His Mistress Proposal?: Public Scandal, Private Mistress / His Mistress, His Terms / The Secret Mistress Arrangement

‘You see, Veronica?’ Melanie said happily. ‘Isn’t it lucky that you and Luc are down here at the same time? He’s usually a very difficult man to pin down. It couldn’t have been better if you planned for it to happen this way.’

At her words, Luc’s fingers tightened on Veronica’s soft flesh, his face hardening, throwing his bold nose into sharp relief as his eyebrows lowered over eyes that swarmed with sudden suspicion.

She could read him like a book, she realised in furious exasperation. Now he was actually wondering if it had all been some giant conspiracy on her part.

‘Oh, dear—now I’m found out I suppose I should confess that it’s not your expertise I’m after, just your money,’ she oozed, pouring fuel onto the smouldering fire.

His eyes narrowed and she smiled with lots of teeth.

‘I was going to ask for a few million, but now that I know you’re not the fabulous billionaire I thought you were, I suppose I’ll have to settle for a measly few hundred thousand. If you could make the cheque out to cash,’ she suggested sweetly, ‘I’ll bank it straight into my numbered Swiss account.’

‘Very amusing,’ he grunted as the rest of the table responded to the joke.

She rounded her widely spaced grey eyes and made a show of nibbling on her lower lip. ‘But … don’t you believe me?’

His fingers trailed down to rest in the sensitive crease of her inner elbow, lightly teasing at the nerve endings. ‘I believe you’re playing a dangerous game … and wonder if you’ve considered all the consequences …’

Of course she hadn’t, she had got carried away by the sheer exhilaration of paying him back for his unworthy suspicions. His suggestive threat made her realise that she had just done the equivalent of putting her head in the lion’s mouth and Veronica quickly withdrew it, throwing out a question to Zoe about the St Romain, which turned the conversation general and allowed her to sink back into polite silence.

A little while later she excused herself with the plea of being tired, and agreed to join Melanie for coffee late in the morning to discuss her plans for the next few days.

As she was leaving Zoe pressed on her a jar of fresh apricot jam, which she had made to an old Provence recipe with fruit harvested from the trees in the garden, to have with her breakfast.

‘Oh, are you allowed to pick the fruit?’ said Veronica, thinking of the laden branches of the greengage tree beside the cottage.

Zoe’s sun-creased face split in a rapturous smile. ‘The owners always let me do a bit in the gardens while I was here and take what little I wanted to use for myself, but now I don’t have to even think about it. Luc bought Mas de Bonnard a few months ago and is insisting on signing it over to me as a birthday present, extravagant lad that he is—not that I’ve agreed to accept it, yet …’

‘Liar.’ The extravagant boy grinned, getting lazily to his feet. ‘You’ve already got Miles doing renovations and Melanie planning to set a book here. You’re going to love being able to come and go as you please—you can spend the whole of the New Zealand winter here, if you like—and I’ll bet there’ll never be any shortage of family and friends to keep you company.’

Veronica had thought he was only standing up to be polite, or to stretch his long limbs, but instead he started to turn when she did.

‘I’ll walk down with you. I need to get something from my car,’ he said casually as she opened her mouth to reject the need for an escort.

‘Could you go round by way of the pool?’ said Melanie.

‘I meant to show Veronica where it was. No, not you, Sophie, I want you to help Ashley get the table set and the vegetables ready for dinner, and no face-pulling either of you, you know what the deal is—while I’m in this sling I can’t lift things out of the oven, or chop safely.’

Veronica barely glanced at the inviting blue waters of the big, rectangular swimming pool, walking briskly around the white-paved edge and along the winding path through the shrubbery, past a huge vegetable garden next to a big, stone cistern of water and back onto a recognisable part of the driveway, her nervousness heightened by Luc’s brief directions framed in deafening silence.

She was surprised and relieved when he turned out to have been telling the truth and peeled off towards his parked car, leaving Veronica to quicken her pace and hurry off to the cottage, entering it with a thumping heart, and the feeling that she had just dodged a bullet.

