And Luc could offer degree courses on taking over. Before she had had time to think straight, she had been moved lock, stock and barrel into his apartment and then, in the space of a heartbeat, here to his country house.
Her protests had been so ineffectual that it was little wonder that they had been comprehensively ignored.
A shameful sense of guilt assailed her because she liked having his finger touching her like a branding iron.
It took little more than a gentle tug to free her hand from its limp hold and for the towel to fall to the bed.
Agatha stared at the discarded puddle of towelling with an air of disassociation.
‘You’re carrying my baby.’ Luc’s velvety voice was a notch lower. ‘I want to see how it’s shaping your body.’
The sound of his voice snapped her back to reality and she made an attempt to scrabble for the towel, but he closed his hand around one slender wrist, pinning her in mid-movement.
‘Please, Agatha.’
‘This is inappropriate,’ she breathed unevenly.
‘Is it? I’ve seen you naked before.’
‘But we don’t have that kind of relationship now! ‘
‘Your breasts are bigger.’ He was vaguely surprised that he could speak at all, because the sight of her was breathtaking. Literally, he felt as though the breath had been driven out of his body.
He reached out and cupped her breast, feeling the naked weight of it in his hands, and it was as though her body had been trained to react in a certain inevitable way to his touch. She fell back against the pillows, her eyelids fluttering as a wave of heat stole through her body, sending her entire system in full crash mode.
‘And your nipples are bigger as well. And darker. Is that normal?’
‘Luc…’
‘I like it when you say my name like that,’ he confessed in a ragged, unsteady voice.
There was no way that making love fully was an option but he still wanted her with every fibre of his being.
‘This is so not right…’
‘How can it be not right?’ he murmured, briefly glancing at her face, but driven to look again at her even more bountiful body. ‘You’re pregnant with my baby. How can it not be right for me to look at you? But of course, if you want me to go, then I will…’ It was a chance, but he was a gambler, and he always knew his game. The gentle quiver of her body under his raking inspection told him all that he needed to know and the curling of her fingers now in his springy hair was confirming it.
Instead of triumph, however, he just felt a bone-deep sense of peace as he traced the outline of her nipple with a wandering finger and then moved on to circle her smooth, rounded stomach. She could still get away with wearing jeans, but to his sharp eyes she had changed in a thousand little ways, from the shape and size of her breasts and nipples to the infinitesimal thickening of her waistline. Already she was beginning to put on a little weight and it suited her. It was incredibly sexy to think that all of this was due to his own flesh and blood inside her. Having never really given the question of issue a passing thought, he now wondered what the sex of the baby would be. Boy or girl? Dark hair, he imagined. Wasn’t that a genetic trait that superceded the fair-haired gene?
The need to weld her to him was intense. In a little over six months she would give birth to his child, a son or a daughter; it bordered on obscene to think of another man entering her life.
That thought gave an edge to his roaming hands. When he bent to lick her big, dark nipples and he felt her squirm under him, he felt a rush of satisfaction and purpose.
‘No making love,’ he said ruefully, standing to remove his clothing and keeping his eyes pinned on her avid, flushed face. ‘But I can still touch. Would you like that? Would you find it de-stressing?’ He stepped out of his jeans, kicking them to one side, and pulled off the rugby shirt in one swift, fluid movement.
Agatha felt like someone deprived of food and sustenance for way too long suddenly confronted with a banquet. Her senses seemed to reach overload with shocking ease as she drank in the long, lean lines of his body. Assurance was in his every move as he ditched the boxer shorts and stood completely naked in front of her, proud, beautiful and clearly turned on.
She shifted when he slipped into bed with her, pushing aside the covers and looking at her with such open hunger that she wriggled under the scrutiny.
‘This isn’t supposed to happen,’ she whispered, reaching out for sanity one last time before it disappeared altogether—then immediately contradicting her valiant words when she traced the exquisite line of his sensuous mouth with a wayward, rebellious finger.
Luc didn’t answer. He gave her a slow, curling smile and then captured her finger, only to circle it with his mouth and suck gently on it while he locked his eyes on her surprised face.
He shifted a little so that she could feel what she was doing to him, heavy and urgent against her leg.
Still very gently, he moved to give the rest of her body the attention it deserved.
Agatha, caught up in a maelstrom of strong feelings and powerful sensation, could no more have fought his seductive onslaught than she could have hitched a ride to the moon. Her body responded to the lazy flick of his tongue on her nipple by heating up, yet seemingly turning to jelly. Her legs relaxed and fell open and she closed her eyes on a sigh of intense pleasure as his tongue teased and licked a burning path from one engorged nipple to the next.
Still exploring her sensitised breasts, he cupped one hand between her thighs and then slowly rubbed her, feeling her moisture like honeyed dew on his fingers until she came apart under his touch.
There was no need for him to guide her hand to him. Half-curling on her side to face him, she took him and played with him so that his hardness became as solid as steel, and he groaned and shuddered.
