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‘How old was Ben here?’ Jed held up the picture frame.
‘Two.’ She didn’t want to talk about Ben with Jed. She didn’t want the man anywhere near her son. But she had a horrible feeling she was not going to have much of a choice.
‘And here as a baby, with Julian Gladstone and the other person? I presume it is your Aunt Jemma?’
‘Yes, Julian is an old family friend, and as for Aunt Jemma, you never met her because you were always too busy, I seem to recall. The picture is Benjamin’s baptism photograph—they are his two godparents.’
‘Julian Gladstone is my son’s godfather?’ he queried, with such a look of outrage Phoebe almost smiled.
‘He is my son’s godfather,’ she amended. ‘And Julian is a very good one. His house is a mile up the road and they see a lot of each other. Ben really likes him.’ Not so subtly she was letting Jed know Ben did not need a billionaire Greek flitting in and out of his life when he had an excellent male role model virtually on the doorstep.
Jed made no reply, and Phoebe watched warily as he carefully placed the picture back on the bureau and strode over to sit in the armchair by the fire. Reaching for his glass, he took a deep swallow. Only then did he look at her, his scornful gaze skimming over her mutinous face.
‘Give it up, Phoebe. We have established Ben is mine—he virtually told me so himself in the car,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘I am not a fool, and your pathetic attempt to needle me over Julian Gladstone’s role in his life is never going to work.’
The cold hard certainty in his tone was enough to make Phoebe shrink lower in the sofa.
‘From the moment I met you and Gladstone at the embassy I knew you were hiding something from me, Phoebe, by the way you behaved. So I had a friend of mine who heads a security agency check what you had done since you left London.’
Her mouth fell open, and she stared at him in mounting horror as he continued in a brisk tone, as though he was delivering a report.
‘You returned to live with your aunt, and Ben was born seven months and one week after we parted. I had my suspicions, so I checked with Marcus earlier this week and he confirmed you had definitely had a miscarriage and lost the baby. I could not fathom how Ben could be my child until he told me he was a miracle baby. To make absolutely sure, when I left here earlier I called Marcus—who informed me it was perfectly possible, though very rare. Then I visited the cottage hospital where he was born. The receptionist there was most helpful. I asked if I could have a copy of Ben’s medical notes, because you and I were taking him to Greece and needed them as a precaution in case he had an accident while there.’
Phoebe, no longer shrinking, sat up straight and placed her glass back on the table with a shaking hand, her temper rising at the thought of the arrogant swine having her checked out simply because he hadn’t liked the way she behaved at a ball! Then to go to the hospital—the mind boggled! She stared at him in a bitter, hostile silence, her anger and resentment growing with every word he spoke.
‘The woman was a romantic at heart, and when I told her of our tragic separation and how you and I were now reunited and intended to marry she was more than helpful. She gave me a photocopy. I know Ben was born in January, by Caesarean section and that he was two weeks overdue. I know he was one of what would have been twins—though it was clever of you to forget the name of hospital where you had the miscarriage!’ He raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘I also know Ben broke his arm falling out of the pear tree in your garden.’
She had not been being clever. At the time she had been afraid that if she revealed the name of the hospital that had registered her on that day somehow Jed and Dr Marcus would find out. Not surprising, given that seven weeks earlier she had lost a baby, been betrayed and dumped by the man she loved.
But she was not afraid any more, and Phoebe had heard enough. ‘You had no right—the woman had no right!’ she exclaimed, outraged by his revelations.
She didn’t blame the receptionist. Jed was a sophisticated, strikingly handsome man who could charm the birds out of the trees if he wanted to—as she knew to her cost. She doubted there was a woman born who could resist him. That poor receptionist had never stood a chance.
‘Yes, I had every right. He is my son and you deliberately kept him from me. If anyone had no right to do what they have done it is you. I asked you earlier why, and now I want some answers.’