She went into the deep recess of the bathroom and splashed water on her flushed face, leaving the dewy sheen of droplets to evaporate on her skin. Outside the sun was still shining as it dropped lower in the cloudless sky, radiating heat to the baked earth, but the drawn shutters made the interior of the cottage soothingly dim, so that when she first came out of the bedroom raking her hands through her thick hair to lift it away from her hot scalp, she didn’t immediately see the man braced against the frame of the sliding door she had left open to the faint breeze.

She gasped as she saw the shimmer of his white clothes and his brown arms flex as he shifted stance, leaning in across the threshold.

‘Why so shocked? Surely you were expecting me. Did you really think I was going to let you off that easily?’

CHAPTER FIVE

‘YOU can’t come in!’ Veronica blurted as he straightened up to step inside.

Lucien rested the hilt of his shoulder against the door, thrusting one hand into his trouser pocket, studying the woman who was the first in a very long time to confuse and confound him. Maybe it was the freckles, he brooded. They gave her an erroneous air of innocent playfulness, which his jaded senses had found irresistibly appealing. In fact, she had slipped under his well-protected guard with unsettling ease considering that he had already been on high alert after his nasty brush with notoriety in London. But although that situation had blown up in his face and given him a literal as well as a figurative bloody nose, it hadn’t shocked him to his cynical core—unlike his passionate run-in with the not-so-innocent seductress poised front of him, her body a symphony of curves beneath her summery-thin clothes.

He had the advantage of knowing exactly what she looked like without them … a life model for one of the great painters of sensuous female nudes.

Not Rubens, but Renoir, he decided, his imagination winging back to his Paris apartment to view his impressionistic memory of her reclining against the disordered pillows, her smooth skin rosy with a delicious warmth, her opulent breasts firm with excitement, their soft pink tips peaking with pleasure as he played with them, her lush hips and rounded limbs gilded by the light of the lamp, welcoming the weight of his big body as he wrestled her into eager submission and thrust into her tight, sultry heat.

He felt the hot stirring in his groin with a savage amusement, embracing the surge of predatory lust that powered his male desire to hunt, capture and dominate and refocused his wandering thoughts on his most immediate goal.

‘Why can’t I?’ he challenged, content for the moment to indulge her naïve belief that she was in control, for the sheer anticipated pleasure of proving otherwise. ‘You left your door wide-open, so you must have been expecting me to follow you …’

Veronica’s fingers contracted against her scalp in instinctive rejection of the Freudian possibility that she had wanted him to invade her private space.

‘I left it open for the breeze—’

‘And whatever the breeze blows in,’ he pointed out, his lazy smile belied by his watchful intent. ‘It’s not as if I’m a stranger. As you can see, I’m just the boy from next door.’

His darkening eyes swept over her and Veronica was suddenly made aware of her upraised arms and unconsciously provocative pose. She wrenched her hands down from her head, wincing as they took with them several tangled strands of hair.

‘Or is that the problem?’ he guessed wryly, boosting himself off the door and sauntering inside in brazen defiance of her expressed command. ‘You’re embarrassed to admit that you had a wild sex romp with the boy next door.’

‘You sound like a cheap tabloid newspaper headline,’ she snapped, instinctively jabbing at the place she thought he would be most vulnerable.

‘I’ve just had a crash course,’ he said with a grim smile.

‘And believe me, the tabloids are anything but cheap when they’re shelling out for sleaze.’

‘Well, thankfully that’s outside my experience.’

‘And what’s inside your experience? Picking up anonymous foreigners in bars for—well, what would you prefer to call it … a “torrid night of passion”?’

Veronica clenched her hands at her sides. Did he really think she was that shamefully indiscriminate? ‘I—you—’

‘Yes, you and I,’ he cut through her faltering attempt to fend off his barrage, ‘burning up the sheets together. And now you seem to want to act as if we never met. What frightens you more, Veronica—the fact that I’m a real person and not some obedient sexual fantasy-figure tucked away in your memories, or the fact that I’ve turned out to be someone you can’t just walk away from?’

She hunched her shoulders. It was his bruised male ego talking, she told herself, that was all. ‘I—it should never have happened,’ she said, moving over to pick up the apricot jam she had left by the sink and put it in the small under-bench refrigerator.

