The #1 Bestsellers Collection 2011(51)

In the cramped society that was Gibraltar’s marina, it was the best kind of scandal. Sex, infidelity and betrayal, all celebrated with a tinge of pathos for the child involved, the child who knew she was responsible for it all.

The boat lurched over the wash from a long gone passenger ferry, and a stomach that she’d been trying to keep under control lurched with it. ‘Oh, God,’ she cried, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Sweat broke out on her forehead; she felt sick to her core and leaned out over the railing, concentrating so hard on not letting go that only vaguely was she aware of the shouting and of the stilling of the boat. She managed a few deep gulps of air, and it was easier then to swallow back on her churning stomach, the residual wash no more than a rhythmic slap of water against the hull.

The gentle breeze cooled her sweated brow, made her aware of how hot she’d been, how close to losing everything in her stomach.

Damn it! She hated feeling this sickness, whatever the cause. Hated the feeling of vulnerability that went along with it.

She felt Rafe’s hand at her back, stroking her shoulder, and almost shrugged him away until she realized that if she was feeling anything, then she was already over the worst.

‘Here,’ he said, and gratefully she turned and took the goblet, sipping at the cool fluid.

‘I’ll get them to radio the doctor,’ he told her. ‘He can meet us when we get back.’

She pushed the glass away. ‘I don’t need a doctor!’

‘You’re not well. You need a doctor.’

‘What I need is to have my head read,’ she snapped, wondering what perverse law of nature had decided that, of all the men in the world, she should be unlucky enough to fall in love with this man. ‘And I’m quite sure your precious heirs will be fine, which is all you’re really worried about.’

His hand fell away, the silence dragging. ‘What is this?’

‘Just that every time I so much as sneeze, you call in the doctors.’

‘I want you to be well. Is there anything wrong with that?’

‘You don’t give a damn about me and don’t pretend you do! Your concern for me extends no further than as an incubator for your babies. If you could get away with plugging me into a power socket for the duration, like any other incubator, you’d be satisfied.’

‘You’re talking rubbish.’ He turned and made a signal to the skipper, who had been waiting patiently for instructions, and who now revved up the engines and cut a course back into port. ‘What are you trying to turn this into—some kind of contest about what means more to me? You know how important it is for Montvelatte—for me—to have an heir.’

She swung away from him and swept a hand across her face, pushing back the loose tendrils of her hair. ‘There is no contest. I’m merely acknowledging the truth of the matter. You’d never be thinking about marrying me if it weren’t for two small smudges on a screen. You’d never even consider marrying me if it weren’t for these two babies of yours I’m carrying.’

‘And that’s a problem?’ He moved closer, his hands held out to her, but she jumped back out of his reach just as quickly.

‘This damned marriage is all about these babies. Nothing else. If it weren’t for them, you would have let me walk away weeks ago.’

His feet planted wide on the deck, he reached a hand to his head, pushing it through his hair, irritation plainly written on his features.

‘We’ve been through this,’he said gruffly, his patience clearly wearing thin. ‘We both know why we’re getting married. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be good together. You know that.’

‘Sure, we have a great time in bed. Now there’s a sound basis for a marriage. Not!’

‘Even forgetting the fact we’ll have children between us, being compatible in bed is more than some people have.’

‘And it’s less than others have.’

‘I’ll settle for the sex.’

She scoffed. ‘I’d expect you to say that. And what happens when we don’t have such a great time in bed any more? When you get sick of me or I get sick of you? What happens then?’

Even behind his sunglasses, she could see his eyes narrow as they focused in on her. ‘Then we get separate beds. Is that what you want to hear?’ He looked away, his hand troubling his already tousled hair once more. ‘What is this?’ he said, turning back. ‘What are you trying to prove?’

Sienna stood at the railing, looking out to sea, the wind in her hair as the boat cut through the clear blue water, and shook her head. ‘I don’t want it,’ she said. ‘I don’t want a marriage based on becoming someone’s brood mare.’