She shut down something inside her that was attempting to rise up and choke her and walked over to the closet. She pulled on a pair of summer shorts and a tank top and went into the kitchen.

Emma was seated at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee while she read the newspaper. She glanced at Nicola, folded up the paper and put it on a chair. "Did you want some breakfast?"

She shook her head. "Just coffee."

"You should be eating more than that," Emma reminded her. "As the old saying goes, you're eating for two now."

She smiled briefly, poured herself a cup of coffee, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "I'll catch up on my food intake later."

"I saw Anthony leaving," Emma remarked casually. "Does he know?"

"Yes, I told him."

"How did he react?"

"He was...excited."

"Oh, Nicola! That's fabulous. I knew he would be. So what's going to happen now? Have the two of you started making plans?"

"Not really. He wants me to come back to England with him, but I'm not ready to do that."

Emma's smile faded slowly. "What are you talking about? Of course you must go with him."

"Why? Why must I go? I belong here, not there."

"What exactly do you have in mind to do?"

"Build up the estate again, of course. You know that has always been my dream, Em. Ever since I was old enough to think Dad and I used to talk about it, talk about becoming certified Blue Mountain coffee growers."

"You'll have a baby in seven months, Nicola, remember?"

"You sound just like him. As though having a baby means you have to stop existing, stop having dreams, do nothing at all except take care of the baby. Well, I don't think that's how it has to be."

"I don't want to burst your bubble, but a tiny baby is a very demanding person. It's a full-time occupation, Nicki. And so is being a coffee grower. You can't expect to do both."

"Lots of women have babies and go right back out to work. Why should I be any different? I thought you would help me."

"Of course I will help you, Nicola. Don't be silly."

That was the second time she had been told not to be silly in the s.p.a.ce of one hour and it was really beginning to get on her nerves. She finished her coffee and got up to pour herself another cup.

"Don't!" Emma said sharply. "Too much caffeine isn't good for babies."

She slammed the cup down, went out on the porch, and leaned against the banister, looking up at the mountains. They were still a little shrouded in the cool mist that had gathered during the night. Once the sun reached its zenith, the mist would disperse, unveiling the majestic blue-green peaks that could tug so powerfully at her heart strings.

Emma's arm went around her waist and she leaned her head on her shoulder, allowing herself the luxury of leaning on her older sister.

"Whose dream do you want to fulfill, Nicola?" Em said quietly. "Yours or Dad's?"

"We shared it, both of us. We felt the same," she said defensively. What was Emma trying to say now?

"Are you sure, or are you still the little girl trying to please her daddy even though he's gone? Sit down, Nicola," Emma said, pulling her down to sit on the wooden steps. "I want to talk to you."

She complied, sitting up straight, her arms folded across her body. Everyone was trying to talk her out of her dream. But she wouldn't let them.

"Mum and Dad were wonderful people, Nicola. So gay, so beautiful, both of them. They loved life so much. You were very special to them. Oh, I know they loved me, but I was the quiet one, the plain Jane. You were so much more like them, beautiful and lively. Remember how Dad used to pretend he was French and call you 'ma pet.i.te belle.'"

In spite of feeling so down, Nicola gave a little smile. She glanced at Emma, the smile tugging up the corner of her mouth at the recollection.

"Dad was charming, and fun, but he was a dreamer, Nicki. He dreamed a lot of big dreams, but he was too focused on living from day to day, on enjoying life, to settle down and apply himself seriously to making those dreams come true. He talked to you all the time about becoming a Blue Mountain coffee grower, and he had years to fulfill his dream. But he never made it materialize. He wasn't even a particularly successful High Mountain coffee grower. All that happened was that you began to believe that his dream was your dream too, and now that he's gone, you feel you are the one responsible for carrying the torch, keeping the flame alive, making it up to him for what you think of as his disappointment. But he wasn't disappointed, Nicki. Dad did exactly what he really wanted to do with his life. You have nothing to make up to him for. You don't have to feel responsible."

Emma paused for a moment, looking pensive, before continuing. "You were just a little girl, Nicki," she said. "You didn't stand a chance against Dad's charm. You were practically brainwashed into thinking that his dream was your dream too. He didn't do it deliberately, but the result was the same.

