Modern Romance August 2019 Books 1-4. Heidi Rice

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СКАЧАТЬ dug her teeth into her lip. It was true that their lives had been pretty much wrecked by circumstances but they had managed. And she would manage too.

      Pushing open the door, she found Lucas waiting outside, his body tense and his features still dark with something which may have been concern but was underpinned with something much darker.

      His question was dutiful rather than concerned. ‘How are you feeling?’

      ‘Better now,’ she informed him stiffly.

      ‘I’ll ring for the doctor.’

      ‘Please don’t bother. I don’t need a doctor, Lucas. Women often get sick when they’re pregnant. I’d just like you to call me a cab and I’ll stay in the hostel I’ve booked for tonight—and tomorrow I’ll see about getting the first flight back to Ireland.’

      He shook his head and now there was a look of grim resolution in his eyes. ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Tara.’

      She tilted her chin in disbelieving challenge. ‘You mean you’re going to physically stop me?’

      ‘If I need to, I will—because I would be failing in my duty if I allowed you to travel around New York on your own tonight, especially in your condition,’ he agreed grimly. ‘There’s only one place you’re going right now and that’s to bed.’

      ‘I’m not—’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, in as firm a voice as she’d ever heard him use. ‘You most certainly are. There’s a guest suite right along the corridor. I’ve put your things in there. And it’s pointless arguing, Tara. We both know that.’

      Tara opened her mouth to object but he was right because she recognised that resolute light in Lucas’s eyes of old. She’d seen it time and time again when he’d been in the middle of some big negotiation or trying to pull off a deal which nobody had believed could ever happen. Except that he made things happen. He had the wherewithal and the clout to mould people and events to his wishes. And didn’t part of her want to lie down on a soft bed and close her eyes and shut out reality? To have sleep claim her so that maybe when she opened her eyes again she would feel better.

      But how was that going to work and what could possibly make this situation better? She had let history repeat itself and she knew all too well the rocky road which lay ahead. But none of that bitter knowledge was a match against the fatigue which was seeping through her body and so she nodded her head in reluctant agreement. ‘Oh, very well,’ she mumbled ungratefully. ‘You’d better show me the way.’

      Lucas nodded, indicating the corridor which led to the guest accommodation, though he noticed she kept as far away from him as possible. Yet somehow her reluctance ignited a flicker of interest he wasn’t prepared for and certainly didn’t want. He frowned. Maybe it was because women didn’t usually protest about staying in his hotel suite or try to keep him at arm’s length like this. He was used to sustained adoration from ex-lovers, even though he was aware he didn’t deserve such adoration. But women would do pretty much anything for a man with a big bank account who gave them plenty of orgasms, he thought cynically.

      He’d tried to convince himself during the preceding weeks that the uncharacteristic lust he’d felt for Tara Fitzpatrick had gone. It should have gone by now. But to his surprise he realised it hadn’t and he was discovering there was something about her which was still crying out to some atavistic need, deep inside him. Even when she was in those ill-fitting jeans and a vest top, he couldn’t help thinking about her agile body. The pale breasts and narrow hips. The golden brush of freckles which dusted her skin. He remembered the way he had lowered her down onto his rocky hardness and that split-second when he had met the subtle resistance of her hymen. And yes, he had felt indignation that she hadn’t told him—but hadn’t that been quickly followed by a primitive wash of pleasure at the thought that he was her first and only lover?

      His throat grew dry as he continued to watch her. The red curtain of curls was swaying down her back, reminding him of the way he’d run his fingers through their wild abundance, and the hot punch of desire which had hardened his groin now became almost unendurable.

      Yet she was pregnant. His skin grew cold with a nameless kind of dread—a different kind of dread from the one he had experienced in the lawyer’s office. She was carrying his child.

       And in view of what he had learned today—wouldn’t any child which had sprung from his loins have an unknown legacy?

      He opened the bedroom door and saw the unmistakable opening of her lips as her roving gaze drank in the unashamed luxury of her surroundings and it was a timely reminder that, despite her innocence, she was still a woman. And who was to say she wouldn’t be as conniving as all other women, once she got into her stride? ‘I hope it meets with your satisfaction,’ he drawled. ‘I think you’ll find everything in here you need, Tara.’

      Did she recognise the cynical note in his voice? Was that why she turned a defiant face up to his?

      ‘I’m only staying the one night, mind.’

      He wanted to tell her that she was mistaken, but for once Lucas kept his counsel. Let her sleep, he thought grimly—and by morning he would have decided what their fate was to be.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      TARA OPENED HER eyes and for a moment she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. She was lying in a bed—the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in—in a room which seemed composed mostly of huge windows. Windows to the front of her and windows to the side, all looking out onto the fairy-tale skyline of New York. She blinked as she levered herself up onto her elbows. Like giant pieces of Lego, the tall buildings soared up into the cloudless October sky and looked almost close enough to touch. Sitting up properly, she leaned back against the feathery bank of pillows and looked around some more—because last night she’d been too dazed and tired to take in anything much.

      It was...amazing, she conceded. The ceiling was made of lacquered gold, the floors of polished parquet, so that everything around her seemed to gleam with a soft and precious life. On an exquisite writing desk stood a vase of pure white orchids so perfect that they almost didn’t look real. And there, in one corner of the room, was her battered old suitcase, looking like a scruffy intruder in the midst of all this opulence.

      She flinched.

      Just like her, really.

      Lucas must have put a glass of water on the bedside table and she reached out and gulped most of it down thirstily. On slightly wobbly legs she got out of bed and found the en-suite bathroom—a monument to marble and shiny chrome—and, after freshening up and brushing her hair, thought about going to find Lucas. She needed to talk about returning to Ireland and he needed to realise that she meant it and he couldn’t keep her here by force. But her legs were still wobbly and the bed was just too tempting and so she climbed back in beneath the crisp sheets and before she knew it was dozing off.

      She was woken by the sensation of someone else being in the room and her eyelids fluttered open to find Lucas standing beside the bed, staring down at her. His jaw was unshaven and the faint shadows shading the skin beneath his vivid green eyes made it look as if he hadn’t had a lot of sleep. Black jeans hugged his narrow hips and long legs and his soft grey shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, offering a tantalising glimpse of the butterscotch-coloured skin beneath. Tara swallowed. СКАЧАТЬ