The Blackmail Baby

by Natalie Rivers

  ‘Then why is there a condom in your pocket?’ she asked in exasperation, reaching behind her to run her hand over his shorts.

  It was a mistake. Her palm collided with the hard shaft of his erection straining against the fabric and another rush of arousal shot through her.

  ‘That is for you,’ he murmured throatily. ‘Now, lie still and let me see what I can do to please you.’

  ‘No…’ The world formed silently on Chloe’s lips, but she didn’t mean it. His hands were moving over her body beneath the water, setting off a chain reaction that she was powerless to resist.

  He stepped backwards through the water, pulling her with him, until he was leaning against the rock. He was firmly balanced and could support her easily while his hands ran lightly all over her body.

  A deep series of tremors started to quiver through her, and she reached out instinctively to steady herself, but there was nothing to grab on to.

  ‘Trust me,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Just let your limbs float free and trust me to hold you.’

  His voice was mesmerising and Chloe found herself automatically doing as he instructed. She leant back into him so that her back was against his chest and her head was resting on his shoulder—and she let her arms and legs hover naturally in the water, finding their own balance.

  He traced his hands over her body, his fingertips lightly teasing with gentle swirling patterns that echoed the gentle wash of the water over her skin. She was aware when he tugged at her bikini strings, but she didn’t move, and made no effort to stop the tiny scraps of fabric floating away.

  She liked feeling naked in the river pool, with his hands and the rippling water caressing every part of her body without hindrance.

  Slowly he began to touch her more intimately, teasing her with a delicate touch on her breast or a gentle brush between her legs.

  She began to tremble, but she trusted him completely. She knew he wouldn’t let her slip, so she just floated in the water, letting the sensations ripple through her.

  He started to concentrate his caresses on her breasts, and she felt her breathing deepen. Her body was rocking naturally in the water, rising slightly as she breathed in, so that her nipples broke through the surface, and sinking back down as she exhaled. The sensation it created was exquisite, almost as if his caresses were multiplied by every drop of water flowing over her skin.

  ‘Look down at your body,’ Lorenzo breathed in her ear. ‘Your breasts are so beautiful.’

  Obediently she opened her eyes. Her skin looked so pale in the water, and Lorenzo’s hands were rich golden-brown as they moved across her body. And somehow, as she watched her body rise and fall, the sensations he was creating were enhanced.

  She began to tremble harder, feeling little darts of pleasure coiling through her body from her breasts deep down through her body. His hands slid to her waist to steady her, but the next thing she knew one hand had moved straight down between her legs.

  But this time he didn’t brush her lightly, teasing her with delicate touches. This time his fingers went straight for the pulsing centre of her desire.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried out in startled pleasure as he began to caress her with direct intent. The games he had played earlier, teasing and tempting with gentle strokes, were over. Now he was focused on stimulating her in the most effective way he knew how.

  It only took seconds before her body was writhing with overwhelming, building sensation. One hand closed over her breast, massaging and rolling her nipple, and the other stayed firmly between her legs, sending pulsing waves of sheer pleasure shooting through her entire being.

  She felt as if she was taking flight. Her whole body was inflamed with pure sexual rapture. She had never reached orgasm so quickly, and a distant part of her mind could not quite believe it. But then she shot up into the heights of ecstasy like a rocket into space.

  For long moments she arched back against Lorenzo, her whole body clenched in the throes of release. Then she relaxed, trembling in the glorious aftermath, and let herself continue to float.

  A little while later she felt Lorenzo turning her. His arms slipped under her and he lifted her out of the water and laid her on a smooth brown rock. She sank down into the sun-warmed surface, feeling utterly spent, her arms spread wide and her legs relaxed and soft.

  She was absolutely naked and lying spread out in the tropical sun without a care in the world. She closed her eyes and drifted off into a state of dreamy bliss.

  Lorenzo sat beside her, looking down at her gorgeous body. She was absolutely exquisite. Her pale skin was glowing with almost ethereal beauty next to the deep brown of the rock and her hair was spread out in a golden halo around her head.