The gall, the bare-faced cheek of the man—checking her out, checking the hospital out, interfering in her well-ordered life just because he could. It was all too much for Phoebe. She jumped to her feet to stare down at him, her blue eyes blazing with contempt for the heartless bastard.
‘I will give you answers.’ He could suck on the truth and she hoped it choked him. ‘Try your own words. “A man does not expect his mistress to get pregnant.” Does that ring any bells? “A child is not on my agenda,”’ she quoted scathingly, before summing up for him. ‘You never wanted a baby.’ And she watched as a dark tide of colour swept up over his high cheekbones.
‘So I panicked a little? I’m a single man, and we are programmed to believe the worst result of sex is pregnancy. I was shocked.’
‘I am not an idiot—even if I did almost let you make me one. You have never panicked in your life,’ Phoebe shot back. ‘And nothing shocks you, Mr Bloody Invincible.’ She swore—not something she often did, but she was fighting for her child. ‘You were your usual super cool controlled self and you meant every word. Then, as I recall, you had the gall to tell me not to worry and that your discreet, private Dr Marcus would take care of the pregnancy and you would pay for everything. A termination was what you offered me—but lucky for you I miscarried anyway. Hardly surprising in the circumstances, and it didn’t cost you a penny.’
Jed Sabbides—wealthy, powerful, confident of his place in the world, feared by some and respected by most—for once found he was speechless…
He could not believe what he was hearing. It had never entered his head when Phoebe had told him she was pregnant that she should have a termination. He had been trying to reassure her in declaring that Dr Marcus would take care of her in pregnancy. He had meant all the way through her pregnancy and beyond. But, thinking back, he realised it might not have sounded like that to Phoebe. Suddenly the comments she had made in the hospital about saving him shed-loads of money, and in the scheme of things the cost of a private doctor being nothing to him, which had puzzled him at the time made perfect sense if she believed what she did. How could they have got their wires so badly crossed? he wondered, appalled at her conclusion.
‘I never suggested a termination—ever,’ he murmured, but Phoebe wasn’t listening.
She was looking down at him as if he was something that had crawled out from under a rock, her blue eyes blazing with passion. And that passion was pure hatred, he realised with a sense of shock. Consumed by his anger at what he saw as her betrayal, he had never considered her take on the past might differ dramatically from his—never considered the situation from her misguided view.
Phoebe was on a roll and, oblivious to Jed’s stunned reaction, she felt all the fear and fury she had blanked out at the time come flooding back.
‘But hey, Jed,’ she quipped sarcastically, ‘lucky for me you didn’t turn up to take me to the clinic that next week, but instead let Christina, your PA, tell me you had discussed my miscarriage with her and inform me you weren’t coming back and advise me to leave. Otherwise Ben would have been scraped out of my womb by your oh, so discreet Dr Marcus. And now you have the brass nerve to ask me why I never told you about Ben. You make me sick, turning up here and throwing your weight around, conning the hospital receptionist into giving you information with a load of lies. As for telling her we were getting married—forget it. That is never going to happen. Much the same way as it never happened last time when you told me you had decided we were going to be a family after I had lost the baby,’ she added derisively. ‘A simple ploy to make yourself sound good when it no longer meant anything—and you are still the same selfish, egotistical devil now, who thinks only of himself and his own wants to the exclusion of everyone else. So forgive my skepticism, but I don’t believe for one minute your apparent interest in being a father, your sudden desire for a son. And I am telling you here and now. You are not getting mine…’
‘Have you quite finished tearing my character to shreds?’ Jed demanded, replacing the wine glass on the table and slowly rising to his feet.
He had listened with growing anger and horror as he realised he could not actually refute Phoebe’s analysis of his behaviour in the past. He had called her a mistress and he had declared a child was not on his agenda—a child had not been at the time. Phoebe had dropped her pregnancy on him so casually it had been like an explosion in his head and he had been in a state of shock. But not for a second had he even thought of a termination. Later in the hospital, when he had said they would be a family, what he had meant was he would marry her—but he could see how that might have sounded hollow after the fact—and he had told Christina about the miscarriage.
