Forbidden Fantasy Read online

  Though he was still fast asleep, his snoring had stopped. Somehow he’d managed to turn onto his side.

  Smiling, she savored the moment. She had pulled off a pretty slick trick, if she did say so. Six months ago it would never have occurred to her to think up such a stunt, much less carry it out.

  Shaking her head at what she’d done, she decided that maybe she’d just gone round the bend, after all. And Lauren-Claire wasn’t here to tell her. A giggle escaped her lips at the thought of her friend. Whatever would Lauren-Claire think of what she’d gone and done?

  She supposed it wasn’t any worse than her friend’s vow to lasso and hog-tie herself a cowboy. Maybe Lauren-Claire wouldn’t be so shocked, after all. She’d most likely only be shocked by the fact that Zoe had had the nerve to do the handcuffing.

  Come to think of it, she thought, taking a sip of warm milk, she was pretty shocked herself.

  What was she doing? Maybe she had better rethink what she’d done. She had acted on impulse. She hadn’t really thought it through. And that was what had gotten her in Paris in the first place.

  “This is interesting….”

  The low, sleepy drawl stopped Zoe cold; warm milk splashed from her mug.

  She faced the bed… and the music.

  Except she was met with le mauvais garçon … Grey, grinning a classic, bad-boy grin.

  “Shouldn’t you be upset?” she asked, unnerved by his indolent acceptance… by that and the look in his eyes, the lazy assessment.

  “You tell me.”

  Her hand shook as she went to set her mug and the tin of biscuits on a nearby desk, so she could turn on the light.

  How was it he was still the one in control? she wondered, leaning back against the desk and looking at him through narrowed eyes. The fingers of her right hand rested on something cool made of metal—a pair of scissors.

  It took all her skill to keep a poker face when she picked them up and walked toward him, brandishing them. “How fond are you of those jeans you’re wearing?”

  He laughed—a nervous laugh.

  She stood over him, working her fingers in the scissors, so that the silent room echoed the snip, snip sound.

  “I brought these jeans with me from America,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh,” he answered distractedly, his eyes on the snipping scissors.

  “How come you haven’t sold them? You can get a fortune here in France for American jeans,” she said, tapping the scissors absently against her chin.

  “These are my favorite jeans.”

  “What a shame….”

  “You aren’t planning on cutting them off, are you?”

  “The jeans, you mean?”

  “Yeah, the jeans…. What else would you be cutting off?” He looked a little pale.

  “Depends on how you spell it. There’s jeans and there’s genes.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She began toying with the scissors again, making that snipping sound. “Really, it would be no problem,” she assured him. “I have noticed your jeans are a little, uh, snug.”

  “Please. If you just put the scissors down and ease the buttons open carefully when you take them off, I’ll be fine, thank you.”

  “Oh, so polite. I like that.”

  “Okay, so put the scissors down….” he coaxed.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “There’s something else I should tell you, then.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “I’m not into pain.”

  Her smile was so pure, it frightened him when she cooed, “Trust me, this won’t hurt a bit.”

  “Dear me,” he said, closing his eyes.

  They flew open again when he heard the scissors snip.

  “No!”

  “Ye-es.”

  “Zoe, no! I mean it. I forbid you.”

  “Watch me.” Holding her long hair out straight, she continued snipping, until all that remained was a gamine’s cap of curls.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked when she was done.

  “Because I wanted to. Because tonight I want to be the one in control,” she said, sitting down on the bed beside him. “Because tonight I want…” wanton desire lurked in her eyes as she cupped him intimately “..you.”

  “Damn woman.”

  “Mind your manners,” she said, trailing her finger over his mouth.

  “Does this mean I’m going to have to say please…?”

  “Count on it.”

  “Damn.”

  “What was it you said? Just slip the buttons open carefully?” she asked, doing just that.

  “Who’s going to undo your buttons?” he asked, blowing warm breath onto her neck as she worked, lifting the new, wispy curls at her nape. “Hey, you know what. I think I like your new haircut.”

  “So do I.”

  “Zoe?”

  “Hmm…”

  “Aren’t you taking rather a long time to do that?”

  “It’s because you’re not cooperating.”

  “Is that a fact? But what can I do to help, my hands being shackled and all?”

  “Think cold shower.”

  “Ouch.”

  “They’re all undone.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  “What?”

  “You coming all undone in my arms … except I guess that won’t happen tonight.” He clicked the handcuffs against the brass headboard.

  “Stick around and find out,” she said, tugging off his jeans.

  “Cute.”

  “I think so,” she said, touching his erection.

  “You know you’re going to get it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Grey?”

  “Yes?” he gasped.

  “Shut up.”

  The moonlight provided just enough light for her to trace the planes and hollows of his sculptured body with her long nails.

  She felt him shudder deliciously under her touch and bent to trail tiny kisses over each rib, ending at his navel.

  Her teeth followed with biting nips at the base of him, making his legs grow rigid as he strained toward her, his hands unable to assist his quest.

