The Blackmail Pregnancy (5 page)

‘I know enough to see you’re carrying far too much baggage for a young woman of your age,’ he said in a gentler tone. ‘But you won’t trust anyone enough to help you.’

She brushed at the tears in her eyes with an angry hand and faced him again, her cheeks hot, her bottom lip wobbling uncontrollably.

‘Don’t push me,’ she warned him. ‘Don’t you dare push me.’

He sighed and rubbed his shadowed jaw with one hand in a gesture of helplessness.

‘I don’t know how to handle you in this mood,’ he confessed.

‘Leave me alone,’ she said brokenly. ‘I need some time alone.’

He came over to her and touched her gently on the shoulder, but she flinched away from his touch.

‘Cara, this is—’

‘Please.’ Her tone was pleading. ‘I just need some time alone.’

He sighed and left her standing against the countertop, her small frame shaking from trying to repress the sobs that threatened to overcome her.

Byron stood in the large lounge and stared out at the night-time view with unseeing eyes. He seriously wondered whether he had what it took to carry on. He began to see himself through her eyes and felt sickened by the way he’d engineered things to get his way, without stopping to think of the impact on her fragile emotions. He’d had a goal in mind and set out to achieve it; he hadn’t allowed for her at all. But then, when had he ever allowed for their differences?

He thought back to the time when they had been together so briefly and realised with a sickening jolt just how much he’d railroaded her—first into sleeping with him and then into marriage. He hadn’t given her time to think for herself. He’d acted in response to his own impulses and hadn’t given her time to refuse him.

He left her for half an hour before tracking her down in the bedroom. He’d gone with a speech prepared, but when he saw her curled up on the big bed, her face turned into the pillow, he felt the words die in his throat.

She was curled up into a tight ball, her arms tucked into her stomach, her slim form hardly making an impression on the huge mattress. Her face was finally relaxed in a sleep of sheer exhaustion, her cheeks still cherry-red from her bout of crying. He sat down on the bed next to her and, reaching out a hand, gently brushed the hair from her brow. She sighed and buried herself even deeper into the mattress. Byron gave an answering sigh and turned off the bedside lamp, casting the room into instant darkness.

Cara woke to find the iron band of Byron’s arm around her middle. She stared down at the masculine hairs of his forearm as it lay against her as if it belonged there. It had once belonged there, she reminded herself with a pang of memory that was more pain that simple recollection.

Byron sighed and pulled her closer, as if he sensed her instinct to remove herself from his intimate embrace. She could feel his legs against the backs of her, his rock-hard stomach against the softness of her bottom as he shifted slightly in his sleep.

She wondered when he’d joined her in the big bed. Had he looked down at her with desire burning in his eyes, or had he simply turned back the covers and gone to sleep?

She felt his lips on her shoulder and froze.

‘You taste nice,’ he said in a deep rumble. ‘Like vanilla.’

She didn’t dare move. She could already feel the ridged flesh of him against her in response to her nearness.

‘Did you sleep?’ he asked when she didn’t respond.

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

She felt him move against her and her stomach gave a sudden lurch.

‘What time is it?’ she asked, looking for a way out.

‘It’s early,’ he answered, trailing a path of soft kisses down her back.

She shivered in reaction and tried vainly to stop herself from responding.

‘Why don’t you turn around and say good morning properly?’ he suggested.

Cara hesitated.

He kissed her neck as the hand around her waist reached upwards for her breast. Her breath locked in her throat as his palm closed over the mound of her flesh, his fingers searching and finding the hardened nub. She turned in his arms and his mouth found hers, leaving her no time to resist even if she’d been in such a mind to do so. Heat coursed along her veins at the feel of his mouth on hers. His tongue sought entry and she gave it, her mouth opening for him as readily as an orchid to the warmth of the sun after a cold winter.

Her deadened limbs came to life under the expert touch of his hands. Feeling charged throughout her body at the glide of his hands on her flesh. He shaped her breasts as if recommitting them to memory. He explored her mouth as if he’d never discovered it before. He laid her back against the pillows and leaned his rigid length into her softness, reminding her of all the pleasure they’d taken together seven years ago.

Her body was already ready for him. Desire had pooled and prepared her for his invasion, and she could barely think for the need of having him inside her, restaking his claim.

