Rules of Betrayal

62

Emma came to him in his sleep. He felt her warmth beside him and his body responded. He touched her and she moaned. Jonathan was dreaming, of course. It was only there that he could see her as she was, or perhaps as he wanted her to be. He ran his hands over his wife’s body, and he stirred as if discovering her for the first time. He saw her lying on the grass beneath him. It was night in the green hills of West Africa where they’d first met and he’d fallen irrevocably in love with her. He undid her belt buckle, yanking the leather strap free, and slid her jeans over her strong, eager hips. She parted her legs and whispered his name. Jonathan. Love me. A warm breath caressed his ear, his neck. His heartbeat quickened. He met her eyes, and as he entered her, she nodded to say it was all right. More than all right.

“Jonathan.”

He woke with a start. Emma sat on the bed beside him, her hair down, shirt unbuttoned to the waist. “Shhh,” she said as she removed her clothing.

She pulled back the sheets and climbed on top of him, back arched, eyes locked on his as he pushed into her. He gasped, and she covered his mouth with animal swiftness. She said nothing but shook her head, always watching him, her breath quickening. Light from the approaching dawn fell over her breasts, which appeared fuller than he remembered, her nipples exceptionally pert. Grasping her hips, he drove into her and she fought back, their tempo growing more rapid, more violent, Emma lowering her head, letting her hair fall on his chest, sweating now, her breathing labored, hard fought, her motions unrelenting, urging him on, demanding his attention, until he could match her no more and he surrendered and allowed himself release.

A moment later her body began to tremor and a languorous moan issued from her clenched teeth and she buried her face in his neck and expelled a long, hot breath.

“Come with me,” she said, still gasping. “I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I can get you out.”

“No.”

“You’ll die here.”

“Maybe.”

She pushed herself off him. “For me?”

“I’m not on your team, Emma.”

“And for your child?”

Jonathan pushed himself up on an elbow. “What? You’re-”

“I’m pregnant.”

“How far?”

“Four months.”

Jonathan sat up, stunned. “London?”

Emma nodded.

“You’re sure that’s when it happened?” The words came of their own volition, a reminder of his distrust. Emma slapped him very hard and slid to the edge of the bed. Jonathan stared out the window. His room faced east, and he saw the first sliver of the sun edge above the horizon. “Then why are you here? Why are you doing all this?”

“To save myself.”

Jonathan caught something in her voice, an intimation of a task yet to be accomplished. “What does that mean?”

Emma met his gaze and held it. “Come with me and you’ll find out. But you have to trust me.”

Jonathan looked at her belly and saw that it was round where before it had been flat. Her breasts were larger, fuller. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she clutched his hand and turned it away. Joy and sadness filled him in equal measure. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

And she rolled off the bed and left as silently as she had come.