Jack Riordan's Baby

Turning the phone off, he used his key quietly, mindful that Rachel was probably asleep by now. She’d always been a light sleeper, waking as soon as he’d entered their bedroom. Not that they shared a bedroom these days. Since she’d lost the last baby Rachel had left him in no doubt that she preferred to sleep alone.

There were lamps glowing in the wide entrance hall, casting a mellow light across the parquet floor. Paintings that he and Rachel had chosen together were only shadows against the walls, and overhead the Waterford chandelier was dark.

Most of the downstairs rooms opened into the hall, but the doors were closed and no inviting ribbon of light showed beneath any of them. There appeared to be a light on the galleried landing, but he ignored it. If Mrs Grady was still up, she’d be in the kitchen, and Jack walked through the doorway behind the stairs that gave access to the housekeeper’s domain.

To his surprise, the kitchen was dark as well. When he flicked a switch concealed lighting flooded granite surfaces and pale oak units but the room was empty. Scowling, he crossed to the double fridge and freezer, opening the fridge door and taking out a carton of milk. He glanced round for a glass, but that was too much trouble as well, so instead he raised the carton to his lips.

He took a healthy gulp, savouring its richness, wiping the smear from his upper lip with the back of his hand. The milk was cold and refreshing and, closing the fridge again, he took the carton with him when he left the kitchen to make his way upstairs.

It would probably do him more good than the fillet steak he’d only picked at earlier, he reflected, loosening his tie with his free hand. And Mrs Grady could hardly complain when she was always telling him he ought to have a more nutritious diet.

But he forgot all about the housekeeper as he neared the first floor landing. He was gradually realising there was too much light up here than could be accounted for by the courtesy light Rachel usually left burning. There was heat, and a curious smell of—what? Perfume? Incense? And a strange flickering incandescence coming through the open doors of Rachel’s room.

The first thing that occurred to him was fire. He could think of no other reason for the flickering light. His heart-rate quickened and he tried not very successfully to calm himself. Oh, God, surely none of the calls he’d ignored had been from here?

Dropping the thankfully almost empty carton, he sprinted across the landing. Despite his protests, Rachel had moved out of the master suite and now occupied one of the four guest suites on the opposite side of the house. He couldn’t think of any other reason why her doors should be open, and, although there was an increasing tightness in his chest, he was more concerned about his wife than about his own health.

The sight that met his eyes almost took his breath away altogether. There was fire all right, and flames, but they came from dozens of scented candles set all around the bedroom. There were tall ones, thin ones, squat ones, and some that didn’t fit any particular pattern, and the heat and the scent were dizzying in their potency.

He halted in the doorway, one hand pressed to his madly beating heart, the other supporting himself against the jamb. He could see through a breathless haze that the bed was turned down, but the room was empty. As if some force had spirited Rachel away and left these burning symbols in her place.

He fought for breath, resting his full weight against the doorpost now, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. What did it mean? Was Rachel into some weird religious ritual or something? Why else would she have lit all these candles. Dear God, what was going on?

Fumbling in the inside pocket of his jacket, he found the strip of foil-wrapped pills the doctor had given him. Releasing one, he stuffed it in his mouth, feeling some relief as his heartbeat began to slow. Maybe Rachel knew about his condition and was trying to kill him, he thought, a faint smile appearing at the obvious irony. But what the hell? He’d be unwise to subject himself to too many shocks like this.

He was attempting to straighten up when the door to Rachel’s bathroom opened. As he stared in disbelief, she stepped, barefoot, into the room. In the light from the scented candles he saw her eyes dart in his direction. But then his gaze was riveted by the fact that she was practically nude.

But ‘nude’ was a relative word, he acknowledged, aware that sometimes the anticipation was more satisfying than the reality. Though not in this case. In a black lace half-bra that gave her small breasts a surprising cleavage, and the minutest black lace thong he’d ever seen, she was stunning. A slim, long-legged goddess, whose scant underwear revealed that her mane of sun-streaked blond hair was most definitely natural.

‘My God!’

