Had she really just fallen into bed with him again? How could she have done—especially after what had happened last time? She was seriously beginning to wonder if there was any hope for her where Cormack Casey was concerned.
‘But why tonight?’ she appealed. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to leave it until tomorrow, when we’ve all had a decent night’s sleep?’
‘Better for who?’ he demanded, in a voice which had all the gritty texture and coldness of iron shavings. ‘Certainly not for me, nor for Simon. It might be better for you, sure. Does it interfere with prior commitments, Triss? Maybe you’ve got a heavy date you can’t break?’
‘If you’re going to continue insulting me by making completely spurious claims about my sex life, then—’
‘Then what?’ he interrupted unsmilingly. ‘Then you’ll attempt to behave even more ruthlessly towards me? What’s next on your agenda, Triss? To grant me a fleeting glimpse of my son and then to take him right out of my life again?’
She shook her head, shocked—naively, perhaps—by the undisguised bitterness in his voice. ‘Of course not.’
His mouth tightened into a forbidding line. ‘But there’s no “of course” about it, is there? You spent nine months carrying my child without even bothering to tell me, and when he was born you chose not to inform me of that either. Clearly you must hate me with a passion, Triss.’
His gaze was very steady, but unmistakable pain glinted in the azure eyes as he asked, ‘Did I really treat you so badly that my behaviour warranted such callous treatment?’
He could be very persuasive—she had forgotten just how much. But she had not made those heartbreaking decisions about Simon for the good of her health. And while Cormack might now be playing the innocent, injured party with the kind of skill which could have guaranteed him a promising career as an actor it was vital that Triss did not forget what had started her out on this course of vengeance.
‘Did I, Triss?’ he asked softly, in a honeyed voice she could happily have drowned in. ‘Treat you so badly?’
Her huge hazel eyes sparked green and gold, like fireworks at the end of a summer party. ‘That’s a question you have to ask yourself, Cormack,’ she told him quietly. ‘Not me.’
Their eyes met for a long moment before he gave her the benefit of one of his most winning smiles, and Triss. almost reeled under its impact.
‘Can I borrow your car?’ he asked, with an unconsciously guileless look which could bring out the maternal instinct in the most hard-bitten and cynical career-woman. Triss knew this for a fact—she had witnessed it on countless occasions.
‘What would you do if I said no?’
He moved closer. Close enough for Triss to be able to detect that enticingly masculine scent of lemon and spice which was all Cormack’s own.
‘I’d change your mind for you,’ he informed her softly.
‘I’d like to see you try!’
He smiled. ‘That sounds awfully like an invitation to me, sweetheart. Want to put it to the test?’
That was just the trouble. She did. And yet she didn’t. She knew damned well from that wickedly hungry look glinting in his blue eyes just what method he would employ to persuade her to lend him her car.
And if he kissed her now it might prove her complete undoing. She was only just recovering from the episode in bed at the cottage—and, frankly, she was surprised that Cormack had not mentioned it since they had been back. Not once.
Was that out of consideration for her feelings? Or because he was saving up the memory of her uninhibited sexual response to throw back in her face later?
His features were just a few tempting inches away.
‘Well?’ he murmured, on a throaty caress. ‘Shall we?’
‘No, thanks,’ she gulped, and stepped back quickly, as if he had just produced a sword and had begun to brandish it.
She was treated to a mocking smile.
‘Pity,’ was all he murmured as he opened the door and stepped over the threshold, pausing just for a moment. ‘Goodbye, sweetheart,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll be back later.’
‘G-goodbye.’
Triss stumbled back into the kitchen to find that Simon was in the act of smearing yoghurt and raspberries all over the tray of his high chair, and that a good deal of it had made its way into his hair, his ears and all over his blue and white striped dungarees!
She automatically picked up a roll of kitchen paper, tore off a generous handful and began to wipe the yoghurt off, but her mind was miles away. She scarcely even noticed when Simon leaned forward to lay a trusting but sticky cheek on her breast, depositing a pink, raspberry-scented blob in the process.
The mind, she had decided a long, long time ago, was something that could be controlled through will alone. And Triss was an expert on the subject—she had certainly practised it enough times!
You could lock certain memories away so that they could not torture you with their sweet poignancy—and that was what Triss had forced herself to do during the long months of her pregnancy, when she had felt so isolated and so alone.
The subject of Cormack had been like a cream cake to a determined dieter—something to be avoided at all costs! She had bided her time and waited, determined to find the optimum time to inform him that he was a father.
And then she had blown it by leaping so eagerly into his arms today. So what on earth did that say about her? Or him?
Triss sighed as she plucked Simon out of his high chair and carried him upstairs for his bath, knowing that she was weakening. Knowing that she was allowing her thoughts to wander along normally forbidden paths.
And one question alone clamoured to be heard.
Just what had happened to her and Cormack along the way?
After that first, sun-dappled lunch in Cormack’s favourite restaurant in Malibu, Triss went back to his beachside house with him, knowing that she fully intended to go to bed with him.
She should have felt intimidated. He was, after all, one of Hollywood’s most eligible men, and he had certainly had more than his fair share of equally eligible girlfriends.
Not that Triss was in the habit of putting herself down, or anything. Far from it!
She was aware that the rest of the world rated her looks very highly even if she, along with many other top models, could see only the flaws and imperfections in her face and figure. She knew that mere beauty was fleeting and fame was a fickle mistress, and that because of this her future depended on something which could not be predicted.
In short, she was hopelessly insecure!
Many men—worthy, intelligent men—had attempted to seduce her in the past, but she had never been remotely tempted by any of them.
Up until now.
Over their simple Californian lunch they had swopped life stories immediately, as if eager to get them out of the way.
Neither of them had been particularly happy as children, but Cormack’s upbringing had been the harshest by far. He was one of five children, the youngest by a good eleven years, and so, in effect, an only child.
When Cormack was growing up, his siblings had already left home, leaving them well clear of Joseph Casey, their father, and his long-standing love affair with the bottle.
When poor health finally took its toll and carried off Cormack’s mother when the boy was just twelve, Joseph Casey found that