The Frenchman's Captive Wife

‘Not kidnap,’ he murmured coolly as his gaze settled on her flushed face, ‘I prefer repossession. And I promise you, chérie, this time you will not escape!’

CHAPTER TWO

THE ATMOSPHERE INSIDE the car crackled with antagonism. Jean-Claude suddenly lost interest in his toys, stared unblinkingly at Luc and then back at Emily, his bottom lip wobbling.

‘It’s all right, Mama’s here. No one’s going to hurt you,’ she reassured him softly, stroking his cheek, and he turned his enormous, velvet grey eyes on her, his tears drying as his face broke into a smile that revealed his one solitary tooth. Luc was sitting on the other side of the baby seat and he stiffened at her words, outrage and bitter, corrosive anger filling him.

‘Of course I’m not going to hurt him,’ he snarled, aware of the necessity of keeping his voice low so that he did not frighten Jean-Claude. ‘What kind of barbarian do you think I am to suggest I would hurt my own son?’

‘You don’t want to know my opinion of you,’ Emily returned, her smile solely for Jean-Claude’s benefit, belying the venom in her voice. ‘You tried to drive off without me. Don’t you think that wrenching a young baby from his mother’s arms would hurt him?’

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Luc snapped impatiently. ‘You weren’t even with him. You’d abandoned him. What kind of mother does that make you?’

‘A damn good one, and I did not abandon him.’ Emily ran a shaky hand over her face as reaction set in. ‘He’s eleven months old, for heaven’s sake. How do you think he would cope without me? He needs me.’

Luc surveyed her silently, his eyes raking disparagingly over her slender figure and she cringed, wishing she’d worn anything but her bright orange gypsy skirt and yellow strap top. With her hair caught up in a ponytail secured with a livid yellow band and the long, beaded earrings and necklace that one of the artists had made for her, she looked funky and modern, a complete antithesis of the sophisticated, elegant women Luc admired. Women like his PA Robyn Blake.

‘You’re not as indispensable as you like to think,’ he said icily. ‘He’d soon forget you and instead of a mother he will have a father. However,’ he continued, ignoring her fearful gasp, ‘I accept that it is in Jean-Claude’s best interests that you play a part in his life, for now at least.’

‘Meaning what exactly?’

‘Meaning that the situation is likely to change as he grows older but at the moment he is a baby and naturally depends on you. It is for that reason alone that I have decided to take you back,’ he informed her in his cold, clipped tones, and Emily’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

‘Well, pardon me for not jumping for joy, but I don’t want to be taken back. I’m perfectly content with my life the way it is—without you in it. In fact,’ she stressed, ‘I’ve never been happier.’ As she spoke she made the mistake of looking at him and her face flamed as she felt her body’s involuntary reaction to his seductive charm. She didn’t want to feel like this. She didn’t want to be pierced by this overwhelming, almost obsessive sexual attraction, and the worst of it was, he was aware of his power over her.

‘I’m sure I can come up with a few ideas to keep you content,’ he drawled with an arrogant smile that made her want to scream or hit him, or both. ‘I don’t remember having any problems satisfying you when we were first married. In fact, chérie, after a night in my bed, you used to remind me of a cat who’d gorged on cream.’

The last thing she needed was to be reminded of her total and utter weakness where he was concerned. One look from those flashing grey eyes and she had been putty in his hands, her body desperate to experience the ecstasy of his full possession. She had been little better than a sex slave, she thought disgustedly, and he had exerted his power over her ruthlessly, subjugating her to his will with shameful ease.

Luc had to be playing a cruel game with her, she thought desperately. His insinuation that he knew he could keep her happy by sleeping with her was his despicable way of reminding her of her vulnerability where he was concerned. But she had changed during the year they had spent apart. She had grown up and taken charge of her emotions. With his incredible looks and raw, sexual magnetism, it wasn’t surprising that he had once had such a strong hold over her but she had broken free of his spell and she refused to be bewitched again.

