'You came here because you thought I'd be upset after seeing my mother, didn't you?' she said slowly as realisation dawned. She didn't question how he'd known she was lunching with Coral: Zac had more contacts than MI5 and used them just as ruthlessly.
'That was a consideration,' he agreed lightly. 'Now, we have the rest of the afternoon and the evening to enjoy. What would you like to do? I'm utterly and completely yours, dear Tory.'
The lump in her throat and tightness in her chest were preventing Victoria from speaking, and she couldn't have explained how she felt to anyone. He had thought about her. He had known how the meeting—or rather confrontation—with her mother would go, and he had been concerned about how it would affect her. She stared up at him, her eyes brimming as she choked back the tears and swallowed desperately, and when Zac said, 'Hey, come on, Tory, you know what the dragon-lady is lie,' she knew he had misunderstood her reaction and thought she was upset about her mother.
Which was probably just as well in the circumstances, she told herself as he pulled her into his strong male frame for one comforting moment before they began to walk again, still without Victoria having spoken. This was Zac she was dealing with—Zac—and she couldn't afford to forget that for a moment. He was like a chameleon at the best of tunes, which was one of his greatest strengths in business, but that formidably intelligent mind and razor-sharp discernment that seized on any weakness made him a terrifying adversary. And until this thing was finally settled and the lawyers had drawn up their papers that was what he was—an adversary. She forgot it at her peril.
'My boat is moored at Henley,' Zac said softly after a few moments had ticked by. 'Do you fancy an afternoon on the river?'
'Zac…' Victoria swung round to face him again, her face troubled. 'I don't think this is a good idea.' And that was putting it mildly, she thought helplessly. He looked good—no, more than good; they had only walked a few yards along the busy London pavement, but already Victoria had noticed several young women—and some not so young—take a second look, although Zac, she had to admit, seemed quite oblivious to their wide-eyed interest and in one or two cases openly lascivious stares. It had always amazed her in the past how blatant some women could be.
But she couldn't blame them; she really couldn't, Victoria thought weakly, even as the little green-eyed monster jumped on her shoulder. Zac was dressed casually as befitted a hot summer afternoon, but his charcoal jeans and open-necked dark blue shirt showed the broodingly foreign side of his dark good looks off to perfection, his broad shoulders, lean hips and long, long legs model material. He was walking dynamite, that was the truth of it.
And she was fat. Victoria thought back to how her body had looked earlier that morning as she had got ready to meet her mother, and inwardly cringed. No wonder he had been able to walk away from her so easily earlier in the week. It wasn't surprising.
'Why isn't it a good idea?' Zac frowned darkly. 'You like the water, don't you? And the world and his wife are on the London streets this afternoon. I don't like crowds.'
But crowds were safe.
'You're not meeting anyone, are you?' His voice had changed and the frown had become more ferocious. 'Later on?'
Victoria thought about lying for one split second, but only one. The trouble was she wanted to go with him, ached to go with him, and on a sheer practicality scale afternoons like this would be rare—if at all—in the future. She couldn't afford cosy twosomes.
And she was his wife—legally and before God. Whatever Gina meant to him, he hadn't given the dark-eyed Italian his name… But the thought of Gina had popped the warm bubble his thoughtfulness over her mother had produced, and now she found herself glaring at him before she could control her expression.
Oh, she was a mess, she thought suddenly as she lowered her eyes. Mixed up, confused, miserable and alone, and here she was going to be a mother in another four months. And Zac was going to be a fath
er. They'd be the parents of one little scrap of humanity. The thought melted her.
'Are you?' Zac pressured grimly. 'Meeting someone?'
'No.' And she was wearing her other expensive boutique frock, Victoria told herself reassuringly, the one Zac hadn't seen before. If she was careful how she walked and sat it hid her bump extremely well. Clothed, she didn't look too bad still.
'That's settled, then,' Zac said smoothly, temper restored.
Yes, she supposed it was, Victoria thought resignedly as she glanced at her husband's satisfied face. Zac Harding had spoken and as usual it was fait accompli. Oh, if only she didn't love him quite so much. Or if only he loved her more…
The Georgian town of Henley, with its fifteenth-century pubs and pretty shops, was busy and colourful when Zac's Jaguar glided to a halt close to where his boat was moored.
Victoria had been on the sports-type cruiser—which was the last word in luxury—several times the preceding summer and had loved every minute of it, but now her face was apprehensive as she allowed Zac to help her on board. The craft was spacious and roomy but a boat was a boat, and suddenly the dark, magnetic drawing power of Zac's virile masculinity was magnified a hundred times in the confined space, making it a hundred times more dangerous.
'Drink?' Victoria sat down in the saloon as Zac opened the fridge to reveal such mouth-watering delicacies as smoke salmon and caviare, and he smiled wickedly in answer to her raised eyebrows.
'Okay, so I thought you'd like a few hours on the river,' he said smoothly, dismissing the evidence of his scheming with a wave of his hand. 'Nothing wrong in that, is there? And I always get hungry on the water. You know that, Tory.'
'And thirsty.' Victoria glanced at the bottle of vintage champagne reposing in one corner. 'But I hope you've got soft drinks, Zac. I'm not having any alcohol at the moment until the baby is born, just to be on the safe side.'
'Not even one glass?' he asked persuasively. 'Half of one?'
'Not one.' She softened the refusal with a smile as she added, 'I know it would probably be all right, but I want to do everything I can to make sure the baby is okay.'
He looked at her for a long moment, and then her heart began to pound as he bent forward, stroking the palm of his hand against her cheek, his voice very soft as he said, 'This baby doesn't know how lucky it is.'
Oh, no, no, she couldn't bear this, and more to combat the wild longing and painful desire that had flared in her at his touch her voice was tart as she jerked her head away, saying, 'Hardly. I can think of more auspicious starts to life than having parents who are already divorced.'
'We aren't,' Zac said grimly, the tender expression wiped off his face as though by magic. 'Not by a long chalk.'
'As near as dammit,' she persisted defiantly.