Count Maxime's Virgin

She stared up at him, and his knowing half-smile sent ribbons of seduction rippling through her. She closed her eyes and just for a moment allowed herself to believe he was as captivated by her as she was by him and that now was the moment when he would sweep her off her feet…

‘I’ve some freshly squeezed orange juice in the fridge,’ he said casually, setting her aside so he could move towards the smart built-in bar. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer me to call down for a hot drink…’ He turned at this point. ‘Cocoa, perhaps?’

Cocoa? Freya would not be pleased. Tara gulped unhappily. She could think of nothing to say. But how would she ever explain this mess to Freya?

‘Why don’t I make myself comfortable,’ Lucien suggested, ‘while you make up your mind?’

He was doing everything he could to make this easy for her, Tara realised, but she still couldn’t relax. Her throat felt so dry she couldn’t have spoken a word to him even if she could have thought of something to say. One look from Lucien was all it took to make her nipples pucker, so she crossed her arms over her chest and remained where she was, dithering in the middle of the room.

Lucien shrugged off his jacket, and his look of amusement caught her mid-gulp as she weighed up the width of his shoulders. She turned away, but not before registering the fact that his fingers were supple and capable as he deftly untied his bow-tie, and this only stirred more rebellion in her lower regions, which she could have well done without. Leaving the tie hanging, he next freed some buttons at the neck of his shirt. Sneaking glances at him, she now decided he looked exactly like a man in an advertisement for some high end luxury product, though far more handsome, of course. She went all dreamy again as she imagined touching that smooth tanned flesh and feeling it warm beneath her hands until the jangle of Lucien’s heavy gold cuff-links hitting a glass bowl on the table jerked her back to reality.

‘Won’t you at least take your shawl off?’ Lucien encouraged. ‘Here, I’ll put it somewhere safe for you…’ He held out his hand.

She stared at him foolishly. By now he was folding back his sleeves, revealing powerful forearms shaded with black hair. ‘I was just about to take it off,’ she lied, wondering how a single inch of Lucien’s fabulous suite could be called safe while he was in it. She took off her shawl, conscious that an acre of untoned naked flesh was now on show. Freya’s hours at the gym had paid dividends for her, but Tara didn’t have the time between jobs to follow suit, and would have felt too embarrassed to strip down in front of everyone, anyway.

‘Come and sit here with me,’ Lucien invited, beckoning her over to one of the sofas.

She chose the couch facing his and perched tensely on the edge of it. She was careful to sit very straight and lift her ribcage as Freya had shown her, in order to prevent herself looking too plump. But, as she did so, Lucien murmured, ‘Impressive…’

Did he mean to give her confidence? She gulped in horror, realising too late that he must think she was displaying her breasts for his approval. She quickly hunched her shoulders and lowered her gaze.

‘Do I make you so nervous, ma petite?’

Risking a glance at him, she garbled something unintelligible that made him laugh.

‘I don’t think I am succeeding at putting you at your ease, am I?’ Lucien demanded softly, ‘though I’d very much like to do so…’

By sitting next to her? By draping his arm across her shoulders? She was about as far from at ease as she had ever been. In fact, she was quivering all over, wondering what Lucien expected of her.

‘Relax,’ he murmured, making her ear tingle with his warm, minty breath.

There was something so soothing in his voice she leaned into him. It felt so good just for a moment to rest her head against his firm chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart. Lucien made her feel so secure, and just for once she longed for rock instead of shifting sand, but when he brushed some errant strands of hair from her brow with his lips, she stirred self-consciously. ‘Relax,’ Lucien insisted.

She tried so hard to do what he wanted, but all the time her inner voice was warning her that this was no dream and was far more reality than she could handle.

‘What would you like me to do next, little one?’ Lucien murmured.

Her gaze flickered up, only to discover that Lucien’s had darkened from sepia to black. Did that mean the world of wicked thoughts in her head was an open book to him? His knowing look suggested that was exactly the case, and his next words confirmed it. ‘Shall we go to the bedroom?’