Jean-Claude was watching her and the beauty of his smile tore at her heart. He was innocently unaware of the bitterness that existed between his parents, a bitterness that would only fester if they were forced together again. At the moment he was just a baby, but as he grew older he would detect the signs that his parents detested one another and would surely be damaged by their antagonism.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she whispered huskily. ‘For our son’s sake, can’t we call a truce and aim for an amicable divorce instead of fighting over him? Surely the most important thing is to give Jean-Claude the best upbringing we can?’

‘I agree,’ Luc replied, his gaze clashing with hers, ‘which is why there will be no divorce. Our son deserves to be brought up by two parents who love him, even if they do not love each other,’ he continued, ignoring Emily’s shocked gasp. ‘You will remain my wife, chérie, for better or worse. And make no mistake,’ he warned her in a tone that gave some indication of his determination, ‘it will be a proper marriage, in every sense of the word.’

‘You can’t really expect me to…to sleep with you,’ Emily spluttered, outrage rendering her temporarily speechless as the full meaning of his words sank in.

‘Why not? Our marriage may have had its problems, but the sex was always good. You were the most responsive lover I’ve ever known,’ he told her, and she died a little at the way he could discuss something that had been so precious to her with such clinical detachment.

‘Well, you’ve known a lot so I’ll take your word for it but I’m afraid it’s not an experience I want to repeat.’

‘Is that so, ma petite?’ The sudden amusement in his voice fuelled her anger and she curled her fingers into fists so that her nails bit into her palms. ‘Time will tell, although not too much time, I hope. Patience isn’t one of my finer virtues.’

‘I’d rather kill myself than bear your touch again,’ she snapped with a shudder as she contemplated the certain humiliation that would follow if she ever lowered her guard against him. He inhaled sharply, a nerve jumping in his cheek as he stared at her.

‘Don’t joke about such things, especially as we both know that you’re lying,’ he ground out, and she jerked her head round, startled by the bitterness in his eyes. ‘You might have wrapped that cloak of virginal shyness around you like a nun’s habit but you were a whore in the bedroom. Not that I’m complaining,’ he added silkily when she turned her stunned, pain-filled eyes on him. ‘I may be willing to put up with your presence in my life for Jean-Claude’s sake, but I think I’m entitled to some compensations!’

He swung away to stare out of the window and in the ragged silence that followed his shocking statement she could only stare at his harsh profile. He really hated her, she realised as a combination of pain and panic washed over her. During the brief months they’d spent together after their marriage, she’d glimpsed his ruthless streak in his business dealings. Beneath his charismatic charm lurked a merciless disregard for anyone who dared cross him, and despite his insistence that their marriage would continue, he viewed her as the enemy. For a moment she quailed but from somewhere her pride came to the rescue and she lifted her chin.

‘You don’t really want me back, any more than you want to play happy families with Jean-Claude. I intend to seek a divorce, Luc, and I’ll fight you tooth and nail for my baby. You never wanted him and I can prove that while I was pregnant you were too busy sleeping with your bloody secretary to give a damn about your unborn child or me. This has nothing to do with wanting Jean-Claude, has it?’ She pressed on, ignoring the ominous tightening of his jaw that gave some indication of his fury. ‘This is about your obsession to win, the need to exert your power. You didn’t want me and perhaps when you were good and ready you’d have divorced me, but you can’t bear the fact that I was the one to walk away. I defied you and now you want to punish me by claiming the child you never even wanted to be born.’

‘Enough!’ His voice stung like the crack of a whip as he jerked his head round to face her and Emily visibly flinched, although she refused to drop her gaze. Once she had been in awe of him, her painful lack of self-confidence no match for his brilliant mind and acerbic wit, but she had Jean-Claude to fight for now and she glared across the car, determined not be cowed. ‘Mon Dieu! You have developed the tongue of a viper. I am trying very hard to be fair, which is more than you deserve when you never once gave me the same consideration. You stole my son, and like a thief in the night you hid him from me. Let me set something straight once and for all Emily,’ he growled. ‘I always wanted our child. I longed to hold our baby in my arms, but for all these months you denied me even the knowledge of his existence. Now, finally, I have found him and nothing in this world will ever make me let him go. If you insist on filing for divorce I can’t stop you, but I will fight you for Jean-Claude with all the means at my disposal, and financially those means are considerable. If you want there to be war between us rather than peace, go ahead, but I hope you have the stomach for it because it is a war I will win.’

