Kitabı oku: «The Gold Collection», sayfa 30

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ she demanded when Zac walked back to her.

He hesitated fractionally and then said, ‘My mother has sent a message via the satellite phone saying that Aimee seems unwell. I’ve instructed Claude to head straight back to port.’

Panic immediately coiled in Freya’s stomach. ‘How do you mean—unwell? Yvette must have given more details than that.’

‘I’m sorry, chérie, that’s all I know,’ Zac said, his voice softening when he saw the flare of anxiety in her eyes. ‘We’ll be back at La Maison des Fleurs within the hour.’ He paused and then murmured, ‘It’s quite possible that my mother is overreacting. Many years ago she lost two babies in quick succession and she is bound to be ultra-protective of Aimee.’

‘How terrible for her.’ Freya momentarily forgot her concern for her own baby as she contemplated Yvette Deverell’s devastating losses. ‘Was that before you were born?’

For a moment it seemed that Zac did not want to answer and his face was shuttered when he glanced at her. ‘Non, I was fourteen—old enough to understand my parents’ grief but sadly unable to comfort them, although I did my best.’

‘I’m sure you were a great comfort to them.’ Freya had a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but it was clear Zac did not want to discuss the tragedy that had blighted his family. He’d said that Yvette had lost her children when they were babies—had they died as a result of cot-death? She had read somewhere that the syndrome could affect more than one sibling and certainly it must have been utterly heartbreaking for Zac and his parents. She could understand now why Yvette adored Aimee, but some maternal sixth sense warned her that Zac’s mother wasn’t overreacting. Something was seriously wrong.

The journey back to the port seemed to take for ever and she busied herself by going below deck to change out of her bikini. Her earlier pleasure in the boat trip had evaporated and she wished she had never allowed Zac to persuade her to leave Aimee. She felt guilt-ridden that she had abandoned her baby even for a couple of hours, especially as it had resulted in her and Zac being at loggerheads once more. Her daughter was the only important person in her life, she reminded herself fiercely, and everyone else, including Zac, took second place.

The moment the car drew up outside La Maison des Fleurs, Freya flew through the front door and skidded to a halt when Yvette hurried forwards to greet them. ‘How is Aimee?’ she asked urgently, fear seizing her when she stared at the Frenchwoman’s worried expression.

‘Not good, I’m afraid,’ Yvette replied shakily, turning her gaze from Freya to Zac. ‘Thank God you’re here. The doctor is with Aimee now and he says she must go straight to the hospital.’

With a muffled cry Freya shot past Zac’s mother, into the sitting room where Aimee was lying, pale and seemingly lifeless on the sofa.

‘Aimee, Aimee! What’s wrong with her?’ she beseeched the doctor who was standing, grave-faced, close to the child. She could hear Zac urgently asking his mother when Aimee had first shown signs of being ill, and Yvette’s explanation that the toddler had seemed tired after playing on the swing.

‘I was surprised because I know she usually has a nap in the morning, but I made her a bed on the sofa and thought she would sleep for a little while. After two hours I was beginning to feel anxious,’ Yvette said tearfully. ‘I was relieved when she stirred, but almost immediately she was sick and when I drew back the blinds she screamed as if the light hurt her eyes. Since then she has been as you see her now. The doctor has confirmed she is running a high temperature but her symptoms could mean many things…’ Yvette broke off helplessly and Freya swung round to the doctor.

‘What do you think is wrong with her?’

‘I can’t say for sure but she is showing classic symptoms of meningitis,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s best that she goes to the hospital where tests will confirm the diagnosis. I think the ambulance is here now.’ He took one look at Freya’s ashen face and patted her arm. ‘Try not to worry, madame, your daughter will be in good hands.’

Meningitis—the word sounded over and over in Freya’s head as the ambulance hurtled through the traffic. It was every parent’s worst nightmare, renowned for striking without warning and with potentially fatal results. Aimee’s life could not be in danger; she frantically sought to reassure herself, but when she stared at her baby’s limp body her heart stood still. Please don’t let me lose her, she prayed, squeezing her eyes shut to prevent her tears from falling. Crying wouldn’t help, she had to be strong and help Aimee in her fight for survival.

