Hot Picks: Secrets And Lies: His Mistress with Two Secrets (The Sauveterre Siblings) / More than a Convenient Marriage? / A Debt Paid in Passion. Dani Collins
her file to a specialist here in Paris—whom they’d briefly met on arrival in the city.
He liked the London flat fine. He and Cinnia had made it a sort of base in the past and had been comfortable there, but family came and went from that residence.
This penthouse was his. With six bedrooms, his family each had a room here, but only stayed occasionally. His mother and sisters typically put themselves up in the secure flat atop the girls’ design house, Maison des Jumeaux, while his brother made do with hotels—so he could have a guest if he desired.
Henri preferred these spacious rooms with their modern decor and plethora of conveniences. It was his retreat, a space he had purchased for himself for the private terrace overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the Seine.
Cinnia let out a sigh as they entered, exactly expressing how he felt.
She had always been a pleasant companion, providing a side commentary that made cocktail parties or gala dinners that much easier to endure, but always as relieved as he was to close the door on the world.
She took off her coat and hung it herself like she’d arrived into her own home.
He watched with a twist in his gut, realizing how much he’d taken her place in his life for granted. He’d been impatient when she had sounded like she wasn’t satisfied with their arrangement. He had been. Eminently. You didn’t mess with perfection.
He’d been furious with her that morning. He’d not only resisted allowing her to stir things in a different direction, but he’d also let her go to prove to himself he would quickly get past any disappointment at her departure.
He hadn’t. Her absence had been eating a hole in him, not least of which because he had no interest in other women. It was the longest stretch in his life he’d been abstinent since discovering what the opposite sex had to offer.
She had her back to him, not even looking pregnant from this angle. She was his ever-alluring Cinnia with her wavy blond hair falling down her narrow back and her lovely round bottom creating an exquisitely feminine hourglass below her wide shoulders. Her supple backside flexed as she kicked off her shoes into the closet.
He wanted her. Craved her. Had for months.
Hell. When had he not hungered for her? From the first moment he’d seen her, he’d been captivated.
Now, finally alone with her, the talons of lust were taking a firm hold in him—destructive lust, since the press already knew something was up, forcing a lot of trying detours today. He needed to keep his head, his mind, focused.
He ought to keep his distance, but he moved to stand beside her and toed off his own shoes.
He could smell that familiar, elusive scent of hers. Subtle. She never wore anything overpowering. He always had to get in close to catch the faint hints of rain and roses in her hair, lavender and geranium on her skin.
Her profile was stark, shadows playing deep into the contours of her face, making her look pale and shell-shocked. She stared into the closet like she was searching for a passageway to another world.
“What’s wrong?” His arm went out in a reflexive need to catch and hold. He hooked it across the top of her chest, pivoting to draw her back into him.
“Nothing.” His action turned her and she lifted her gaze to where they were reflected in the mirror by the door. Her hands came up to hold on to his forearm, but she didn’t press him to remove his touch.
He looked at their reflection.
Her brow pleated with accusation before hurt clouded into her sky blue eyes. She lowered her lashes to hide it, but her mouth remained pouted with disappointment.
In him.
He tightened his arm on her.
“I didn’t think I had to ask why you wanted to leave, chérie. You told me why. You’re not allowed to hate me for letting you go when you said it’s what you wanted. I’m not a barbarian. I wasn’t going to keep you against your will.”
Laughter burst out of her. “Really? Where am I now? With how much choice?”
He folded his other arm across her, splaying a hand over the babies he would protect with his life. “You could have been honest. You decided to make this hard by not telling me.”
Her lips trembled and she tightened her mouth to steady them. “Two years is a long time to be a courtesan, Henri. I wanted to know I meant more to you than sex for hire.”
“You do.”
“Do I?” Her gaze flashed back to his in the mirror, filled with dejection as she nudged her bottom into his groin. Where he was hard. “That’s all you ever gave me. That and jewelry, and now a pair of babies. Never you.”
“This is me,” he said through gritted teeth, barely containing himself as a rush of excitement went through him at the press of her soft cheek. He chucked his chin at his reflection. “This man who is obsessed enough to risk bringing you into my home, where you can see the inner workings of my life. Do you honestly think our affair was something I took on lightly? No, damn you, it wasn’t. It’s a weakness. A dangerous indulgence. But I wanted you. I want you all the time. Do you really expect me to apologize for giving in to that? When you want me every bit as much?”
She tried to glare him down in the mirror, challenging his claim, but he dismissed her bravado with a scoffing breath of a laugh.
“You’re nipples are hard, chérie. Think I haven’t noticed?” He slid his hand to cup her breast, full enough now to make him splay his fingers to contain the abundant flesh.
She gasped and hunched away from his touch, bumping into him to escape the pressure.
He released her with a jolt of shock. “I hurt you?”
“They’re really tender.” Her eyes were shiny with tears.
He turned her to face him and asked, “Can you make love?” The doctor had said it was safe, but if it would be painful for her—
She threw back her head and he braced for another rejection.
But as he held her gaze, unable to disguise how ferociously he ached to make love with her, the glow of outrage dimmed in her eyes.
His pulse hammered in his throat, in his chest, in his groin. He might have tightened his hands on her arms, unconsciously urging her to match his need. He couldn’t be the only one affected this deeply. It was too much to bear.
Her blue irises began to swim with longing and her weight pressed into his hold. Her shoulders dropped in capitulation.
He swore, control snapping. He cupped her face and kissed her. He tried to be gentle, tried to hang on to a semblance of control, but damn it, it had been so long. He opened his mouth wider to take full possession of hers, finally tasting her again and feasting on what he’d been missing. He curled his fist into the silken tresses that had grazed every inch of his naked skin at one time or another, wrapped his other arm around her so his hand braced between her flexing shoulder blades, and he kissed her without restraint. He took.
Raided.
Owned.
And she gave.
She slid her fingers into his hair and pressed him to kiss her harder, opened her mouth beneath his and met his tongue with hers. She scraped her teeth against his lips and clung across his shoulders with a slender arm and let her knee crook up to his thigh.
She moaned in the way that begged him to take her to bed and find fulfillment with her. Within her.
His skin stung, feeling too tight for the heat of desire exploding in him. It was a monster that wanted to consume both of them. He scraped his teeth down her throat to where her neck joined her shoulder. That fantastic, exciting place that always made her gasp and shiver and soften her knees so she wilted in his embrace.
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