Kitabı oku: «The Gold Collection», sayfa 28

Zac cleared the surface of his desk with one sweep of his arm before laying her down on the polished wood and immediately covering her body with his own. He deftly removed her blouse and muttered his satisfaction that she wasn’t wearing a bra, his voice hoarse as he bent his head and captured the tip of one pink nipple between his lips. The effect on Freya was electric and she arched her back so that her breasts thrust provocatively towards him, the taut, swollen peaks begging for his possession.

She was shaking—or was it him? she wondered feverishly as she pushed his shirt over his shoulders and ran her hands over his smooth, tanned skin. This was madness but they were both caught up in the conflagration that threatened to consume them in a flame of white-hot need. With a rough, almost violent movement he grabbed the hem of her skirt and jerked it up to her waist before skimming his hand over the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

‘Zac.’ His name escaped her lips as a plea rather than a protest. She lifted her hips and he dragged her knickers down before spreading her legs with a deliberate intent that made her tremble with anticipation. When he touched her she thrust against his hand and moaned when his skilful fingers slid into her and began to explore her with a thoroughness that made her clench her teeth as her pleasure built. Through heavy lids she watched his hand move to the zip of his trousers, no thought in her head other than that he should hurry before she died with the urgent need to feel the full length of him inside her.

‘You see, Freya, some things never change,’ he groaned as he came down on top of her, supporting his weight on his elbows so that the rigid strength of his penis pushed intimately against her eager body. He slid his hand beneath her bottom to lift her towards him, but his words penetrated the haze of sexual heat surrounding her and she bunched her hands on his shoulders to hold him back.

Was it the element of satisfaction in his voice that she had capitulated so easily—yet again? Or was it his arrogant assumption that nothing had changed and she was still a slave to his touch, despite the way he had treated her? She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea swept over her—how could she be so stupid? Zac hadn’t changed—he said he believed that she hadn’t had an affair with Simon Brooks, but only because the DNA test proved that Aimee was his child. Two years ago he had been so ready to believe the worst of her and if other issues arose between them in the future she had no faith that he would trust her word above all else.

‘You’re wrong, Zac,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I’ve changed. I’m not the pathetic, lovesick girl I once was. You abandoned me when I needed you most, and I had to grow up fast. I won’t let you do this to me again,’ she muttered, tearing her gaze from him as she fought to control the dictates of her body that begged for her to surrender and accept his full possession. From somewhere she found the strength to push against his chest, but the glitter in his eyes warned her that she was too late. His body was primed and ready to take her, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he fought for control.

The discreet knock on the study door shattered the tension and the butler, Laurent’s, imperturbable tones sounded through the wood. ‘Madame Deverell has arrived and is waiting in the salon.’

Hysterical laughter bubbled in Freya’s throat. ‘Madame? You have a wife?’

‘Non, I have a mother—who has impeccable timing,’ Zac replied sardonically as he rolled off her and snatched up his shirt, muttering a string of profanities beneath his breath. ‘But the very fact that you believe I could be married does not say much about your opinion of me, chérie.’

‘It’s an opinion I formed during the time I’ve spent struggling to bring up our child,’ Freya bit back sharply. She couldn’t imagine what he must think of her when she was semi-naked and spread-eagled across his desk. Scarlet-cheeked, she tugged her skirt down and hopped inelegantly from foot to foot trying to pull her knickers on, praying that Zac’s mother wouldn’t walk in. She’d suffered enough humiliation to last her a lifetime—much of it self-induced, she thought miserably as she recalled her shameless response to him. One thing was clear: she dared not trust herself to be near him for another day. He could deal with his mother and explain why his elegant bachelor pad was littered with toys and teddies, while she collected Aimee and made her escape.

‘I’ll go and speak to my mother while you tidy yourself up,’ he said tersely, his expression unfathomable as he inspected her dishevelled appearance and hot face. He on the other hand looked as cool as a cucumber and had obviously had no difficulty in bringing his desire under control. Any minute now and he would pop a couple of bank notes down her blouse in payment for services rendered, Freya thought furiously, shrivelling beneath his look of haughty disdain. She held her breath until he left the room, and as soon as he had gone raced around his desk and searched for the passports. Flights back to England would stretch her overdraft to its limit, she acknowledged ruefully, but it couldn’t be helped, she had to get away.