  He was still so turned on that it hurt, and soon he would rouse her again, knowing he could easily bring her back to incredible heights of pleasure, while he found his own release. But right then he couldn’t get enough of simply looking at her.

  He loved giving her pleasure. And he particularly loved bringing her to orgasm. Whether he took it slow, teasing out each and every nuance of her ascent, or whether he sent her sky-rocketing with a few skilled caresses, there had never been another woman in his life that he had taken so much pleasure from pleasing.

  And soon he would start the process again. She was gloriously relaxed and uninhibited, which was often an incredible starting point.

  He shifted his position and pulled off his shorts so that he was naked too. Then rolled a condom onto his erect penis. There would be no interruptions—this time he would take them both to the point of rapture.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE sparkling azure water of the Indian Ocean stretched out in front of Chloe as far as the eye could see. In fact she knew from reading her guidebook that there were over a thousand miles of glittering ocean between the island of Mauritius, where they were staying, and the east coast of Africa.

  She could hardly believe how beautiful the palm-fringed beach was. Gentle waves were lapping on the white powder sand and, out across the clear turquoise water of the lagoon, she could see a line of white water where impressive breakers were crashing into the coral reef.

  She sat comfortably on her sun lounger, holding Emma on her lap while she searched through her bag looking for the sunblock.

  ‘May I join you?’ Lorenzo’s silky Italian accent purred against her ear, catching her unawares, and a shiver prickled across her skin despite the heat of the tropical sun.

  Her body was still humming from their amazing lovemaking at the waterfall that morning. She couldn’t imagine how Lorenzo had been able to switch from that experience to spending the last couple of hours sending emails and making work phone calls.

  ‘Of course,’ she smiled, her breath catching in her throat as she turned to face him.

  He looked incredible, she thought, wearing a tight black singlet that revealed altogether too much of his powerfully muscled shoulders and a pair of black shorts that showed off his strong, sexy legs.

  ‘How is Emma?’ he asked, taking the lounger next to them.

  He leant back on his elbows so that his head was in the shade and stretched his long, bronzed legs out in front of him in the sun.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, looking down at him stretched out beside her. There was a funny sensation in the pit of her stomach—it was the first time he had ever asked after the baby. ‘Although I can’t seem to find the sunblock and I thought it was time for another coat, even though we’re sitting in the shade.’

  ‘Another pale English beauty,’ he said. ‘Tell me what I’m looking for, and I’ll go back inside and bring you what you need.’

  ‘Thanks, but it would be easier for me to fetch it,’ Chloe said, lifting Emma up into her arms. ‘I’m not entirely sure where it is. I may have lost it, in which case I’ll pop to the hotel shop and buy some more.’

  She tugged the baby’s sunhat down snugly to shade her face, slipped her sunglasses on top of her head, and was just about to step out from under the large
thatched parasol, when Lorenzo spoke.

  ‘Then leave Emma with me,’ he said.

  Chloe paused, surprised by Lorenzo’s suggestion. It was the first time he’d ever shown any inclination to be left alone with the baby.

  Suddenly she realised she’d hesitated too long, and she glanced at him, startled to see her face reflected in the lenses of his sunglasses. She drew in a deep breath and pulled her own sunglasses down from on top of her head, hoping he had not read what was on her mind from the expression in her eyes.

  Then she realised he was watching her reaction, and she felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she did not trust him with the baby.

  ‘All right,’ she said, stepping back towards Lorenzo.

  She started to chatter to Emma awkwardly, trying to cover up her delay in handing her over by beginning the stream of one-way conversation she usually maintained to keep the baby girl’s attention.

  ‘I’m just popping back inside,’ she said to the infant. ‘I won’t be long. You go to Lorenzo…’

  All at once her voice dried up. Calling him Lorenzo had sounded wrong. But she couldn’t call him Daddy—he was not Emma’s father.

