The Blackmail Pregnancy. Melanie Milburne
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to him once more. ‘It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.’
‘Praise indeed.’
She couldn’t distinguish his tone. His expression was masked, as if he didn’t want her to see what he was really thinking. She looked into his eyes, looking for reassurance. She found none. His eyes were like cold, deep pools—unfathomable, unreachable.
She moved away from the window and stepped down into the sunken lounge, her footsteps echoing along the floor. A large open fireplace took up almost one wall, and she imagined cosy evenings curled up on comfortable leather sofas, watching the flickering flames.
She was startled out of her reverie by the sound of Byron’s approach. She swung away from the fireplace and headed for the kitchen, uncomfortable with being in the same room as him for too long.
‘The kitchen, as you can see, has already been decorated.’ Byron spoke from his leaning position against the doorframe.
‘It’s very nice,’ she offered, running a hand across the black gleam of the granite countertop.
Stainless steel appliances added to the modern effect, and she knew she would have chosen exactly the same. She wondered if he’d chosen the design himself, or if perhaps his sister Felicity had helped him.
‘I thought it would be best to get a head start on this. You can choose the colours for the rest of the house—the carpets and furniture and drapes and so on. Do whatever you think. I won’t balk at the price.’
Cara’s hand fell away from the smooth countertop as he stepped towards her.
‘Byron, I—’
He cut off her speech with a long lean finger pressed gently but firmly against the soft swell of her lips.
‘No, Cara,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want to hear your final decision yet.’
Her eyes communicated her distress.
‘You haven’t made up your mind, I can tell,’ he continued, his dark eyes never once leaving her face. ‘But you’re sorely tempted—aren’t you, Cara?’
She tried to shake her head, but couldn’t move under the caress of his finger, tracing the line of her bottom lip on a path of rediscovery that sent tremors of feeling to her curling toes and back.
‘You want the house but you haven’t quite made up your mind about all that comes with it, have you?’
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.
‘I’ll give you until the end of the weekend to decide,’ he said, stepping away from her. ‘But that’s all. On Sunday night I want your final answer.’
She felt cold without his warm body so close to hers. Her mouth felt dry and overly sensitive, and she ran her tongue over her lips and tasted where his finger had been.
‘All right,’ she said in a voice she hardly recognised.
He lifted his dark brows slightly, as if surprised by her acquiescence.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Come and I’ll show you the garden. I think you’ll like it.’
What was not to like? Cara thought as she followed him around the grounds. The crinkling surface of the lap pool glistened in the dancing sunlight and the fragrance of jasmine was heady in the air. Potted azaleas cascaded their bright blooms and the verdant expanse of lawn led down to a tennis court built on the lower terrace. The harbour sparkled in the distance and Cara breathed in the salty air and wished with every fibre of her being that she could turn back the clock.
As he came closer all the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose like antennae.
‘Do you still play?’ he asked, indicating the lush green of the tennis court as he stood beside her, his broad shoulder brushing against her.
She turned to look up at him, her throat suddenly dry.
‘I haven’t played in years.’
‘Shame.’ He looked down at her. ‘You should take it up again. You were good. Damn good.’
Time seemed to stand still. Cara was almost certain she could hear the sound of children’s laughter somewhere in the distance, but wondered if she’d just imagined it. The chirruping sparrows and the cooing doves on the lawn faded into the background as she lost herself in the deep, dark and mesmerising gaze of her ex-husband.
His head lowered towards hers, hesitated for an inestimable pause, then finished the distance with a soft press of his lips to hers. Her lips swelled in response. She could feel the tingle of their heightened sensitivity from that merest touch. His warm breath caressed her face before he pressed his mouth to hers once more—firmer this time, but only just.
A part of Cara demanded she step away from that tempting mouth. But an even bigger part of her overruled it. It was just a kiss, she reassured herself. Almost a kiss between strangers.
But there was nothing strange about Byron’s mouth when he swooped a third time. Her mouth flowered open beneath his, just like one of the spilling azalea blooms at their feet. His tongue grazed her bottom lip and her fight was over before it had even truly begun. His tongue tangled with hers and she would have fallen if it hadn’t been for the steel band of his arm coming around her to draw her into the hard wall of his body. She jolted against him in a combination of shock at his ready arousal and shame at her instant response to it. She wanted him. After seven long years she was his for the asking, and his mouth was responding to hers as if he knew it as well.
Cara felt the brush of his hand underneath her breast and ached for the cradle of his palm on her engorged flesh. He pulled her further into his body and her pelvis loosened at the feel of his hips grinding into hers. He was rock-hard, and even through the barrier of their clothes she could feel his scorching heat. Her secret place remembered and responded, moistening in preparation for the intimate invasion she’d spent seven years trying to expunge from her mind.
He lifted his mouth from hers and stepped away. Cara steadied herself by grasping the wrought-iron railing that divided the lap pool from the lawn. She brushed back her loosened hair with a hand that threatened to betray her outward composure.
‘I’ll be waiting in the car,’ he said in a flat, emotionless tone. ‘Take your time looking around. I have some phone calls to make.’
As he strode towards the side gate Cara stared after him until he disappeared from view. She ran her tongue over her swollen mouth and tasted him. Familiar, yet strange. Known but now unknowable.
She looked up at the big empty house and agonised over what her decision would be on Sunday evening. She wasn’t sure she had much say in the matter; the way her body was feeling had already decided for her. Did she have the strength to walk away from him a second time?
She went back through the house via the bathroom, to tidy herself before rejoining Byron at the car. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and was a little shocked by the wild, abandoned look in her hazel-flecked eyes. Passion burned in her gaze—a dormant passion now stirred into blistering life by just one kiss from a mouth that still hadn’t once smiled at her.
CHAPTER THREE
BYRON was leaning against the car, listening to someone on the other end of his mobile phone, his eyes squinting slightly against the bright sunshine. Cara approached the car and he turned as if he sensed her behind him. He carefully avoided her eyes as he came around and opened the door for her. He finished the call and slid into the driver’s seat, all without addressing a single word to her.
Cara wanted to break the silence but couldn’t think of anything to say. What did one say to an ex-husband in these situations? I still love you after all these years? I made a mistake, the biggest mistake of my life, when I left you? Can we try again?
‘No.’
‘Did you say something?’ His eyes flicked her way