To Love, Honour and Disobey (11 page)

What she needed was a little defence. OK, she just needed to get out of there.

‘I need to get back to Phil’s. He’ll be expecting me.’

‘I’ll call him. You’re still tired.’

‘I can call him.’

But it seemed Seb had already spoken with Phil at some point, because when Ana spoke to him the plans were already in place.

‘I hope you don’t mind, darling, but I packed up most of your stuff. I’ve had a shipment of fabric in and haven’t got anywhere else to store it.’

‘Of course.’

‘You stay with Seb, darling. He has much more space there.’

It was a conspiracy. So much for the gay man being like a sister in solidarity, this was the boys clubbing together.

‘You sound tired. You could do with some rest.’

She could hear him smiling as he spoke.

‘I’ve had a migraine.’ They’d only had sex the once; it wasn’t the all-night orgy that Phil was so clearly imagining.

She pushed the ‘end’ button on the phone and turned to watch Seb dress for work. ‘You set that up, didn’t you? With Phil already.’

He shifted so she couldn’t see his face. ‘I wanted you to stay.’

‘Why didn’t you just ask me to?’

‘Because I thought you’d say no.’

Did he really not know? Had he not worked it out? She was trapped. She didn’t want to say no to him. And now, after this morning, she
couldn’t
say no to him—not any more.

Seb gave her a sideways glance as he did up the buttons on his shirt. She was too quiet. And still way too pale. The sudden onset of her migraine yesterday had frightened the hell out of him. He still wasn’t breathing right—the tightness in his chest not easing. It was as if he was permanently on alert for some kind of catastrophe—all adrenalin and edge. Not even being so deep inside her this morning had helped. In fact that experience had only seemed to make his sense of urgency worse. He’d said she was stressed about it and maybe she was. But so was he.

She had to stay with him. Despite knowing it meant their affair was growing in complexity, there was no question about her leaving. Not while she looked so ill. And no way was she sleeping in any bed other than his for a while yet.

‘I won’t be here more than a day or two, Seb. I’ll find another place.’

‘Just relax, Ana. It doesn’t bother me.’ Only a bit. He was feeling his way—blindly working on an instinct he hadn’t yet identified. ‘I’ll bring your things back at lunchtime.’

‘You don’t have to do that. After work is fine.’

That was too many hours away. He needed to check she was OK before then. He walked over to the bed. Exerted formidable restraint and didn’t kiss her—knowing he’d never get to work today if he did. But he did touch—a gentle push to make her lie back on the pillows. ‘Stay in bed. You need sleep.’

Half an hour later he looked at the files piling high on his desk and shook his head. How many marriages had he helped end now? Must be hundreds. And so easy
it was too. A piece of paper here and sworn affidavit there. It was the division of assets that got the game trickier. No one wanted to give anything material up. It was all about protecting their interests. And Seb always did his best for his clients.

Unless there were kids. And then, he’d have to admit to himself, he’d try to do what was right for those kids. Always took stock of the psychologists’ reports if there were any. Recommended counselling—did his best to insist on it. Because he’d been that kid—more than once—witnessing the end of another marriage and being pulled in a million directions. Weirdly, as his clients had become wealthier, more famous, the money thing became even more of an issue—the lifestyle to which they were accustomed had to be maintained. Yet there was often more than one ex in the mix. Kids to more than one mother. The mess was horrendous.

At least he and Ana didn’t have any such worries. Dissolving their paper marriage would be easy. They had their own assets and they’d invested nothing in the marriage. And there were no children.

His heart seemed to stutter every time he thought of that—the child they’d lost. So he pushed it from his mind by sheer iron will. She said she didn’t want kids. Neither did he. And that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Because it meant that maybe their affair could continue—maybe indefinitely. OK, there was never a ‘for ever’, but they could be together for as long as they both wanted. There was no fear of the complication of children. And no real commitment. And given that he desired her more than ever—this could only be a good thing. Even so he should push the divorce
through—he could sign those papers today and get the process under way.

But instead he lifted the first file on his desk and opened it. Fee-bringing business first.

An hour later he shut the file—having got nowhere. His mind had drifted further than a piece of cork on an ocean.