  When Liz had asked Chloe to care for her daughter, she’d told her that she wanted Emma to call her Mummy, just like any other adopted child would refer to their adoptive mother. Then Chloe would use her judgement to decide when to tell her adopted daughter about her natural mother.

  But Lorenzo had approached the adoption from an altogether different angle. Chloe had no idea what his thoughts on the subject were.

  ‘Come to Daddy,’ Lorenzo said, reaching out his arms to take the baby from Chloe.

  ‘I’m sorry…’ she started to say. ‘I didn’t know what—’

  ‘Emma’s biological father is not part of her life,’ Lorenzo said flatly. ‘I am the only father Emma will ever know and she will call me Daddy. No child growing up under my roof will be made to feel different from any other.’

  A sudden swelling of emotion filled Chloe. She’d been concerned that Lorenzo had not truly accepted Emma. She believed he would always provide for her and do what he saw as the right thing. But she had worried that Emma would grow up knowing she was not the same as Lorenzo’s natural children.

  ‘That’s good,’ she said, knowing that it sounded inadequate in the circumstances—but she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. She was glad she was wearing sunglasses so that Lorenzo could not see the tears suddenly sparkling in her eyes. ‘I know you don’t want Emma to feel unloved…’ She hesitated again, struggling to finish her comment smoothly. She hadn’t meant to stumble into that other minefield—the discussion of love. ‘I mean unwanted.’

  ‘Unloved is the correct word,’ Lorenzo said. ‘No child growing up in my family will feel unloved.’

  He reached up and took Emma decisively from Chloe’s arms.

  It was clear from his manner that he considered the conversation over—but Chloe did not mind. As far as she was concerned they had just made a massive step forward.

  That evening Chloe and Lorenzo watched a display of the séga, the high-spirited and colourful national dance of Mauritius. It had been Chloe’s idea—they had spent so much time alone together, mostly making love, that she was beginning to feel slightly detached from reality.

  The dance was beautiful and compelling. The pulsating rhythm of the drums filled the air, and the dancers swirled and undulated without restraint. But as Chloe sat at a table with Lorenzo, watching him tap out the infectious beat with his fingers, she was beginning to think that what she really needed was to go home.

  ‘You’ve had your hair cut.’ He lifted his hand to touch Chloe’s sleekly styled bob. ‘I like it,’ he added, tracing his fingers lightly over her newly exposed neck.

  ‘Thank you.’ She trembled as he caressed her sensitive skin. She was wearing a strapless dress and she felt his eyes settle on her naked shoulders.

  ‘I don’t recall noticing those freckles before,’ he said, leaning closer so that she could feel his breath on the skin of her shoulders. ‘Did the sun bring them out, like the ones on your face?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Chloe replied as the touch of his warm breath sent a delicious shiver quivering down her spine.

  ‘You have beautiful skin—I adore your freckles.’ He brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek.

  ‘I ran out of foundation.’ As soon as she spoke, it seemed a silly thing to say and she felt herself start to blush.

  ‘I wondered why I noticed your freckles more,’ he said, leaning forward to drop a feather-light kiss on her cheek.

  ‘I think it’s time to go home,’ Chloe said, looking deep into his blue eyes.

  ‘Of course.’ He stood up immediately and led her out of the door into the hotel’s lovely garden, which was their preferred route back towards their suite of rooms.

  A warm, scented breeze brushed across Chloe’s skin and she could hear the gentle sound of the ocean. She looked up to see the palm trees swaying against an inky black sky studded with twinkling stars. It really was a beautiful place—a true tropical paradise. But she knew Lorenzo had misunderstood her request.

  ‘No, I mean really go home,’ she said, turning and catching both his hands in hers. ‘I’m grateful for this wonderful holiday—but it’s time to go back home and get on with our lives.’

  One day almost two weeks later, Chloe stood on the palazzo’s main balcony overlooking the Grand Canal, holding Emma in her arms. She was chatting to the baby, pointing out the various boats that went past on the water—and keeping out of Lorenzo’s way.

