"I don't think of him as my father. The only father I have ever known was Robert Astonville, and I thank fate or G.o.d or whatever deity is responsible for that."

"Yet Felipe left you his property."

"As I said, by default. I do not believe he did it as some belated gesture of acknowledging me as his son. He simply had no one else he wanted to leave it to. His motives had nothing to do with me, really. I certainly do not feel like his son and heir. I talk about him only because I want you to know everything there is to know about me, all the dark secrets that are mine to tell. I wanted you to know that the man you know is Anthony Astonville, but it is the hot blood of Felipe Torres that runs in my veins." He was silent for a moment and then a small frown creased his brow. "Does that scare you, darling?"

"What? To love a hot-blooded man?"

"Yes," he replied, unable to conceal his latent anxiety.

"I didn't really know it until I met you," she said, tracing his lips with her finger, "but you are the man I was waiting for. The only thing that scares me is the thought that we might never have met. Everything I want, everything I need, is in you."

"And without you, I would be nothing."

Simultaneously, they reached for each other in a loving pa.s.sionate kiss, their souls thrilling in mutual recognition that their love was destined to be.

He cupped her face in his palms when their mouths parted at last.

"And so, you see," he said, "I am not a stranger. You know everything you need to know about me."

"Do I?" she asked, looking at him strangely.

"Ask me anything you want to know," he said promptly, "and if I am at liberty to reveal it to you, I will."

"How did you get involved in the Midsummer Auction?"

"Ah!" He regarded her thoughtfully. "Henrietta Colefax brought it to my attention," he said after a pause. "She was the coordinator even before I met her and her invitation to join the group was a great compliment to me, in many ways. I don't think there is much more to it that I can tell you." He ran his finger along the length of her scapula from neck to shoulder.

It was at a private dinner many years ago that he had first laid eyes on Henrietta Colefax. He was by then one of the most eligible bachelors in England and a number of highborn young women were showing themselves to be more than willing to overlook the hazy details of his pre-Astonville background.

Henrietta had been one of the more adventurous. A few years older than him, she had regarded Anthony Astonville with great interest, and some unforgettable nights at his Mayfair town house had followed. Like many of her ilk, she had to work for a living. Her initial instinct that he had the right qualities to be a member of the exclusive group proved to be well founded. In addition to being affluent and moving in the proper circles, his view of what could pa.s.s between consenting adults was delightfully unorthodox and nonjudgmental. Not long after, she introduced him to the group and there was no possible way he could refuse the skillfully worded invitation to become a member without offending, nor did he want to. The relationship that had once existed between them was the other secret that he would have to keep, because telling it would be an invasion of Henrietta's privacy. He felt an odd yearning, a wishing to undo the parts of his life that he couldn't share with her, but the past could not be undone, nor could he change the life stories of other people, such as his adoptive parents who had given him so much. His future with Nicola was all that counted now.

"I understand, Anthony," Nicola said. "I have no wish to pry into your past. But tell me, will you still take part in the auction?"

"I will still be a business member of the group, but my bidding days are over," he replied. "Why would I want to waste time looking at videos of other women when I could be looking at you? Unless of course, you go up for auction again," he ended teasingly.

"Well, I might," she said with a naughty little smile. "Don't forget, I owe someone a great deal of money."

"Well now," he said, a gleam in his eyes, "seeing as how you've brought it up again, maybe there is a way you might be able to eliminate that debt very quickly, now that I think about it."

"I'm sleepy," she said, mischievously faking a yawn. "Would it require any physical activity on my part?"

"Yes and no," he replied.

"Did you want to explain that?"

"Gladly." He pulled her up, bringing her ear closer to his mouth and whispered into it.

