A Scandal, a Secret, a BabyMarriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby!

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Even if I do—we mustn’t. We mustn’t do this,’ she whispered, half to herself. But, oh, the touch of his body made her feel as though great warm waves had washed over her.

  ‘Why not?’ he whispered.

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘You do. We’re separated.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  Her eyes fluttered open. ‘That…that…woman.’

  ‘I just told you. It is over. Believe me, Jenny—it never even began.’

  And Jennifer was so lost in the thrall of the soft black look in his eyes that his betrayal of the other woman thrilled her. Later she would be appalled at how easily she could be seduced. But not now.

  Now her lips were parting with a greedy anticipation she could not seem to deny herself as he slowly lowered his head towards hers.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It felt like a lifetime since Matteo had last kissed her, and Jennifer’s arms reached up to clutch onto his broad shoulders as if she was afraid that her knees might give way. But only her lips did that—parting in a soft sigh as he began to kiss her.

  Because to her horror—but not to her surprise—Matt’s touch was like lighting a touchpaper. Jennifer’s skin was on fire, and her heart was skittering away with excitement and almost a touch of desperation—like a drowning woman who had kicked up to the surface of the water for one last gulp of sweet air.

  I just want one last kiss, she told herself. One last kiss from the man I loved enough to marry. The man I thought I would have children with and grow old with. One kiss—is that so very wrong?

  But adults didn’t just ‘kiss’ and nothing more—particularly those who had been married and who were still in the throes of a powerful sexual attraction.

  Jennifer tore her mouth away from his as he began to rove the flat of his hand over one swollen breast, circling it over and over again until the nipple felt so exquisitely hardened that she sobbed aloud with frustrated pleasure. ‘Matteo!’ she gasped.

  ‘Si.’ He ground the word out in between hot and shallow breaths, scarcely able to believe that this was happening. That he was doing this to her and that she was letting him—and, oh, it was good. Too good. Madre de Dio—it had been so long. And it was never as good with anyone as it was with Jenny. He teased her lips with his in a soft and provocative kiss.

  With a disbelieving sob she moved her mouth fractionally from his, knowing that this was wrong—worse than wrong—it was a kind of madness!

  ‘Matteo, we…we…mustn’t. You know we mustn’t!’

  God forgive him, but he used his hands as ruthlessly then as he had ever done in his life. He had never wanted a woman more than he wanted Jenny at that moment. Not even on that first night when he had taken her to his bed. Nor the time when he had been a teenage virgin and the older woman who had seduced him had made him wait. Because a woman likes a man to wait, she had purred. Well, there was to be no waiting now—he didn’t want it and, to judge by the frantic grinding of her hips, neither did Jenny.

  For the first and only time in his life he wanted her so badly that he thought he was about to come in his trousers. But he reined his desire in with a rigid self-control not betrayed in his sensual movements. He drifted his fingers beneath the thin bodice of her dress and took her bare breast in his hand, cupping it experimentally and feeling her knees buckle as she relaxed against him.

  ‘Oh!’ she squealed.

  All she knew was sensation. She felt the rush of pleasure overwhelm her—and somehow all thoughts of this being wrong just melted away. A hunger both sharp and irresistible bubbled inside her like darkest, sweetest honey, and carried her along in its heavy flow as he touched her nipple.

  ‘Matteo!’ she gasped again, only this time the word was spoken in wonder and not in half-hearted protest.

  Desire was jack-knifing through him in a way that was barely tolerable. He felt the hot pumping of his blood, the frantic pounding of his heart. Could see the gleam of her eyes and the soft moistness of her lips. It was like entering another world—of love and intrigue and lust and betrayal. One where his powers were weakened. And she weakened him. Just as she always had done. Like no one else did.

  Stop me, Jennifer, he begged silently as he touched his fingertips to the silken tumble of her hair.

  Il Dio lo perdona! He lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers—a fleeting, butterfly graze—giving her time to realise. Time to stop.

  But she did no such thing. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his neck, pressing his face closer, so that the kiss deepened almost before he had realised, and she was lacing her tongue with his.

  He moved his hand to the fork between her legs and pressed there, hard. She almost jumped out of her skin.

  Her words were slurred yet shaky with disbelief. ‘Matteo…

  ‘Si, cara mia?’

  ‘You…you shouldn’t be doing that.’

  He felt her wetness through the silk of her evening gown and closed his eyes. ‘Oh, but I should. You know I should. You were born for just this, Jenny. Oh, God!’

  She would stop him in a minute. Just a little more of this sweet pleasure and then she would push him away. Her head fell back against the metal wall of the lift as he began to ruck up her dress, and it was so close to her illicit fantasy of earlier that Jennifer almost fainted with pleasure.

  His hand was on her bare thigh now.

  Stop him.

