She wanted to deny his words more vehemently. She wanted to throw it all in his face, tell him that she could never make a home in the place he had basically imprisoned her in but she couldn’t get the words out. The expression in his eyes had frozen her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
She had seen desire there; it was always there. She had seen loathing, she had even glimpsed pity in those green depths, but this...
This look made her insides melt into liquid and her heart race into a thrum.
This was a look of possession but not the look of a buyer appreciating his chattel. It was the possessive way a man looked at his lover, and the thought made the liquid in her insides burn to think that, in only one night, she would be his lover.
He was telling her to treat his home as her own and, more than that, he meant it. She could see it in the eyes she found herself continually seeking.
She could never imagine Javier saying something like that. Their engagement party had been nothing but an exercise in showing her off to his peers—he didn’t have friends, he had acquaintances—and cementing their forthcoming union. She had never felt comfortable in his home and he had never done or said anything to make her feel that she should feel comfortable there. In truth, she had dreaded moving into that villa and living within the cold, emotionless walls.
Yet for all her dread at marrying him, she’d felt safe. He could touch her but he could never hurt her.
Benjamin on the other hand...
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked casually as she hurried through the chateau doors. ‘A last drink to celebrate the last night of our freedom?’
‘No, thank you.’ She shook her head for emphasis. ‘I’m going up. I need to do some yoga and get some sleep.’
‘Yoga at this time of night?’
She took the first step up the cantilevered stairs. ‘If I can’t dance it’s the next best thing.’
And God knew she needed to do something. She would be marrying this man in fourteen hours.
‘In that case, bonne nuit.’
Not looking back and holding the rail tightly, she skipped up the stairs feeling his stare on her with every step she took.
She had to remember that Benjamin had stolen her. He had stolen her.
Nothing he did or said could make up for that.
Marrying him was the only way she could salvage the mess that he had created for her in his ruthless game of revenge.
If she dropped her guard, he had the potential to hurt her in ways she did not have the imagination to imagine.
* * *
The wedding ceremony was simple and, best of all, quick.
Two hours after they had been pronounced husband and wife, they sat alone in an exclusive restaurant at the pretty little town they had married in, and all Freya could remember of the ceremony itself was how she’d trembled; her hands, her voice as she’d made her vows, but she could remember nothing of the vows themselves. She remembered how warm her skin had been and how certain she’d been that the mayor, who’d officiated the service, and the witnesses he’d brought in could all hear the hammering of her heart.
She couldn’t remember the faces of the witnesses. She couldn’t remember the face of the photographer who had taken the official picture of the newly married couple on the steps of the town hall but she could remember the butterflies that had let loose in her stomach as she’d waited for the kiss that would show the world she belonged to Benjamin, striking a further blow to the pride of the man she should have married.
She had held her core tightly in dread and anticipation. Benjamin had stared intently into her eyes but instead of stamping his possession on her mouth, had pulled her to him so her cheek pressed against his chest and his chin rested on the top of her head. She could remember the scent of his cologne and the warmth of his skin through the smart suit he’d married her in, and most vividly she remembered the dive of disappointment that the kiss she’d worked herself up for had never happened.
From that day the world would know her as Freya Guillem. It would be her professional name, just as she had agreed to take Javier’s name what now felt a lifetime ago.
She could no longer remember Javier’s face. She didn’t think she had ever looked at it properly.
But she knew every contour of Benjamin’s. His features had been committed to her memory all those months ago in that one, long, lingering look when she should never have noticed him in the first place. Her hungry eyes had soaked in all the little details since she had been living under his roof and now she knew the exact position of the scar above his lip, the differing shades of his eyes depending on the light and his mood, the unruliness of his black eyebrows if he didn’t smooth them down, the faint dimple that appeared in his left cheek when he smiled, which wasn’t often.
But when he did smile...
His smile had the capacity to make her stomach melt into a puddle.
Trying her hardest to hide the fresh tremors in her hand, she took another drink of her champagne and readily allowed the maître d’ to refill it.
‘Is the food not to your liking, madam?’ he asked, staring with concern at her plate.
‘It’s delicious,’ she replied honestly. ‘I’m just not very hungry.’
She’d had to virtually force-feed herself the few bites she’d had of her challans duck with crispy pear and other little morsels of taste sensation artfully displayed on her plate.
The town they’d married in was a beautiful place of old, steep, narrow streets and chic, impeccably dressed men and women. This was rural France but with a modern twist, its eclectic shops and restaurants catering to the filthy rich. The restaurant Benjamin had taken her to to celebrate their nuptials was the plushest of the lot, its chef the recipient of so many awards he was a household name, even to her. Benjamin had hired the whole restaurant for their exclusive use.
‘Has anticipation caused you to lose your appetite?’ the man she had married only a few hours before asked with a gleam in his eyes, the look of seduction, the unspoken promise that the kiss he had failed to deliver on at the top of the town hall steps would soon be forthcoming.
