Never Gamble With a Caffarelli

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Tarrantloch was his talisman of success.

  His only weakness that she could see was that he wanted her. But even that need was under his tight control. She had ramped up his desire to the point where she thought he would agree to anything.

  But it seemed she was the one who was the more desperate.

  His mouth was hard against hers but she worked at softening it with little pull-backs and strokes of her tongue. Once he’d eased off a bit she nipped at his lower lip with her teeth, and then laved it with the glide of her tongue.

  She felt him rummaging around for a condom, his hands leaving her in order to apply it, but his mouth didn’t budge from plundering hers.

  He was at her entrance and nudging to possess her. She opened her legs and stood up on tiptoe to welcome him. He surged so thickly and so forcefully she felt her back bump the bench behind. He set a furious pace but her body was so wet, and aching so much, it was a blessed and welcome assault of her senses to feel him pumping so hard. She came almost immediately, not even needing the coaxing stroke of his fingers. All it took was a little roll and tilt of her pelvis and she was flying off into the stratosphere, screaming and sobbing all the way.

  He didn’t waste time waiting for her to come back to earth. He rocketed after her with a deep, primal grunt as he unloaded. She felt the rise of goose bumps over his back as she held him against her, his hectic breathing a harsh sound in the silence.

  Angelique wanted to hate him for turning the tables on her but somehow she couldn’t access that emotion right now. So instead she held him and stroked her hands over his back and shoulders, planting soft little teasing kisses to his neck and behind his earlobes.

  He eased back from her but only so he could rest his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled intimately in the space between their mouths. ‘I wasn’t too rough, was I?’ His voice sounded gruff, almost apologetic.

  Angelique trailed a fingertip over his bottom lip. ‘I wanted you any way I could have you.’

  His dark gaze meshed with hers. ‘You really turn me on like no other woman I’ve ever been with, but I have a feeling but you already know that.’

  She smiled a little smile and did another circuit with her finger, this time pushing it into his mouth so he could suck on it. It sent a shudder down her spine when he did. His mouth was hot and moist, and his tongue a sexy rasp against her soft skin. When she pulled it out she said in a voice that wasn’t quite even. ‘You do a pretty fine job of lighting my fire too.’

  He held her gaze for an interminable moment. ‘We should do something about a meal. I don’t want you fading away on me. I have plans for you and, believe me, you’re going to need your stamina.’

  She traced each of his eyebrows in turn, a playful smile pushing up the corners of her mouth. ‘When you look at me like that, I get a wobbly feeling in my girly bits.’

  His eyes glinted dangerously as he tugged her back against him. ‘And so you damn well should,’ he said and brought his mouth down to hers.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  REMY WATCHED AS Angelique slept in the tumble of sheets, pillows and bedcoverings that had become their love-making nest over the last three weeks. He had extended their stay because a sudden snowfall had made it impossible for Robert Mappleton to get to their meeting so Remy had to postpone it until the roads cleared.

  And what a time it had been.

  He and Angelique had made love not just in the bedroom but the bathroom and the sofa in the sitting room; the morning room; the linen room; the utilities room and the kitchen four or five times over. Angelique had delighted him, shocked him, teased and tantalised him until he only had to look at her and his body would swell with lust.

  He had lit a fire in the master bedroom. The flickering flames were casting their usual golden glow over the room. There was another fluttering of snow outside; he could see it falling silently past the windows in ghostly handfuls. It had been snowing on and off for a couple of days now but the roads were open again. He felt a niggling sense of disappointment as he had secretly harboured a fantasy of being snowed in with her for weeks on end. Maybe right up to and including Christmas.

  Every couple of days they had driven to the village to buy supplies at the local store. He liked the normality of it, the hunting and gathering that was an everyday occurrence for most people. Angelique knew a few of the locals and had stopped and chatted to them, introducing him as her husband with a naturalness that made him feel like a fraud. If she felt the same way, she showed no sign of it.

