Читать книгу A Very French Affair: Bought for the Frenchman's Pleasure / Breaking the Boss's Rules / Her Secret Husband - Эбби Грин - Страница 13

A FEW hours later, feeling very nervous, Sorcha stood on the shoreline again, this time in a simple knee-length white broderie anglaise dress from an exclusive designer. It was meant to be a wedding dress. Her hair was up in a loose knot, and a white orchid was tucked behind her ear.

Claire the stylist was muttering as she secured the dress at the back. ‘You would not believe the pressure I was under to get back here…And this dress—it’s not even been on the catwalk yet. We weren’t meant to be shooting it for another week. It had to come from Paris with a courier and a bodyguard. And now you’re the one that gets to be held in Romain’s arms…honestly…’

Held in his arms? Sorcha’s insides froze. Surely she just meant with his arm around her shoulders as they looked out at the sunset?

And then he was there, striding towards her. He wore a white tuxedo shirt that was open at the neck, a bow tie dangling untied. His black trousers were rolled up to the knee, showing off strong, shapely calf muscles. She felt weak.

The sun was setting over the horizon, and the mood of the crew was getting more frantic, with Simon and Dominic shouting out orders as they worked simultaneously. Romain came and stood before her, slanting a look down her body, taking in her long, slim, very pale legs.

‘Very sweet—almost virginal, in fact.’

Sorcha felt a familiar secret pain grip her. She had so much to hide from a man like this.

‘Let’s just get on with it, shall we?’ she bit out.

And in the next instant her world was upended and she was lifted against a broad, strong and very hard chest. Immediately and instinctively her arms had to go around his neck. Wide, surprised eyes clashed with his.

‘What the—?’

Romain felt the rigidity in her body. ‘Hush. We’re meant to be in love.’

‘Don’t make me sick! And if this is your idea of a joke—’

Simon came over and held a light meter close to Sorcha’s face, making her shut her mouth abruptly.

‘That’s great, guys. Let me know if you need a break, Romain. You’ll need to stand there for a while.’

Simon walked away and Sorcha smiled sweetly at Romain. ‘I do hope I’m not too heavy for you?’

‘Not at all,’ he said lightly. ‘Like the proverbial feather.’

His arms did feel secure around her—not a tremor. And Sorcha knew well that she wasn’t exactly small. She always ate well, but had been lucky enough to inherit a metabolism that burnt off calories quickly. Still, she was no lightweight. The fact that Romain seemed to be holding her so effortlessly made her feel small and feminine, delicate for the first time in her life.

She sighed deeply and looked out to sea. But as she sighed, her breasts moved against his chest. She stopped breathing as her nipples reacted and tightened.

His mouth came close to her ear and he whispered softly, his accent pronounced. ‘It helps if you breathe…’

She turned her head, and the retort on her lips was quickly forgotten. Their heads were so close together that she could feel his breath reach out and mingle with her own. She saw the deeper flecks of grey in his eyes, the small lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes, and that suddenly made her want to see him laugh, to see how they crinkled up.

Surrounded in a bubble of sensation, Sorcha couldn’t deny it any longer—not when she was held so tight against him. This man had broken through the wall that she’d built around her sexuality. He was smashing it down with what seemed to be little more than that proverbial feather.

Her other hand was somewhere around his shoulder. It had been in the act of pushing him away. But now the feel of his warm skin underneath the shirt was acting like a magnet. Completely unaware of what was going on around them, but perhaps subconsciously knowing that it might be sanctioned, Sorcha’s hand moved up of its own volition to his neck.

In a completely untutored and sensuous move that had Romain’s heart-rate soaring, Sorcha allowed the back of her hand to drift up his neck, pushing aside the open collar of his shirt. And then, her eyes following the movement as though mesmerised, her hand drifted upwards until her palm rested on his lightly stubbled jaw.

Romain stared down into her face. He willed her eyes to meet his, and as if she could hear him they did. A silken cord had wrapped itself around his every sense and he felt himself tighten and harden. She had become soft and pliant in his arms, her curves moulding to his form like a jigsaw piece slotting into place.

All Sorcha could see was his mouth. Her thumb moved closer, traced the corner of his lower lip. They were so close. And then his head dipped slightly. She felt his breath feather again. Her eyelids felt heavy and started to flutter closed. Every part of her was aching to feel that mouth on hers…

‘Very good! And do you know what? We don’t even need to see a kiss. I think this works really well…’

Simon’s voice cut through the haze of sensuality that had been clouding Sorcha’s brain like an alarm going off. She actually flinched—a minor movement, but one which had Romain gripping her tight to him again. But this time she held herself stiff and would not look at him. God. What on earth must he think? They’d been shooting all the time and Sorcha hadn’t even noticed!

Romain felt dazed…out of sync as he put Sorcha down until her feet touched the ground. Surrounded by all the crew, he couldn’t do what he wanted and keep her close, take that lush mouth as he’d been so close to doing. The way she’d been looking at him just then…He felt limbless. Had he just been taken for a complete fool?

After what seemed like aeons, he put her away from him with two hands. She was very shaky.

His mouth was hard, his face taut. ‘You’re a good actress.’

