Burning Obsession

‘And you don’t want children, so—’

‘Who says I don’t?’ she cut in sharply.

‘You did.’ His gaze was tense.

‘When—? That was before,’ she realised what he meant. ‘I was upset at the time, confused. I didn’t know what I was saying.’

‘You knew you were telling me you hated me,’ he recalled bitterly. ‘You knew it, and you enjoyed watching me crumple. What do you think it did to me having you say you hated me when we’d just lost our child?’

‘My child,’ she corrected vehemently, remembering all too well the reason she had lost it, remembering him with Angela Divine. ‘It was never your child, Jordan. For all the interest you took of it—her,’ she amended bitterly, ‘she might as well not have existed.’

‘You don’t understand,’ he shook his head wearily. ‘You never did.’

‘No. It’s strange, isn’t it?’ You see, I always thought a husband was very interested in the existence of his child. I was going to call her Jordana, you know.’ Her eyes flashed with dislike. ‘Thank God she was never born and named after a bastard like you!’

His hand shot out and hit her hard across one cheek, and her head reeled back from the blow. ‘Oh God!’ he groaned as she stared at him with tear-filled, accusing eyes. ‘God!’ he groaned again, his face buried in his hands. ‘Now what have you made me do?’ he muttered in an agonised voice. ‘Kelly—’

‘Don’t touch me!’ She stepped back as he reached out. ‘Don’t come near me!’

‘Kelly—’

‘No!’ She turned on her heel and ran into her bedroom, turning the key in the lock before leaning heavily back against the door.

‘Kelly!’ the muffled sound of his voice came through the door. ‘Kelly, I’m sorry. Open the door, darling.’

‘No!’ she answered in a shaky voice, her cheek stinging.

She heard him sigh. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. For God’s sake let me in so I can explain.’ He rattled the door-handle. ‘Let me in, Kelly.’

‘I said no and I meant no!’ she told him vehemently.

‘Okay!’ he snapped, his patience having run out. ‘If that’s the way you want it. I’ll order dinner for eight-thirty, make sure you aren’t late.’

‘I’m not dining with you,’ she gasped.

‘Try not being there and see what happens,’ he said threateningly, his firm tread moving away.

Kelly moved over to the bed, her legs feeling shaky as she slowly sank down on to the mattress. Jordan had hit her! No one had ever hit her before, not her father, no one, and to say she had been shocked by the action was an understatement.

But she had deserved it! She had deserved much more than that. How could she have said such a cruel thing to him? Only with Jordan had she ever lost her temper so completely, her emotions were always in the extreme where he was concerned. She had put him up on a pedestal, and because he wasn’t able to share her enthusiasm for the baby the foundations to that pedestal had started to rock. She hadn’t allowed for the fact that not all men want children, that some even disliked them. She could have sworn Jordan wasn’t one of those men, but his instant aversion to touching her and his turning to another woman had more than proved that he was.

Now how could she prepare to have dinner with him this evening as if that slap had never happened? Things had been strained before, but surely they were impossible now.

After soaking in the bath for an hour she took a look at her face. There was a slight discolouration and swelling to her bottom lip, the marks of Jordan’s fingers starting to fade now. She had been aghast when she had first looked at it, shocked at the livid marks on her face. Skilful make-up covered the last of these marks, although there was nothing she could do about her bruised and swollen lip, her lip-gloss just seemed to emphasise it.

Her gown was pastel green, very figure-hugging, clinging to her narrow waist. It gave her a look of coolness, of sophistication, and made her eyes deeply violet, her hair even blacker, and gave her skin a wonderful honey tone.

Dinner would be served at eight-thirty, Jordan had said, so she made her entrance at exactly eight twenty-five, sure that Jordan would be no more eager than she was to indulge in light conversation.

He was already in the lounge when she came in, sitting in one of the armchairs, his expression morose as he swirled some whisky around in his glass. Kelly knew it was whisky, Jordan never drank anything else. The room was also filled with the aroma of his cheroots.

He stood up as soon as he saw her, his suit cream, the collar of the black shirt he wore beneath it turned back over his jacket. His hair was newly washed, very dark and springy, and as he moved forward Kelly could smell his tangy aftershave.

Jordan’s dark gaze searched her pale features. ‘I’ve telephoned the hospital,’ he told her huskily. ‘You father is sleeping comfortably.’

‘Thank you,’ she accepted coolly.

‘Kelly…’ he groaned, grasping her hands in his. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’