Ignoring the sound of voices from the sitting room, she raced along the hall to the nursery and snatched up the holdall she’d packed with Aimee’s things. With any luck she could collect her daughter from the roof-garden, bid a quick farewell to Jean Lewis and disappear before Zac realised that she had no intention of remaining at the penthouse until he grew bored of fatherhood. At the doorway she spun round and gave one final glance around the room, groaning when she spied Aimee’s favourite toy rabbit at the end of the cot. With a muttered curse she dropped the holdall and flew across the carpet to retrieve the toy, her heart sinking at the sound of Zac’s voice.

‘There you are—I thought you were going to come and meet my mother,’ Zac drawled, his eyes narrowing when Freya gasped at the sight of him.

‘I…thought Aimee was here,’ she said quickly, praying that he wouldn’t notice the holdall behind the door.

‘She’s with Jean in the salon. My mother would very much like to meet you,’ he added quietly.

‘You never introduced me to her during the time I lived with you,’ Freya muttered, remembering how hurt she’d felt when Zac had used to visit Yvette Deverell but never suggested that she accompany him. ‘Why the sudden urgency?’

‘The situation is different now.’ He paused and then explained, ‘When you lived here, my mother was still devastated at the loss of my father. She became a virtual recluse and I was the only person she wanted to see. Thankfully she is much better now and she’s eager to meet you.’

The glint in Zac’s eyes warned Freya that she had no option but to comply and she hastily shoved the passports behind her back and followed him down the hall. Voices were audible from the salon, Jean Lewis’ calm tones and another, heavily accented voice, mingled with Aimee’s gurgling laughter. ‘What an adorable child—how old is she?’

‘Eighteen months,’ Zac answered his mother’s query as he ushered Freya into the room while Jean quietly excused herself. ‘Maman, this is Freya Addison—Aimee’s mother.’

‘Mademoiselle Addison.’ Yvette Deverell stood and held out one elegantly manicured hand to Freya. She was tall, willowy and effortlessly chic in an exquisite dress and jacket from one of the leading fashion houses. Freya immediately felt conscious of the creases in her cheap skirt and, as had so often happened during her childhood, she was swamped by a feeling of inadequacy, not helped when Yvette continued to study her from beneath faintly arched eyebrows, in a silence that spoke volumes. ‘You have a delightful little girl,’ she commented at last, and Freya stiffened when Zac placed his arm around her waist and drew her forwards.

‘Aimee is my daughter, Maman.’ He spoke softly to his mother. ‘You have a granddaughter.’

Freya was prepared for Yvette to look surprised, shocked even, but the expression of horrified dismay on the Frenchwoman’s face filled her with cold fury. Suddenly she was eight years old, walking up the path of Nana Joyce’s house clutching the hand of the social worker who had collected her from the foster family she had been staying with. There had been no look of pleasure on her grandmother’s face when she had opened the door, no welcoming smile.

‘You’d better go up to your room, Freya, and mind you don’t make any noise. You can come down at teatime as long as you’re quiet—I don’t expect to be disturbed by childish chatter,’ Joyce Addison had greeted her coldly.

To this day she rarely spoke unless spoken to, and even in her own flat she’d crept about on tiptoe out of habit, Freya thought bleakly. Her grandmother had crushed her spirit and destroyed her self-confidence—she would not allow Zac’s mother to do the same to Aimee.

‘I don’t understand. How can this be?’ Yvette Deverell was staring at her son, a look of blank incomprehension on her face. ‘Are you certain this is your child?’

Her comments were the last straw, Freya decided furiously, her face burning with mortification as she tugged out of Zac’s hold and grasped Aimee’s hand. It was bad enough that Zac had doubted Aimee’s paternity—how dared his mother do the same? ‘There was some debate over whether Aimee belonged to the tinker, the tailor or the candlestick maker,’ she snapped, her eyes flashing fire as she met Yvette Deverell’s stunned glance. ‘Zac is Aimee’s biological parent, but that’s where his involvement ends. Please don’t worry, madame, I’m taking my daughter home to England and, I assure you, you won’t see either of us again.’