He moved from her mouth, replacing his hands with his lips on her breasts. He’d removed her simple cotton nightie with hands that had trembled against her flesh as if in reverent worship. She sighed as his mouth worked its magic on her, drawing from her a response she had no hope of withholding.

She felt the intimate probe of him and her thighs opened instinctively. He slid into her with a deep groan that sent shivers of reaction up along her spine, filling her emptiness with a completeness she hadn’t felt in seven long, achingly lonely years. He set his rhythm and she responded to it as if perfectly programmed to do so. Her breathing increased in pace to match his, her hands shaped him, caressed him just as thoroughly as his did her. Her mouth rediscovered his, her tongue playing with hers in an intimate dance that was mirrored in the movements of their joined bodies. Cara bit down on her bottom lip to stop herself from screaming with the pleasure of his touch.

‘Don’t hold back,’ he murmured near her ear. ‘I want to hear you.’

She writhed beneath him and fought against her own response. But finally she had to give in to it. She smothered most of her cry of ecstasy against the breadth of his shoulder, but she felt his smile of satisfaction at her response against her lips as he took her mouth once more.

The sound of his pleasure was a salve to her. It was some sort of compensation to her pride that he was just as affected by her touch as she was by his.

A silence settled between them as they lay still, intimately joined, as if neither of them wanted to be responsible for the first move away.

‘I’d forgotten how sensitive you are,’ he said after some minutes.

‘No doubt you’ve had plenty of other experiences with which to compare.’

‘Perhaps not as many as you think.’

She hated the thought of him with anyone else; it scored her flesh like a barbed weapon.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘How many lovers have you had since we parted?’

‘Not as many as you’d think.’ She used his own words to shield the truth.

He moved away from her and she instantly felt cold without his warmth to fill her.

‘I’ve got to get going.’ He reached for his bathrobe. ‘I’ve got a busy day ahead. What about you?’

‘I haven’t got any consignments, but I thought I’d work on the furnishings for here.’

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, hanging from a chair. He took out a credit card and handed it to her. She took it with a questioning glance.

‘You’ll need that to organise all the purchases,’ he said.

She looked at the card in her hands and felt uncomfortable.

‘I can bill everything to my office,’ she suggested.

‘You can, if you’d rather, but it’s still going to be my money that pays for it.’

She didn’t have an answer for that, so stayed silent.

‘I thought we’d eat out tonight,’ he said as he opened the
en suite
bathroom door. ‘That is unless you’d prefer to have something simple here and have an early night?’

She didn’t have an answer for that either, so simply turned her back and buried herself under the covers. She heard the rumble of his amused laughter and cursed her transparency. She didn’t want him to know how much he affected her. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

She heard the sound of the shower running and got out of bed, slipping into her bathrobe to make her way downstairs. She ignored the kettle and toaster to go outside and breathe in the fresh morning air as she stood looking out towards the harbour.

The sun was bright but the air felt heavy, as if rain was expected later. The gardens looked fresh and inviting, and she stepped down on to the lush green of the lawn in her bare feet, enjoying the sensation of the cool damp grass between her toes. She lifted her face to the morning sun, closing her eyes to the warmth of its caress on her cheeks.

She heard something behind her and turned around to find Byron standing looking at her.

‘Have you got time for a cup of tea?’ she asked him, to cover her embarrassment as she brushed past him on her way back to the kitchen.

‘No, I’ll get something later,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you during the day. Will you be out looking for furnishings?’

She nodded as she searched for teabags. He handed them to her with a small smile.

‘Will you be all right?’ he asked.

She looked at him blankly.

‘Why shouldn’t I be all right?’ she asked, forcing her features into impassivity.

‘Why indeed?’ he answered wryly and, scooping up his keys, left the room.

She stared after him and wondered what he’d meant. Was he already regretting what had happened between them this morning? Why should he when he’d been the one to engineer it?

She turned to stir her tea and thought about the intimacy they’d shared. He was probably already choosing names for the baby he was planning for her to conceive. The thought of it made her insides shrink in apprehension. The contraceptive pills she took to regulate her cycle were burning a hole in her toiletries bag—but she wasn’t going to stop taking them, no matter what plans he’d made. There was simply no point. He’d surely tire of her after a few months, when she failed to conceive, and she would be cast aside to make room for the next candidate.

