The Frenchman's Marriage Demand

CHAPTER THREE

TEN minutes later the helicopter landed on the roof of the penthouse and Zac lifted Aimee into his arms and preceded Jean Lewis down the steps. ‘Laurent, were you able to carry out my instructions?’ he greeted his butler.

‘Everything is as you asked, sir,’ the butler replied in his usual unflappable manner. ‘The nursery suppliers delivered a cot and other necessary furnishings and equipment, and the dressing room adjoining the fourth bedroom has been prepared for the child’s nanny.’ If Laurent was surprised by the request to prepare a room for a baby, his tone gave nothing away and his facial expression remained as bland as ever.

‘Bon,’ Zac murmured as he transferred the sleeping child back into the nanny’s arms. ‘Please escort Madame Lewis to the nursery and ensure she has everything she requires.’

He swung round and walked back to the helicopter just as Freya reached the bottom step. She looked pale and tired and was clearly in pain but she glared at him when he reached her side.

‘There was no need for you to hire a nanny. I can look after Aimee perfectly well.’

‘How exactly when you only have the use of one arm?’ he asked impatiently. ‘Jean Lewis has excellent references and she’ll take good care of Aimee.’

‘Where has she taken her?’ Freya demanded. Her whole arm was throbbing and she felt light-headed with pain but she refused to admit it to Zac—any more than she would admit to feeling jealous that Aimee had settled so happily with Jean Lewis. Her steps slowed and a feeling of panic swept over her as she followed him into the penthouse. She didn’t want to be here and she didn’t want to remember the past, but memories were bombarding her.

Zac travelled by helicopter as routinely as most people used a car and had regularly swept her off to parties and other glittering social functions outside Monaco, often flying along the coast to Cannes or St Tropez. The parties had always been wonderful, glamorous affairs, but Freya had only had eyes for him and even in a crowded room his slumberous stare had tormented her with the unspoken promise of sensual nirvana to follow. The hours until they could make their excuses and leave had been a slow torture and her anticipation had always been at fever pitch by the time they had climbed back on board the helicopter for the return flight.

There had been something incredibly magical about swooping low over the sea and the towering apartment blocks that lined Monaco’s crowded coastline, knowing that in a few short minutes they would be home. The sensual gleam beneath Zac’s heavy lids would stoke her excitement and as soon as the rotors came to a halt he would scoop her into his arms and race into the penthouse, stripping her with brisk efficiency along the way.

Sometimes they hadn’t even made it to the master bedroom, she remembered as heat suffused her body. In his urgency to make love to her he had deposited her on one of the sitting room sofas, and the feel of the cool leather against her skin had added a new dimension to her pleasure when he had pushed her thighs apart and entered her with one powerful thrust. Their hunger for each other had been insatiable, a wild, primitive passion that had known no bounds as he had dispensed with her inhibitions and made love to her with an inventiveness that still brought a tide of colour to her cheeks.

Heart pounding, she forced her mind back to the present and stumbled along the hall after him. Oh, God, what was she thinking? And why had her libido chosen now to make a comeback when she had spent the last two years living like a nun?

Zac opened the door of the guest bedroom and ushered Freya inside. ‘Jean has taken Aimee to the nursery,’ he explained, his eyes narrowing speculatively on her hot face.

‘Nursery?’ Her eyebrows shot up as she frantically dragged her mind from her erotic fantasies and forced herself to concentrate on his words. She remembered Zac’s chic, minimalist apartment as a confirmed bachelor pad—when on earth had he installed a nursery?

‘I instructed my staff to prepare a room for Aimee since you will both be staying here for the time being. I hope it will be suitable,’ he added coldly.

‘I’m sure it’ll be more suitable than a damp bedsit. I hope you haven’t gone to too much bother, Zac—Aimee and I won’t be here long,’ Freya muttered, unable to disguise the sudden bitterness in her voice as she remembered how she had struggled to afford even the most basic baby equipment. With a click of his fingers Zac could provide everything Aimee needed—it was a pity he was two years too late.

His mouth tightened but he simply said, ‘Laurent will serve supper in your room and then I suggest you take your painkillers and go to bed. You look like death.’

Terrific, she really needed reminding that she looked a mess, Freya thought grimly, especially when he looked so gorgeous. He had removed his leather jacket and she could not help but notice the way his black sweater moulded his muscular chest. He was lean, dark and so beautiful that it hurt her to look at him, she acknowledged as desire swept through her. Zac possessed a raw sexual magnetism, and, although her mind urged caution, her body was responding to him with a reckless disregard for her emotional safety.

