by Maggie Cox
Desperately seeking her moist, ravished mouth, Piers kissed her one more time before she realised that for him too there was no going back. The harsh groan that ripped from his lips as he glanced up finally made Emma realise the enormity of what had just occurred between them. They’d been so crazy for each other that neither had stopped to think about protection. She could hardly believe she was capable of such irresponsible insanity.
‘You are utterly beautiful in every way.’ The sheer intensity of Piers’s heated gaze momentarily stilled her fears and when he smoothed Emma’s still damp hair away from her forehead and placed his lips there almost reverently, she knew irrevocably that she’d never be able to walk away from this man with her heart and soul intact. He had branded her, and she’d willingly let him.
‘Stay there,’ he instructed now, pulling on his silk boxers and zipping up his trousers. Back only moments later with a generous white bathrobe, Piers helped Emma into it as tenderly as if she were a child, fastening the towelling belt with an extra little tug and a sexy little smile that made her limbs turn to jelly. He was alternately passionate and tender, and Emma had no defence against such skilful seduction.
‘Do you want to come to bed or would you rather take a bath?’
‘A bath?’ Torn between wanting to prolong their lovemaking and soaking in hot, scented water in a beautifully appointed bathtub complete with gold taps and enough perfumes and bath oil to stock a chemist, Emma chewed down guiltily on her soft lower lip.
‘I meant a bath with me,’ Piers said gruffly, then lifted her off her feet and swung her expertly into his arms as though she were as light as air.
‘Oh!’
‘I hope you’re going to have a lot more to say for yourself than that by the time I’ve finished with you, young lady.’ Chuckling, he headed for the stunning marble bathroom with all the confidence of a man who’d made the conquest he’d long been craving, and couldn’t help wondering how many more times he’d have to make love to Emma before he could truly call himself satisfied.
Later at dinner, wearing the gorgeous little black dress with its dipping beaded neckline that Fleur had surprised her with, Emma glanced around her at the other elegantly attired patrons of the exclusive but discreet little restaurant, and consciously committed every little detail to memory. It would sustain her during the no doubt tense days ahead when her grandmother was in hospital and afterwards—when she returned home to recuperate, and when Emma would be even more devoted to her care. But more than the place, the dress or the seemingly endless array of beauty and elegance that epitomised this fascinating city, she would remember the man who’d brought her here. Now, as Piers glanced at her with that confident, knowing little smile of his that turned her insides to butter, Emma recalled the excitement of their lovemaking and felt a fierce little spurt of heat coil in her stomach and spread down between her thighs. It was amazing how much more pleasurable bathing was when it was shared with a man as inventive and as passionate as Piers… Blushing profusely at the thought, Emma rubbed at the sudden chill on her bare arms and dared a glance back.
‘Will you go down to Cornwall to visit Lawrence once he’s settled?’
The question was out before she could check it and she guessed it must have been preying on her mind. Piers’s smile immediately vanished. ‘I don’t know. It depends on whether or not I’d be welcome.’
Progress! At least he hadn’t said he wouldn’t consider it. Emma felt a flare of hope. It wasn’t right that father and son should be so disunited—not when, to her mind, they clearly needed each other more than either of them was admitting. She knew Piers was a busy man in constant demand because of the responsibilities of his chosen career—but work shouldn’t always be the top priority in his life, should it? At the end of the day it was people who mattered and none should matter more than one’s own children.
‘I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see you.’
‘Perhaps ‘‘thrilled’’ is overstating the case just a little, don’t you think?’
‘I know Lawrence can be a little rash and unthinking in what he says sometimes, but I really believe underneath all that outward bluff is a very caring and sometimes lonely young man.’
Lonely he might be prepared to believe…but caring? All the evidence made him beg him to differ. Feeling the tension knotting his stomach muscles, Piers breathed out slowly to try and release it.
‘It seems almost impossible for you to see the less than ideal in anyone.’ Reaching for her hand, Piers turned it over in his palm to examine it, thinking how small and delicate her fingers were—how perfect.
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘You wouldn’t survive two minutes in the corporate world, sweetheart.’
‘Then it’s a good job I’m just a plain old waitress, isn’t it?’ Secretly elated at the small endearment he’d addressed her with, Emma carefully extricated her hand, already anxious that she might be getting a little more used to his touch than was good for her.
‘Never plain, and quite frankly I wouldn’t want you to be a part of that world for even a second. Much better to view the world with rose-tinted glasses for as long as you can and be the best waitress on the planet than be so driven by ambition that you’d trample over your own mother to get to the top.’ It surprised Piers how vehemently he meant that, but after spending the entire afternoon introducing his beautiful young lover to the joys of lovemaking, he realised she was definitely bringing out his protective streak.
Particularly so because now there was a distinct possibility that he’d made her pregnant. He’d only been reckless that very first time and afterwards he’d been more sensible and used protection, but he had still taken a risk he should never have taken. Accepting that he was the one who should have known better, Piers laid none of the blame at Emma’s door. He had been so dazed by his lust for her—his only goal to make her his—that he’d left his ability to think back at the café where they’d been having coffee. Whatever happened he would take care of it. And he had to let her know that.