She buried her face in his neck, feeling herself grow languid. Heat liquefied her bones at the utter sensuality of his promise. Hungry for him to fulfill it, she bit his neck and he immediately flipped her over, lifting her to all fours so that her pert little bottom was perched invitingly in the air. He studied it hungrily, taking in the perfect ovals, the cleft that marked the beginning of her s.e.x. He covered her bottom with kisses and love bites then traced her cleft with his fingers until he reached the nub. She made a sound deep in her throat as he stroked it until it jutted out, throbbing with sensitivity. Still stroking her, he aligned himself along her back and penetrated her easily and slid deep inside her. He splayed one hand over her belly, pressed her b.u.t.tocks into his groin, f.u.c.king her deep and hard.

She laid her head down on her hands, helpless with ecstasy at the rhythm of his entering and withdrawing, shuddering out breaths in sync with his as it gusted harsh and hot on the back of her neck. She cried out as her climax rippled through her. At the sound, a frenzy of pa.s.sion whipped him and he thrust harder, deeper, faster, holding her tightly as his own climax tore recklessly through him, joining forces with hers in a churning tidal wave. They cried out together, repeated cries of ecstasy as it crashed down over them, leaving them helpless like so much flotsam in the aftermath of a shipwreck.

"Oh G.o.d," he said, as soon as he could speak.

"Shouldn't that be 'Oh, Nicola'?" she asked impishly, her hands stroking his as it lay across her belly.

He gave a small shout of laughter and pulled her tightly to him. The next instant they were fast asleep.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

She awoke to a cacophony of birds singing a Jamaican serenade in the trees outside her window. His even breathing told her he was still asleep. Trying not to awaken him she turned in his arms, adjusted so she faced him and rested her head in the crook of his outstretched arm. She studied his face, noting the faint shadow along his jaw, a masculine day-old beard. With the lightest of touches she traced the outline of his mouth and, despite her intention to not disturb him, felt compelled to touch her lips to his. His eyes opened, enlarging with happiness.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. I was dreaming of you anyway and the reality is even better." His eyes smiled into hers.

She swallowed convulsively. "I have something to tell you, Anthony."

A spark flickered in his eyes and went out. "If it has to do with another man, don't tell me," he said quietly. "I don't have to know. I'd rather not know, in fact. We begin now. We go on from here."

"It isn't to do with anyone else. There has never been anyone else, in any way, shape or form, but I lied to you, Anthony."

"About what, Nicola?"

"I lied when I told you I was on the pill. The truth is that I wasn't. I've never been on the pill."

He remained perfectly still then let out a soft breath as the dread inside him metamorphosed into relief that that was all it was, nothing that would live in the recesses of his mind like a cancer, insidiously destroying him.

She looked at him, waiting for it to sink in. "I wasn't on the pill, Anthony," she repeated.

He stared into her eyes, until sudden comprehension dawned in his. "What are you saying?" he asked. His voice was very quiet but it seemed to vibrate. "Are you telling me what I think you're trying to tell me?"

"I'm pregnant, Anthony. I'm going to have a baby."

He couldn't hear anything over the rushing noise that filled his head. He had made her pregnant. She was having his child. His child. He had never given any thought to fathering a child, had taken pains over the years to ensure it would not happen. He had always worn a condom, until Nicola's sudden reappearance in his life, whereupon his brain had apparently ceased to function. But he could never have conceived of feeling anything that even came close to the indescribable joy that filled his soul on hearing her say those words. Her voice filtered through the buzzing noise in his head.

"Are you okay with this?" she was asking, a faint smile on her mouth. The expression on his face told her it was a rhetorical question.

He cupped her cheek with his hand, still at a loss for words. "I'm not okay with this," he managed to say at last. "I am completely, totally blown away with this, overwhelmed by it. Mother of G.o.d, Nicola, you're having my child?"

"I take it you're trying to say you're happy?"

"I am ecstatic. How long have you known?"

"I think I knew the night it happened. My third night at the manor, after we had had dinner." Her face colored faintly at the recollection of how she had set out to seduce him, had wanted him to take her for what might well have been the last time, had subconsciously wanted to get pregnant.

