“Mm hm?” He was exploring the junction between her shoulder and neck and he didn’t pause when he answered. The vibrations of his voice skittered across her skin deliciously. She gritted her teeth desperately.
“Emile, listen to me. What are you doing here? What do you want?”
He took his hands off her and stepped back, leaving her bereft. She put her arms around herself in an instinctive attempt to hold on to the protective warmth he’d taken with him.
“I want what we had before.”
Her breath hitched. Did he mean… What did he mean? What they’d had when they were flirting and having fun? Or what they’d had when she’d wept over him in the hospital? That moment when he’d told her he needed her and wanted her to stay?
“We had fun together.”
Right. “Right.”
“I’d like more of that.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “But don’t worry. I’m not looking for anything serious.”
She turned away to gaze out of the window. Outside, she could see the manicured grass of the golf course and a couple of men in the distance, playing even on Christmas Day.
“My terms have changed,” she said. “I want exclusivity. If you want to see someone else, it’s over between us.”
She heard him let out a long sigh. “Prada. I am sorry, Thérèse. I do not know what else to say.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“No?” He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her gently to face him. “But you were so angry, chérie. And I know that was my fault.”
“I was angry,” she admitted. “But I overreacted when I saw her on your lap.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “I thought lawyers were always supposed to be completely rational.”
“Yes, well. I wasn’t at work.”
“But you were right, Thérèse. I should not have permitted that.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’d agreed that you were free to sleep with anyone you wanted to. You are free to sleep with anyone you want to. You hadn’t done anything wrong.” Emile’s eyes hardened. Theresa put a hand on his arm to reassure him. “Truly. It’s okay.”
“So,” he said in a cold, distant voice she didn’t like. “You don’t care whether I slept with Prada or not. In fact, you care so little that you haven’t spoken to me for six weeks.” He looked her up and down with a hard, assessing gaze. “You don’t care at all. Do I have that right?”
She ought to say yes. She ought not to care. But under his steady gaze, she couldn’t lie. “No.”
Emile nodded. “I prefer you honest, Thérèse.”
That hurt, like a kick to the guts. She’d always thought of herself as an honest person. But since she’d met Emile, she’d told lie after lie about him, to him, to herself. He had good reason to doubt her.
She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “I care about you, and I’m not good at sharing. I never have been.” That was as close as she was prepared to get to the truth that she was insanely jealous where Emile was concerned.
He nodded. “Nor have I. So, if I were to promise no other women, I would expect you to promise no other men.”
God, he wasn’t supposed to be saying that. He was supposed to shrug and say that wasn’t the deal. He was supposed to be the playboy in this marriage.
But he was holding her gaze without blinking. He meant it. The fire in his eyes told her just how much passion he’d been storing up for her.
“For how long?”
“Until we both decide it’s over. Or until the contract is up. ”
She wished she’d never suggested that bloody contract. What if they could just throw caution to the winds and try…what? Being married? Falling in love?
Emile was looking down at her with a slight frown. “That is how you want it, no?”
Theresa took a deep breath. The last six weeks had been utterly miserable. “Yes.”
He stepped forward and cupped her face between his hands. “Joyeux No?l, ma belle.”
“Happy Christmas, Emile.”
He smiled as he kissed her. Slow and soft, savoring every single inch of her until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She slid her hands up into his hair and pushed his lips open with her own. He hadn’t kissed her for six weeks, and she needed this. Here and now. Emile was here and now he was kissing her.
“You’ve only just got dressed,” he said, while his hand gathered up the velvet of her skirt to slip beneath it.
“I don’t care.”
He grinned. His fingers had found the waistband of her panties, and he’d started to tug them down.
“Your parents are due back from church soon.”
She glared at him. “Do you want this to stop? Because, I assure you, talking about my parents is the quickest way to kill my mood.”
He laughed. “If you’re not in the mood, chérie, perhaps we should leave this until later.” He pulled her panties back up and smoothed them into place, lingering over the silk and lace.
“Very funny.” She turned and presented him with her zipper. “You can do the honors.”
“I don’t think we need to bother with that.”
She twisted to look at him over her shoulder. “You’re not serious? It’s been six goddamn weeks, Emile. Just do it now, okay?”
“Oh, I intend to. But I’ve been planning this for six goddamn weeks.” His lips curled into that wide, wicked smile which had haunted her dreams. “So we’re going to do it right. Now bend over here.”
He placed her hands on the windowsill at waist height and took hold of her hips, moving them a little further from the window, so that she was bending lower. She wasn’t at all sure that she liked giving up control to him like this. On top, against a wall, wrapped around, she liked to know what was happening and make her own choices. Emile had simply taken charge. Now he flipped up the skirt of the velvet dress and pulled her panties down to her knees. The cool air against her wet skin made her flinch.
“Emile—” The protest died on her lips. He was licking her. And holy hell it was the hottest thing ever. If one of the golfers happened to look up at her bedroom window, they’d see her leaning over to look out. They’d see the smart purple dress, and they’d see her face twisted up in the throes of passion. But they wouldn’t see the hot guy on his knees behind her, doing indescribable things to her with his tongue.
Her mind was incapable of forming the words to ask for what she wanted. She could only moan and hope that he could interpret. But he forced her to be more patient than she could ever have imagined. While she was desperate for his cock, he gave her only one finger. When she needed his tongue on her clit, he slid it away. She whined and whimpered, and the bastard just kept holding back.
“Emile, I swear if you don’t fuck me now, I’ll… I’ll…”
He didn’t make her come up with a threat. He paused to roll a condom on, then pulled her upright and maneuvered her back against the wall, her dress still pushed up around her waist and her knickers fallen down to her ankles. He took hold of her wrists and lifted them up above her head, trapping them easily in place with one hand. With the other hand, he tipped up her chin to take her lips in the kiss she’d be wanting for so long.
He pushed his knee between hers to lever her legs apart. Then he was inside her again, his tongue in her mouth and his cock in her *, invading every inch of her. And hell, surrendering like this might not be what she usually liked, but right now it was everything she wanted, because he wasn’t doing this for her. He was doing this because it was what he needed. It was what he’d been dreaming about for the last six weeks. He’d thought about it, and he’d thought about doing it with her, and God, that was sexy.