Bought For The Frenchman's Pleasure Part 12

And then he surged forward again and was there. At the core. At the centre of everything. Sheathed completely in a hot velvet glove of tightness. Holding back from pulling out and driving in again as hard as his body demanded, he controlled his movements. There would be time for that later. When he took her again. At the thought of that, unbelievably his body hardened even more. It made his head spin.

With steady thrusts he pierced Sorcha's flesh again and again. Until she thrashed beneath him. Until her hands pulled at his arms, his shoulders. Until her head was flung back and her chest thrust up and he felt the ripples along his length that told him of her fast-approaching release.

And, because it had taken more strength than he possessed, for those few final moments he gave in to the elemental waves building in his own body. When she cried out her release his own body contracted and then spilled its life seed into her. He slumped over her, breathing harshly.

When Sorcha woke, some hours later, the light of the rising dawn was stealing into the room. She couldn't move. She'd never felt so heavy. Never felt so at peace. Never had a naked man wrapped around her back before, with one big hand cupping her breast.... She felt an inordinate feeling of well-being rush through her. She moved her bottom a little and heard a sleep-rough growl in her ear.

'Stop that. You're going to be sore today...and if you keep doing that I won't be able to stop myself.'

Her cheeks flooded with warmth. Already she could feel his erection pressing insistently against her.

So she turned and faced him. Sleepy grey eyes regarded her with heavy-lidded sensuality. Emotion welled through her like a tidal wave, and she had to stop her hand from reaching out and tracing every line of his exquisite face. It looked even darker, shadowed with a little stubble.

How had they got here? Sorcha coloured again. Well, she knew how they had got here, but she had a flash of memory back to New York, remembering the intense attraction and also the intense antipathy. His extreme arrogance. Another wave of tenderness made her feel dizzy for a second, and in that moment she knew it was a much bigger emotion.

It was love.

She loved him. He had been witness to her ultimate capitulation. And her redemption. He had made her whole again-given her back her sanity. She now knew that eight years ago nothing had happened without her knowledge, and that made her feel giddy with love for this man. It also made her reach out, despite her best intentions, and curl a hand around his neck, bringing his face close to hers.

'Sorcha, what are-?'

She pressed a sweet kiss to his mouth.

And then, so suddenly that it felt almost violent, he pulled back, those grey eyes coldly expressionless. And in a split second he was out of the bed and walking towards the bathroom.

Sorcha lay frozen. The chill in his eyes just now had made a direct hit into her very bones. s.n.a.t.c.hes and snippets of the previous night sank heavily into her consciousness. She heard the hiss of the shower. Could imagine that tall, lean, finely honed body standing underneath the spray, water sluicing down...

What was she doing? Daydreaming, mooning...Did she want to be lying here like some kind of lovestruck groupie when he got out? There had been no tender words this morning-nothing to indicate that this was anything but normal practice for him. The morning after for him was something he was used to. He'd merely done what he'd set out to do-taken her to bed. Hadn't he a.s.serted his intention to do that no matter what?

Lying there, stricken, she had to recall with abject horror how she'd told him...everything. Absolutely everything. There wasn't a part of her, mentally or physically, that this man didn't know. She recalled her rush of love just moments ago and cringed. She'd projected so much more onto their union than he had.

She heard the shower stop. And, with a reflex action so swift she surprised herself, she leapt out of bed, put on her clothes, and was about to leave the room when, with her hand on the door, she realised she was in her own room.

'Going somewhere?' a mocking voice drawled from behind her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

SORCHA turned around, her cheeks burning. She felt stiff-literally and emotionally. Nakedly vulnerable.

'I'd like you to leave, please. I have plans for the day, and I have to pack and get ready for Spain.'

She avoided looking at him as he was dressed in nothing but a tiny towel. Baring everything except...Her cheeks burned again as he quite calmly dropped the towel and started to pull on his clothes. He didn't seem to be fazed by her coolness. And that only confirmed her worst fears, suspicions.

He dressed and strolled towards her. But when she would have turned the k.n.o.b and opened the door he stopped her hand with his. Snaking his other hand around the back of her head, he tilted her head and dropped his mouth onto hers, stealing a kiss that was hot and made her yearn to lean into him, her body already remembering, wanting, aching all over again. But then...he let her go. She opened dazed eyes. His were cool, alert. It almost seemed as if last night had never happened-as if she'd dreamt up Dominic's timely confession, as if the physical had been the only thing.