She was trembling; not as a result of the cool night air, she realised shamefully, but with an almost desperate longing to slide her fingers beneath his fine-knit sweater and run her hands over his olive-gold skin to feel the faint abrasion of the wiry hairs that covered his chest. The images from the past were stubbornly refusing to disappear and she felt thoroughly hot and bothered as sexual frustration spiralled in the pit of her stomach. Swallowing hard, she tore her eyes from him and stared at the carpet. ‘I forgot my toothbrush. You didn’t give me enough time to pack properly.’

‘All the toiletries you could possibly need are in your bathroom,’ Zac informed her, ‘and the clothes you left behind two years ago are still in the wardrobe.’

‘Really?’ The surprising statement brought her head up. ‘I thought you would have wasted no time getting rid of them,’ she mumbled, remembering how humiliated she had felt when he’d hustled her out of the apartment. Her face burned at the memory but he merely shrugged disinterestedly.

‘I didn’t keep them because I was anticipating ever taking you back, chérie, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ he drawled laconically. ‘I’d forgotten they were there, until the maid found them in the back of the cupboard when she was preparing your room.’ He glanced at his watch and strode towards the door. ‘I’m going out for the evening. Can you manage to get undressed, or do you need me to help you?’

Freya flashed him a look that told him she’d rather accept help from a self-confessed axe murderer. ‘I’ll be fine, thanks,’ she replied in a cool voice that masked the sharp pang of dismay she felt as she wondered whom he was meeting for his dinner date. Undoubtedly the woman would be stunning and sophisticated—his current mistress? Or someone picked from his little black book? she mused sourly as she fought her irrational surge of jealousy. It was no business of hers whom he dated, she reminded herself, but the devil in her head was determined to have the last word. ‘Oh, and, Zac,’ she murmured as he strolled towards the door, ‘I’m glad you hadn’t planned on resuming our relationship because I wouldn’t come back to you if you paid me a million pounds.’

His eyes narrowed on her angry face and then dropped lower, to the frantic rise and fall of her breasts. ‘You’re here now,’ he reminded her silkily.

‘Only because you forced me to come—I don’t want to be here.’

‘Non, chérie, I can see that.’ The mockery in his voice taunted her long after he had stepped into the hall and closed her door, and with a yelp of impotent fury Freya spun round and stared at her reflection in the full length mirror. No wonder Zac had looked so smug, she thought dismally as she stared at her flushed face. Her pupils had dilated to the size of saucers and her lips were parted, practically begging for him to kiss her, while the hard peaks of her nipples pushing provocatively against her blouse were shameful evidence that he turned her on. Her body had turned traitor from the moment Zac had arrived at the hospital, and to make her humiliation complete it was clear that he was well aware of the effect he had on her.

Uttering a furious oath at her stupidity, she went to check on Aimee, who was sleeping soundly in one of the guest bedrooms that had now been transformed into a nursery. A temporary nursery, Freya decided firmly. Zac was going to get the shock of his life when he learned that he was Aimee’s father, but she was under no illusion that he would welcome the news and she intended to return to England as soon as possible, before Aimee ever realised that he did not love her.

She didn’t know what Zac would do after the test result, but she wasn’t holding her breath that he would apologise for misjudging her so terribly. At best she guessed he would offer some sort of financial support for his daughter, but she would put the money in trust for when Aimee was older. She did not want a penny of his fortune for herself and once she was over the temporary setback of her injured wrist, which had partly forced her to come to Monaco with him, she hoped she would never have to set eyes on him again.

Soon after she had returned to her room the butler Laurent arrived bearing a light, fluffy omelette for her supper. He was unfailingly polite but gave no indication that he remembered her from when she had lived briefly at the penthouse. Presumably her role as Zac’s mistress had been quickly filled, probably by Annalise Dubois, she brooded miserably. Was Zac with Annalise tonight? The thought was enough to ruin her appetite and she toyed with her food before heading for the bathroom where she struggled to shower while keeping her bandaged arm out of the spray. By the time she had finished she felt sick from the pain of her injured wrist and after swallowing a couple of painkillers she crawled into bed, desperate for sleep to swallow her in its comforting folds.

Zac swung his powerful sports car into the underground car park and rode the lift up to the penthouse apartment. Dinner had been an unmitigated disaster, he brooded darkly as he unfastened his tie and shoved it in the pocket of his dinner jacket. Not that it had been Nicole’s fault. She had looked stunning tonight and her low-cut dress with its thigh-high split down one side had left little to his imagination.

Throughout the meal in one of Monte Carlo’s finest restaurants, she had been on sparkling form and had prattled on endlessly about her life, which seemed to consist of shopping or sunbathing on Daddy’s yacht, and in the rare lulls in her conversation her smile had sent the subtle signals indicating her willingness to spend the night with him.

