A Passionate Proposition Page 17

  ‘And you accepted that without question?’ he sneered. ‘Do you think that your gullibility excuses you? You didn’t see anything wrong with what she asking of you? The thought that it was underhanded, dishonest, didn’t bother you—?’

  She moistened her pale lips. ‘I—of course I knew it was wrong, but she’s family. I may not have been entirely open with you, but I never lied to you, Scott—’

  ‘Oh, come on, actions can lie as easily as words. I knew you were holding back on me but I didn’t know why. Now I do—this was in the forefront of your mind the whole time we were together.’ He threw the book and crumpled ball of paper contemptuously onto the floor. ‘Dammit, if she’d simply asked me I would have been happy to be shot of any reminders of her,’ he said bitterly. ‘Is she really so arrogant that she imagines I care either way about her any more?’

  Of course she was.

  ‘She said she was afraid you might use anything you found as payback—’

  ‘Kate, afraid? Face it, Anya, she was using you, and you knew it and still went along with it. She was demonising me out of guilt, but why didn’t you trust me enough to be honest? Or is that part of the reason you were holding off—hoping to build up the illusion of trust between us until I was sufficiently softened up to give you whatever you wanted, instead of you having to find it yourself?’

  He reeled around and spread his arms wide against the sides of the sash window, leaning his forehead against the glass.

  ‘My God, what is it about me and the women I—?’ He faltered briefly, his voice harshening. ‘The women I seem to attract? First Lorna, then Kate…now you. I’ve had two lovers who stole children from me and a third who conspired to cover up a dirty little secret. And don’t try and tell me that it’s a woman’s right to choose what happens to her own body—maybe it is, but if it’s a principle worth fighting for why do it the way Kate did? With no discussion, no question of choice on my part, or joy for the miracle of life we created together—just get rid of my baby as if it was some kind of minor biological inconvenience. At least Lorna had the decency to consult me about her pregnancy and give me the semblance of a choice about my child’s destiny.’

  She felt his searing words like a brand upon her heart.

  ‘Kate could have just had a miscarriage—’ Anya offered up the faint hope. She moved across to stand behind him, the rigidity of his body making his navy suit sit as stiffly across his shoulders as an expensive suit of armour. Unable to resist the urge to comfort him, she laid a gentle, compassionate hand on his unyielding back. His iron-hard muscles contracted even further at her touch.

  ‘You don’t believe that any more than I do.’ He wiped an angry hand across his face before spinning around. ‘By God, Anya, if you’re pregnant don’t even think of trying to get away with not telling me about it,’ he said savagely, his eyes shining with a ruthless intent. ‘You may not think I’d make a very good parent but you’re not going to be the third woman in my life to deprive me of being a father to my own child.’

  ‘I would never do that,’ she said thickly, over the tears in her throat.

  ‘How do I know what you’re capable of doing? For all the time we’ve spent together I don’t know you at all, do I?’ he countered jaggedly.

  ‘You can’t believe I’d ever do anything to harm a baby of yours,’ she said, her grey eyes soft and pleading, her hand going instinctively to her stomach in an unconscious gesture of protection that sent a tormented spasm across his angry face. ‘And I have no doubt at all that you’ll make an excellent father one day. I’m sorry that I let Kate mix me up in her problem, but I honestly didn’t know how to resolve it.’

  He had been struck a blow to the very foundations of his pride. She took a deep breath, knowing that only by baring her own heart to him could she go some way to healing his wounds, and salvaging her self-respect.

  ‘It wasn’t lack of trust that stopped me from confiding in you. It was lack of faith in my own feelings. I believed that I owed my first loyalty to my own family but then I fell in love with you and everything got confused—’

  ‘Love?’ The word was uttered in loathing. ‘You and your cousin say that so easily, yet you don’t begin to know the meaning of the word…’

  He thought this was easy for her?

