Shadows of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 2)

by Arianne Richmonde

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Connect with the Author

  Arianne Richmonde’s second novel in the Pearl Trilogy, Shadows of Pearl, continues the love story between Pearl and Alexandre in Forty Shades of Pearl, an Amazon bestseller in erotic romance.

  Praise for Forty Shades of Pearl:

  ‘I recommend this book for those who enjoy a wonderfully written first person narrative, romantic erotica, with lots of dialogue and plenty of well-done descriptive scenes.’

  ---Swept Away By Romance

  ‘This was a great book, Pearl was such a great character that she won me over from the start. The sex scenes were just how I like them, hot heavy and very sensual when the time was right, I loved the fairytale aspect to this book, the great hero, the female lead who had traits she did not like about herself, the evil family member, I would highly recommend this to all who love a great love story with Sex, that would be most of us then, 5/5’

  ---Confessions of a Bookaholic

  ‘I enjoyed and appreciated this book so much. I thought this subject matter was handled honestly and without apology. Pearl was so true and real in her insecurities I laughed out loud several times because I too have thought the same things she was saying and thinking.’

  --Beth Cooper

  ‘This novel is very erotic but because of the great storyline and fabulous characters I found it to be way more than just a steamy read. Contemporary romance fans will love this book. Having lived in France for many years I just loved Alexandre Chevalier, the protagonist. He was very Alpha-male, very French in every way and quite something else! To put it politely, you will not be disappointed - he delivers!’

  --Clare McGill

  ‘Finally in Pearl we get to witness a character who seems very real….a failed marriage that left her shattered and disillusioned, a miscarriage that makes her doubt the possibility of mother- hood and a forty year who has worked for and has achieved success in her career. She sounds like one of my girlfriends!’

  --Bridget Bayes

  ‘Finally a book that has a female character that knows something about life and love and loss for real. I am so over the books with the virginal twenty somethings that have no idea who they even are yet before they hand it all over to the megalomaniac also twenty somethings. I realize this is all fantasy but it found that this author at least found a plausible way for a twenty-five year old to be a millionaire and to have an enlightened view about what a woman wants, not just what he think she needs.

  --A.Katz

  Arianne Richmonde

  Shadows

  of

  Pearl

  All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible maybe liable in law accordingly.

  Arianne Richmonde 2012

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © Arianne Richmonde, 2012. The right of Arianne Richmonde to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) 2000

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design © by: Arianne Richmonde

  About the Author

  Arianne Richmonde is an American writer and artist who was raised in both the US and Europe. She lives in France with her husband.

  Shadows of Pearl is the second book in The Pearl Trilogy. She is currently working on the third and last in the series.

  For more information on the author visit her website:

  www.ariannerichmonde.com

  Dedication

  To all my wonderful readers who demanded more. Thanks for all your love, support and feedback. This would never have happened without you.

  Acknowledgements

  To my husband for his amazing help with everything technical (ssh…he still hasn’t read a word and hopefully never will).

  Brooke for being my first reader for Forty Shades of Pearl, thinking it was all a hoot, that I was very naughty - nevertheless championing me all the way. Angela for being a true friend even though we’ve never met. Sam, Nade and so many fabulous readers (you know who you are) who have given me feedback, recommended my book to others and been more than supportive. Lisa and Cheryl for their eagle eyes. Paul at BB eBooks for his skill, patience and looking after me so well.

  And last but not least, the fabulous and talented Zang Toi, master of creation and a true friend.

  Chapter One

  I’m lying between the glorious Egyptian cotton sheets in Alexandre’s bed, relaxing against the plumped-up feather-down pillows. I feel satiated. Complete, both physically and spiritually. Beyond satisfied. More glorious love-making has left me feeling like the luckiest, most appreciated woman in the world.

  Of all people, I know what it’s like to be stuck in a sexual desert – without another human being to fulfill my needs. For almost twenty years I had convinced myself that work could be a substitute. I’d given up. I’d learned to be self-sufficient in every way – yes, in every way - and I never, in a million years, believed that at forty years old I would meet anyone special, let alone a man fifteen years my junior. And not only a man younger than I was; but ridiculously successful, kind, devastatingly handsome and last but not least, a veritable god in bed.

  And to top it all off; completely in love with me…

  Alexandre Chevalier.

  I still feel as if I have walked into a modern day fairy tale.

  It’s tough when you’re riddled with insecurities the way I am. Hard to believe that a man so gorgeous can covet you and feel the same intensity of passion that you feel for him. Yet, there he was, Alexandre Chevalier, co-founder of the Internet sensation HookedUp – a company which has taken the world by storm and, at the tender age of twenty-five, has made him into one of the wealthiest men in the world. There Alexandre was - wanting to date me.

