'Not nervous exactly.' She tried to backtrack, glancing away from him, but a hard male hand turned her gaze to meet his jet-black one and she trembled at the look on his face.
'What, then…exactly?' he asked softly.
'Zac, stop this.' She hadn't forgotten his obvious distaste at her changing shape, and it enabled her voice to sound firm, even curt. 'We're separated, that is the bare bones of the matter, and all this…bickering isn't helping me or the baby.' Oh, how could you, Victoria? How could you fall back on such a manipulative feminine ploy? her conscience screamed accusingly. Only for her to reply in the next breath, Self-preservation, that's how.
'I don't want to argue with you, Tory.' He was close, far, far too close, and the touch and taste and smell of him was all about her, causing her blood to run like liquid fire through her veins and her heart to beat so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear it. 'I want to do something quite different Something that doesn't involve the power of speech at all.'
'Do you?' She stared up into his dark, glittering eyes, drugged by the nearness of him.
'I want to undress you, very slowly,' he said softly, 'until you're naked before me, your breasts swollen and ready for my caresses and your body aching for my touch, my lips—'
'Zac, please. Please don't do this,' Victoria interrupted weakly, fighting the dark, fascinatingly sensual images his words were conjuring up. This was manipulative, Zac at his most dangerous.
'I want to explore your mouth, enjoy it, enjoy you,' he continued relentlessly, as though she hadn't spoken. 'And then my lips will claim every part of you—every part, Tory. Here—' his hand moved gently to her throat,'—and here—' a provocative finger ran lightly over her breasts that were ripe and hard in answer to his desire '—and here.' Now she shuddered helplessly as his hand moved with tantalising sureness from her breasts to her stomach, pausing slightly as his fingers splayed and caressed the swollen mound, before continuing still lower.
'Don't.' She caught his hand at the juncture of her thighs, her breathing ragged and her eyes hot and wild. 'Don't touch me.'
'Why? Because you want it so much?' he asked with cruel discernment, his voice unbelievably tender.
'No. No, I can't.' She pushed at him, the movement as ineffectual as the flutterings of a tiny trapped bird against the bars of the steel cage that enclosed it. 'I can't do this.'
He caught the desperate, agonised appeal in her voice and his hands became still, his voice losing the tender note and becoming almost flat as he said, 'You can, but you won't. But I can wait, Tory. I've got time on my side. You are my wife and you are carrying my child and you cannot fight me for ever. I know it and you know it.'
He brushed past her, reaching for the brimming bucket and emptying two thirds of the water out before he placed it on the floor in a corner, dunking the ends of the bouquet under the remaining liquid.
'This child is a Harding, Victoria.' His voice was devoid of emotion as he straightened and turned back to her. 'And when you joined your body to mine as my wife you became a Harding. You're mine—absolutely—as I am yours.'
'How can you say that?' she hissed disbelievingly, finding her tongue at long last. 'What about Gina?'
'Gina is family and she is also a friend, but nothing more,' Zac said evenly. 'She has been merely a friend for a long time now, before I met you, but of course you do not believe that. However, I have no intention of continuing to bang my head against a brick wall on this subject, Victoria. When you are ready to listen to me we will talk; until then you must believe what you will.' He stated at her, his mouth straight.
The arrogance made her see red. 'Saint Zac, is that it?' Victoria asked cuttingly, her eyes burning. 'You don't fool me, Zac.'
He continued to look into her distraught face for a full thirty seconds more before turning, his voice cold as he walked into the sitting room saying, 'I've never pretended to be a saint; we both know that would be ridiculous. This is getting us nowhere, your mind is still closed, but, putting our feelings aside, the lines of communication must be kept open for our child's sake. Do you agree with that? Or would you prefer an ongoing war with no winners?'
He had collected his jacket from the sitting room and now appeared in the hall again, glancing at Victoria as she watched him from the kitchen threshold 'Victoria?' he prompted sharply, the Italian side of him very prominent 'War or peace?'
She shrugged wearily. 'I don't want to fight, but perhaps—'
'There is no 'perhaps' about it, and, knowing you as I do, I am sure you would not deprive this baby of what is rightfully his or hers. And in the long run that's exactly what you'd be doing.'
'That's emotional blackmail,' Victoria accused painfully.
'No, that is the truth,' Zac said coolly, 'but I have come to understand that you do not always recognise the truth, even when it is staring you in the face. However—' he raised an authoritative hand, cutting off the angry reply spilling onto her lips '—I will not labour the point.'
'Oh, thank you,' Victoria snapped with as much sarcasm as she could muster. How could one lone man make her so angry!
'You are welcome.' And he had the audacity to smile. 'We will put it down to your delicate condition.'
'Talking of which, I'd prefer to discuss this some other time.'
'I spoke of compromise, Victoria.' Now he was deadly serious, and again she bit back the retort she had been about to make as he continued, 'I do not want you to stay here alone, and I also don't like the idea of you continuing to work. It is unnecessary and may endanger the baby. And of course it goes without saying that I would prefer you not to have any contact with William Howard.'
'Is that all?' He was unbelievable. He was, he was
quite, quite unbelievable, she thought dazedly, too amazed to be angry.
'Now, am I right in assuming that you do not intend to comply with my wishes on any of those points?' Zac asked expressionlessly.