The Baby Claim

‘Don’t I know it!’

‘Not that,’ she said impatiently, then smiled. ‘Well, yes, that too, because it was wonderful. But the way you made love to me healed my poor, battered ego.’

‘What way?’ he asked, frowning.

‘As though you were starving and I was food.’ Joss blushed in the semi-darkness as he chuckled and ran his hands down the curve of her hips.

‘That’s it exactly,’ he assured her. ‘For me the entire evening was one long build-up of foreplay. Before I’d kissed this mouth, or caressed these exquisite breasts, all I could think of was this—and this—’

Adam matched caresses to his words with such skill desire swiftly engulfed them again, sending them in another breathtaking, headlong rush towards ecstasy.

CHAPTER THREE

AT SOME time in the night Joss was aware of hands pulling the covers over her, of a warm, hard mouth on hers for an instant, and a whispered goodnight in her ear, then she slept again until daylight brought her back to earth with a bump.

For a moment, as bright sunlight poured across the bed, she wondered if she’d dreamed the prolonged, sensual fantasy of the night.

But one look at the wild disorder of the bed told her it had all been blazingly real. A violent tremor ran through Joss at the thought of it. She breathed in deeply, pushed back the tangled covers and got out, raked tousled hair out of her eyes, restored a couple of pillows to their rightful place, then pulled on a dressing gown and ventured into the hall to make sure Adam had gone. When she found she was alone in the flat, Joss let out a deep, shaky breath. She hugged her arms across her chest, her face on fire at the memory of her utter abandon in the dark. She knew people who indulged in one-night stands without turning a hair. But it just wasn’t her style. Last night had been a first on several counts. Living and sleeping with the man she’d expected to share her life with for ever had been no preparation for the bliss experienced in the arms of a total stranger.

There are names for women like you, Joss told herself darkly, and went off to run a hot bath. She lay in it for a long time, deep in thought, devoutly thankful that no one had actually seen her with Adam. If she were careful enough last night could remain a secret. She was unlikely to bump into her mystery lover again, whoever he was. Not that his identity mattered. Overpoweringly attractive he might be, but after her recent exit from the frying pan she had no intention of tumbling straight into the fire again, with Adam or anyone else. Joss got out of the bath, wincing as certain muscles protested in ways that brought colour to her face to think of them. She dressed hurriedly, and went into the kitchen, then stopped dead as she saw the note propped against the kettle.

Eve, it’s damnably hard to tear myself away, but you might prefer to be alone when you wake. I’m out of the country for a few days. I’ll ring when I get back. Adam.

Heat surged inside Joss. Shaken by the sheer, physical force of it, she fought hard against temptation. Last night, she told herself fiercely, had happened solely because Peter had left her devastated. Adam had restored her faith in herself quite miraculously. Their glorious night together had been a fitting climax to part of her life. But now it was time to get on with the rest of it. Besides, if she saw Adam again there would be no more mystery. Hard facts would be required about names and careers. So if he rang she would no longer be here. There had been a strong, sudden magic about last night. But magic couldn’t be expected to last, or even happen twice. Joss hugged her arms across her chest to steady her thudding heart. Adam was a man of powerful charisma, and in her vulnerable state his passionate lovemaking had provided a quite wonderful salve for her bruised self-esteem. The Eve part of her longed to see him again. But realistic Joss knew that what seemed so irresistibly romantic in the hours of darkness might seem very different if they met again in the harsh light of day.

Early next morning Joss was packed and ready when the removal firm came to take her belongings away. One of the sub-editors on the Post had been searching for a flat in Notting Hill for months. After Peter’s departure Joss had neither wanted nor could afford to live in the flat alone, and so had asked Nick Holt if he and Carrie fancied exchanging their flat in Acton for hers. The Holts had jumped at the chance, and the exchange was carried out at top speed. The new address was less fashionable, but the flat was in good repair, carried a much smaller price tag, and had no memories of Peter—or Adam—to haunt it.

The removal men had finished loading her belongings into the service lift and Joss was about to leave when a youth came hurrying towards her, holding a florist’s box.

