The Blackmail Pregnancy Read Online Free PDF

wouldn’t go away. And yet for all her efforts the pain was still there, waiting for a chance to break free of its bounds.
    Byron parked the car and she joined him on the pavement outside the café. A waitress led them to a table shaded by a huge leafy tree and Cara sat down and stared at the menu sightlessly.
    ‘Cara?’
    She looked up and his eyes clashed with hers.
    ‘What sort of coffee would you like?’ he asked, indicating the hovering waitress.
    ‘I’ll just have a mineral water, please,’ she told the waitress, who then moved to the next table.
    She could feel Byron’s speculative gaze on her and fidgeted with the hem of the tablecloth to distract her.
    ‘What happened to the latte lady?’ he asked.
    She gave a shrug and examined the menu once more.
    ‘She couldn’t sleep.’
    As she looked up and caught the tail-end of a small smile she wished she’d looked up earlier.
    ‘Do you drink?’
    ‘Alcohol, you mean?’
    He nodded.
    ‘Not any more.’ She lowered her gaze once more and stared at a tiny crinkle in the tablecloth in front of her.
    ‘Tell me about your mother, Cara.’
    Cara stiffened. Schooling her features back into indifference was hard with him sitting so close. So close and yet so far.
    ‘I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead,’ she countered, and was relieved when the waitress arrived with their drinks.
    She drank thirstily and hoped he’d move onto another subject.
    Once the waitress had left Byron spooned sugar into his cappuccino and stirred it thoughtfully. He’d been a little unprepared for seeing Cara again. He’d thought it would be easy. He’d breeze in and call the shots. But somehow something wasn’t quite right. He’d been too young and inexperienced to see it before. He’d fallen in lust and then in love with an ideal—an ideal that had turned out to be a real woman with issues that just wouldn’t go away. He could see that now. Hurt shone from her hazel eyes, hurt that he’d certainly contributed to—but not just him; he felt sure about that.
    She’d never let him meet her mother. He wondered now why he hadn’t insisted. Somehow Cara had always found an excuse: her mother was away visiting relatives, couldn’t make it to the wedding, had the flu and wasn’t seeing anyone. He hadn’t pressed her about it. Anyway, her mother had lived in another state, so visiting had mostly been out of the question. He had spoken to Edna Gillem once on the telephone, and it still pained him to recall their conversation. It had well and truly driven the last nail into the coffin that had contained his short marriage.
    With the wisdom of hindsight he could see the mistakes he’d made almost from the first moment he’d met Cara. She had been out with a group of friends whom he’d later referred to as ‘the pack’. They had been like baying hounds, crying out for male flesh, and from the first moment he had seen Cara was in the wrong company. She’d looked scared, vulnerable in a way that had dug deeply at the masculine protective devices his father and grandfather before him had entrenched in his soul.
    He’d taken her to one side to buy her a drink and one drink had led to another. He’d taken her to his apartment and she’d fallen asleep on his sofa. In three weeks she had been sleeping in his bed, and eight weeks later wearing his ring. He’d never slept with a virgin before, and it had taken him completely by surprise.
    He often felt guilty when he recalled his actions of all those years ago. If only he’d taken his time, got to know her—the real Cara, not the shell she presented to the world. Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting opposite her now, in a crowded café, with the pain of seven years dividing them. They could have had kids in school by now—kids with hazel eyes and light brown hair that wouldn’t always do as it was told.
    He stirred his coffee and took a deep draught, his eyes catching hers as she reached for her mineral water. What was she thinking?