'As it happens, I have to go on to Madrid ahead of the crew for meetings. I have my private jet waiting at a nearby airfield. Come with me.'

At that moment, as if she'd even needed it, Val's words came back to her like an insidious poison. She was another casualty. Maybe not right at this moment, but any day now.

She shook her head vehemently. 'No. I've booked a day trip. I'll travel with the crew tomorrow.'

He regarded her, and she focused on a point just over his shoulder. She was immovable, tense, waiting for his insistence-which she was sure was coming.

Romain still regarded her. He knew he could persuade her but at that moment something flashed into his head and he went cold.

Sorcha sensed it and looked up, her eyes wary. Guarded.

'We didn't use protection last night.'

Sorcha saw the horrified expression on his face. Felt guilty even though she'd been the innocent one. She couldn't believe she'd let him take such a liberty without even noticing herself. But then, she hadn't been aware of much...

She feigned all the insouciance she could muster. 'Well, I'm a.s.suming that you're clean. And I'm due my period...' She faltered because it inexplicably hurt to admit it. 'Today, actually...' She fought down the bizarre emotion that ripped through her and tossed her head. 'So you don't have to worry...'

Romain was implacable. He just bit out a curt, slightly haughty, 'Of course I'm clean. And that's good...about your period...'

With the atmosphere humming tensely, he opened the door and left. No kiss. Nothing.

Sorcha sagged back when he'd left. His eagerness to leave had left her slightly stunned. The man had her upside down and inside out. And how could she have been so remiss as to forget about one of the most basic fundamentals-protection?

Romain looked out of the tiny window by his seat in the luxurious Learjet. In his hand he cradled a gla.s.s of neat whisky. The ground dropped away beneath him and he felt numbed, removed from everything. One thing concerned him. One thing consumed him-his body and his mind.

Sorcha Murphy.

He still couldn't believe how wrong he'd got it. And how right. He still hadn't really allowed the enormity of what she'd shared with him last night to sink in. The enormity of how he'd contributed to her awful pain eight years ago. How philosophical she'd been, how little anger she'd held...when she had every right to rant and rail. It shook him to his core. And then to find she'd been a virgin...and that he was her first- His hand clenched around the gla.s.s even tighter, knuckles white. He fought to control the intense desire that made his body react like an over-eager teenager. What little control he might have possessed around her before had long gone.

When she had pressed that kiss to his mouth this morning two things had driven him from the bed so fast his head had spun. The first was that he'd never woken wrapped around a woman, aching to have her again and again. And the second was that he'd seen something in her eyes that had made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Something he'd recognised. Because once he had been the one who had bared his soul, shared his secrets, shared his dreams with someone-and they had not trod softly on them...in fact they had ground them out and used them against him.

But he pictured her face as she had stood by the door...when she'd given him her a.s.surance that she wasn't likely to become pregnant. Sorcha Murphy had looked anything but delicate, fragile, vulnerable. With any other woman he had clarity, he was removed, objective, never so lost in the pa.s.sion that he became careless.

His hand clenched tighter on the gla.s.s. He stopped the churning in his mind but couldn't control his body, which ached to possess her again. His head throbbed.

Sorcha was bone-weary. Everyone was feeling it-along with the long transatlantic journey they'd just made the day before. Today, in Madrid's main square, a huge crowd had turned up to watch them filming. It was a sequence in which she and Zane joined in with old people waltzing in the square. They were doing it for the last time, and again Sorcha couldn't help her eyes searching...seeking...looking for one person. She felt empty inside. She'd known he was due to be at meetings but still, she had expected-didn't want to say hoped-he'd turn up. Was he already off with another woman? She had it bad, and Val's warning kept sounding in her head like a claxon.

'OK, guys-that's a wrap in Madrid. Well done. Travel day tomorrow to Paris. We're leaving at midday sharp.'

Sorcha breathed a sigh of relief and smiled tiredly at Zane. The atmosphere on set had been a million times better since Dominic had disappeared, and a new photographer had arrived to meet them here in Spain. Lucy had obviously had her dressing down from Romain and decided to stay. She'd apologised to Sorcha the previous day, coming to her room not long after Romain had left.

The cars took them back to their sumptuous hotel on a quiet street nearby, and Sorcha took a long, relaxing bath. At least she had something to look forward to for the evening. She pushed all thoughts of Romain out of her head.