As he spoke Lucien touched his forehead to hers. It was such an intimate thing to do, her dreams took flight again. Oh, yes, she wanted to say, let’s go there now, but she heard herself reply, ‘I’m quite comfortable here, thank you.’ Her voice had grown very small, and she knew that at this point she was supposed to sound breathy and provocative, as Freya had taught her.

‘Then we’ll stay here,’ Lucien agreed with a shrug.

He didn’t seem the least bit disappointed in her, Tara noticed with relief.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ he insisted, cupping her chin. ‘I won’t bite…’

Or, at least, if he did, she would enjoy it, Tara thought as Lucien’s lips tugged in a wicked half-smile. Sensation streamed through her at this thought, which he must have sensed because the hand that wasn’t caressing her jaw began trailing a path of fire down her neck to her breastbone and, from there, unbelievably, incredibly, and quite fantastically, on to her bosom. She was transfixed. Whatever she had imagined about sensation, this was so much more—so much better. She hardly dared to breathe in case she distracted him as Lucien’s sensitive fingers continued to tease and coax and cajole. Smiling faintly whilst holding her gaze, he murmured something in his own language. She didn’t know what he said, but she could imagine and it made her groan.

‘I think you like that,’ he observed, continuing to abrade the tip of her nipple.

So much, he could have no idea. No one had ever touched her there before, and she doubted anyone could have coaxed so much feeling out of her. And yes, she liked it; she liked it a lot. Added to which, Lucien’s stern voice was strumming her senses and causing the ache between her legs to grow until she could hardly remain still.

‘You do like that,’ he approved as she groaned once more beneath his skilful touches. She wouldn’t know where to begin telling him how much. Her breathing was fast and shallow and her eyes were locked onto his burning gaze. She had no idea how to put her thoughts, her needs into words, though she was desperate to communicate them to him. Her biggest fear was that Lucien would tire of this and let her go. Unsure as she was of their final destination, she wanted to experience everything Lucien could teach her along the way. She was grateful when the flimsy top she’d had so much trouble tugging on proved no barrier to Lucien’s explorations. He drew it over her head quite easily and then stared openly at her naked breasts, making a sound with his tongue against his teeth and shaking his head in disapproval when she tried to cover them.

‘You should wear a bra,’ he said at last.

‘Should I?’ she said anxiously, even as his stern command sent a pulse of arousal darting to her core. Something else she’d got wrong.

‘Of course you should,’ Lucien murmured with amusement, ‘because that way there’d be more layers for me to unwrap, and I enjoy the process…’

She was beginning to understand the game, Tara realised, risking an uncertain laugh as Lucien peeled off her skirt.

‘You must never, never apologise,’ Lucien insisted. ‘Certainly not for your magnificent breasts.’

He weighed them appreciatively in his big hands as he said this and, rolling her head back, she sighed, thrusting them towards him for more of his delicious attention.

She wanted as much of this as Lucien had to give her, but the moment he turned away to reach for something in a drawer she took the opportunity to tug off her shabby knickers. Lingerie was the one thing she had put her foot down over. Freya had wanted her to wear an uncomfortable lacy thong, while she preferred her tried and trusted comfortable knickers. But they were very old now, and she couldn’t bear for Lucien to see them. By the time he turned back to her she had rolled them up in her discarded skirt.

Dipping his head, Lucien buried his face in her cleavage before rasping his stubble against her supersensitised skin, and by the time he tugged on her nipples again she could only cry out with abandonment. ‘Oh, Lucien, I can’t bear this…’

‘Can’t bear what?’ he demanded sternly. ‘This?’ He suckled fiercely on one nipple, teasing the other between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Or this…?’ His voice was firmer still as he slipped a hand between her thighs, teasing the silky curls.

‘Both,’ she cried out in a voice that begged him for more. ‘I can’t choose… I don’t know…’

By this time she was crazy for him and squirmed shamelessly beneath his touch. She had no idea how to ease the frustration mounting inside her, and only knew that she must… ‘No!’ she cried wildly when Lucien stopped touching her.

Lifting his handsome head, he studied the effect he was having on her with slumberous intent. ‘No?’ murmured.

