Pregnancy Of Convenience

His body’s response was unmistakable. He still wanted her. No matter what she’d done.

Gritting his teeth, Cal thought about the ice ridges of Brammah, the ice cliffs of Shivling, the glaciers of Everest. All to no avail. Cursing himself inwardly, he then tried to imagine she was a fellow climber with hypothermia and that he was simply doing the medically correct thing.

Equally useless. Her skin was sweetly scented, her hair in its thick braid gleamed in the firelight as though the flames themselves were caught there, and each shiver that rippled through her slender frame he felt as though it were his own body. He’d been too long without a woman, that was his problem. After all, how long had it been?

If he had to struggle to remember, it had been altogether too long. Time he rectified that. Soon. And when better than now, with Lenny in school in faraway Switzerland?

There was that blonde in Manhattan, he’d met her at a charity ball; she’d insisted he take her phone number, he must have it somewhere. She’d certainly given every signal that she was willing to climb into his bed, no questions asked.

He couldn’t even remember her name. Shows what kind of an impression she’d made.

There was also Alesha in Paris, Jasmine in Boston, Rosemary in London and Helga in Zurich. All of whom he’d dated; none of whom he’d slept with.

Joanna Strassen stirred in his arms. Hastily Cal eased his hips away from hers, wondering if her shivering had lessened slightly. The sooner he got out of this particular bed, the better.

The woman in Manhattan had had a diamond pin stuck through her left nostril. That he did remember. No wonder he hadn’t phoned her.

A shudder suddenly ripped through Joanna’s body. Her eyes flew open, wide with terror, and with a strength that shocked Cal she pushed hard against his chest. “No!” she cried. “No, I won’t—” Then, with another of those racking shudders, she stared full at him. He saw her swallow, watched with a flash of admiration as she fought to subdue the terror that only a moment ago had overwhelmed her.

The terror that Gustave had come back from the grave to haunt her? His admiration vanished. But before he could speak, she muttered, “You’re not Gustave…oh God, I thought you were Gustave.” Her voice rose in panic. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“No,” Cal said evenly, “I’m not Gustave. Gustave’s dead, remember?”

Again terror flooded her eyes, eyes that were the sapphire blue of her sweater. As she pushed away from him, jerking her head back, she gave a sudden sharp cry of pain. Bringing one hand to her forehead, she faltered, “Please…where am I? I—I don’t understand…”

No wonder Gustave Strassen had returned again and again to his faithless wife. If he, Cal, had thought her beautiful when she was unconscious, how much more so was she with emotions crossing her face, with her eyes huge and achingly vulnerable in the firelight? He said with a deliberate brutality that at some level he was ashamed of, “You had an accident. You’re at Dieter and Maria Strassens’ house.”

Her body went rigid with shock. Then she brought both hands to her face, briefly closing her eyes. “No,” she whispered, “no…tell me that isn’t true.”

“It’s true. Where else was I to bring you? They, I might add, were no happier taking you in than you are to find yourself here.”

“They hate me,” she whispered, and for a moment the blue of her irises shimmered with unshed tears. “I don’t want to be here! Ever again.”

Either she was an accomplished actress, shedding a few tears to brilliant effect; or else everything he’d been told about her actions and character was inaccurate. Gustave, Franz, Deiter and Maria; were all of them wrong? It didn’t seem very likely. Cal said coolly, “Little wonder they hate you.”

She edged even further from him in the bed, her wince of pain instantly disguised. “Who are you?”

“Fate?” he said, raising one brow.

“Stop playing with me,” she pleaded, and again tears glimmered on her lashes. “Please…I don’t understand what’s going on, you’ve got to tell me.”

“I’m the guy who happened along the road after you’d run smack-dab into a telephone pole. You should be thanking me. With the car not running, you’d have frozen to death in short order.”

“The car…” She frowned. “I remember now, I got into the car and left here. It was snowing and windy, but the roads are so straight, I was sure I’d be all right.”

“It wasn’t exactly the most intelligent course of action,” Cal said bluntly.

“I couldn’t bear to stay! And they wanted me gone, they almost pushed me out the door. But once I was out on the road, I couldn’t see where I was going and then suddenly that pole was right in front of me…the last thing I remember was turning off the ignition because I was afraid of fire.”

“One more dumb move to add to the rest.”

“So they told you about me,” she said quietly. “And you believe them.”

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?” Cal demanded; and discovered to his inner consternation that he did indeed want to be supplied with those reasons.

“Oh God…” she whispered.

She looked utterly forlorn. In one swift movement Cal rolled out of bed. “I’ll go and get you some soup now that you’re awake. Then I’ll run a hot bath for you.”

She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced her back to the pillow. “Just go away,” she quavered. “Go away and leave me alone.”

If only that were possible. “You don’t like being confronted with the consequences of your actions, do you?” Cal said. “I suppose I should be congratulating you on having the rudiments of a conscience.”

“Stop! Just stop—I can’t take any more.”

She did indeed look at the end of her tether. Cal bit his lip, feeling uncomfortably like the school bully that had made his life a misery when he was seven and small for his age. Now that he was six-foot-two and entirely capable of looking after himself, he made it a practice never to throw his weight around. Especially with a woman. On the other hand, he was damned if he was going to apologize. When all was said and done, nothing could bring Gustave back to life. And wasn’t that the bottom line?

He said coldly, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. The bathroom’s through that door and if I were you, I’d stay in this part of the house. You’re not welcome elsewhere.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she retorted with a flash of spirit.

“Yet you’re the one who came here. Uninvited, I’m sure.”

“If you think I’m going to justify myself to you, you’re mistaken,” she said bitterly, turning her face away from him.

The flickering gold light illuminated the exquisite curve of her cheekbone. Dragging his gaze away, Cal strode out of the room. In the hallway he stood still for a minute, trying to subdue the turmoil of emotion in his chest. What was the matter with him? Yelling at a woman with a concussion? Thoroughly disliking her and wanting to kiss her senseless all in the same breath?

Disliking her was fine. She was, after all, a liar and a cheat, according to people who’d known her intimately. But kiss her? Was he out of his mind?

Lots of women had deep blue eyes and long black hair. Grow up, Cal. Or, as Lenny would say, get a grip.

After checking with Dieter he made a couple of phone calls, to Stephen with his change of plans, and to the airport, where he discovered all flights were canceled. Maria had set a place for him at the plain oak table in the dining room. Mechanically he ate a bowl of delicious wild mushroom soup and some homemade rolls, along with a salad of fresh greens, making conversation with her and her husband as best he could.

At the end of the meal Cal said, “Gustave’s things are in the back of my vehicle—would you like me to bring them in now, or tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow would be better,” Dieter said heavily. “Today, already we have been through enough.”

Maria said frostily, “I have put some soup on a tray. You will take it to her.”

“Of course,” Cal said. “That was delicious, Maria, thank you.”

“We start our day early,” Dieter added. “Living as we do so isolated, we keep to a strict routine. Breakfast at eight?”

“Thanks, that would be fine,” Cal said, picking up the tray Maria had deposited on the table. “I’ll see you then.”

He walked back along the hallway, again glancing into the parlor. The only books were thick, leather-bound tomes, the photos on the wall were of grim-faced ancestors, and there wasn’t an ornament in sight. Had the house always been this joyless? This austere? Had Gustave grown up in these stark surroundings, or were they a product of Dieter and Maria’s middle age?

Either way, Gustave Strassen was beginning to have his entire sympathy.