An hour later, dressed in a knee-length silk flowery dress and a cardigan, with flat shoes, her hair still damp, and dark gla.s.ses, Sorcha emerged from the hotel armed with her guidebook and a map. As she turned to her left and began to walk she didn't see the sleek car pull up, or Romain uncoil from the back seat, see her and, with his brows pulling into a frown, dismiss the car and start to follow her.

The tiredness he'd been feeling in every bone had vanished as soon as Romain saw Sorcha emerge from the hotel before him. But she hadn't seen him. She was engrossed in a map and guidebook. It made him feel pettishly impotent. He was used to women looking out for him, waiting for him...welcoming him. So he'd decided to follow her-and he didn't look at how this behaviour was such an anomaly to his normal modus operandi. It had been too long since India, and the way her hips swayed in the silk dress was making his body react with an annoying degree of uncontrollable arousal.

He caught another man do a double take as she pa.s.sed him, and he had to fight the urge to go and claim her, take her hand...

As he struggled to regain control he had to reason with himself. He'd been with women who were more beautiful. Women who were sleek, sophisticated, experienced. but there was something-many things-about Sorcha that he couldn't figure out. Was that it? Maybe she was just playing him as he'd never been played before? Maybe he was the one who was looking like the complete fool, despite her comparative innocence?

That thought made him stop in his tracks for a second, and he realised he was following a woman like some mad, deranged stalker. When she disappeared from view he fought an intense battle...and let her go.

That night, however, Romain found himself sitting in the dim light of the hotel foyer. He'd knocked on Sorcha's door. She hadn't been there. She was obviously still out. Feeling more and more agitated, kicking himself for not following her earlier, Romain now nursed a stiff whisky and waited.

And then, with that husky laugh preceding her, he saw her walk in through the open doors. But she wasn't alone. She was with a man. A tall, dark, very handsome man. Recognition hovered on the periphery of Romain's stunned brain, but Sorcha looked up into the man's face and laughed again, looking so happy, and then he looked down at her as if- Romain had jerked his body out of the seat so fast his head swam, and the movement brought Sorcha's eyes to his. They widened. Her mouth opened. Her cheeks flushed.

He closed the s.p.a.ce between them so fast that Sorcha felt dizzy.

'Romain...' Her heart leapt with a joy she tried to crush. She took in his features as avidly as if they'd been separated for weeks, not just a couple of days.

The man beside her took her arm out of his and Sorcha's focus came back. She saw how Romain transferred his gaze to glare at him. They matched each other height for height, build for build.

A dryly amused, deep voice spoke from beside her. 'Sorch, do you want to introduce me to this gentleman who looks as if he wants to kill me?'

Somehow she found her voice.

'Romain de Valois, please meet Tiarnan Quinn...my brother.'

The rush of relief that ripped through Romain nearly floored him. Tiarnan must have seen something, because he deftly manoeuvred the three of them over to a couch and ordered a round of drinks.

Moments later Romain still felt a little shaky, and sipped at his drink with studied carefulness. Of course he knew Tiarnan Quinn. Who didn't? The man was a multibillionaire-an entrepreneur who had made a name for himself as someone who tore down countless companies only to build them back up again. Sorcha's words came back to him. That was why they looked so different. Her brother had inherited his mother's Spanish genes. But she'd never mentioned just who he was.

That caught Romain up short too. In his experience if people knew other people with power, not to mention were related to them, they invariably used it shamelessly-and Tiarnan Quinn was one of the most recognised, powerful people in the world.

Tiarnan stuck out a hand, making a proper introduction, and the tension dissipated, Sorcha watched as the two very Alpha males bonded in true male fas.h.i.+on. Recognising each other's pedigree. As only men in their rarefied circles would. It would have amused her if she hadn't still been getting over the shock of how she'd reacted to seeing Romain.

After a conversation she couldn't even remember, everything still a blur, Tiarnan got up to leave. Sorcha held onto him in a tight hug, as though loath to let him go. He looked down at her with concern in his eyes, and she forced herself to smile as if nothing was wrong. He'd already spent too much time worrying about her, feeling guilty for not having been there for her all those years ago. And he had a difficult nine-year-old daughter. She didn't want to add to his burdens.

When he'd gone, Sorcha ignored Roman and walked resolutely to the elevator. He was right behind her. When the door closed, the s.p.a.ce seemed unbearably intimate. She determined not to give any indication of her bone-deep response to seeing him.

Think of his att.i.tude that morning. Think of his att.i.tude, his coolness- Romain hit the stop b.u.t.ton and the lift juddered to a halt. Sorcha's eyes flew to his.

'What do you think-?'