"If you have a real vocation to grow Blue Mountain coffee, then you have to do whatever it takes to make that dream a reality. But before you give up something that may be even more precious to do so, just be sure that it's your dream you're fulfilling, and not Dad's. Okay, Nicki?"

"I haven't been brainwashed. I haven't," she said miserably. "This"-she gestured, her arm sweeping to encompa.s.s the land, the mountains, the blueness of the sky-"this is where I belong. This is home. I want to be here."

"Of course you do. You were born here. You grew up here. It will always be home, the place where, whenever you want to come back, they have to take you in. Leaving it doesn't mean abandoning it. You don't have to abandon anything. You just have to make room in your heart for the new and wonderful things that come into your life. The heart has infinite capacity. You don't have to stop loving something old in order to love something new. Jamaica is beautiful, but it won't love you back enough to compensate for giving up a life with the man you love. Just promise me, Nicola, that you'll think really hard about what it is that you really want to do. Promise?"

"Okay, I promise," she said with a watery smile. "But I don't think I'm going to change my mind."

"Good girl," said Emma, giving her a bracing squeeze around the shoulders. "Now come and have breakfast. I have responsibilities to fulfill toward my unborn nepnie."

The reminder of Em's truly awful habit of combining words to, as she said, "save her vocal chords" made her smile again, and she got up, suddenly ready to eat.

But gradually, as the day wore on, the depression that had gripped her earlier on began to return, and by four o'clock she could barely sit still. She had to get out, go somewhere where she could be completely alone, with nothing but the trees and the land for company, reminding her of her dream and helping her to hold on to it.

She flung down the book she had been trying, unsuccessfully, to read for the last hour. She couldn't concentrate for trying not to think about Anthony. She had decided she couldn't run into the bushes and hide like a wounded animal after all. She had to face him, tell him her decision. It was the adult thing to do, and if she wasn't even mature enough to handle that, how could she possibly handle anything else. Somehow, she would have to find the strength to withstand him, withstand his persuasive voice, his arms, his mouth, his hands, whose combined effect could so swiftly wreak havoc on her senses and turn her emotions inside out.

She went into her bedroom, changed swiftly into riding clothes, pulled on her boots, and went outside.

Hearing her, Emma looked out her bedroom window. "Where are you going?" she called.

"Just to the stables. I'm going to ride Sailor for a while. Don't worry. I'll be back before dark. Can I take the Jeep, or do you need it?"

"Not 'til about six thirty. Cynthia Seabourne and I are driving into Kingston to hear a talk by a visiting author."

"I'll be back long before then."

Emma shook her head, her face a study as Nicola started the Jeep and drove off. She wondered whether Nicola should be doing any horseback riding in her condition, but she knew it would be useless to try to stop her. She had that determined look on her face. Emma watched her drive off and went back to her computer. She typed in "horseback riding and pregnancy" in the search box, entered it, and waited for the results.

Chapter Thirty-Six.

It was a glorious afternoon for a ride. The sunlight dappled the leaves wherever it could pierce the dense foliage, showering them with pinpoints of light that glittered like bright diamonds in a restless wind-driven aquamarine sea. As Sailor trotted along with his beloved burden on his back, the breeze caressed Nicola with its sensuous breath, lifting her hair while it cooled and dried her sun-kissed face. She went a few miles along a well-worn path, just letting Sailor choose his own pace. As she rode, she bounced gently up and down, experiencing that well-remembered tingle in her nether region as the hard saddle made love to her. After about twenty minutes she stopped, slid out of the saddle and sat on a fallen log, gazing pensively at the panorama of the valley falling away on the other side and at Blue Mountain peak keeping watch in the distance.

She would never tire of this view. She never flew in to Jamaica without that sense of antic.i.p.ation, waiting for that first glimpse of the mountains. Blue Mountain peak itself was unchanging, a beacon guiding her home, an invisible sentinel that stood guard over her while she slept and materialized with the dawn to greet her when she awoke. It would always be there for her. She felt close to Mum and Dad here. She and Em had scattered their ashes in the mountains, watched as the winds bore them aloft. A s.n.a.t.c.h of a song Mum used to sing, a poem Mendelssohn had set to music, popped into her head and she sang it softly.