‘I think,’ he delivered unevenly, ‘That I am just about to have the safest sex known to mankind.’
Far more satisfying it would have been to be able to plunge into the wet depths of her and feel her silky dampness around his sheath, but all in good time. For now, he released himself to the rhythm of her sure hand and then sank back against the pillow for a matter of a few seconds, spent, just catching his breath before giving her a wry look.
‘What does it say that that was better than anything with any other woman?’
Leaving her little time to ponder that revealing reflection, he drew her gently against him.
‘You can completely relax here,’ he murmured soothingly into her ear. ‘No need to stack up your defences. As you see, we don’t have to be at war with one another. I’m a peaceful kind of guy.’ He stroked her thigh and Agatha was content to gaze into those fabulous eyes and go along for the ride. ‘Life,’ he continued with satisfaction in his voice, ‘will be infinitely more enjoyable if we can bury our differences and accept one another.’
‘You mean climb into bed together? ‘ She was beginning to review exactly what she had done and she didn’t like the slow-motion picture show that was taking place in her head. But waging war with that was the seductive pull of her senses, telling her that letting him into her life like this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—was it? She had to think and she slowly eased herself away from him.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I need to have something to eat. I’m really hungry.’
‘Now? Right this instant?’
Feet already firmly planted on the ground, Agatha nodded without looking at him. ‘I’m wide awake now.’
‘Wait. You don’t know the layout of the place.’
‘It’s not that big, Luc. I think I can find my way to the kitchen and locate the fridge. If food’s already been cooked, it won’t test my intelligence too much to stick it on the stove.’
Luc, who had been keenly enjoying the drowsy warmth of her surrender, frowned at the subtle change of mood. Then he decided that mood swings were all part and parcel of the pregnancy process, and the fact that she had finally acknowledged
what they both knew to be a fact was all that mattered. The house, which had seemed the last word in self-imposed exile—so distant from all the things he took for granted, namely the buzz of civilization—now seemed a lot more palatable. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed touching her and feeling her curled against him. He also hadn’t realised how much he had missed having her around him, warm, content and compliant.
‘I’ll join you in a while. I’m going to have a shower and I need to make a couple of calls to the office. And don’t worry…’ He grinned and held up his hands in mock surrender, as though she had protested. ‘I’ll make them here and I’ll be all yours when I join you in the kitchen.’
Agatha smiled weakly back at him and climbed back into her clothes. Her body was still tingling in all the places he had touched and it maddened her that he had that effect on her. She wondered whether she had known all along that sooner or later she would end up back in bed with him. She wondered whether that tantalising prospect had formed the basis of her acquiescence to all his manipulations.
Mostly she was utterly confused at the thought of what happened next.
How could she pull back now and start preaching about being just friends? How could she get sniffy and talk about being adults, pretending that what had happened had just been a little oversight?
In a state of utter turmoil, she left him in the bedroom and wandered downstairs to the kitchen, switching on lights as she went and distracted from her train of thoughts by her real appreciation of the house. It was a house designed for someone who enjoyed exploring, because the rooms were small, quirky and quaint and all invited inspection. Rich, expensive rugs interrupted the polished parquet-flooring and there were a number of open fires in various rooms. In the depths of winter, she could imagine curling up with a book on one of the big, comfy chairs with a log fire burning, the world safely locked out.
But she realised that none of that was going to happen. She was a temporary visitor to this idyll. She didn’t even know how long she would be here. A date for departure hadn’t been mentioned but she was stronger now and fast approaching a time when she would be able to return to London and, to work part-time at least, if not full-time. She wouldn’t need Luc around keeping his beady eye on her to make sure that she didn’t do another falling-asleep-in-the-bath routine. Should she just go with the flow while she was here? Give in to the disastrous craving to be touched by him and then establish the necessary distance when she was back in London and away from his stifling presence?
She feverishly wondered whether she should have accepted his offer of a marriage of convenience when he had first made it instead of deluding herself into thinking that she was worth more than that. If she couldn’t get a grip on her responses to him, if she was destined to lead a life in thrall to a man who didn’t love her, then shouldn’t she just have stuck the ring on her finger and legalised her foolishness?
And then there was the problem of her mother, whom she had yet to tell about the pregnancy. What was she going to say about her daughter going it alone when she had been given the option of financial stability and security from a guy who was—in her mother’s eyes—perfect husband-material?
The whole chaotic mess swirled round and round in her head as she browsed through the fridge for food, finally deciding on chicken salad and some bread.
And then, more because there was no sound of Luc coming downstairs rather than nosiness, she walked through the kitchen and into the room behind it which he had told her he used as his office.
It was a honeycomb rather than a traditional office-space; yet again she was struck that he could be as at home in surroundings like that as in his own super-modern offices in London.
Everything needed for work was housed in the biggest of the spaces, a square room that overlooked the garden through a massive bay-window. Dominating the room was his desk, which was old, large and so highly polished that she could practically see her reflection on its surface when she gazed down.
