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.