Jack Riordan's Baby. Anne Mather

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      ‘Shall we sit down?’

      Jack spoke, and in spite of her thoughts Rachel gave a careless shrug. ‘If you like.’

      Jack waited until she’d taken the chair opposite before joining her. He wondered if she thought he hadn’t noticed her edging her place setting around the table so that there was no way their elbows would touch, but he didn’t comment on it. It was enough that she wasn’t sniping at him—yet, anyway. No doubt that would come when he told her about Karen’s call.

      Rachel reached for the wine and refilled her glass. She felt as if she needed some false courage, and one glass just wasn’t doing it. Despite her determination not to do so, she couldn’t help wondering why there were those lines of strain beside his mouth. However strenuous last night had been—and she coloured at the memory—he had been as eager to satisfy his needs as she had been.

      Realising he was waiting for her to have some soup before helping himself, Rachel lifted the lid of the tureen and ladled a spoonful into her bowl. Then she pushed the handle of the ladle in Jack’s direction.

      Judging by the little he took for himself, his appetite was as non-existent as her own, and once again she fretted over the reasons why. Last night he’d seemed exactly the same as usual; but then, last night she’d been intent on achieving her own ends, not his, she assured herself grimly.

      Of course, his haggard appearance might have something to do with his guilty conscience, she thought, dipping her spoon into the soup with more force than enthusiasm. He was thirty-seven, for God’s sake. What else could it be?

      ‘Did you sleep well?’

      His words took her completely by surprise—as they’d been meant to do, she guessed, annoyed that she’d been caught out. ‘Not very,’ she said, not altogether truthfully. After she’d left him sleeping soundly in her bed, she’d crashed in one of the other guest rooms. She must have been exhausted, because she hadn’t been aware of anything until the morning sun had poured in through the uncurtained windows and she’d realised what she’d done. After that, sleep had definitely been out of the question.

      Jack arched a disbelieving brow. ‘Shame,’ he said, putting his spoon aside. ‘I slept like the dead.’

      It was an unfortunate choice of words, particularly in the circumstances, and Jack hoped they weren’t prophetic. But Rachel was immune to their relevance.

      ‘Now, why am I not surprised?’ she asked scornfully. ‘It comes of not having a conscience, I suppose.’

      ‘I have a conscience.’ Jack was stung into a retort. ‘Do you?’

      ‘Me?’ Rachel was taken aback. ‘Why should I have a conscience?’

      ‘Well, let me see…’ Jack lay back in his chair and toyed with his wine glass, but his eyes never left her flushed face. ‘You don’t think last night’s play was just the tiniest bit unethical?’

      Rachel moistened her dry lips. ‘You’re my husband. What was unethical about it?’

      Jack let out a short laugh. ‘Oh, baby, you don’t really expect me to answer that?’

      ‘Don’t call me baby.’

      ‘Why not?’ Jack gave her an innocent look. ‘Like you just said, I am your husband.’

      Rachel pushed back her chair and got up from the table. ‘If you’ll excuse me—’

      Jack got up, too, and blocked her exit. ‘I won’t,’ he said, aware that he was probably blowing any chance of appealing to her better nature by acting this way, but he couldn’t let her go like this. ‘We’re not finished yet.’

      ‘I don’t want anything more to eat.’

      ‘I wasn’t talking about the food.’

      Rachel looked up at him with angry eyes. He guessed it was annoying her that in spite of her height he still had several inches on her. ‘You can’t keep me here.’

      ‘Oh, I think I can.’ Jack sidestepped—first one way, then the other, successfully preventing her from getting past him. ‘Now, why don’t you go and sit down again, and we’ll talk?’

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘I DON’T WANT to talk to you.’ Rachel was scowling now, and he could feel her frustration. The perfumed heat of her body was rising off her in waves, and after last night it was all he could do to keep a sense of perspective. ‘And I don’t want to sit down,’ she added tersely. ‘I want to go to my room.’

      ‘Works for me.’ Jack was willing. ‘I’ll come with you.’

      ‘You won’t!’

      ‘No?’ Jack adopted a puzzled look. ‘It was okay for me to go there last night.’

      ‘Last night was a mistake.’

      ‘Right.’ Jack pretended to consider it. ‘So the whole scene: the absence of any electric lights, the incense-scented candles, you virtually naked, I’m to believe it was all a mistake?’

      Rachel’s chin dipped. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Why don’t I believe you?’

      She sniffed. ‘Because you’re too arrogant to think anything else?’ she suggested, and he sighed.

      ‘What are you saying? That it was for someone else?’

      That thought had just occurred to him, and he didn’t like it. But to his relief Rachel was too desperate to defend herself to lie.

      ‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘I don’t sleep around.’

      ‘Meaning I do?’

      ‘If it fits.’

      ‘It doesn’t,’ he snapped, momentarily angered by the unjust accusation. Then, calming himself, he went on, ‘So it was all for my benefit?’

      Rachel shifted uneasily. ‘If you want to think that,’ she muttered.

      ‘What else am I supposed to think?’ Jack lifted his hand, and in spite of her instinctive withdrawal he caught a strand of her silky hair and tucked it gently behind her ear. ‘I didn’t realise you were so needy.’

      Rachel caught her breath. ‘I’m not needy!’

      Jack’s fingers trailed from her ear down the smooth column of her throat to the low vee of her vest. ‘You can’t deny you wanted me last night.’

      Rachel lifted her head. ‘I—wanted a man, yes.’

      Jack shook his head. He badly wanted to untie the shirt that hugged her midriff and slip his hands into the low waist of her trousers. But in spite of what she’d said he didn’t think she’d let him do that, and he didn’t want to destroy this tenuous relationship by rushing things. Instead, he contented himself with watching the way her nipples hardened against the fabric of her vest, remembering how delicious they’d felt rolling against СКАЧАТЬ