The day dragged interminably. Cara wondered if it was because Byron waited at the end of it. Her body tightened in anticipation and a wave of remembered pleasure swept through her, causing her insides to flip-flop in anticipation.

She threw herself into organising the delivery of several rugs from her favourite supplier, as well as buying two large cream leather sofas from the showroom floor. The dining room was easy; she went straight to a large antique warehouse where she purchased an elegant walnut table.

Several lamps and vases later, she was feeling a little more relaxed. She realised with a sudden jolt of surprise that she was actually enjoying herself. Choosing various items for Byron’s home had brought a sense of excitement to her usually humdrum day. She told herself it was the experience of shopping with carte blanche that was really responsible for her level of enjoyment, but deep down inside she had a feeling there was far more to it than that.

C
ARA
had not long finished dealing with the last delivery of furniture when she heard the sound of Byron’s car in the driveway. She dusted off the dining room setting with the soft cloth in her hand and, trying to control the leap of her pulse at the sound of his key in the lock, turned around to face him.

‘You’ve been shopping,’ he said, looking around. ‘Very nice.’

‘It was frightfully expensive.’ She screwed up the cloth in her hands and avoided his eyes.

‘How expensive?’

She told him and he shrugged.

‘I told you to do what you had to do, no price limit. You’ve done a good job.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, a rush of warmth filling her at his compliment.

She watched as he stepped down into the lounge room and tested the sofas.

‘Come and sit here and tell me what sort of day you’ve had.’ He patted the sofa seat next to him.

Cara tentatively sat beside him, conscious of the way the soft leather gathered around her, drawing her closer towards his strongly muscled thighs.

One of his hands stretched out along the sofa behind her shoulders; the other picked up a stray lock of her hair and gently tucked it behind her ear. The soft brush of his fingers along the sensitive skin of her cheek made her heart squeeze in her chest. How she longed to feel him touch her again!

‘So, did you have a good day, Cara?’

She wrenched her eyes away from the movement of his lips as he spoke and concentrated on the black dots on his tie.

‘It was OK.’

He tilted her chin with one finger so she had no choice but to look him in the eyes.

‘You don’t like looking at me, do you?’

She didn’t answer; in fact, couldn’t answer.

‘I want you to look at me,’ he said deeply. ‘I want to see what’s going on behind that cool exterior. I want to see the real Cara, not the cardboard cut-out you usually present to the world.’

She pushed away from his hand and stood up, her expression guarded.

‘I need to have a shower,’ she said. ‘I’m covered in dust from unpacking the furniture.’

He got to his feet, and before she could scoot away he caught her by the wrist and held her fast.

‘Don’t push me away. I’m trying to help you—can’t you see that?’

She glared at his hand around her wrist before lifting her eyes to his.

‘You don’t want to help me,’ she bit out. ‘You want to control me.’

‘I don’t want to control you at all,’ he said. ‘I want to understand you. Anyone can see how unhappy you are. It positively comes off you in waves.’

‘What business is it of yours?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you stay out of my life? Why are you suddenly so interested in my emotional state after seven years?’

‘Because I made some errors of judgement in the past and I want to make sure I don’t make them again.’

She lowered her eyes and swallowed the knot of tension building in her throat.

‘I want you to learn to trust me,’ he continued. ‘To stop seeing me as the enemy and more as your friend.’

‘You have a very strange notion of friendship.’ Her tone was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Friends don’t exploit each other; neither do they make impossible demands.’

‘Perhaps I should remind you at this point that if I hadn’t stepped in, your financial affairs would be in tatters. Your reputation as an interior designer would be shot to pieces—not to mention your partner’s.’ His voice was edged with steel as he looked down at her.

Resentment burned like a fire in her as she listened to him. She bit her lip to stop herself from flying at him with words she might later have to withdraw. Her anger threatened to spill over, but she clamped down on it with determination. He had her over a barrel and he knew it. She’d seen the figures, and she knew enough about the interior design business to know how quickly the gossip network worked. If word got out they were in trouble, what little business there was would drop off even more.

‘I’ve engaged the services of a business manager,’ he said, watching the struggle played out on her face. ‘She’ll do the books and keep a watchful eye on things.’

