Passion Becomes You Page 10

  The door slammed shut. Jemma stood there trembling while he maintained his grip on her wrist, then he was pulling her into the sitting-room, before spinning her to face him and grasping her by the shoulders. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ he demanded harshly.

  She sucked in a short, fast, shaky breath then let it out again, her heartbeat beginning to race out of control. ‘I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she stammered constrictedly.

  ‘No?’ It was so quietly spoken, so silkily produced that he made her shiver in real fear of him for the first time. He moved, lifting his hands from her shoulders to spread them over her swollen stomach. She gasped at the blatant intimacy of the action, and his eyes burned darker. ‘Then to whom does this belong?’ he demanded.

  ‘I...’ She tried to move away but he stopped her simply by snaking one hand around her back and sandwiching her between the two. ‘M-mine,’ she whispered threadily. ‘This baby is mine.’

  ‘No father?’ he mocked. ‘An immaculate conception, maybe?’

  She flushed at his sarcasm, but stubbornly clamped her lips together and lowered her eyes from the burning threat in his. But he waited. Oh, how he waited, drawing out the silence between them until she thought she could actually hear their child’s heartbeat throbbing beneath his resting hand. Perhaps he thought the same thing, because his hand moved, stroking in a light caressing gesture as if to soothe the agitated child. And in answer the baby kicked and with a sharp intake of breath Leon went still.

  ‘You feel that?’ he enquired huskily. She nodded, swallowing. ‘He speaks to his papa, agape mou. Are we to waste any more time on your lies, or are you going to be honest with me for once?’

  ‘Honesty!’ she flashed, her chin coming up aggressively. ‘You want honesty, Leon?’ Angrily she pushed his hands away. ‘Well, I honestly don’t want you touching me!’

  ‘I was not touching you, I was touching our child!’

  ‘My child—mine!’ she flashed. ‘This child is my mistake. My responsibility. I didn’t ask you to come here. And I don’t know why you have! But if it is to tell me how wrong it is for me to have this baby, then you’re too late!’ The blue eyes were spitting challenge, the fierce, threatening challenge of a woman protecting her unborn child. ‘They won’t abort this baby without a damned good medical excuse!’

  ‘Abortion?’ he choked, his black brows drawing downwards over his eyes. ‘What the hell are you talking about? I never mentioned the word!’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, feeling the monster nausea begin to claw at her insides. ‘Because I never gave you the chance! I’m not Cassie,’ she stated thickly. ‘And no man is going to dance with joy at the loss of my child!’

  ‘Cassie?’ he said bewilderedly. ‘What does she have to do with any of this?’

  ‘N-nothing,’ Jemma stammered, running a shaky hand through her hair. In all honesty she was so staggered at him turning up like this that she barely knew what she was saying. ‘Sh-she let Josh off the hook in the most unequivocal way she could, that’s all,’ she told him bitterly. ‘But I didn’t put you on the hook, Leon!’ she cried. ‘So you have no right to come here throwing your weight about, telling me what I should—’

  ‘Cassie aborted her baby?’ Leon interrupted in a voice that said this was news to him.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, feeling decidedly shaky on her legs all of a sudden.

  ‘And you think,’ he persisted slowly, as if he was having trouble taking it in, ‘that I would have expected you to do the same?’

  No! Oh, God—no! she thought, and shuddered in horror at her own vile words. How could she accuse him of something like that? She knew—knew he was not that kind of man!

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised huskily. ‘Of course I never thought that of you.’

  His chest moved harshly. ‘Well, that is something, I suppose,’ he muttered, yet still flaying her with a contemptuous look.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered again, feeling so guilty that she wanted to cringe.

  ‘Oh—sit down!’ he ground out, and it was only when he took hold of her arm and helped her into a nearby chair that she realised how badly she was trembling.

  ‘Good God,’ he muttered, ‘you barely look fit enough to support yourself, never mind the child you carry! How the hell have you let yourself get into this state?’

  ‘I’ve been ill,’ she mumbled distractedly.

  ‘Sick with your own deceit, I should imagine,’ he muttered unsympathetically.