  And if that wasn’t enough, he has chosen me, Pearl Robinson, a forty year-old with my just-above-average, girl-next-door looks, to be his wife.

  Yes, I do believe I’m dreaming.

  I look now at my left hand which I’m turning this way and that and admire my diamond engagement ring - proof that all this is real. It’s glinting, catching rays of morning sunlight which are pouring in through the long bedroom window. The ice-blue silk drapes are half-open. Alexandre hates to sleep with them closed - as if darkness could swallow him up at dawn.

  I’ve learned a lot about Alexandre in the two months since we’ve been engaged. There’s a shadow that lives
within - a mood which can encompass him at times, and it frightens me. I can never be sure when it will possess him but it is there, deep inside his soul. He’s a damaged man - that much I know. Yet he seems to be an expert at hiding the phantoms which lurk within.

  So far, I have only seen glimpses.

  I too, try to hide any gremlins from my past. Some things are better left unsaid. We are still getting to know each other.

  I can hear him now, next door in the en-suite bathroom. The faucet has just been turned off. I picture him in my mind’s eye; water trickling from his lightly tanned chest, his biceps flexed deliciously as he dries himself, his strong, muscular thighs, the ripples of his stomach and his wet, almost-black hair - wayward and mussed-up - which frames the even features of his handsome face.

  I think of our lovemaking just ten minutes ago and a shiver of lust shimmies through my body. I cannot get enough of him. He possesses my psyche. I have never needed anybody as I need him. But I try to keep myself cool, calm and collected, even though I’m on fire inside. He mustn’t know the apprehension that envelops me - fear that I could be flung back again into the desert, abandoned with no water - on my own once more. And when I say ‘on my own’ I don’t mean literally so. No, you can be with a man and feel like an island – as I was with my ex-husband, Saul. I blamed myself for my frigidity, my inability to reach orgasm through sex which, if I remember correctly, happened in my early twenties after I’d split up with my first boyfriend, Brad.

  I thought I was a lost cause until I met Alexandre. He intrinsically understands me and my body. Maybe that’s why I’m hooked on him. Sexually. Mentally. But I try to keep that to myself. There’s nothing like a needy woman to scare a man away. Especially one as hot as he is. I have to hold onto my independence, my self-possession.

  Or I could lose him for good.

  My fiancé saunters into the bedroom and fixes his eyes on me, running them along my naked body with approval. I cannot believe he is actually mine. My fiancé. How I relish those words.

  I’m now willing him with my gaze to come back to bed, just for ten minutes, but I know that his drive and ambition rarely lets him lose restraint. He has a plane to catch – a business trip is waiting; clients hanging in limbo with baited breath for a decision to be made, a deal to be signed. I’ve learned that Alexandre is a ruthless negotiator, a tough cookie when it comes to business – nobody gets to be as successful as he is by accident.

  I drink him in. A white towel is hanging about his washboard abs. Beads of water are gathered about his buffed-up chest. His green eyes are gazing at me.

  “Come with me, Pearl,” he says, his French accent full and rich.

  “I told you, I really can’t.”

  “I’d love to show you my favorite haunts in London, take you to the theatre, a walk along the South Bank by the River Thames.”

  He moves over to the bed and sits beside me, fondling my chin with his long fingers. He tilts my head back a touch and presses his lips to mine. His tongue explores my mouth, the tip of it gently probing, running along my lips. He holds my head in his hands and teases my tongue with his. I feel the electricity of it - tingles shoot between my thighs. I groan. My sound makes his kiss more intense, hungrier. The towel moves - his huge cock is flexing against it. I rest my hand there and feel how stiff it is. Always ready for me, even with just a kiss or at the sight of my naked body. Nobody has ever desired me the way he does.

  “Why are you tormenting me like this?” he whispers. “You know I don’t like us being apart.”

  “I can’t just leave Anthony alone – he’s come all the way from San Francisco to visit. Besides, I told you, I have that important meeting this morning.”

  “It’s just work, it can be postponed.”

  “No, it can’t. Samuel Myers has flown in from L.A. You can’t start up a company for me, Alexandre, and then expect it to run itself. HookedUp Enterprises needs me more than ever right now – it’s my baby.”

  “So têtue,” he teases, his French accent rumblingly deep.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Stubborn.”

  I laugh. “I know you, Alexandre Chevalier. You told me once yourself, that the last thing you wanted was a woman to be hanging onto your ‘every word, your every movement’ – that’s what you said. You’d get bored of me if I didn’t have my own projects, my own life.”

  “Perhaps, but sometimes I think you push it, Pearl. Like the wedding, for instance. Why are you making us wait until December? It’s absurd – we could get married as soon as I get back from London.” He grazes his tongue along my lips and kisses me again.

  “I told you - I’ve always dreamed of a winter wedding,” I whisper.