"On wings of song I'll bear thee. To those far ancient lands..."

Now they would never leave the mountains they had loved so much. They were a part of the mountains now, together, forever. Like the mountains, they would always be there for her, too, whenever she needed them. Almost three decades ago, Dad had met Mum in London, had left his own country behind, and had followed her home to Jamaica because life without her would have been just too dull, as he had said flatly. If she listened to the breeze, she could almost hear her mother's voice softly murmuring, "Follow your heart, darling."

Her eyes stung with sudden and overwhelming understanding. Above all they would have wanted her to be happy, as they had been. If she had never met Anthony, she might have been happy as the keeper of the dream. But now it would never be enough. She would be dying inside a little more with each pa.s.sing day, yearning to be with him, because that was where her heart was. She wouldn't be leaving Jamaica behind any more than she would be leaving Mum and Dad behind. Wherever she went, they went with her. They were an integral part of her and Anthony loved all of her, loved all of who she was. And she loved him so much.

Follow your heart, darling.

She stood up and patted Sailor, buried her face in his long cla.s.sic neck, and told him with her mind that she was leaving but that she would be back. He whinnied softly, almost as though he had heard her and was telling her he understood. She would be back, she would always come back, and soon, she would have a child with her whom she would teach to love his or her Jamaican roots as much as she did.

Her mind made up, she mounted her horse and retraced the path back to where they had started out. She felt light, as though she had set down a burden she had carried far too long. Her heart ballooned large in her chest, inflated with her love for Anthony. She bounced gently in the saddle, thinking about him and about how much she loved and wanted him. She arrived back at the stables, flushed and breathless, in such a heightened state of s.e.xual awareness that she could almost hear her nerve endings pleading for release.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

Anthony leaned against Sailor's stall, his arms folded, watching her approach. He had gone straight to the house on his return from Kingston, and Emma had informed him she had gone riding. On hearing that his face had instantly mirrored Emma's concern.

"I know, Anthony," Emma said, observing his expression. "Wild horses couldn't have stopped her. But I think she'll be all right, for now. I researched it on the Internet. It's relatively safe for a pregnant woman to go horseback riding in the first trimester, as long as she's not on tricky terrain where she might be jolted too hard or possibly be thrown."

He breathed deeply, trying to dispel the constriction that had developed in his chest at the thought of her being thrown off the horse, being harmed in any way. If anything ever happened to her, or to their child, he'd be finished, useless for all intents and purposes. He couldn't even begin to imagine life without her now.

He'd done a lot of thinking this morning while driving into Kingston, about what she had said. She was right. He was expecting her to give up everything, put her dreams on hold, leave her country to follow him while he, on the other hand, didn't want to make any sacrifices. He cringed at how incredibly selfish he must have sounded, unwilling to even consider trying it her way, six months in England, six months here. He had made decisions about a lot of things today. He was ready to do it her way. He couldn't wait to see her face when he told her.

He pushed himself away from the stall and stood erect as she rode up. He noticed at once how different she seemed from when he left her this morning. She seemed almost happy. Almost. Her eyes were bright, and her skin flushed from the fresh air and the exercise, but there was something in her face that he couldn't immediately put his finger on.

The horse came to a standstill and she remained in the saddle, looking down at him with a severe expression that didn't quite go with the look in her eyes, somehow.

"Why are you lounging about the place so idly, Bennett?" she inquired coldly. "Don't you have ch.o.r.es you should be attending to?"

He understood immediately and barely contained the shout of glee that threatened to erupt from his throat. The dominatrix was back. She was in a playful mood, which meant she was probably going to forgive him for being such a self-centered a.s.s this morning. He was more than ready to play out her fantasy, knew exactly what his role in it was.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied humbly. "It was getting late, and I was becoming worried about you, so I thought I would just wait to make sure you got back safely."

"That's not your job, Bennett," she said, her tone aloof. "You're not being paid to worry about me. I have enough people to do that. You are a groom. Your job is to take care of the horses and keep the stables clean and tidy. I don't want you to be confused about what your job is."

"Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am. It won't happen again."

"Very well. Now, please a.s.sist me to dismount and then see to the horse."

Dropping his gaze he cupped his hands and she put her foot in it. As she dismounted, he slid one hand upward until it came to rest squarely between her thighs, cupping her mound over her jodhpurs.

Something rushed past her ears, like the noise of a flock of startled birds suddenly taking wing, as her blood rushed down to feed the conflagration that blazed instantly to life in her groin. They stood facing each other, gripped by the overpowering s.e.xual attraction that had always existed and would always exist between them, an intensity of desire that surrounded them and filled the small s.p.a.ce between them with a s.e.xuality that was nearly suffocating. His nostrils flared suddenly and he stroked her, caressing the already stimulated, sensitive bud unerringly with his thumb through the fabric of her jodhpurs.

Heat snaking waywardly through her, she pressed down hard on his hand and he felt the dampness that had seeped through the fabric. She clenched her jaw, struggling against the urge to abandon playing out the fantasy and get down to some serious lovemaking. She clutched his hand and pulled it away, a killing effort.

"You forget yourself, Bennett," she said, breathing hard. "That will be quite enough. I find you impertinent and I am warning you that should there ever be a recurrence of such behavior I shall be forced to terminate your employment. Now please take care of my horse."

"So sorry, ma'am," he said, tugging his forelock. "It won't happen again. I must have got carried away." He gave her a look so loaded with l.u.s.t her legs went limp.

"See that it doesn't," she said shortly. "Oh, Bennett," she said as he turned away to lead the horse into his stall. He stopped, his eyes locked on hers.

"Please take a look at number four stall before you go off duty. I pa.s.sed by it today, and I noticed that it is very untidily kept. Blankets everywhere. That really isn't good enough. I don't know what you can be thinking."

"Very well, ma'am. I'll be right there."

She was waiting inside the empty stall when he arrived. It was dusk, but he could see her face, read the urgent message her expectant body was telegraphing as she stood in the corner, watching him, her teeth gripping her bottom lip. The flames shooting inside him exploded into a full-fledged five-alarm fire. Galvanized, he strode rapidly toward her, ripped apart the fastenings of her riding breeches, and reached for her inside her underwear. His mouth took hers, absorbing her cry as he slipped two of his fingers into her s.e.x, stroking in and out while his thumb caressed her quivering bud. Her stomach tightened against the onslaught of her impending climax and she bore down as her body gave way to a sensation of rendering. His fingers inside her almost lifted her off her feet as she o.r.g.a.s.med powerfully. She bucked, clawed his chest, and cried out gutturally against his compelling mouth as she pressed and strained her s.e.x against his fingers. He continued caressing her, stroking her inside like a violin until he had extracted the last sweet notes from her and she fell against him, completely played out.

As her cries quieted, he withdrew his hand from her crotch and inhaled it, his nostrils flaring at the musky scent of her that her riding had intensified. Still breathing hard, she watched her fantasy come to life as he inserted his fingers into his mouth and licked her juices off them. Then he tilted her face up and kissed her, a long lingering kiss, savoring the two flavors of her that blended on his tongue, sharing them with her. He picked her up like a weightless sc.r.a.p of nothing, carried her over to the pile of blankets in the other corner and set her down. Her eyes fastened on him, right where he could feel his c.o.c.k straining to burst out his trousers and she reached possessively for him.

"Easy, ma'am," he said, remembering his lines. "It's all yours, whenever and wherever you want it, you know that."

He stood in front of her, his legs apart, stomach muscles vibrating as she got to her knees and unzipped him. Lovingly, she drew out his beautiful phallus. It sprang pulsingly erect in her hand, a silvery drop of liquid like a jewel on its tip. She leaned forward and a hiss of breath escaped him as her tongue came out and licked it off. Rounding her lovely lips she took him inside her mouth, and he moaned as the warmth and sweetness of her mouth encased his rigid shaft.

Holding her head steady, he thrust his hips forward, sliding his huge shaft gently in, easing it farther and farther into her mouth until she had taken in as much of it as she could. She worked her mouth up and down its length, and it pulsed strongly from her merciless laving. She loosened his jeans, pulled them down, and grasped his firm hard b.u.t.tocks, holding him steady as she continued her eager sucking.

