Reluctant Father

She shook her head. Although she was twenty-seven, she had only had one serious relationship, but that had run out of steam over a year ago.

‘Not at the moment.’

‘Thank God. So you won’t have any hang-ups about us making love,’ Gifford completed.

All of a sudden, the air seemed to throb.

‘Making love?’ she repeated, with care.

‘It’s inevitable.’

‘You think so?’

‘I do.’ Moving closer, Gifford took the glass which she held in increasingly shaky fingers and set it aside with his on a low table. ‘And it’s another reason—probably the main reason—why I demanded that you accompany me.’

‘You are sly and underhand,’ Cass informed him. ‘A self-serving shark.’

‘Aren’t I just?’ he said, and smiled a smile so ravishing it could have melted a stone. It melted her heart. ‘But you think that us making love is inevitable, too.’ Framing her face with his hands, he looked deep into her eyes. ‘You know that sooner or later we’re going to wind up in bed. Yes?*

She gulped in a breath. Why deny the truth?

‘Yes.’

‘You want me and I want you. I want you so much it’s all I can think about. You’re driving me crazy.’ He raised anguished brows. ‘Hell, Cass, I’m suffering here.’

She grinned. ‘You’d like me to take pity and put you out of your misery?’

‘It’d be a humane gesture of the greatest magnanimity. Now…’ he said, and he drew her close and kissed her.

His lips parted her lips. The muscle of his tongue explored the velvet confines of her mouth, and utterly seduced her. With her hands clutching at his shoulders, her head spinning and her senses reeling, Cass flowed into the kiss. She needed him. For so long, she had ached for him. As she wrapped herself closer around him, they kissed again. Their breathing quickened, then Gifford was leading her through to his bedroom and swiftly undressing her.

‘You’re beautiful, Cass,’ he said, when she stood naked before him. His eyes roamed over her high breasts with their taut nipples, down across the smooth plane of her belly to the fair curls which grew at the crevice of her thighs. He raised his head, and, reaching out a hand, withdrew the tortoiseshell comb which secured her hair. ‘Beautiful,’ he repeated huskily as the heavy strands swirled down to rest on her shoulders in a gleaming wheaten curtain.

Cass stepped closer, her fingers going to the buttons on his shirt. ‘My turn,’ she said, a little breathlessly, and he smiled.

‘Your turn,’ Gifford agreed, and helped her.

Naked and entwined together on the bed, they kissed again. As they kissed, Gifford began to touch her, his thumbs brushing across the rigidity of her nipples, his fingers caressing the swollen globes of her breasts. She stirred restlessly in his arms.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please.’

He was a sensitive lover, tender and yet sure. As in business matters, he knew what he wanted. He took—and gave. When he entered her, Cass thought she might die from the spiralling emotion. But he was urging her on, and on. A throaty moan told of her passion. She had not felt such raw desire before nor experienced such primitive need…and had never known such an overwhelming relief.

The remainder of their tour fused into one glorious blur of lovemaking, though other factories were visited, facts gleaned and reports typed. On their return to London, an awareness of time fast running out made the days more precious, the intimacy more urgent. In three days, then two, then one, Gifford was due to fly back to Boston.

‘We should talk,’ he declared as they finished breakfast on the morning of his departure.

He had cancelled the classy hotel room which she had booked for him and joined her in her far more humble Putney flat. They had awoken in the early hours and made love with sweet desperation, then, when the alarm had rung, dragged themselves out of bed and gone for a run. At home he ran several miles every morning, he’d told her.

Coming back, Gifford had headed for the shower, while she’d prepared toast and coffee. When Cass had walked through and seen the water sluicing down the hard planes of his naked body, she had impetuously flung off her clothes and joined him beneath the spray. Passion had claimed them again.

‘Talk about what?’ she enquired now.

‘About us,’ he said soberly.

