by Maggie Cox
‘All I’ve been able to think about all day is kissing you,’ he confessed hoarsely. Emma wanted to reply, ‘Me too,’ but speech was a faculty that had apparently deserted her. The man’s sexual potency undid her and now that he was so close her imagination was running riot with all the things she wanted him to do to her. Made helpless by desire, Emma tentatively touched her lips to his. They were firm yet soft and just one little taste yielded such a powerful explosion of primeval longing that everything inside her seemed to melt.
‘I’m not a schoolboy,’ Piers rasped, his voice growing more commanding as his hands slid down her ribcage to clasp her hips. ‘Now kiss me properly.’ Unfazed by the reprimand, Emma kissed him on a sigh, her mouth opening helplessly as the bounds of self-restraint broke, willingly allowing his tongue to probe and demand and fill her hotly with the taste of one very virile and aroused male. Then, acquainting himself with the delectable contours of her delightful bottom through the smooth fabric of her skirt, Piers worked the material as far up as her panties then smoothly slipped his hand between her thighs. The effect on Emma was immediate and all-consuming. A blaze of erotic heat spread throughout her body like an unstoppable fire, making her quiver in his arms even more.
Her damp, silken heat almost undid Piers. Almost painfully aroused, he blessed the fates for the powerful sexual attraction that erupted like a chemical explosion between them. She was so responsive—exquisitely so. But that being the case, something told him that Emma was still comparatively innocent—quite unlike any other woman he’d made love to before. The way she trembled so violently in his arms confirmed his suspicions, even as it turned him on. His seduction of her would be all the sweeter for her lack of experience, he decided—even more satisfying would be the fact that his son had been unable to seduce her first. No matter what Emma had said, Piers couldn’t believe for one second that Lawrence hadn’t tried to get her into bed. What man with a pulse wouldn’t?
‘Piers?’
‘Hmm?’
Reluctantly withdrawing his lips from hers, Piers gazed down into Emma’s beautiful face.
Her dark eyes dazed and beguiling—soft clouds of hazel-brown—her tender mouth plundered and moistened by his passionate kisses, Emma adjusted her clothing and stared nervously up at Piers. ‘I think—I think you’re going a little fast for me.’ Blushing profusely, she lowered her gaze, shocked and surprised when Piers lifted her chin and forced her to look at him.
‘What are you frightened of, Emma? You must have known this was why I brought you to Paris.’
When she didn’t immediately reply but chewed down anxiously on her softly plump lower lip instead, Piers’s blue eyes blazed with frustration as his brain tried to absorb the silent signal she was giving him. ‘Just how much experience have you had, Emma?’
Apprehension and panic tightened Emma’s throat. ‘I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you mean.’
That wasn’t what Piers meant at all. Desire still ebbing powerfully through him, he strode across the room and back again, hardly able to trust himself to speak. Surely she couldn’t be confused or surprised about his desire for her? Hadn’t he amply demonstrated his fierce attraction? But sweet, comparatively innocent and only twenty-five, Emma was an unknown quantity and right now he had to be certain she knew where she stood with him if things were to proceed to a satisfactory conclusion.
‘But this isn’t something you do very often…is that what you’re telling me?’
Hot colour stained her cheeks and her big brown eyes looked indisputably wounded.
Damn.
‘My last relationship was about six years ago if you must know and that only lasted three months because I found out that he was married with children. And, in answer to your question—no, this isn’t something I do very often. If you were expecting some kind of experienced femme fatale then I’m sorry that I’ve disappointed you. No doubt you’re regretting inviting me on this trip.’
‘On the contrary. All I want to do now is make sure you know where you stand with me. Perhaps it’s just as well you called a halt to things when you did. I feel I should at least be honest with you before we go any further. I don’t want you to imagine that this is the start of something more…meaningful than it is.’
