The Frenchman's Marriage Demand

‘I agree that we need to do a paternity test,’ she said when he made no reply. ‘But why can’t we do it here in England? I don’t want to go anywhere with you.’

‘Tough.’ Zac checked Aimee was secure and then opened the driver’s door and slid into the car. ‘I have an urgent meeting with the Deverell board tomorrow at the Monaco office and so it’s more convenient for me to have it done in my private clinic at home. Get in the car,’ he snapped testily when she continued to stand outside in the rain. ‘I’ve chartered a private jet and my pilot can’t wait all day.’

Freya glowered at him as she climbed reluctantly into the passenger seat. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest and she wished she had the nerve to snatch Aimee and run. The torrential rain, her injured wrist and the bitter knowledge that he could effortlessly outmatch her in speed and strength made her stay put, but she edged as far away as possible from him once inside the car and stared pointedly out of the window.

‘You’ll have to give me directions to your flat,’ he said when he turned out of the hospital gates. ‘Aimee’s pushchair and a bag of her clothes are in the boot, courtesy of your grandmother,’ he added, his voice simmering with barely concealed anger. ‘You can have twenty minutes to pack, but I intend to leave within the next hour.’

Freya leaned back and closed her eyes wearily, overwhelmed by his determination. When Zac wanted his own way he invariably got it—but unless he intended to kidnap her and Aimee, he couldn’t make them get on his plane.

She was acutely conscious of him sitting beside her and when she peeped at him from beneath her lashes, the sight of his strong, tanned hands on the wheel made her feel weaker than ever. Once those hands had skimmed every inch of her body and explored her so intimately that the memory made her blush. He smelled of rain and damp leather, and the subtle scent of the cologne he favoured was achingly familiar, tantalising her senses and forcing her to remember the mind-blowing passion they had once shared.

It was over, she reminded herself angrily as she tore her gaze from his stern profile. He had tried and convicted her before she’d even understood the crime she was supposed to have committed. In a strange way his revelation about his vasectomy was almost a relief. His savage anger and rejection two years ago had destroyed her, but now at least she could understand why he had been so ready to believe that she’d been having an affair with Simon.

The fact that he had never mentioned his vasectomy when she’d lived with him emphasised how little she’d meant to him. The question of children had never arisen because she’d been Zac’s mistress and he hadn’t wanted a permanent relationship with her.

But the operation must have reversed. She didn’t know much about the procedure but presumably it hadn’t worked properly because Aimee was undoubtedly his daughter, she thought on a wave of near hysteria. What other explanation could there be?

After Aimee was born she had briefly considered asking Zac for a DNA test, but had decided against it. His reaction to her pregnancy had shown that he abhorred the idea of fatherhood and she had feared he would only take a reluctant role in his daughter’s upbringing.

At eighteen months old, Aimee was a happy, loving child whose confidence was built on the instinctive knowledge that she was loved unconditionally. She would not allow Zac to destroy that confidence, Freya thought fiercely, and she would do everything in her power to ensure that her child grew up with a sense of self-worth that she herself had been denied.

But now Zac had his own reasons for insisting on a paternity test. He was convinced that the results would absolve him of any responsibility for Aimee and she feared his reaction when he was finally forced to accept the truth.

After fifteen minutes, during which Zac barely contained his frustration as they crawled through the traffic, he pulled up outside the house where Freya occupied the top-floor flat and frowned at the peeling paintwork and general air of decay. ‘You live here? Mon Dieu, I assume it’s in better condition inside.’

‘Don’t bank on it,’ she muttered, feeling a peculiar pain around her heart as she watched Aimee raise her arms for Zac to lift her out of her seat. The little girl was usually shy with strangers. Did she feel a subconscious bond with her father? Freya wondered as she led the way up the front path. Once inside she preceded him up the stairs, aware that his silence was growing more ominous by the minute.

‘How were you planning to carry Aimee up and down four flights of stairs with your injured wrist?’ he enquired when they finally reached her front door. ‘What would you do if there was a fire? You’d never be able to evacuate quickly.’

‘I’d manage somehow, just as I always have,’ she replied stiffly, hovering in the narrow hallway in a vain attempt to block his way. She didn’t want him here, intruding on her life, but he ignored her and stepped past her into the cramped bedsit.

The flat was a mess—it seemed a lifetime ago that she had flown out of the door to drop Aimee at the nursery and continue on to work. Yesterday’s breakfast dishes were still piled up in the sink and the clothes-rack was festooned with a selection of her underwear. Zac was glancing around the room with a faint air of disbelief and she wished he would go away. She hated him seeing how she lived. ‘It’s not ideal, I admit,’ she mumbled, ‘but it’s all I can afford.’