‘No, don’t stop!’ she explained frantically. Burying her fingers in his thick hair, she brought him back to her. Nothing—nothing—must stop this feeling inside her… It was going somewhere wonderful, though she didn’t know where. Lucien had awoken appetites she had never guessed she had, and these appetites were sucking out the common sense from her head and replacing it with hot, hungry need.

He had anticipated her skin was like silk that carried the faint aroma of summer meadows, but he had not expected his fingertips to tingle with awareness like this. He took his time to trace each smooth pale inch of her, marvelling as he did so at the way her breasts filled his palms as if they had been made to fit there. Wherever he touched made her groan with pleasure, and whenever she groaned he found some new place to explore and increase that pleasure. Long before he had been ready to undress her she had started wriggling out of her wretched skirt, and he’d only had to help her to remove it. When he’d turned back to her after securing protection for them both, she had attacked his shirt without any of her former timidity, tugging it out of the waistband of his trousers and pushing it from his shoulders with a gasp of admiration. He wasn’t a vain man, but he had always made time to work out. As she whimpered and reached for him, he realised he had never known a woman so hungry for love before. She was moving and clutching and sighing and even parting her thighs for him before he had thought of preparing her. ‘Not so fast,’ he warned. ‘You’ll enjoy it so much more if you learn to take your time…’

He had intended this to be a lingering seduction, but it seemed to him that Tara’s intentions were very different. Perhaps she had been instructed to snare him fast? Perhaps those were her orders from her sister, Freya? Freya had hinted as much to him with her knowing looks and lascivious smiles in the direction of her younger sister, though if he had sensed Tara was at all unwilling he would have acted quite differently. Reluctantly, he was coming to the conclusion that Tara was part of a sophisticated double act in which she played as crucial a role in padding out the family finances as her sister.

There was an upside to this. It gave him the freedom to enjoy her, and he would make it worth her while. He was disappointed in her, he couldn’t deny it, but the thought of sinking into that moist, plump flesh…the thought of pleasuring her, was irresistible.

But he would not make Guy’s mistake and imagine this was more than it was.

‘Lucien?’

He was instantly distracted by a voice as sweet and as innocent as Freya could have wished for. ‘What is it, ma petite?’ He had to hand it to Freya—she had trained her sister well. ‘Tell me, chérie,’ he encouraged. Tara was still new enough at this for him to want to take care of her.

She pouted prettily, a device no doubt learned from her sister. Tara might lack Freya’s polished skills, but that didn’t stop her throwing everything she had into this pursuit of her wealthy target. ‘You have forgotten me, Lucien,’ she complained.

‘Never,’ he murmured, soothing and petting her. But it wasn’t enough; she wanted more. Of course she did. She had been told she must return to Freya like a hunter with her prize of a wealthy lover in the bag.

Even at the age of eighteen and a virgin, Tara knew the danger signals and had chosen to ignore them. She believed this was her one and only chance to live the fairy tale and have an incredible-looking man like Lucien Maxime make love to her. But, more importantly, she felt safe with him, and she had never felt safe before. In his eyes she could see the reflection of a sophisticated, smooth-running world where everyone was safe. She longed to be part of that world, under Lucien’s protection, and knew she never could be, though for this one night she could pretend…

At the touch of his fingertips on her naked arms she exhaled raggedly. Lucien could communicate so much through touch. He promised so much pleasure, and she wanted to experience that pleasure. She wriggled shamelessly into a position where his hand must encounter her breast again. She might be plain, but she had seen men look at her chest before, and knew they liked it… If she could just keep Lucien’s thoughts on the pleasures her body could afford him, perhaps he wouldn’t turn away just yet…

She was perfect. Her breasts were a feast of perfection and he thought her lovely. This might be going nowhere, but he could lose himself for now. Tara was doing everything she could to make this possible for him and in return he would take her to paradise and back. If there was one thing he understood about a woman, it was her body and how to make it sing.