  ‘The more I loved you the more angry and jealous I felt of Kate, until I was afraid that my judgement was being clouded by malice,’ she pushed on unsteadily. ‘So I dithered over what to do until it was too late. I can only say I’m sorry for deceiving you. I love you and I was afraid of losing you, so I pretended to myself that nothing was wrong. I hoped that you might come to feel something for me, too.’ Her voice cracked a little but she didn’t stop. ‘I was so afraid of doing or saying anything that might shorten our time together that I was a coward. I’m ashamed of what I did, but nothing can make me regret loving you…’

  ‘Nothing?’ The acid bite of the word warned her that worse was to come. He wanted to hurt her, as he had been hurt, and she had just handed him the perfect weapon. She only hoped that she was strong enough to survive the attack without permanent scars. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  She lifted her chin, slim and defiant in her silky pink dress, her arms straight at her sides, her fingernails digging into her palms. ‘I’m not ashamed of how I feel about you.’

  ‘Prove it.’ His eyes glittered with cruelty as he threw down the gauntlet. He walked over to the door and kicked it shut, turning to lean against it with folded arms.

  She licked her dry lips. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Give me a demonstration of these so-called loving feelings. Let’s see how unashamed you are. Take off your clothes. I want you to make love to me as if you really mean it. Show me how much you love me.’

  She swallowed, refusing to be shocked by his sardonic crudeness, knowing that was what he wanted. ‘I won’t let you cheapen what we had—’

  He shrugged, shouldering away from the door. ‘I knew you wouldn’t do it. Love has its limits as a form of manipulation, doesn’t it, Anya? People have a nasty habit of expecting you to back up your words with actions.’

  He stopped in his tracks as Anya’s trembling hands went to the top button of her dress. He watched her as she undid the first button and then the next two, revealing the lacy white camisole she wore underneath. They were both breathing hard by the time she got to the button at her waist and he suddenly caught her wrists in both of his with a savage curse, preventing her from going any further.

  ‘Are you really prepared to humiliate yourself like this? For what? It won’t change anything,’ he railed at her, dark blood flaring on his cheekbones.

  ‘I thought you wanted me to prove my feelings for you,’ she said, a tremulous hope stirring at the knowledge that he had stopped her from abasing herself. She bent her head and kissed one of the hands that was gripping hers. ‘How can loving a man I respect and admire be humiliating for me?’

  He wrenched his hand away and plunged his fingers into her pale, silky hair, pulling up her head to snarl in wounded fury, ‘All you’re going to be proving is that we don’t need to trust each other to have good sex.’

  He dragged her against his chest and crushed her mouth under his in a lustful, passionless kiss. Anya remained passive as he ran his hands over her open dress, fondling her braless breasts through the satin camisole and stroking her thighs with a clinical expertise and calculated lack of feeling that made her long to weep.

  Instead, her heart aching, she lifted her hands to tenderly cup his angry jaw. At her delicately tentative touch he groaned a harsh protest, and suddenly the quality of the kiss was changing, from aggressive and punishing to a sensual, hungry meshing of mouths, his bullish stance shifting to support her softening body, his hands moving more slowly, a different kind of heat and tension beginning to build up in his big frame. Anya shuddered and uttered a soft cry as he stripped off her dress and began feasting on her soft flesh, shrugging out of his jacke
t and shirt and tearing at the fastening of his trousers.

  ‘This doesn’t change anything,’ he groaned again as he pulled off her clinging panties and pushed her down onto the bed.

  ‘I know…I know it doesn’t,’ she reassured him huskily, welcoming him with parted thighs as he came heavily down on top of her, offering him the only kind of love he was willing to accept. Passion flared and, conscious of the banked anger that had intensified his naturally dominating sexuality, Anya yielded ardently to his every command, their coupling hard and fast, yet deeply satisfying.

  Afterwards, instead of lying with her in his arms in the sweet aftermath of their love-making, he got up before the sweat had cooled on his body and silently tossed Anya her clothing. They both dressed swiftly, Scott substituting casual trousers and a clean shirt for his suit, Anya stealing glances at his unrevealing face, and when they were ready to leave she was stunned when he detained her at the door.