‘Miss Eve?’ he asked.

Joss opened her mouth to say no, then flushed and said yes.

‘These are for you, then. They should have arrived earlier—bit of a problem with the greenery.’

Joss thanked him, and gave him a tip. The box held a sheaf of yellow roses on a bed of leaves. Fig leaves, she realised, her heart hammering. ‘From Adam’, said the card, and Joss buried her face in the blooms, suddenly engulfed in the memory of a hard, possessive body taut with desire, of skilled, caressing hands and gratifying, devouring kisses… She shivered, eyes tightly shut for a moment, then took in a deep, steadying breath, blotting out the memory by sheer strength of will. Then she closed the door and locked away a year of her life.

Her new home occupied the upper floor of an Edwardian house in a picturesque terrace of identical houses in varying states of restoration and repair. It was much smaller than the flat in Notting Hill, but it would need less furniture, had a separate front door and private stairs, a forecourt to park the car, and, best of all, left Joss in possession of a sizeable sum of money. Part of this would go to Peter, to cover his half of the deposit on the expensive Notting Hill flat he’d insisted on, due to its superior architecture and fashionable address. But Joss had paid off the mortgage.

Once the removal men had gone Joss telephoned for a pizza, then rang Anna to give her the new phone number.

‘I wish I could be there to help,’ said Anna. ‘Has Peter taken time off to give you a hand?’

‘No,’ said Joss, taking a deep breath. ‘Look, Anna, are you busy? I’ve got something to tell you.’

Joss put the phone down later, feeling drained. Anna had blown her top, said a great many uncomplimentary things about Peter Sadler, congratulated Joss on being rid of such a poisonous rat, then offered to drive up to London that minute to provide a shoulder for her friend to cry on.

Joss had refused affectionately. ‘I’ll soon get used to being single again. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, Anna.’

‘I do worry,’ said her friend stormily. ‘Hugh was right. He never liked Peter. Anyway, did you enjoy the party?’

‘Of course I did. By the way, who was that very tall man I saw with you when people were leaving?’

‘Which one? I hadn’t met half of Hugh’s friends before.’

‘I think this one was more a friend of a friend.’

‘Shall I ask Hugh?’

‘No, don’t bother. Anyway, I must go. My lunch has arrived.’

Once she’d eaten her pizza, Joss locked up and went shopping for furniture. She ordered a comfortable sofa and pair of tables to hold her lamps, chose a restored brass bed, and arranged for delivery. Then she turned her attention to food. Her unexpected guest had demolished all the provisions bought to tide her over the move. Which was hardly surprising. There was a lot of him to keep fuelled. Joss thrust groceries in a basket at random, controlling a shiver at another memory of Adam’s naked body. Making love with him, she told herself trenchantly, had happened purely because he’d materialised in her life at a time when she desperately needed to feel wanted and desirable again. And though Adam had fulfilled the need, with success so spectacular it overshadowed anything experienced with Peter, she had no intention of seeing him again.

When she got back to the flat Joss put the food away in the new fridge, then collected some tools together and began putting up her bookshelves, allowing herself to admit, at last, that her relationship with Peter had been foundering for some time. He had been all too accurate about their love-life, if she were brutally honest. It had been non-existent on a physical plane for a long time, and his failure to win the Athena contract had merely given him the excuse to break their engagement. But not the bottle to do it face to face. His dismay had been almost laughable when she’d turned up before he could sneak away.

At first Joss had been consumed with hurt and anger. Then fiercely grateful for the work which filled her life. She worked long, irregular hours as a freelance journalist, and regularly filled in for staff on holiday, or sick, or away on special assignments. Her free time had rarely coincided with Peter’s, something he’d fiercely resented. And there’d also been the burning question of a family. She had been adamant about waiting until he earned enough money for her to work less, and do more from home. And though he’d said he was agreeable Peter had obviously lied. As she should have realised. Everything Peter wanted he wanted right now.