  ‘Who—who told you about the baby?’ She asked the question which had been burning at her brain since he had arrived, distinctly unsurprised by her pregnant state.

  He was glaring at the floor, and for a moment Jemma thought he wasn’t going to answer her, then he glanced up and grimaced. ‘Your flatmate, who else?’ he said, and watched what colour she had left leave her face at this ultimate betrayal.

  ‘She was supposed to just deliver my note,’ she whispered painfully.

  ‘Which is exactly what she did do,’ Leon nodded. ‘Only fate happened to take a hand in things. I arrived home—early, since I had managed to catch an earlier flight—to find her at my door. What happened next is between myself and your friend,’ he stated grimly. ‘Except to add that she is more of a friend than you deserve. We will, of course, invite her to our wedding.’

  That thoroughly shook her, bringing her head up sharply to stare at him. ‘But I can’t marry you, Leon!’ she cried.

  ‘And why not?’ he demanded haughtily. ‘You have other crimes to lay at my feet, maybe? Other sins I am to be found guilty of without trial?’

  She flushed. ‘No, of course not. But—’

  ‘Then perhaps it is a sin of your own which makes you stare in horror at the idea of marrying me?’ he suggested. ‘Maybe there is more to this than even your best friend divulged to me? Something, perhaps, to do with the man you were on your way to meet tonight when I—surprised you with my arrival?’

  Man—what man? She frowned, having no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘The man your note spoke of,’ he illuminated for her. ‘The man you informed me you are heavily involved with.’

  Oh. Jemma flushed and lowered her eyes as enlightenment dawned. She had forgotten all about the lie she had made up for not wanting to see him.

  ‘Maybe,’ he went on grimly, ‘this man is the father of your child, hmm? Who is he?’ he demanded. ‘Anyone I know? Is he a better lover then I? Is that why you dropped me for him? Regarding your condition, I must also presume that you met him long before we parted!’ He eyed her narrowly. ‘Could it be that your flatmate and I have jumped to too many conclusions all round?’

  ‘Stop it!’ she choked, unable to bear any more. ‘You know I’m not like that! When did I ever give you the impression that I could be?’

  ‘Devious, you mean?’ he asked. ‘A liar and a cheat?’

  She went white at his words, the sickness beginning to crawl up inside her. ‘I w-want you to leave,’ she whispered, coming shakily to her feet.

  ‘You don’t like these accusations?’ he asked. ‘They offend you as deeply as your accusations offended me?’

  So that was it. He was simply getting his own back on her in the most insulting way he could think of. ‘I s-said I was sorry,’ she murmured. ‘What else do you want me to say?’

  ‘You can tell me whose child it is you are carrying.’

  ‘Yours!’ she choked out wretchedly. ‘You know it’s yours!’ Then she turned and made a dash for the door.

  At least he saved her the ultimate humiliation of watching her while she was wretchedly sick, caught off balance by the urgency with which she had thrust him out of her way so that she could run to the bathroom. By the time he had joined her there, she was already hanging weakly over the bowl, and after a moment’s stillness he turned and walked away.

  She was sitting limply on the edge of the bath when he returned. He said nothing, but there was a grimness about him as he reached behin
d her for the bath sponge then ran it under the wash-basin tap before squatting down to apply it to her hot, clammy face and neck.

  ‘You’ve lost weight,’ he observed. ‘How the hell does a woman in your condition lose weight?’

  She shook her head, unable to utter anything at the moment while she fought this never-ending battle with herself. It didn’t help that he was so close, the warmth of his body and the familiar subtle scent of his aftershave making her head whirl all over again.

  ‘Why did you do it, Jemma?’ he gruffed out suddenly. ‘What did I ever do to make you mistrust me so?’

  ‘I didn’t mistrust you,’ she sighed. ‘I just—mistrusted our relationship.’

  He lifted her chin with his hand, his black eyes boring into her weary ones. ‘Yet I offered you more than I have ever offered any woman. Did this count for nothing?’

  ‘How arrogant,’ she scoffed. ‘You offered to make me your kept woman and went out of your way to make your opinions on marriage clear! Just as you were very clear about your opinions on women who set out to trap men by getting pregnant!’ Impatiently she knocked his hand away, then picked up a towel to dry her face. ‘You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?’ she muttered finally.

