The Frenchman's Marriage Demand

by Chantelle Shaw

  She tried not to look at him rubbing the towel over his damp body, but she was painfully aware of the fact that his wet shorts were clinging to his thighs, leaving little to her imagination. Hopefully he would announce that he had some work to do in his study. It was Saturday, and she remembered that when she had lived with him he had spent most of his weekends either working or indulging his passion for a variety of sports, but to her dismay he did not immediately disappear into the penthouse and instead lowered himself into the chair next to hers. She instantly stiffened and her heart began to thud heavily in her chest. He was too close and her senses flared when he idly placed his arm along the back of her chair.

  ‘What are these?’ he queried, glancing at the photo albums on the table.

  ‘You said you’d like to see some pictures of Aimee when she was first born,’ she replied, grateful for the excuse to edge away from him. ‘My neighbour has a key to my flat and I asked her to send these over. They’re mainly snaps taken with a disposable camera and the quality isn’t brilliant,’ she said apologetically as he silently leafed through the album where she had faithfully recorded every milestone of Aimee’s development. ‘Aimee’s a little poseur, don’t you think?’ She laughed, studying the image of her daughter on her first birthday.

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ Zac murmured huskily, his accent suddenly very pronounced as he stared at the picture of a smiling Aimee proudly showing off her first tooth. He had missed so much, he acknowledged as he picked up another picture of Aimee as a newborn baby. Someone else had obviously taken the photo of Freya in the delivery room, smiling bravely despite the exhaustion in her eyes as she clutched her tiny bundle.

  Freya looked young and scared as she faced the stark reality of coping with motherhood alone, but he recognised the determined set of her chin and felt a flare of admiration for her. Freya’s fragile looks were deceptive; she had a backbone of steel and he found himself in awe of her strength. She had stated that she didn’t need him and he had no doubts that, if it had not been for the accident, she would have brought Aimee up to be a happy, well-adjusted child without any help from him.

  Now he knew Aimee was his child and he was willing to try and atone for misjudging Freya by suggesting that they become lovers once more. He knew without conceit that most women would jump at this chance—but, typically of Freya, she had reacted as though he were asking her to do something unpleasant, he thought irritably. He was offering her a life of luxury that most women would give their eye-teeth for—what more did she want, for heaven’s sake?

  He wanted things settled between them; he was impatient to bed her—hell, he was practically climbing the walls with sexual frustration—but, taken aback by her violent opposition to his suggestion, he had decided to play it cool and, instead of sweeping her off to bed, he had kept his distance while he waited for her to acknowledge that, on a physical level at least, they were made for each other.

  He wanted a warm and willing woman in his bed, not a resentful little shrew, but unfortunately his efforts to charm her had so far been unsuccessful. For a man used to getting his own way instantly, it was hugely frustrating, and he felt curiously tense and unsettled and he was fast running out of patience. Perhaps the time had come for a change of tactics? he brooded. Perhaps he should forget his good intentions and make love to her until she was utterly compliant to the idea of resuming their relationship on his terms?

  A loose photo slipped from the back of the album and he reached down to retrieve it at the same moment as Freya. Their hands briefly touched before she snatched her fingers away and she gave an incoherent murmur when he turned the photo over and stared at his own image.

  She must have taken it soon after she had moved in with him, he guessed, glancing speculatively at her pink cheeks. Had she kept it because he had meant something to her even though he had done his best to destroy her with his mistrust?

  ‘I didn’t know that was in there. I’d forgotten I’d even taken it,’ Freya said as she gathered up the rest of the photos and slotted them back into the album. ‘I’ll get rid of it. It doesn’t mean anything to me.’ She held out her hand for the picture, praying he wouldn’t realise that the edges were furled from where she had held it so often. It would be unbearably humiliating if he should ever guess that she had mooned over his image like a lovesick teenager.

  She swallowed when he leaned forwards and placed the photo in her hand, his gaze settling on her hot face. ‘We had some good times, didn’t we, chérie?’ he said coolly.