  Things between them had become strained again and, apart from at night, when they continued to make love, she’d spent very little time with him. She thought that might be part of the reason she’d found it much harder to settle in to life in Venice than she had expected.

  But the main reason for her disquiet was that almost every day she had found herself thinking about the devastating argument she’d had with Lorenzo on their wedding day—and him swearing that he did not believe in love.

  In fact, virtually every room in the palazzo held memories for her, and now as she looked back she found herself second-guessing everything that had ever been said and done between Lorenzo and herself.

  If she’d been so wrong about the one thing that mattered the most—what else had not been as it seemed?

  ‘I wonder where Daddy is now?’ she said to Emma.

  Since they’d been back in Venice he always seemed to be working—either at his offices or locked up in his study, or occasionally striding around the palazzo talking rapidly into his mobile phone, which was exactly what he was doing now.

  She found it disconcerting to hear him bearing down on her while firing away in a language she still didn’t fully understand—especially when spoken quickly by locals. The Venetian dialect seemed particularly impossible to learn.

  She hugged Emma to her and listened carefully, trying to ascertain if Lorenzo was close. It was not that she was afraid to bump into him—it was just that she remembered from when she worked for him that if he was talking and striding like this, it probably meant he was in a bad mood.

  ‘I’m here.’ Lorenzo’s deep voice coming from right behind her made her catch her breath. ‘Did you want me for something?’

  ‘Oh!’ Chloe gasped, turning to see him stepping out onto the broad balcony with her. ‘No, not really. I heard your voice and I was just chatting to Emma. I’ve been showing her the boats on the Grand Canal.’

  ‘Isn’t she a little young for that?’ Lorenzo asked, staring at her with a crease between his black brows.

  ‘No,’ Chloe responded, suppressing her irritation at the way Lorenzo was studying the baby—as if she were a strange little being of some kind. Not at all as if she was his adopted daughter. ‘It’s always good to chatter to babies, even if they are too young to understand. That’s how they learn things.’

  She pres
sed her teeth into her lower lip and looked at him, starting to worry that, despite his good intentions, he was having difficulty accepting another man’s child into his home. The brief flash of interest he had shown in Emma that one particular afternoon on the beach in Mauritius had not been repeated, and he’d never made even the slightest effort to make a connection with the baby.

  ‘I have something for her in my study,’ he suddenly surprised Chloe by saying.

  ‘Really?’ she said, feeling a tiny spark of relief. She hoped that she’d been wrong, and that Lorenzo’s aloofness had been no more than overwork. He’d taken a lot of time off to be with them, both in England and then in Mauritius. No doubt he had a good deal of work to catch up on. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you should come with me and see for yourself.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Chloe said, feeling a little confused that he didn’t know what the item was, but infusing her voice with warmth. If Lorenzo had made a kind gesture, she wanted him to know it was appreciated.

  He set off through the palazzo at his usual great pace, as if he’d forgotten he was walking with Chloe, whose stride was considerably shorter. She wasn’t prepared to run with the baby in her arms, so almost immediately she fell behind.

  Lorenzo stopped and looked round, then glanced at his wristwatch.

  ‘I have a conference call in a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Let me carry the baby, or we’ll be out of time.’

  Chloe handed Emma to him with a funny feeling inside. It rankled that Lorenzo only wanted to hold Emma to speed things up. But then, Chloe told herself, he had to start somewhere. If making a connection with Emma didn’t come naturally for Lorenzo, then maybe it could grow from small, insignificant incidents.

  He led the way to his study with Chloe half running to keep up. But when they got there he turned and abruptly passed Emma back to her.

  ‘This is it.’ He picked up a package from the floor behind his desk. ‘Francesco Grazzini sent it. He’s a business associate of mine,’ he added, as if Chloe didn’t already know that. But she held her tongue—that was not something worth starting an argument over.