'How could I know what a half-sister would look like, Megan?'
She took a quick breath, feeling she was drowning in waters too deep for her to wade through. His mother probably hadn't known who his father was, let alone…
'I'm sorry, Johnny,' she repeated in frantic appeal. 'I guess…Ric and Mitch are more…more attuned to where you've come from. To me you're just you. And you're such a big person…'
She stopped, shaking her head at the realisation she was denying his past any importance, precisely when he was feeling it very badly. 'What can I do to help?' she cried, horribly conscious of how inadequate that sounded even as the words tripped out of her mouth.
His shoulders squared, his broad chest expanding as he tilted his head back and dragged in a deep breath. 'Let it go.' It was a command to himself. He sighed and his gaze came down to meet hers, eyes bitter with self-mockery. 'Ric has it right. Just let the past go. Stupid of me…in my position…to let myself be sucked in. Sucked back to it.'
He snatched the photograph out of Megan's hand and tore it into smaller and smaller pieces as he stepped over to a wastebin. He dropped the fragments into it and turned to her with a savage look. 'I will never do another concert, Megan. Don't ask it of me again. Not for any reason.'
'I'm sorry…' It sounded so dreadfully ineffectual—as meaningless as a parrot's repetition—but what else could she say?
'Let's get out of here!'
Security guards escorted them to a limousine.
Security guards rode in the car with them, inhibiting any private conversation, not that Johnny's closed-in demeanor invited any. Megan felt hopelessly inhibited about making any contact at all. She wished he would hold her hand… anything to link them again…but he didn't, and the tension emanating from him seemed filled with a fierce impatience to get this whole business over and done with.
Security guards accompanied them every step of the way up to Johnny's hotel room, checking it was empty before they finally withdrew. Even then, Johnny forestalled any move by Megan to break into his insulated mood, muttering, 'I need a shower,' and heading straight for the bathroom. 'Make yourself at home. Order up some supper if you like. Just call room service,' he added carelessly.
She was left standing in a very spacious, very luxurious hotel suite, overwhelmingly conscious of how lonely it could be, despite being surrounded by what great wealth could buy.
Had Johnny felt this kind of loneliness here? Putting up with it to protect her? Did he feel even more alone now because she hadn't given him her complete trust, had stood back from him when she should have moved forward to offer comfort, assuring him that while he had missed out on much in the past, she could make up for it?
Megan didn't know if she could or not, but the strong fear of losing any chance of deep intimacy with him compelled her into trying to reach out to his heart.
With trembling hands, she stripped off her clothes. Johnny might simply be washing off the sweat from performing under a blast of hot lights, but her imagination saw him washing off the dirty sense of being tricked into facing the murky circumstances of his birth, the horrors of his childhood which he'd never shared with her, drowning out the loneliness that her lack of understanding had undoubtedly made sharper.
She forced her legs to walk into the bathroom, her mind gripping on to a fierce determination not to panic, not to react wimpishly to any suggestion of rejection from Johnny. He didn't hear her enter. He stood under the drenching spray of the shower, eyes closed, head bent, and she saw that the packets of soap provided by the hotel lay unopened, the face-cloths still folded on top of the towels.
Grabbing one of the soap packets, she ripped off its wrapping, opened the door to the shower and stepped into the spacious cubicle—plenty of room for two, even with a big man like Johnny. His head snapped up, eyes jerking open.
'You must be exhausted,' Megan rushed out, her own eyes shooting sympathetic appeal as she wildly lathered up her hands. 'Let me…'
She swiftly transferred the suds to his shoulders, spreading them over the tautly bunched muscles, watching them trail down his chest under the beat of the water because she couldn't pluck up the courage to look at his face again, frightened of seeing that he was suffering her touch, not wanting it.
He said nothing but made no move to stop her from running the soap over him. His stillness and his silence drove her into working quickly, down over his chest, his stomach, lower. The rapid pounding of her own heart drummed in her ears. A desperate desire for him to respond positively slowed her hurrying hands, dictating a more sensual slide over his naked flesh.
I have to make him feel loved, she thought frantically, not alone, not missing out…
How could she answer his needs?
Before she could think better of it, a thought slipped out of the anxious jumble in her mind. 'You used to think of me as your little sister.'
She was instantly mortified, realising it sounded like she was linking herself to the blonde who would have done anything to be with him, and here she was caressing him intimately, and he was becoming aroused…
'Megan…' His voice was harsh.
It had been a plea for him to return to caring about her, not…
'You're my wife—' His hands tore hers away from him.
'My wife!'
'Then let me be your wife,' she cried, her eyes pleading against the angry torment in his. 'I'm sorry I got things wrong. I'm sorry I had no real idea of what the concert involved. I didn't know how it was for you.'
He shook his head in anguish and from his throat came an animal groan of pain. Too bewildered and distressed to fight for anything more, Megan was intensely relieved when he released her hands and pulled her into a fierce embrace, almost crushing the breath out of her. He rubbed his face over her hair. Never mind that it was soaking wet— they were both soaking wet—the action echoed her own craving for him and sent a flood of warmth to her fear- chilled heart.
'You don't need to know,' he growled. 'You'll never need to know. I'm done with it.'
His fingers tangled through her sodden curls and dragged her head back. His eyes blazed into hers. 'But don't you ever think again that I'd choose any other woman over you. Do you hear me, Megan?'
'I'm sorry…'
'No, dammit! Just say yes…yes…' 'Yes.'
His mouth swooped on hers as though he had to taste the word as well as hear it, and Megan poured all her own chaotic emotions into a kiss that pulsated with passionate need—a hot, urgent acceleration of desire that seared away any doubt that Johnny wanted her.
He slammed off the shower faucet, swept her out of the shower cubicle, wrapped a huge bath towel around her, and carried her out to the king-size bed in his hotel suite. There were no pleasure intensifying preliminaries. He came into her hard and fast and Megan welcomed the instant union with as much savage satisfaction as he took in it, a tumultuous fever of possession gripping both of them, whipping them on to a world-shattering climax.
Afterwards she clasped him to her, stroking his hair as he lay with his head resting just above the valley of her breasts, his breath warm against her skin, the tension gone from both of them. He shifted slightly, gliding his hand gently over her rounded belly.
'I forgot the baby,' he murmured incredulously.
'It's all right,' she soothed, smiling over the wonderful fact that he had wanted her so absolutely, not thinking of his child until now. 'I would have told you if it wasn't.'
And right on cue a ripple of movement under her skin reminded them of the new life that would soon be born.
'See…he's kicking me for it,' Johnny said fatuously, a smile in his voice.
'Might be a she.'
'Mmm…' It was a contented hum. Contentment was good.
Her whole body was humming with it.
Megan didn't want to say anything that might spoil the sense of peaceful harmony, of very real togetherness. She believed Johnny didn't want to be with any other woman, and right now, that was enough.
Whether he really was done with his career, or just the concert part of it, she didn't know. Time might change that view anyway. She did know she would respect whatever decision he made about it, no argument, no criticism, no complaint. There might be more needs in Johnny that neither she, nor Gundamurra, nor even their child could ever answer.
He fell asleep, still in her embrace.
She stroked his hair, loving him, determined to be his wife in every sense—partner, lover, best friend and confidante. She didn't want him to feel alone…ever again.