  ‘You mean the sex was good,’ she muttered, striving to sound indifferent and aware that her voice was annoyingly breathless. She didn’t want to remember the time she’d lived with him; it was too painful, especially now that she was back at the penthouse and Zac was suddenly being so charming. It had been easier when he’d denounced her as a cheating whore—at least then she had been able to kid herself that she hated him.

  ‘It was more than good. There were any number of women I could have had sex with,’ he said coolly, the nuance in his tone telling her that those women would have been far more experienced between the sheets than a shy virgin from a sleepy English backwater.

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose your bed was empty for very long after you threw me out of it,’ Freya said bitterly. ‘Annalise Dubois for one was determined to snare you.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed with a shrug. ‘I admit I have never lived the life of a monk, either before you were my mistress or after we split up. But I had the best, most unforgettable sex with you, chérie.’ He suddenly leaned forwards and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, effectively caging her in. His brilliant blue eyes glinted with a message she didn’t dare decipher and for the life of her she could not help focusing on his mouth. He was so gorgeous, she thought despairingly. Would she ever be free from this ache that seemed to be a permanent feature in her chest? She could not ignore the unmistakable prickle of sexual energy between them and shrank back in her seat, fighting her body’s traitorous response to him and licking her lips nervously when he leaned even closer.

  ‘Even when I despised you, I realised that the sexual chemistry between us burns as strong as before. I know you feel it too. I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking,’ he said bluntly, his gaze trapping hers as if he knew exactly what was going on inside her head.

  ‘You obviously have a vivid imagination,’ she snapped, blushing furiously. ‘Let me up. I want to go and check on Aimee. She’s probably woken from her nap by now.’ She tried to push him away but his warm breath fanned her skin and she gave a low moan, half protest and half pleasure, when he brushed his lips lightly over hers. It felt like heaven after the past two weeks when he had made no attempt to entice her into his bed. He had treated her with polite deference, as if she were an honoured guest at the penthouse, but, rather than feeling reassured that he was obviously no longer interested in her, she had ached for him to take her in his arms.

  Now Freya’s lips parted of their own accord. She couldn’t help it—he only had to look at her and she was lost, she conceded helplessly. She hated herself for her weakness, but the stroke of his tongue was sweetly beguiling, and when he delved between her lips to explore the moist inner warmth of her mouth she responded with all the pent up need that had kept her awake until dawn every night since she had arrived in Monaco.

  Zac’s hands remained gripping her chair, his knuckles white with the effort of restraining himself from reaching out to caress her smooth skin—no longer pale, but warmed to the colour of pale gold from the sun. She was so lovely, and he was so very hungry for her, he acknowledged grimly as he felt his body react with shaming eagerness to the feel of her deliciously soft lips parting beneath his. The time for patience was over and he wanted to reacquaint himself with every inch of her delectable body.

  He knew she wanted him. He saw it in the way desire darkened her eyes to the colour of a stormy sea and felt it in her unguarded response to him when he kissed her. She belonge
d with him, in his bed. He had hurt her, and for that he was sorry, but he was a pragmatic man. The tension and mistrust between them was in the past and he could see no reason why they should not enjoy the explosive passion that had always existed between them. But now was not the time, he conceded with a groan.

  The scent of her skin was ambrosia and he inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he sought to bring his hormones under control. ‘My mother has invited us over—although I believe she used the lure of lunch as an excuse to see her granddaughter,’ he added dryly. ‘You’d better go and put some clothes on and dress Aimee in one of the new outfits Yvette bought her.’

