by Zara Cox
I wanted to say, no, mademoiselle would like to know what had just happened. Instead I summoned a smile. ‘Yes, please.’
Then came the progression through stunning room after stunning room, each with an identity of its own but somehow melding in perfect symmetry with the whole. Crown mouldings blended seamlessly with hand-painted mosaics. Stone archways invited exploration of beautiful rooms with spectacular views.
By the time I was shown into my suite on the third floor, Chateau des Nuages owned a piece of my heart.
Just like its owner?
I leapt back from the question, but it haunted me into sleep and still lurked, insidious and terrifying, when I woke from my nap an hour later.
The more I tried to push it away, the faster my weighty emotions churned. Going where I didn’t want them to go. Towards Damian Mortimer, and the suspicion that the plan I’d hatched during the pre-production meeting two weeks ago had indeed altered.
That I wasn’t in complete control.
Margret’s arrival with a tray of the most exquisite seafood bisque and crusty bread I’d ever tasted, followed by a mouth-watering crème brûlée, distracted me for a blessed half an hour.
I was fresh out of the shower when she returned to clear away the dishes, and I stopped in surprise as she wheeled in a clothes rail on which hung an expensive-looking garment bag. ‘Monsieur asked me to give you this.’ She handed me a note.
I waited till she left before I opened it and read Damian’s bold scrawl.
See you in an hour. Wear the red ensemble. My fantasy. My rules.
I’d accepted that Damian’s fantasy might require its own unique accoutrements. The evidence of it sent decadent shivers down my spine as I went to the rail and slowly pulled down the zip of the garment bag.
The red dress was stunning, complete with a plunging neckline and an honest-to-God sweeping train. Sky-high strappy red-soled shoes with sparkling diamanté buckles winked at me from the bottom of the bag. I was so absorbed with the shoes I almost didn’t spot the black satin bag hanging to the side.
With fingers that trembled like a schoolgirl’s, I opened the bag. A pair of long red silk gloves spilled out. The bag still felt weighted. I reached in and gasped as my fingers encountered cold stone.
The diamond necklace was beautiful, its sparkle flawless.
I sucked in an uneven breath, not entirely sure why this fantasy I wasn’t even fully aware of intensified my heart’s tremble. Attempting to ignore the puzzling sensation, I reached into the bag for the last items. Bra. Garter belt. Stockings. No panties.
Shaky laughter ripped from me as I started to dress.
I was securing the necklace when he knocked. With a quick exhale, I swayed to the door and opened it.
No other man looked better than Damian in a tuxedo, I was convinced. I forgot to breathe as I took him in from slicked-back hair to shiny handmade shoes.
It took him longer to return the scrutiny, and the heat in his eyes made me tremble all over again. ‘Neve. You look...’ he stopped and visibly swallowed ‘...breathtaking.’
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ I replied huskily.
After another heated appraisal, he held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’
I slipped my gloved hand in his, noting the ease of the action, the giddy lightening of my heart, the fit of our fingers.
He kissed the back of it before tucking it into the crook of his arm.
Our progress down the hall to the grand staircase was unhurried, giving me time to study him, to note that he wasn’t as relaxed as he made out. There was an edgy set to his jaw and a little strain around his eyes.
‘Is everything okay?’
He turned his head and I glimpsed a stern little light in his eyes before he visibly shook it off. ‘I won’t let anything ruin our evening,’ he replied cryptically.
We’d reached the top of the grand staircase by then. I needed to concentrate before I fell on my ass so I let him guide me down the stairs to the second floor and along the west hallway.
The room we entered was immense, a grand ballroom transformed into a miniature early century opera house, with elegant drapery on the walls and a raised platform for a performance.
A large mezzanine overlooked the ballroom.
‘I wanted to see what Sam and Tyler could do with a larger area than just a suite—to see if there are more possibilities to the business plan. We’re going up there.’ Damian led me up a spiral staircase to the mezzanine where two elegant armchairs had been placed near the balcony. It gave a perfect view of the stage and on each chair lay an embossed programme. At the far end, something large and shrouded stood at the back of the room.
I didn’t ask what it was, sure it would be revealed in time. I sat down, then froze as Damian lifted a bottle of champagne from a nearby ice bucket. His gaze met mine as he manoeuvred the cork, popped it and poured out two glasses.
‘Why now?’ I asked when he handed me a glass.
His lashes swept down for a long moment before he exhaled. ‘Because...it’s you,’ he said simply.
That shifting and shaking inside me intensified. Almost too late I recognised it for what it was. An emotional earthquake, shifting my axis, rearranging my preconceptions and goals in a way that shocked and awed.
‘Ready?’
With a nervous swallow that had nothing to do with what was about to happen and everything to do with the metamorphosis occurring inside me, I nodded.
He sat down and pressed a button.
The stage lit up as the area around our seats dimmed.
CHAPTER TEN
Neve
I DIDN’T RECOGNISE the handful of people who streamed onto the stage, but I recognised their musical instruments as they took their places.
I picked up the programme and opened it. Six short lines were written in curly font.