He reached for her, and against her volition she found herself in his arms. He bent his head to hers and took her mouth with such sure mastery that she didn't have a hope of pretending this wasn't what she wanted too.

Things escalated with scary swiftness. There was no hesitation. The temperature in the small enclosed s.p.a.ce soared. Sorcha's hands dragged off his jacket, searched for and opened b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt, pulled it out of his trousers. She needed to feel flesh, and when she did her hands ran round his back, her legs weakened.

Romain's own hands ran urgently wherever they could. The silk material of the dress slipped and slid through his fingers, thwarting his efforts. With a guttural moan he lifted his mouth from hers and with very little finesse tackled the offending b.u.t.tons, just managing to hold back from ripping them open. Eventually he could see a pale swell, and like a man starved of water he pulled down the lace of her bra. Her breast sprang free and he bent his head, taking the puckered tight peak into his mouth.

Sorcha's hand was on his head, his fingers clasped tight around his skull. She sagged back against the wall of the elevator with her eyes half open. And what she saw in the mirror opposite served as a harsh wake-up call.

Romain's dark head at her breast, her eyes feverish with brightness, a flush extending from her chest and up, her dress half off, his own s.h.i.+rt flapping open, his jacket on the ground. She felt his hand snake down and reach under her dress, moving up her leg, and with an abrupt move she pushed him back and stood away, breathing heavily. Everything in disarray.

'Stop...We can't...'

Fiercely aroused grey eyes glittered down at her. Her mouth felt swollen and plump. She could feel the wet aching heat between her legs-knew she was so ready that all he'd have to do would be to strip off her panties, lift her up against the wall- 'And why would that be, when it seems to be an inevitability between the two of us if we're alone for more than a second?' His voice sounded harsh, taut with need. And it echoed through her, making a lie of her words.

Weakly she shut her eyes and started to do up her dress. Thanked G.o.d for divine intervention. 'We can't because I have my period...I told you.'

And you were relieved-don't you remember?

Sorcha looked at him almost accusingly.

Romain ran a hand through his hair and had to feel relief that some kind of sanity had broken through, because he knew that if she hadn't stopped them right now they would be making love in a lift. And he had to realise too that, yet again, he was without protection. And that it most likely wouldn't have stopped him this time either...

'Yes. You're right.' With a calm he didn't feel, he started to do up his own clothes. And then, when they were ready, standing almost like two strangers, he pressed the b.u.t.ton for her floor and the lift ascended again. The moment of insanity gone.

Romain remonstrated with himself. He couldn't go on like this. It was too...out of control. Seconds in a lift and he'd been pawing at her like some l.u.s.t-crazed schoolboy!

He was back in time to a place he thought he'd shut out for good. Again. In the presence of this woman.

That time-the only other time he'd felt the same sensation of being out of control-he'd got it back by shutting off his heart. He liked his life just the way it was. He could cope with a certain level of dissatisfaction. Because the alternative if he pursued this-pursued her-He shut down that line of thinking.

Sorcha Murphy could not be the only woman he would desire ever again...and he would prove it.

When the bell pinged softly, Sorcha flinched. She got out without even looking at Romain. Her insides churning, her belly tight. And he said nothing. The door slid shut again behind her.

Back in her own room, Sorcha stripped and crawled into bed. She felt cold. The intense white heat that had consumed them from nowhere in the lift had gone and left her aching with unfulfilled desire. She had stupidly imagined, hoped, that the rush of love she had felt in India after sleeping with Romain had been just an extreme response to having shared so much of herself. To baring herself so completely.

But seeing him tonight-the way she'd reacted then...the way she'd gone up in flames in the lift-all that told her that her response had been all too real. She buried her head in her pillow to stop the weak, silent tears. She hadn't learnt a thing. The first person to come along and make her open up and she'd fallen for them like a devoted puppy.

Silly and naive all over again.

To go and fall in love with Romain de Valois, of all people. The one man in the world who would not, could not, love her back.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

'OK, SORCHA, now look at him as if you really love him.'

Sorcha was doing her best. In a street full of extras, in the middle of Paris, she was looking into Zane's eyes. But instead of blue all she could see was grey. And all she could feel was those grey eyes boring into her from the other side of the street.

'OK, and now, Zane, take her in your arms and kiss her.'

Zane pulled her into his arms, his consummate professionalism making it smooth and graceful, but Sorcha felt as stiff as a board. And when Zane pressed his lips to hers she was glad that the camera was favouring him, because she could feel a wave of revulsion come over her.