Sharon Kendrick Collection. Sharon Kendrick

spilled inside her.

      Afterwards she lay naked in his arms, and a deep sense of sadness and despair flowed through her as she acknowledged how perfectly compatible they seemed to be in bed.

      In a way, it might be easier if they weren’t. If she weren’t so fiercely attracted to him—and he to her—then he would not have started stroking her neck in the sitting room. And she would have remained immune to him even if he had.

      And they would not now be lying in each other’s arms, listening to the sounds of their breathing and their heartbeats gradually slowing down, like two athletes at the end of a race. He raised his head and Triss was taken aback, hardly recognising the shaken and dazed expression she saw on his face.

      ‘Wow,’ he said softly.

      Triss stifled a groan, just thankful that she had not built herself up to expect tender words from him. Because, while ‘Wow’ could reasonably be taken as testimony that Cormack had enjoyed himself, it wasn’t a word which was even remotely caring.

      And she still had to tell him about Simon.

      Fatigue washed through her as she went over the words she had rehearsed over and over in her mind for weeks now, and it was something of a relief when the emotional strain finally took its toll of her body and she allowed her eyelids to drift down.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      TRISS must have fallen asleep, for when she next opened her eyes it was to find that Cormack was no longer on the bed beside her. Instead he had put his grey sweater back on, belted up his leather trousers and was sitting in a chair drinking a mug of coffee, a forbiddingly sombre expression on his face.

      She quickly shut her eyes again, as if by feigning sleep she could postpone the moment of truth. At least he must have covered her up with this blanket, she thought thankfully, becoming slowly aware of the rips in her brassière and the torn panties which now lay in useless folds halfway down one thigh.

      Instinctively she felt her body cringing as vivid impressions of how she had behaved came back with piercing clarity.

      ‘Ashamed, Triss?’ came the mocking remark, tinged with a coldness which she had never heard in Cormack’s voice before.

      She sat up, pulling the blanket with her so that it concealed her breasts, and his mouth twisted scornfully as he acknowledged the self-protective gesture.

      ‘A little late in the day for shielding your assets, surely?’ he queried with disdain, and Triss felt her heart sinking with horror as she realised that never—not even when their relationship had reached rock-bottom—had Cormack spoken to her with quite so much contempt hardening his normally soft, lilting Irish accent.

      But she could not afford to squander even more emotional energy by allowing herself to be intimidated by his scathing remarks. ‘I’m cold,’ she told him, noticing that he had picked her linen dress up from the floor and folded it on the chair beside the bed.

      A muscle worked in his tanned cheek. ‘Try putting some clothes on, then,’ he said moodily.

      Feigning a bravado she did not feel, Triss swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her panties fluttered redundantly to the floor, and she noticed that he quickly turned away to face the window.

      ‘I’ll wait next door,’ he told her shortly, and when Triss saw the unmistakable distaste which had thinned his sensual lips a slow anger began to burn away inside her.

      ‘A little late to play the gentleman now, surely?’ she mocked.

      He turned around to subject her to a slow, insolent scrutiny. ‘What’s that, Triss?’ he queried softly. ‘Cue for me to come over there and do it to you some more?’

      She recoiled from the wounding words. ‘Why are you insulting me like this?’

      ‘Perhaps I’m repaying the compliment, sweetheart! A man doesn’t find it particularly flattering to be used as a stud—especially by a woman who once professed to love him. Is that what you brought me here for, Triss—to service you? Surely there must be someone who lives a little closer than Malibu who would be able to oblige?’

      She forgot that she was virtually naked, forgot everything except the desire to hurt him, hurling herself across the room and launching herself at him, all flailing arms and flexed fingernails.

      But Cormack was faster, his face a mixture of scorn and reluctant desire as he contained her by imprisoning her in the steely circle of his arms. ‘Is this another previously undiscovered side to Triss Alexander? The spitting wildcat who needs subduing? And let me guess how she best wants me to subdue her, hmm? Like this?’

      His lips were hot and hungry and hers were no different, and Triss found to her despair that just one touch was enough to awaken in her a primitive arousal more powerful than anything she could previously remember.

      His hands were sliding all over her almost naked body, quickly disposing of the ruined bra, sinuously exploring every secret curve with an expert thoroughness which he had never displayed before. Not ever.

      It was almost as if he had held back with her when they had lived together, as though her inexperience had made him especially gentle with her.

      Well, he was certainly not being gentle with her now. And, what was more, she didn’t want him to be. She wanted his hands to explore her like this, and she longed for him to fill and possess her again.

      She was about to sink to the floor and drag him with her when he stopped kissing and touching her as suddenly as if he had just discovered that she was contaminated, and Triss stared up at him with eyes which were dazed and confused.

      ‘Cormack?’

      ‘No, Triss! No! This is not going to happen. Not again.’ His voice was pitiless as he pushed her away from him. ‘I will not be used as a convenient pawn to satisfy your sexual frustration!’

      ‘But I—’

      ‘Get dressed!’ he ordered, and something in his eyes made her want to cringe away from him, like a dog who had been beaten. ‘I’ll wait next door!’ And he stormed from the bedroom, nearly bringing the door off its hinges.

      It took Triss several minutes before she could even think about managing to get dressed, and she forced herself to breathe deeply as she had been taught in her yoga classes. Even so, it still seemed to take ages before she had calmed down enough to get her thoughts together.

      She hadn’t known how long they would be at the cottage, but she had guessed at a good few hours at least, during which time she had planned to tell Cormack quietly about Simon. And then she had assumed that he would want to accompany her back to St Fiacre’s for the first glimpse of his son.

      But nothing ever turned out as you expected, and she certainly had not anticipated that brief and frantic bout of sex on the bed—for it definitely could not be described as making love.

      Oh, it had been ultimately satisfying—sex with Cormack always was—but it had left her feeling empty and ashamed. And it made her feel rather ill to know that she had behaved with about as much pride as one of the countless women who used to hand him their telephone numbers in restaurants.

      At least she had had the foresight to bring a change of clothes with her—although as she pulled on a pair of black denims and a cream cable-knit sweater she wondered whether that had been a subconscious preparation for what had just taken place.

      She ran her fingers back through her short red-brown hair and walked into the sitting room, to find that Cormack had put his leather jacket back on and was in the process of bending down to pick up his helmet.

      ‘You’re not going?’ she cried in alarm.

      He stood up and looked at her, his face as expressionless as she could ever remember seeing it. ‘Yes, I’m going.’

      Triss panicked, aware that