Whatever had affected her appetite had not had the same effect on him, she thought resentfully, staring at his cleared plate. He had eaten with the same relish he ate all his meals. Apart from breakfast, she remembered. Benjamin had an aversion to breakfast.
‘Anticipation about what?’ she challenged. ‘If you think I’m nervous about sharing a bed with you then I’m afraid I must disappoint you.’
And she wasn’t nervous. She was terrified.
The gleam in his eyes only deepened. ‘I don’t think it is possible that you could disappoint me, ma douce.’
You’ll be disappointed when you discover my complete lack of experience.
She knew she should tell him. It was something she had told herself repeatedly these past few days but every time she practised in her head what to say, her brain would burn and she’d get a queasy roiling in her belly. Benjamin was expecting to share his bed with an experienced woman, not a virgin.
Would he laugh at her? Or simply disbelieve her? Maybe he would even refuse to sleep with her, a thought that would have sent her into hysterical laughter if her vocal cords hadn’t frozen. As if he would care. The man was remorseless.
Whatever his reaction would be she had yet to find the words to tell him and now the time was speeding up and all she could do was drag this meal out for as long as she could to delay what she knew was inevitable.
Yet staring into those green eyes that gazed so blatantly back at her, she couldn’t deny there was truth in Benjamin’s observation. Anticipation had laced itself within her fear. It had steadily coiled itself through her bloodstream and now she didn’t know if it was fear or anticipation that had her clutched in its grip the strongest.
She had to get a hold on herself and keep her head. Keep her control, the only part of herself that would be left for herself when this night was over.
He reached over to take her hand, leaning forward as he rubbed his thumb against her wrist to stare at her with a piercing look that sent fresh tingles racing through her blood. She was certain he must be able to feel the pulse behind the skin of her wrist throbbing madly.
His voice dropped to a sensuous murmur. ‘As you are not hungry for food...’ He raised her hand and pressed his lips to the very spot on her wrist his thumb had brushed against. ‘Time to leave, ma douce. Let us see if we can whet and satisfy a different hunger.’
CHAPTER NINE
THE DRIVE BACK through the winding roads of Provence to his secluded chateau seemed to take hours rather than just twenty short minutes.
Benjamin had never known his veins to fizz as wildly as they were doing right then or been so aware of the heat of his skin. Freya stared out of the window beside him, her stillness absolute. Only the erratic rise and fall of her chest showed it to be nothing but a façade.
He could not believe how stunning she looked that day. Freya’s striking looks had turned into a beauty that had stolen his breath so many times he was surprised he had any oxygen left in his lungs.
She’d chosen to marry him in a simple white silk dress that floated to her ankles, with a lace bodice that sparkled under the sun’s rays held up by delicate spaghetti straps. On her feet were flat white sandals that suited the bohemian effect of the dress, her dark hair loose and falling in waves over her shoulders.
The dress she had chosen had hardly been a traditional wedding dress but it had been perfect for their wedding. It had proven her commitment in the vows she was making.
Benjamin had taken one look at her and wished he’d arranged for them to exchange those vows in his chateau garden under an archway adorned with flowers of all different scents and colours.
They had left the town hall as husband and wife and stood together at the top of the steps, the photographer’s lens trained on them exactly as Benjamin had instructed.
The sun’s rays had bounced over Freya’s skin and he had stared into eyes that were wide with trepidation, and felt that same dazzling punch in the guts he’d experienced the first time he’d set eyes on her. Just like that, the kiss he’d planned for the media’s delectation and Javier’s continued humiliation had seemed all wrong.
This was their wedding. Whatever the circumstances behind their vows, this was a commitment they were making to each other.
He didn’t want to think about his nemesis.
Instead, he had put an arm around her and drawn her to him so her cheek rested against his chest. She had trembled in his arms.
It had come to him then as he inhaled her scent with the photographer’s lens flashing at them why he needed their first kiss as husband and wife to be away from prying eyes...his need to possess Freya had become stronger than his thirst for revenge against Javier.
When he kissed her next, he had no intention of stopping.
‘The first time we drove this road together in the dark you had a can of pepper spray aimed at my face,’ he commented idly as his driver took them through his forest.
They were almost home.
She didn’t move her head from the window. ‘I wish I had used it.’
‘Do you think it would have changed the outcome between us?’
She raised a shoulder in a light shrug. ‘If I hadn’t left the hotel with you, if I had taken my chances at the airfield, if I had made a successful escape over your wall...any of those things could have changed the outcome.’
He reached a hand out to smooth a lock of her hair behind an ear.
‘Do you wish you had been able to change it? Do you wish it had been Javier you exchanged your vows with today?’
She stilled, whether at his touch or his question he did not know.
Her throat moved before she said quietly, ‘I married you. It is pointless wishing for an alternative reality.’
A stab of something that felt a little like how he imagined jealousy would feel cut into his chest.
That hadn’t been a denial.
Freya had never given any indication that she harboured genuine feelings for Javier but nor had she given any indication that she didn’t.
She desired him; that had been proven beyond doubt, but that didn’t mean she didn’t desire Javier too.