A hand reached out and enfolded her fingers in a strong grasp. Zac was hurting too, she could see it in the tense line of his jaw, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Sympathy briefly flared for what he must be going through, the agony he must be feeling that Aimee could be taken from him so soon after she had come into his life. But when they arrived at the hospital and the ambulance doors were flung open, she forgot everything but the need to focus on her baby. Aimee needed her and there was no room in her heart for anyone else.

CHAPTER NINE

ONE week later Freya stood in the nursery, struggling to hold back her tears as she stared into the cot. Aimee was sleeping peacefully, her long eyelashes feathering her cheeks that were now flushed with healthy colour once more.

The hours after they had arrived at the hospital had been fraught with tension as the little girl underwent a series of tests, and the eventual diagnosis that she did not have meningitis had only been a partial relief. Aimee had been suffering from a virus that had taken a hold on her young body. For the next three days she had lain in her hospital bed attached to wires and monitors and despite the efforts of the excellent medical team, had shown no signs of recovery. But on the fourth day her high temperature had gradually dropped back to normal and when she’d woken from a long nap she had sat up, demanded a drink, wolfed down a banana and only been persuaded to remain in bed because her toy rabbit was poorly and needed looking after.

Aimee’s recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, and now that they were back at the penthouse Freya felt as though she had ridden an emotional roller coaster. She would not have been able to get through the past week without Zac, she admitted to herself. From the moment Aimee had been whisked away by the medical team, he had been faultlessly supportive, countering her frantic fear with quiet calm and relaying every snippet of information from the doctors in an effort to allay her anxiety.

He had been a rock and she’d clung to him unashamedly, reassured by his strength and comforted by his decision to fly in one of the world’s leading paediatricians. Her pride was no longer important and she was simply grateful that he could afford the best medical care for their daughter. More than anything it had brought home to her that Aimee’s future lay here in Monaco, with her father.

‘Come away now, chérie,’ Zac said softly when he entered the nursery and walked silently over to the cot. ‘She’s sleeping soundly and Jean insists that she will sit up all night to check on her.’

‘I can’t believe how well she looks,’ Freya muttered past the constriction in her throat. ‘Just a week ago I thought…I thought I would lose her and I was so scared.’ The tears were falling, despite her determination to wait until she reached the privacy of her own room before she broke down. Overwhelmed by exhaustion and relief, she could not hold back the flood of her emotions, but as she buried her face in her hands strong arms closed around her and she was drawn up against the solid wall of Zac’s chest.

‘It’s all right, Freya, cry it out. You can’t take any more and it’s no wonder after the nightmare of the past week. Aimee is completely well and she’ll bounce back from this in no time,’ he assured her as he lifted her into his arms and strode down the hall. ‘It’s you I’m worried about, chérie. You’ve barely slept for days and I can’t recall the last time you ate anything. It can’t go on,’ he told her firmly, ‘and if you won’t look after yourself, then I’ll have to do it for you.’

Freya was beyond arguing. Zac was arrogant and bossy and usually she would have rebelled against his authority, but the hours she’d sat at the hospital, willing her baby to recover, had left her feeling as though she had been put through a mangle.

‘Bed,’ he stated grimly when he reached her room and set her down, his mouth tightening at the sight of her white face and the purple bruises beneath her eyes. ‘Perhaps you’ll look a little less like a ghost after a good night’s sleep.’

‘I need a bath first,’ she mumbled, almost too weary to speak, but he shook his head firmly.

‘You can have a bath tomorrow. You’re too tired tonight; you can barely stand up. Let me help you get changed.’ He held out her nightdress and moved to unfasten her blouse.

‘It’s all right, I can manage.’ The temptation to throw herself in his arms and beg him to hold her was so strong that she bit her lip to prevent the words from spilling out. She couldn’t cope with him tonight, not when her emotions were so raw, and to her relief he stood and walked over to the door.