‘Emma, I could have made you pregnant…unless, of course, you’re on the Pill. Are you?’ His glance intensified as he saw hot, embarrassed colour pour into Emma’s cheeks. She touched her white napkin to her lips for a moment as if to compose herself, and Piers didn’t miss the fact that her hand was shaking slightly as she laid it back down on the table.
‘No, I’m not on the Pill. I’m allergic to that kind of contraception. Besides…there was no need for me to be. It’s been a long time since I’ve…I mean, since I had someone in my life.’
Piers couldn’t deny the swift stab of satisfaction that throbbed through him at her words—even though, realistically speaking, he knew their association wasn’t destined to be a long one. After this weekend, he couldn’t promise that he would see her again soon. Firstly he had a busy schedule ahead of him that involved at least three months of foreign travel, and secondly Emma had said herself that she had commitments—her sick grandmother being one. Unless it transpired in the course of events that Emma was pregnant, the kindest thing to do would be to kiss her goodbye at Heathrow Airport tomorrow on their return and let her go for good. Selfishly speaking, Piers honestly hoped she wasn’t pregnant. He had already failed spectacularly the first time around as a father and he had no desire whatsoever to repeat the experience.
‘If the worse comes to the worst I don’t want you to worry, Emma. Obviously we’re unlikely to see each other again after this weekend, but I’m a wealthy man and whatever you decide to do I will naturally support you financially.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
FEELING as if she was plunging over the side of a mountain, Emma stared at Piers in utter disbelief. In a few short, heartless words he had coldly reminded her that their association had come about for one reason and one reason only, and now that he’d had what he wanted all along he could dispense with her services forthwith. Oh, he would take care of any less than perfect elements of their little liaison—lik
e Emma winding up pregnant—but paying her off was probably a small price to pay to get her out of his hair. Well…at least after they left the hotel. Anger, hurt and shame rained down on her with all the drowning force of a deluge and Emma sat there trembling, almost too upset to even speak.
‘If the worst comes to the worst?’
‘Let’s be realistic, Emma. Don’t pretend you could possibly be happy about it if you did find out you were pregnant.’
Flinching at the disdain in his voice, Emma didn’t know how she managed to stay seated. ‘How do you know that? You don’t even know me!’
‘Children change your life forever. You’re only twenty-five, Emma. What life have you seen yet? Don’t you want to travel? Meet people? Expand your horizons in some way? If you had a child all those ambitions would go on the back burner for a long time.’
‘There speaks the voice of experience, I suppose. What’s the matter, Piers, did having Lawrence cramp your style? I don’t suppose you wanted to be a father at all, did you? Is that why you resent him so much?’ Emma’s heart was beating too hard and too fast but it was too late now to take her angry words back. He had hurt her with his scornful assumptions about whether or not she should welcome the possibility of having a child and she had hit back using the one weapon that would get to him the most—his son.
A telling muscle ticked briefly in the side of that perfectly cut jaw and all the colour seemed to drain from Piers’s face. ‘I never said I didn’t want to be a father. And whatever may be going on between Lawrence and myself is my business and my business alone, and I’ll thank you to keep out of it. My son never cramped my style, as you put it. Everything I did, everything I worked for was ultimately for him. The fact that it turns out my being there more often would have been the best thing I could have done for him, and I only saw that too late, is my loss and my everlasting regret…but you can’t turn back the clock.’
There was genuine pain behind his words but his careful expression of control scarcely supported it. Even though she sympathised with him, Emma was still undeniably hurt that his only offer of support if she was to fall pregnant with his child would be financial. Clearly he would want nothing to do with her other than that. Yet again, she felt like the heartbroken nine-year-old whose father had walked out the door one day and never come back…
‘I have feelings.’ The lump in her throat was so painful that Emma could hardly get the words out. Fighting back tears, she glanced directly at Piers. In the candlelight that burned between them on the table, the shadows and planes that made up his extraordinary face were even more compelling. In the expensive Italian suit that was a deserved compliment to his strong, impressive physique, he exuded sophistication and wealth with an ease that was enviable. And it just served to point up the vast differences between him and Emma even more. But the most intimidating thing of all was that, behind that mask of handsome sophistication, his emotions were so skilfully hidden she’d have to be a magician to locate them. It was that realisation that disturbed Emma the most. She could reveal any number of things to him that were in her heart, especially the fact that she needed to be needed and felt unwanted and useless when she wasn’t. She could tell him that when it came to helping her friends she’d walk over hot coals, but when it came to helping herself she simply lacked the courage or the self-belief that was required. She could explain all that to Piers and he would still regard her with that detached, superior air that made her feel anything but his equal. The only interest he had in a girl like her was sexual. It was as base and demoralising as that, and the only reason she was sitting here in this exclusive Parisian restaurant. She would do well to remember it.
‘What feelings, Emma?’
‘That’s just it.’ Staring down at the beautifully presented meal on her plate, Emma linked her hands in her lap then captured her fingers tightly in a bid to stop their trembling. ‘You’re not interested in feelings, are you, Piers? You wanted a nice, uncomplicated dirty weekend and what you got instead was me.’
