Page 17 of Harry

“Those are the lives we created.” She used her hand to press his down more on her flesh. “Feel them, Bobby.” She only called him that when in the throes of her climax and it stirred him deeply.

“We can make this work. We can be a family.” Her voice had turned pleading. “I really need you. We really need you. I need support. I cannot…” She stuttered to a stop when he snatched his hand away and backed up.

“That’s very good,” he laughed humorlessly and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You almost got me there. Congrats.” His expression hardened. “I’m not daddy material and being in those…,” he gestured to her belly. “Being in their lives would only screw them up. I am talking from experience.

“I will have the lawyers contact you in terms of financial support.” His expression turned bleak. “I am really sorry about this Janelle. I know you are going to think I’m shirking my responsibilities, but that’s the way it has to be.” He turned and walked out of the room.

For a second, she was immobilized and then she ran. She caught him at the door and before he could open it, she gripped his armand spun him around. “Don’t do this.” Her fingers were digging into his jacket.

“I know you have been through a lot with your dad, but if you leave, you are making him win. Harry, Bobby – I love you. Please don’t leave. I will help you to work through this. I really need you…”

“Stop!” Dragging his arm away, he leaned against the door. “I am sorry, Janelle, but I cannot do this. Why the hell did you have to spoil things?”

His laser eyes swept over her face and touched on each feature, lingering on the parted lips, before moving down to her bosom. Desire speared through him, leaving him weak. Before he could give into the monstrous desire, he wrenched the door open and ran to the car.

Janelle stood there in the open doorway, oblivious of the freezing air whipping through the shirt and watched as he peeled out of the driveway.

Closing the door, she leaned against it and slid all the way down until she hit the floor. Only then did she allow the tears to come.

*****

He drove ruthlessly, carelessly, as if daring a traffic cop to pull him over. He wove in and out of traffic and pressed the accelerator hard as he tried to block out the shattered look on her lovely face. He had put it there. There were instances, a few pockets of sanity that almost made him turn and go back to her.

Take her in his arms, make love to her and assure her that he would be there for her and those – those – Good God! Twins! He whipped the vehicle around an SUV, ignoring the angry blaring of horns.

It was bloody late. Almost eleven at night. People should be in their bloody homes, sleeping or making love to their partners. Instead, the road was packed and heavy with traffic and he was steamed.

He was surprised the heat wasn’t coming out of his ears. How dare she do this to him? He slammed his hand on the steering wheel as he slowed down- barely for the light. He had told her specifically – had bared his bloody soul to her, hadn’t he? Had told her of the horrors of living with a man who humiliated and verbally abused him for sport.

He had confided in her because she was different. He never expected her to be, and it had sucker punched him that she did. The attraction had been instantaneous and even, so it had taken him by surprise, grabbed him by the throat when he realized that it was not just sex.

But good Christ, the sex was mind blowing. He had sensed from the very beginning that she was not really experienced and her shyness, her hesitancy, her shock when he brought her to a shattering climax had wrung a groan from him.

It had been her first and it had humbled him. She told him that there had been just two men, and he had laughed in shock. But when she told him about her parents and how devasted their deaths had been to her, he understood.

Turning onto the private road, he stopped as soon as he reached the garage and killed the engine. His mother would be asleep of course. She had been out with some friends and called to check on him. If he hadn’t agreed to go to the opera with Minerva, he wouldn’t have seen her.

And if he had not seen her, she would not have felt the urge to tell him about the pregnancy. And he would continue to live his bloody life as he had been doing. Missing her, craving her delectable body.

Shoving out of the car, he made his swift way towards the pool house. Shep would be waiting up for him. The old boy never goes to sleep until he is back. But he couldn’t deal with the animal now. He wanted some alone time. He had to think.

Changing directions, he headed towards the wooded area, not noticing the way the light of the moon made everything silver, an ethereal glow on the abundance of flowers and the graceful curve of the trees that were so lovingly tended by the host of gardeners his mother employed.

He did not hear the rush of water from the lake as he crossed the small bridge. The brilliance of the star-studded velvet sky waslost on him as was the biting coldness of the wind racing through the leaves of the trees.

He walked swiftly, taking the path that led to his favorite spot. An old well that came with the property. He had built a bench there and this was where he would come in the past when things got too much at the house.

He had taken her here in the summer. Persuaded Mrs. Harriet, the housekeeper to pack a picnic basket and make an adventure out of it. She had been delighted, he recalled her laughter as he plucked grapes and fed her with them.

He had told her things he never told a soul and knew it would stay right there between them. The whipping he received from his old man when he accidentally broke a priceless vase. The shouts, the taunts and the humiliation.

Lowering himself onto the padded seat which was slightly wet from the moisture in the air, he stared at the well in front of him. It had been drained of water and he sometimes wondered if that was not the case, if he would have been tempted to end his life. A miserable life it had been for the better part of it.

Living in a cold stone building with a man who was never pleased with anything he did, anything his mother did. And the resentment towards her had been built over the years.

It was not until he died, that she told him why she stayed. He had threatened her – warned her that if she even contemplated leaving, she would never see her son, never see him again.

So, she had stayed and suffered through years of verbal abuse, years of her husband cheating on her- throwing women in her face, torturing her as only the bastard knew how to. And he came from that. His father was Irish and so was he. He had a bloody temper, and it showed in more ways than one.

---