  “Lie still,” she whispered, sliding her hands beneath his buttocks as she slowly licked the length of him until he was writhing, strangled moans escaping clenched teeth.

  “Zoe …”

  “Not just yet,” she answered, controlling the pace of their lovemaking, high on the power.

  She slid her body up the length of his, then straddled him. A sweetly scented breeze drifted in through the open French doors.

  “What do you think?” she asked, toying with the buttons of the shirt she was wearing. “Should I take it off?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I don’t know,” she teased. “I think I’ll leave it on for a while.”

  His eyes flashed, and he made a sudden move that pinned her beneath him, where he held her with insistently urgent kisses, taking her breath away.

  Moving his mouth to her ear, he whispered huskily, “Take it off, please baby, please.”

  “You’ll have to let me up.”

  He rolled to one side, watching her as she slowly unbuttoned the shirt, then surprised him by pulling it over her head with one swift motion and dropping it to the floor.

  He smiled as she crawled toward him, straddling him once again, her warmth settling against his belly. Leaning forward, she began teasing his face with her breasts, keeping them just out of reach of his clever tongue….

  “Please …” he finally whispered huskily and she rewarded his politeness, introducing his mouth to first one and then the other—straining to stay in control as he went a little wild.

  She pulled away from him finally, sitting up.

  “Any special requests
…?” she asked, still teasing, slowly rotating her hips as she sat astride him, so he could feel she wanted him.

  He just stared hard at her, his eyes promising that if only his hands were free, she wouldn’t be nearly so daring, so wicked, so bad.

  “No?” she said, moving from him and off the bed. “In that case, I’ll just take my milk and cookies and go to bed.”

  “Zoe …” The low growl was a command.

  When she reached the doorway, she turned and looked back over her shoulder. “Was that an order I just heard in your voice?”

  “No,” he breathed, correctly judging her game.

  “A request maybe, then …?”

  He nodded. “A special request.”

  She turned and set the milk and cookies upon the desk.

  “I can’t hear you …” she said, playfully putting her hand to her ear.

  “S’il vous plaît…Please…I want you.”

  “How bad do you want me?”

  “As bad as you get.”

  Turning out the light with a low, sexy laugh, she proceeded to show him … to burn scorching, unforgettable images upon his memory, setting herself free.

  “I’ve never made love to a woman like you,” Grey said, smiling at her in wonderment later as they lay cuddling. After she had had her way with him, she’d wanted his arms around her. His eyes drifted closed as they lay sated, comforted and spent in the hazy afterglow of lovemaking.

  Zoe sighed, content.

  “Are you all right?” Grey asked, concerned.

  She nodded, murmuring, “I’m fine, really fine.”

  “You are that,” he agreed with a sleepy yawn, his hand patting her bottom in a sweet caress.

  “And you’re not so bad yourself,” she added.

  He laughed roughly. “That isn’t what you said earlier, chérie.”

  Her remembering chuckle was wicked with naughty intonations. “But you’re so good when you’re bad….”

  “I’ll remind you of that when I can walk again. Right now, if I don’t get some sleep, I won’t be good for anything.”

  She lay beside him, her body still tingling with the imprint of his exquisite touch. He had staked his claim, freeing himself and reveling in her untapped sensuality. He’d been very vocal in his response—as had she. She smiled to herself; while their lovemaking had been white-hot, it had also been an exchange between equals.

  She liked being equal. Liked it one hell of a lot.

  While she had banished her insecurity, there were still some doubts and questions. She felt better than she had in a long time—even if her life had been turned upside down and inside out.

  A GUST OF WIND rattled the balcony doors, waking Zoe from a deep sleep filled with erotic dreams of marble statues licked by flames. She opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room filled with bright sunlight. Blinking to adjust her eyes to the sudden brightness, she yawned, then stretched, sliding her hands into her hair.

  Her hair!

  It was short.

  Images from the past evening filled her mind.

  She looked over—to find Grey gone. In his place lay an envelope addressed to her.

  Picking it up, she stared at the slash of her name on the pale envelope. Her heart hammered in premonition as she opened it. For a moment the words swam before her eyes—there was only one line of script, but it had the impact of a sucker punch.

  Maybe this was a mistake.

  Grey

  What? She held her head, feeling a little fuzzy from the past night’s wine and lack of sleep. What did this mean? Where was he? Had he gone completely?

  “Grey,” she called, getting up and pulling his shirt over her head.

  There was no answer.

  She went into her bedroom and crossed to the window, looking down on the entrance to the château. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. The Porsche was still there.

  He’d just gone for a walk to think things over. She decided to draw a bath and think the situation through—she always did her best thinking in the bath. She’d use the time to bathe and get dressed, so they could talk when he returned from his walk.

  She needed to collect her thoughts, too. But she found it hard to think of anything but Grey and their lovemaking—the incredible romance of the night they’d shared and the barriers she’d let down.