‘But it did happen, and I’m a naturally curious person, I want to know why,’ he pressed ruthlessly on her squirming conscience. ‘Why don’t you want to talk about it? Am I breaking some kind of taboo? Do you have some kinky fetish about bedding men who can only use a foreign tongue, so to speak?’

Her cheeks pinkened at his crude innuendo and she grabbed up a cloth and began to wipe down the spotless bench. ‘No! Of course not—I’m not in the habit of bedding anyone—’

‘You mean this was the first time for you?’ he asked cynically, planting his hip against the edge of the bench, effectively preventing her from continuing her pointless busy-work.

‘Yes—I mean, no,’ she added hastily, in case he thought she was trying to claim to have been a virgin. She threw down the cloth and drilled him with a defiant glare. ‘I don’t see why I should have to answer any more of your insulting questions. My love life is none of your business—’

‘Love life?’ His eyebrows shot up and she cursed herself for that unthinking choice of words. ‘Interesting that you find it insulting that I seek to understand how I fit into your … love life. As for questions—well, isn’t there one you’ve been wanting to ask me?’

Her heart began to thud unevenly in her breast, her breathing growing choppy. Questions could sometimes be as revealing as answers.

‘About this, for example.’ He withdrew his hand from his trouser pocket and she uttered a croaky little sound as he opened it to show her the jade pendant lying in his open palm. ‘I’d strung it from the rear-vision mirror of the car, to remind me to steer clear of perfidious jades,’ he said with gentle malice. ‘I found it in my bed in Paris—it has a damaged catch, otherwise I might have been left to wonder if you’d been a figment of my over-heated imagination. Pretty, isn’t it? Yet cruel in what it actually represents—a vicious hook on which to snag an unsuspecting fish and drag the poor, helpless victim to a painful fate.’

She took her eyes off the pendant only long enough to flick him a scathing look—surely he wasn’t implying that he was in any way a helpless victim? Or unsuspecting, come to that!

He watched her as he hefted it thoughtfully in his hand. ‘Quite valuable, too, I imagine …’ he mused with an infuriating smile.

Her hand darted out, but her fingertips barely grazed the delicate chain before his hand snapped shut over his prize, presenting her with an impenetrable fist.

‘Or does its sentimental value outweigh the price of the jade? Perhaps it was a romantic gift from a lover—someone you left back in New Zealand?’

She was unwillingly reminded of the modest diamond chip that Neil had demanded back after their failed engagement—the ring being the only piece of jewellery he had given her during their two-year relationship.

Lucien obviously wasn’t going to give the pendant back until she told him. ‘My parents gave it to me as a twenty-first birthday present,’ she admitted stiffly. ‘I don’t often take it off, so it’s not surprising that I didn’t notice that the catch was worn.’

But instead of handing it over he slipped it back into his pocket under her outraged eyes. ‘It would be a pity to risk losing it in someone else’s bed. They might not be as scrupulous as I am about returning it,’ he said glibly.

‘You haven’t returned it,’ she was stung to reply.

‘There’s no point at the moment, since it’s unwearable. I thought I’d find a jeweller somewhere and get it fixed for you.’

She didn’t believe his innocent look. He was tantamount to holding her pendant hostage to her good behaviour. ‘That’s not necessary—’

‘I know, but I want to do it. Consider it in the nature of an apology.’

‘For what?’ she said warily, mistrusting his silky sincerity.

‘For what I said to you out there on the road, when I thought you were a stalking journalist. I may have gone over the top with some of my remarks—’ He paused, watching as the most memorable of them popped back into her head.

‘The best lay I’ve had in a long, long time …’

Then as she visibly fought down her blush of chagrin he added simply: ‘About you staying away from me.’

That was all, and her blush exploded out of control as she realised what he was, oh, so clearly not apologising for …

‘I should have given you the slap you deserved,’ she choked.

‘Feel free to do it now,’ he invited, spreading his arms and taking another step closer, turning his head to present her with an olive-skinned cheek, his drawn-back hair a sleek backdrop to his neatly moulded ear.

‘It would serve you right if I did,’ she said fiercely, her hand twitching with the temptation to rediscover the feel of that fine-grained skin.