‘Call me if you need anything. Bonne nuit, chérie,’ Zac bade her softly before he retraced his steps back to the nursery and stood watching over his sleeping daughter. A hand seemed to curl around his heart as he absorbed the beauty of her golden curls and the tiny heart-shaped face that reminded him of Freya. He loved Aimee beyond words and the days she had spent in the hospital had been the worst of his life, but now she was home safe and well and he was struggling to assimilate exactly what he felt for her mother.

Light was still streaming from beneath Freya’s bedroom door when he walked past and he hesitated momentarily before giving in to the urge to check that she was safely asleep. But her bed was empty and his mouth tightened as he crossed the room to the en suite, recalling her stubborn expression when he’d left her. Surely she wouldn’t have risked taking a bath tonight?

‘Freya!’ The bathroom door was locked and he rattled the handle impatiently, his unease growing when he called again and received no reply. ‘Freya—what the devil are you doing in there?’

In the distant recess of her mind, Freya recognised that someone was calling her name. She felt curiously weightless, as if she were floating, but her name sounded again and with an effort she forced her eyelids open at the same time as she swallowed a mouthful of water. Coughing and spluttering, she jerked upright just as the bathroom door splintered from its hinges and Zac burst into the room.

‘Mon Dieu! I don’t believe you! You fell asleep, didn’t you? Do you have a death wish or something?’ he demanded furiously. He loomed over her, hands on his hips and aggression pumping from every pore as a potent mix of fear and adrenaline coursed through his body. ‘I told you not to have a bath until tomorrow. Can’t you ever do as you’re told? You might have drowned,’ he said, his voice sharp with relief.

Freya shrivelled beneath his glowering fury and sank deeper beneath the rapidly disappearing bubbles. ‘I couldn’t bear feeling so dirty,’ she mumbled. A spark of pride brought her chin up and she forced herself to meet his furious gaze.

‘The maid could have helped you if you’d waited until tomorrow morning,’ he growled, ‘but instead, because of your impatience, you’ll have to put up with me playing nursemaid while I rub you down.’

‘I don’t need you or anyone else to rub me down; I’m not a horse!’

‘Non, you are the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met,’ Zac agreed tightly as he unfolded a towel and approached her. ‘You’re so exhausted you can barely sit up, let alone haul yourself out of the bath. A less patient man would let you sit there all night,’ he added with such supreme arrogance that Freya considered inflicting serious injury with the loofah.

‘I can manage,’ she muttered, but as usual Zac was right. The sheer terror she’d felt for Aimee was now taking its toll and she felt limp and utterly drained. She hadn’t deliberately set out to anger Zac and the sight of his grim face brought a rush of tears to her eyes. ‘I need to wash my hair,’ she choked miserably.

For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her, until with a muttered oath he dropped the towel he was holding and unbuttoned his shirt cuffs before rolling the material over his forearms. ‘Lie back in the water and lean against my arm,’ he instructed as he knelt beside the bath and slid his arm beneath her back.

Warily, Freya did as he asked. The bubbles were dispersing fast and her cheeks burned when she felt his gaze slide over her briefly. He’d seen her naked body many times before, she reminded herself impatiently, but right now she felt acutely vulnerable. ‘Zac…’

‘Do you want me to help you or not?’ he growled, his tone warning her that she’d already pushed him to his limits. Weakly she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be soothed by the gentle motion of his hand as he massaged shampoo into her scalp. It felt so good that her muscles gradually relaxed and even the knowledge that the bubbles had almost gone, leaving her slender limbs exposed to his gaze, failed to destroy the magic of his touch.

‘There, you’ll do,’ he said abruptly, shattering the spell. He adjusted the water temperature and used the shower attachment to rinse her hair, his expression unfathomable as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on her face. The tension was back, a prickling, tangible force that made Freya’s nerve endings quiver.

‘If you could just pass me a towel, I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ she began, and then gasped when he scooped her out of the bath. ‘Zac!’ In an agony of embarrassment, she buried her face in his shirt while he wrapped a towel around her and carried her through her room and along the hall to his bedroom. ‘Please—I can take care of myself,’ she mumbled, but he ignored her and used the towel with brisk efficiency to rub her body until she was tingling all over.

