The relief on her face was comic. ‘Thank … thank you.’
He rested heavy hands on her shoulders. ‘Your hands-off signals are loud and clear. Rest assured, Jane, I’ve never forced myself on a woman and I’m not about to now … but you know you’re fighting a losing battle, don’t you? This scared virginal act is wasted on me. We both know you’re no virgin.’
He brought his face down to hers, his mouth close to her ear, and she closed her eyes weakly. His breath tickled the sensitive part of her neck just below her ear. The fine hairs standing up.
‘But if you think for a second that you can hold out for ever … then you’re very, very mistaken. It’s only going to be a matter of time. It’s there, vibrating between us like an electric current, and it’s not going to go away. Do you know what happens when you suppress something? It just gets stronger and stronger.’
He straightened up, his eyes taking in her flushed face, the bead of sweat on her brow, the pulse hammering against the base of her neck, and he had to use every ounce of his will-power not to pull her into him, mould her body to his and make her acquiesce—which he knew he could do.
He would wait until she was shaking with longing, weak with desire. Until she could barely look at him because of it. He wanted her. Badly. But that was all it was. Sheer, unadulterated lust. Nothing else. This was why he’d been unable to get her out of his head the past few months.
‘Settle in, and I’ll get lunch ready.’
He walked out of the room. Jane pressed her hands up against flaming cheeks. That was her reaction after mere words! What would she do if he kissed her? Or if she lost control and grabbed him? Which seemed more likely right at that moment. She’d go up like tumbleweed to a lit match on a dry day.
All the more reason to be strong.
And what then …?
One day at a time. That was the only way she was going to handle this.
Chapter Ten
THE next morning Xavier insisted on a day of sightseeing.
In the early evening they emerged from the Louvre. Jane was bone weary, even though the ever-present limo had whisked them from place to place.
Bone weary because at every opportunity during the day he had touched her—usually just the slightest glance of physical contact, a brush of a hand here, a light touch on her waist or shoulder … pressing close against her in the crowds. But it had been enough to set her nerve-ends jangling, almost as though he knew exactly what he was doing. His face each time she’d sneaked a look had shown pure innocence.
By the time he took her hand outside the great museum she was worn down from trying to escape him, and just left it in his without a word. That contact, chaste as it was, was torture in itself.
‘I let Pascal go home … There’s a restaurant near here I thought might be nice for dinner. We can get a cab later.’
‘I’m not dressed properly …’ She indicated her jeans and sneakers.
‘Don’t worry, it’s a low-key place.’
She shrugged and allowed him to lead her through the streets. They came to a charming little bistro, tucked into a small side street, with only a few tables that were already full.
Xavier was greeted like a long-lost son by the proprietor,, and when he introduced Jane as his wife there were shouts and a woman came running out. Jane was enveloped in hugs and warm kisses, and couldn’t help but be charmed. The older woman at one point looked at Jane’s ring finger and unleashed a stream of French at Xavier that Jane couldn’t follow. He looked shamefaced after it.
Once they were seated at a free table that had appeared as if by magic, Jane had to ask, ‘What on earth did she say to you?’
‘Madame Feron pointed out that you don’t have an engagement ring.’
Jane lifted her hand stupidly. ‘Oh … I hadn’t even thought about it myself.’ She looked back to him. ‘I don’t need one, you know … it’d be silly just for the sake of it. Plenty of people nowadays just wear a wedding band.’
‘Nevertheless, she’s right. We will do this properly. I’ll buy you one tomorrow.’
His tone brooked no argument. His businesslike attitude reinforced her will to resist him at all costs. This was nothing more than a mutual agreement, each having their own reasons: him to secure his heir and its future, her for the baby’s sake and to secure her mother’s future in South Africa.
But maybe down the road when the baby was born they could negotiate a separation? Surely by then any inheritance would be safe? Jane knew in her heart of hearts that sooner or later her will would break, or Xavier would succumb to another woman, and either scenario would be untenable for long. She knew that now, as she looked at him across the table.
Her appetite still wasn’t back to normal, but she forced the food down, not wanting to insult the couple who couldn’t stop beaming at them.
That night when they got back to the apartment Jane fled into her room as soon as she could. She rested against the door, breathing heavily with eyes closed. She heard Xavier’s step pausing outside her door and her mouth went dry, her pulse tripping.
‘Goodnight …’ he called softly through the door.
But he may as well have said coward. It was what he meant.
She got under the covers a short while later and pulled them over her head, as if that would block out the images, the vivid memories that played like a home movie every night in her dreams. Her body felt as though it had a fever. What was wrong with her? She was pregnant … how could she be feeling so … so … sexually aware of herself and him?
She slept fitfully. Again.
The following morning Xavier informed her that they would spend the day shopping and return to the island that evening. When he saw the less than enthusiastic expression on her face he frowned.
‘What is it? Are you feeling ill?’
‘No … it’s nothing … just that I’ve always hated shopping. The crowds … trying things on. It bores me to tears. But as you say, I have to keep up appearances now.’
He shook his head, once again struck dumb. Reminded of how different she was from the women he was used to.
An hour or so later, when they approached the door of a designer shop, Jane caught his hand and dragged him back. The memory of years of scrimping and saving rushed back in lurid humiliating detail, her mother’s face lined with worry and strain as she struggled to let down another hem, trying to get another year out of a school skirt.
‘We can’t go in there … those clothes cost a fortune. Look, why don’t you just let me go off for a few hours? I’ll find some high street stores and kit myself out. Honestly, you can trust me …’
‘Woman!’ he exploded, stunning her into silence. ‘I’m normally dragged on these expeditions, reduced to nothing more than a walking credit card, but you—’ He shook his head. ‘You have to have morals. Jane, without insulting your intelligence too much, will you please trust me when I say that if I let you go off and kit yourself out, as you put it, within weeks we will be at some function where it will be horrendously obvious to everyone that I can’t afford to dress my own wife. This isn’t just for you. As much as I agree with your sensibilities, unfortunately society hasn’t caught up with us, and I have a certain standard to maintain.’
Her mouth opened and closed ineffectually, a red-hot poker of pain striking her at his reference to what must have been many other trips like this … with other women he had indulged. She walked into the shop without another word, hoping to distract him from her hurt.
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