The breathless oath was uncontrollable, and Rachel turned innocent eyes in his direction. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she said softly, as if she’d only just noticed him. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

Jack felt as though he must have died and gone to heaven. That mad sprint across the landing must have done it for him, and he was presently enjoying some fantasy life elsewhere. There was no way that what he was seeing was real. It was a dream. It had to be. A tantalising glimpse of how their lives could have been.

‘Hi,’ he said weakly.

It took an effort to get his tongue round the word. There were any number of things he wanted to say, he ought to say, but he was too bemused to be original.

‘You look tired,’ she said, seeming to float towards him across the thick white carpet that covered the floor. She halted in front of him, reaching up to push his unruly dark hair off his forehead. ‘Has it been a stressful day?’

Her fingers were cool against his hot forehead, and when she stretched the skimpy bra exposed a half-circle of the rosy flesh surrounding her nipple. She didn’t seem to notice, but he did. The heated scent of her body was more potent than the candles that surrounded her.

Jack felt his body hardening instantly. It might be more than two years since he and Rachel had made love, but he remembered how incredible the sex between them used to be. Unfortunately, he’d only had to touch her for her to get pregnant, and time—and painful experience—had taught him that she wouldn’t welcome his lovemaking again.

‘Rachel,’ he said, hearing the hoarseness of his voice, feeling his heart quickening its beat in spite of the drug he’d swallowed.

‘Come on, Jack,’ she responded, taking his hand and drawing him into the warmth and light of the bedroom. She gestured towards the huge Colonial-style bed that they had never shared. ‘Sit down. Would you like a drink?’

There was nothing Jack would have liked more, but he shook his head. If this were a dream he didn’t need alcohol to stoke his libido, and if it weren’t he shouldn’t be drinking alcohol, period.

He let her bring him into the room, allowed her to close the doors behind them and push him down onto the side of the wide bed. The truth was, his legs felt a little unsteady. But it was as much from the arousal she was generating as from the latent effects of his condition.

He caught his breath when she knelt down in front of him. What now? he thought, wondering if a man could die from illusions created by his own imagination. But all she did was remove his shoes and roll his socks down over his ankles. Then, when he was barefoot, she slipped those soft hands beneath the cuffs of his trousers and gently massaged his calves.

She offered him a demure smile when he rested back on his elbows, his damp palms pressed into the coverlet for support. Did she know it was the only way he could stop himself from reaching for her? She had to be aware of his erection. Dammit, it wasn’t something he could disguise, after all.

But all she said was, ‘There—doesn’t that feel better?’ as if her sensuous ministrations were something he was used to. She couldn’t be that ingenuous, he thought, so what in God’s name was she playing at? The pain in his groin had convinced him that, however unlikely it seemed, this was really happening.

Nevertheless, when she got to her feet again, putting his eyes on a level with the black strings that tied the thong at her hips, he couldn’t look away. His eyes were irresistibly drawn to the cluster of blond curls that were visible through the black lace, and he couldn’t deny she was sexy as hell.

‘Relax,’ she said now, coming closer and reaching for his tie, which he’d partly loosened as he came upstairs. Slender fingers dealt with the knot, and if Jack hadn’t been so conscious of her hip against his thigh he’d have admired her expertise.

As it was, he thought that relaxing was totally beyond his current capabilities. Which wasn’t helped when she lifted one leg to kneel on the bed beside him and started unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingertips brushed his skin, her nails scraping sensually over the fine dark hair that arrowed down to his navel and beyond. She was steadily driving him crazy and he had to stop her.

‘Rachel,’ he protested weakly, but when he lifted his hand he lost his balance and his back hit the mattress with a distinct thud. Then, to his amazement, she climbed totally onto the bed and threw one leg across him, straddling him as she continued to unfasten his shirt and pull it free of his pants.

The knowledge that her spread thighs were pressing down onto his groin almost overwhelmed him. He’d never been so close to losing control, and he closed his eyes to shut out the incredible sight of her leaning over him, her luscious breasts only inches from his mouth.

He felt her push his shirt and jacket over his shoulders, and then she turned her attention to the buckle on his belt. He knew he ought to stop her. He wanted to stop her, he told himself. But his hands wouldn’t obey what his brain was telling them. Instead, he let her loosen his pants and draw the zip down partway.