He’d go get her bags and take them to her now. So what if lunch was still hours away—she’d need something clean to wear, wouldn’t she?

He laughed as he carried the bulky bags straight up to his room and dumped them on the floor. He walked into his big wardrobe and pushed his clothes to one side.

‘You take this half.’ Although judging by the number of bags still in his car she might need the one in the spare room as well.

She was sitting on the bed wearing his robe and he pounced on a bag spilling shoes to stop himself pouncing on her. She was still too damn pale.

‘My God,’ he teased as he tipped the bag up. ‘You weren’t joking about your collection.’ At least twenty pairs of sky-high heels had piled out into a mountain.

‘They’re pretty good, aren’t they?’

‘Most look unworn.’

‘Most are.’ She looked sheepish. ‘I can’t part with them. They’re a reminder of my stupidity. And the fact is I still love them. But I’ve been wearing them more and more.’

‘I’ve noticed.’ And he liked it.

He handed her some hangers and she took one bag into the wardrobe, started pulling out her shirts and
hanging them up. He set to sorting the shoes—finding the mates and lining them up. He found another bag of them, pulled shoes out one by one and set them in place. Definitely going to need the wardrobe in the other room. He delved deep into the bottom of the bag and found another smaller bag. He opened it and pulled more shoes out. But they weren’t high heels. They were sneakers.

Baby-sized sneakers.

His heart didn’t just stutter. It stopped.

Quietly he reached into the same bag and found another three pairs of baby shoes. Both genders covered. He laid them on the floor in a row.

‘Ana?’

She stepped out from the wardrobe, saw them immediately—
stared
at them.

He stared at her.

‘You kept them.’ He finally regained the power of speech.

Her lips twisted. ‘I keep everything, Seb. As you can see.’

But this was different. ‘You said you don’t want children.’

‘I don’t.’

‘So why keep them?’

‘I didn’t keep them. It’s just that I never get rid of anything. I’m a hoarder.’ She didn’t look at him as she answered—walked back into the wardrobe. She might sound casual, but he knew what she was doing—hiding.

Seb felt sick as he stared at the shoes once more. Of course she’d kept them—deliberately. She’d wanted to keep them—safely tucked away in a little bag at the
heart of her collection. Just as she’d wanted to keep their baby. She wanted children. And she couldn’t—shouldn’t—deny it. She shouldn’t deny what was true to her. She shouldn’t try to be like him. That was what she was doing, wasn’t it? She’d learned all the wrong things from him. Like their fling—their deal in Africa—that wasn’t in her character. The dreamyeyed woman he’d met a year ago wasn’t the kind to instigate a quick and meaningless affair. She
felt
. She was a soft, loving woman who really was meant for love and family.

Her keeping the shoes revealed that, didn’t it? Just as the glow in her face at his father’s wedding had hinted that her romanticism, her idealism, still lurked beneath her shiny new carefree surface.

She wanted more. And she deserved more.

But he wasn’t the man who could deliver it.

He clenched his fists as an ache ripped through his guts. ‘What are you going to do with them?’

Ana pulled her face from where she’d buried it in the clothes she’d just hung in the wardrobe. Inhaled deep to steady her voice. ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s not like you’ll be able to rent them out.’

No, of course she couldn’t. Anger spurted inside. Why was he pursuing this? What did he want her to say? She marched out of the wardrobe and scooped up the shoes, stuffed them back into their little bag. ‘I don’t want them.’ She tossed the bag into the hall. ‘I’ll put them in a charity bin later.’

She needed some kind of superglue to fix the tear in her heart—fast—because she didn’t want the hurt to burst out again. Not now. Not when things were
confusing enough. But it was rising fast—and was huge again, hitting her in a wave.

Damn
. Why did he have to find those shoes? And why was he freaking out about them?

‘I have to go back in to work,’ he said briskly. ‘Lots to catch up on still since I was away. I’ll be back tonight.’

Yeah, he was backing off fast.

‘Of course. I’ve got work I need to get on with too.’ And she needed to shower, dress, get a life. Because if she was reading his expression right, they were pretty much over.