Had she at any point been hoping for something more than an illicit weekend in Paris? Emma tried hard to think straight over the disorienting thud of her heartbeat. She wasn’t in the market for a more meaningful relationship either, and up until now recreational sex had been something that other girls might indulge in but Emma certainly didn’t. That was why she’d suddenly felt panic when things seemed to be veering out of control with Piers. Oh, why did she have to be so scared? Just because lovemaking with her ex had been such an unsatisfactory, almost bitter experience, it didn’t mean she was destined to suffer a repeat of that with Piers. Already she was more aroused by his kisses than she had ever been by Richard’s hasty and graceless fumblings. If only she could let go of that rigid control she’d assumed so long ago. She was an adult now and shouldn’t be ashamed that she had needs of a sexual nature, but suppressing them had become such a habit that Emma wondered if she’d ever truly be able to surrender to them without feeling that she’d be hurt as a consequence.
Now, because of her hesitation, Piers was making her feel as if she was some silly adolescent girl who didn’t know the rules in this adult game and for some reason felt compelled to spell them out for her. It was a complete mistake her coming to Paris with him at all, Emma decided, and at this precise moment she was mere inches away from packing her suitcase and going home.
‘I know where I stand with you, Piers, I’m not as naïve as you think I am. I’ve got the message loud and clear. You’re warning me not to get any silly ideas about having a relationship with you. You brought me to Paris to sleep with me and that’s all. I’m not the kind of woman you’re normally interested in and I certainly don’t move in the same social circles that you do, so once this is over there’s no chance of us bumping into each other at any time in the future. So best not get my hopes up. Am I right?’
Normally he would be relieved at such insight but right now all Piers felt was a disagreeable pricking of his conscience—as if he’d somehow cheated her in some way. The feeling was about as welcome as a swarm of bees. Troubled by the hurt and anger swirling in her eyes, he was suddenly compelled to learn more about the girl he’d brought to Paris. Even though it was damn near killing him to staunch the blaze of lust he was feeling, he dropped down onto the bed behind him and raked his fingers irritably through his thick fair hair.
‘Let’s get one thing clear. It’s not because you’re a waitress that I wouldn’t consider a relationship with you. I just don’t happen to be interested in commitment, period. I was married once—to Lawrence’s mother, Naomi—and suffice to say the experience made hell seem like a garden of roses in comparison. Now my associations with women are all relatively short and sweet.’
His lips quirked a rueful grin and despite her hurt Emma felt an answering tug in her belly. ‘But whatever you think of me right now I can assure you I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. You’re here because you want to be here and if you decide you don’t want to be here then I won’t do a damn thing to stop you leaving. You have your return ticket—you can fly back to London just as soon as a flight can be arranged. Miles would, of course, drive you to the airport. So it’s up to you, Emma. What do you want to do?’
Emma decided she could handle Piers not wanting commitment. Not at any point had she deluded herself that they had a future—even without him just confirming it. She didn’t want commitment either. He was way out of her league and they both knew it—even if he had taken pains to explain that Emma being a waitress had nothing to do with his not wanting a relationship. All he wanted from her was physical gratification. Men and women came to such mutually satisfying arrangements all the time, she told herself, and she wouldn’t be the first girl to be seduced
by an older, more successful man purely to satisfy a physical urge. So she told herself to act like a grown-up, save her wounded pride for a more appropriate situation and just give herself up to the magic of Paris. What could be so hard about that?
‘I’m sorry I—that I stopped things when I did. I was—I was overwhelmed.’ Her hand fluttered to her throat. ‘If it’s all right with you…I’d like to stay.’
‘You wouldn’t be here in the first place if it wasn’t all right with me. I brought you to Paris because I wanted to be with you. Isn’t that obvious?’
Emma clasped and unclasped her hands. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Then why don’t you come over here and talk to me?’
‘Talk to you?’
‘Yes. Is the concept unfamiliar?’
Her melting dark eyes immediately wary, Emma looked as if she was wondering if she could allow herself to trust him after all. Inwardly Piers cursed. Did she think he was going to pounce on her, or something equally Neanderthal?
‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘You, as a matter of fact.’
‘What about me?’
When she didn’t make any move to join him, Piers bit back his growing frustration and told himself to get a grip on his escalating libido. Right now chairing a meeting of the sharpest, most astute business minds in Europe seemed a hundred times easier. ‘Were you in love with the guy who was married?’
‘No.’ Remembering the passionless—at least on her part—relationship she’d shared with Richard, Emma had no hesitation in stating the truth. The plain fact of the matter was she had caved in to persuasion when she’d been at a low ebb. Still reeling from the sudden death of her mother three months earlier, at nineteen she’d practically thrown away her virginity on the first man who’d been really determined to woo her. The fact that that particular man had turned out to be a liar and cheat was just her bad luck, or poor judgement, as the case might be. She certainly hadn’t lost any sleep over him since then—except maybe to regret it bitterly.
‘Just ‘‘no’’?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it. As far as memories go, it’s not in my top ten of all-time greats.’
‘So in six years there hasn’t been anyone else? Not even the occasional lover?’
There shouldn’t be so much emotion invested in her answer but it surprised Piers to realise there was. It was bad enough that he was already ridiculously jealous of the married guy—he didn’t know how he was going to handle hearing about any casual relationships since. But Emma was staring down at the sumptuous gold-coloured carpet with a faraway look in her eyes that made Piers long to bring her back to the place that they’d been before she’d declared herself overwhelmed.
‘We clearly move in very different worlds. These kind of liaisons may be the norm for you, but they’re not for me.’
So the woman hadn’t had a lover in six long years? Were all the men in her life living in a bubble or what? Or was Emma one of those women who were secretly holding out for a young girl’s romantic dream? Mr Right, house in suburbia, two-point-four children and all? Disliking the streak of cynicism that wove through him, Piers got up from the bed and walked over to her.
‘I may not be in the market for happy-ever-after, but that doesn’t mean I treat any of my partners with anything less than total respect. It’s simply that my work is very demanding. Sometimes I can go for months without having someone in my life, and I’m a man who likes female company.’
The silence that followed bristled with meaning. When Emma reached up to sweep her hair back from her face, Piers caught her hand and did it for her, his touch making her heartbeat go wild once again.
‘I want to make love to you, Emma…but only when you’re ready. I’m sorry if you felt that I rushed you.’ Dropping a kiss at the corner of her softly parted lips, Piers looked into her eyes with a wry little smile. ‘So, how are your feet holding up?’
‘My feet?’
‘Think you could handle some more walking? There’s a charming little café I know not far from here, and right now I could use some coffee. How about you?’
Relief vied with profound disappointment as Emma considered the question. If only she hadn’t acted like a frightened little rabbit when Piers was kissing her earlier they might now be in bed together, getting better acquainted, as he had so aptly put it. Instead Emma was wound up like a coiled spring, her body aching for his touch, for the fulfilment only this man could bring. To put it mildly, she was aflame for him. Couldn’t he tell by the way she trembled every time he touched her?
‘Coffee sounds good to me. I’ll just go and freshen up and change my shoes.’
As she hurried into the beautifully appointed marble bathroom with every conceivable luxury known to man, Piers knew a sudden longing to get out of his formal business suit and don more casual clothes—just like an ordinary tourist. As he changed, he told himself he had to be losing that famous edge he supposedly had with women. Why else would he be equally keen to take a beautiful girl for coffee in a sidewalk café instead of taking her straight to bed?
He held her hand as they walked and Emma couldn’t deny the pleasure that gave her. She was amazed that such a simple thing could feel so good but everything seemed so much more intense when she was with Piers. The sights they passed on the way, the people and the sidewalk cafés all seemed like a Technicolor dream in comparison to the everyday monochrome that she’d experienced before. Stealing a glance at Piers’s relaxed profile as they strolled, Emma wondered what it would be like to have a man like him as a permanent fixture in her life.
