The Secret Baby Revenge

by Emma Darcy

  Why would he?

  He was in the box seat, directing the action.

  It was okay to want sex with him, Nicole told herself. Take it, enjoy it, then leave it behind you when you go in the morning. Just don’t believe it’s anything else but physical chemistry driving a perfectly natural urge. After five long celibate years she was entitled—as a woman—to feel sexual pleasure again. Probably her highly personal knowledge of how Quin had given it in the past was stirring the desire.

  “Look!” His hand curled around her arm to hold her still as he pointed to the shop window they were passing.

  “At what?”

  Her gaze swept around a display of Australian souvenirs. Being situated here, underneath the marble colonnade, the place was very much an upmarket boutique for tourists. A small group of Japanese were inside, stocking up on gifts to take home with them. There were many such shops around Circular Quay, catering for the same trade. This was an expensive one but beyond that…

  “The blue butterfly,” Quin enlightened her. “Come on. Let’s go in and buy it for your tree.”

  Nicole’s heart lurched—the shock of his knowledge only dissipating when she remembered he’d queried Jade’s gift to her last night. Jules had explained it although she’d stopped him from saying too much. The butterfly tree was a special thing between her and Zoe.

  A fierce wave of protest burst through her mind. She didn’t want Quin associated with it in any way whatsoever. He didn’t have the right to intrude upon it. He hadn’t been part of it, never would be part of it. Yet before she could find suitable words to check his impulsive suggestion, his arm was around her waist, scooping her inside the boutique, and as always with Quin, a saleswoman instantly zeroed in on him.

  “We want the blue butterfly,” he said unequivocally.

  “Ah yes, a beautiful piece.” The woman smiled at him, then quickly moved to get it out of a glass showcase which contained a menagerie of Australian birds, fish and animals, some exquisitely fashioned in crystal, others delicately made of blown glass with colour swirling through them.

  “It’s a Ulysses, native to far north Queensland,” the saleswoman prattled on. “You see them everywhere up around Cairns and the Daintree Rainforest. The natural colour of their wings is an iridescent electric blue, so you’ll get the best effect if you can place this piece where sunlight shines through the delicate glass.”

  “We’ll take it. Wrap it up,” Quin instructed.

  “Wait!” Nicole cried, frantically trying to come up with a reason to stop this purchase. “It looks terribly expensive. How much is it?”

  The price stated was exorbitant. There was probably a huge mark-up on everything in the boutique because of its prime position near the Opera House.

  “I can’t accept this, Quin,” she said firmly.

  He looked incredulously at her. “After all you’ve accepted from me today?” He shook his head, took out his wallet, extracted a credit card and smiled at the saleswoman as he passed it to her. “Wrap it up. It’s a perfect memento for a momentous evening.”

  There was no stopping him from making the purchase. Nicole recognised that. However, she could and would refuse to take the butterfly from him. She kept her arms rigidly at her sides when he tried to hand the boutique bag to her as they left the shop. “This isn’t part of our deal,” she insisted.

  “I bet you haven’t got one like it,” he pressed temptingly.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is?”

  She flashed a fiercely determined look at him. “I don’t want a memento of tonight.”

  A ruthless gleam answered her. “I intend that you find it unforgettable anyway, Nicole.”

  Her hands clenched in a blind need to fight off the sense of very real danger to the life she’d made without him. “This will pass,” she muttered in savage resolve.

  “It didn’t last time. Which is why we are here now.” His eyes challenged her to deny it.

  She couldn’t. No-one else would have drawn her into bartering herself for money. It was because of who he was, what he was, and how unimportant he’d made her feel in the past when his obsession about amassing money had come ahead of everything else. But she was not about to admit that Quin was right. Feeding his ego was not on her agenda.

  “We’re here now because you represented a way out of a situation I didn’t want,” she stated flatly.

  “Which, in turn, represented a way into a situation I did want,” he slid back at her. “And both wants have their roots in the past…which definitely has not passed, Nicole.”

  Not for him. It had only been sex on his mind then and he had the hots for her again now. This was just a second round of the same. But it was different for her. She’d been wildly, blindly, heart-wrenchingly in love with him. That definitely had passed.

  Not wanting this subject pursued, Nicole kept her mouth firmly shut. Quin waved her to turn under an archway which led into a lobby housing a massive spiral staircase and a bank of elevators—marble tiles on the floor, marble walls, huge chandelier hanging from a ceiling, two storeys high—the kind of place that screamed exclusive to the very wealthy.

  “Here we are,” he announced, using a key to operate one of the elevators.

  The doors opened.

  Quin ushered her into the softly carpeted compartment, stepped in after her, pressed a button marked P and closed out the rest of the world. P for penthouse, Nicole thought, panic skittering through her stomach as the elevator zoomed up to the private apartment where she would become Quin’s penthouse playmate. Would it be more pain than pleasure? Had she been completely mad to enter into this contract?

  Think of what had been achieved for her mother, she told herself, trying desperately to appear calm and composed as Quin guided her into a fabulous living room. Dominating it were floor to ceiling windows, giving a spectacular view of Sydney Harbour stretching from Bennelong Point right out to sea. Nicole automatically walked over to it, needing to face something other than Quin’s material acquisitions, which had clearly meant more to him than she ever had.