‘How dare you?’ She wrenched herself from his hold and glared at him. ‘You’ve taken over my personal life and, not happy with that, now you’ve taken over my business as well!’

‘Cara, don’t let your emotions cloud the issue. Think about it, a business manager will free you and Trevor to spend more time doing the things you’re best at.’

‘You had no right to go over my head like that.’

‘I had every right,’ he said, his frustration increasing. ‘I’ve invested a lot of money and I’m not going to sit back and see my efforts go to waste. Besides, what about when you get pregnant? You’ll want to cut back on your hours and take things easy.’

‘You’ve got it all planned, haven’t you?’ Her eyes flashed fire at him. ‘What if I don’t fall pregnant, according to plan? What then?’

Anger darkened his eyes and his hands reached for her with a renewed strength that she had no hope of circumventing.

‘You will get pregnant,’ he said in a cold, hard tone. ‘I’m going to make absolutely sure of it.’

He pulled her into the wall of his body, his mouth crashing down on hers. Cara tried to escape, but once his lips touched hers she was lost. It was an angry kiss, but she didn’t care. His kiss brought her jaded body to instant thrumming life. Her pulse raced at the sensation of his tongue probing for entry and her heart tripped when he achieved it with deft purpose, leaving no part of her mouth untouched.

Her breathing quickened. The hands that had earlier pushed against him to escape were now hanging on to his shirt, her nails digging through the fabric into his chest. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection and her spine loosened in reaction. Her legs quivered as he pushed her down on to the sofa, his hands already under her top, freeing her breasts from her bra. He bent his mouth to each hardened peak, sucking hard as if he wanted to cause her both pleasure and pain. She whimpered as his mouth moved lower, his hands at the waistband of her toffee-coloured trousers.

Suddenly he lifted himself off her and, standing up, scored a pathway through his hair with his hand. His breathing wasn’t much steadier than hers she was relieved to see as she struggled upright and tidied the disarray of her clothes.

‘I’m sorry.’ His tone was gruff. ‘I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It won’t happen again.’

She lifted her chin and, getting to her feet, brushed past him without a word.

‘Cara.’

She hesitated on the step out of the lounge, but then thinking better of it continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. Byron watched her go, his mouth tightening as he turned to stare at the evening view instead.

‘Damn it.’ He addressed the harbour in front of him. ‘Damn it to hell.’

She came downstairs an hour later, dressed in a brown skirt and a long-sleeved white top, her hair piled on top of her head. Her eyes skilfully avoided his as she asked, ‘Do you still want to eat out? I wasn’t sure so…’ She left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

‘Yes.’

He reached for his jacket from where he’d thrown it earlier, across the back of one of the stately dining chairs.

‘Come on—it’s what we both need. Neutral ground.’

She felt inclined to agree with him. The house, large as it was, didn’t offer her the same sense of safety a crowded restaurant would.

Some minutes later they were shown to a quiet table in the corner of a small French restaurant, and she had cause to wonder if she’d overrated the safety factor. She didn’t feel too safe, sitting alone with him in this private corner, away from the cynosure of the other clientele’s eyes.

His eyes met and held hers across the small intimate table.

‘There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.’

Cara felt her spine stiffen in apprehension.

‘Yes?’

He waited until the waiter had placed their drinks before continuing. ‘I’m flying to Melbourne the weekend after next. I want you to come with me.’

‘Are you asking me or telling me?’

He considered her question for a moment.

‘Both. I’ve already booked the flights. It is an important occasion and I don’t want to miss out.’

‘Why are you telling me? You’ve already organised it. What if I don’t wish to go?’

‘I’d like you to make the effort,’ he said. ‘My parents are celebrating forty years of marriage. I think it would be nice for us to share in it.’

‘It has nothing to do with me. You go; I’ve got plenty to do to fill my time.’

‘My parents would like you to be there.’

She looked at him in consternation.

‘You’ve told them about…about us?’

‘Not in so many words. I’ve told them what they need to know. When they heard we were…’ he hesitated over the word ‘…seeing each other again, they insisted you be invited.’

‘We’re not “seeing each other”, as you so euphemistically describe.’ Her tone was cutting. ‘You’re hoping to use me as a human incubator. Did you tell them that?’

