She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
‘It may have escaped your notice,’ he said tightly, ‘but last night we had unprotected sex. What are your chances of getting pregnant?’
Faintness drummed through her. She could feel it fuzzing her brain. She pressed her fingers down on the table, willing herself to be calm.
Dear God, do not do this to me—
The silent, despairing plea came from her depths of fear.
‘When will you know? Know if you are pregnant?’
‘I—’ She forced herself to think—think what date it was. With all the turmoil in her life, keeping track of her menstrual cycle was the last thing on her mind.
‘At the end of the week, I think,’ she said uncertainly.
He got up from the table abruptly.
‘Let me know,’ he said tersely, and walked away.
For one long, timeless moment Clare sat there. Then, with a strange, choking sound in her throat, she blindly pushed herself up.
She started to walk. Her legs were jerking, but she forced herself. Forced herself to go on. The lawn crunched under her bare feet, the stone of the paving around the pool was hot to her soles, and then there was sand, soft, sinking sand, and she couldn’t walk any more. Her feet stumbled on stiff, jerky legs.
She sank to the sand.
Her shoulders began to shake.
Xander heard the scrape of a chair on the terrace and stiffened. Was she coming after him? He half turned his head, tensing.
He didn’t want her coming near him. Didn’t want her speaking to him. Didn’t want her in the same universe as him.
But that wasn’t possible. Because of Joey, because of his son, he couldn’t get rid of her. And there was nothing, nothing he could do about it.
She was a life sentence for him.
He could feel the prison doors closing on him. There was no escape—none.
Emotion churned in him, harsh and pitiless.
She was heading away from him, he saw with grim vision. Walking over the lawn, past the pool, towards the beach. His eyes went to her, and his mouth tightened even more.
Christos—no escape. None!
A life sentence.
He went on watching her walk away from him, with that strange, uneven gait.
Then he saw her falter, sway very slightly, then, with a sudden jerking movement, she folded onto the sand.
He started to move.
Her shoulders were shaking. Through her body huge, agonising shudders were convulsing her. Her throat was so tight she felt it must tear and burst. She wrapped her arms around herself, pulling tighter and tighter. She would fall apart if she did not. The wracking convulsions were shattering her, shaking her to pieces, to tiny fragments.
She took a terrible, agonising draft of breath.
And then the tears came.
She couldn’t stop them. They poured out of her, gushing from her eyes with hot, burning salt, choking in her throat, her lungs. She drew up her legs, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees, trying to hold herself together.
But she couldn’t. The sobs shook her, raw and rasping, impossible to halt. It was the first time in four years she had cried—and now she couldn’t stop.
Her hands pressed around her knees, nails digging into the bare flesh of her thighs. Head buried in her arms, her shoulders convulsed.
She could not bear it. She had reached the end now. There was no more strength in her. Nothing left in her at all.
A shadow fell over her.
‘Clare?’
The voice was strange. The strangest voice she’d ever heard. But she could not hear it clearly. The sobs in her throat drowned out everything; the hot, agonising tears blinded her. Her nails digging into her legs was all she could feel, except for the convulsions of her body
‘Clare?’
It was that voice again. Stranger still. She did not recognise it. It belonged to someone she did not know. Who did not exist.
The sobs went on, consuming her.
‘Clare!’
That voice again, different still, and more words, words she did not understand, sounding urgent. Imperative.
He was beside her, crouching down. His hands were on her shoulders, hunched so tightly, with her arms wrapping around her, holding herself together. His hands went to her head, bent and broken over her knees, forcing it up.
A word broke from him. She did not know what it meant. Could only stare, blindly, through the tears coursing down her cheeks, as the sobs jerked in her throat, her face crumpling, breath gasping.
There was something in his face, his eyes.
It was shock. Raw, naked shock.
‘Oh, my God, Clare—why? Why?’
It was the incomprehension in his voice. That was what did it. Her hands flew up. Lashed out, flailing. Hitting and hitting at him on the solid wall of his chest.
‘You bastard!’
The invective choked from her, crippling her.