It had been their third date, after all, he mused cynically, and the unspoken rules of the game they were both playing dictated that tonight the attractive brunette had expected their relationship to progress to a full-blown sexual affair. But somewhere between the entrée and dessert he had lost his appetite for both the food and his companion, and instead of envisaging Nicole’s tanned, lissom limbs his mind had seemed intent on recalling every detail of Freya’s slender figure.

He had never known another woman to have such pale skin. It was as if even the sun’s rays had not been permitted to touch her and his hands had been the first to stroke her virginal flesh—as they had, he acknowledged, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in his groin. He had been Freya’s first lover and, if he was honest, sex with her had been an amazing experience he had never come close to repeating with any other woman.

And he had tried. He’d never professed to be a monk, he conceded sardonically, but sitting in the restaurant with Nicole tonight he’d realised that he did not feel the slightest desire for her and after driving her home he had politely refused her offer of a nightcap. Clearly disappointed, Nicole had eventually accepted his rejection, but he didn’t feel good about it—in fact he felt intensely irritated with himself, life in general, and, at the top of the list, the woman who had managed to disrupt his comfortable existence in less than twenty-four hours.

With a muttered oath he strode into the penthouse and headed for the lounge and the well-stocked bar, but the sight of Freya curled up on the sofa caused him to halt abruptly. The low coffee table in front of her was littered with books and papers and she was leafing through the pages of a thick folder, so engrossed that she seemed to be unaware of him.

For a few seconds Zac stood still and allowed his eyes to roam over her mass of blonde hair and perfectly defined heart-shaped face. Her grey silk robe was vaguely familiar from the past and he frowned as he focused on the way the edges had parted to reveal the wisp of silk and lace beneath.

Every item of clothing he had bought for her when she’d lived with him had been chosen with the express purpose of pleasing him, particularly her nightwear, and his mouth tightened cynically as he wondered whether she had changed into the sexy negligee set deliberately to taunt him. Freya was still absorbed in her books and his irritation upped a notch. Being ignored was a new experience for him and, giving an angry shrug of his shoulders, he stepped into the room.

Only then did she glance up. ‘Zac…’ She blinked at him and fire surged through his veins when he took in the image of her silky blonde hair framing her flushed face. Her skin was bare of make-up, but somehow that made her sexier, he decided as he studied her closely, noting the dusting of freckles on her nose and the fact that her long eyelashes were tipped with gold. She was staring up at him with her wide witch’s eyes, casting her magic, and with a jolt he realised that he suddenly felt more alive than he had done in months.

‘I wasn’t expecting you to wait up for me, chérie,’ he drawled as he crossed to the bar and poured himself a large cognac.

‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t,’ she replied shortly. ‘I didn’t even know you would come back tonight.’ She’d lain in bed torturing herself with images of him making love to the woman he had taken to dinner, until she’d given up hoping she’d fall asleep and had dug out her college books.

Now she stumbled to her feet and clutched the front of her robe that seemed intent on parting to reveal the skimpy excuse for a nightgown underneath. In the rush to pack for the trip to Monaco, she had forgotten several essential items, including the oversized, comfortable tee shirts she usually wore in bed. The nightwear she had left behind at the penthouse had been chosen for seduction rather than sleep, and she blushed when Zac raked his eyes over her in open appreciation.

‘Now that you are here, it’s time I left,’ she mumbled, hastily gathering up her books. In her desperation to escape him, she dropped her folder and papers flew everywhere. ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d catch up on some work,’ she babbled when Zac leaned down to gather up the pages and his hand briefly brushed against hers.

‘What kind of work?’ he asked curiously. He handed her the sheaf of papers and frowned when she quickly snatched her hand away. ‘You don’t have to run away from me, Freya. We may have been forced together under difficult circumstances but I’m sure we’re both adult enough to manage a civil conversation.’ He straightened up. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

For a moment Freya was tempted to flee, unconvinced that she could manage any kind of conversation with him. It wasn’t as if she’d had much practice, she thought wryly. Her time as Zac’s mistress had been spent mainly in the bedroom and they hadn’t wasted time on idle chit chat.

But the sight of him had inflamed her senses and sleep seemed as impossible now as it had two hours ago. Perhaps a drink would help her to relax? ‘White wine, please—a small glass.’ She hovered awkwardly while Zac poured her drink and mumbled her thanks when he handed her the glass, his terse, ‘Sit down,’ causing her to sink back into her seat. He sprawled on the opposite sofa, his white silk shirt open at the throat and his ankle balanced across his thigh in a position of indolent ease—lithe, tanned and so stomach-churningly sexy that Freya hastily tore her eyes from him and took a large gulp of wine.