  Robert Mappleton had left by helicopter that afternoon after an overnight stay. Angelique had shown the class and grace he had come to expect from her. It seemed she could be whatever he wanted or needed her to be: a playful, adventurous lover; an intrepid hiker across the moors or through the forest; a gourmet cook in the kitchen and an engaging, convivial hostess. She had made the old man feel at home, plying him with fabulous home-cooked food and old-fashioned highland hospitality. Mappleton had been charmed—besotted would have been closer to the mark. He had spent most of the time chatting to Angelique and had only given Remy his attention—and cursorily, at that—to sign the papers to hand over the Mappleton chain for a princely sum.

  Remy knew he should be feeling happy. Proud. Satisfied. Victorious.

  But his mind was restless.

  It was time to put an end to this madness but Angelique had a photo shoot lined up in Paris the following day to kick-start her new modelling career. He could hardly walk out on her when so much was at stake for her. As least modelling bridal wear would be better for her than swimwear. There would be less pressure on her to be rail-thin all the time. Over the last few days he had noticed her eating a little more than usual. It had delighted him to see her enjoy her food instead of seeing it as an enemy.

  Talking of enemies...

  He was having more and more trouble thinking of her as an opponent. He looked at her lying next to him; at the way the light fell on her cheekbone as she was lying with her head resting on one of her hands. She looked so peaceful. Relaxed and sated.

  He felt a little free-fall inside his stomach as he recalled the way she had crawled all over him earlier that night. His body was still humming with the aftershocks of having her ride him.

  Was there no end to this driving lust he felt for her? He kept waiting to feel that flat feeling of boredom, the tinge of irritation that nearly always occurred about now in his relationships. He would look at the woman in his bed and wonder: what was I thinking?

  But when he looked at Angelique in his bed, he thought: how can I keep her there?

  Angelique made a sleepy sound from the tangle of sheets and then opened her eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Late. Or early. I guess it depends on whether you’re a night owl or a lark.’

  She sat up and pushed her dark hair back over her naked shoulders. ‘I’m not sure what I am any more. I think I’ve crossed too many time zones or something.’

  Remy pushed himself away from the mantelpiece. ‘I’m cooking breakfast this morning. I think it’s time you had a break from the kitchen.’

  Her brows lifted. ‘Wonders will never cease. I never thought I’d see the day when you put on an apron.’

  He grinned at her. ‘Not only that, I actually picked up a towel and hung it back on the rack. How’s that for becoming domesticated?’

  She gave him a beady look. ‘Toilet seat?’

  ‘Down.’

  She gave a slow smile. ‘Wow. That’s pretty impressive. Maybe there’s hope for you as a husband after all. Some girl in the future is really going to thank me for training you.’ She tapped her finger against her lips musingly. ‘Maybe I should think about opening a school for future husbands. There could be a big market for that: give me your man and I’ll whip him into shape. What do you think?’

  ‘Did you say whip?’

  ‘I meant that metaphorically.’

  ‘Pity.’

  Her eyes danced with mischief and hi
s blood raced. ‘You don’t really want me to beat you, do you?’ she asked.

  He came over to the bed and tipped up her chin with the end of his finger. ‘I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever know the real you. You’re full of surprises.’

  Her look was all sexy siren. ‘Who do you want me to be?’

  He dropped his hand from her chin. He felt strangely dissatisfied by her answer. He was all for playing games when it suited him, but he wanted to know her: the real Angelique Marchand. What she felt and thought and believed in. What she valued.

  Who she loved.

  It was ironic but in many ways she reminded him of himself. She had forged a reputation for herself as scatty and irresponsible, as a wild tearaway who had no intention of putting down roots. She had shied away from commitment like he did. She had hated the thought of the formality and entrapment of marriage. She was a free spirit who wanted to live and enjoy life on her terms.

  But was that who she really was? Or was it what she thought people expected her to be?

