Forbidden Fantasy Page 9

  “Did he ever do anything like this with you?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Did you wish that he would have?”

  Zoe didn’t answer.

  “You secretly wanted him to, didn’t you?”

  She still didn’t answer him.

  “You should have told him.”

  She looked away.

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  “I can’t look at you and talk about things like… like this.”

  “But you’d… look at me if I were to—” he leaned forward and trailed his finger down the inside of her calf and on inside her thick sock to stroke the arch of her foot. “—make love to you….”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not going to, you know,” he said, withdrawing his hand and leaning back in his chair.

  “Why? Are you impotent?” she asked, turning back to face him.

  His laugh was rich and lusty as he rose from the chair and stretched, revealing the power of his body. Walking to the window, he pushed aside the lace panel and looked down over the garden. Finally he glanced back at her.

  “No. I’m not impotent.”

  “Then…”

  “I wanted you to be my mistress for a week because I wanted to pleasure you, not me. I wanted to talk to you… find out what you want and need.”

  “Did Kirsten and Jill talk to you, those long, lazy summer afternoons?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’d forgotten how it was, talking with a woman.”

  “Suppose I don’t want to talk. Suppose what I want—what I really want is for you to make fevered, urgent, demanding love to me.”

  “It’s not going to happen,” he said, returning to slouch in the chair.

  She turned away from him.

  “Don’t misunderstand me. It isn’t that I don’t want to, ah, ravish you. It’s just that I’m not sure you know what you want. Maybe you’re having second thoughts about going back to—”

  “No. I know—” She bit her lower lip nervously. “I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to go back to a man making my decisions for me. I don’t want a one sided, traditional relationship, like the kind my marriage was. I was so young, maybe too young, when I got married. I didn’t know any better, so I allowed it. I won’t again.”

  “So you’re saying your husband was too dominant.”

  “Everywhere but in the bedroom.”

  “So he wasn’t any good in bed… that’s why you left him.”

  “No. His lovemaking was tender and sweet. Wonderful, actually… but it’s just that…”

  “What?”

  “Well, I always felt that he was following my lead. He never did anything…I don’t know…he never seemed to get swept away by passion. He treated me like I might break.”

  “Maybe he was afraid. Did you ever consider that?”

  “A cop…afraid?”

  “Yeah, of hurting you, offending you, maybe… looking silly in front of you, even, by getting carried away,” he suggested, moving from the chair to sit on the bed beside her. Reaching out, he began tracing a pattern on her bare abdomen with lazy indolence.

  “A man would be afraid of those things?”

  “Sure. What if he took the lid off Pandora’s box, releasing his repressed longing and desires, and you were unable to fulfill them?”

  “Have you ever thought there was a part of you that wasn’t being fulfilled?” she asked, squirming as his hand wandered.

  “I ask the questions, remember?”

  “But that’s not fair.”

  “Fair?” He lifted her foot and began tugging off her slouchy sock with his teeth. “It’s my game,” he said, beginning to kiss her instep when he had removed the sock. “If you don’t like it, I’ll take my ribbons and go home. Is that what you want?” He was nibbling at her soft rounded heel as his hand slid down her smooth calf to her inner thigh, where his fingers began toying with the edge of her high-cut panties.

  Her “No,” escaped on a strangled note when his long fingers inched farther. With her wrists still secured by ribbons, she was forced to accept the pleasure he insisted on giving her again… and again.

  Who was he really? she wondered.

  She did know one thing.

  He was good with his hands.

  8

  ZOE CLOSED THE BOOK she’d chosen from the selection Grey had brought up for her from the library before locking her in the bedroom and leaving the château once again. She’d had no intention of staying put, but she wasn’t in a rush to leave him soon, either. After he’d left, she’d filled the old-fashioned tub with warm, scented bubbly water and settled in for a long, decadent soak.

  Once she’d picked up the thriller to read, she’d become engrossed, not even noticing at first when the water grew cold. Feeling the chill, she’d toweled off and lain across the bed to continue reading. The vampire in the book was an enigma, not unlike Grey.

  Now the sound of the car signaled Grey’s return. Setting the book aside, she got up from the bed and went to the tall casement window. It was dark outside, but she could still make out Grey’s tall, shadowy figure in the moonlight as he walked up the lavender-lined path in his bomber jacket and jeans, his arms full of packages.

  When he reached the front door, she turned away from the window and went to the armoire to look for something to wear. She was faced with only one option: a sheer white, all-lace camisole and matching thong bikini. While the garments were exquisite, putting them on was only marginally better than wearing nothing.

  She slipped them off the padded hanger.

  Where did Grey go when he left her?

  Kneeling before the armoire to rummage through the tissue-wrapped packages stacked in the bottom, she came up with a pair of white lace-topped thigh-high stockings to match the camisole and bikini.

  While removing them from their tissue wrapping, she caught sight of the small, locked oblong box still in the bottom of the armoire. She’d meant to open it while Grey was out. Zoe promised herself she would find out what was inside the locked box at the next opportunity.