Jed did not want to believe Phoebe’s story about Christina telling her to leave the apartment, though he could not dismiss it. He had dispensed with Christina’s services after she’d made it embarrassingly obvious she wanted a much more personal relationship with him. He had given Christina his cellphone that night in Greece, so it probably was true. There were certainly enough half-truths in everything else Phoebe had said to make him feel like the lowest of the low—a totally alien feeling for him, a man who prided himself on his honour and integrity.
But if the passion and the conviction in Phoebe’s voice was anything to go by she truly believed he was capable of terminating his unborn child, and considered him the scum of the earth. Whatever he said in his defence would fall on deaf ears…She would never believe him now…
He pulled his mind back from the past, a grim determination tightening his jaw. The mistakes of the past could not be changed, but that didn’t deter him from wanting his son. The only difference was he would have to change tactics.
He let his dark eyes roam over her. She was beautiful any time, but magnificent in her passionate anger. It reminded him of her other passion. He had lost count of the days, the weeks, the months he had ached for her after they parted. His gaze lingered on her heaving breasts beneath the soft cotton of her shirt and his body tightened in arousal. Suddenly he wanted her so badly he could taste it, and in that moment an alternative solution occurred to him—not very ethical, but with his intimate knowledge of Phoebe almost certainly effective…
‘You have no character,’ Phoebe snapped. ‘And I was finished with you years ago—or should I say you were finished with me,’ she amended. ‘It is too late now to change your mind for what ever nefarious reason—and knowing you there must be one.’
Lost in the bitter memories of the past, Phoebe had not noticed Jed had moved to within touching distance, and only now did she see the carefully controlled expression on his handsome face was not reflected in the predatory gleam in his dark eyes.
‘You know me so well, Phoebe, it seems,’ he drawled mockingly as his strong hands reached to curve around her shoulders.
She tensed at his touch, her heart skipping a beat and her hands curling into fists at her sides as she fought the impulse to push him away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her feminine fear at his closeness. She was immune to him and had been for years, she reminded herself.
‘You are right, of course. There is a reason. I’m a very wealthy man and it has occurred to me I need a son and heir. A ready-made one seems much more preferable to a squealing baby. Thus I am confirming your low opinion of me?’ Jed said, and waited…watching…testing…
Why she was disappointed Phoebe could not fathom. Jed had proved her right. She looked up at him. His dark-lashed eyes were cool on hers, and yet for a second she thought she saw a flicker of vulnerability in the inky depths and had the incredible notion he wanted her to deny his conclusion. Then she noted a nerve beating steadily beneath one sharp cheekbone in his determination to retain his formidable control, and she realised she had imagined something that was never there. Jed would be vulnerable maybe on his dying day, but not before.
Nothing had changed…Jed hadn’t changed…He was an emotional bankrupt and he preferred life that way…
‘Yes,’ she finally responded. ‘And now you understand why I didn’t tell you about Ben you can leave us alone,’ she told him, pleased at the cool firmness in her tone. ‘Marry Sophia and make your own babies,’ she tagged on for good measure.
‘That might be difficult as we split up and she is not speaking to me.’
‘Wise woman,’ she quipped, and could not suppress a grin. Why it pleased her to learn Jed and Sophia had parted she didn’t question.
It was the grin that did it!
Jed had had enough. Talking was getting him nowhere, and Phoebe’s irrepressible grin had reminded him forcibly of what he had been missing all these years. What he had thought not very ethical a minute ago no longer seemed so.
In business he had no problem playing on a rival’s weakness to clinch a deal—it was accepted practice—so why not in his private life?
Chapter Six (#ulink_57a6c37a-a377-5f87-9922-4dc3e27f9492)
SUDDENLY Jed’s strong hands tightened on her slender shoulders and Phoebe was jerked off balance. She found herself held tight against his broad chest. ‘Let go of me,’ she snapped, startled by his abrupt action.