‘Zac! I don’t understand.’ Yvette bombarded her son in a torrent of rapid French while Freya spun on her heel and raced towards the door, tugging Aimee after her. But Zac beat her to it and stood blocking her path, his eyes focused intently on her face.

‘Let me go,’ she said in a low voice that shook as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. ‘Aimee doesn’t belong here. Your mother just made that abundantly clear. She’s my daughter and I’m taking her home.’

‘Zac, I insist you tell me what is happening,’ Yvette demanded plaintively.

‘Calm down, Maman,’ he ordered impatiently as he lifted Aimee against his chest. Without giving Freya a chance to react, he captured her chin with his lean fingers and lowered his head to take her mouth in a brief, searing kiss. ‘There has been a simple misunderstanding, but it’s sorted now,’ he said coolly, his bruising grip on her chin preventing her from speaking while his eyes burned into hers. ‘Freya agrees that our daughter should grow up in Monaco with her family, and from now on she and Aimee will live permanently here in the penthouse with me. Isn’t that so, chérie?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘I CAN’T believe you said that to your mother.’ Freya yelled at Zac as she stormed down the hall after him and followed him into his room. ‘I can see we’re going to have to come to some sort of arrangement so that you can see Aimee regularly—now that you’re suddenly determined to win the award for Father of the Year,’ she added sarcastically. ‘But I’m not moving into the penthouse just for your convenience. I do have a life of my own, you know,’ she said sharply, her temper rising when he ignored her. Breathing hard, she glared at him, her brain barely registering the fact that he was unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded angrily. ‘You don’t want me living here as some sort of permanent house guest any more than you want the responsibilities of a child.

‘Let me take Aimee home and I swear I’ll never contact you again. I don’t need you, Zac,’ she said thickly, knowing that the words were a lie. She needed him in the same way that she needed oxygen to breathe, but she wouldn’t allow her daughter to grow up feeling that she was an encumbrance in her father’s life. Aimee was already forming an emotional attachment to Zac and Freya couldn’t bear to see him hurt her with his indifference.

‘Perhaps you don’t, but what about Aimee’s needs?’ Zac asked quietly. He deciphered the jumble of emotions on her face and felt a curious pain in his gut. After the way he had misjudged her, he supposed she had every right to mistrust his motives, but he didn’t like it. ‘My mother was shocked to discover that she has a granddaughter,’ he said, attempting to explain Yvette Deverell’s reaction to Aimee, ‘understandably so when she believed I would never have a child.’

‘You didn’t want a child,’ Freya pointed out sharply.

‘Non, but there were reasons…’

‘You mean the idea of fatherhood didn’t mix with your life as a jet-setting playboy,’ she agreed scathingly. ‘Aimee isn’t an accessory that you can pick up or set down when it suits you. She deserves to be loved.’

‘And I will love her—I already do,’ he vowed, his voice suddenly fierce. ‘I can provide her with everything she needs. I regret missing the first eighteen months of her life more than you will ever know and I will not miss another day. I don’t want to fight you, Freya—you’re her mother and she needs you, but she needs me too and I’ll fight through the courts if necessary to keep her here.’

The floor swayed beneath Freya’s feet and all colour leached from her face. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I’ve never been more serious in my life,’ Zac assured her grimly.

Freya shook her head, feeling as though it were going to explode. She had assumed that Zac would want as little contact as possible with his daughter and she could barely comprehend that he was prepared to fight a custody battle over her. And it was a battle he would surely win, she thought sickly. He could afford the best legal representation, who would argue that Aimee would want for nothing in his care.

What could she offer in comparison? she brooded miserably, thinking of the life they led in England and her daily struggle to hold down a job and look after Aimee properly. Aimee would undoubtedly have a better life here in Monaco, but Zac couldn’t seriously expect her to put her life on hold and move in with him, could he?

‘I can understand that you want to build a relationship with Aimee and it would be in her best interest if you decide to be a proper father to her. But what role are you expecting me to play in your life?’ Freya’s voice faltered as she finally registered that he had removed his shirt and was in the process of unzipping his trousers.

‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ he drawled, trailing his eyes over her flushed face. ‘You will resume your role as my mistress. We’ve already proved that, on a physical level, we’re made for each other,’ he continued, overriding her gasp of outraged denial. ‘The sexual attraction between us is as explosive now as it was two years ago. I know now that you didn’t have an affair with Brooks and I can see no reason why I shouldn’t take you back in my bed.’ His trousers slid to the floor and he stepped out of them before strolling across the room towards her. ‘Obviously providing Aimee with a secure and stable upbringing is our main concern and the fact that we can enjoy a fantastic sex life is a bonus, wouldn’t you say, chérie?’

Despite her fury at his arrogant assumption that she would gratefully accept his offer to grace his bed once more, Freya could not prevent her eyes from straying down to his boxers and her stomach tightened at the burgeoning proof of his arousal jutting unashamedly beneath the black silk. ‘You’ve got a nerve, Zac,’ she muttered, licking her suddenly dry lips. ‘Clearly, in your belief that you’re God’s gift, it hasn’t occurred to you that I don’t want to be your mistress. The idea is ridiculous. We’re totally incompatible. Zac! What are you doing?’ The last came out as a breathless gasp as he deftly shrugged out of his underwear.

‘Taking a shower—I didn’t have time earlier after my swim. Come and join me while we finish this fascinating conversation,’ he invited with a wolfish smile. His eyes gleamed from beneath heavy lids and the room suddenly throbbed with sexual tension that sent Freya scooting towards the door.

‘You must be joking,’ she choked, but her words were muffled against his shoulder as he swept her up into his arms as if she were a rag doll and strode purposefully into the en suite. ‘Zac, we’ll talk later…What is the point in this?’ she demanded when he activated the shower and stepped beneath the spray with her, still fully clothed and wriggling like an eel to escape him.

‘The point, my little vixen,’ he said as he trapped her flailing hands in one of his to prevent her raining blows on his chest, ‘is to prove that in certain areas, at least, we are completely compatible.’ His head descended and he claimed her mouth, silencing her furious words by kissing her into submission. He knew just how to please her, and he felt a jolt of satisfaction when the tight line of her lips suddenly parted and he was able to dip his tongue between them to explore the moist warmth of her mouth.

Freya gave a helpless groan of protest that was lost beneath the pressure of his lips. Her body was still agonisingly aroused from earlier, when he had laid her across his desk. It had taken all her will-power to stop him from taking her and her senses were greedily snatching this second chance for fulfilment. The powerful spray had already soaked through her clothes and, without lifting his mouth from hers, Zac stripped her of her blouse and skirt. Only then did he trail his lips down her throat to her breasts, where he paused and flicked his tongue back and forth across one tight nipple and then the other until she cried out and felt a sharp tug of desire deep in her pelvis. She clung to his shoulders when he knelt before her and drew her knickers down. Water ran down his face and made his skin glisten and the sight of his dark head moving inexorably down to the triangle of blonde curls between her thighs filled her with a frantic sense of urgency that destroyed any thoughts she’d had of denying him.

‘Lift your leg,’ he growled, his voice thick and slurred with sexual promise as he pushed her gently up against the tiled shower wall and hooked her ankle over his shoulder. Now she was spread before him and he tenderly parted her with his long, clever fingers before dipping his tongue between the velvet folds of her femininity.

Freya gave a muffled sob and dug her fingers into his hair as he explored her with a wicked intimacy that sent quivers of pleasure through her, building higher and higher until she was trembling with need. ‘Please, Zac…’ she implored him, but he ignored her and flicked his tongue over her clitoris in fierce, fast little movements that tipped her over the edge of ecstasy. She shuddered as her muscles clenched in wave after wave of exquisite sensation and in the throes of her climax he stood, lifted her into his arms and ordered her to wrap her thighs around him. Freya complied instantly, aware of nothing but the dictates of her body that still wanted more, and she closed her eyes on a shocked gasp when he penetrated her with one hard thrust.

Last night he had been so blown away by her eager response to him that he had almost lost control, but this time Zac was determined to prove that he was her master. He cupped her bottom and drove into her with slow, steady strokes that filled her and made her arch her back as her pleasure built again. It was deeper this time, even more intense, and she clung to him, totally enslaved by his domination as he finally gave in to her desperate pleas and increased his pace, taking her hard and fast until she threw back her head and convulsed around him in an orgasm that shattered all her preconceived notions of sexual ecstasy.