  The carpet underfoot was a soft teal colour. There were cream leather couches with lots of colourful scatter cushions, glass tables with creamy granite pedestals holding them up. Just props, Nicole thought in bitter dismissal. Status symbols. Expensive interior decoration did not make a home. Quin had never been interested in making a home.

  It was a high view of the harbour. Although it was now dark outside, the foreshore with all its little coves was outlined by the lights of the houses crowding it. Boats riding at anchor could easily be seen, ferries carving through the water to their destinations. Nicole wondered if living up here made Quin feel he was on top of this city, king of his castle.

  Did he know how empty his castle was, despite all his possessions, of which she was now one—but only a very temporary one.

  Did he ever think this wasn’t enough?

  She shook her head over the foolish questions.

  They sprang from her own emotions, not his, and she was not—not—going to get emotionally involved with Quin Sola again!

  Quin stood by the broad serving bench of the open plan kitchen, watching Nicole take in the multimillion dollar view. He made no move to join her, though he sensed she was armour-plating herself against the inevitable intimacy of the bedroom. Her shoulders were rigidly squared. Her stillness seemed to form a self-protective cloak. She would give what she had to give but nothing more.

  Under normal circumstances, women coming here for the first time showed some curiosity or interest in his personal living quarters; checking out the furnishings, fossicking through his kitchen, making admiring comments. Nicole’s stiff back shut it all out and her silence affirmed her lack of caring. She no more wanted to be part of his life than she wanted him to be part of hers. The adamant rebuff of the butterfly gift underlined her determination to stay detached where it really counted—in her mind and heart.

  He felt his own jaw tigh
ten with determination as he looked down at the chic boutique bag he was still carrying. Nicole had used the tissue-wrapped blue butterfly nestled inside as a weapon against him, telling him very sharply he didn’t belong in her world and she would not let him put even one small step into it. Nevertheless, her strongly negative reaction to the gift told him he could use it as a weapon, too, hitting at what obviously had some personal meaning to her.

  “Would you like some coffee, Nicole?”

  “Yes, please,” she answered without turning her head.

  “You used to like cappuccino. My coffee machine can make it if that’s still your preference.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  A tight flat voice and still no glance around.

  It increased Quin’s determination to crack the wall she was putting up between them. He made her coffee, opened a small box of Belgium chocolates, set both of them down on the low table which serviced the sofa closest to where she was standing. At the slight clatter of china on the glass surface of the table—or maybe it was the strong scent of the steaming hot coffee—she did turn, finally acknowledging his efforts to please her with a dry little smile.

  “Chocolates, too,” she said as though mocking any attempt to sweeten her up.

  “Since you’re so entranced with the view,” he drawled, mocking her right back. “I’ll leave you to enjoy it while I slip into something more comfortable. Excuse me, won’t you?”

  The startled look on her face gave him immense satisfaction. He grinned to himself as he headed down the hall to his bedroom. It wasn’t his comfort on his mind. The aim was to keep tipping Nicole out of any comfort zone she thought she had, and there was nothing more effective to gain ground than a surprise attack.

  Nicole frowned in confusion as Quin disappeared down a hall.

  Slip into something more comfortable?

  That was a woman’s line—a woman intent on seducing a man.

  What was Quin playing at?

  Champagne, oysters, an expensive gift, chocolates…were these things meant to melt some expected resistance to him? It made no sense. He didn’t have to play a seductive game to get her into bed. She was his for the taking. That was the deal and she wasn’t about to welsh on it.

  He was probably getting his gear off to save the inconvenience of undressing later on. Quin had always been perfectly comfortable in his skin. And why not? He had a flawless male physique. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him naked again.

  She moved to the sofa and sat down, sipping the hot creamy cappuccino in the hope of calming her nerves. She didn’t touch the chocolates. Taking any of them might suggest she was enjoying herself, thereby giving Quin the satisfaction of thinking he was seducing her.

  This was not a love affair.

  She wouldn’t let Quin draw her into thinking it could be.

  He was playing a game with her. She couldn’t imagine him ever having paid money for sex before. No doubt he wanted to turn it into a conquest so his male ego would triumph over the means to the end he desired.

  The coffee cup was empty and still he had not returned to the living room. Was he deliberately holding her in waiting, demonstrating who was now master of this situation?

  Stop thinking of him, Nicole silently screamed at herself. He was winning by dominating her thoughts!

  She rose from the sofa and returned to gazing at the view. Let him find her where he’d left her, ignoring the penthouse proof of his success at making money. Determinedly blanking her mind to everything else, she stood by the window, staring out.

  But her instincts picked up Quin’s presence the moment he re-entered the living room. There was no sound of footsteps. He didn’t speak. She felt the atmosphere change as though some elemental force made it vibrate with a sudden flow of dynamic energy. She knew he was there, watching her, willing her to turn around and acknowledge him. Her whole body felt the tug of his silent command and she had to steel herself to deny it.

  Let him come to her. She was here in his apartment for the night. That was the letter of the agreement between them. What he wanted to make of it was up to him.