  And now it was moving up to her damp panties. Maybe she would let him bring her to orgasm first, and then she would call a halt to it.

  Matteo felt her thighs parting and he could scarcely believe what was happening. She wasn’t going to stop him!

  He said something soft and very explicit in Italian, and Jennifer knew exactly what it meant for she had heard it many times before. It should have made her put the brakes on, halt this madness once and for all. And every ounce of reason in her body was screaming out at her to do just that. But she was so hot and hungry for him—hotter than she had ever been in her life—that she would have died right there and then sooner than not have him do this to her.

  She whimpered as he slid her panties across and she heard the rasp of his zip. He rubbed his thumb across her swollen clitoris and Jennifer gave a tiny scream.

  And then, to her utter horror—and his—the lift gave a slight lurch and they heard a distant mechanical thrumming.

  They stilled as they listened—every nerve-ending straining for the sound that neither wanted to hear. The lift stayed unmoving.

  Oh, thank God, thought Jennifer.

  ‘You want me?’ he demanded starkly.

  Against his neck she nodded her heavy head mutely.

  Matteo acted decisively. Ripping apart her delicate panties so that they fluttered redundantly to the floor, he plunged deep inside her and then effortlessly lifted her up so that she could wrap her legs around his back.

  He began to move, slowly at first, wanting to prolong it—to make this heaven last until the end of time and then a little longer still. He made a broken little cry as he thrust in and out of her, knowing that he had never been this hard before, feeling her tremble uncontrollably in his arms. He felt the thrust of her hips towards him in unspoken plea, a gesture he knew of old. And Matteo cupped her buttocks and plunged deeper still, hearing her throaty moan of satisfaction.

  And then the lights began to flicker, catching fragments of their movements like an old
black and white movie. He moved faster still as the lift began to whirr into life.

  Jennifer felt herself beginning to come. ‘Matteo, no!’ she gasped, but she knew in her heart that it was too late. Sensation caught her up and carried her away and she heard his oh-so-familiar groan as he went with her, felt the helpless shuddering of this big man in her arms.

  Mixed in with intense relief and pleasure was confusion and anger as Matteo orgasmed inside her—aware that he had just put both their reputations on the line in a way which was scarcely believable. The flickering lights righted themselves just as he withdrew from her, and all he could see was her horrified face. ‘Jenny—’

  ‘What have we done?’ she whispered.

  His mouth twisted. Surely it was a little late in the day for regrets? ‘You want a biology lesson?’

  Her eyes were huge sapphire saucers. ‘You seduced me!’ she accused hoarsely.

  He almost laughed out loud at her temerity. ‘I seduced you?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘You may have always had a problem differentiating between truth and fiction, but that really is taking it a little far, Jenny!’

  She wanted to hit him again. And she wanted him to make love to her again. Oh, what was she thinking? That hadn’t even gone close to ‘making love’. What had just happened had been a quick wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.

  All it had been about was swift gratification and intense pleasure. On a physical level it had been wonderful—on an emotional one completely empty. She turned her head away, not wanting him to see the shame and self-contempt in her eyes.

  ‘Now what do we do?’ she questioned shakily.

  So she couldn’t bear to look at him now? Was that it? She hadn’t been so damned picky when she was grinding her hips against him! ‘There’s no time for an in-depth analysis,’ he grated, as he heard an echoing shout in French from the bottom of the lift shaft and bent to pick up her discarded panties. ‘I think we’re about to be rescued.’

  The blood was pounding at her temples and in her groin, and she closed her eyes in despair. Rescued? Dear God, no.

  Despite his anger and misgivings, Matteo knew that he had to take charge—because otherwise this would develop from a regrettable one-off into a drama which could have lasting repercussions. Quickly he adjusted his clothing and raked his gaze over her, a nerve beginning to work at his temple as he saw that the front of her silk dress was dark with the stain of love-juice.

  ‘Damn!’ he exploded softly, as he stuffed her tattered panties into his jacket pocket.

  She followed the direction of his gaze and blushed a deep scarlet. Oh, how could they have? But she saw the detached look on his face and took her lead from it. She would take it in her stride—as he was so obviously doing. Maybe he does this kind of thing all the time these days? she thought bitterly. ‘So, now what do I do?’

  ‘Here. Put my jacket on,’ he instructed tersely. He helped her wriggle into it and buttoned it up for her as if she were a child.

  Frantically she smoothed down what she could of her hair and wiped a finger under each eye, wondering if her mascara had smudged.

  For a moment their eyes met, and Jennifer swallowed, wondering whether she would meet contempt or triumph in his. For what man could not be forgiven for feeling either or both those emotions when a wife who was supposed to hate him had just let him have frantic sex with her?

  But there was nothing.

  Not a clue, not a glimmer of what might be going on inside his head. He was as enigmatic as she had ever seen him—no, more so—and it was like looking into the eyes of a complete stranger.