‘Mmm,’ she murmured, and he knew she must have discovered that his boxers were no barrier to the heavy thrust of his shaft. But, although he’d expected her to stop then, she only drew the blue silk aside and took him into her hands.

‘Rachel,’he muttered, his eyes opening to find her bending to caress him with her tongue. ‘What do you think I’m made of?’

Rachel lifted her head, her smile strangely triumphant. ‘Oh, I know what you’re made of,’ she said, her tongue appearing again, to circle her lower lip with seductive deliberation. ‘Flesh and sinew and—’ she stroked a finger along his length ‘—blood and bone. Exactly what a man should be made of, don’t you agree?’

Jake expelled a tortured breath. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

Rachel arched brows that were several shades darker than her hair while eyes as deep a blue as indigo assessed him with disturbingly intensity. ‘I thought I was helping you to undress,’ she replied with artless innocence, and Jack swore.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Mmm.’ She nodded eagerly. ‘I had some tea earlier. Iced tea. Would you like some?’

Jack stared at her disbelievingly. ‘Are you for real?’

‘I hope so.’ She straightened her spine, so that her weight was lifted off him, and ran exploring hands down her body from her breasts to her hips. ‘I think so.’ She paused. ‘Don’t you think I am?’

Jack didn’t know what to think. ‘Is this some sick game you’re playing?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Because I have to tell you, if it is, I—’

‘It’s no game, Jack.’ Rachel looked positively offended now, and as he watched with incredulous eyes she swung herself off him and started to crawl towards the edge of the bed. ‘I just thought we might—connect. You know? But—if you don’t want to…’

‘Want to?’ Jack echoed her words with a feeling of frustration that knew no bounds. ‘God, Rachel, of course I want to.’ He pushed himself up, tearing off the shirt and jacket that were restricting his arms and tossing them on the floor. He restored himself to some semblance of modesty and scrambled after her, only his hipbones and good fortune keeping his pants from slipping down his thighs. ‘For pity’s sake, come here!’

With his heart pounding so heavily against his ribcage that he was afraid it was going to burst out of his chest, he managed to snag her ankle, preventing her from climbing off the bed. And although he’d expected her to object she didn’t. She let him pull her towards him, twisting obediently onto her back and provocatively spreading her legs.

‘Is this better?’ she asked huskily, and Jack could only gaze at her with stunned disbelieving eyes.

He expelled a harsh breath, still not entirely convinced she meant what she said. His stomach was twisted as tight as a drum, and although his senses were telling him to take what she was offering without further explanation, a latent instinct for self-preservation warned him that nothing was ever that simple.

‘Rachel,’ he said, his voice uncertain even to his own ears. But she didn’t want to talk.

Lifting her hand, she laid a slender finger across his mouth, and he couldn’t stop his lips from turning against her soft skin. Capturing her hand, he brought her palm to his mouth, his tongue seeking the texture and the taste of her. But before he could do more than touch her she snatched her hand away.

‘I thought you wanted me,’ she whispered, reaching for his belt and using it to tantalise him. ‘But you’re vastly overdressed.’

Jack could hardly breathe. Whatever way he wanted to play it, this was like some crazy dream, and he was no longer capable of dividing the illusory from the reality. Somehow he managed to push his suit pants and his boxers down his legs, kicking them off the bed, too. Then he knelt beside her, content for a moment just to marvel at his own good luck.

She was beautiful, he thought unsteadily. He’d almost forgotten how incredibly beautiful she was. Small, high breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that flared sweetly above long, sexy legs. Her skin was smooth, unblemished, honey-toned from the hours she spent outdoors. The Devon coast could be as hot as the Mediterranean, and Rachel had always loved the sun.

He allowed his hand to skim the slopes of her breasts above the provocative line of the bra. Then, with a little less restraint, he dipped his hand into the lace and cupped one warm rounded globe.

Her nipple was hard. It thrust against his palm. He didn’t need to glance at himself to know that his erection was hard and prominent, too. It jutted from its soft nest of dark hair with a total lack of modesty.