‘I can’t believe you’re bringing a child up here,’ Zac said grimly, genuinely shocked by the squalid flat. Freya had obviously done her best to make the place feel homely with brightly coloured cushions scattered on the sofa and Aimee’s collection of teddies arranged on the dresser. But nothing could disguise the musty smell of damp plaster, and the bucket strategically placed to catch the rain leaking through the ceiling provided stark evidence that the old house was in a bad state of repair.

Her living conditions were none of his business, he reminded himself as he set Aimee down and she trotted over to her toy box. But now at least he could understand why she was so adamant that he was Aimee’s father—perhaps she had genuinely deluded herself into believing it in the hope that he would provide for her child?

Freya shrugged listlessly. ‘My living conditions have never bothered you before, Zac. Why the sudden concern?’ she asked coolly. She shrugged out of her wet jacket and belatedly remembered that she’d been unable to put on her bra when she had struggled into her clothes at the hospital. Zac’s eyes moved over her and to her horror she felt her breasts tighten.

The atmosphere in her tiny flat changed imperceptibly and she was aware of his sudden tension as she hastily folded her arms across her chest to hide the prominent peaks of her nipples. Now was not a good time to remember the connection they had once shared. She tore her gaze from the sensual curve of his mouth and tried to banish the memory of how it had felt when he had crushed her lips beneath his own.

‘I meant what I said earlier—I’m not coming to Monaco with you,’ she told him firmly, feeling more confident on her home territory. ‘You can’t make me, unless you intend to bind and gag me and bundle me onto your plane,’ she added when he said nothing and simply stared at her as if he could read the thoughts whirling around in her head.

He seemed to dominate the small room and she swallowed when he strolled towards her. ‘It’s tempting,’ he drawled, his blue eyes glinting dangerously. ‘Don’t goad me, chérie, or I might think you are trying to anger me on purpose.’

‘Why would I do that?’ Freya demanded, despising herself for the way her nerve endings sprang into urgent life at his closeness.

‘We always had the most amazing sex after an argument,’ he replied silkily, the sudden flare of amusement in his eyes warning her that he was aware of the effect he had on her. Freya blushed furiously and itched to slap him.

‘I don’t remember sex between us being anything more than mediocre,’ she lied. ‘Perhaps you’re thinking of one of your other lovers Zac. You’ve had plenty, after all.’

She almost jumped out of her skin when his hand suddenly shot out and he caught hold of her chin, tilting her head so that she had no option but to meet his gaze. ‘Nothing about our relationship in the bedroom was mediocre, chérie, and if we had more time I’d be tempted to prove that fact.’ The flare of heat in his eyes scorched her skin and she focused helplessly on his mouth, her tongue darting out to trace the curve of her bottom lip in an unconscious invitation. The atmosphere was electric, she could almost feel the sparks shooting between them, but then he abruptly released her and moved away, his expression unfathomable.

‘Be thankful that I am in a hurry to get back for a dinner date tonight,’ he growled as he scooped her underwear from the clothes rack and dumped the pile of pretty lace knickers in her hands. ‘And hurry up and pack or you’ll find yourself travelling to Monaco sans your lingerie.’

Freya glared at him, her jaw aching with the effort of holding back her furious retort. He was so smug, and, as usual, so in control of the situation, nothing ever dented his supreme self-confidence. She hated him for every foul accusation he’d flung at her, every scathing insult that she was an unfaithful, gold-digging tramp. But even though he was looking at her as if she were something unpleasant that had crawled from beneath a stone, she could not deny the inexorable tug of desire that coiled low in her stomach.

It was devastating to realise that, despite everything he had done to her, she still wanted him. Where was her pride? she asked herself. Zac had used her body for sex and abused her fragile heart with his cruelty and contempt. But seeing him again had opened up the feelings she had tried so hard to suppress since he had ruthlessly dismissed her from his life.

She had never got over him, she acknowledged dismally. He had been the love of her life, but the molten heat surging through her veins was caused by lust, not love, she assured herself frantically. She’d learned the hard way never to waste her emotions on him because he had certainly never loved her and he never would.

The last thing she wanted to do was go to Monaco with him, but what choice did she have? she brooded as her gaze fell on her little daughter. As usual, Zac was right; she was never going to manage the stairs with Aimee and the pushchair while her wrist was so painful, and she had lain awake for most of the previous night worrying about how she would cope.