  Her own senses were clouded and confused, and she was having real problems telling fantasy apart from reality. Sex did funny things to you—it transported you back to another place and another time. It must have done. For why else would she have to stop herself from running her fingertips lovingly over the shadowed rasp of his jaw and following the movement with a series of tender little butterfly kisses? The way she’d used to.

  Was that because women were made weak and vulnerable by the act of love in a way men never were? Women’s bodies and minds were conditioned to mate with one partner—while men were programmed to spill their seed all over the place.

  And at that thought Jennifer blanched. Had she remembered...?

  Matteo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You aren’t going to faint on me?’

  ‘Faint?’ She spoke with a brightness she was far from feeling. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  He shook his dark head with dissatisfaction, because even though his jacket covered her to mid-thigh her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wild. Her appearance gave away exactly what they had been doing. And this was a service lift, true, but that didn’t guarantee that some sharp-eyed employee looking to make a quick buck wasn’t waiting at the bottom armed with a camera or a mobile phone which could transmit an offending picture around the world in minutes. Was he prepared to take the risk? Did either of them dare?

  No.

  Without warning he bent and scooped her up into his arms, cradling her automatically against his chest so that she could feel the muffled thunder of his heart.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.

  He thought that was maybe a question she should have asked before they’d had that highly charged and erotic encounter, but he chose not to say it. Even thinking about it was making him grow hard again. He shifted position slightly, not wanting her to sense that he had another erection—because having sex with your soon-to-be ex-wife once could be classified as a mistake. But twice? No. That would defy description.

  What was done, was done—they just had to deal with the immediate fall-out before they parted again for the last time.

  ‘What do you think is going to happen now?’ he demanded. ‘That you are just going to stroll out of here with your messed-up hair and your smudged make-up and your rumpled dress? You don’t think that will excite some sort of comment?’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, obviously—but—’

  ‘But what, Jenny? You don’t think that anyone with more than one brain cell will put two and two together and come up with exactly the right answer?’

  ‘So what’s your solution?’

  ‘That you act! Just act, Jenny,’ he urged, as he saw her perplexed frown. ‘Act like you’ve passed out and you’re leaning on me—act as if your life depended on it.’

  And maybe it did, in a way—when she stopped to think what he’d just said. Certainly her reputation and her dignity demanded that she emerge from that lift not looking as though she had been ravaged by her unfaithful ex-husband.

  The lift juddered to a halt, and it was worse than Matteo had anticipated. Outside was an excited crowd of four waiters, a couple of chefs, what looked like a maître d’ and a cleaner.

  But no one from the studio. Thank God. He knew that their giant protective machinery would have whirred into action to minimise the outcome, but then it would be out of his control. And he would not let that happen. Not in this case.

  He saw one of the waiters surreptitiously slide a mobile phone from his jeans and spoke in furious and rapid French to him. The chastened man shrugged and replaced the phone.

  Jennifer’s ear lay against the strong pounding of his heart and she closed her eyes—Matteo’s words seemed to come at her from a great distance. His French was as fluent as his English, and she didn’t even attempt to understand what he was saying, only knew that there was an excited and jabberin
g response from the staff.

  He bent his head and whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said softly in English. ‘You’re going to be okay.’

  She wished he wouldn’t talk in that masterful and protective way to her, even though he was being both those things. But it was going to make it harder, she just knew it was—so much harder to say their inevitable goodbyes.

  She opened her eyes to find that they were following someone down a long and draughty corridor and then outside, through an ill-lit yard which was lined with bins and a large skip containing hundreds of empty bottles.

  We must be at the back of the hotel, Jennifer thought, and pressed her head against him as an overwhelming fatigue began to wash over her. But then sex with Matteo always made her sleepy. What was that she had read once? That some hormone was released when you orgasmed, which made you want to curl up and snooze.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘You bring me to the nicest places,’ she mumbled, and gave a low laugh.

  The sound was so delightfully inappropriate that Matteo couldn’t prevent the memory which stole over his skin as he remembered the precious gift of laughter which they had brought to each other in the early days. Ruthlessly, he blocked it.

  ‘It won’t be much longer,’ he said tightly. ‘They’re getting hold of a car for us.’

  She had to stop herself from snuggling up to him, as if they were real lovers instead of estranged spouses who just happened to know the way to turn each other on.

  ‘I ought to get back to the Hedoniste,’ she said unenthusiastically.

  ‘That’s where you’re staying?’

  ‘Isn’t everyone?’

  Matteo’s mouth twisted with scorn. The marble-built palace of a hotel was situated on the choicest part of the Croisette, and would be full to the brim with other actors, producers, directors, models and wannabes. ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s too much of a goldfish bowl—you can’t risk going back there in that state. I’m taking you to where I’m staying.’