‘You’re overdressed, too,’ he said thickly, unable to resist tugging on the strings that tied the thong and pulling it away. ‘That’s much better.’

She shifted a little restlessly when he replaced the thong with his hand, his thumb finding the throbbing nub of her womanhood, his fingers discovering that she was wet and ready for him.

And, God, he was ready for her, he thought, stretching beside her and seeking her moist mouth with his lips. She was all he wanted, had ever wanted before three miscarriages and her refusal to let him near her had got in the way.

He was sorry when she turned her head to one side, preventing him from prolonging the kiss. Apparently Rachel wasn’t interested in foreplay. Or else, like himself, she was eager to consummate their reunion. There was no denying he couldn’t wait to be a part of her again. Even his wildly beating heart couldn’t deter him.

Her bra had a front fastening; so convenient, he thought gratefully, releasing it easily. Her breasts spilled into his hands, but when he would have taken one swollen nipple into his mouth she shook her head.

‘Please, Jack,’ she said, taking his face between her palms. ‘Just—do it.’

Jack was more than willing. But after he’d moved to kneel between her spread thighs he remembered he had no protection. ‘I—I don’t have a—’

He gestured meaningfully, but Rachel didn’t seem concerned. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered huskily, arching her body towards him in a tantalising invitation he couldn’t resist. ‘For pity’s sake, Jack—’

He needed no second bidding. And, despite the fact that it had been more than two years since he and Rachel had last made love, they fitted together perfectly. He slid into her in one smooth, easy motion. Her tight muscles closed about him hotly, slickly, and Jack’s head swam with the undiluted pleasure of it all.

‘Oh, baby,’ he breathed, burying his face in the scented hollow between her breasts, and although until then she hadn’t put her arms around him, now they came almost convulsively about his shoulders, holding him against her.

For a short while he was content to lie there with her, to feel the intimacy of man against woman, skin against skin. He felt himself stretching her and filling her, and his racing pulse gradually slowed its mindless beat.

But Rachel was restless, shifting beneath him, urging him to take what she’d so generously offered. So he began to move, slowly at first, withdrawing almost to the point of separation before sliding into her again.

He felt the sweat beading on his forehead, felt the restraint he was putting on himself tighten almost to breaking point. She was so desirable, so willing, and the fear that somehow, some way, this was going to be denied him, drove him to quicken his pace.

Yet there was no way this wasn’t a benediction. He loved her sinuously, sensuously, arousing her almost in spite of herself, crazy as that seemed. But she wrapped one leg and then the other about his hips and he knew she couldn’t control what was happening any more than he could.

He felt her muscles tighten about him only a moment before her climax shook her slender frame. He thought she might have cried out, though she stifled the sound against his chest. And Jack found his own release only seconds later, the rippling waves of her orgasm a potent stimulus he couldn’t deny. For the first time in years, he spilled his seed inside her, feeling the shuddering warmth draining out of him, draining him, so that although he knew he must be crushing her, he didn’t have the strength to roll away…

CHAPTER THREE

RACHEL WAS IN the kitchen with Mrs Grady when Jack came downstairs the next morning.

He’d wakened to find himself alone in the big bed and, judging by the fact that the other side of the mattress had been stone-cold, he suspected his wife had slept somewhere else. Someone, probably Rachel, had thrown the coverlet over his lower limbs—in deference to Mrs Grady’s sensibilities, no doubt. But the candles had all guttered out, and, like any venue after a party, the room had felt stale and lifeless.

He’d thrown all the windows open before taking his shower, determined not to read too much into Rachel’s absence. Then, because he wasn’t planning on going into the office today, he’d dressed in a black tee shirt and his oldest pair of jeans. The jeans were tight, and worn in obvious places, so he left the button at his waist unfastened. He knew he felt better than he’d done for months—relaxed and rested. An unfamiliar condition for him these days.

Rachel was standing with her back against one of the limed oak units, a mug of what he guessed was coffee in her hand, talking to Mrs Grady. Unlike him, she didn’t look either relaxed or rested, though Jack thought she could never look less than stunning. In a rose-patterned see-through voile shirt that tied at her waist, worn over an ivory vest and loose taupe trousers, she looked cool and elegant. Her straight blond hair was loose and brushing her collar, and his first thought was how sensuous it had felt against his skin the night before.