  He moved abruptly away from her, leaving Freya with the distinct impression that she had been dismissed. But then she had served her purpose, she conceded dismally. It was obvious that Zac had wanted her to agree to take Aimee to his mother’s, and kissing her into submission had seemed the simplest method of getting his own way. It was entirely her own fault that she was such a weak, pathetic fool where he was concerned, she told herself sternly as she marched into the penthouse, unaware that he had dived into the pool and was slicing through the water as if his life depended on it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  YVETTE DEVERELL still lived at La Maison des Fleurs, the pretty white-walled villa where Zac had spent his childhood. She greeted Freya warmly and beamed with genuine delight when Aimee held out her arms, demanding to be picked up.

  ‘And how is mon petit ange today? Have you come to play with your mamie?’ she cooed, her elegantly made-up face breaking into a wide smile. ‘Freya, Aimee looks adorable in her little dress,’ she commented as she led the way outside to the terrace where lunch was to be served. ‘The boutique has the same style in blue. I’ll buy it for her tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s very kind, but she has so many clothes,’ Freya murmured, thinking of the numerous exquisite outfits Yvette had already bought Aimee, as well as the stack of toys and teddies that now filled the nursery.

  ‘But I love to buy her things.’ Zac’s mother’s smile faded a little and she glanced worriedly at Freya. ‘My heart was so empty after my husband died, but now my granddaughter has filled that space. Perhaps I seem too forward; too eager and you resent my intrusion? But I cannot stop myself from loving her,’ she finished, her voice wavering slightly.

  Freya thought of her dismal childhood with her own grandmother, whose cold indifference had been so hurtful, and she gave Yvette a smile. ‘I don’t resent you or your obvious affection for Aimee,’ she promised softly. She glanced across the lawn, to where Zac was tickling Aimee and making her squeal with laughter and felt a flutter of fear in her chest. Did she have the right to take Aimee back to England—away from this beautiful place and the people who loved her? ‘I’m glad she has a family,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s so happy here.’

  Yvette glanced at her speculatively. ‘And what about you, Freya?’ she enquired gently. ‘I hope you are happy too. My son has not confided in me and I would never presume to ask, but I know things have not always been as they should be between you.’ She smiled and tentatively touched Freya’s hand. ‘I would very much like us to be friends.’

  Warmth stole through Freya’s veins and she returned Yvette’s smile. She realised that Zac’s mother was probably anxious for them to have a good relationship so that she could continue to see Aimee, but she seemed to be genuinely caring, and after a lifetime of rejection Freya could not help but respond to the Frenchwoman’s kindness.

  ‘I’d like that too,’ she said, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. She was glad of the opportunity to establish a relationship with Zac’s mother, but there was no escaping the fact that it was time she had a similar conversation with Zac himself. She couldn’t remain in Monaco as his guest indefinitely, and she was adamant that she would not accept his outrageous offer to live with him as his mistress, but how were they going to organise parenting Aimee when they lived a thousand miles apart?

  Lunch was a relaxed affair during which Yvette regaled Freya with tales of Zac’s boyhood and his frequent daring exploits that she laughingly insisted had turned her hair prematurely grey. From the sound of it, Zac had enjoyed a wonderfully happy childhood in the care of his loving parents. Yvette had clearly cherished being a mother and it seemed curious that she had not had more children. Perhaps they had been content, just the three of them, Freya mused enviously. Zac must have been the centre of his parents’ world and had grown up confident of their love. She wanted Aimee to grow up in the same environment of happy family life, but the reality was that she was a single mother and she still didn’t know exactly how Zac saw his future role in his daughter’s life.

  ‘Now, ma petite,’ Yvette said to Aimee after lunch, ‘what shall we do this afternoon, while Papa takes your maman out on his boat? Would you like to play on your swing?’

  Aimee joyfully clapped her hands and scrambled off Freya’s lap. She was fascinated by the wooden swing in Mamie’s garden and trotted off with her grandmother without a backward glance at Freya.

  ‘I’m not happy about leaving her,’ Freya muttered, trying to hide the pang of hurt that her baby seemed perfectly happy without her. ‘You go out on the boat; I’d prefer to stay here.’

