'No.' Pregnant or no, she was not being labelled the weak little woman, Victoria thought truculently. If nothing else, the last few months since her marriage had shown her she could stand on her own two feet more than adequately. The fact that she wanted nothing more in all the world than to be able to lean on someone—no, not someone, she corrected herself honestly; she wanted the impossible, she wanted Zac—and ask him to share the anxiety and moments of sheer panic that went hand in hand with the unnerving thought of caring for a new life was between her and her Maker. Zac didn't know she was scared witless at times by how she was going to cope by herself, and she would rather die than admit it to him. Especially after his threats about custody.
Black eyes glinted a warning. 'I'm not asking—I'm telling you,' Zac said grimly. 'Sit.'
'There is no need for me to sit,' Victoria protested weakly, but her shaking legs were telling a different story and after one more glance at Zac's dark face she sat—the possibility of collapsing in a little heap in front of him proving a worse option than Zac thinking he had won.
But he hadn't won, and what was more he had no right to co
me in here throwing his weight about, she thought militantly as she added, 'I want you to go now. I just want to be left alone; that's not too much to ask.'
'When I'm good and ready,' he answered sharply, watching her from the middle of the room—astride and arrogant—with his hands on his lean hips. 'We've things to settle here.'
'You can't bully me, Zac.' She raised her chin defiantly.
'Bully you?' he growled incredulously. 'Bully you?'
He was as mortally offended as if she had accused him of some obscene practice, Victoria thought with a touch of satisfaction that she had pierced that thick skin just a bit. 'Yes, bully me,' she repeated firmly. 'What else do you call it when you barge into my home like this?'
'I have never 'barged' in my life, Victoria,' Zac said with considerable dignity, glowering at her from his stance across the room, 'and far from bullying you I came here this morning to discuss our child. Our child,' he added with heavy meaning.
'We've said everything that can be said,' she countered sharply.
'Oh, no, Victoria.' It was dark and soft, and she shivered at the tone. 'We haven't even begun. Trust me on that if nothing else. No one takes what is mine, not even you.'
Her mouth had gone dry, and try as she might she couldn't stop the menacing threat in his face and voice from freezing her vocal cords as he stared at her one last time before turning abruptly and walking out of the flat. She heard the front door bang behind him with something akin to disbelief, and then, as though the noise had released her from her frozen state, she jumped up and ran to the door, sliding the bolt across with shaking fingers before sliding down the smooth wood and onto the thick, expensive Axminster carpet as all strength left her.
Victoria wasn't aware how long she sat there in the hall, dry-eyed and shaking, before she made herself rise and walk into the kitchen where she made a pot of very hot and very strong coffee.
She drank one mugful straight down so fast it almost scalded the roof of her mouth, but it provided the necessary adrenalin to make her voice firm and calm when she telephoned Mrs Bretton and told her she would be an hour or so late that morning. After kicking her sandals off, she poured herself another coffee, and was sitting on one of the tall upholstered stools in the kitchen with her eyes shut and her hands cupped round the white, gold-rimmed mug as she inhaled the fragrant aroma, when the doorbell rang.
Who on earth…? Victoria waited a moment, but then, when the bell rang again, slid off the stool and padded warily into the hall. The last thing she wanted to do at this very minute was to have to talk to anyone, but it was going to be one of those mornings, she could tell. It was probably the gas man or someone from the electricity board come to read the meter, she thought as she opened the door—whilst keeping the safety chain on this time— with a tentative, 'Yes?'
It wasn't the gas or electricity man—in fact all she could see initially through the crack was the most enormous bouquet of claret-streaked lilies and deep red roses, almost a perfect replica of her wedding bouquet. Her heart stopped and then raced on madly.
'Tory?' Zac's voice was warm and soft, and as different from earlier as it was possible to be. 'I never said I was thrilled about the baby in spite…in spite of everything.'
It was the little moment of hesitation that did it Zac Harding never hesitated—hesitation wasn't in his vocabulary—and for the first time Victoria realised he was as bemused about the baby as she was. She opened the door.
'Hello again.' He was standing there with a look on his face that matched his voice, and although she knew it was stupid, and that she mustn't falter in her resolve to keep him very firmly at arm's length, Victoria melted. She just couldn't help it.
'Hello.' She managed a nervous smile as her eyes went to the flowers. 'Are these for me?' she asked shakily.
'Coals to Newcastle in view of your present job, but yes, they're for you,' Zac said softly. 'And I forgot to say how beautiful you look too—radiant in fact Motherhood suits you.'
'Beautiful?' Her head shot up in surprise and panic. He didn't think he was going to wheedle his way back into her life with cajoling charm and flattery, did he? She might be mad, but she wasn't that mad; not with a certain flame-haired, voluptuous Italian still very definitely on the scene.
'Yes, beautiful,' Zac affirmed, his voice cool now. He had noticed the alarm bell and now changed the subject with smooth control. 'And talking of motherhood, and fatherhood,' he added wryly, 'you do realise that there are decisions to be made and I have a right to be involved in them? We have to reach some sort of compromise.'
He was too calm and reasonable all of a sudden, Victoria thought suspiciously. Compromise was another word that was foreign to this man. But… She stared at him, her mind racing—she couldn't take too many of the sort of rows they had had that morning. She wasn't like him; she wasn't tough and hard and ruthless, with a win-at-all-costs mentality and a beat-the-other-guy-into-the-ground philosophy, added to which—her heart stopped and then speeded on like an express train—she had one major handicap where her relationship with Zac was concerned. She loved him. Even after his betrayal, she loved him. More fool her.
She would never be able to live with him again—even if Gina was out of the equation the hurt and distrust had gone too deep—but if only for her own peace of mind a compromise would be best, and certainly their child would benefit if its parents were on speaking terms. She decided to meet him halfway, reaching for the flowers and inclining her head as she said, 'Come in,' her voice as neutral as she could make it 'I can spare a few minutes.'
'Thank you.' The dry note in his voice acknowledged her lack of enthusiasm but Victoria was too tied up with her own turbulent thoughts to notice.
'Do you want a cup of coffee?' she asked him carefully once he was in the flat, his big dark presence making her tiny home even tinier. 'I've just made a pot.'
'A coffee would be very nice, thank you,' Zac said with suspect meekness as he wandered through to the sitting room.
'Sit…sit down.' She stood in the doorway and waved a hand at one of the chairs before fleeing into the kitchen, the flowers clutched to her chest, and once in the small, compact space she leant against a smart, white oak cupboard as she prayed for control.