She looked up quickly and saw the harshness there, twisting his mouth.

Acting?

Well, if that was what he thought…thank God.

She forced a smile from somewhere and left the protection of his hands. Thankfully she didn’t fall at his feet, and with a briskness she certainly didn’t feel she said, ‘It’s my job. What you hired me for.’

And on very shaky limbs she walked over to the others and the protection of the busyness of the crew as they packed up.

The next day they were due to do a couple of quick shots in the morning and then travel to New York in the afternoon. Sorcha had tossed and turned all night, unable to get the memory of being in Romain’s arms out of her mind…her body. Giving up at six a.m., seeing the first light of dawn, she got out of bed. She knew what would calm her.

She put on her running clothes—a long sleeved T-shirt and jogging bottoms. Her battered sneakers. She tried to jog wherever she was, finding it to be almost like a form of meditation as well as exercise. She met no one on her way outside, and pulled back her sleep-mussed hair into a ponytail, heading for the beach. The air was crisp and fresh and blue skies promised another beautiful spring day, which in the west of Ireland was an anomaly to be savoured.

Hitting the beach, she found that it was pleasingly much bigger and longer than she’d expected, stretching away a few miles into the distance. After some warming up she set out at a steady pace. The repetition of movement, the control of her breath, all transported her away from disturbing thoughts and images.

About forty minutes later, feeling much calmer and very smug with herself, she came back closer to the house and stopped to rest at the seashore. Impulsively she took off her shoes and socks, wanting to feel the cold sting of the Atlantic on her hot feet. She contemplated going back to get her one-piece, knowing that the initial pain of the icy water would be far outweighed by the exhilarating feeling afterwards. As she stood debating whether or not to go back and get her suit, she looked out to sea and something caught her attention. Someone swimming. Powerful arms scissoring in and out of the water, a glimpse of a strong, olive-skinned back.

Her breath hitched and stopped. It could only be one person. No one else had that physique. And she knew that it would take more than average strength first of all to brave the icy Atlantic and then to swim in it. The currents were sometimes lethal. Mesmerised by his grace and beauty, she couldn’t move. And then, too late, she realised that he’d been coming closer all the time. The arms stopped and he stood waist-deep in the sea, water streaming off a perfectly muscled torso. Like some kind of god, he emerged from the waves, and the unreality of it all made Sorcha feel as if she was in some kind of dream.

It was only when he was walking out of the water, showing a broad chest that tapered into a slim waist, dark shorts which clung to powerful thigh muscles rippling under bronzed skin, that Sorcha finally seemed to come to her senses. The sleepless night had obviously taken its toll. She was standing there like some kind of drooling groupie!

With a strangled gasp, she turned and picked up her shoes and socks, about to make a hasty retreat. She hadn’t counted on his speed.

‘Wait.’

She stopped in her tracks. The serenity of the morning was gone. Her heart hammered anew, and it wasn’t from the exercise. She turned to face him and tried to look as blank as possible. It was hard. Romain stood just feet away, hands on hips, chest rising and falling, salt water sluicing off his skin, his hair plastered to a well-shaped skull.

‘Enjoying the view?’

She coloured in an instant and Romain frowned. The outraged virgin? Where had that come from? Just another aspect of Sorcha’s chameleon-like personality. He could see the way she held herself…so stiff…but when he’d been coming out from the water, when he’d seen her first, she’d had a look of something close to exultation on her face.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was out jogging. And I was merely making sure you were OK. I didn’t know who was swimming, and the currents here can be strong.’

He picked up a towel from nearby. She hadn’t even noticed it. ‘Would you have saved me if I’d got into trouble?’

Sorcha snorted inelegantly. ‘What do you think?’

He rubbed at his hair, totally unconcerned by her comment. With his face obscured momentarily, she couldn’t halt the inevitable slide of her gaze downwards again, seeing how the cold water had made his nipples hard. Her own seemed to pucker and tighten in direct response, and she hurriedly crossed her arms over the thin material of her T-shirt.

‘It was amazing.’ He jerked his head back towards the pounding waves.

Sorcha was distracted for a second, that sexy accent making her breath hitch again. And she did envy him the experience, knowing well how he must be feeling right now—the rush of endorphins, the tingling sensations as life came back into a body that would be near frozen.

‘I know.’ She sounded wistful. ‘It’s been a while since I swam in the sea here, but I remember.’

‘Nothing stopping you now. You could go in in your underwear. I can keep an eye.’

The lightness in his voice didn’t fool her for a second. And if he thought she was going to strip off in front of him…

She shook her head and watched with widening eyes as he proceeded to hitch the towel around his waist and strip off his shorts underneath. At the last second she whirled away from him.

‘Do you mind?’

Romain studied her taut back. Just who was Sorcha Murphy?

‘I’m decent again.’

Sorcha turned around reluctantly, relieved to see him buttoning up his jeans—although that led her eyes to his hands, and the line of dark hair that snaked up to his chest. A worn sweatshirt abruptly concealed him from view and she felt saggy with relief.

He strolled towards her nonchalantly. ‘So, why don’t you?’

She frowned, her head feeling muggy, unconsciously backing away ‘What?’