His blue eyes turned ominously dark. ‘Don’t talk like that!’
‘Why not? Because you don’t like hearing the truth? Would you prefer it if I dressed it up with polite little phrases that disguise what’s really going on?’
‘So tell me.’ His jaw clenched tight, his eyes flashed a warning that Emma refused to heed. ‘What’s really going on, Emma?’
Her face burning, Emma couldn’t hold back the tide of emotion that threatened to submerge her. ‘I know I’m not the usual kind of woman you take out. I don’t know why you singled me out… Perhaps you wanted to try something new. A twenty-five-year-old waitress must certainly be a novelty to a man in your position. Perhaps you thought I’d be grateful you even glanced my way. When it comes right down to it, all you wanted was a girl for the weekend. What you didn’t want was someone who had feelings… Someone who might not feel so good about being used by a man who is so used to getting what he wants that he’s hardly going to notice if she demonstrates the slightest reservation.’
‘As far as I’m aware I never used you, Emma. We had consensual sex, remember? Sorry if it hurts, sweetheart, but I didn’t hear any protests from you at the time.’
His words ripped into her tender flesh like a hot blade. ‘You know what? When you came looking for me at the restaurant I should have just told you to go to hell!’ Throwing down her napkin on the table, her whole body quaking with rage, Emma pushed to her feet, collected her evening bag and escaped in the direction of the ladies’ restroom before Piers knew what had hit him.
Five minutes later when she emerged Emma asked one of the waitresses to fetch her coat, slipped it on, then stepped out into the rainy Parisian night without even the faintest idea of where she would go. All she knew was that right now Piers Redfield was the last person in the world she wanted to be with. Up until a short while ago he’d been kind and considerate, the perfect gentleman in every way…but as soon as he thought that he might have made her pregnant, his attitude had changed completely.
But how stupid of her to even imagine for one second that it wouldn’t. He was Piers Redfield, corporate wizard, millionaire high flyer, and his world and Emma’s were so far apart that you could fit an entire galaxy between them. The last thing he wanted was to get some tiresome little waitress pregnant and have her make life difficult for him! But it was hardly Piers’s fault that Emma had been so mesmerised by him that she’d managed to almost forget who he was for a day. Up until a little while ago they’d been just like any other pair of lovers in the most romantic city in the world, but now Emma had come back down to earth with an almighty crash. Slowing her pace because her legs were shaking so badly, she pulled up the collar on her camel-coloured coat then set her face determinedly towards the route that led along the left bank of the Seine. She didn’t care where it led her—she only knew that it didn’t matter as long as it was miles away from Piers.
He knew the possibility of finding her in the busy nighttime streets of the city were slim to nothing, but that didn’t stop Piers from walking for nearly two hours straight in the hope that Emma might show up. Of course he had rung the hotel several times on his mobile phone as he walked, regularly checking in with Reception in case she decided to go back there, even though in his heart of hearts he knew she most likely wouldn’t.
And who could blame her? His intentions might have been honourable, in trying to reassure her about supporting her financially should she fall pregnant, but at the end of the day all he’d done was make her furious with him. So furious that she’d walked off without telling him where she was going—and, more worryingly, was now alone in a strange city.
Finally, when teeming rain had driven him back to the hotel in search of shelter and dry clothes, Piers ordered a brandy at the bar then sat broodingly staring into his glass, from time to time glancing at his watch, his nerves stretched taut as a guitar string. Inwardly, he cursed himself for handling the whole situation with all the tact and finesse of a herd of
wildebeest. Emma was just an innocent young girl who’d befriended his son, working hard to make ends meet, worrying about her sick grandmother, putting everybody else’s needs ahead of her own as far as Piers could deduce. Highly commendable qualities that would make any man desire and admire her as a woman even more. But those very qualities in Emma just pointed up the fact that when it came to caring for others, Piers was definitely wanting in that department. And he had used her. Emma was right. Whatever way he looked at it, he couldn’t make his motives sound any prettier. He’d seen her and desired her, then relentlessly pursued her in the hope of gratifying his lust and—worse than that—getting one over on Lawrence. The fact that she’d been a willing partner in their lovemaking didn’t absolve him of the fact that he had been the driving force in their association. Not for one moment had he stopped to consider the effect that association would have on Emma or how it would impact on her life.
Now he just longed for her to walk back into the hotel and at least give him the chance to make amends. He might not be able to offer her much more than a nice time but he was sincere in his concern for her welfare. Despite what she’d said, she could hardly welcome the idea of becoming a single mother and Piers had to be realistic even if she refused to be. Even waitresses in the top eateries didn’t earn a fortune, and he hated the idea that Emma would struggle to raise a child without financial help from him. Oh, lord…if only he hadn’t been so crazy for her he might have thought about the necessity for protection from the beginning. But hindsight was a wonderful thing and didn’t allow for surprises like passion so blazing hot that it made you forget your own name never mind having safe sex.
Taking a generous slug of brandy, Piers welcomed the burning trail down his throat to his stomach. Whatever happened, he told himself, it was academic because he probably wouldn’t even see her again after this weekend. It just wasn’t on the cards when on his return to the UK he was going to leave the country for nigh on three months.