Flight of Fantasy. Valerie Parv
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if I have to.’
She had no doubt that he meant it and had the strength to back up his threat. Shakily, she opened the door, guarding a narrow opening with her body as if daring him to thrust past her. His shoulder forced the opening steadily wider until she gave up and moved aside. Standing in front of the window, she wrapped her arms around her trembling body.
He came up behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reach for her, and every nerveending tensed. If he touched her, her defences would crumble and she’d be forced to tell him the truth.
Instead, he rested his hands on the back of a chair alongside her, his arms enclosing her without touching her. ‘What is it, Eden? What did I say?’
‘You didn’t say anything. The problem is mine. I can’t have children.’
He swore under his breath. ‘And I went and put my foot right in it, didn’t I?’
‘You couldn’t know.’ Her voice was ragged. This was the last subject she had expected to discuss with him. ‘It isn’t something I like to advertise.’
‘Of course not.’ The compassion in his voice caught her by surprise. She hadn’t expected him to make allowances for any kind of weakness. She searched his face, seeking at least a trace of the distaste he must be feeling, but found none. ‘What’s the problem, something physiological?’ he asked gently.
She was curiously unwilling to let him think she was less than a whole woman. ‘Everything works,’ she said, aware that his concern threatened to undermine her shaky defences.
His hand drifted to her cheek, his touch feather-light. ‘I wasn’t doubting your womanhood,’ he assured her. ‘You have only to look into a mirror to see the beauty and femininity you possess in breathtaking abundance.’
There was no need. She could see it reflected in his eyes as he regarded her with heart-stopping intensity. Her heart hammered against her ribs. How had they shifted on to such dangerously intimate ground so quickly? It must be the talk of babies which clouded her mind with images of Slade making love to her, the vision so vivid that a gnawing sense of loss filled her. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Slade caught one droplet on the tip of a finger and tut-tutted softly. ‘I’m sorry I brought up a sensitive subject. Isn’t there anything to be done—test tubes, donor sperm, that sort of thing?’
He had totally misread her tears. For once, they weren’t for the child she was capable of bearing but dared not, but for a future which was also beyond her reach.
‘There’s a...a genetic problem,’ she demurred. Some of the options he’d mentioned were available to her, but it would mean carrying another woman’s child. It could never be her own flesh and blood, carrying her own genes. The risk to the child was just too great.
‘I’ve considered the options and they aren’t for me,’ she said flatly. ‘Do you mind if we change the subject?’
‘Of course not.’ He sounded almost gentle, she thought in astonishment. Damn it, she didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. It was easier to fight him when he thought she was as ruthlessly ambitious as himself.
She forced a smile, blinking to clear her blurred vision. ‘Well, at least we’ve achieved our aim. We’ve gotten to know each other better so our husband and wife act should be much more convincing.’
His eyes hardened as he withdrew his hand. ‘It will need to be. Bob Hamilton is checking in tomorrow morning. He’s joining us at breakfast.’
Panic started to grip her. ‘So early? I was hoping for more time.’
‘We still have this evening,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ve made reservations in the Oceana Room for seven o’clock.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Which just gives us time to change.’
What did one wear to a dinner with one’s husband of less than a day? Eden thought when he left her alone. Aware that dressing for dinner was favoured in luxury resorts such as this one, she had included some evening wear in her luggage. But she had imagined herself dining alone or with other single travellers, not with someone as formidable as Slade Benedict.
In the end, she chose a shimmering jumpsuit whose elasticised waist flattered her trim figure. The glitter-trimmed blouson top was suitably dressy while the narrow legs of the trousers emphasised her slim ankles and high-heeled silver evening sandals. In deference to the tropical climate, she used the lightest make-up, dusting her eyelids with silver shadow to complement her metallic drop earrings. Pouting to apply her lipstick, she appraised herself frankly. If she wasn’t up to his usual standard in women, he had only himself to blame for choosing her.
When he saw her his blatantly appreciative look dispelled any such doubts. ‘Very nice,’ he murmured, his eyes warm as he took in the figure-hugging lines of the suit. When he came to the low-cut neckline, she had to resist the urge to tug it closed.
His wolfish smile made it plain that he was aware of her discomfort. ‘Don’t look so worried; you have my approval.’
‘I wasn’t aware I needed it,’ she snapped.
A provocative gleam glinted in his grey gaze. ‘I’m glad to see you’re back on form again. I’d hate to think I’d chosen a woman with no spirit.’
He was probably more worried about her impression on his former university classmates than her state of mind, she thought with a flash of anger. How typical.
‘You needn’t worry. I gave you my word I’d play my part and I shall.’
‘You could start by looking a little more loving,’ he advised. ‘You look as if you’d like to come after me with a meat cleaver.’
She favoured him with a sickly smile. ‘How did you guess?’
He tut-tutted softly and stepped closer so she could see the satiny gleam on the lapels of his suit. A dinner-jacket suited him, she thought absently, focusing on his perfectly tied bow-tie as it came nearer and nearer.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, nerves fluttering in her throat.
‘Giving you some practice in how to be loving,’ he promised, closing the remaining distance between them.
‘This isn’t part of our...’ she managed to get out before his lips closed over hers, muffling the rest of her reminder.
Being kissed by him wasn’t part of their agreement, but neither was her uninhibited reaction. Some part of her knew she should be fighting him off with all her strength. Yet the part which welcomed the embrace seemed to be winning.
She had been kissed before, most recently by Joshua, who had managed to convince her he loved her, until the parting came. But nothing had prepared her for the sheer eroticism of Slade’s kiss. It sent signals of desire spiralling down her throat, coiling along her backbone, to the very core of her being.
Weakly she clung to his shoulders, her fingers digging furrows into his suit. He had made time to shave and his skin felt like velvet against her cheek. She inhaled the leathery scent of shaving cream, feeling the slickness on her skin.
‘Open your mouth,’ he murmured against her lips.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening. ‘No, I...’
‘Eden, obey me.’
Instinctively she did and was swept away by the instant invasion of his tongue, plundering the soft recesses of her mouth. God, he was making love to her with a mere kiss.
When he moved slowly away, she swayed dizzily, trying to absorb the torrent of sensations he had aroused. Then she saw his self-satisfied look as he blotted her lipstick from his mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief. ‘You bastard. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?’
‘At least you look like a woman who knows the meaning of love.’
He had played her like an instrument and she had allowed it to