‘Use my study.’ He didn’t touch her as he left.

‘Thanks.’ She swallowed, unable to believe his coolness—that he could shut down so quickly. Especially after this morning.

Wow.

She pressed her hand to her chest, squeezed out the memory of how he’d held her so tenderly only a couple of hours ago. She couldn’t think on that any more. Then she closed the door on that little bag out in the hall.

She’d been right yesterday. It was time to end it. But she wasn’t going to run away—not this time. She’d wait and see him, tell him she was pressing ahead with the divorce.

Closure would be hers.

S
EB
looked up at the tall figure who’d just cast a long shadow across his desk and drawled, ‘Don’t tell me you want a divorce already.’

‘Very funny.’ His father shut the door behind him.

Surprised, Seb sat back in his chair. ‘Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?’

‘Only took the weekend.’ His dad shrugged. ‘Paris.’

‘I’m sure it was romantic.’ He had no desire to hear any more details.

‘Janine’s pregnant.’

For a long moment Seb couldn’t move. Finally he marshalled his wits enough to comment. ‘Congratulations.’ He made an effort to look pleased. ‘You’ve wanted that for a long time.’

‘Yeah.’ His father’s frown dissolved into a smile wider than the Zambezi river.

Seb stood and walked round his desk. Shook his father’s hand and then pulled him into a hug. They hadn’t done affection in a while but if ever there was a time when it was warranted, it was now.

Yet that tight feeling inside his chest clamped even harder. And it burned too.

It wasn’t jealousy, was it? But he couldn’t stop the thoughts—he’d have a baby now if Ana’s pregnancy hadn’t gone awry. How weird would it have been for his child to have an uncle even younger than him? Well, hell, and a step-grandma only a few years older than its father too. The confusion made Seb’s brain start to ache. ‘Does Mum know?’

His father looked guilty. ‘No. Not yet.’ He fidgeted.

Seb’s whole body began to ache. He knew what was coming.

‘I was wondering if you might talk to her.’

His dad didn’t want to deal with it, huh? He never had. ‘You want me to tell her for you.’

‘I don’t want to hurt her.’

That was the real reason for this visit. To make Seb the go between—again. ‘Neither do I.’

‘You’re her son.’

‘So?’

‘You’re her whole life.’

Wrong. He wasn’t anywhere near enough for her. She’d wanted more than him. He’d been only a fraction of what she wanted—not enough. Not ever enough.

His father picked up one of the clippings the secretaries cut for him. A write-up of one of his most recent high-profile cases. The ugly break-up of a rock star and his aging model. Both drugged up in the past and now with two kids and several million pounds caught between them.

‘Your mother and I messed you around, didn’t we?’ His dad half laughed. ‘Stupid when you were the most precious thing to both of us. I won’t let that happen this time.’

Seb looked away.

‘I fought for you, son. I’d always fight for you.’

But he hadn’t been enough—they’d both wanted more than him and he hadn’t been able to hold them together. He’d worked so hard—tried to be the perfect son, sporty, academic, striving to succeed to please both his mother and his father. To be everything they wanted in a child. But they’d both wanted more.

That was why he knew he wasn’t the man for Ana. If he hadn’t been enough for his parents, how could he be enough to hold her to him? And even if he tried, what if they couldn’t make the family she wanted? Wouldn’t that tear them apart as it had his parents?

For she
did
want a family. He’d seen it in her eyes, had felt it as she’d shuddered with grief—the sadness over her loss. Sure she denied it. But seeing those shoes she still kept? The yearning was still there and one day it would bubble up. Could he stand to see her hurting time and time again if those children didn’t come?

No. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear to be with her and then watch her slipping from him inch by inch over however long a torturous time.

It was better to end it now. He
had
to end it now. Despite the agony already ripping inside him.

Families always tore apart. Vows weren’t strong enough—they were only words that could be said and then denied or withdrawn.

Going deeper than a casual affair had never been part of his life plan. He’d never wanted children, never wanted to drag any more innocents through the mess he’d been through—and like the hundreds of faceless names that littered his files day in, day out in this
office. And yet, knowing how close he’d come, he now felt a prickle of loss.