‘Shut up,’ he growled, and before she could react he had swung her off her feet, deposited her flat on her back on the sofa and followed her down.
For a moment Phoebe was too stunned to move, and then she tried to scramble from under him. But with his great body lying half over hers, pressing her into the soft cushions, all she could do was lash out with her hands. ‘Get off me!’ she yelled, panicking.
He laughed—he actually laughed. And, grabbing her wrists, he pinned them above her head with one strong hand, the other cupping her chin so she could not turn her head away, and forced her to look up into his darkly handsome face.
‘Are you mad? What on earth do you think you are doing?’ she demanded, and tried to struggle. But with her hands captured and one long leg trapping her thighs all she could do was wriggle—and that caused her more problems, as she was suddenly vitally aware of his hard, powerful body in the most intimate way.
‘Exactly what you imagine, Phoebe, because I have nothing more to lose,’ he said with a wickedly sensuous smile. ‘According to you I have no character, no emotion…would you like to continue?’ And he waited, his dark eyes gleaming down into hers and the hand cupping her chin stroking slowly down to her waist, edging up under her shirt.
Fury gave way to another emotion as every nerve in her body tightened and she trembled at the warmth of his hand against her bare midriff, his strong thigh pressing against her jean-clad legs. She felt his breath against her face, and then he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.
‘Take your time in answering,’ he said, and the tip of his tongue flicked out to trace the outline of her mouth. ‘Though listing the negative aspects of my character may seriously damage my ego. I would much prefer to explore the positives between us,’ he husked.
She shook her head in denial. She knew Jed was no longer asking her to list his character traits. If he ever had…He was asking a much more intimate question. But somehow, with the weight of him pressing against her and the familiar scent of him enfolding her, she could not find her voice—and to her shame she felt the rising heat of desire scorch though her.
‘Not too much time,’ he murmured against her throat, his mouth covering the suddenly heavily beating pulse there and then moving to breathe lightly against her ear. ‘I don’t want you to do anything you are not happy with, but this was always the best means of communication between you and I, and nothing has changed. You only have to say no and I will stop.’
Phoebe swallowed hard. The tension in the air was palpable. His dark eyes were watching her, and the hand at her midriff moved higher to cup one full firm breast, long fingers delving beneath the lacy bra to graze a taut nipple, and she could not stop the gasp of shocked pleasure escaping her lips.
She shuddered as Jed captured her mouth, his tongue slipping between her helplessly parted lips as he deepened the kiss with a skilful, gentle eroticism that was at odds with the way he had got her into this position. His long fingers caressed her breasts as he lifted his head and pressed tiny kisses over her cheeks, her brow, and then back to slip gently between her softly parted lips again.
If Jed’s kisses had been like the one when he had stormed into her home she might have had the strength to fight, Phoebe realised. But they weren’t. He kissed her with tenderness and gentle passion, and even as her mind told her to resist her body didn’t get the message and she shuddered with an undeniable familiar need. The blood flowed thicker through her veins and she succumbed helplessly to the wonder of his kiss, to the skilful caress of his long fingers against her flesh. She was unaware he had unfastened her shirt and bra until he lowered his head to nuzzle between her breasts.
A moan rose in her throat and softly sighed between her parted lips. She knew she should stop him, and she would soon…Her body and mind were trapped between desire and despair at what was happening to her.
‘You are so perfect…’ Jed murmured huskily, raising his head to look into her dazed blue eyes. ‘You have no idea how long I have been aching for this.’ And he lowered his head to tease and lick her nipples into hard peaks of aching pleasure.
Desire won. Phoebe twisted and squirmed beneath him, consumed by a need so fierce it was almost painful a whimper of regret escaping her as he ended the torturous pleasure. He was killing her by inches and she was helpless to resist the way she felt—didn’t want to…
His dark head lifted and suddenly her hands were free. She stared up into his handsome face and saw his dark eyes burn black with the effort he was making to control his passion. The same question was in their glittering depths.