‘Try it—perhaps we both might like it,’ he urged wickedly, slanting his eyes to meet hers. ‘After all, we did have an unexpectedly exciting time together in Paris. It’s just a pity you had to rush off the way you did, before we had a chance to fully explore all the pleasurable possibilities …’

Veronica’s grey eyes widened in part shock, part curiosity. He had more than fulfilled her fantasies. What, precisely, hadn’t they explored …?

He shifted to look her full in the face again. ‘Not that you gave me any hints that you were interested in anything violent or kinky.’ His voice had lowered to that velvety purr she found so disruptive to her thought processes that she didn’t notice he had moved even closer. ‘You were exquisitely responsive to my lightest touch. So what was it that made you select me to be your partner for the night? What do you look for in a man, in a lover, when you go on the prowl?’

‘I wasn’t on the prowl,’ she protested. ‘I—I was excited about being in Paris … I just got carried away and so thought I’d—I’d—’

‘Find out what a Frenchman was like as a lover?’

Not just any Frenchman. You! she wanted to blurt in her own defence, but the knowledge that it was the truth was too dangerous to admit. His ego was already puffed up; there was no need for him to know how elemental her attraction to him had been from the first moment she had seen him sitting in the café. How she had woven richly embroidered dreams and fantasies around him before she had worked up the courage to make her reckless approach.

‘I wasn’t looking for a lover,’ she denied. ‘Just some company for my last night in Paris, and I thought you looked … interesting.’

‘But obviously not interesting enough to stick around for conversation after you’d had your wicked way with me,’ he goaded. ‘You don’t seem to require a very in-depth relationship in your sexual partners.’

‘You can talk! I didn’t notice you turning down the chance of a one-night stand!’ she said hotly.

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction at her response to his inflammatory statement.

‘Is that what it was? I thought it was a mutual coup de foudre. I assumed that after our exhausting revels, we’d wake up together in the morning …’

‘And what? And share a few laughs about how you fooled me into believing you couldn’t understand me?’ she threw at him.

‘Oh, I think that in the heat of the night we understood each other perfectly well,’ he drawled with rock-hard confidence. ‘You might recall I did let slip quite a few extremely fluent English phrases in your ear while I was inside you, and you told me quite explicitly what you liked about my body and what you wanted me to do with it. And when you begged me to make love to you, I certainly didn’t ask for a translation …’

‘Did I? I don’t remember—’ She flushed and turned her back, her arm brushing his body. How and when had she let him get so close?

She realised her strategic error when his arm snaked around her waist, stopping her from walking away.

‘Don’t you?’ His muscled arm slowly contracted, drawing her back against his chest, fitting her bottom into the warm saddle of his hips. ‘Are you sure?’ he murmured, his hard chin sinking into the hollow between her neck and shoulder, anchoring their upper bodies together.

She shivered at the feel of his lips moving against the side of her bare throat as he continued to speak in that dark, sultry tone: ‘I think you’ll find that you remember a lot more than you’re willing to admit.’ His arm was replaced with his big hands spanning the sides of her waist, his fingers slanting down across her hip-bones as he pressed her more snugly against his potent hardness.

‘There’s no need to feel shy, Veronica,’ he whispered with shattering insight. ‘See how wonderfully well our bodies are shaped to fit each other. You don’t have to be ashamed of what we did together. It was entirely natural … a man and a woman freely expressing their mutual desire. Je ne regrette rien …’

She stiffened, wanting to punish him for the accuracy of his perception and at the same time let him know that she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. No matter how glorious it had felt at the time, the aftermath of her flirtation with fantasy had taught her that she wasn’t cut out to be a spontaneous wild-child.

‘I’m not shy. I know it was just a one-time thing, that it didn’t mean anything,’ she said, trying to sound crushingly sophisticated.