He looked down at her and was overwhelmed by the blissful expression on her pretty face as her perfect mouth made exquisite love to his engorged p.e.n.i.s. His climax surged to life inside him, an unstoppable force, a juggernaut arriving, swelling his c.o.c.k until it was so large, it seemed impossible that her lips could contain it.

"Careful, love," he groaned, completely forgetting he was supposed to be a groom and concerned that he might hurt her with the mindless uncontrolled thrusting that he knew was inevitable. "Oh Christ!" he gasped. "I'm coming!"

In response, she released just enough of him to give her tongue more freedom to caress and lick him. Under her little flicking strokes his c.o.c.k began to pulse, and warm milky s.e.m.e.n spurted out, filling her mouth. As she swallowed the slick emissions the motion of her throat increased the pressure of her mouth around him, escalating his arousal to unparalleled heights. He uttered a choking sound and struggled desperately to harness his movements as his body obeyed the primal procreative instinct and began to thrust of its own accord. His emission was so copious it flowed out of her mouth and dribbled down her chin until, jealous of the loss, she ripped her shirt open and thrust her b.r.e.a.s.t.s forward to bathe them in the falling droplets.

Spent, they fell down on the blankets. After a few minutes, his hand reached out to stroke her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rubbing his sticky e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e all over them. Urgent again, he leaned over and began to lick it off her, his tongue sweeping hard over the tender nipples. She reached down to caress him, her s.e.x throbbing with antic.i.p.ation.

He remembered his part of the fantasy. Placing his hand over hers he worked their joined hands up and down. She watched, thrilled at the sight of the liquid flushing out and flowing over and between their hands, and at the eroticism of the slippery feel of his erection under their joint caress. Surrendering to an irresistible urge to taste him again, she leaned down and gave his slick p.e.n.i.s a sustained lick along its entire length. She scrambled to her feet, removed all her clothing, and stood naked, looking down at him while his gaze traveled over her, loving every inch of her. The realization that this beautiful sensual woman was happily carrying his child struck him anew, leaving him momentarily awed.

"Sit on it, darling, or sit on my face. Whatever you want to do," he urged her, playing out the fantasy.

Obediently, she crouched over him, and spreading her thighs, impaled herself inch by delectable inch on that gloriously erect shaft, which penetrated slowly and surely up her slick, welcoming pa.s.sage. She released a long, drawn-out sigh and, leaning back, anch.o.r.ed by the pressure of his hands on her thighs, began to rock.

It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, would ever see. An unforgettable image of her imprinted itself indelibly on his mind, b.r.e.a.s.t.s bouncing gently, hair whipping around her head as it snapped back and forth, eyes closed, mouth open, sensuality straining her face as she pivoted her hips around his erect staff and ma.s.saged her sensitive bud against the hard root of him, until she had brought them to a simultaneous gut-wrenching climax. As her pulsing s.e.x thrummed against his loins, he reached down and lifting her easily off his still-tumescent p.e.n.i.s, set her down firmly on his face. He heard her cry out in tortured delight as he began to suckle her, relishing the blend of his own emissions with her juices, his tongue sweeping inside her swollen folds and tantalizing her bud until she emitted a drawn-out groan of carnal bliss as another punishing climax ravaged her, raining her juices into his eagerly receptive mouth. She clutched the wooden bar of the stall in front of her, feeling that she would surely die, as his tongue continued to ravage her.

"Oh, Anthony," she gasped, "It's too much, too much!"

In response, he softened the pressure of his tongue and swept it gently and lovingly over her, enticing her swiftly to a fourth climax with utter tenderness. How she longed to taste him, to be filled with him. Convulsively, she turned around and stretched out full length over him, burying her face between his hard thighs. She took him into her mouth, her head bobbing up and down as her tongue traveled along the entire length of him. Her legs flexed jerkily at the sides of his head as his tongue and teeth and lips continued their sweet torture. Love and pa.s.sion liquefied their bones and fused them together as they took each other beyond ecstasy.