Conditional Surrender Page 15

  `You're the one who could do without the wifely gestures. Remember?' she threw over her shoulder as she strode past him. She did not want him to see the gathering tears behind her eyes. But he caught hold of her wrist as she flew past.

  `Terry tells me you were upset when the hospital rang.' Kate closed her eyes in despair at his casual statement. Damn Terry! 'I only asked them to contact you to stop you worrying when I was late. Why the tears, Kate?'

  `Heaven knows!' she burst out furiously. 'I had this vision of you lying mangled somewhere and for some obscure reason, it happened to upset me!' Her lips clamped shut in an effort to stop them trembling. Greg exerted the little pressure necessary to pull her down beside him.

  His long hands framed her face, probing eyes searching her features for the answer to whatever question he was silently asking. Then he lowered his head and brushed his lips tenderly over hers, effortlessly parting them, kissing her so gently in a way that caused her heart to drum a quick tattoo.

  `I'm sorry for what I said, Kate,' he said heavily. 'You must know by now I don't possess the best of dispositions.'

  `I—it's all right,' she muttered into his throat. The relief of having him here, beside her, well, if not exactly fit, overcame

  all other emotions for the present.

  They lay huddled close for a long time, Greg stroking the nape of her neck through her thick waves and occasionally brushing a fleeting kiss across the top of her head. Kate felt a great sense of contentment steal over her.

  This was what had been totally lacking in their marriage, thus far. All physical contact had been as a prelude to lovemaking in the fullest sense—as if he could not be bothered to touch her unless it would culminate in total mutual satisfaction. But it was something Kate knew she craved.

  She was a toucher by nature. Spontaneous hugs and kisses to and from her family were commonplace. Not so with Greg.

  Their lack of communication on anything but the sexual level was the first hurdle to overcome, she decided. Remembering their honeymoon, she impulsively challenged him to a game of chess. He accepted with barely a hesitation.

  The afternoon and evening passed quietly, with no further upsets. Kate felt as if they were both groping their ways to a new relationship. And for the first time, she did not feel shut out when Greg retired to his study to attend to business.

  She knocked at the study door at about ten, to tell him she was going to bed.

  `Now, that's the best offer I've received all day!'

  `Oh—I didn't . . .' Greg watched as if fascinated while a tide of red climbed and spread over Kate's cheeks. Then he dropped his pen as if tired of the game and rubbed at the back of his neck.

  `I'm well aware of that, Kate.' He sighed heavily. 'Go on. I'll be with you shortly.'

  I—er—I brought your painkillers.' She put the bottle of tablets on his desk and left the room, thoughtfully pondering that last long glance. Was he trying to tell her something? He seemed so—lonely suddenly.

  She felt the bed depress some half an hour later as Greg's weight settled upon it. He clicked off the bedside lamp and lay back, the pain from his knee obviously having eased a little.

  `Why are you pretending to be asleep, Kate?' he asked, his casual voice making her jump. 'It's never stopped me before,' he added with a touch of irony, as her nightgown was thrown

  to the floor. 'I don't know why you bother with those things.'

  Kate protested automatically, albeit weakly. She did not know if she could bear the exquisite pleasure of his lovemaking while she was still reeling from her recent discovery. The dangers of giving herself away in the throes of passion were too great to be ignored. And if anything would bring her hopes to a sudden and painful halt, it was a premature declaration of love.

  `No, Greg, please . . .' she gasped as his hands found a particularly sensitive spot. 'Your knee—you'll hurt it!' She held her breath as his hands stilled on her body. She could feel his eyes probing her through the darkness.

  `Then give to me, Kate,' he muttered finally. 'Just this once. Give!'

  She met his kiss halfway with the strangest presentiment that she was undergoing some sort of test. And then there was no place for thoughts . . . only feelings .. .

  `Damn!' Greg bit out a muffled oath, slumping against her as the pain in his knee overcame his desire. He lay on his back, sweating profusely, striving to control the pain. Tenderly Kate reached out a hand to wipe his brow, but he brushed it aside impatiently.