Her heart performed a long, slow somersault. It might be madness, but she wondered if he was going to propose. Granted, they had only known each other for a couple of months at most, yet she knew that she loved him. She suspected that Gifford had fallen in love with her, too. The word had not been spoken and no promises had been made, but they seemed so right together. They enjoyed a natural rapport, and the sexual alchemy was magic. They were kindred spirits.

‘What about us?’ Cass asked, and was unable to keep from smiling.

He was the man she had been hoping for, waiting to love, all her life. The sheer joy of being with him, combined with the sense of absolute comfort which she fell in his presence, insisted that this was the real thing.

‘Our affair’s been…hot, but I figure we should cool it,’ Gifford said, and moistened his lips. Although he had rehearsed his speech it was not coming easily, but a panicky feeling of self-preservation insisted that it must be said. ‘As you know, I’ll be recommending to Bruce that we buy Dexter’s, so chances are we shall meet in the future,’ he continued. ‘But, whilst it may be a clich6, mixing business with pleasure does complicate matters and isn’t such a clever idea.’

Cass’s heart crash-landed, but her smile remained sturdily in place. His words had stabbed like small, sharp daggers ripping into her flesh. She had not been having an ‘affair’; she had been involved in a romance. A romance which she had believed was destined to grow into a close relationship, mature and lasting.

‘I agree,’she said.

Pushing up from his chair, Gifford jammed his fists into his trouser pockets and started to pace around the small kitchen. ‘Getting serious wouldn’t be such a clever idea, either. I have to be honest and admit that I have this dread of being tied down. I’m not cut out for domesticity. I like to be independent, free to go where I want, when I want. I like to be able to ski or sail, or go away on business with no—’ All of a sudden, he broke off and turned to face her. ‘You agree?’ he said, as though her words had only just penetrated.

‘I do. And I never imagined for one moment that we might get serious.’

His brows came down. ‘You didn’t?*

‘Good grief, no! Our affair’s been fun—’ she released a merry chortle of laughter ‘—but it wasn’t of the lasting variety. As for domesticity, I’m not ready to settle down, either. Not yet. Not for a long time.’

Gifford raked a hand back through the thickness of his dark hair. He looked surprised, yet relieved. Had he expected her to argue or hurl furious recriminations or perhaps burst into floods of tears? she wondered. Her backbone stiffened. It was the first time a man had given her the brush-off, but she was damned if she would cry.

‘You said you’d ring for a cab to take me to the airport,’ he reminded her.

‘Right away,’ she said brightly. ‘Right away.’

What a fool she had been, Cass thought, after he had gone. What a slow-witted, unaware fool. Gifford Tait was such a desirable package—striking looks, athletic physique, healthy bank balance—that legions of women would have hurled themselves at him. Yet for thirty-six years he had remained single. So it followed that he must be actively opposed to commitment. He had never thought in terms of loving her. As for them being kindred spirits—it had been a rosy illusion.

As if to provide proof, a month later she came across a photograph of him at the launch of a TV sports station in a US trade journal. He was standing with Imogen Sales draped around him like a clinging ivy and, in the write-up, the actress, who also came from Boston, was quoted as coyly admitting that they were ‘an item’.

Cass had dropped the journal into the waste-paper basket. She’d refused to collapse in a heap or to bellyache. Gifford Tait would be regarded as a ‘step up the learning curve’—albeit one of the harsher kind—and dismissed from her mind. Given enough time.

But a couple of weeks later the doctor confirmed her suspicion that she was pregnant…

By the time she turned into the drive which led haphazardly down through lacy casuarina trees to the Forgotten Eden, Jack was fast asleep. Cass parked the buggy on the verandah beside the wedged-open kitchen door and went inside.

Edith was in the midst of preparing lunch while Marquise, the chatty teenaged cleaner and part-time waitress, filled vases with sprigs of hibiscus.

‘I like your hair,’ Edith said.

‘Looks real classy,’ Marquise piped up.

Cass grinned. ‘Thanks. What can I do?’