She was going to die of embarrassment tomorrow, Freya thought sleepily, but Zac had that determined gleam in his eyes that she knew so well and it was easier to give in to him. Her eyelids felt heavy and she was barely aware of him popping her nightdress over her head. When he drew back the bedcovers she wanted to remind him that this was his room, not hers, but he ignored her small protest and tucked her between the sheets as if she were a small child.

‘I know this is my bed, chérie,’ he said with a quiet implacability in his voice that would have alarmed her had she heard it. But she was already asleep by the time he had stripped out of his clothes and slid into bed beside her. ‘The time for fighting is over,’ he murmured as he leaned over and brushed his lips lightly across her mouth, ‘and this is where you belong.’

It was still dark when Freya awoke. Not the inky blackness of midnight, but a soft, shadowy darkness as dawn crept closer. This was Zac’s room, she realised as her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. She was in Zac’s bed and it had been his arms holding her close throughout the night. He was still holding her, she amended when she turned her head and met a wall of warm, satin skin overlaid with a fine covering of black hairs.

The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest told her he was asleep. She shouldn’t be here, and now was the ideal opportunity to slip back to her own room. But the temptation to remain close to him, cocooned in this twilight world with the man she loved, was too strong to resist. With a small sigh she closed her eyes and inhaled his clean, masculine scent. Slowly, inexorably, her senses stirred until she was conscious of each separate nerve ending tingling in illicit anticipation.

Common sense warned her to flee before he opened his eyes and saw the hunger in hers, but instead her hand curved over his heart and she felt its steady beat reverberate through her fingertips. He shifted slightly on the mattress and she held her breath, but his relaxed muscles lulled her and she could not resist allowing her hand to slide lightly down his chest and over his flat stomach. The waistband of his boxers was an unwelcome barrier that brought a halt to her exploration. But the urge to trail her fingers lower was too strong and she cautiously edged beneath the elastic, a startled cry leaving her lips when he suddenly crushed her marauding hand against his body.

‘You are following a path that can only have one outcome, chérie,’ he drawled lazily, the sensual smokiness of his voice sending a quiver of excitement down Freya’s spine. ‘Are you sure it’s a route you want to take?’

‘Yes,’ she replied unequivocally, following the dictates of her heart before her head had a chance to question her sanity. He didn’t love her and maybe he never would, but he cared for her. His behaviour last night had proved that, if proof were needed after the tender consideration he had shown her during Aimee’s illness. His cruel rejection two years ago had broken her heart, but since he had learned that Aimee was his child he had done everything possible to try and atone for the past. Nothing was perfect, she reminded herself, and at least he hadn’t made false promises he couldn’t keep. The simple truth was that she only felt half alive without him. Aimee belonged here with him, and so did she.

She heard Zac draw a sharp breath and when he turned his head the brilliant fire in his blue eyes warned her that this time there could be no going back.

‘Zac.’ Emotion clogged her throat and he caught her soft cry, claiming her lips in a slow, drugging kiss that coaxed and cajoled until she curled her arms around his neck and responded with all the need that had lain dormant inside her for so long.

Moments before, he had been deeply asleep but now he was wide awake and so boldly aroused that Freya suffered a tiny flutter of trepidation as the solid length of his erection straining beneath the silky material of his boxers filled her with awe and undeniable excitement. Liquid heat surged through her veins as her body recognised its mate. This was her man, the only man to know the intimate secrets of her body, and already she could feel the moist warmth between her legs as she made ready for him.

‘I’ve missed you, Freya,’ he muttered hoarsely, his lips grazing a path down her throat to settle on the pulse that beat frantically at its base. With one swift movement he drew her nightshirt over her head and stared down at her slender, naked form, tracing every dip and curve with his burning gaze. He cupped her breasts in his hands with gentle reverence and kneaded them before splaying his fingers wide, his olive-gold skin contrasting starkly against the creamy whiteness of her flesh.