"And now you're sure?" he asked tenderly.

"I was certain when I missed my first period, twelve days later. I'm never late. And I just missed my second. Yes, I'm sure," she said, touching his face with reciprocal tenderness.

"You shouldn't have let me make love to you last night, like that," he said suddenly. "It might not be good for the baby."

"You're beginning to fuss already, aren't you," she teased. "I should have waited until I began to show before saying anything."

"Let me look at you," he said, removing his arm carefully from under her head and sitting up.

He studied her. Sure, now he could see faint signs of impending change. The b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly just a shade rounder. It was infinitesimal, but he was sure he saw the difference. "I see it," he announced, bending down to kiss her belly and then palming it tenderly.

"No you don't," she told him. "It's much too soon. You think you're seeing it because I told you. But trust me, it's just your imagination and we know how that works overtime," she reminded him, holding his p.e.n.i.s lightly and flicking her thumb over the soft head.

He sucked air, caught her hand, and held it still. Then unable to stop himself he leaned down and awarded her breast a little reciprocal lick.

She writhed in a sudden agony of extreme sensation, so acute that the pleasure almost veered into pain. Her fingers raked the back of his neck and upper back as she arched into him, breathing hotly into his hair, delivering up her whole body to his exquisite mouth.

"Oh yes," she breathed. "Don't stop."

He switched to the other side, nibbled her nipple, and then took the whole breast into his mouth to relish its fullness. He felt his groin somersault with instant recognition. He slipped down beside her full length, his hard shaft throbbing against her haunches.

"This is going to be a tough time, love," he said, looking into her face. "I get hard for you every time I touch you."

"What's tough about that? It sounds promising to me," she declared.

"Because now I can't be getting at you whenever I happen to feel h.o.r.n.y which, you may have noticed, seems to be almost any time I'm around you."

"Sorry you feel that way." Her eyes glinted with mischief. "I hope that doesn't mean I can't be getting at you whenever I feel like it, because quite frankly, my dear," she declared, maneuvering herself to lie on top of him, "I feel like getting at you right now." She took his throbbing erection in her hand and positioned the head between the inner folds of her s.e.x. "I want to do you, Anthony. Push it inside me," she whispered meltingly.

G.o.d, how he loved her, his s.e.xy pregnant woman. His mouth opened on a strangled exclamation and he angled his hips, lifting her slightly. She jammed her groin into his and wriggled her s.e.x against him till she felt something pop and he was inside her. She thrust her hips, urging him deeper and deeper inside. He swiveled his groin helpfully until he was all the way in. She covered his mouth with hers and engaged his tongue in a wild wet tango while her hips stoked their mutual fire to a roaring flame.

When at last their pa.s.sion was completely spent, he lay with his head on her breast. "Do you care whether it's a boy or a girl?" he asked, his mouth moving against her skin.

"No. I only care that it's going to be your boy or girl," she said.

"I love you, Nicola Edgerton," he said and held his breath.

"I fell in love with you, Anthony, and I wanted you, right from the very first night." His sigh of relief came all the way up from his toes.

"I'm taking you back to England with me," he said after a while. Lying across her belly he felt her become very still, and he turned his head to look at her. "What?" he said inquiringly. "Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?"

"I...want to live in Jamaica," she said.

"I know you do, darling, but I want you with me, in England."

"In your home, Anthony, yours."

"It will be yours too," he said gently. "And our child's."

"I have a home, here. This is where I want to live, to raise my child."

"Our child," he reminded her, taking her hand in his. "I have to go back, darling. For me, everything is there-my businesses, my property, my life."

"Why do we have to choose?" she asked, somewhat pa.s.sionately. "Why can't we live in both places, six months here and six months there?"

"That wouldn't be practical, love. I'd have to be getting on a plane every other week. And do you really want our child's life to be so unstable, being transplanted every six months? It wouldn't work," he said firmly.