The car was speeding along the road, the locked doors preventing her escape even if it had been possible to jump out. The plush leather upholstery, the uniformed chauffeur and the discreet but well-stocked bar all indicated a level of wealth that would render any legal fight between them a waste of time. Luc could afford the best lawyers and if he chose to seek custody of Jean-Claude she would stand no chance against him. For the moment at least, she was out of options. Luc had won as usual and she seethed silently. ‘I hate you,’ she spat at him, and he shrugged indifferently.

‘I’m devastated, chérie, but I won’t force you to endure my company. If you really can’t make Jean-Claude and what’s best for him your priority, then you’d better get out now. Say the word and I’ll ask my driver to stop and drop you off.’

Emily glanced out at the barren landscape, which was as dry and unforgiving as a desert. The empty road snaked past jutting boulders and huge, spiteful cacti, and once again fear gripped her. ‘You surely wouldn’t abandon us out here, miles from anywhere?’ she whispered and Luc gave her a chilling smile.

‘Of course not. I’ve told you, from now on Jean-Claude stays with me. But you are free to go wherever and whenever you like, mon amour.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ she said sharply, her body clenching in rejection of the careless endearment that even now had the power to make her long for the moon. She had never been his love. ‘Your cruelty is beyond belief,’ she whispered, and he gave a harsh laugh.

‘That you can accuse me of cruelty when you stole my son is also beyond belief but believe this, Emily, I do not forgive easily, and I will never forget.’

The barely concealed bitterness in his voice shook her and she took a deep breath as she concentrated on the scenery flashing past. Slowly her panic faded slightly as she envisaged the bustling airport. Presumably Luc was intending to fly back to England, but he would hardly be able to frogmarch her and Jean-Claude aboard a plane. Hopefully, if she kept her wits, there would be an opportunity to snatch back her son and slip away.

She forced herself to relax and bide her time, but in the tense silence her eyes turned involuntarily towards the man whose presence dominated the car. It wasn’t fair that he was so gorgeous, she thought bleakly, feeling a knife skewer her heart as she studied his stern profile. His incredible bone structure could have been fashioned from marble by one of the Old Masters. His olive-gold skin stretched taut over the hard planes of his face. Despite the fact that he was in his late thirties, there was no hint of silver in his thick black hair, and she closed her eyes on a wave of pain as she remembered the feel of it against her fingers when she had pulled his head down to hers. His mouth was to die for and he had delighted in teasing every inch of her body with it, his tongue a wicked instrument of torturous pleasure during their long hours of loving that had left her utterly satiated.

That had been a long time ago, she hastily reminded herself. In those first heady weeks of their marriage when she’d almost convinced herself she had done the right thing by marrying the enigmatic Frenchman and that he might one day even grow to love her as she loved him.

The illusion had been quickly shattered. They had spent the weekend after their wedding in Paris, too absorbed in their mutual passion for each other to do much sightseeing. On their arrival back in London, Luc had swept her into his arms as the lift carried them up to his penthouse flat, but instead of carrying her straight to the bedroom, he had hesitated in the doorway as the most beautiful woman Emily had ever seen moved forward to greet them.

Robyn Blake, once a world-famous model, was Luc’s sister-in-law as well as his personal assistant. She was exquisite, there was no other word to describe her, and Emily had immediately felt young and gauche, aware that her chain-store dress had been no match for Robyn’s designer outfit.