‘I want you, Phoebe,’ he said thickly. ‘I want you badly—but it is your decision,’ he declared, lowering his head to press his mouth to the slender curve of her throat, mouthing dark husky words in Greek against her tender skin.
She was lost, flung back in time to when they were first lovers.
‘Tell me you want me—say it, Phoebe.’
‘Yes, oh, yes,’ she groaned as his mouth found hers, parting her lips with a sensuality she welcomed with a need, a hunger she had no thought of denying.
Phoebe barely noticed when his fingers found the snap of her jeans. She was oblivious to everything but the musky male heat and the taste of him, and before she knew it they were naked on the huge sofa.
Her dazed gaze skimmed over the broad expanse of his tanned chest and the flood of warmth became a torrent. It had been so long since she had seen, touched his magnificent naked torso. She reached out a hand to stroke and caress his firm body, rediscovering the pleasure of tracing each muscle, the slightly abrasive feel of his soft body hair, the hard male nipples.
Jed caught her wandering hand. ‘Let me look at you,’ he rasped, his dark smoldering gaze raking over her face and down to the proud thrust of her breasts, the narrow waist, the flat stomach with its telltale scar, where his gaze lingered for a second, before drifting to the soft curls at the apex of her thighs.
‘You are so stunningly beautiful, Phoebe,’ he groaned and, lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the palm before letting it go.
The poignancy of the caress made Phoebe catch her breath, and she reached for him again, clasping his shoulders, digging her fingers into the firm flesh, urging him closer. But he would not be hurried.
‘Exquisite,’ he murmured. ‘I love your hair so long.’
When she had lost her hairband Phoebe had no idea, but as his long fingers threaded through the long silken locks, erotically sweeping her hair over and around to frame her breasts, she didn’t care.
Then, as Jed continued his erotic exploration, his strong hands cupping her breasts and sliding lovingly down to shape her waist, her hips, her thighs, her legs, she was swept away in a flood of sensuality so powerful she could barely breathe.
He dipped his head to lightly kiss her rigid nipples and the scar on her belly as his hands trailed back up over her inner thighs, expert fingers seeking the folds of tender flesh that guarded the centre of her femininity.
The ache, the fire deep within, burst into a flame of desire so potent she shook with the force of her need, involuntarily parting her legs as his long fingers glided between the velvet lips, teasing and tormenting the warm, wet, sensitive core until she became a slave all over again to the agonising pleasure his touch aroused, her slender body taut as a bowstring, trembling on the brink.
‘So hot, so sweet and so ready,’ he rasped, and withdrew the torturous caress of his fingers. His mouth trailed kisses up over her breasts, her helplessly arched throat, and finally covered her swollen lips, his tongue mimicking the act of possession before swooping lower to capture an aching nipple again to tease and suckle.
She raked her hands down his broad back in mindless need. She wanted him there between her legs, filling her…completing her…
A whimpering cry escaped as his strong hands lifted her and he eased his taut body totally over her and into the cradle of her hips. She felt the rock hard strength of him against her and squirmed as the smooth dome of his erection slid between her trembling thighs, teasing her with short, delicate strokes, rubbing against the tiny nub hidden there until she was desperate. But still he would not be hurried.
‘Please,’ she begged, and only then did he thrust slowly into her hot, pulsing silken centre.
She clung fervently to him, locking her long legs around his back as he lifted her higher and plunged deeper and deeper with each powerful thrust, filling her, stretching her, until the awesome power of his possession flung her into a whirlpool of spiralling passion and her whole body convulsed in a mindless paroxysmal release.
Jed’s skin was drawn taut over his high cheekbones as he battled for control. He felt her lush body convulse around him, and with one last thrust his supreme effort of control was shattered as the inner muscles of her sleek, tight body drained the very essence from him in a prolonged, earth-shattering mutual climax.
