A bright, hot fire in the night, when his powerful body took mine with hungry, insatiable demand. Sometime before dawn, I'd feel him kiss my temple, hear him whisper,
Good luck today. I'm proud of you.
Half-asleep, I'd sigh back,
Good luck,
and then he was gone. I'd awake in the morning with sunlight slanting through the windows, and his side of the bed empty. And I would be alone.

My days in London were lonely. I missed the life we'd had in Cornwall. I missed Penryth Hall.

Everything had changed.

Was it about to change more?

Distracted by my thoughts, I almost missed my stop at High Street Kensington. I exited the underground station and then, not daring to meet the pimply sales clerk's eyes, I bought a pregnancy test from the pharmacy on the corner.

Edward had offered his driver's services to take me to auditions, but I didn't think it would do me any favors to arrive via chauffeured car, like the kept woman I'd somehow become. Plus, then I would have had to actually go to the auditions. Easier to take the underground and keep my independence—and my secrets. I didn't want Edward to feel disappointed in me, as he would if he knew I hadn't made it to a single audition in two months, in spite of all my bravado.

I hadn't wanted a driver then, but now, as I trudged up the street with my pharmacy bag tucked into my purse, the cold gray drizzle turned to half-frozen rain, soaking through my light cotton jacket, and I suddenly wished I had
someone
to look after me. Someone who would take me in his arms and tell me everything was going to be all right. Because I was scared.

I reached Edward's beautiful Georgian townhouse, with its five bedrooms and private garden, in an elegant neighborhood a few blocks from Kensington Palace. Heavily, I walked up the steps and punched the security code, then opened the front door.

“Diana?” Mrs. Corrigan's voice called from the kitchen. “Is that you, dear?”

“Yes,” I said dully. No need to panic, I told myself. I'd take the pregnancy test. Once it said negative, I'd relax, and have a good laugh at my fears, along with a calming glass of wine.

“Come back,” she called. “I'm in the kitchen.”

“Just a minute.” I went to the front bathroom. Trembling, I took the test. I waited. And waited.
Be negative,
I willed, staring down at it.
Be negative.

The test looked back at me.

Positive.

The test fell from my numb hand. Then I grabbed it and looked at it again. Still positive. I stuffed it at the bottom of the trash, hiding it beneath the empty bag. Which was ridiculous.

Soon there would be no hiding it.

Pregnant. My teeth chattered as I stumbled slowly down the hall to the large modern kitchen at the back. Pregnant.

I looked out the big windows by the kitchen, overlooking the private garden that would be beautiful in spring, but at the moment was bleak and bare and covered with shards of melting snow.

“There you are, dear.” Mrs. Corrigan, his full-time London housekeeper, was making a lemon cake. “Mr. St. Cyr just phoned for you.”

“He called here?” My heart unfolded like a flower. Edward had never called me from work before. Had he somehow known I needed him, felt it in his heart?

She looked up a little reproachfully from the bowl. “He was dismayed that he couldn't reach you on your mobile.”

“Um...” The sleek new cell phone he'd bought for me last month was still sitting on the granite kitchen countertop, plugged in, exactly where I'd left it two days ago. “I'll phone him back now.”

My hands shook as I walked down the hall to his study, closing the door behind me. Dialing his number, I listened to the phone ring, in that distinctly British sound, reminding me I was a long way from home. And so did the fact that I needed to navigate through two different secretaries before I finally heard Edward's voice.

“Why didn't you answer your mobile?” he demanded by way of greeting.

“I'm sorry, I forgot it. I was at an audition and...” My voice trembled.

“The deal just went through.”

His voice sounded so flat, it took me a moment to realize that he was calling to share good news. “That's wonderful! Congratulations!” I said brightly. My heart was pounding in my throat. “But, um, we need to talk—”

“Yes, we do,” he said shortly. “There's going to be a party tonight hosted by Rupert's wife, at their house in Mayfair. Wear a cocktail dress. Be ready at eight.”

Rupert's wife. Victoria. I'd met her a few times. She was mean. I took a deep breath. “I'll be ready. But something has happened today, Edward. Something really important you should know about.” I paused, but he didn't say anything. “Edward?”

It took me several seconds to realize he'd already hung up. Incredulously, I stared down at my cell phone.

“Everything all right, dear?” Mrs. Corrigan said cheerily as I came out of the study.

This is all I can give you,
Edward had said, the night he took my virginity.
No marriage. No children. All I can offer is—this
.

It was more true than I'd realized. Because sex was truly all he gave me now. Sex that felt almost anonymous in the dark shadows of our bed. Sex, and a beautiful house to live in while I attempted to create the acting career that was supposedly my Big Dream. Except it made me sick.

Or maybe it was the pregnancy doing that.

What would he say when he found out? Would he be furious? Indifferent? Would he think I'd somehow done it on purpose? Would he ask me to end the pregnancy?

No way. My hands unwillingly went to my slightly curved belly. Even in my shock, I already knew that I was keeping this baby. There was no other option for me.

But I was scared of his reaction.

I feared I already knew what it would be.

Mrs. Corrigan was whipping the frosting, humming merrily as I walked into the kitchen. Her plump cheeks were rosy. “Such an afternoon it is!” she sighed, looking out the windows. “Rain and more rain.” She looked at me. “Would you care for some tea? Or maybe some food, you're looking skin and bone,” she chided affectionately.

Skin and bone? I looked down at my full breasts, my plump hips. At my belly, which would soon be enormous. I felt another strange twinge of queasiness that I now knew was morning sickness. “Um, thanks, but I'm not hungry. Edward's taking me to a party tonight, to celebrate that his deal just went through—”

“Wonderful!”

“Yes. It is.” Not so wonderful that I'd be spending time with his friends. All those bankers and their wives, and the worst of them all, Rupert and his wife, Snooty McSnotty. A low buzz of anxiety rolled through me, heavy gray clouds through my soul with lightning and rain.

And at that thought, thunder really did boom outside, so loud it shook the china cup in its saucer as the housekeeper poured me tea.

“Ooh,” said Mrs. Corrigan with a shiver, “that was a good one, wasn't it?”

The rain continued all afternoon and into the evening. I paced the floor, tried to read, had to reread every page six times as my mind wandered. I managed some bread and cheese for dinner, and a little bit of lemon cake. I went upstairs and showered and dressed. I blow-dried my hair, making it lustrous and straight. I put on makeup. I put on the designer cocktail dress he'd bought me. It was tighter and skimpier than anything I'd ever worn before. Especially now. For heaven's sake, how could I not have noticed my breasts were this big?

I was ready early, at seven forty-five. Going into the front room, I sat shivering on the sofa as I waited. Outside, the traffic had dissipated, and the street was dark. Beneath the rain, puddles shone dull silver against the street lights. I waited.

It wasn't until an hour later, almost nine, that I heard the front door slam. He ran upstairs, calling my name.

“I'm in here.”

“Sitting in the dark?” he growled. Coming into the front room, he clicked on a light, glowering at me. “What are you doing, Diana?”

I blinked, squinting in the light. “I just didn't notice.”