Freya sobbed his name and locked her ankles tightly around his back, but, instead of taking his own pleasure, he abruptly withdrew from her and set her back on her feet, his nostrils flaring as he fought for control.

‘Why…?’ She tailed to a halt and looked at him with a mixture of confusion and scalding embarrassment as she recalled her shameless response to him. Once again she’d proved that she was completely in his power and she knew he would ruthlessly use that knowledge to bend her to his will.

‘I don’t keep condoms in the shower,’ he told her bluntly, his eyes trailing over her scarlet cheeks. ‘Remiss of me—I must remember in future that you enjoy sex outside the bedroom as much as in it.’ His eyes glinted with amusement at her outraged glare and, before she could argue, he took the bar of soap and began to stroke it in circular movements over her breasts. ‘Now I know that the vasectomy reversed I can’t risk another accidental conception.’

‘Aimee may have been an accident, but I don’t regret having her,’ Freya said heatedly, a shudder running through her when he slid the bar of soap over her stomach and lower to her thighs and buttocks. ‘That’ll do, I’m clean enough,’ she said, bitterly resenting the way her body was quivering in anticipation of his touch once more. Clearly she was some sort of nymphomaniac, she thought grimly, because she couldn’t get enough of him.

‘Be honest, Zac, you never wanted children. You wouldn’t have had a vasectomy if you had. You can still have a relationship with Aimee if I take her back to England,’ she told him when he stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her and carried her into his bedroom, ‘but you don’t really want to be tied down with a child living permanently here in the penthouse.’ Her breath left her body on a gasp when he dropped her unceremoniously on the bed, but to her disappointment he did not join her and instead crossed to his wardrobe and selected a clean shirt and trousers.

‘Aimee is my daughter and she belongs here,’ he said as he slid into his clothes with his usual lithe grace. ‘You know from your own childhood experiences that it’s best for a child to grow up in a stable environment with two parents and, for that reason, I’m prepared to allow you back in my life.’

He slid his arms into his suit jacket and strolled over to the bed, his mouth curving into a mocking smile as he stared down at her lying sprawled on the silk bedspread. ‘I have to go to the office for a couple of hours but I’ll keep the image in my mind of your delectable naked body spread across my bed. This is where you belong, chérie, ready and willing to please me.’ He leaned over her and stemmed her furious rebuttal of his arrogant statement by kissing her senseless before he straightened and traced his thumb pad over her swollen lips. ‘You want me, Freya, and as my mistress you can have me, every single night. Now, be a good girl and stop arguing. Most women would be grateful for the opportunity to move in with a billionaire lover.’

Good girl! Incandescent with rage, Freya wondered if she could beat him to death with a pillow. ‘Unluckily for you, I’m not most women, and if you think I’d ever agree to be your grateful, obedient mistress you’re going to be disappointed,’ she hissed between her clenched teeth.

Zac was already at the door, but he paused and turned to give her a wicked grin. ‘Good—I’d much rather have a disobedient mistress,’ he drawled. ‘It promises to be a lot more fun.’

Two weeks later Freya sat gloomily on a sun lounger, aware that even the beauty of her surroundings failed to lighten her mood. The penthouse roof-garden was a suntrap where scarlet geraniums grew in profusion, their bold colour vying for attention with the azure pool and the sea sparkling on the horizon. She had spent the morning watching while Aimee played with her father in the pool, but now Jean had taken the little girl to the nursery for a nap and she and Zac were alone.

‘Are you hot? Come for a swim to cool off,’ Zac invited, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement when she quickly shook her head. ‘I promise I won’t duck you.’

‘Your promises count for nothing,’ Freya told him firmly, dragging her gaze from the sight of him floating on his back in the pool. His skin had darkened to bronze in the hot sun and she felt the familiar weakness in the pit of her stomach when he swam to the steps and hauled himself out. Droplets of water trickled down his chest and clung to the mass of wiry black hairs that arrowed down beneath the waistband of his swimming shorts. The muscles of his taut abdomen were clearly visible beneath his skin and when he walked over to her and picked up a towel Freya suddenly became fascinated with the view over the bay.