  He didn’t answer, but his expression revealed enough for her to know she had managed to make him think.

  ‘Tell me why you look so pale and thin,’ he demanded on a complete turn-about of subject.

  Jemma grimaced to herself. What cannot be defended, must be ignored! she noted drily. ‘I’ve been ill, I told you,’ she said, ‘with the flu.’ She lifted an unsteady hand to her hollowed cheek. ‘It—dragged on a bit, but I’m beginning to recover now.’

  He ran his eyes over her. ‘And the child?’ he asked. ‘Has he suffered through this—flu?’

  She found her first smile for that, a rueful one that Leon could not begin to understand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t suffered.’

  Something passed over his face, a look gone before she had a chance to interpret it, but it had a disturbingly relieved quality about it. He threw down the sponge and straightened, then seemed uncertain as to what he should do next.

  ‘Are you all right now?’ He ended up referring to her for advice. ‘Should you lie down for a while or something...?’

  ‘I’m fine now,’ she assured him flatly. ‘Thank you.’

  He frowned. ‘Then why are you still sitting there,’ he wanted to know, ‘as if you have decided to take root?’

  Jemma glanced impatiently at him. ‘Because my legs are not quite ready to support me yet, that’s why!’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say?’ Instantly he was gathering her up in his arms and walking out of the bathroom. ‘Where?’ he enquired, stopping in the hallway.

  ‘The kitchen,’ she said, feeling the bitterness of helplessness bite at her nerves. ‘I need a cool drink.’

  He nodded, moving smoothly through the kitchen door to deposit her carefully on a chair. ‘Stay there, I’ll get it.’ He went to the fridge, bending to peer inside then coming out with the jug of orange. ‘Will this do?’ He looked at her questioningly.

  She nodded and he busied himself then, finding a glass. He put it down in front of her then poured out the orange.

  ‘It looks disgustingly weak to me,’ he said, eyeing the mixture dubiously.

  ‘It’s how I like it.’ She didn’t add it was the only way she could take it.

  ‘Do you mind if I refrain from joining you and make myself a coffee instead?’ he requested.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she invited, adding drily, ‘So long as you don’t place it under my nose, that is.’

  ‘Your stomach is that sensitive?’ He had moved over to the kettle and was checking the level of water inside.

  ‘Only when I laugh,’ she joked, feeling at least some of the tension ease out of her overwrought muscles.

  He turned and grinned at her. ‘That bad, eh?’

  ‘It depends on your definition of bad.’ She grimaced. ‘Trina thinks it horrifying. Watching me has put her off having children for life, I think!’

  ‘Ah, Trina,’ he murmured, loading his mug with two heaped teaspoonfuls of instant, no less. ‘A very good friend you have there, Jemma. One of the best, I would say.’

  Jemma sat back in her chair, eyeing him narrowly. ‘Quite a mutual-admiration society you two have set up together, isn’t it?’ she drawled, recalling the way Trina had spent every available moment the day before singing Leon’s praises. ‘I remember a time when you could do nothing but bite each other’s head off!’

  ‘We share a mutual interest,’ he defended mildly. ‘That kind of thing can draw the most unlikely people together.’

  ‘Enough to make one betray another friend?’ she suggested succinctly.

  ‘Betrayal?’ He glanced thoughtfully at her, then returned his attention to pouring hot water on his coffee. ‘Trina did not betray you.’ He did not even try to misunderstand. ‘If anything, she betrayed herself in her efforts to maintain her loyalty as your closest friend.’ Bringing his drink with him to the table, he sat down then looked levelly at her. ‘Did you know she has turned down an offer of marriage from her accountant because she is so concerned about what will happen to you if she did marry him?’

  The easier mood shattered, sprinkling around her like a million and one shards of sharp, piercing glass.

  Leon watched her for a few minutes, sipping calmly at his coffee while the full impact of what he had just said sunk indelibly in. Then he set down his cup and said smoothly, ‘Now we talk weddings, Jemma.’ And her eyelashes flickered as she focused on his grimly determined face. ‘Ours, not your friend’s. She has taken enough interference from us.’