"You won't know until you try. Why can't we just try it?"

He shut his eyes as if in pain then reopened them. They were dark and somber. "I'm going to be as honest as I can, Nicola. The truth is that I cannot commit to spending long periods here. I cannot commit to raising our child here, in this place that feels so alien to me. If you have understood a word of what I told you last night, you must understand why. I just can't do it, love."

"I know where you're coming from, Anthony. I understood everything you said. But what I also understand now is that to be with you, I have to give up my dream of getting the Blue Mountain certification completely. It seems a very high price, maybe a higher price than I would be willing to pay."

"Becoming a coffee grower is more important to you than being with me, then?"

"It's what I've always dreamed of, Anthony, long before I met you. You're asking me to give up my dream, but what are you giving up in return?"

"Sweetheart," he said patiently, "it's lovely to have dreams, but think about whether your dream is realistic. You're going to have a child in about seven months. How are you going to raise it if you're in the fields half the time, and worrying about the price of coffee the other half. I don't want our child to be raised by a maid or a nanny."

"You don't believe I have what it takes, do you," she challenged flatly. "You think I'm just dreaming in color. You're as bad as the loan officer at the finance company, maybe even worse. I thought you were supposed to believe in me, but obviously you don't. Not really."

Her voice broke a little, and his heart hurt that he was the one making her unhappy. "Darling, I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. Just not this dream, not now. Come home with me, to England. Let our child be born there," he pleaded.

"You go home to England, Anthony. It's where you belong, just like I belong here. And I will make my dream come true, even if you call in your loan. I'll start from scratch, get more land piece by piece, if I have to.

"You'd better go," she said dully, getting off the bed. "You need to pack."

He caught her hand, detaining her. "Don't be silly, darling. I'm not going anywhere without you. And you paid off your loan last night, remember?" he said, trying to make her smile.

"Go, Anthony," she said, giving him a little push. "I have things to do."

He exhaled his frustration, running his hands through his hair. "Okay," he said. "I'm going. To Kingston. I have a meeting with the lawyers and I have to go my hotel to shower and change first. I'll be back tonight and we'll talk some more."

"You don't have to come back," she said. "There's no point."

"See you tonight, love," he said. He longed to kiss her, but her face was closed. He parted the curtains, stepped over the sill, and was gone.

After he left she climbed back up on the bed and sat in the middle of it, her legs drawn up, her arms clasping them tightly, her head resting on her knees. It was her containment strategy, the posture she always adopted to hold in her pain, so she wouldn't disintegrate into little pieces.

He didn't care about what she wanted. He hated Jamaica more than he loved her. He didn't even want to try. His way or the highway. He had grown accustomed to getting what he wanted. He wouldn't give up easily. She knew he meant exactly what he'd said. He'd be back tonight to try to bend her to his will. She couldn't let it happen because she had promised herself to realize Dad's dream, the one that had become hers. She couldn't let Dad down. But she knew that the second he touched her, she would puddle, drip all over him in sweet surrender. She would have to go somewhere where he couldn't find her and wait it out until he had no choice but to leave the island and go back to his businesses, his property, his life, as he had enumerated. She would never be happy just giving up on the dream without even trying and if she wasn't happy with herself, how could she possibly be happy with Anthony. Worse yet, how could he possibly be happy with her?

She had to make some kind of plan, but the first item on the agenda was to wash his scent off her, so she could think straight. The combined scent of his body, his s.e.x, his sweat, the lingering notes of his aftershave was too lethal a combination for somebody who was trying to run away from him.

She climbed down off the bed, opened her bedroom door, and crossed the hall to the bathroom. She showered, dried herself off, and stood for a moment examining her naked body in the mirror. Maybe she was hallucinating or having a fat morning, but now, taking a good objective look, she thought she detected something different about her figure too, a softness that hadn't been there before. Maybe he was right. She was showing already.