Phoebe felt his full weight relax on her, his dark head buried in the curve of her neck, and with the tremors in her body finally subsiding she didn’t care. Her eyes drifted closed. Languorous in the aftermath of making love, she stroked her hands lazily up his broad back, relishing the feel of his sweat-slicked skin, the heavy rasp of his breathing. It was the first time all over again—slow and tender and Jed was hers…
Her eyes flew open as the thought registered. He was not hers—never had been. Her mind provided instant replays of their lovemaking, and she had to bite her lips to stop herself groaning. She had begged him to make love to her. But they had not made love—they’d had sex, nothing more. Turning her head, she settled her eyes on the fireplace and the unlit fire in the grate. She dropped her hands to her sides, suddenly chilled to the bone.
Her heart felt as dead as the unlit fire—how had it happened? She hated Jed and yet she had fallen under the spell of his sensual expertise is exactly the same way as she had years ago. She had loved him then, but now she had no excuse, and as she lay beneath him shame at her own weak-willed surrender consumed her.
The only sound in the stillness of the room was his heavy breathing.
Finally Jed eased up off her, his head propped on one elbow, a slumberous, satisfied smile gleaming his dark eyes and quirking the corners of his sensuous mouth.
‘Now, that is what I call communicating,’ he quipped, and reached a hand to flick a few tendrils of hair from her face. ‘Much better than wasting time in fruitless argument that leads nowhere, don’t you think, Phoebe?’
She avoided his teasing gaze. ‘No, I don’t think,’ she murmured. That was her problem when Jed was around, she realised. He only had to look at her and she was aware of him in the most basic way. Touch her, kiss her, and she fell like a ripe plum into his lap.
Spying her jeans and shirt on the floor, she shoved at his chest, Caught off balance, he fell to the floor, but ignoring his startled yell she leapt off the sofa. Her self-respect in shreds, she gathered up her clothes and scooted across to safety behind the armchair, casting him a wary glance as she frantically pulled them on. He was naked, spread-eagled on the wood floor, and the look of astonishment on his face was priceless, but she didn’t care—and she didn’t care about her underwear either. She simply needed to be covered.
‘Well, that is a first—being knocked to the ground.’ Jed grinned. ‘And not quite the response I expected,’ he continued, slowly rising to his feet. ‘I know you enjoyed every second of what we just shared, Phoebe—as much as I did. So surely now we can discuss the future sensibly?’
‘You and I have no future. This was a mistake,’ she said, and looked at him again—which was another mistake. His black hair was curling haphazardly over his brow, and the expression on his handsome face was one of amused tolerance. As for his body…Helplessly, she swept her gaze swept over him, standing tall, his great body gleaming golden in the lamplight. She had almost forgotten how good he looked stark naked—the wide shoulders and broad chest, the narrow hips, strong thighs, long legs. He took her breath away, and quickly she glanced away. ‘And put some clothes on. My Aunt Jemma will be back soon,’ she lied.
‘You never used to be such a prude, Phoebe.’ He chuckled, and strolled across to where she stood. ‘Nor such a liar.’
‘I do not lie,’ she lied. Her head tilted back, she looked defiantly up at his darkly handsome face. She did not dare look anywhere else…
He lifted a finger and tapped her nose. ‘Growing like Pinocchio’s,’ he pronounced. ‘Because I happen to know your aunt is in Australia for two months.’ He grinned again.
His good humour and confidence riled Phoebe. ‘Let me guess—the hospital receptionist told you? That is the trouble with living in rural community. Everyone knows your business,’ she said bitterly. ‘After the story you fed her I will be fielding questions about you for months after you are gone.’
‘I am not going anywhere without Ben. I have booked into the local pub for as long as it takes to persuade you. I want to take him to Greece to meet my father and the rest of the family.’
