Turning her away was far more painful for him than it was for her. In time she'd understand he was doing the admirable thing. In time she'd appreciate the sacrifice he was making.
"Not now," he said again, more forcefully this time.
She blinked, stunned. "When?"
"Later," he answered with confidence. "After the baby's born."
Hannah jerked her head back and went pale as if he'd slapped her hard. She was in such a rush to leave him, she nearly fell onto the carpet in the process of climbing off his lap. Her breath came in staggered gasps as she backed away from him, her hands at her throat. Huge, glistening tears brimmed and then spilled like pearl-shaped drops of dew from her eyes. She had the stricken look of someone in great pain.
"Hannah…" Riley thought he'd feel noble and generous, doing the right thing. Instead, he felt like a louse. "I… want you. It's just that – "
"Not now, you don't!" she raged, tears streaming down her face in a flood of emotion. "Not when I'm fat and ugly with your child!" She stumbled as she turned to run from him, nearly colliding with the end of the sofa. She caught herself, then raced toward their bedroom, slamming the door. The sound echoed in the room like a pistol shot.
Hannah's sobs tore into Riley's heart like the edge of a dull, rusty knife. He'd never meant to hurt Hannah. He was only trying to do what was right.
Suddenly he felt weary, more tired than he'd ever been in his life. Tired of being virtuous. Sick and tired of living up to the standards of a dead man. He'd leave nobility for men like Jerry Sanders, who'd been born for such things.
Abruptly he stood, and never feeling more at a loss in dealing with his gently reared wife, he headed for the bedroom. His hand was on the knob when he paused. Sure as hell, he'd hate himself in the morning if he made love to her. The regret would eat at him like battery acid, the way it had the night of Seafair. The guilt of breaking the promise he'd made to himself would consume him, come dawn. It would follow him out to sea and haunt him the long months they'd be apart. If there were any complications when the baby was born, Riley knew he would blame himself for these moments of weakness.
Regrets were a funny thing, Riley mused darkly. He'd lived with them most his life in one form or another. One important rule about remorse, something profound he'd garnered over the years: if he was going to suffer regret, then he made damn sure it was worthwhile.
With that thought in mind, he pushed open the door and walked inside their bedroom.
Hannah was sprawled on top of the mattress, sobbing as though her-heart were shattered. Knowing he was the cause of those tears ate at him like the teeth of a piranha. Not knowing exactly what to do to comfort her, he hesitantly walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Poising his hand above her, he hesitated still, then gently began to pat her shoulder.
The instant she felt his touch, Hannah jerked away as though she found him repulsive.
"Leave me alone," she wailed.
"Can we talk?"
"No." She scooted out of his reach, so far away it was a wonder she didn't topple onto the carpet on the other side of the bed.
"I don't find you ugly," Riley said, rushing to ease her mind. "You're so beautiful, I can't keep my eyes off you."
She raised her head and glared at him, her look hot enough to blister paint. It was more than apparent she didn't believe him.
"Come here, Hannah."
"No… If you so much as touch me, I swear… I'll phone the police."
"You'd better start dialing now," he muttered. Standing, he shucked his shirt, balled it up in his hands and tossed it on the floor. His slacks came off next.
"Wh-what are you doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling. She crowded into the corner of the bed, drawing her feet under her, her hands clenched over her breasts.
"What does it look like?" he answered calmly. "I'm getting ready to make love to my wife."
Royalty couldn't have tilted a chin with more finesse. "Don't do me any favors, Riley Murdock."
"The only favors we'll be giving will be to each other," he assured her, pulling back the sheets and climbing inside the bed. She continued to stare at him as though he were a stranger. In many ways he was, even to himself. "I'm going to need some help," he told her, unaccustomed to dealing with the intensity of the feelings she aroused in him. Even though she was on the other side of the bed, her effect upon him was total. His need for her clawed at him. "I don't want this to be like the first time. I don't want to hurt you."
"You didn't," she whispered in a soft, meek voice. "It… was just that I wasn't expecting… you know."
"Yes, I do know. I'm sorry." He held out his arms to her. "We'll start by kissing and go slow and easy. Just promise to tell me if I'm hurting you."
She hesitated as if she weren't sure she could believe him, as though she were frightened even now that he'd reject her.
"Promise me," he repeated, holding his arms out to her.
"I promise." She made the short journey across the bed to his side, slipping her arms around him and pressing her head to his chest. Every place she touched him branded Riley. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to remain coolheaded and in control. They'd go about this slow and easy. With that thought in mind, he directed his mouth to hers.
His intentions were lost, cast into a never-never world where all good intentions eventually landed, the instant their lips touched.