He turned away from it. Looked at his father and sighed. There was some responsibility he would always bear. ‘I’ll talk to Mum.’

He didn’t know what help he’d be. He’d never been any use—not when he’d listened to her crying in her room at night, as month after month she’d been disappointed. New husband—still no luck. Always she’d wanted more—another child and another if she could. No matter how hard Seb tried he couldn’t make her happy. He couldn’t fail Ana too. He refused.

He drove home, feeling as if flu symptoms were coming—headachy, heavy limbed. Reluctant. But he had to do it—free her so she could find some else, someone who would fulfil her. Because he couldn’t carry the burden of her happiness—not hers or anyone else’s—he knew he wasn’t up to the job. That was why he only ever went with short term. Kept them smiling for a few weeks of fun and then flew far away.

He only made it halfway to the kitchen when he saw her. He lurched to a stop. ‘What are you wearing?’

‘I told you I’d find a pair that would make me taller.’

All he could do was stare.

She walked up to him. Five-inch heels with a definite hint of the dominatrix about them. They took her height to his, yeah, maybe even a smidge taller. Her legs were incredible. And then he looked straight ahead. Straight into her eyes. And that was the moment the good intentions evaporated.

Because such beauty shone back at him. Such
strength. Meeting him eye to eye, nose to nose, mouth to mouth. And the confidence, the
challenge
was irresistible.

He moved fast. Arms encircling, pulling tighter. And anger rose too. At the mistakes he’d made, the misunderstandings, the frustration of the last year and the hopelessness of his future. But, damn it, he would be with her one more time.

He half lifted her the two steps it took to pin her back against the wall. He leaned in, loving the extra height the shoes gave her, because he could press his aching hard-on right against her pelvis.

‘What are you doing?’ She sounded angry.

‘I’m doing what you and I both want. What we’ve always wanted.’

Her eyes closed. ‘I don’t
want
to
want
this.’

‘But you do.’ He undid his trousers and lifted her skirt in record time.

But then he stopped. Ignored the burning in the pit of his stomach—the instinct screaming at him to just plunge and pump, fast and wild. And he ignored the plea in her now wide-open eyes—begging for the same.

Yes, that was what she wanted, didn’t she? Fast, furious, all-physical sex. The quick release and then the escape.

No more.

For while he had to have her this once more, it was going to be the last time. And, as it had been this morning, it would be a slow torment. He pinned her body with his, held her head in his hands so he could look deep into her soul again as inch by inch he surged into her—nearly losing it completely when he heard her sigh and felt her convulse around him. But he
withdrew and then repeated the action—slower, harder, slower. Again and then again. And it drove him insane with bliss. Her cries in his ears, her lips begging beneath his, her body contracting—holding him in its hot, sweet home.

Long, long minutes later he pressed his hands to his forehead and faced facts. It wasn’t going to be once more, but one night more. He couldn’t resist. He swept her up into his arms and took her to his bed—unable to let her go. Not yet.

This time when he lifted her Ana appreciated his strength, appreciated the moment of feeling like some petite slip of femininity. Her body lax, she melted into him, letting him take her weight—frighteningly easily—and let him take her to his bed.

It shouldn’t have happened. Shouldn’t be happening again now. She’d meant to talk—to demand the divorce, to walk out. But he’d moved so fast. And always, as always, that need in her had risen.

She sat up when he placed her gently on the bed. ‘Seb—’

‘Don’t.’

She lifted her brows.

‘I don’t want to think, don’t want to talk. I just want to be with you. I just want you.’

Oh, God, she couldn’t cope with his flip-flopping treatment of her. He’d gone so cold this morning and now here he was so hot for her again. She ought to be angry. She ought to be demanding to know what the hell was going on.

But there was something new in his expression—both in his face and his voice. A rawness. Almost, she
thought crazily, a kind of hurt. But Seb wasn’t hurt by all this. Seb didn’t feel this that deeply—did he? This was just another hot fling for him, right?

She looked at him again—really looked at him. As deeply into his eyes as he was hers. And what she saw there made her gasp.