On the menu tonight:
Beethoven’s Silence
A solo from La Bohème
Vivaldi’s Four Seasons
A surprise
Most importantly...you
‘You did all this because I called your choice in opera stuffy?’ I murmured, attempting to divert my focus from that last item.
His bright smile lit up the semi-darkness. ‘Haven’t you noticed that I relish proving you wrong? By the time we’re done, I guarantee you’ll change your mind about me, Neve.’ The words were easy and offhand but his gaze was solemn. Weighted.
He clinked his glass against mine and I watched him take a sip. His gaze locked on mine as he swallowed and I felt intensely moved by that simple but profound action.
The music started up.
Within minutes I was lost. Converted. Reborn.
I glanced at Damian and saw he was equally enthralled. He turned his head and our gazes met. Something shifted in his eyes and he reached out and caught my fingers in his.
The link was tenuous, easily broken. And yet it snagged and locked onto something deep inside me.
I’d never stopped to appreciate classical music. But seeing its effect on Damian, hearing it for myself, I was thrilled and humbled by how it moved him. Moved me.
So much so I did the unthinkable and disregarded the insult to my dress as I left my chair, stood in front of him for one long minute before I slid into his lap.
Surprise lit his eyes but he didn’t say a word. Probably because neither of us wanted to ruin the exquisite music with speech. When I rested my hand on his chest he immediately covered it with his.
We stayed like that, eyes on each other as the music transported us. Every now and then, he raised his champagne glass to my lips, then took a sip himself, his fierce brooding eyes fixed on me, searching, reading my every expression.
I raised one gloved hand and traced my fingers over his cheek, jaw. His sensual mouth. His eyes dropped to half mast
but remained locked on me. Parting his jacket, I trailed my hands down his chest, over his hard six-pack to his waist, then laid my head on his shoulder.
Damian exhaled, thick and heavy, then discarded his glass to curl his hand over my hip.
Warmth I shouldn’t have craved suffused me and when he brushed a kiss against my temple, I shut my eyes against the wave of emotion racing towards the heart I knew was under serious siege.
‘I understand now,’ I murmured.
He nudged my chin up until our gazes met. ‘Understand what?’ he asked, his deep voice a little gruff.
‘Why this music moves you.’
Something shifted in his eyes, again probing, searing. ‘I thought I did too. But I’m learning there are many more ways to be moved.’
A tremor shook my body...one he couldn’t have missed considering our proximity. I wanted to ask. Wanted to delve beneath his surface and pry the meaning I wanted from him. Fear made me silent. The corners of his mouth curved in a serious little smile, as if he understood, before he brushed his knuckles over my cheek.
‘Neve.’ My name was a solemn whisper on his lips.
I threw my arms around his neck, felt his groan resonate inside me as I offered my lips.
He took them, scooping me up in his arms and standing to stride to the back of the room.
The shrouded object turned out to be a large divan, draped in heavy silk. A tug revealed an opening.
Damian stepped through and laid me on the bed. Shrugging off his jacket, he lay down next to me. My breathing turned choppy as he stared at me with a fierce intensity for a long spell.
Then he started to undress me. Unable to remain still through the thick gravity of whatever was happening, I reached for his clothes. The moment my dress was off, he was sheathed and crouched over me, his face a rigid mask of desire and need, the force of his fingers digging into my hips as he stared deep into my eyes and thrust, hard and deep, into me.
My muffled cry was lost in the crescendo of the aria as I shook from head to toe. Firm hands held me still as he buried himself to the hilt and let out a thick groan.
Filled to capacity, brimming with sensations that baffled and awed, I surrendered to the sensual riptide Damian created. Even as I met him thrust for thrust, even as the crescendo rose around us, I knew I wouldn’t emerge from this experience the same.
But I did nothing to stop the drowning. Far from it.
I threw myself into it, letting go completely as Damian dropped his forehead to mine; sharing my air, he drove us both relentlessly to the edge.
He pounded into me as the aria ended and the beautiful sound of violins filled the room.
I came with a scream, not caring who heard, and he followed close behind, his cry thick and affected as he emptied himself inside me.
We collapsed onto soaked sheets, our bodies glistening with sweat as the ballroom fell silent.
‘So what do you think of Vivaldi?’ he muttered hoarsely in my ear after my breathing was back to somewhat normal.
‘He’s...amazing.’
‘Yeah, Spring wasn’t bad but Winter is definitely my favourite.’
My laughter triggered his. When he nudged me into his arms I went freely, draping myself over his chest and splaying my hand over where his heart beat in steady rhythm.
Time ticked by with lethargic sweetness.
Damian picked up my hand and kissed my palm. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked after a few minutes.
‘No, but I could murder a glass of champers,’ I replied in a posh British accent.
‘Hmm, that’s not a bad imitation for a Yank.’
I slapped his chest. ‘A half Yank. I’ll have you know I have English blood running through my veins.’
He froze. ‘You’re half English?’
I nodded. ‘I was born in England and lived there until I was five. My mother didn’t like it there either so my father relocated us to Connecticut.’
‘Is he still around?’ he asked with a note in his voice I could have sworn was wistful. When I looked up, his expression was interested but guarded.