  He came. Her heart drummed his approach as though it sensed every footstep bringing him closer and closer to her. Then his hands were on her hips, sliding up underneath her top, unclipping her bra, reaching around to push the lace cups from her breasts, freeing them for his touch, his fingers lightly kneading the soft fullness, his thumbs fanning her nipples to a responsive tautness.

  Nicole found herself holding her breath, her whole being consumed with the desire to feel. It had been so long…so very long…and Quin knew how to touch, how to excite, how to build a pool of pleasure that turned her insides to warm liquid. She finally released her breath and quickly sucked in more air as he lifted her top up over her head, removing the bra with it.

  “Stay still,” he commanded, his fingers raking through her hair, parting it, lifting the long tresses from her back and pushing them over either shoulder to flow down over her breasts.

  She stayed still, but could not prevent a convulsive little shiver as he kissed the bared nape of her neck, his mouth hot and seductively sensual. His fingertips feathered down the curve of her spine, drew tantalising circles on her rib-cage, moved slowly upwards until they reached the fall of her hair which he gently rubbed over her sensitised breasts.

  “I always did love the feel of you, Nicole,” he murmured.

  Don’t use the word, love, to me, she thought fiercely. Arouse me sexually all you like, but love is something you know nothing about.

  His hands glided down to the waistband of her jeans. He pulled the stud apart, opened the zipper. Her stomach contracted under the warmth of his palms spreading over it as his fingers targeted the heat he’d already generated between her thighs. He knew how to touch there, too, softly, softly caressing the folds apart, using her own moistness to tease her clitoris, building an excitement that she knew would drive her beyond all control.

  Her breathing quickened, little gasps escaping her lips even as she mentally fought to remain still as though nothing was really happening. She wanted Quin to think her body was simply responding naturally to nothing but expert stimulation. He, as a person, didn’t count. She stared unseeingly into the darkness of the night sky, telling herself she was just experiencing and taking pleasure in touch.

  “Let’s get these clothes off,” he said gruffly, removing the intimate contact to hook his thumbs over the waistbands of her panties and jeans. Both garments were swiftly pushed down her legs. He lifted one of her feet, then the other, stripping them of the sandals as he also freed her of clothes.

  Nicole didn’t resist any of Quin’s actions. Submitting to them actually kept him at a distance. She was being undressed by someone she couldn’t see, being ministered to by someone she couldn’t see. Now she was completely naked, yet in a strange, detached way she didn’t feel vulnerable. She had a sense of liberation from all the responsibilities she had carried for so long. Right at this moment she existed only as a woman, revelling in the re-awakening of her sexuality.

  His hands grazed her inner thighs as he straightened up behind her. They cupped the rounded voluptuousness of her bottom, then parted the soft cheeks enough for him to press the hard thick shaft of his erection along the cleft. Then his arms were around her waist, drawing her whole body back against his, making her acutely aware of his nakedness.

  It was both strange and familiar—strange because she hadn’t been with a man like this since Quin—familiar because it was Quin and her body recognised every inch of him. And she could not stop a wildly primitive wave of exultation in the recognition. Her man…her mate…

  Except he wasn’t.

  Quin Sola belonged only to himself.

  “What are you seeing out there?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she answered, her voice sounding oddly rough, as though it was being resurrected from a long period of disuse.

  “Then let me show you something to see.”r />
  He dropped his embrace, took her hand, and led her across the living room and down the hall he had entered earlier. He stopped at a door, opened it, and took her into a large bedroom. Nicole barely noticed the bed. Beyond it was another wall of glass but her gaze was not drawn to yet another view of Sydney Harbour. It was instantly captivated by what was set up in front of the middle window.

  The glass butterfly had been placed on a pedestal and spotlighted by a lamp shining up behind it and turning the wings into a stunning fluorescent blue.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NO DOUBT about it, Quin thought triumphantly. As a tactic to crack Nicole’s wall of indifference to him, placing the blue butterfly centre stage and spotlighting it was an act of pure genius. Gone was the submissive sex slave. She spun to face him in full frontal attack, her green eyes shooting furious sparks, outrage pumping through her, shoulders back, breasts lifting, and if her taut nipples had been pistols, there would probably be blood on the floor right now.

  “What do you think you’re playing at?”

  Definitely a kill note in her voice.

  “It’s a beautiful piece,” he stated calmly. “It should be displayed like that. Why are you upset by it?”

  “You did it deliberately.”

  Violent accusation.

  “Yes, I did,” Quin agreed. “I wanted to get the best effect.”

  “Since when have you been interested in doing home decoration?”

  Blistering scorn.

  He smiled. “You inspired me to start tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it means something to you.”

  “No, it doesn’t!” she denied heatedly, her hands clenching, her need to fight the point making Quin all the more certain he’d hit on a highly vulnerable area in her current life.

  “Then it shouldn’t be upsetting you, Nicole. My aim was to give you pleasure.”

  “Pleasure!”

  The fury in her eyes whirled into confusion, followed by flickers of fear at having reacted too strongly, consequently revealing there was far more to the issue of the butterfly than she wanted him to know.