  ‘She’ll be fine for a couple of hours. My mother won’t allow her out of her sight for a second,’ Zac reassured her. ‘I thought you might enjoy a relaxing afternoon,’ he added persuasively. ‘You must have found it a strain being Aimee’s sole carer, but now we can share the responsibility and you can spend some time off duty.’

  ‘I’ve never minded looking after her,’ Freya argued, refusing to admit that there had been times when she’d felt overwhelmed by the enormity of bringing up a child on her own.

  ‘I know, and you’ve done an amazing job, but I don’t underestimate how hard it must have been. You’re not alone any longer, Freya, and it’s time you accepted that fact.’ He paused fractionally and then murmured, ‘Besides, it will give us an opportunity to talk. I’ve a suggestion I want to put to you.’

  Freya couldn’t help blushing when she recalled his last suggestion—that she should share his bed again. Did he think he stood a better chance of persuading her when he had her trapped on his boat? she wondered grimly. The worst of it was she wasn’t at all confident she would be able to resist him if he tried to make love to her again.

  But, as usual, Zac was utterly determined to have his own way, she realised bitterly as he steered her through the house and out to his car. Refusing to go with him was pointless; she didn’t doubt for a second that he would fling her over his shoulder and carry her onto his boat, and she preferred to keep what little dignity she had left intact.

  It was a short drive from La Maison des Fleurs to the marina and her temper at his high-handedness was still simmering when they parked, but as they walked along the quay and she smelled the sea air she could not help but relax a little. She had always loved the sea and her eyes scanned along the line of fabulous yachts and motor cruisers before straying to Zac, who was striding along next to her. In cream chinos and a navy polo shirt he was a tanned, gorgeous, billionaire playboy who turned heads and drew admiring glances wherever he went. Was she mad to have turned down his offer to be his mistress?

  The Isis was a stunning looking craft from the outside and inside she was truly sumptuous. As Freya glanced around the luxuriously appointed salon with its champagne coloured leather sofas, and cherry wood fitments, she felt as though she had stepped back in time and was once again the naïve young girl who had worked briefly as Zac’s stewardess, before he had enticed her into his bed with his potent, sexy charm. Stifling a sigh, she followed him up on deck and leaned against the boat rail as The Isis’s skipper steered smoothly out of the harbour and into the open sea.

  ‘You said you wanted to talk,’ she reminded Zac stiffly when he came to stand next to her. He was too close for comfort and she felt her senses flare into urgent life when he lifted his hand and stroked her hair back from her f
ace.

  ‘We need to discuss our future relationship once you’ve agreed to move permanently into the penthouse,’ he agreed in a tone that warned Freya he intended to lay down the rules and expected her to agree.

  ‘It’s going to be a short discussion, then, as we don’t have a relationship and I have no intention of moving in with you permanently,’ she muttered, and caught her breath at his sudden grin.

  ‘I’m going to have to do something about that sassy tongue of yours,’ he threatened softly. He paused and stared at her as if he could not tear his eyes from the delicate beauty of her face. ‘I have never felt so alive as when I’m with you, chérie,’ he admitted, looking faintly stunned by the realisation before he lowered his head and claimed her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss that left Freya breathless and more confused than ever. She loved him and she knew he loved Aimee—wasn’t that enough reason to sacrifice her pride and agree to his proposition? she thought dazedly. Shouldn’t she sacrifice her own longing to be loved and settle for a life of luxury and amazing sex?

  When he finally lifted his head, her lips were stinging and to her shame she realised that she didn’t want to talk, she wanted him to sweep her off to his cabin, throw her down on the bed and make love to her with a fierce, primitive passion—giving her no choice in the matter and ignoring all her doubts. ‘We’ll talk later,’ he threatened ominously, the gleam in his cobalt-blue gaze warning her that he knew exactly what he did to her. ‘But first we’ll swim and lie out in the sun for a while. Aimee will love staying with my mother and we have the whole afternoon to relax and unwind.’