  “The ice princess.”

  I trace my fingers along his cheekbone and smile. Let him think I’m the ice princess. Let him think I’m cool. He can’t know that my insides are made of marshmallow – that my need for him is more than life itself.

  “You’ll be late,” I warn, running my fingers through his thick, soft hair.

  “What I like, though, is when I fuck you I make you melt,” he murmurs, his hands trailing down my back along my spine. “I love your dimples, these adorable dimples in your back, just here…and here.” He makes circular motions around my little dips and then runs the tips of his fingers further south, cupping my buttocks in his large hands.

  I feel the tips of his fingers as they lightly, so very lightly touch my moist folds, lifting me off the mattress, pulling me towards him. “So wet,” he says. “Even when all I do is kiss you. Funny how you and I get each other so worked up - you’ve made me rock hard.”

  “Yes…isn’t it.” We both laugh.

  “Shit, damn it, you’re so tempting, Pearl. Damn my meeting.” He nips my lower lip softly between his minty teeth.

  The tease - I’m used to this. He keeps me in check – always leaving me begging for more, my heart racing. Pick any V name you like – vagina, Vajajay or my pet names, V-8 and Venus. That part of me throbs with desire, aching for his return – even before he has departed. Or even when he’s right beside me, my Venus is on red alert, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Alexandre says he likes it this way. My resolve must stay intact, though. I need to stay strong. I cannot lose myself in him one hundred percent.

  Or he’d swallow me whole.

  I study him. It’s not just sex that has me in his hold. It’s the way he is inside; his kindness, generosity, his sense of humor, the love he has for me - even his damn French pride which makes him a touch possessive and jealous. Not too much - no, but just enough to make me feel desired and treasured. All this makes up a complex personality - a character I’m still trying to work out.

  He walks over to his closet and opens the door. That same closet where, just three months ago, I hid myself behind rows of hand-tailored suits and racks of silk ties – where I childishly played Hide and Seek. A tremor fills my body now, remembering that sexually-charged moment. Alexandre caught me and then tied my legs to the bedposts with two ice-blue silk ties, splaying my thighs apart. I thought he was going to play bondage and he did. His style. Sweet - but terrifying as I couldn’t imagine what would happen next. I had nothing to fear; he ‘beat’ me with a Kingfisher feather and tied my wrists together behind my head with the priceless Art Deco pearl choker he bought me in Paris. The excitement tipped me over the edge – the trepidation, the lust, the sensitivity all mixed together in a delicious cocktail of sex. A cocktail which has turned me into an alcoholic of love. A drink which I need every day just to function at my best.

  I am addicted to him.

  I watch him now. Six feet three of pure, virile male. What is it that makes me want him to take charge in the bedroom? To overpower me? I love being beneath him, strong and dominant as he is – on top of me, pushing me to my limits, making me scream his name when I come. He has control over me sexually and he knows it – I can’t let him also dominate my life. He’s testing me. I can sense it. Testing me to s
ee how strong I can be. He made it clear that he wants an equal. I have to match him; I cannot let myself sink into oblivion. He once told me he was attracted to me for my maturity and that he was into ‘women not girls’ – I need to act my age – keep my composure. It’s a battle I fight every day. I still feel like a vulnerable child inside and sometimes find myself acting like a teenager with her first love. Passion is a powerful thing – hard to control.

  “What’s it to be today - T-shirt and jeans, or a suit?” I ask him.

  He pulls on a pair of boxer briefs over his tight, perfectly formed butt. My eyes then focus on that fine smooth hairline that goes from his abs down to his groin. He still has a semi-erection bulking out his underwear. He looks at me. “I don’t know, what do you think?”

  “Both are sexy. The second you put a suit on I want you to fuck me, though - you fully-clothed with just your cock free. You could take me up against the wall. I love it when I’m naked and you’re dressed in one of your chic, tailored suits. I love it when you slam me from behind.” I bite my lip. “Hard as a rock. Just thinking about it makes me so—”

  “Stop tormenting me, baby, or I’ll have to put you over my knee and spank you.” He winks at me.

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “You know I could never do that, Pearl, not even in jest.”

  I observe him as he pulls out a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt from the rack in the closet. “Jeans it is, then,” he says assertively, “or I’ll never get to London on time.”

  “Bastard,” I say with a grin.

  “It’s not as if I haven’t asked you to come with me. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “No, I’m staying.”

  “Sure? Last call—”

  “I’m sure,” I say, already regretful.

  I slip out of the bed and glide towards him. “I’ll miss you.” I place my arms about his warm, strong torso and hold myself close to him. I breathe in his faint smell of lavender, hand-picked from his fields in Provence - crushed into heavenly oil - and the famous wish-I-could-bottle Alexandre smell - his natural odor that has me completely intoxicated.