  `Don't fuss! I'll be all right in a minute!' he snarled, though his statement was negated a moment later as he again attempted to move over her.

  `Stop being an idiot, Greg! You can't possibly take your weight on that knee!' she cried, anxious at the pallor of his damp skin.

  `You don't for a moment suppose I'm going to be able to sleep like this, do you?'

  Kate, accustomed now to the darkness, let her eyes travel the length of his aroused body and, impulsively, she laid a hand on his flat stomach, feeling the muscle clench spasmodically under her massaging fingers.

  Tor pity's sake, Kate! Don't make it worse!'

  In reply, she laid her soft lips against his damp hair-roughened chest, her tongue flicking over the tight male nipples.

  `I'm trying to make it better,' she breathed huskily as her

  lips journeyed upwards.

  A groan issued deep in his throat. `Kate—Kate, you don't know what you're doing!'

  Kate continued on her destructive path, loving the soft, tortured moans, the erratic tenor of his breathing.

  His whole body went rigid with shock when she finally moved to sit astride him, blindly allowing instinct to guide her down to him. He gave a hoarse moan of pleasure as their bodies merged. She was thankful for the blanket of darkness which shielded her blushing shyness from the man she loved. The man she was being allowed to make love to for the first time.

  Not to be outdone, Greg reached out to cup her breasts, drawing her softness down to the hard wall of his chest.

  `Kate . . .' Her name was uttered on a tortured breath. She lifted her head from her absorption in the feel of his skin against her lips, the taste of him on her tongue.

  `I'm not hurting you, am I?'

  He laughed harshly. 'Hurting me? You're torturing me! Kate, I—Oh—' He gripped her hips convulsively, grinding her against him as they found their rhythm. He groaned her name over and over as waves of pleasure overcame them simultaneously.

  Slowly, with the greatest reluctance, Kate disentangled herself to lie on her side next to him, but he drew her head down to the comfort of his chest, tenderly caressing her nape. Never had she felt such peace as they lay entwined in the aftermath of their explosion. Thoughts of her own pleasure had not entered her mind. She had given everything she had to offer and in so doing had discovered her new-found love had added a further dimension to lovemaking she had already thought perfect. But now she knew Greg's pleasure was her own.

  `Why did you do that, Kate?' he whispered, a note of awe still present in his voice.

  `Didn't you like it?' she teased, not wanting to spoil this magic moment with a postmortem. He took his cue from her, pressing her shoulder lightly.

  `So much, my love. So much!' The softly spoken

  endearment reverberated through her mind. Greg did not use such words lightly, as would Terry or her family. Kate was a little reserved herself in her use of them. But she could not recall Greg doing it before even in the heat of passion. But if those two little words gave her cause for hope, his next statement warmed her even further.

  `Caroline never stayed here, you know.'

  Her breath stilled, then left her in a rush. 'Thank you,' was all she could say. She felt well rewarded for her gift of herself. He had known all along what had prompted her to redecorate their room so completely—and he did not mind! 'Can you sleep now?'

  He expelled his breath on a long, long sigh. 'Yes, Kate, I shall sleep now.'

  But it was a long time before sleep claime
d Kate. She lay for hours staring at Greg's features, so relaxed and vulnerable in repose. The lines on his forehead were smoothed out and his preposterously long eyelashes fanned over his high cheekbones. Even his mouth, so hard and cynical in his waking moments, looked softer as he slept. The low, steady rhythm of his breathing was a pleasure in itself to Kate, since it was she who had enabled him to rest.

  Her fingers itched to run through the dark hair so close to hers, but she restrained the urge. Just as she had resisted the temptation to tell him of her love. Now was not the time. A man like Greg would need proof, and it was up to her to supply all the evidence he would need.

  She knew she would never again resist his lovemaking—but would give herself to him with all the warmth and passion inherent in her nature—as, she now admitted, she had longed to do from the second day of their marriage.

  `I'll prove to you that love exists, my darling,' she promised his sleeping form. 'Nit takes all the days of the rest of our lives, I'll prove it.'