‘What job do you do that requires you to sit up working until midnight?’ he asked again, his brow furrowing. He was regularly at his desk until the early hours, but he was the chief executive of a global business empire and a self-confessed workaholic.

‘It’s not my job exactly—I’m doing a home study course for an English degree,’ Freya told him. ‘One day I hope to train to be a teacher so that my career will fit around Aimee’s schooling, but obviously I need to work and can’t afford to go to college full-time. The only free time I have to study is at night, when she’s in bed.’ She didn’t add that after a long day at work and the responsibilities of being a single mother, she often had to force herself to pull out her books, which was why she had fallen behind with the work and had several assignment deadlines looming.

Zac hid his flare of surprise. During the months that Freya had lived with him, he had never really got to know her. His workload had been particularly heavy and after a long day at the office he had simply wanted to take her to bed. He had asked about her day out of politeness rather than any real interest and had thanked his lucky stars that she wasn’t one of those women who insisted on regaling him with every detail of her life.

He had found her quiet, gentle nature soothing, and, if he was honest, he had missed the calming effect she seemed to have on him after he had thrown her out. But now he realised that he knew very little about her. Perhaps it was her faint air of mystery that intrigued him, he debated as he drained his glass and stretched his arms along the back of the sofa, his eyes skimming over her and lingering on the fall of her silky hair. ‘It’s obvious from the state of your flat that you’re struggling financially. Why don’t you receive any support from Brooks?’ he demanded curtly. ‘Are you no longer in contact with him?’

The wine had been a bad idea, Freya decided as she carefully set her glass down on the coffee-table. It seemed to have gone straight to her head and loosened the constraints that held her anger in check. ‘As a matter of fact I do see Simon occasionally,’ she said with deliberate calm. ‘We’ve remained friends, despite the fact that he now lives in Italy. I’m sure he would help me out if I asked him, but Aimee isn’t his child and there’s no reason for him to support her. That responsibility lies with her father, wouldn’t you say?’ She glared at him across the coffee-table, twin spots of colour flaring on her cheeks, but Zac held her gaze, his bland expression giving no clue to his thoughts.

‘Absolutely—and I hope you find him, chérie,’ he murmured. He raised his glass. ‘What shall we drink to—absent fathers?’ Beneath the mockery Freya caught the anger in his voice and indignation surged through her. What right did he have to be angry? She was the one who struggled to combine being a single mother with the necessity to work and pay the bills. He lived here in his penthouse apartment enjoying a life of unimaginable luxury, with no understanding of the real world or how many times she had felt overwhelmed by her responsibilities.

But voicing her resentment would get her nowhere. Zac was convinced that Aimee wasn’t his child and, in fairness, she could understand why. But the very fact that he’d had a vasectomy meant that he did not want to be a father and his present anger was going to be nothing compared with his fury when he learned the truth.

‘I guess we’ll just have to wait for the results of the paternity test,’ she muttered as she got to her feet. Suddenly she was bone-weary and could scarcely believe it had only been twelve hours ago that Zac had stormed into the hospital and back into her life. Returning to the penthouse and reliving the memories of the life she had shared with him was more agonising than she had anticipated and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids. ‘I wish I hadn’t come here,’ she flung at him angrily. ‘Aimee and I could have stayed in a hotel instead of being here with you and your horrible, suspicious mind.’

Black brows winged upwards at her outburst. ‘I’ve already explained that I’d like the reason for your visit to Monaco to remain a private affair and I prefer to keep you here under my control. I’ve arranged for a nurse from the clinic to visit tomorrow to take the necessary mouth swabs,’ he informed her coolly. He drained his glass and stood up, instantly dwarfing her. He was too much for her to cope with when her emotions were so precariously balanced, but when she moved to step past him, he blocked her path. ‘The results should be back within ten days, and then you’ll be free to leave. Until then I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other. But it’s possible we’ll find some compensation in being forced to spend time in each other’s company.’

Freya gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘Such as?’

Too late she recognised the gleam in his eyes and her heart lurched as his arm shot out and snaked around her waist.

‘Such as this,’ he said, ignoring her punitive struggles to escape from his grip as he lowered his mouth with slow deliberation until it hovered millimetres above hers. ‘You may dislike me almost as much as I dislike you, but unfortunately sexual desire seems to have no respect for our mutual loathing—does it, Freya?’

Before she could formulate a reply, he closed the gap between their mouths and kissed her, his lips moving over hers in a fierce assault that demanded her response. The mockery of his last statement rang in her ears and she pressed her lips together in a desperate attempt to deny him. How could he kiss her like this if he hated her? her brain asked numbly, but it was clear that her body did not care. It had been so long since she had been in his arms and she had missed him so much.

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