  Remy tried to think of another girl who would be in his bed in the flickering firelight some time in the future and couldn’t quite do it. He kept seeing Angelique with her fragrant cloud of dark hair, her arresting grey-blue eyes and her bee-stung mouth with its lush, kiss-me ripeness...

  He gave himself a mental shake.

  He wasn’t interested in a future with her. He wasn’t interested in a future with anyone.

  He was interested in the here and now.

  Today and tomorrow were his only focus.

  He didn’t want to think any further ahead.

  Angelique swung her legs over the edge of the bed, but as she stood up she tottered for a moment and went a ghastly shade of white. He put out a hand to steady her. ‘Are you all right?’

  She looked a little dazed for a moment or two but then her colour slowly returned. ‘Whoa, that was strange. I thought I was going to faint. It’s not like I’ve not been eating enough. I still feel full from all that chocolate pudding I had last night.’

  He pushed a tiny tendril of hair back from her face. ‘Maybe I’ve been keeping you up too late.’

  She smiled cheekily as she danced her fingertips down his bare forearm. He felt the electric shock of her touch all the way to his groin. ‘I’m the one who’s been keeping you up.’

  He was up right now—painfully so. But she was still looking peaky even if she was putting on a brave front. He knew that about her if nothing else. She was excellent at hiding behind various masks. He gently patted her on the behind. ‘Have your shower while I rustle up some breakfast. How does bacon and eggs sound?’

  The colour drained from her face again and she quickly thrust a hand to her mouth and bolted for the en suite. Remy followed her to find her hunched over the toilet seat, retching without actually bringing anything up. ‘Oh, ma petite, why didn’t you say you were feeling sick?’ he said.

  She wiped her mouth on the face cloth he handed her. ‘I didn’t feel sick until you mentioned... Urgh.’ She gave a little shudder. ‘I’m not even going to say the words.’

  ‘Shall I call a doctor?’

  ‘What on earth for?’ She got to her feet and grabbed her hair and, using its length, tied it in a loose knot behind her head. ‘It’s just a stomach bug. I’ve had them before. It’ll pass in twenty-four hours or so.’

  He reached for her forehead but it was clammy rather than hot. ‘Do you want to go back to bed?’

  She pushed his hand away, a little frown creasing her forehead. ‘Stop fussing, Remy. I’m fine.’

  ‘You look pale.’

  ‘I haven’t got my make-up on.’

  ‘Personally, I prefer you without it.’ He followed her back into the bedroom. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to call a doctor?’

  ‘And make me look like a drama queen for dragging him or her out here to diagnose a virus? No thanks.’

  Remy pulled back the covers on the bed. ‘In. Rest for an hour and see how you feel.’

  She rolled her eyes and flopped back down on the bed. ‘You should keep well away from me. It might be catching.’

  ‘I’ll risk it.’

  ‘I should probably warn you, I’m not a very good nurse. I have no patience or compassion.’

  He smiled as he touched her cheek with a lazy finger. ‘I think you’d make a very good nurse. You’d look hot in a uniform too.’

  She cranked one eye open. ‘I thought you preferred me without clothes?’

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Right now I’d prefer you to rest up. We have to get you to Paris in tip-top shape.’

  ‘And after Paris?’

  ‘We have Raoul and Lily’s wedding.’

  A little frown pulled at her brow. ‘Are you sure I should go to that?’

  ‘I want you there.’ He meant it, which was a little surprising. Worrying, actually. He had to let her go at some point; no point dragging this on too long.

  ‘But I thought once your business deal with Robert Mappleton was done we were going to go our separate ways.’

  Remy searched her gaze but he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. ‘It would look a bit suspicious if we parted within a day or two of the contract being signed. And your manager is going to be pretty pissed with you if you suddenly announce you’re getting a divorce. I think we should leave things as they are until after Raoul and Lily’s wedding. It’s only a matter of weeks. We can reassess things in the New Year.’