‘I don’t wish to be drawn into an argument with you, Cara. Certainly not in a busy restaurant. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to discuss this like two rational adults.’

‘I don’t want to go.’

He sighed and tried another tack.

‘Please, Cara. Fliss would like to see you again. She’s missed you over the years. She was devastated when you left.’

Cara thought about his younger sister, picturing her as she had been back then—four years younger than her, full of the vigour of youthfulness, eighteen and on the threshold of adulthood. Even then she had outclassed her school-friends in her academic achievements, with a perfect score in her leaving certificate. Cara imagined her now, with a small child and another on the way, a doctorate already under her belt and still only twenty-five years old. As gifted went, Fliss had certainly upped the benchmark.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

‘That’s as good as I’m going to get from you, isn’t it?’

She inspected his face for bitterness, but instead he was smiling at her wryly. She liked the way his features relaxed when he smiled. She liked the way his dark eyes softened and the way his forehead lost the almost permanent groove she was so used to seeing there whenever he was with her.

‘I’m not very good at making promises that far ahead of time,’ she confessed reluctantly.

‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘We’ll just take it one day at a time. You can tell me in a few days, or if you like even on the Friday morning; the flight doesn’t leave until six p.m.’

The waiter came to over them with the daily specials blackboard and Cara was spared the necessity of reply. They ordered their food, and once the waiter had left she felt herself relax a little into the chair, relieved she had a few days before she had to commit herself.

It had been such a busy day, fraught with emotional highs and lows. She wasn’t used to dealing with the intensity of an intimate relationship any more. She hadn’t ever been that good at it, even when they were married. Byron’s expectations of their relationship had been so different from hers.

He came from a secure family background—noisy at times, but totally secure. His parents loved each other, and their four children, and had even made a huge effort to welcome her into the family, though they’d been a little shocked at the speed with which she’d joined it. She suspected they had believed her to be pregnant and desperate for the respectability of marriage, but as the months had gone on their attitude towards her had seemed to improve. It was ironic, really, she thought as she twirled the drinking straw in her glass; they had no sooner begun to accept her when the real trouble between her and Byron had begun.

In truth she’d found the whole exercise claustrophobic. She’d felt as if she couldn’t breathe, with everyone so involved in each other’s life. She and Byron hadn’t spent a single weekend of their short marriage alone. There’d been family picnics or barbecues, or other outings that somehow required each and everyone to attend. Cara hadn’t been prepared for such a frenetic lifestyle and had retreated even further into her shell. She’d felt trapped by Byron’s desire to start a family and had argued heatedly and repeatedly with him over her use of contraceptives.

She’d left him soon after a particularly vicious row. She still cringed to think of the names they’d thrown at each other. She’d been unwell for weeks, not having picked up properly after a bad bout of flu, and her temper had been frayed beyond the limit by yet another demand for their attendance at a family gathering. Cara had packed her bags and caught the first train to the city, desperate for some breathing space.

Later that day she’d seen Byron in a café with Megan, his childhood sweetheart, the young woman everyone had previously expected him to marry. Megan had obviously been crying and Byron’s arm had been around her shaking shoulders, his head bent close to hers. Cara hadn’t needed to see any more. Something deep inside her had closed up, as if a door that had been prised apart earlier had finally snapped shut, never to be reopened.

She had caught the next available flight to Sydney and within a week had filed for divorce. She had known he’d come after her, so had covered her tracks until eventually he’d given up. Her lawyer had at one point laid professional interests aside and tried to get her to rethink her actions, but her mind had already been made up. She didn’t belong in the Rockcliffe family; she never had. She’d been foolish to think the clash of their backgrounds wouldn’t have some sort of effect.

Her mother had gloated over the dissolution of her marriage. Cara hadn’t seen her manipulation until it had been too late to escape. The pattern of years had disguised its power over her. It pained her to think of her gullibility, to see the way her mother had so skilfully achieved her own selfish ends, destroying her daughter’s life in the process.

Quite by accident Cara had discovered she was pregnant. She had no longer been able to ignore her general malaise, and a routine check-up had uncovered that she was close to six months pregnant. Her mother had been furious. She obviously hadn’t wanted Cara to return to Byron and had railed at her to get rid of it, before her life was ruined as hers had been by Cara’s birth.