At first she had been taken in by Robyn’s apparent friendliness. Having spent her childhood in the shadow of her sisters, she was plagued by a crushing lack of self-confidence and had followed Robyn around like a puppy desperate to please its master. She had sought the older woman’s advice on everything from clothes and make-up to the problems that were emerging in her marriage, and it had taken her a long time to realise that Robyn was the cause of many of those problems.

She could not lay all the blame at Robyn’s door, she admitted miserably. Her own insecurity and lack of self-belief hadn’t helped any more than the growing realisation that Jean-Luc Vaillon was incapable of loving anyone. He had treated her suspicions about the true nature of his relationship with his PA with scathing dismissal. It was time she grew up instead of behaving like a silly child, he’d told her, but in her heart she accepted that he had never felt more than a faint affection for her and now she had proof that his reasons for making her his wife had been far more prosaic than love.

With a sigh she turned to find Luc watching Jean-Claude. He seemed utterly absorbed, as though he could not drag his gaze from his son, but he must have felt her scrutiny and she blushed as he lifted his head and subjected her to a hard stare. Pride dictated that she should turn away but she was trapped by the brooding sensuality that emanated from him, her eyes focused on his mouth, remembering the taste of him, the feel of his lips on hers. Suddenly she was too hot. The air inside the car seemed stifling despite the air-conditioning, and tiny beads of sweat formed above her top lip. She wanted to wipe them away but her hands were trembling and she shoved them into her lap, her tongue darting out to capture the salty pearls on its tip.

Luc’s eyes narrowed as he watched the nervous foray of her tongue and she knew with humiliating certainty that he was aware of her thoughts. What was the matter with her? she asked herself impatiently. He despised her, his contempt clearly visible in the cool grey gaze that speared her. He only tolerated her presence for the sake of his son so why was she consumed with this wild longing to feel his mouth on hers? She hated him, her mind totally rejected his ruthless power, but it seemed that her body had a will of its own and it recognised its master.

With a barely suppressed gasp she tore her gaze from his, biting down hard on her lip until she tasted blood. Luc was a cheat and a liar and he had broken her heart. For the sake of her self-preservation it was crucial that she remembered that fact.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she demanded, seeking refuge in her anger. ‘You lost the right to look at me like you own me when you increased your personal assistant’s duties.’

‘You’re still blinded by your ridiculous insecurities, I see,’ Luc murmured coolly, and her cheeks flooded with colour as his jibe hit home. She had always been so unsure of herself, especially where he was concerned, and she hated the fact that he had been aware of her vulnerability.

With her head turned determinedly away from him, Luc was left with the view of Emily’s taut shoulders and his eyes rested on the curve of her cheek and one small, pink ear, her long, dangly earring emphasising the slender column of her neck. She looked heartbreakingly young with her glorious chestnut hair caught up on top of her head. A few tendrils had escaped to curl around her cheek and he fought the urge to reach across and brush them back behind her ear, to cup her chin in his hand and turn her face to his.

What was he thinking? he berated himself furiously. This woman, his wife, had walked out on him without a backward glance. Not only that, but she had disappeared so conclusively that gossip and speculation among London’s society had been rife. He had been terrified for her safety, not knowing if she was alive or dead, but for all those long months she had been living quite comfortable in her Spanish hide-away.

Her accusation that he hadn’t wanted their child was ridiculous. His longing for their baby had shaken him with its intensity, but alongside hope had been fear. His secret terror that history would repeat itself had made him appear distant and his perceived disinterest had cost him dear.

He inhaled sharply and forced himself to drop his gaze to the baby who was sitting quietly in his child seat. Jean-Claude, his son. It still seemed incredible that this beautiful, wide-eyed baby was his own flesh and blood, yet there was no mistaking the likeness between them and his heart clenched in primitive recognition. Wonderingly he touched the baby’s satiny curls, which were as black as his own hair, and when Jean-Claude lifted his long lashes to survey him solemnly with huge, grey eyes, it was like looking into a mirror. His son, the child he’d feared he would never see. He loved him instantly, a huge wave of adoration sweeping through him, and he vowed that nothing would ever separate him from his child again.