‘Yes,’ he growled. Intense as he pressed his weight onto hers again. ‘Yes.’

There was no rest, no let-up from his touch. He built her up again and then again. So focused on her pleasure. His hands shaking as he touched every inch of her with such tenderness. But it was that look in his eyes that made her shake inside and out.

‘Seb?’

‘Shh.’ He kissed her quiet. ‘Let me. Just let me.’

Let him what? Make
love
to her like this?

For there was no other way to describe what he was doing. This wasn’t sex. This wasn’t lust. This was something far deeper, far stronger, far more significant than that.

And could she trust it? The instinct telling her how serious this was? That Seb was serious about her? His fingers threaded into her hair and he turned her face towards him once more.

‘You should have everything, Ana. You deserve everything. I want you to have everything.’

With his words something deep inside her shifted—that hurt was soothed, and for the first time in years her heart felt secure.

Seb kissed her, stroked her, made love to her again. Watched with fierce pleasure as she arched and shattered and he told her the truth. ‘You’re so beautiful.’

She sighed, limbs settling, relaxing into his after her pleasure had spiked. ‘You really know how to make a woman feel good, Seb.’

He froze. If there was ever a time to regret his old playboy ways that was it—that one little comment shattered his most secret dream.

Did she put it down to experience—think it was just the cheap line he spun to any woman warming his bed? Was this still only an affair for her? Suddenly insecurity reared within him.

He leaned over her, looking into her face to catch every nuance. ‘If I hadn’t have made that comment, on Mnemba—’ he paused, watching her close ‘—would you ever have told me?’

Would she ever have trusted him? Would she ever have shared that loss with him? Would she ever have
chosen
to turn to him for comfort?

He watched as she froze. His heart dropped as her gaze lowered. And he knew her answer before she gave it—no.

Her lashes suddenly swooped up and she looked back at him. ‘Would you ever have wanted me to? Honestly?’

‘Yes,’ he answered. Meaning it more than he’d ever meant anything.

But her lashes dropped again, hiding her reaction. So he knew. She still didn’t believe him.

And how did he do it? He’d been trained in the art of convincing, in proving, in making his case and winning arguments. But he seemed to have no possible hope here. How could he convince her? How to reassure her? What on earth could he do to make her believe in him? Words were not enough for Ana—that
he did know. It needed to be actions—something he could do to shatter the walls she’d built around the very core of her heart, stopping him from getting all the way in there.

He desperately longed to say sorry. But he couldn’t even do that, could he? She’d accuse him of sympathy sex again. So he pulled her close, worshipped her with his body, tried to show her that he did care.

But early in the morning he dragged himself away from her warmth. ‘You sleep in.’

He’d buried deep into her so many times during the night and spent the remaining time awake and alternately angry and despondent. The last thing he wanted to do was leave now but he had no choice. Besides, he had an obligation. He needed to be there to talk to his mother. It would be better for her to find out from him than anyone else. And the thought of the hurt she’d been through reinforced his decision to leave Ana. She needed to be with someone who could give her everything she wanted—and that person was not him.

He showered, turned the water cold to try to jolt his muscles into action. But when dressed he stood at the foot of his bed and looked at the beautiful long length quietly dozing. That fierce yearning swept over him. She was so warm and soft and he wanted to hold her close and sleep. But she deserved more, so much more than the little he could guarantee. As he’d told her last night, he wanted her to have everything.

Yet he couldn’t resist getting closer one last time. He sat on the bed. Her eyes were closed but he felt her awareness of him. He kissed her, felt her soften and flow around him. But before she roused too much he laid her back on the pillow, easing out of the kiss,
soothing rather than stirring. He wanted her to sleep. He straightened, tore his eyes away, and forced his leaden legs to move. Away.

Down in his study he held the file, hesitating for just a moment, reluctant to sever the connection. But this was the only way. Yet another idea teased him, another option—one so sweet and intoxicating that he burned with longing. Wished he could start again—rewind and replay with sincerity this time. Would that be the proof she needed?

But it was stupid, an impossible idea. So he uncapped the pen and scrawled across the paper. Closed the file and tossed it to the desk. Then he ran.