As I recalled his spiky tale of his own parents my heart squeezed. This time I didn’t stop the flood of compassion. Or fight the tide of pain for my own loss. ‘No. He died a few years after he returned to England.’
‘So he left you?’ he said tightly.
‘I don’t think he had a choice in the end. My mother wasn’t exactly easy to live with. And...’ I stopped when I couldn’t exhale around the ache in my chest.
Damian cupped my chin. ‘And?’
‘He drew the line at her infidelity. He filed for divorce and custody. He won the first and lost the second.’
Damian’s eyes darkened and the kiss he placed on my lips and the arms that drew me closer were gentle. And I was weak enough to embrace both.
‘Do you visit England often?’ he asked after a long stretch.
‘Not for a while now. I’ve been busy running Nevirna.’
‘What about your plans to expand Nevirna overseas?’ he probed.
‘It was my intention two years ago. In fact I was all set to open new branches of the resort in three countries across Europe.’
Thick silence fell between us but Damian’s hand didn’t stop caressing my hip. ‘Nothing to stop you now, is there?’ he finally murmured.
I searched a little desperately for that well of bitterness I was used to tapping into. I only got dregs. ‘I guess not,’ I replied.
And when he spread his fingers in my hair I eased my head back, didn’t stop him as he lowered his lips to mine.
After a thoroughly decadent kiss, he rose from the bed. ‘First champagne, then the next fantasy.’
Something kicked hard inside me. ‘There’s more than one?’
He looked over his shoulder as he crossed the room, gloriously, mouth-wateringly naked, to retrieve the chilling champagne. ‘There are three. The final one is not till tomorrow afternoon, though.’
‘Do I get to find out what it is?’
He returned with the drinks and passed me one. ‘Nope.’
I mock-frowned. ‘What will I do with myself for the rest of the time?’
‘Relax. Unwind. Fuck me.’
And then what?
The question hit me hard. Enough that my hands shook. Enough that I dipped my head and avoided his piercing gaze as he slid back into bed.
‘Neve—’
‘Do I need a different outfit for the next fantasy?’ I asked hurriedly before he could probe my unguarded moment.
‘Not if you don’t want to.’
I sipped my drink. ‘Hmm...intriguing.’
His gaze moved over me, lingering on my breasts. As I watched, he dipped his fingers into his glass, then held his wet fingers over one nipple until a fat drop of champagne dripped onto my puckered flesh.
At my gasp, he smiled, then swooped down to tug my nipple into his mouth.
‘If you like, we can just stay here, do more of this?’ he muttered as he repeated the decadent action with my other nipple.
‘Shame to let the twins’ hard work go to waste, don’t you think?’ I managed through a lust haze. But the part of me that was terrified I was addicted to Damian needed a little distance.
He swirled his tongue around my nipple one last time, then reluctantly pulled away. He tugged up his boxers and trousers but held out his shirt to me. Sliding off the bed, I shrugged it on, unable to help myself from inhaling his scent as he did up a few buttons. My stockings and garter had stayed on during the undressing and I felt decadently sexy as he caught my hand in his and led me downstairs.
Halfway down the hallway, he stopped before a set of double doors. The grin he threw me was downright boyish, giving me a glimpse of a Damian Mortimer free of the demons snapping at his heels.
The deep yea
rning to slay those demons, to restore whatever had been taken from him, struck me harder than the question I’d asked myself minutes ago.
So I was in a semi-daze when I walked into the room. Filled with life-size posters and memorabilia of David Bowie.
‘Oh, my God.’
Damian laughed, hit a button and disco lights strobed into the room as the thumping beats of ‘Let’s Dance’ pounded.
He caught me around the waist, twirled me around, then began to move.
Later, I would recognise that I fell in love with him in that moment, with unfettered delight in his eyes, killer moves to make a girl swoon and his hands reaching out to me. Time ceased to exist as we danced, fucked and danced some more.
As I ignored the ache in my feet and the building terror in my heart and gave myself to Damian in every way I could imagine.
When he swung me into his arms and carried me to his bedroom beneath the east turret, I wanted to scream my happiness to the world. Instead, I slid into bed with him and let him wrap me in his arms.
‘So I take it you enjoyed your Fantasy Room experiences?’ I mimicked his words.
‘I finally realised a teenage dream. What’s not to like?’
I pulled back to look into his eyes. ‘A Bowie party for two was what you dreamt of?’
His expression tightened. ‘I would’ve taken any sort of party. That just happened to be on a list of many things I never got to have.’
‘Why not?’ I asked, tentatively because I didn’t want him to clam up again.
His lips firmed for a moment. ‘You know about my parents.’
I nodded. ‘I know they left you behind when they went to Greece—’
‘Not just me. My sister, Gemma, was seven and my brother, Jasper, was six.’
‘Who looked after you?’
‘Like any wealthy, dysfunctional family, we were conveniently shipped off to boarding school. During the holidays we were looked after by a procession of nannies and occasionally visited by the odd uncle or aunt when they remembered we existed.’
‘So you never saw your parents?’
‘My aunt Florence attempted to guilt my parents into behaving like responsible human beings at one point.’