  Would she ever really know the sensual, elegant creature she had been in the dark hours of the night? She was sure the husband she’d left would have been shocked by her wild abandon. A wild abandon that had strangely brought her a sense of control … power.

  A sense of herself as a woman.

  Letting go had been exhilarating beyond relief, and Grey had matched her, move for move. Had it been just the seductive quality of the night? Finding herself in a different situation had allowed her the freedom to express her sensual side, and for that she would always be grateful to Grey.

  How did he feel about her?

  It was more than sheer animal magnetism… though they had that in abundance. There had been more—something that spoke without words in the dark. Their attraction had been emotionally stimulating because of the acceptance they’d given each other. The daring exposure of their most secret selves had only enhanced the physical pleasure.

  Her whole body ached with his lovemaking, her skin was alive as she moved the soapy sponge over it. Closing her eyes, the last several days drifted past in images… wisps of lingerie, white-lace-edged sheets, lazy laps in the pond, the knock of a croquet mallet hitting a ball, the firelight dancing over the hard contours of Grey’s body, a whimsical carousel.

  Could their love and desire only survive when they retreated from the world? What would they be to each other in the revealing light of day?

  She poured a luxurious amount of shampoo into the palm of her hand and began soothing it through her short cap of curls.

  Was she being scandalously self-indulgent? Perhaps. But she’d settled for less, compromised her needs, only to find the deal came with a heavy price.

  Maybe it wasn’t fair to blame her husband; she truly knew his heart had been in the right place. There had been a lot right with her marriage. Her husband had taken his vows seriously, wanting to protect and honor her… There hadn’t been other women. But she’d had to compete against his job. He hadn’t meant to make her unhappy. He’d only neglected to make her happy… or to allow her to make herself happy.

  One thing was certain. Grey had rocked her world.

  She knew there was no perfect person, just as there was no perfect relationship. The goal of a relationship should be for each to help the other to be the best person he or she could be.

  She was happy, but confused about her feelings when she left the bath to dress.

  Wrapping herself in a plush bath towel, droplets of water still on her shoulders, she went into Grey’s bedroom to retrieve the mug and tin of biscuits to return them to the kitchen. She would see what she could scrounge up to fix him for breakfast. Surely there would be enough to make omelets. He should be back soon from his walk, and the exercise would have made him hungry.

  As she was turning to leave the bedroom, a flutter of filmy plastic caught her eye in the armoire. She went to investigate and found her hunch had been right. Grey was keeping her dry cleaning there. Now she had something to wear.

  Something made her pause and look back at the armoire. Going back to it, she saw what had troubled her. It was empty of Grey’s clothes. She glanced around the room. Nothing of his remained. No toiletries, no tennis shoes or cowboy boots. Nothing.

  “Grey?” she called, a sinking feeling settling in her empty stomach.

  Leaving the bedroom, she hurried down the stairs.

  In the hall was the confirmation of what she feared. Moving aside the car keys and money laid on top her passport, she picked up the note.

  The few scribbled lines on the paper hit her hard.

  He hadn’t gone for a walk to think
about them.

  He’d left her.

  The coward.

  10

  ZOE REREAD THE NOTE when her eyes had cleared from the first shock of reading what it said. The château was rented for three more days, if she wanted to stay on. When she was ready, she could drive the Porsche back to Paris and leave it parked outside the loft, where he would have it picked up.

  He was confused, needed time to think and was going to hitchhike to the South of France.

  She tapped the note against her hand. Had she been so very wrong about what they had shared during the past few days?

  No. She was good for him. Why, he hadn’t even smoked one cigarette since they’d arrived… not even after last night. She had turned an arrogant, aloof man into a man who smiled and laughed out loud.

  Her decision was instantaneous.

  She was going after him. She’d have to hurry dressing and gathering everything up if she hoped to catch up to him. She’d already lost precious time dawdling in the bath in a haze of romantic bliss.

  Whom was she kidding? she admonished herself as she took the stairs two at a time. With a destination as vague as the South of France she was going to need nothing short of a miracle to find him.

  In less than ten minutes she was ready. Rushing downstairs, she caught sight of herself in a mirror and realized she now looked French with her short haircut.

  Grabbing the keys to the Porsche, she pulled the door shut behind her. As she hurried down the lavender-lined path, she began sneezing, remembering the night she’d arrived at the château asleep in Grey’s arms…Sleeping Beauty, awaiting the prince’s kiss to wake her from her slumber.

  Grey’s kisses had certainly done that, weaving some sort of enchantment over her. Oddly she was in high spirits despite the situation. She possessed a strength and confidence she couldn’t have imagined before this idyll.

  Reaching the Porsche, she climbed inside, glancing nervously at the loaded cockpit. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she grasped the steering wheel and inserted the key into the ignition, feeling the power of the low sports car purr to life beneath her hands.

  “Take me to your owner,” she pleaded, putting the car into gear, wincing at the stripping sound, tires spewing gravel as she headed south in search of Grey.