  During the next few weeks, Kate sometimes had to stifle the growing hope that Greg did, indeed, care more for her than he was willing to admit. Since that never-to-be-forgotten night when she had finally given herself to him, their relationship

  had undergone a subtle but definite change. The evening conferences which had so consumed her time before she married Greg were a thing of the past. She did not question the extra hours she had with her husband, just quietly revelled in the pleasure of his company.

  And it was a pleasure. The quiet, undemanding, comfortable pleasure she had always believed to be at the very foundation of a successful marriage.

  Neither of them were social creatures. They exchanged small dinner parties with Sam and Marie fairly frequently, there were occasional cinema or theatre visits or quiet meals out, but mostly their evenings were spent at the apartment, feeling their way to a new, closer relationship.

  Their lovemaking took on a tenderness and spontaneity totally lacking before, and despite all Kate's efforts to douse it, a small flame of hope began burning brighter by the day.

  She had decided, after some thought, that any overt moves to cement their new closeness should be made by Greg. That was part shrewdness and part cowardice, but Kate was anxious not to ruin everything by precipitate action. What they had now was so much more than she had expected in the dark days after Greg had made his intentions clear. So she played the cards as they were dealt her, taking each day as it came.

  Until the day matters were taken firmly out of her control by an event Kate—or, for that matter, Greg—should have foreseen.

  One morning, about six weeks after Greg's accident, he returned unexpectedly, having left his car keys behind. He had left Kate snoozing in bed, that being one of her days at home. He found her slumped lethargically on the bathroom floor, overcome with nausea.

  `Kate—darling!' His voice was anguished, but Kate was too miserable to notice. Weakly she laid her head against his chest as he scooped her into his arms, the quickened thud of his heartbeats sounding reassuringly in her ear. He laid her on the bed and tenderly wiped a faint film of perspiration from her brow.

  `Don't move, love. I'm going to call the doctor.' Darling—love. Two endearments in as many seconds. Words which at any other time would have filled her heart with joy.

  But now . . .? Kate held on to him as he would have turned to the phone, terrified that the news she had no choice but to impart would turn him back into the cold, hard man she had married. Nerving herself for the confrontation, she pulled out of his embrace.

  She had berated herself over and over for her foolhardy lack of foresight. To overlook something as basic as birth control was almost criminal in this day and age. Children were a subject they had never touched upon. She had no idea how Greg would feel about such an upheaval in both their lives. In fact she had no idea if he had intended their marriage to be a permanent arrangement. But even as she steeled herself to break the news, she could not be sorry. Already she loved the tiny flicker of life inside her—no matter how sick it made her feel. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on his tie as she whispered shakily, 'There's no point in calling a doctor, Greg.'

  `Don't be silly, Kate,' he teased her, the light in his eyes warming her—for the moment. 'It's obvious something is wrong.'

  `No.' Her voice was still cracked. She blinked hard and moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. 'That is—there's nothing wrong exactly.' She looked up in time to catch his dawning comprehension and nodded wearily. 'It's too early to confirm.' She shrugged her shoulders helplessly and averted her eyes, unwilling to see the condemnation she knew he must be feeling as she tonelessly recited her symptoms. 'I'm a couple of weeks overdue, and I've been sick the last three mornings.' Still he said nothing. Stealing a glance from beneath her lashes, she surprised a strange expression flitting across his face, one she had seen before when she was awaiting his judgement on the newly decorated bedroom. Acting on impulse, as she had done so often these past weeks, she scrambled on her knees to the edge of the bed so she could lay her hands on his shoulders and force him to meet the sincerity in her eyes.

  `I didn't do it deliberately, Greg. You must believe that. I just didn't think . . .' Her voice broke off, shoulders slumping in defeat at his continued silence. Then, incredibly, he spoke.

  `I believe you, Kate.' She looked up, hope rising within her, to see his eyes crinkle in wry amusement, as if he were laughing

  at a joke against himself. 'Amazingly enough, I never gave it a thought either. And, of the two of us, I'm the most experienced.' And then she didn't hear another word, for she flung herself into his arms, at last being able to give way to the joy of having created a new life, laughter and tears making her incoherent, until he gently put her from him and mopped up the worst of the waterfall.

