The Pregnancy Proposal. HELEN BIANCHINЧитать онлайн книгу.
no thought to changing the relationship in any way.’ She paused, aware she was dying inside. ‘Pregnancy wasn’t part of it. Nor was marriage.’
‘You’re carrying our child.’
‘Marriage doesn’t necessarily have to follow.’
‘I’m proposing that it does.’
She held his gaze. ‘Answer me honestly. If my pregnancy wasn’t an issue, would you have broached the subject of marriage?’
Please give me the reassurance I want, need, she silently begged. Sweep away my doubts and uncertainties by saying just one word, now.
His expression didn’t change. ‘I imagine so, eventually.’
She felt as if a sword pierced her heart, and it took considerable effort to keep her voice steady. ‘I don’t want you as a husband out of a sense of obligation.’
‘Two years together and you question my obligation?’
It wouldn’t do if she crumbled at his feet. ‘Two years during which either one of us has been free to walk away,’ Tasha said quietly. ‘My definition of marriage comprises love and a permanent “till death us do part” significance. If you had wanted that, you’d have suggested marriage before now.’
‘Which you choose to interpret as me preferring an open relationship with no legal ties?’
His slight hesitation together with his choice of words had provided an answer.
‘Yes.’
‘And you couldn’t possibly be wrong?’
Do you know how desperately I want to be wrong? She felt like railing at him. I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life…as your wife, the mother of your children. But not, dear God, as a second-best choice borne out of duty. I’d rather be alone than know I’d forced you into a role you didn’t want.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘Don’t use counsellor tactics on me. Save them for the courtroom.’
Without a further word she turned and walked down the hall to the master bedroom where she caught up her wrap, a few essential toiletries, and made her way to the guest room. Only to come face-to-face with Jared.
She registered the suit jacket hooked over one shoulder, the loosened tie and the semi-unbuttoned shirt. It lent him a rakish look and succeeded in activating a spiral of sensation she fought to restrain.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ His appraisal was swift, and his eyes darkened as she made to move past him.
‘Sleeping in the spare room.’
She could sense the tension in his large body, the tightening of muscle and sinew as he exercised control. ‘The hell you are.’
The deadly softness of his voice issued a warning she elected to ignore. ‘I don’t want to have sex with you.’
His gaze hardened, a fractional shift of his features that reminded her of a panther’s stillness the moment before it leapt to attack. ‘I accept that. But we share the same bed.’
And risk succumbing to his brand of subtle persuasion?
She was all too aware it would only take the glide of his hand on her hip, the familiar trail to her belly and the gentle but sure fingers seeking the soft folds at the juncture of her thighs to rouse her into semi-wakefulness and turn to him in the night.
By the time she remembered, it would be too late, and she’d be lost. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Tasha—’
‘Don’t.’ She lifted a hand, then let it fall to her side. ‘Please,’ she added. ‘I want to be alone right now.’
It was the please that got to him.
‘We need to talk.’
‘We’ve already done that.’ Her voice was even, calm, when inside she was breaking apart. Hurting so badly, so deeply, she’d probably bear the scars from it for the rest of her life.
His gaze locked with hers, the force of his will vying with her own for long, timeless seconds, then he moved aside to let her pass.
The guest room held its own linen closet, and she undressed, donned her wrap, removed her make-up, then she made up the bed, slid between the cool percale sheets and switched off the bedlamp.
Sleep came easily, but she woke in the early hours of the morning, momentarily disoriented by her surroundings until she remembered where she was and why.
The bed was comfortable, but she wasn’t curled in against Jared’s muscled frame as he held her close, even in sleep. She missed the steady beat of his heart, his reassuring warmth. The way he seemed to sense when she stirred during the night, how he’d gather her in and press his lips to the curve of her shoulder.
Inevitably it would lead to lovemaking, and she delighted in the fact he could never get enough of her. Secure in the relationship and what they shared.
Not any more, a tiny voice taunted. You blew it.
It was then the tears began to well, spilling over to slip in slow rivulets to her temples and become lost in her hair.
Tasha lay awake, staring at the darkened ceiling until the grey light of an early dawn crept between the shutters, giving the room shape and form, followed by subtle shades of colour.
It was too soon to rise and meet the day, and any further hope of sleep was out of the question. She could slip into the master suite and retrieve what she needed to wear into the office. Except she’d encounter Jared…something that was unavoidable, but she’d prefer to face him when they were both dressed. Which meant she’d need to wait until six-thirty, when he left the apartment for his daily workout in the downstairs gym.
At six-forty she took a leisurely shower in the hope it would ease the tiredness. It didn’t, and she brushed her hair until her scalp tingled.
With care she tidied the bed, caught up the clothes she’d worn the previous evening, and entered the master suite.
The large bed bore witness of Jared’s occupation, the covers a tangled mess, the pillows bunched at different angles. So he hadn’t had an easy night of it, either.
Somehow the thought gave her pleasure as she crossed to the large walk-in wardrobe.
Clothes were everything, and she began with her sexiest underwear, pulled on the sheerest tights, added a new suit she’d bought only the week before but hadn’t worn, and slid her feet into killer stiletto-heeled shoes. Then she collected her bag of cosmetics and returned down the hall to the guest suite.
Make-up was both an art form and a weapon, and she took extra care with its application, highlighting her eyes before sweeping her hair into a smooth chignon. A touch of perfume, and she was about as ready as she’d ever be to face whatever the day might bring.
Any hope of escaping the apartment before Jared’s return died as she entered the kitchen and saw him seated at the breakfast table sipping black coffee as he scanned the morning’s newspaper.
His usual routine on return from the gym was to shower, shave, dress, eat, then leave for the city.
This morning he’d chosen to reverse the process, and the sight of him in sweats, his hair ruffled from exertion, and looking incredibly physical sent the blood racing through her veins.
He lifted his head and his gaze seared hers. It gave him no pleasure to see the carefully masked signs showing she hadn’t slept any better than he had.
‘Coffee’s hot.’
Tasha made tea, added milk, slid bread into the toaster, then peeled and ate a banana as she waited for the toast to pop. When it did, she spread honey, and carried both tea and toast