CHAPTER EIGHT
The next few days were bitter-sweet, but perhaps the emphasis was more, on bitter, Victoria thought to herself on the morning of the fifth day, when the knife-like pains in her back had settled into nothing more than twinges and she could actually pad along to the en suite with only minor discomfort.
On her first day of enforced idleness Zac had had a television set installed in the bedroom—a monster of a thing that made Victoria feel she was at the cinema every time she watched it—and had bought armfuls of novels and magazines for her to read, along with the biggest basket of fruit Victoria had ever seen and a box of chocolates to match.
He had been the perfect nurse—cooking her light, appetising meals, and keeping her supplied with drinks in between, running her hot baths, massaging her aches and pains, and even washing her hair on the afternoon of the fourth day and drying it for her with her hairdryer as she sat tensely on the side of the bed.
It had been that last exercise, when added to the massages, that had convinced Victoria that come hell or high water she had to be up and about before much longer. The feel of his large firm hands stroking their way through her hair as he had sat beside her on the bed, his hard thigh against hers and the scent of him all about her, had been a form of exquisite torture. And apart from that first kiss on the day she had arrived he had given no sign—by word or action—that he was the slightest bit interested in her in a physical or romantic sense.
She knew he was working from home now—his massive study on the ground floor of the house was kitted up with all the latest electronic wizardry—and she had heard several callers come and go at various times over the last few days, but beyond the odd telephone call when he was talking to her in her room his work didn't intrude into her sphere at all. And it was unfair—she knew it was unfair; she'd told herself so over and over again along with berating herself for her gross ingratitude—but she was feeling more and more like a bird in a gilded cage.
And so, after a tasty breakfast of toast with grapefruit marmalade followed by eggs, bacon and mushrooms, Victoria washed and dressed with extreme care, moving slowly so as not to wrench the still tender muscles, and ventured downstairs before Zac's daily—a robust personage called Mrs Watts—arrived.
She had brushed her hair until it hung in gleaming feathered wisps of white-gold to her shoulders, made up her face and even applied a discreet dab of her favourite de Givenchy perfume behind her ears, but still, when she reached the hall and stood gazing around for a moment, she felt painfull
y gauche and nervous.
'What the hell do you think you're doing now?'
Zac's voice was irate, but the sharply defensive reply she intended to make died on her lips as she swung round and saw him, clad in a short, midnight-blue towelling robe and clearly little else, standing in the doorway of his study.
He had obviously just had a shower before coming downstairs—she remembered she had heard the telephone ring earlier when she had been dressing, and now realised it must have been a business call necessitating a trip to the study—and his thick, damp hair was curling over his forehead, giving him a faintly boyish air. But there was nothing boyish about the hard male body. Victoria found she couldn't tear her eyes away from his hairy chest, just visible where the robe gaped open, his muscled forearms and legs and powerful, broad shoulders. He was overwhelmingly, thrustingly masculine, and his virility was all the more threatening because of the self-assurance that was completely natural and quite formidable. He was a man who was completely at ease with his body.
'I can't stay upstairs for a moment longer; it's driving me mad.' She smiled brightly as she spoke, hoping she hadn't ogled him as blatantly as she feared. 'And your doctor friend did only say a few days in bed,' she reminded him firmly.
He nodded slowly. 'How do you feel?' He moved into the hall on bare feet and as he reached her side she caught a faint whiff of his musky aftershave and her stomach trembled.
'Fine, fine, absolutely fine.' Oh, stop babbling, Victoria, she told herself silently. Get a grip, girl. And then, more for something to say than anything else, she added, 'You've got your study round, then? No doubt it's the hub of the house?' She glanced behind him towards the open door.
'I always feel the bedroom is the hub of a house myself,' Zac murmured conversationally, 'but come and have a look if you like. It's worked out well for my purposes.'
He didn't wait for her agreement, putting a hand under her elbow and gently steering her into the large room she remembered from her pre-wedding days, but which the then owners had designated as a separate sitting room for their teenage children.
The study wasn't at all what Victoria expected. Instead of the somewhat clinical office atmosphere she had pictured when Zac had told her about all the equipment he'd had installed, it was almost cosy. A deep red, thickly piled carpet covered the floor, the same colour reflected in the long velvet drapes at the window, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered one wall, complete with books. A second wall was taken up with Zac's computer and other equipment, with his desk in one corner, but it was to the roaring log fire in the deep-set, carved wooden fireplace that Victoria's gaze was drawn, and the massive sheepskin rug in front of it set between two large comfy easy chairs.
'Oh, I don't remember this room having a fireplace.' She loved real fires, she always had, although Coral had never allowed them, preferring central heating and smart gas fires for efficiency and cleanliness. 'It makes such a difference.'
'It was here but there was a big screen in front of it along with an electric fire,' Zac said quietly as Victoria moved across the room and held out her hands to the blaze. 'I suppose the Watsons didn't trust their kids not to set the house on fire.'
'No…' She nodded but didn't turn round. 'Well, I'm glad you're using it. I love real fires; I always have.'
'Tory?' As she turned to face him he took her in his arms, taking her completely by surprise, his body hard and sure against hers and his mouth hungry as he kissed her and kissed her until she kissed him back just as fiercely, relishing the taste of him.
Somehow her hands had found their way into his robe, her fingers caressing the thick tangled hair on his chest before moving up to the broad muscled shoulders that were bare and smooth under her touch. His skin was cool, cool and fresh.
'Oh, Tory, Tory, you don't know how much I've wanted this,' he murmured huskily, his hands cupping the fullness of her breasts before he took her mouth again in a kiss that was like a kind of consummation in itself. 'These last few days have driven me mad…'
She was wearing a prim, high-necked and long-sleeved dress that buttoned down the front, and it wasn't until she felt his warm fingers on her bare skin that she realised every button was undone, and that he was peeling back her bra to reveal first one heavy, swollen breast and then the other. But as his head bent to take possession of what his hands caressed she couldn't resist him, a desire so elemental as to be unstoppable drugging her senses as his lips caused her to quiver and arch in ecstasy.
Her legs were trembling so much it was a relief when he lowered her carefully onto the rug, but the brief break in lovemaking was enough for her to realise she was almost naked, and suddenly a flood of painful self-consciousness caused her to fumble with her clothing as she tried to hide her changed shape.
'Don't, don't, I'm not going to hurt you, but let me look at you at least,' Zac murmured throatily. 'You're so beautiful, so incredibly, fantastically beautiful like this.'
'Beautiful?' She shook her head, but her hands stilled. 'Zac, I'm enormous…fat,' she protested with burning embarrassment.
'No, you're beautiful,' he said again, his eyes worshipping her. 'Your skin's got a kind of translucence I've never seen before, and I can't tell you how it makes me feel to see your belly all rounded and smooth and knowing that it's my child you're carrying. When I felt it move… It's a miracle, Tory.'
This time it was Victoria who pulled his head down to hers, kissing him with a frantic kind of innocence that touched him to the core as his words unlocked a tumult of fierce emotion.