  ‘Are you forgetting something?’

  He turned to get Kate’s untidy stack of belongings and handed them to her, including the journal and crumpled piece of letterhead.

  ‘Isn’t that what you came here for?’ he said coldly, as she looked at him uncertainly. ‘Take them. They’re of no interest to me. They’re a dead issue. Just like your cousin.’

  And me? She didn’t dare ask. At least he was being civil…barely. Surely that was a good sign?

  ‘What are you going to tell the reporter?’ she couldn’t help asking as they walked down the stairs.

  His knuckles whitened briefly on the banister rail. ‘As little as possible.’ They reached the foyer and he shot a cuff and looked at his watch. ‘He’s due at two. Tell Petra I’ll be out until then.’

  ‘Where’re you going?’ asked Anya involuntarily. She had hoped they might talk.

  He looked at her and she saw a glimpse of tightly smothered rage. He had expended some of his anger in bed, but the rest was festering inside. ‘I’m not answerable to any woman, least of all you,’ he crunched. ‘Don’t think your feelings give you any sway over mine.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting—’

  ‘Good. Don’t.’ He yanked open the front door.

  ‘Would you still like me to stay with Petra?’ she scraped up the courage to ask, taking heart from the fact he was still talking to her.

  ‘You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?’ he rounded on her roughly. ‘What do you want me to say? What I would like is for you to get the hell out of my face! Right now I don’t want you anywhere near me, my home or my daughter. Is that explicit enough for you?’

  The slam of the door reverberated through the big house.

  ‘Jeez, did you and Dad have a fight?’ Anya turned to see Petra frowning at her from the door of the music room.

  Anya simply nodded, massaging at her temple

  Petra padded up the hall. ‘A bad one?’

  ‘Pretty bad.’ Anya was afraid she was going to burst into tears. ‘Your father said to tell you he’d be back around two. I’m afraid I have to leave—would you mind telling Mrs Lee for me?’

  She rushed to find her handbag, juggling the papers against her chest as she hunted out her car keys.

  Petra followed her out to her car. ‘But you will be coming back some time, right?’

  Anya’s fingers tightened around the keys. ‘I’m not sure…’

  ‘You’re still going to be doing my tutoring, though?’

  ‘I’m not sure about that, either. I don’t know if your father will want me to do that any more.’

  ‘You mean the fight was that bad?’ Petra was shocked. ‘You guys aren’t going to break up, are you? But Anya—you can’t. I’m going home next week. What about Dad? You know he’s going to be all bent out of shape about it. And if you’re not here he’ll be left all alone…’

  Anya was having difficulty seeing through the growing blur. Why wouldn’t the key go in the lock? She took a wild stab and to her relief it finally fitted. ‘Your father’s a grown man. He lived here quite happily by himself before you came along, and he has plenty of friends.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s sorta got used to having people hanging around—you know, like a family.’ She caught the car door as Anya got into the driver’s seat. ‘And what about the puppy we chose?’

  Anya looked at her foggily. ‘Scott is giving you a puppy?’ What a ridiculous gift to buy a child who was about to fly back to Australia. Or was it supposed to be a lure to bring her back for future visits?

  ‘Not me…you! Dad said you told him that you were thinking of getting a dog so he and I went out and bought one for you. But we couldn’t give him to you yet because he has to stay with his mother until he gets big enough to be on his own and Dad wants it to be a surprise for you. He’s real cute and cuddly, but he has a pedigree and everything, and Dad’s even got you a collar and doghouse and a bowl and stuff. He’ll still give it to you, won’t he?’ Petra worried.

  A puppy? Scott had gone out and chosen a warm, cuddly squirming puppy for her?

  That was the warm, squirming thought that kept popping into Anya’s mind throughout a sleepless night and the long, dreary, lonely, grey Sunday which followed.