His entrance silenced the two women, however, but Jack refused to be deterred. ‘Good morning,’ he said into the sudden vacuum. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

‘Of course not, Mr Riordan.’ It was Mrs Grady who answered, and Jack noticed Rachel avoided his eyes. ‘I expect you’ll be wanting breakfast. What can I get you?’

Jack wished Rachel would look at him, but after a brief glance in his direction she left him to speak to the housekeeper and went to stand in front of the huge porcelain sink, staring out at the garden at the side of the house. It wasn’t unusual for her to ignore him. God knew, he’d gotten used to it over the past couple of years. But after last night he didn’t understand her attitude, and as Mrs Grady busied herself taking eggs from the fridge, Jack crossed the room to stand beside his wife.

‘Hi,’ he said, his voice dangerously husky. ‘I missed you when I woke up.’

Rachel took a sip of her coffee before replying. Then, ‘Did you?’ she said, without looking at him. ‘I suppose you’re used to sex in the morning as well.’

Now, why had she said that? As Jack stared at her with narrowed eyes, Rachel cursed herself for allowing her own inadequacies to colour her speech. For God’s sake, the last thing she wanted was to think about sex with Jack. Or say anything to remind her of how perfect their lovemaking had been the night before.

It was hard enough just looking at him. Jack had always been a good-looking man—‘drop-dead gorgeous’ was what Karen had said—and even with a night’s growth of stubble on his chin Rachel had to agree with her. She assumed he had his Irish heritage to thank for his dark hair, which was usually too long and often unruly, and for his green eyes, as pure and clear as a mountain lake—what irony! And his strong, sensual features, which were too hard-boned to be really handsome.

The whole added up to a man with a tenacity of purpose even her father had admired. The fact that he was also tall and lean and moved with the sinuous grace of a big cat gave him the kind of sexuality few women could resist.

The miracle was that he’d married her. They’d fallen in love and theirs had been a fairy-tale romance. Rachel had believed that nothing and no one could come between them. But she’d been so wrong.

‘Did I miss something?’

Jack’s voice had an edge to it now that Rachel couldn’t mistake. She had to tell him, she thought. It wasn’t fair to let him go on thinking they were together again. But the temptation was there to put it off for the time being. She knew she’d need only to say the word for them to spend the rest of the day in bed.

But she couldn’t do that. Jack was like a drug, and it had been hard enough to wean herself off him the first time around. ‘I’m sure you know what I mean,’ she said, deliberately casual. ‘I know you’ve been sleeping with—with other women, Jack. You haven’t lived like a monk all these months.’

‘My God!’ Jack’s reaction was predictably violent and Rachel cast an anxious look over her shoulder to see if Mrs Grady was listening. But the housekeeper had left the room, evidently deciding to leave them to it. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’

Rachel’s mouth was dry. ‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? You have been seeing someone else?’

‘I’ve seen a lot of people,’ retorted Jack harshly. ‘What’s this all about, Rachel? What was last night all about? Why didn’t you tell me how you felt before you—?’

He broke off abruptly, turning away to rake unsteady fingers through his hair. All of a sudden he felt sick and dizzy; the aftermath of too much excitement? he thought bitterly. Or anticipation of the nightmare to come?

‘Jack?’

Rachel sounded almost concerned now, and he wondered if she’d guessed that something was wrong. But the last thing he needed was for her to feel sorry for him. He had some pride, albeit somewhat shredded after last night.

‘Just go away, Rachel,’ he said, gripping the overhanging lip of granite with both hands. He made a sudden decision. ‘I’ve got to go into the office.’ He straightened. ‘I’ll see you when I see you, right?’

Rachel touched his arm and he flinched. God, he had it bad, he thought. She’d only to lay a hand on him and he wanted to turn round and drag her—kicking and screaming, if necessary—into his arms. Despite his shaky equilibrium, and the fact that she’d apparently only been using him the night before, he still wanted her. And how pathetic was that?