Hands closed about her wrists instantly, in a reflex action. She struggled against his grip, hopeless and helpless, and the sobs were still storming through her.
‘What do you mean, “Why?”’ she choked. ‘How can you say that? After everything you’ve done to me, you ask Why—like it’s some kind of mystery?’
His grip on her wrists tightened, and his crouching stance steadied.
‘What I’ve done to you?’ he echoed. Suddenly, frighteningly, the expression in his eyes changed, flashing with dark, killing anger. ‘You kept my son from me! Nothing, nothing justifies that. You’ve had four years to tell me I have a son. But you never did and you were never going to. I was going to live not knowing about Joey—never knowing about him!’
Her face contorted, but not from weeping this time.
‘Did you really think I was going to tell you I was carrying your child? After you’d thrown me out of your life like I was yesterday’s used tissue? Paying me off like a whore!’
His face darkened. ‘God almighty, would you have thought better of me if I’d just ended it flat, without even saying thank you to you?’
She yanked her hands free, jerking back with all her effort.
‘You didn’t have to thank me for the sex. Dear God, I knew I was a fool to go anywhere near you, but I didn’t think—I didn’t think it was going to…going to…going to—’
She choked off. ‘Oh, God, what’s the use? I know what you are—I’ve known for four years. And last night I found out all over again. Didn’t I? Didn’t I? You were feeling randy and there was no one else around—so why not take whatever was on hand? Even if it did risk another unplanned pregnancy. You wanted some instant sex, and you took it. And don’t throw back at me that I didn’t say no. Because I know what a criminal fool I was last night. What an unforgivable idiot! Just like I was four years ago. A complete fool to go and fall in lo—’
She broke off, horrified, dismayed, wanting the ground to swallow her. She stumbled to her feet, staggering away, her eyes still blind with tears, her throat still tearing, lungs heaving. Tears were pouring down her cheeks, into her mouth, her nose was running and her face was hurting.
He caught at her hand, bolting to his feet to seize at her. She threw him off, heading blindly to the sea. She had to escape—she had to! How could she have said that? Just blurted it out like that? How could she?
Behind her, Xander stood stock still.
Completely motionless.
Yet inside him, like a very slow explosion, her words were detonating through him.
What had she just said?
Slowly, like a dead man walking, he followed her.
She was standing, feet in the water, her back to him. Her shoulders were still heaving, and he could still hear ragged, tearing sobs, quieter now.
With a more desperate, despairing sound.
He noticed little things about her.
Her pigtail was ragged, frazzling at the end. The sun glinted on the pale gold of her hair. Her waist was very narrow—he could almost have spanned it with his hand. Her legs were tanned.
So many things—so many things he noticed.
He knew her body—knew it from memory, and from this week he’d spent watching her, letting his desire for her grow day by day to suit his purpose, his dark, malign purpose.
Last night he had possessed her body, known it intimately. As he had four years ago.
But he hadn’t known her.
He hadn’t known her at all.
Slowly, very slowly, he spoke.
‘What did you just say?’
She started. Had she not heard him approach on the soft sand?
‘What did you just say, Clare?’ he said again.
Her shoulders hunched. When she spoke, her voice was shaky, raking.
‘I said I hated you. I said I loathed you. And if I didn’t, I should have. And I’ll say it now instead.’
He shook his head. She couldn’t see the gesture, but he didn’t care. It came automatically to him.
‘But that isn’t true, is it, Clare? That’s not true at all. Not four years ago when you sat at that table in the St John and I told you it was over. You didn’t hate me then. It wasn’t hate, was it, Clare? Not then.’
His hands curved over her shoulders. He turned her around to him. The sunlight blinded her eyes. Or something did. She stood looking at him. Hollowed out, emptied out.
‘I hated you,’ she whispered. ‘You threw me out of your life. I hated you.’
He shook his head. Sunlight glanced on the sable of his hair. She felt faintness draining through her, her legs too weak to stand. He held her steady by her shoulders. His hands were warm and strong, pressing into her through her T-shirt.
‘You didn’t, Clare. You didn’t hate me then. You didn’t hate me at all.’