The thought came out of nowhere, and made her stomach drop as if she’d missed a step. What was she thinking of? She didn’t want a man in her life, at least not in any permanent way…like a husband. Better that she lived a single life than put all her hopes in the false security of marriage when a few years down the line—maybe sooner—her husband walked out. It still hurt that her father had done just that when Emma was only nine because he was in love with another woman. Her mother’s distress had left her feeling helpless and yet responsible for putting things right—even if that was impossible. But it wasn’t only her mother that her father had rejected…it was Emma too. That realisation—along with the wave of pain it brought—never quite diminished no matter how hard she wished it would.
‘Emma?’
‘Sorry?’
‘We’re here.’
They were on the boulevard St-Germain, at a large café with green and gold umbrellas, where Piers had told her some of the leading writers and thinkers of the day—like Sartre and de Beauvoir—had once entranced their listeners. Emma glanced around in fascination at the well-dressed tourists and Parisians alike who occupied the tables, imagining the café as it must have been all that time ago, and a little frisson of pleasure danced down her spine. A waiter appeared as if by magic, and with dazzling efficiency, and a froth of quick-fire French, showed Piers and Emma to a table at the end of the row lining the pavement. When Piers had given him their order, he unbuttoned his chocolate-brown suede jacket, leant back in the wrought-iron seat and considered Emma with what she could only describe as a lazy, melting smile purely designed to get whatever he wanted from a woman. A girl would have to possess a will of iron to refuse him anything. Beneath the table Emma’s knees shook as she undid her own coat and tried to appear casual about it.
‘So…how are you enjoying Paris so far?’ he asked her.
‘It’s everything I thought it would be and more. I can’t believe I actually saw the Mona Lisa! It was incredible…absolutely breathtaking.’ Though I wish I’d seen it with you…
‘I agree—it’s one thing to see it on a print or a postcard, but the real thing does leave you lost for words. I wouldn’t have minded seeing it again.’
‘We can go back if you like… In fact, why don’t we?’
When Piers didn’t immediately reply Emma bit back her burst of enthusiasm to forlornly wonder if he found her lack of
sophistication trying. Her youth and inexperience was probably starting to pall. Maybe he was wishing he’d invited someone else instead?
Seeing her crestfallen expression, Piers leaned across the table and captured her hand. ‘There are lots of other experiences we can share together, Emma. In a beautiful, cosmopolitan city like this we’re spoilt for choice.’
Staring down at his fingers clasping hers, at the strong, lean hands with their clean, square-cut nails, she knew a sudden moment of panic. The gulf between them seemed so immeasurably vast. He was a highly successful, wealthy businessman at the top of his game and she…well, Emma still hadn’t decided on a career. Until her grandmother had had her operation and was well on the road to recovery, Emma knew there wasn’t even the faintest hope of thinking about a new direction job-wise. All her concentration would be on making sure her beloved Gran had everything she needed to make her as comfortable as possible in her little house. Besides…making changes took confidence—the kind of confidence Emma didn’t have at present. She’d spent the last five years caring for her ailing grandmother and frankly didn’t have the energy either.
Tugging her hand free, she self-consciously lowered her gaze. ‘I get a little carried away when I’m excited about things. No doubt you find it childish.’
‘Not at all.’
Glancing up, Emma was startled to discover that Piers was smiling, his crystal-blue eyes unwaveringly steady as they gazed back deeply into hers. ‘On the contrary, I find it utterly charming.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
OH GRAN… I’m in so much trouble you wouldn’t believe.
It was just as well that the waiter appeared at that moment with their café au lait along with some very decadent-looking pastries that Piers had ordered. A timely distraction, as far as Emma was concerned. Every moment she spent with this man, she found it harder and harder to distance herself emotionally from what was going on between them. No matter how often she told herself that once he slept with her she would in all probability never set eyes on him again, a glimmering of hope had foolishly surfaced in her heart that things might turn out differently. A renegade thought that needed reining in as quickly as possible…