  `Don't worry, Kate. Things will work out. I'll make an appointment with the doctor when I get to the office. You feeling all right now?' She smiled tremulously, reassuring him, and he bestowed a gentle kiss on her parted lips, then turned abruptly, as he always did after a show of what she imagined he called weakness. 'By the way,' he threw over his shoulder as he reached the door, 'you'd better start looking for a house. It seems we're going to need a garden.'

  Her breath was suspended, leaving her gaping openmouthed until the click of the outer door signalled Greg's departure. Then she literally clapped her hands in sheer happiness and jumped off the bed to dance an impulsive pirouette—regretting it instantly as she was forced to dash to the bathroom again.

  The two dozen red roses which arrived three hours later restored her to full and vibrant life.

  The following days were filled with such happiness that Kate forgot to be on her guard. Her parents, Sam and Marie, Terry and his latest centrefold were invited to a special celebration, and every time Kate met Greg's watchful eyes her heart would nearly burst with the simple delight she found in his presence. He must know I love him, she thought dazedly sometimes. I can feel it written all over me, so surely he can see it. But it did not matter. She no longer feared his derision, for day by day her suspicion that he loved her grew into certainty.

  His remoteness had almost faded completely; it was surely only a matter of time before he openly declared himself—and if he didn't, well, Kate had begun work on a project guaranteed to force him out into the open. Soon she knew she would be handed the icing on an already delicious cake!

  Precisely three weeks later, she found the house of her dreams. The house she knew she could turn into a home where she could happily spend the rest of her life. With Greg.

  Mr Brownlea, the estate agent recommended to her, had been nearing despair. He was a very dignified man with unlimited patience, but Kate sadly upset all his preconceived ideas of how the young wife of a rich executive should conduct herself. Worse still, she had absolutely no compunction about stating exactly what she thought of the most exclusive properties on his books. Not one of them had received more than a cursory glance before being d
ismissed out of hand as too new, too old, too flamboyant, too trendy, too twee, too ugly or too pretty.

  He did, however, admire her boundless energy and her determination to find the perfect home. Though his suspicion that she was—to put it kindly—a trifle eccentric was proved beyond a shadow of a doubt when her choice was made.

  It was after three weeks of fruitlessly searching the Midlands, and with the horrifying sensation of a large chunk of commission slipping through his fingers, that he came up with what he hoped might be an acceptable solution.

  With the tact and diplomacy peculiar only to estate agents, he suggested the possibility of building a house to her own design.

  `I have the perfect plot of land on my books at the moment. A most delightful setting—Inkberrow, Worcestershire. We did pass through it the other day, if you recall.'

  Kate recalled only too well. Unfortunately she also recalled the unbelievably ugly monstrosity he had intended her to view. Her polite listening face began to crumble with a recurring vision of her presiding over the local WI—but the expression of gloom settling on Mr Brownlea's already lugubrious features made her think again.

  He really was rather a dear, and Kate knew she had been a sore trial to him. It surely wouldn't hurt to just look, would it?

  `The dwelling currently situated on the site would naturally have to be demolished. It would cost far more to restore than to build new. Besides,' a decided twinkle made an appearance in a still serious face, 'it's rather a white elephant of a place. Though I'd be grateful if you didn't repeat that,' he added hastily as Kate laughed, delighted to find the man possessed a sense of humour after all—a trait put severely to the test when she fell in love with that very same white elephant the instant she set eyes on it!

  Unable to contain her excitement, Kate pounced on Greg the second he entered the apartment that evening. Sheets of paper flew every which way to join the huge floor plans set out on the carpet. Poor Mr Brownlea, still not certain whether or not she was serious, had been handed a tape measure and together they had taken measurements throughout the ramshackle house—despite the misgivings the estate agent had about the safety of the floorboards. Kate had no such worries. The house was solid—she just knew it.