Her eyes hardened. In the unlikely event that she ever considered a relationship with a man again she would make sure their aims were mutual. Her experience with Peter had taught her a salutary lesson. Any man in her future must fit certain requirements. He would be older, for a start, equally ambitious, and so successful in his own career he wouldn’t resent hers. Joss smiled cynically. If such a paragon existed he was certain to be married anyway, to a stunningly beautiful woman who was a perfect wife and mother and ran her own thriving business while helping with the children’s homework and producing cordon bleu dinners for twelve.

Joscelyn Hunter’s interest in journalism had first begun when she’d edited the school magazine, which had fired her with such enthusiasm she’d found a job working at weekends and as holiday relief on the local morning paper. She’d started out as a messenger, then progressed to researcher, and soon begun bombarding the editor with so many stories and features he’d eventually accepted one, and she’d never looked back. She had been in her element mixing with journalists, so interested in all aspects of the job she’d made contacts which had won her a full-time job on the same paper, after she had a degree in modern languages and a year’s post-graduate course in journalism under her belt.

At first Joss had loved her job, and with undiminished enthusiasm had covered law courts, local government, industry, the arts and a variety of local events. She’d interviewed a wide range of people, from local members of parliament, county councillors, businessmen, victims of tragedy, to schoolchildren and celebrities of all kinds. But after three years or so Joss had begun to feel inhibited by parochial bias. She’d lusted after a job on a national paper, and in her spare time had regularly submitted features to London dailies. When her efforts had begun to be accepted she’d taken the plunge and left for the capital, where her experience, coupled with the right qualifications and a willingness to work long, irregular hours, had won her jobs as a freelance, doing shiftwork on some of the national dailies.

Joss had set off for London with her father’s blessing and a small legacy left by her mother. But soon afterwards the Reverend George Hunter had died, shortly before his retirement, leaving a grief-stricken Joss without a base in the Warwickshire village of her birth, other than her constant welcome from Anna’s family. But her visits to the Herricks had been few and far between since her relationship with Peter, who had never fitted in with them. Now he was gone she could please herself, and would definitely drive down to Glebe House for lunch one day soon, Joss decided, preferably on one of the Sundays likely to drag a bit from now on.

Once she was settled in the new flat Joss steeled herself to forget Adam—and Peter—and soon found she quite enjoyed living alone. Her job absorbed most of her time, as usual, but now she could suit herself about what time she finished, with no reproaches when she got home, late and tired, to someone expecting her to cook supper and iron shirts. There were definite advantages to being single again.

As a change from reporting on press conferences, demonstrations, or whatever event the news editor wanted covered, one day Joss was told to dig out information about ancestral homes hired out by their owners for corporate entertaining, and spent time consulting with the Daily Post library and electronic database to discover which aristocratic personalities and properties were likely to be most newsworthy.

‘We’ve got some mail for you,’ said Carrie Holt, when Joss was poring over her findings with a lunchtime sandwich. ‘And a message on the machine when we got home last night.’ She handed over a bundle of junk mail and a slip of paper. ‘How are you settling in at the flat?’

‘Very well,’ said Joss with satisfaction. ‘How about you and Notting Hill?’

‘I love it. I don’t know how you could bear to leave the place, Joss.’ Carrie bit her lip. ‘Sorry. I’m a tactless cow. I suppose it was painful once Peter left.’

The message Carrie gave her was brief. ‘I’m back. Ring me at this number. Adam.’

Joss wanted to. Badly. But if she did ring him, Adam, like any man with blood in his veins, would expect to take up where he’d left off. Half of her wanted that so much it made her shake in her shoes, but the other half wouldn’t hear of it. Peter’s treatment had left her so vulnerable it would be madness to plunge into a new relationship. Her mood had been abnormally emotional with Adam that magical night. But she was back to normal now. And normal didn’t include making mad, passionate love with strangers.

But when her phone rang late that night Joss felt oddly disappointed when she found it was just Anna, checking up on her.

‘Are you pining, Joss?’

‘No way. Too busy.’

‘Is everything spick and span at the new place?’

‘Hardly! I’ve only just got delivery of the new furniture, so the place is a mess. Who do you think I am, Superwoman?’