  Who was Grey really? she wondered, slipping the camisole over her head, letting it glide down over her smooth shoulders to snag on her upturned breasts, then settle provocatively.

  What did he really want with her? Was it only a week of uninhibited lovemaking? She pulled on the teeny thong bikini. He’d said he wanted her to be his mistress for a week—to submit to him totally.

  What would happen when their week was up? Would he stay at the château.. .go back to Paris… travel around Europe… or would he return to the States?

  And what did she feel for him?

  Grey was dominant, yet understanding. He was sensitive to her feelings. But he also seemed unsure, as if he, too, were exploring what he really wanted, needed. Perhaps he wasn’t offering her security… only adventure.

  Paradoxically, she wanted both.

  In the six months she’d been in Paris, she had enjoyed the adventure, but missed the security of her old life.

  In the days she’d spent with Grey she’d thrilled to his exciting sexual games, but missed the unshakable faith in her husband’s love. While her husband had neglected her, he had loved her. In her heart she knew that. Could a man who was willing to test limits…sexual boundaries, make the same promise of faithfulness that was necessary to her?

  Did Grey want marriage?

  Did she want him without it?

  Or did she only want a man who was somewhere between the traditional husband she’d married and the untraditional lover who was awakening her?

  Did she want it all?

  One thing she was sure of—she’d changed. She was being herself, thinking and feeling all the things she’d forced herself to repress in the past.

  Now she knew for certain that no matter what she decided, she would never go back to living a lie. The man she chose would have to love her for who she really w
as.

  Carefully scrunching the sheer white stocking between her fingertips, she slipped it over her toes and smoothed it up her leg. After tugging the second one firmly into place, she pirouetted in front of the mirror over the dressing table.

  Her reflection was risqué; her hair had dried earlier in a tangle of wild abandon, and the brief, sexy lingerie made her look like the fantasy bride on top of a bachelor party cake.

  Studying her reflection, she continued to muse about Grey. Once their week was up, would she see him again? Would she even want to?

  Behind her she heard the lock on the bedroom door click. Turning, she saw Grey enter the bedroom with the tray. This time it was laden with French bread, cheese, pâté and wine.

  Walking over to her he set the tray upon the bed, and Zoe stuck her finger into the pâté for a taste.

  “It looks delicious,” she said.

  “So do you,” Grey replied, watching her lick the pâté from her finger.

  “Let me see.” He motioned for her to tum and model in front of him.

  “There isn’t much to this,” she answered, executing a slow turn. “And what there is, you can see right through.”

  “I know.” Fitting his hand to the curve of her waist, skin on skin, he pulled her to him.

  “But I’m chilly.”

  “I’ll build a fire,” he said, nibbling at her ear. “Mmm… you smell good.” His mouth played at her neck, making shivery, sucking kisses that warmed her blood. For a fleeting moment she pictured the vampire in the book she’d been reading.

  “What did you do while I was gone?” His mouth left her neck to bite the smooth roundness of her shoulder.

  “I read and spent hours soaking in a bubble bath.”

  “Getting ready for me?” he asked, his hands moving to palm and squeeze the buttocks left bare by the thong bikini.

  “No, staying warm. About that fire …”

  “The fire, right.” Releasing her, he indicated the tray of food. “Go ahead and eat while I build us a fire.”

  He took the matches from the whitewashed oak mantel and knelt to start a fire in the hearth. After using some pine for kindling, he added fruit wood once he had the fire going. The fire had lent a warm coziness to the room by the time they finished eating. The crackling apple wood gave off a sublime, incenselike aroma and bathed the room in a romantic glow.

  Grey set the tray upon the floor beside the bed, then helped Zoe fluff the pillows behind them, so they could lie propped up and watch the flickering dance of the flames.

  A bottle of wine had come and gone when he leaned over and kissed her. The kiss reminded her of her husband’s first kiss; this kiss, like that one, was heartbreakingly sweet. She was momentarily lost in his embrace, wrapped in his need and desire until faint alarm bells sounded.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” she said, pulling back, the blurry warmth of the wine making her emotional.

  He studied her a moment, brushing whisper kisses on her lips before agreeing. “Okay, then let’s lie here and talk.”

  “About what?”

  He shrugged and fell back upon the pillows. “I don’t know. Men … women, men and women … marriage … the dark side of our personalities … the allure of freedom. I want to know you, Zoe. Know your dreams, your desires. Know what kind of man you need.”

  “I’m not sure I know.”

  “You must have some ideas ….”

  The antique gold clock on the mantel ticked off the seconds as she considered his question.

  “I want a man who’s both a lover and a friend,” she began. “A man I can trust, depend on … one whose feelings I understand. A man whose mind I’m able to read because … because we’re that close.”

  “Do you think we could be friends?” he asked as a shifting log in the fireplace gave off a crackling shower of sparks.

  She glanced at him, surprised by his question. “I thought you were a tough guy.”

  “And you don’t like tough guys … at least, not that way.”

  “Not when their sense of masculinity needs to be constantly fed by male bonding. Not when that male bonding shuts me out.”