‘Go for a swim.’

She shook her head again. ‘No.’ And she struck off up the beach.

He kept pace with her all too easily.

She looked at him sideways, it seemed silly not to admit the truth. ‘But you’re right…I did think of it. I was going to go back inside and get my swimsuit.’

‘Coward,’ he called softly.

She avoided his eye, afraid of what she’d see, and looked at her watch. They were at the back of the house, a huge hedge obscuring them from view. ‘As I have to be in make-up in less than half an hour, I’m sure you don’t want to be encouraging me to be late?’

He spread an arm wide for her to precede him up the path and dipped his head. ‘Of course you’re right.’

She went to squeeze past him. The narrow gate was too small for two people, and he wasn’t budging an inch. Sorcha gritted her teeth, not even breathing, but even so she could feel his chest. She imagined it would still be cold from the sea…and were his nipples still hard?

She felt like screaming inwardly. Until she’d met him in New York, thoughts like this had never entered her head. She didn’t know if he was doing it deliberately, just to unsettle her, or because he—

Two arms came round her at that moment, and her heart skidded to a halt.

The feel of her lithe, athletic, yet lush body was too much for him. He was only human, and he couldn’t wait any more. Not after the extreme erotic torture of holding her in his arms yesterday and his sleepless night last night.

She looked up, panic-stricken. ‘What do you think you’re—’

‘Something I’ve wanted to do ever since I saw you across that room in New York, and more especially since yesterday…What we would have done if we hadn’t been interrupted.’

His powerful arms held her captive. She couldn’t move, and to do so would be to invite a friction between their bodies the thought of which made scorched colour enter Sorcha’s already pink cheeks. His words and her own body’s reaction scared the life out of her, but something joyous moved through her too, and that scared her even more witless.

She had to do something!

His head dipped, and she tried in vain to push with her hands.

‘Aren’t you afraid you might catch some immoral disease?’

His mouth hovered just inches away…Sorcha knew she should turn her head away—so why didn’t she? Her eyes, big as saucers, gazed up into his.

Romain felt his whole body tighten, felt fire blazing a trail along every vein and artery, pumping blood to areas that were becoming painfully engorged. He couldn’t even take in her words, or answer with any coherence.

Before Sorcha could move or stop him his head had dipped. The morning disappeared. Mad insanity arrived. Insanity that tasted delicious…like nothing she’d ever dreamt of before. This was a kiss unlike any other she’d experienced. The first press of his lips to hers was benedictory, almost reverent, and then he drew back. She opened her eyes. When had she closed them? And how had her hands crept up to his neck? The stark reality of what she was doing washed through her and she struggled again, but Romain was ruthless. He pushed her back against the gate, trapped her completely with his hard body.

‘No, you don’t…You want this just as much as me…’

‘No!’ she panted. ‘I don—’

And this time there was no gentle. He was hard, intrusive, ruthless, and determined to break through her every defence. His tongue forced her mouth open, made a bold foray into her mouth, and though she first had an instinct to bite…it turned quickly into a desire to explore, touch and taste. He tasted of salt water. His hand was on the back of her head, angling her better for his satisfaction. She gave a deep mewl in her throat and her treacherous hands climbed again, finding the way the skin grew silky around the back of his neck, where his wet hair made her think of him emerging from the sea just moments ago. That had a tight spiral of need starting in her belly and rising upwards, consuming every part of her on the way.

Her breasts felt sore, aching heavily against the thin material of her T-shirt and bra. She pressed herself closer, lost in a maelstrom of passion so dizzyingly new and overwhelming that she couldn’t even question it. Romain’s other hand smoothed down her back, all the way to her bottom, where he cupped one cheek, pressing her even closer, and all the time their mouths clung, tongues duelling in a frantic building heat that threatened to combust around them.

It was a dog barking that finally cut through the insanity that had taken them over. Romain noticed before she did, and pulled back with extreme reluctance. His eyes darted to a dune nearby, and he contemplated taking her right now, right there…the aching in his loins crying out for immediate release. But a dog would have an owner, and now was not the time or place. Something triumphant moved through him when he looked down into slightly glazed blue eyes. He’d been right. But when he’d sensed passion under that pale skin he hadn’t dreamt how incendiary it was. He smiled.

Sorcha finally reacted to his smile. It was smug…and something else. It made her heart turn over and at the same time her blood run cold. This time she pushed and he let her go. She fought to control her breathing, her hammering heart, and looked at him, trying not to let the confusion she felt show on her face.

‘I don’t know what you thought that was, but it won’t be happening again.’

She turned to walk away and he caught her back, catching her off guard. She fell against his body, and desire coiled tight in her abdomen again.

‘Yes, it will. And next time we won’t be interrupted.’

It was only then that Sorcha even noticed movement on the beach and saw someone walking their dog. Mortification twisted her insides. She glared back up at Romain.

‘You might think that every model in the world wants you to bed them, but believe me, I don’t. I haven’t changed my opinion of you, and you’re the last man on this earth that I’d want to sleep with.’

Before he could come back with some silky-smooth retort, with flaming cheeks she pulled free and ran back into the house.