Her heart jolted in her chest as she accepted the unpalatable truth that she would have to go with him for now. She had no idea how long it would take for Zac to arrange a paternity test and await the results but it couldn’t be more than a week or two, she consoled herself. And by then her wrist would be stronger and she would be able to return home.

She would go to Monaco, but this time she would be on her guard and would not give in to the undeniable sexual attraction that still smouldered between them, she vowed fiercely. She was no longer a naïve girl, she was an independent woman, and she would not be tempted by the sizzling sexual promise in Zac’s bold gaze.

The bright lights of Monaco blazed against a backdrop of black velvet. As the helicopter swooped low over the coastline Zac glanced over his shoulder. Aimee was fast asleep, sitting next to the nanny he had hired. ‘We’re almost there,’ he murmured reassuringly to the uniformed woman. ‘May I say how grateful I am that you were able to join us at such short notice, Mrs Lewis.’

Jean Lewis smiled. ‘I’m glad to help. With any luck I’ll be able to put Aimee straight to bed without waking her. She’s worn out, poor poppet.’

With a brief nod, Zac turned back and glanced at Freya who was sitting stiffly beside him, the mutinous tilt of her chin causing him to curse irritably beneath his breath. If anyone had told him when he’d set out for Deverell’s London offices that he would return to Monaco with his ex-mistress and her child in tow, he would have laughed out loud, he thought with a humourless smile.

His eyes trailed over her and he felt his body’s involuntary reaction to the sight of her small breasts outlined beneath her blouse. Once again Freya had turned his life upside down. After their bitter parting two years ago, he had neither wanted nor expected to see her again, but, even knowing what she had done, he was finding it impossible to ignore her.

Freya felt Zac’s eyes on her and stiffened when he shifted slightly in his seat so that his thigh brushed against hers. When they had left England aboard the private jet, he had sat at the front of the plane, his attention focused exclusively on his laptop. It had suited her fine—she had nothing to say to him that wouldn’t blister his ears anyway—but when they’d arrived in Nice and boarded his helicopter for the short journey to Monaco, her heart had sunk when he had sat down next to her.

She had tried her best to ignore him but unfortunately her senses refused to fall into line and she was agonisingly aware of his closeness. The subtle tang of his cologne was tantalisingly familiar, causing her nerve endings to prickle.

She did not want to feel like this, she thought angrily as she edged away from him. It was humiliating to realise that he could still affect her so strongly, despite everything he had done to her. But it had always been the same; she had never been able to resist him and unfortunately just about every other woman on the planet shared her fascination.

The months she had spent with him had been the happiest but also the most nerve-racking of her life and her ever-present fear that he would tire of her had added to her deep insecurity.

Zac was one of Monaco’s most eligible bachelors and at the many parties they had attended he had always been the centre of attention. Women had flocked around him and made their interest clear with a bold smile or knowing glance loaded with sensual invitation. He had responded to their blatant flirting with one of his cool, faintly sardonic smiles, and she’d felt reassured. But Annalise Dubois had been different.

The stunning glamour model had pursued Zac with relentless determination and had shamelessly flaunted her spectacular figure in clingy silks and satins that made the most of her eye-catching cleavage.

Beside her, Freya had felt pale and insipid and she hadn’t been able to help but notice the way Zac’s eyes had lingered appreciatively on the Frenchwoman’s curves. Jealousy had been a green-eyed monster that festered in her soul, making her edgy and paranoid. She’d hated to be apart from him and had questioned his every move—every late night at the office or business trip that had taken him away for days at a time.

She’d known that her behaviour had angered him, but as he’d grown increasingly distant from her, so her terror had increased that he had been tiring of her. The only time she had felt secure was when they had been in bed. There at least his passion for her had shown no sign of diminishing, but he had shut her out of every other aspect of his life and she’d felt as though her only role had been to provide convenient sex on demand.

Choking back a cry, she dragged her mind from the past. She had spent the past two years determinedly trying to forget the life she’d shared with Zac and she must be mad to have agreed to return to Monaco with him.

‘Do you still live at the penthouse?’ she asked stiffly, seizing on the faint hope that he had moved from the elegant, marble-floored apartment where she had once kidded herself that he might fall in love with her.

‘Oui. The location suits me and I enjoy the view over the harbour,’ he replied coolly.

Freya recalled the spectacular view from the penthouse over Monaco’s busy port and the vast stretch of the Mediterranean beyond. ‘Do you still keep The Isis moored there?’