‘My reputation can take it,’ Zavier said darkly. ‘It would take more than a showgirl with a gambling problem to ruin it. Anyway, marry me and the casino’s out of bounds; it’s all been taken care of in the contract.’
‘Why didn’t you ask Amy? It was what she wanted, after all.’
‘Because Amy wanted to pretend that love came into it,’ Zavier answered irritably. ‘Amy wanted the works. You might think this is a big figure, but my real wife—the mother of my children—would stand to gain a lot more. With you, Tabitha, it would be entirely a business agreement. You’ll walk away independently wealthy and my father will die knowing one of his sons is married and with a tangible hope that grandchildren are on the horizon.’
‘Am I supposed to produce a baby?’ Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, loaded with scorn. Not for a moment did she expect him to take her question seriously. But again she had misjudged him. Not only did he have an answer; he had it typed up and leatherbound.
‘Absolutely not. There will be no children. You might be happy to gamble your life away, but we’re not gambling with the life of a child. I expect you to take adequate precautions, and before you accuse me of being chauvinist, we both know there’s an undeniable attraction between us—our previous lovemaking showed no restraint, and certainly birth control wasn’t on either of our agendas. I need to know if there have been any consequences from that night before we go any further.’
‘Consequences?’
‘Are you already pregnant? If you are then that puts an entirely different light on the subject.’
‘The deal would be off?’ she sneered.
‘Let’s say it would make things more complicated. Although I wouldn’t deliberately put a child into this position, if it’s already happened then naturally I’m prepared to stand by my responsibilities and address the issues. So are you?’
Tabitha flushed. Discussing her monthly cycle with Zavier was the last thing she had expected to do—or almost the last, she conceded. Discussing marriage in such businesslike tones hadn’t even figured as a distant possibility. But hearing those words—however crudely said, however impossible the dream—hearing Zavier discuss marriage and babies in the same sentence had her senses reeling, her mind wandering, dancing in the delicious faraway realms of impossible fantasies.#p#分页标题#e#
Zavier’s seed planted inside her. Dark-haired children the image of their father coming from inside her. Zavier’s body lying beside her at night, awakening her with its arousal in the morning, the bliss of yielding again and again to his touch.
‘Tabitha.’ He snapped her back to reality; the surreal reality he had forced upon her. ‘Are you pregnant?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Do you want me to pop out to the chemist and buy a kit?’
‘That might be the most sensible thing to do, but I’m going to take your word for it.’
Again he deflected her sarcasm; again he floored her.
‘I’m sure you will agree that as we will be sharing a bed for the next six months there are bound to be repeats.’
‘You’re sure, are you?’ Her comment was sneering, as if the answer was negotiable, but when Zavier answered she knew her attempts were futile. The fact they would make love again was as inevitable as breathing.
‘Positive.’ His eyes met hers. He looked so removed from the man who had held her, loved her, but the essence of him still moved her, still made her feel more sexually alive, aware, more feminine than she had ever felt in her life. He wasn’t being arrogant, just truthful. Sharing a bed with Zavier and not touching him, holding him, sleeping beside him and not moving her body against him would be equivalent to being told not to breathe for the next six months. Even if she were superhuman, could somehow restrain herself while awake, what would happen as she slept? When the self-imposed barriers slipped and only her subconscious remained, her body would respond to him like a petal reaching to the sun. Her resolve would be dashed the second she closed her eyes.
‘I’m asking for six months, Tabitha. Here.’
Snapping her mind back, she realised he was handing her a pen.
‘You expect me to sign, just like that?’
‘Of course not,’ he answered irritably. ‘I want to go through the whole document with you. No doubt you’re going to demand a few changes, but I warn you I’m no push-over.’
The warning was absolutely unnecessary, but with a jolt Tabitha realised the conversation had shifted. From her initial abhorrent reaction, her absolute rejection of this most preposterous idea, slowly, unwittingly the tempo had changed. It was more a matter of when than if.