Had she spent their wedding day wishing she had married the other man? Was she approaching their wedding night wishing it were Javier’s bed she would be sharing instead of his?
He rubbed his finger over the rim of her ear. Freya had such pretty, delicate ears...he had never thought of ears as pretty before. He had never noticed anyone’s ears before.
He noticed everything about Freya. There was not a part of her face he wasn’t now familiar with in a way he had never been familiar with another.
He could hardly wait to discover the parts she kept hidden from view. That time was almost with them and if she was approaching it wishing it were with Javier then he would make damn sure to drive his rival from her mind.
Come the morning her first thought would be him and him alone.
Come the morning and she would never wish she were with Javier or think of him again.
* * *
‘Drink?’
Freya nodded tightly. Her knees shook so hard they could hardly support her weight. She had been unable to speak since they had walked back into the chateau to a vibrant display of flowers and balloons in the main reception room.
She had no idea where the staff were though. The chateau, normally bustling with unobtrusive life, was silent enough to hear a pin drop.
The silence in Benjamin’s bedroom was even more oppressive. She fought the urge to bolt like a frightened colt.
‘Take a seat.’ He strolled to a dark wood cabinet, gesturing to the cosy armchair in the corner of his bedroom.
She sat and pressed her knees together under the wedding dress she knew wouldn’t be covering her for much longer.
As terrified as she was at that moment, there was none of the coldness in her veins fear normally brought about. Instead there was heat, electricity zinging over her skin, dread and desire colliding.
Benjamin’s quarters had a similar layout to her own but, where hers were painted in light, muted colours that had a decidedly feminine feel, his was much darker with a rich, masculine hue.
His bed...
She had never known beds that large existed. She had never known beds could be a work of art in their own right. Made of a dark wood she didn’t know the name of, it was clearly a bespoke creation, and covered in a beautiful silk-looking slate-grey duvet that must be bespoke too to fit the bed.
Freya breathed in deeply, trying her hardest to keep the trembles threatening to overwhelm her under control, looking everywhere but at that bed.
‘Your drink, Madame Guillem.’
She had to hold herself back from snatching the glass from his hand and downing it all in one.
It wasn’t the first time she had been addressed by her new title since the service but it was the first time Benjamin had said it.
She was thankful she hadn’t downed her drink when she took the first big sip and tasted its potency. Benjamin had made her a gin and tonic that was definitely more gin than tonic and the one sip was enough to steady her nerves, if only momentarily.
He’d moved away from her again to return to the cabinet, dimming the lights on the way. A moment later, low music filled the room and broke the heavy, stifling silence.
She had never heard the song before but the singer’s soulful baritone calmed her that little bit more. It didn’t make it any easier for her to breathe though and she took another sip of her drink, her nerves back on tenterhooks as she waited for Benjamin to make his move.
He held a crystal tumbler of what she assumed to be Scotch in his hand and was wafting it gently under his nose while he stared at her, a meditative gleam in his green eyes. His gaze not dropping from hers, he drained his drink in one swallow and placed the empty tumbler on the cabinet.
Then he strode to her with a hand held out.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
She stared at the steady hand, so much larger than her own, taking in the masculine elegance of his long fingers before slipping her hand into it and wordlessly allowing him to help her to her feet.
At some point since they’d returned to his chateau, Benjamin had removed his tuxedo jacket and bow tie and undone the top two buttons of his white shirt. Freya had never seen him wear white before, black being his colour of choice, which she had assumed was to match his heart.
The white contrasted against the dark olive hue of his skin and even more starkly against the shadows the collar of his shirt made against his throat.
Her gaze rose with a will of its own to rest on his face and the eyes that had become as dark as the forests that surrounded his home.
The hand still holding hers tightened and she swayed forward so their faces were close enough for the warmth of his breath to whisper against her lips and suddenly she was taken by that same burst of desperate longing that had overcome her two months before when she had first seen him standing in Javier’s garden.
This was the man who had haunted her dreams for two long months, the man she had been unable to stop herself obsessing over, the last man in the world she would have chosen to marry simply because he was the one man in the world who evoked this sick, desperate longing inside her with nothing more than a look and made her heart feel as if it could burst through her ribcage and soar like a songbird to lodge itself in his chest.
Their faces still close enough together that one tiny jolt forward would join their lips together, Benjamin’s hold on her hand loosened. His fingers trailed up her arm to her shoulder, burning shivers trailing in their wake.
She closed her eyes to the sensation firing through her, the beats of her heart so loud they drowned out the music playing.
His hand now drew up her neck to burrow into her hair, the other splayed across her lower back. Her lips tingled as his warm breath drew closer, filling her mouth with moisture as his lips finally claimed hers.
The first press of his mouth against hers set off something inside her, a rush of need so powerful that she fought frantically against it, clenching her hands into fists to cling onto the last of her sanity before the desire dragged her down to a place she feared—the greatest of all her fears—she could never come back up from.
Billionaire's Bride for Revenge (Billionaire?s Bride for Revenge) Page 9