Free Emily's Seduction by Natasha Blackthorne Page B

forehead to hers. “I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry.” He didn ’ t know what else to say. He positioned himself and thrust forward, deflowering a woman he ’ d no legal or moral right to.
     
    Alex opened his eyes. Grey light flooded from the halfway open curtains. The placid safety of his home, sombre and dignified in its American furnishings, was always a shock. In the wake of the dream, he waited for the usual shame to flood him. The sense of being unclean. Followed by the cold sweat and irresistible urge to vomit his guts out.
    The moments ticked by and he felt nothing but an aching remorse. He should have been able to do something to prevent what had happened in that madman’s domain in Constantinople. Yet he’d done nothing but cave in and give the bastard exactly what he’d wanted. Well, not exactly what he’d wanted. That had been the final push to the horrific end.
    An image of water vapour and water trailing down blue and yellow tiles flashed into his mind. He pushed it out. A feeling of disloyalty immediately arose.
    I am sorry, I just don ’ t want to think about it any longer.
    Was it wrong to want to forget? To want to focus on his life with Emily and make a family with her when Catarina would never have the chance to enjoy a real wedding and the joys of married life? She would never know the joy of being a mother. All because he had failed her when she had needed him most.
    A man did not fail those he loved. At least not a man who would call himself a man.
    Alex sighed, rose from the bed and went to pour himself a brandy. He sat in the wingchair, sipping the burning liquid.
    Yes, he’d always bear the shame of what had ultimately happened in Turkey. The blame. But he wanted to forget.
    The yellow and blue tiles flashed into his mind again. Compelling him to glance down. Just one glance. He’d be undone if he did and it would take hours to recover. He steeled his mind against the compulsion.
    But his inner demons never gave up easily. They niggled him with the truth.
    She did it because she had no hope—you gave her no hope. Glance down and relive it, again and again and again. Because she never will. Only you can keep her memory alive. Her own family disowned her memory, denied her child. Only you remain.
    He slammed the glass down on the window ledge. Damn, he was tired of flogging himself with these images. He pressed his hands to his forehead—he just wanted them to vanish and never return.
    “Alex?” Emily’s voice was soft, sounding concerned. She touched his head.
    He reached for her, pulled her close, nestling his head upon her flat yet soft belly. She still smelt of the gillyflower-scented water he’d sponged her with before she’d slept. She remained quiet, asking no questions as she stroked his hair. His body shook with silent, dry sobs. He did not deserve her sweetness but he craved it, he needed it so badly.
     
    * * * *
     
    Emily sat at the kitchen table, idly sipping at black coffee. She did not regret what had happened the night before. Not precisely. It had been somehow right in the moment it had happened. But it could never be right again. She would never share herself with another man again. But she was grateful for the experience.
    Any artist needed novel experiences to see life from new angles.
    Boots on the hardwood floor made her heart leap . Alex had gone already. There would be no servants until Sunday. She jerked her head up.
    Peter walked into the kitchen.
    She gasped. “I thought you left.”
    “I went to one of the guest chambers and proceeded to get very drunk.” He placed a hand to his head. Then he looked up again. “Please don’t be uncomfortable with me because of what happened last night.”
    At Peter’s words, Emily inhaled sharply and glanced down at her coffee cup, smiling to hide her nervousness.
    “It was just sexual dalliance,” he added, as if this would make her less uneasy.
    A nervous laugh escaped her.
    “And it was nothing Alex and I