  “You’re talking about …”

  “That’s right. There isn’t much room in a marriage for a third party. It screws up the priorities. That’s what ruined marriage for me. If I’d wanted to spend that much time alone, I would have stayed single or become a nun or something.”

  “Maybe your husband spent so much time at work because it was part of his job to establish close ties with his men. They had things in common to talk about…things they had to share with each other or go crazy.”

  “He could have talked to me.”

  “He might have wanted to, but didn’t because he wanted to protect you more. To protect you from the world he saw as a cop. Or maybe he just got caught up in the male provider role … some men do that. They get so caught up in making a living that they forget about the emotional input and caring so necessary to make a marriage work.”

  “The male provider role…that’s been a hiding place for a lot of men. The truth is, maybe he just didn’t care,” she said, letting her insecurities surface. Why hadn’t her husband wanted to talk to her, to share his life? Why had she had to leave him? Had leaving him been a mistake? Was there something there left to save, after all?

  Grey shifted, turning and stroking her face ever so gently. “And you think I’m like that …?”

  She searched his face, his achingly seductive face, so arrogantly male … yet holding a quiet dignity.

  “I don’t know, do I?” she answered softly, looking away.

  He fell back against the pillows. “You think this is all an act?”

  “I think you’ve been keeping me at a pretty safe distance, that’s what I think.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe I’m Vulnerable right now, but you are, too. You’re hiding behind that cool image of yours.”

  “I think,” he said, maneuvering to capture her wrists in a playful lunge, holding them prisoner at her side, “I think this is where I take my ribbons and go home. I’m the one who invented this game, remember.” He gave her a sexy kiss, then levered himself back, grinning down at her. “It’s not fair, you using it on me.”

  “The ribbons are on the dressing table,” she said, imperiously dismissing his threat with a nod toward the colorful spill of satiny streamers. “And for your information, I’ve given up playing fair.”

  “I’ll consider myself warned,” he said.

  “What?”

  He lay back against the pillows. “I was just wondering why someone as beautiful as you stayed with the insensitive jerk as long as you did.”

  Her voice had a wistful note, she knew. “I believed in happy ever after, I guess.”

  “And now you don’t.”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she asked him a question. “What about you? What do you think about being married?”

  He took her hand into his, bringing it to his lips for a lingering kiss. “I think whoever married you would be a pretty lucky guy and a real jerk if he messed it up. I wouldn’t be so foolish as to take the chances he did.” His vow hung in the silent room. “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. Would you give marriage another try?”

  “I don’t know.” Her long eyelashes swept her cheeks as she practiced a coquettish look. “This clandestine mistress business is pretty exciting.” She trailed her painted nails down his chest.

  “You think so, do you?” His hand claimed hers, stilling it. Raising it to his lips, he sucked at her fingertips with deliberate slowness. “What do you like about it? The physical affection, the hugging and cuddling … the romance?” He winked as he moved his hand to explore the contours of the daring thong bikini. “Or the sexy presents?”

  She grasped his wandering hand and laid it back upon his bare chest with a pat. “All of the above—but none o
f them are what I like the very most about it.”

  “Oh? And what is it that you like the very most about being my mistress?”

  “The fact that you find it so exciting,” she whispered into his ear, letting her lips linger to nibble at his lobe. “You have especially sexy ears, you know.”

  He chuckled at her ploy. “Flattery will not distract me from noticing your scheming … well, maybe a little …” he confessed when she flicked her tongue into his ear. “But I told you, no analyzing me. I’m the only one who is allowed to ask the questions.”

  “And I told you I don’t play fair,” she countered, chewing on his ear for emphasis. “So tell me, what do you find so exciting about having me for your mistress?”

  “That’s easy,” he replied. Wickedness gleamed in his eyes and his smile had a wolfish slant. “I like locking you in.”

  She laughed out loud, caught off guard by his answer. “No kidding. I’d have to be blind not to notice you have a real penchant for doing that. Want to tell me why?”

  “Not especially….” He made a real show of studying his fingernails.

  “Come on….” She wriggled her fingers, “I’ll tickle it out of you, so you may as well just go ahead and tell me.

  “Okay, okay…. How about … I’d do anything to keep you—” he smiled grandly “—a prisoner of my love?” he asked on what sounded like a hopeful note.

  “I’m waiting, but not very patiently,” she said, flexing her fingers for effect.

  “You’re venturing into exploring the dark side of my personality….”

  “So let’s explore, Doctor Sigmund. Inquiring minds want to know…. Why do you keep locking me in?”

  He got up and walked over to the dressing table, where he toyed with the dresser set of hammered silver, running his hand over the mirror, comb and brush. He looked over the scattering of items on the dressing table and selected a box of dusting powder, carrying it back to the bed. After removing and discarding the cellophane wrapper from the box of dusting powder, he rejoined her on the bed, where he knelt before her. Lifting his eyebrows suggestively, he opened the box of dusting powder and brought it to his nose to sniff. The scent of spring rain drifted to her.