  The ‘us’ was a mere sop. But it stated its point well enough. Trina must have been feeling as if she was being pulled in two, what with her sick, pregnant and alone friend tugging her heartstrings on one side, and the man who wanted to marry her tugging frustratedly on the other!

  It was no wonder she’d gone to Leon. She must have seen him as her only salvation!

  She swallowed, seeing herself as Trina must see her, and felt the rise of nausea bite into her stomach again. A weight. She had become that weight around her best friend’s neck.

  Slowly, she lifted her eyes to Leon’s. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, and Leon nodded once firmly, as if her reply moved her up a couple of notches in his estimation.

  ‘I want you to pack your things and be ready to move out of here by tomorrow lunchtime,’ he said, giving his instructions in much the same way he would give them to anyone under his power—with a level but an unchallengeable tone. ‘By the time I come to collect you, you will have left a long letter for your friend, convincing her not only that she did the right thing in confiding in me, but that you also can’t thank her enough for it. You will tell her how ecstatic you are. How much in love!’ He slid the words out mockingly. ‘Then you will thank her nicely for being the good friend she has been to you, and wish her good luck and goodbye. But at no point will you so much as hint that you know anything of her own frustrated wedding plans,’ he warned. ‘Because she is no fool, that one, and she will guess that I have used my knowledge of it to coerce you, which will in turn only make her feel wretched and guilty—which we do not want, do we, Jemma?’

  She shook her head, too full up with aching tears to speak.

  ‘Good,’ he said, and got up. ‘Now we go out and eat,’ he announced as if the rest just hadn’t happened.

  ‘I can’t,’ she whispered thickly, the idea of food appalling her delicate stomach.

  ‘You can.’ His hand, firm on her arm, lifted her out of the chair. ‘And you will.’ He looked determinedly into her defeated blue eyes. ‘If I have to carry you there with a bucket stuck beneath your nose, you will come—and eat. Understand?’

  Understand? she echoed dully. She understood everything. She had just become one of Leon’s possessions, to do and be whatever he demanded of her.

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nbsp; Surprisingly, the nausea subsided again. It hovered for a little while longer, threatening to send her running, but after a couple of deep controlling breaths of the warm humid air it left her, and she climbed into his silver Mercedes feeling more settled inside than she had for days.

  Weeks—months? a little voice inside her head quizzed. Now there was a loaded concept, she mocked it. But not one she wished to dwell on right now.

  He had her back at the flat by ten-thirty. ‘I won’t come in,’ he informed her as the car engine died. ‘Get some sleep,’ he instructed, lifting a hand to comb a stray lock of hair lightly from her cheek. ‘And try not to dwell too deeply on your lot, agape mou. I am not such a bad catch, surely?’

  She glanced at him, her blue eyes clashing with his in the darkness of the car. ‘The point is,’ she posed, ‘would the catch be caught if it weren’t for a heavily baited hook?’

  ‘You are referring to my lot?’

  ‘I just don’t understand why you’re doing this,’ she explained, then sighed heavily. ‘I never asked for marriage from you, Leon, and still don’t expect it from you!’

  ‘You would prefer I set you up in a nice little semi-detached house somewhere in London suburbia?’ he suggested. ‘With a nice little allowance with which to live on while you rear my child?’

  ‘I would rather you just leave me alone to get on with my life in my own way!’ she snapped, retaliating to his disparaging tone.

  ‘Your life?’ he snapped out angrily. ‘What has your life got to do with this? Or my life come to that?’ He turned on her, his hand once again making the possessive statement by coming to lie over her stomach. ‘This is the only life that counts now, Jemma!’ His eyes flashed in the late summer darkness, naked with a stunning sincerity. ‘What you or I want for ourselves from now on can take only second place to this! And this needs both a mother and a father! Which is exactly what he will get, if I have to drag you screaming to the altar by the roots of your beautiful hair!’

  He moved jerkily, throwing himself away from her and back into his seat to sit glaring out of the car window as though the world beyond it had suddenly become his enemy while the space inside the car hung with the echo of his passionate vow.