‘Zac, please.’ She arched towards him and groaned her approval when he rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefingers until they were tight, throbbing peaks that begged for the possession of his mouth. He made her wait, teasing her with his wicked touch until she slid her hands into his hair and directed his head down to her breast. The delicate flick of his tongue across the sensitive crest was so exquisite that she tensed and moved her hips in a restless invitation. She wanted him now, this minute. She felt as if she had been waiting a lifetime and she couldn’t withstand another moment of his sensual foreplay when the urgency to feel him deep inside her was driving her out of her mind.

‘Slowly, mon coeur, I want to savour every second and taste every delectable inch of you,’ he promised, putting his words into action when he moved down her body and trailed his lips over her stomach. Freya gasped when he continued lower and her fingers tightened in his hair when he gently pushed her legs apart so that he could bestow the most intimate caress of all.

It was too much, sensation piling on sensation and building to a crescendo that made her writhe beneath him. ‘Please, Zac, it has to be now,’ she pleaded as the first little spasms caused her muscles to clench around his probing tongue.

He finally acknowledged her urgency and for a moment his own desperate need threatened to overwhelm him so that he feared he would lose control before he had given her pleasure. Muttering an oath, he dispensed with his underwear and reached into the bedside drawer for a protective sheath.

Only then could he succumb to the demands of his desire and he groaned low in his throat when he edged forwards so that the tip of his penis was rubbing against the opening to her vagina. Slowly and with infinite care he thrust into her, and then stilled while her muscles stretched around him. She felt hot and tight and he could feel the waves of pleasure building inside him, clamouring for release. But he would die rather than hurt her and he restrained himself from plunging deep into her silken heat until he felt her relax a little.

Carefully he withdrew a fraction and then thrust into her again and again, faster now as she wrapped her legs tightly round him, her soft cries urging him on. Frantically he sought to claw back his self-control and slow his pace, possessing her with strong, hard strokes until she gave a low cry and her body convulsed around him.

‘Freya…’He called her name, tried to explain that he had never known such sheer pleasure as when he made love to her, but she seemed to know, just as she had always known the effect she had on him. Her soft smile destroyed the last tenuous threads of his control and he pulsed inside her, overwhelmed by wave after wave of incredible pleasure that left him satisfied and at peace.

For a long while neither of them spoke and only the steady tick-tock of the clock broke the companionable silence. Zac had rolled onto his back, taking Freya with him, and at last she lifted her head and met his slumberous gaze. ‘I need to thank you for everything you’ve done this last week,’ she murmured huskily. ‘The way you cared for Aimee—and me. I’m not sure I’d have coped without you.’

‘I consider myself thanked,’ he replied lightly, his eyes glinting with teasing amusement when she blushed and tried to ease away from him. He prevented her frantic bid for escape by tightening his arms around her so that she was held prisoner against his chest. ‘And from now on, chérie, I intend to devote as much of my time as possible to pleasing you so that you will need to thank me all through the night, and at least once during the day,’ he added wickedly.

‘That wasn’t the reason why I—’ She broke off, her face flaming and wriggled her hips in an attempt to free herself from his hold until she realised the effect she was having on certain parts of his anatomy.

‘I’m sorry, ma petite—’ he grinned unrepentantly ‘—but I have been patient for the last two weeks and now I am very, very hungry.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ she muttered, feeling the hard ridge of his arousal pushing provocatively against her belly. Her body instantly stirred into urgent life. It was too soon, surely? He couldn’t…

He proved conclusively that he could by lifting her hips and gently bringing her down on top of him, filling her so completely that she groaned and clung to his shoulders while she absorbed each delicious thrust.

She was shocked that he could arouse her to such a heightened degree of need so soon after she had climaxed, but already she could feel exquisite spasms of pleasure rippling through her. His hands curved possessively around her buttocks, lifted and stroked the round globes and aided her in setting a sensual rhythm that quickly became a frantic drumbeat of desire. Within seconds they were at the edge, hovered there for infinitesimal seconds before finally tumbling over into the ecstasy of mutual release.

This time when Freya eased away from him, he rolled onto his side and stared down at her, his face suddenly serious. ‘You are so small and fragile, but you possess an inner strength that is quite incredible, chérie,’ he said quietly. He stroked a stray tendril of hair from her face and a warm glow filled her when she caught the flare of admiration in his eyes. ‘I don’t doubt that you would have coped with the traumas of the past week without any help from me. You proved during the last two years that you can deal with anything life throws at you, including bringing up our daughter alone and unsupported. But, believe me, I will support you and Aimee now,’ he told her fiercely.