He lavished attention on every smooth and perfect inch of her, kissing and caressing her as he made her wait so that her senses sharpened. When that moment came and she couldn’t wait any longer she grabbed his hand, guiding him to the sweet swell of her belly and pushing his hand down between her legs again. She parted those legs as if it was the most natural thing on earth to her, and even lifted her knees to encourage his exploration.

Moving down the bed, he tasted her and found her more than ready, but it pleased him to hold her back a little longer, knowing her pleasure would increase if she would only wait. She called to him during all this time with little whimpers of desire, which he answered by parting those swollen lips to find the receptive little bud trembling in anticipation of his touch. At the first lash of his tongue she shrieked his name. He caught her as she bucked and held her firmly in place to make sure she derived maximum pleasure from the experience. Far from subsiding in his arms when it was over, she clung to him and begged for more.

‘Of course, ma petite…’ He reasoned that she would want him to go ‘all the way’ so she could report back to Freya that she had bagged the Count as instructed. And she had, he thought a little sadly, knowing he was being manipulated. With his appetite, it was hardly likely that one night of excess with such a voluptuous young woman would be enough for him. His only hope of salvation was that by morning he would wake to find reason had returned.

Having protected them both, he slipped a pillow beneath her hips to tilt her into the most receptive position. Moving over her, he paused. The anticipation of sinking into that warm, throbbing flesh was so intense he wanted to hold back and savour the moment, but she wouldn’t have it and, drawing up her knees as far as she could, she looked at him plaintively. He feasted his gaze on somewhere other than her face before testing himself inside her. They both exhaled sharply, which told him that neither of them could possibly have predicted this level of sensation. Even with his experience, this was a revelation. He withdrew completely, only in order to enjoy entering her again. He went deeper this time, taking her slowly and gently, conscious that he was stretching her. Whatever he thought of her, and whatever her level of experience, he was so much stronger than she was and honour demanded that he must treat her with care. When he thought he might be hurting her he stopped, but she urged him on, clamping her fingertips into his buttocks and working with him.

‘Please Lucien…don’t stop now,’ she begged him when his impulse was to soothe her. But she was very tight, and he was very large, which made him move with the utmost care. Finally it seemed she relaxed again, and as her pleasure built her mouth fell open, and it pleased him to hear her sob in ecstasy.

He could see she was consumed by pleasure as he set up a regular pattern. He stared deep into her eyes to ensure she enjoyed this on every level. Her answer was to urge him on, straining to meet every stroke he dealt her as she closed her muscles around him to draw him deep.

It was more important for him to please Tara than he could possibly have imagined, though the sane part of his brain continued to warn that she had been well trained to please a man. He could see it all now. The Devenish sisters had set out that night in a wholly calculated manner to land a double prize, but whereas Freya might have succeeded, Tara’s future remained in her own hands.

She lay next to him, watching Lucien sleep. The fantasy might be over, but she was determined to imprint every fragment of it on her mind. Biting down on her lip, she remembered the sharp pain that had marked the end of her innocence. But even that pain was precious because it was the only gift she had to give to Lucien.

Though the shock when he had taken her…

He had stretched her beyond anything she could have imagined possible. But he had also reassured her, and it was Lucien’s care and gentle treatment of her that would stay in her mind.

She had been full of lust, Tara remembered, smiling shyly down at him, but Lucien had turned it into more than that, and for that she would never forget him or this night of passion. Whatever life held for her in the future, this precious memory of Lucien Maxime, the Count of Ferranbeaux, would remain safely locked away in her heart.

Which would have to be enough for her, Tara told herself sensibly, settling down in bed a respectful distance away from Lucien. She might have fallen for a man called Lucien, but the man lying beside her was the mighty Count of Ferranbeaux, and she wasn’t silly enough to imagine he felt the same.

CHAPTER THREE

Two years later.

STORM clouds, unusual for the time of year in the far south of Europe, threatened rain as Lucien Maxime, the Eleventh Count of Ferranbeaux, halted his Aston Martin outside one of his many grand country hotels. Opening the car door, Lucien unfolded his powerful frame, retrieved his pale summer-weight jacket and threw it on. Sensing he was being watched, he glanced up. An unremarkable plump young woman with an infant in her arms was looking down at him from a wrought iron balcony.

