The Valentine Child

She heard him sigh as he brought her up against the hard length of his body and any thought of resistance vanished. Her arms lifted to grasp his broad shoulders; she tipped back her head, offering her mouth, and the sensual, seeking warmth of his sent arrows of quivering delight soaring through her. His hand slipped beneath her sweatshirt and curved over her breast, and she groaned in agonised pleasure.

'Take your clothes off,' he said urgently. Pulling her sweatshirt over her head, he stepped back and swiftly pulled off his sweater and shirt and shed his jeans.

In a flurry, she shook off the rest of her clothes then hesitated, awed by the magnificent splendor of Justin's hard, aroused body. She felt the pounding of her blood in her veins, and as if from a great distance she heard his deep, husky voice.

'Ah, Zoe. I have waited years to do this,' he murmured, and then he took her into his arms, naked flesh to naked flesh.

She was burning, her senses swimming; she clung to him, her small hands curving around his broad back. She was sailing through the air! She was soaking!

'Ahhh,' she cried, her blue eyes widening to their fullest extent as she gazed bemusedly up into Justin's laughing face.

'I've fantasized for years about sharing a shower with you, little one,' he growled, his lips roaming over her eyes, her cheeks, and finally finding her mouth, while the water pounded down on them.

Wonderingly she gave herself up to his magic touch; she trembled when he picked up the soap and massaged the creamy lather all over her breasts and lower to her thighs, her legs, and back. She cried out, her fingers slipping on his wet skin. For a second their eyes met, his black, powerful, predatory, hers wild and wanting, and then he was inside her.

'Zoe, Zoe, are you all right?' She opened her eyes to gaze dazedly into his darkly flushed face.

'Better than all right,' she murmured. 'As fantasies go that surpassed them all.'

Justin scooped her hard against his shuddering body. 'God! I thought you'd fainted.'

'Silly.' She smiled bewitchingly up at him. 'It was ecstasy; the little death, I think the French call it.'

'Whatever. It's bed for you.'

Zoe sat on the dockside bench, an indulgent smile on her face as she watched the man and boy standing at the edge discussing the relative merits of the historic small boats riding at anchor. They had spent a wonderful couple of hours exploring the Maine Maritime Museum in Bath. Val had been intrigued by the shipyard, the joiner's shop, the rope-making, fascinated by the lobster exhibit, and completely entranced by the model boats.

It was only four days since Justin's arrival in her son's life, and yet, seeing them standing together hand in hand, one could believe they had been together always. A tinge of sadness dimmed her smile; this day out was a treat because very shortly Val was due in the hospital in New York to start the chemotherapy.

Justin had seen the doctor on Monday. She chuckled at the memory. She had gone with him to the surgery in Portland and to her surprise and amusement the arrogant, all-powerful Justin had gone pale at the sight of his own blood. Still, it was all the more courageous of him to have offered to be a donor, given his horror of everything medical, she realised generously.

His blood sample had been sent on to the lab in New York and tomorrow they were going to New York to talk to Professor Barnet and, she hoped, get the result. Because four days later Val was due back in hospital. . .

She closed her eyes briefly and sent up a silent prayer. Dear God, let it be a match.

'He'll be fine, Zoe. Stop worrying.' Justin joined her on the bench, his arm going comfortingly around her shoulder.

The past few days, living as man and wife, had been surprisingly easy for Zoe. No, not just easy. Locked in Justin's arms every night, for a while she forgot all her troubles and found comfort in his masculine strength.

But sometimes, like now, the worry for her son overwhelmed her.

She turned bleak eyes to his, but before she could comment Val was scrambling on to her knee. She looked into his beloved little face, which was so happy, and had an image of him a month from now, minus his gorgeous black curls, his face racked with pain and her heart clenched in anguish. She wanted to weep. But of course she didn't.

They ended the day with a very early dinner at a steak and seafood restaurant with a nautical atmosphere on Front Street in Bath. Justin, at Zoe's instigation, ordered the fresh lobster.

'You can't visit this part of the world without trying the fresh fish it's renowned for,' she insisted with a happy grin.

'Who's visiting?' Justin drawled sardonically, effectively dampening her mood.

She must never forget, she told herself sternly as Justin manoeuvred the car along the road home, he might be a tower of strength in her fight for her son's health, and he was a brilliant lover, as the past few days had proved, but however much she wished it otherwise he did not love her. . .

She remained silent for the rest of the journey home, and when Justin stopped the car in the drive she climbed out, but instead of going inside she hugged Val and gave him a quick kiss, saying, 'Daddy will look after you for an hour or two. I need to go and see Aunty Margy.'

Not looking at Justin, she set off walking down the hill. She had to get away for a while. She needed some space, some time to think, but Justin seemed to fill her every waking moment.

He had completely taken over; his computers were installed in one bedroom, he was installed in her bedroom, and everywhere he went in the house Val was with him.

She heard their voices, their laughter. She knew she was being stupidly jealous. Worse, not only was she jealous of Justin's rapport with Val, but she was jealous of her own son. Just once she would have liked Justin to look at her with the same fiercely tender love he lavished on Val.