A quick glance told her that there was also a sitting room, comfortably furnished with a little sofa and a couple of chairs. It was saved from having the look of a waiting room by the opulence of the Persian rug in the middle and a low sideboard that looked astronomically expensive. A bathroom completed the series of rooms. Impressed with what she saw, she was about to leave to check the food when Luc’s open briefcase caught her eye; on the very top, screaming at her, was what resembled a brochure.
Agatha was not nosy by nature; she didn’t pry into things that didn’t concern her. But, the very second she spotted that brochure, she knew that she had to look at it because, really, what would Luc be doing with brochures? If he wanted a holiday, he had people who sorted it out for him. He only had to snap his fingers. In fact, if he wanted a cup of coffee he had only to snap his fingers. So why would he bother doing something as mundane as sourcing a travel brochure to anywhere?
Was he, maybe, going to surprise her with a trip somewhere? She squashed that treacherous thought before it could take root and guiltily took the brochure from the case.
It took a few seconds, then the dull pain of recognition washed through her.
There, on page two of the brochure, in all its glory, was the house in which she was now standing. The estate agent was effusive about all the wonderful things that charming corner of Berkshire had to offer—and was even more effusive in its praise for the only-just-refurbished period house recently on the market which was, it would seem, a jewel. She stared down at the little snapshots of the various rooms which she had been admiring only minutes earlier.
She had had difficulty imagining Luc ever being at home in a house like this. He was a man born to live in the fast lane; a charming little place in the middle of nowhere would have been anathema to him.
Yet, even knowing this, she had still chosen to side-step
the obvious and give him the benefit of the doubt, convince herself that his choice of second home showed a side of him that was calmer, more laid back and less aggressively fuelled for the cut and thrust of running an empire.
She must have been self-delusional! The house had been bought for a purpose and the purpose had been just what she had feared all along: Luc didn’t want her, he wanted his baby, and the fastest way to ensure total control without the messiness of a marriage he had rapidly decided against was to make sure that she remained in his power. Like a complete fool, she had danced to his tune and how hard had he had to try? He knew which buttons to press when it came to her, and he had ruthlessly used that knowledge to break down her defences. Dream house, dream garden… bingo.
She hesitated and then, with the throb of an impending headache behind her eyes, she clasped the house details and quietly headed back up to her bedroom, turning off the stove on the way.
It was a relief to find her bedroom empty. Luc had either disappeared back to his own room to change or else to make his precious phone calls.
Having dithered about what she was going to do, how she was going to break free of the power he had over her, Agatha was now calmly aware of what she needed to do.
She needed to leave; finding that brochure had clarified everything in her head. Luc didn’t love her and he never had. Being tempted into bed with him wasn’t just a sign of weakness, it was a suicide mission as far as her heart went, not to mention her chances of moving ahead with her life.
Having had him walk in on her in the middle of a bath, she was reluctant to have another, so instead she pulled her suitcase out and began stuffing her clothes inside.
She was in the middle of clearing out her meagre supply of cosmetics and cramming them into a little flowered bag when the bedroom door was pushed open and she stilled, her hand hovering above the bag, before she shoved the mascara in and slowly turned to face him.
His hair was still damp from his shower and he had changed into some black jeans and a black tee-shirt which, combined, gave him the look of a pirate. He exuded sexiness, lounging against the door frame with his
arms folded and his deep-green eyes shuttered.
All over again, Agatha felt that burning, frightening response that rebelled against all her efforts to put it away. Prickles of awareness shot through her body and she stuck her hands behind her back and twined her fingers nervously together.
‘What’s going on?’ It emerged as less of a question than a demand for information in the face of what was utterly incomprehensible.
For some reason, she had frozen him out, but Luc had convinced himself that it was a passing mood swing; he had returned to the bedroom, having first checked the kitchen, with his fine spirits fully restored. He had made his calls and had decided to put work on the back burner for the remainder of the day. He might, he had thought with a mixture of surprise and amusement, even consider taking a little break altogether. After all, the house had not come cheap, so why not take some time out to explore all the nooks and crannies of the town with which he was supposed to have at least a passing acquaintance? All in all, it was an enjoyable prospect.
‘I’m leaving.’
Shock lanced through him but he was determined to keep that overblown response to himself.
‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘You’re not.’
‘Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t do! I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you thinking that you can do whatever you please because you think that you’re always right!’
‘I know what’s best for you, and getting all worked up isn’t.’
On that score, Agatha grudgingly conceded to herself that he was right. She breathed in deeply and tried to gather her scattered emotions. ‘No, Luc, you don’t know what’s best for me, you know what’s best for you and you’ll do anything within your power to make sure that you get what’s best for you. That’s just the way you’ve conditioned yourself to approach life. You treat human beings like pieces on a chess board that you can move around, like life is just one big game and you get to control how it’s played.’
The Secretary's Scandalous Secret Page 15