  Giving someone a puppy wasn’t like handing them a box of chocolates, she told herself. An animal required a serious commitment from the gift’s recipient and that implied serious intent on the part of the gift-giver. That Scott had cared enough to want to buy her a pet to love and laugh and romp with in the grass surely meant that he had more complex feelings for her than he had been willing to admit. Otherwise, why bother? She had made it quite clear she had been happy with chocolates and candles. And doggy people were warm and loving. You didn’t give a dog to someone unless you felt they were trustworthy enough to look after it properly.

  At that point in her tortuous thinking she always came to a painful cropper. You could have trust without love, but it was impossible to love someone that you couldn’t trust. And she was afraid that she had now indelibly associated herself in Scott’s mind with the other two women in his life who had badly abused his trust. Sure, once he had thought it over he would probably understand why she had acted the way she had, and hopefully even forgive her, but it was bound to have a negative impact on their relationship. If she had told him that she loved him before he had found out what she was doing, things might have been different, but why should he believe someone who had already perjured herself by her actions and omissions?

  No, whatever slim hope she had had of persuading Scott that she was worthy of his love was probably gone. But, as he had cruelly demonstrated, a lack of trust didn’t stop him having sex with her. If she indicated she would accept such a one-dimensional relationship he might be willing to oblige. The idea left a bitter taste in her mouth. For her, sex and love had always been two sides of the same coin. She hadn’t required Scott to return her love before she shared her body with him, but she had needed his respect to balance the emotional scales. Now she was afraid she didn’t even have that.

  Several times her hand hovered over the telephone, but if she rang him, what could she say? I was thinking about you? He must already know that. I want to talk to you? He would know that, too. As difficult as it might be, she had to wait for him to make the next move. And there would be one, because he wouldn’t be able to leave the loose ends dangling. If nothing else he would have questions he wanted to ask, for in the heat of anger he was the one who had done most of the talking. He might have told her to leave, but he had stopped short of telling her never to darken his door again. He also knew all that he had to do was crook his finger and she would come eagerly running.

  There was Petra, too; she was bound to be strongly partisan on Anya’s behalf…

  Her violently see-sawing emotions left her feeling tense and miserable, and by early Monday morning she was so firmly in the grip of a depression that she did something that she had never done in her life—she threw a ‘sickie’. So it seemed like fate when, not long after leaving a me
ssage on Liz Crawford’s answer-machine to explain that she was unable to come into school, she had a phone call from Russell Fuller and found herself talked into being interviewed later in the morning. She would have liked to fob him off with her supposed illness, but she decided gloomily that she might as well get it over with.

  Talking to him reminded her she hadn’t responded to any of Kate’s nagging e-mails, so before he arrived she sent off a terse message to say ‘mission accomplished’ and ask if Kate wanted her to courier the package or send it by registered mail. Anya would have been quite content to throw the whole lot in the fire.

  Russell Fuller turned out not to be the sleazy, ferret-faced scandal-monger she had feared, but a stocky, russet-haired man who not only recorded their conversation on micro-cassette but also took meticulous notes in his own form of shorthand in a lined notepad. He showed her the faded photo albums he said had been found for him at The Pines by Scott Tyler, after Russell had convinced him that Kate had said they were probably still in the attic of her childhood home.

  Anya breathed a sigh of relief as he had immediately moved onto his list of questions, most of which were directed at identifying old photographs, and eliciting anecdotes of Kate’s childhood on the farm and in New York. Anya kept her answers brief and to the point when the journalist moved on to her cousin’s adult life and personality, but it was his final, casual, off-the-cuff question as he switched off his tape recorder that totally threw her.

  ‘So…this is a kind of circle of fate thing with you and Scott Tyler—him being the owner of Kate’s old home?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said warily, wondering if this was some cunning journalist’s trap.

  ‘Well, you and Tyler are in love, aren’t you? I thought it would be a natural progression.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ she asked sharply.

  He tucked his tape recorder in his briefcase. ‘Tyler did, on Saturday. He was very co-operative about letting me look around The Pines. Told me Kate had been a sharp negotiator over the price of the house, but he seemed more interested in talking about you than her.’