‘I do believe you, Zac,’ Freya whispered softly, ‘and I agree that Aimee belongs here in Monaco with both of us. If it’s still what you want, then…I’ll marry you.’

‘Think about it for a moment,’ he commanded urgently, so intent on persuading her around to his way of thinking that her words were lost on him. ‘As my wife there would be no need for you to work and you could spend all your time with Aimee instead of having to leave her at a nursery. Wouldn’t you like that, chérie? You clearly adore her and you must know from your own childhood that she would benefit from having her mother’s undivided attention.’

‘Absolutely,’ Freya reiterated calmly, love and tenderness welling up inside her as she watched his expression change from frustration to dawning comprehension. ‘The events of the last week have forced me to see that Aimee needs the love and care of both her parents and I agree that it would be best if we were married. It’s the most logical solution,’ she added, proud of the lack of emotion in her voice that disguised her aching heart. All her life she had dreamed of romance and roses, moonlight and the husky avowal of undying love, but she was prosaic enough to realise that fairy tales rarely came true and she was willing to accept Zac’s marriage offer knowing that it was a contract based on convenience and a mutual desire to do their best for their daughter.

‘And who can argue with logic?’ Zac murmured in a dry tone that masked his irrational feeling of pique. Freya had accepted his marriage proposal with as much enthusiasm and excitement as if she were making a dental appointment. There was nothing wrong with assessing the situation they found themselves in logically, he reminded himself. Freya was no longer an impressionable girl, she was an independent woman who had managed quite well without him in the past and if necessary would do so again in the future. Clearly she had weighed up the pros and cons of becoming his wife and had reached a decision based on common sense rather than emotion.

He admired her determination to do the right thing for their daughter, but he couldn’t deny a certain amount of wounded pride that she viewed him as a logical solution to a problem rather than the man she was eager to spend the rest of her life with.

‘So, now that you’ve agreed to marry me, all we have to do is decide on the sort of wedding we want,’ he said smoothly, settling himself comfortably against the headboard and giving her a smile that told her of his satisfaction that he had got his own way in the end.

She was cornered, but she had stepped willingly into the trap, Freya reminded herself when her heart lurched. Their marriage would be based on sexual desire and the love they shared for Aimee, but plenty of successful marriages had been built on less. Surely with a little effort on both sides they could make their relationship work?

‘I assumed you would prefer a small wedding with the minimum of fuss,’ she murmured, tearing her eyes from the sight of his magnificent body sprawled on the pillows like a sultan in the midst of his harem.

‘I only intend to marry once, chérie, and I’d like to make it a day to remember,’ he surprised her by saying. ‘The ceremony doesn’t have to be too lavish—if that’s not what you want—but I have numerous relatives and friends I would like to invite and naturally we will want to include Aimee. She’ll make an adorable bridesmaid, and of course you must have a wedding dress and flowers, and a ring. I want to do this properly, Freya,’ he insisted when she looked stunned by the prospect of a big celebration. ‘We may not be marrying for conventional reasons, but I’m still proud that I’m making you my wife.’

He meant of course that, unlike most couples, they were not marrying for love, Freya realised, feeling her heart contract. It was stupid to feel so hurt and she gave a careless shrug, determined not to reveal that she’d be happy to marry in a barn, dressed in sackcloth, if only he loved her. ‘You’ve obviously given the subject more thought than me so I’ll leave the arrangements to you.’

She flicked back the sheets to slide out of bed, ignoring the temptation of his naked body and the sensual gleam in his eyes. Their marriage might be a convenient arrangement but they were drawn together by a fierce mutual desire. Her one fear was what would happen if Zac’s passion for her died—would he still be proud to have her as his wife when he no longer wanted her in his bed? The question settled like a heavy weight in her chest and she snatched up her robe, suddenly anxious to escape him. ‘Aimee’s probably awake by now,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll go and check on her.’