  ‘What have you told your brothers about us? Surely they know the truth?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not the point. I don’t want a big press fest on our break-up occurring right in the middle of Raoul and Lily’s wedding.’

  Remy had spoken to Raoul not long after Rafe had called. But, rather than berate him for marrying Angelique, he had said what his grandfather had said—that he’d always sensed Remy had a thing for her and that his little spin about her being hell on heels didn’t ring true with him. It had annoyed Remy to think he hadn’t disguised his feelings as well as he’d thought. What would Raoul make of his feelings now?

  Angelique’s gaze narrowed. ‘You’re not falling in love with me, are you?’

  He coughed out a laugh. ‘Are you joking? I’ve never fallen in love in my life.’

  ‘Good.’ She closed her eyes again. ‘I don’t want any hearts broken when this is over.’

  Remy got up from the bed. ‘I’ll come and check on you in an hour.’

  ‘I’ll be back in the ring and punching by then.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  He walked to the door but when he turned back to look at her she had turned her back and was huddled into a tight ball.

  Something shifted in his chest: a slippage; a gear not quite meshing with its cogs.

  He shook off the feeling and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

  Angelique rolled over to her back, pressing a hand to her churning stomach. She was due for a period. She had taken herself off the pill months ago because she felt the brand she’d been on was making her put on weight. She hadn’t bothered renewing her prescription because she hadn’t been dating anyone. But she didn’t feel period pain, just this wretched, churning nausea. That near-faint had happened a few times before when she hadn’t eaten enough. But she could hardly use the lack of food as an excuse because she had been eating normally over the last couple of weeks. The thought of not having to bare her body all the time in a bikini was like being let out of prison. She was almost getting excited about the Paris shoot. Almost.

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed again and tested her balance. So far so good. Her stomach was uneasy but her head was more or less clear. She padded back to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down and mentally calculated when her last period had been—was it four weeks or five?

  She was occasionally overdue; disruptions came with the stress of dieting and travelling.

  Anyway, they’d used c
ondoms. The failure rate was miniscule...but enough to be slightly worrying. Terrifyingly worrying.

  Angelique put a hand to her concave belly. It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t the type of girl to get herself pregnant. It just couldn’t happen.

  She thought of the first time when Remy had taken for ever to withdraw. Had some of his Olympic-strong swimmers sneaked out past the barrier of the condom and gone in search of one of her desperate little eggs?

  Oh, traitorous body and even more traitorous hormones!

  Panic set in. She felt it clutch at her insides. She felt it move over her skin like a clammy shiver. She felt it hammering in her chest.

  She couldn’t be pregnant. She couldn’t be.

  Buying a pregnancy test in a village this small was out of the question. She would have to wait until she got to Paris. And then after Paris, baby or no baby, she would have to attend Raoul and Lily’s wedding and pretend everything was normal in front of their family and friends. It seemed so tacky to be attending a romantic wedding when theirs had been so extravagant yet so meaningless.

  Angelique felt a pang of envy for Raoul’s bride-to-be, Lily. How excited she must be getting prepared for her wedding. Doing all the girly things to make her day so special. Angelique cringed when she thought of her wedding to Remy. The whole thing had been nothing but a big, overblown sham. She was a fraud. A fake bride. A fake wife. And this was a fake honeymoon.

  If she was pregnant would Remy insist on her staying with him for the sake of the child? He would end up hating her for tying him down. He might even end up hating the child.

  Angelique bit her lip as she looked in the mirror at her body. For years she had denied her body, punished her body, controlled her body, but now it would not just be hers but the shelter in which her baby—hers and Remy’s baby—would grow and develop.

  She could not think of getting rid of it. It was certainly an option and one she felt other women were entitled to make. But it wasn’t for her.

  She put a hand to her flat belly. How could it be possible that she and Remy had made a baby? He didn’t even like her.