Tara Devenish.

The shock of seeing Tara again was like a battering ram to his solar plexus and time melted away as he stared back at her. Was it only two years since that night? He’d lost a brother and gained a niece in that time. Guy and Freya had been married little more than a year when they had been killed in a horrific car crash, and the baby in Tara’s arms was their orphaned daughter.

The sight of his niece lifted his heart, but to see Tara holding Guy’s innocent child sickened him. He could only think of that night when Tara had ground her hips so shamelessly against him. She’d been good—better than good, she’d been practised, she’d been excellent—and he had later learned his brother had thought so too.

With a sound of disgust he slammed the car door, remembering how, shortly before the fatal crash, Freya had publicly denounced Tara for sleeping with her husband. Who knew what Guy’s state of mind had been when he’d embarked on that tragic car journey? The way he saw it, Guy’s blood was on Tara’s hands and if she thought that touching cameo of her holding Guy’s child would soften him she was out of luck. Someone should have warned her he was not as gullible as Guy—he was a different man, a very different man. He couldn’t believe he had misjudged her character so badly.

Uniformed doormen, in the claret and gold of the aristocratic Ferranbeaux family, raced to open the door for him, but he got there first. Swinging the door wide, he acknowledged each man in turn by name. He might loathe the fuss and deference many men in his position so avidly courted, but believed that was no reason to brush people off.

Today, with little time to spare, he moved swiftly on. He didn’t need the heraldic shield emblazoned on each man’s jacket to remind him why he was here. The honour of the family was once more under siege, another scandal pending; another situation for him to deal with before the rumours got out of hand. Guy’s death had opened Pandora’s box and now Pandora herself, or that young ingénue, as he had once so foolishly thought of Tara Devenish, was here at his command. She had been easy to manipulate, wanting to see where Poppy would live before agreeing to sign the adoption papers. He suspected she had seen this as one last chance to follow her sister’s lead in securing a wealthy husband. Why else had it taken a single phone call to her lawyer from his for her to agree to this meeting?

His hand strayed to the cheque already made out to Tara in his breast pocket. It was an amount large enough to cover her expenses for Poppy to date, and to buy Tara out of their lives for good. Everything he did for his brother’s child would be above reproach and on his terms. Uproot, unsettle and unmask was the way he had dealt with every scrounger who had plagued him since Guy’s death and he saw no reason to change his modus operandi now. Tara Devenish might think she was very clever, in her sensible shoes and neat suit, wisely deciding to cut a very different figure to her wayward sister, but it would take more than a costume to convince him she was not the double-dealing slut Freya had declared her to be.

Tara could evoke surprisingly strong feelings in him, Lucien realised as thunder rumbled an ominous sound-track to his thoughts. Two years ago he had thought her worth saving, and wanting to help out, he had left money for her on the night stand—lots of money, in the hope that she would use it to make a better life for herself. Now he felt he had been duped. He only had himself to blame. It wasn’t even as if the signs had been unclear. Tara had been drenched in cheap scent and plastered in make-up, wearing an outfit designed to seduce. He could only conclude that his brain must have been lodged below his belt that night.

As the hotel manager hurried across the lobby to greet his Count, Lucien Maxime dealt swiftly with the formalities before making straight for the private sitting room where he had arranged for his meeting with Tara to take place. Lucien gave the room a quick once-over to check that everything was as he had requested. He had specified no flowers, no refreshments—no softening touches of any description. He would not allow Tara to imagine she had him in her sights again.

Having sent the manager to fetch her, he paced the room. Was it the prospect of seeing Tara or his niece that stirred such unaccustomed feelings in him? The truth, he accepted reluctantly, was that Tara had occupied far too great a part of his mind for the past two years. He had even considered looking for her to check on her progress, until of course the world’s media had done that for him. The rage he’d felt then, when he’d read the newspaper reports documenting Tara Devenish’s affair with his brother…

Even now it was all he could do to contain his anger. He shut that anger out, only to have another and even more disturbing image intrude on his thoughts—Tara, as she had looked in his bed.