His cheek nuzzled against the side of her throat. ‘Are you sure about that?’ His hands slipped under the edge of her top, his palms skimming up over her bare skin to cup her breasts in their silky-fine casing of stretchy fabric. ‘Don’t you remember how good it felt when there was nothing between your skin and mine … when we were naked with each other and I touched you like this …?’ His fingers feathered across the centre of her breasts, circling the betraying tightness of her nipples, drawing them out to prominent points against the seamless tee-shirt bra, and capturing them between thumb and forefinger. He turned his open mouth into her neck and scraped her lightly with his teeth and sucking at the thrilling sting. ‘Don’t you remember saying how you wanted this feeling to go on for ever,’ he said huskily, applying delicate pressure and rolling her throbbing nipples between his fingers, ‘how you moaned when I took these in my mouth and tasted you for the first time, how you melted with pleasure when I showed you just how exquisitely sensitive you are here, how violently responsive to the lightest stroke of my tongue …?’

Veronica shuddered, arching helplessly back against him as his hands contracted, compressing the pleasure into a dangerous thrill of forbidden delight.

His mouth moved up behind her ear, his breath as hot as his words as he confided how much her eager delight had pleased him. ‘It gave me such an incredible rush when I made you come just by devoting myself to your gorgeous breasts, licking and sucking on these sexy, pointed nipples until you went wild in my arms …’

He ignored her choked cry; one of his hands abandoned its lavish attentions and moved down to smooth over her hip and push between their bodies, tracing the generous curve of her bottom to its bisecting crease. ‘And here, where you’re so lush and round and womanly …’ his velvety whisper paused as he sank his teeth lightly into her fleshy ear lobe, his hand adjusting her so that she could feel the thick shaft of muscle lying against her resilient flesh ‘… remember how I kissed my way down your spine to this highly sensitive spot, the one just here … and then …’ Using darkly intense language, he described what he had done with an explicit eroticism that made her squeeze her thighs together in an effort to control the hot pulse of arousal that threatened to melt her into a submissive puddle at his feet.

The involuntary clench of her buttocks gripped him in an intimate clasp, and she felt his groan vibrating from his chest.

‘Oh, yes, you liked that, didn’t you?’ he said thickly, his fingers plunging under the smooth edge of her bra to find her distended nipple while his hips pushed his engorged manhood against the cleft of her bottom, creating an exciting friction in both places that edged her even nearer to a total meltdown. ‘You liked everything that we did to each other,’ he purred, nibbling at the nape of her neck. ‘The trouble was, it was all over so fast we hardly had time to savour it …’ He strung a series of light, teasing kisses to the tip of her shoulder, at odds with the simmering tension in his body. ‘But here there’s no need for us to rush our love-making. We can explore the sensuous side of passion … see if we enjoy slow and lazy as much as fast and furious. Just imagine how much more exciting it could be if we take the time to learn each other’s most erotic, most intimate secrets …’

The mention of secrets made Veronica flinch. Where before the romantic fantasy of a mysterious lover had been thrilling, now she knew that where there was no knowledge there was no trust. The real Lucien Ryder was still an enigma to her; a wealthy, worldly sophisticate, prone to high-risk behaviour and embroiled in some nameless trouble. He might not be the psychotic killer of her foolish fears, but he could still turn out to be extremely dangerous to her emotional health.

Now that he had satisfied himself that Veronica wasn’t a threat to his own security, Lucien had evidently decided to take advantage of the fact that she was convenient and available, and spin out their one night of ‘no regrets’ into a ‘no strings’ holiday affair.

Of course it wouldn’t occur to him that she might not be interested in acquiring the questionable status of his temporary lover, she thought, desperately trying to whip up a defensive anger. He talked very persuasively of passion and exploration, but there was no mention of any desire for emotional intimacy in his suggested affair. While he might be able to retain the necessary detachment, Veronica was less sanguine about her chances of walking away with her heart intact. A few hours in his company had already caused her as much turmoil as pleasure, filling her with conflicting doubts and yearnings. She was afraid that with continued exposure she could very easily fall under the spell of his forceful, charismatic personality and end up with a guaranteed heartbreak when he vanished back to his rarefied world.

If she didn’t murder him first!

She angled her head away from the ravishing series of kisses he was planting on her bare throat and somehow found the strength to wrench herself out of his seductive embrace.

‘I think I asked you to leave—’ she rasped, backing hastily away, her shaking hands pulling her clothing straight as she tried to claw back her composure.

To her fury he looked undaunted by the sharp rejection, if anything a hint of amusement entering his dark, brooding gaze. ‘Are you saying you’re not interested?’