‘You practically drowned me the last time you persuaded me to swim with you,’ she accused, recalling how he had swum up behind her and tugged her under. Taken by surprise, she’d been forced to cling to him—out of her depth in more ways than one, she acknowledged ruefully as the memory of being clamped against his muscular chest while he carried her to the edge of the pool filled her mind.

‘Don’t you trust me?’ He grinned unrepentantly, but beneath his teasing tone she caught a hint of seriousness and she bit her lip as she silently debated the question.

Did she trust him? As far as their child was concerned, she did not doubt that he would always consider Aimee’s welfare paramount. Two weeks had passed since he had received the results of the DNA test and stated his intention to be a proper father to his daughter, and in that time he had proved himself to be a devoted parent. Freya knew that the bond between father and daughter was already so strong that she could never break it.

Aimee adored her papa and with each day that passed Freya felt more and more trapped. She loved her daughter and wanted what was best for her, and undoubtedly Aimee was thriving here in Monaco, showered in affection from Zac, her nanny, Jean Lewis, and the other members of the penthouse staff. Even the taciturn butler, Laurent, had been won over by the baby and could often be found padding up and down the hall on his hands and knees while Aimee gleefully balanced on his back.

Aimee was enjoying the happy family life that Freya had dreamed of as a child, but it was Zac’s mother who had surprised her the most. Yvette Deverell seemed utterly entranced with her little granddaughter and was the most loving, devoted grandmother imaginable. She visited most days and Freya was still amazed by the sight of the elegant Frenchwoman sitting cross-legged on the carpet playing tea parties with Aimee and her teddies. Aimee had formed a very special relationship with Mamie, which Freya would never try to destroy. Her daughter belonged here—but what about her? Where did she belong? she wondered bleakly.

Zac had told her that he wanted her to move in with him for Aimee’s sake, but since then he’d made no further reference to her becoming his mistress, or how he envisaged their future together—possibly because he had now decided that they didn’t have one, she brooded dismally. He had made no attempt to make love to her during the past two weeks even though he knew full well that she would not resist him. Perhaps he had found her eagerness unattractive, she thought on a wave of embarrassment, or maybe, now that he’d had her, he was already tired of her. Whatever his reasons, he had spent the past weeks being charmingly attentive each evening when he returned home from work, but conspicuously absent from her bed each night, and she felt confused and, if she was honest, incredibly frustrated.

She tried not to look at him rubbing the towel over his damp body, but she was painfully aware of the fact that his wet shorts were clinging to his thighs, leaving little to her imagination. Hopefully he would announce that he had some work to do in his study. It was Saturday, and she remembered that when she had lived with him he had spent most of his weekends either working or indulging his passion for a variety of sports, but to her dismay he did not immediately disappear into the penthouse and instead lowered himself into the chair next to hers. She instantly stiffened and her heart began to thud heavily in her chest. He was too close and her senses flared when he idly placed his arm along the back of her chair.

‘What are these?’ he queried, glancing at the photo albums on the table.

‘You said you’d like to see some pictures of Aimee when she was first born,’ she replied, grateful for the excuse to edge away from him. ‘My neighbour has a key to my flat and I asked her to send these over. They’re mainly snaps taken with a disposable camera and the quality isn’t brilliant,’ she said apologetically as he silently leafed through the album where she had faithfully recorded every milestone of Aimee’s development. ‘Aimee’s a little poseur, don’t you think?’ She laughed, studying the image of her daughter on her first birthday.

‘She’s beautiful,’ Zac murmured huskily, his accent suddenly very pronounced as he stared at the picture of a smiling Aimee proudly showing off her first tooth. He had missed so much, he acknowledged as he picked up another picture of Aimee as a newborn baby. Someone else had obviously taken the photo of Freya in the delivery room, smiling bravely despite the exhaustion in her eyes as she clutched her tiny bundle.

Freya looked young and scared as she faced the stark reality of coping with motherhood alone, but he recognised the determined set of her chin and felt a flare of admiration for her. Freya’s fragile looks were deceptive; she had a backbone of steel and he found himself in awe of her strength. She had stated that she didn’t need him and he had no doubts that, if it had not been for the accident, she would have brought Aimee up to be a happy, well-adjusted child without any help from him.