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‘Not kidnap,’ he murmured coolly as his gaze settled on her flushed face, ‘I prefer repossession. And I promise you, chérie, this time you will not escape!’
CHAPTER TWO
THE ATMOSPHERE INSIDE the car crackled with antagonism. Jean-Claude suddenly lost interest in his toys, stared unblinkingly at Luc and then back at Emily, his bottom lip wobbling.
‘It’s all right, Mama’s here. No one’s going to hurt you,’ she reassured him softly, stroking his cheek, and he turned his enormous, velvet grey eyes on her, his tears drying as his face broke into a smile that revealed his one solitary tooth. Luc was sitting on the other side of the baby seat and he stiffened at her words, outrage and bitter, corrosive anger filling him.
‘Of course I’m not going to hurt him,’ he snarled, aware of the necessity of keeping his voice low so that he did not frighten Jean-Claude. ‘What kind of barbarian do you think I am to suggest I would hurt my own son?’
‘You don’t want to know my opinion of you,’ Emily returned, her smile solely for Jean-Claude’s benefit, belying the venom in her voice. ‘You tried to drive off without me. Don’t you think that wrenching a young baby from his mother’s arms would hurt him?’
‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Luc snapped impatiently. ‘You weren’t even with him. You’d abandoned him. What kind of mother does that make you?’
‘A damn good one, and I did not abandon him.’ Emily ran a shaky hand over her face as reaction set in. ‘He’s eleven months old, for heaven’s sake. How do you think he would cope without me? He needs me.’
Luc surveyed her silently, his eyes raking disparagingly over her slender figure and she cringed, wishing she’d worn anything but her bright orange gypsy skirt and yellow strap top. With her hair caught up in a ponytail secured with a livid yellow band and the long, beaded earrings and necklace that one of the artists had made for her, she looked funky and modern, a complete antithesis of the sophisticated, elegant women Luc admired. Women like his PA Robyn Blake.
‘You’re not as indispensable as you like to think,’ he said icily. ‘He’d soon forget you and instead of a mother he will have a father. However,’ he continued, ignoring her fearful gasp, ‘I accept that it is in Jean-Claude’s best interests that you play a part in his life, for now at least.’
‘Meaning what exactly?’
‘Meaning that the situation is likely to change as he grows older but at the moment he is a baby and naturally depends on you. It is for that reason alone that I have decided to take you back,’ he informed her in his cold, clipped tones, and Emily’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.
‘Well, pardon me for not jumping for joy, but I don’t want to be taken back. I’m perfectly content with my life the way it is—without you in it. In fact,’ she stressed, ‘I’ve never been happier.’ As she spoke she made the mistake of looking at him and her face flamed as she felt her body’s involuntary reaction to his seductive charm. She didn’t want to feel like this. She didn’t want to be pierced by this overwhelming, almost obsessive sexual attraction, and the worst of it was, he was aware of his power over her.
‘I’m sure I can come up with a few ideas to keep you content,’ he drawled with an arrogant smile that made her want to scream or hit him, or both. ‘I don’t remember having any problems satisfying you when we were first married. In fact, chérie, after a night in my bed, you used to remind me of a cat who’d gorged on cream.’
The last thing she needed was to be reminded of her total and utter weakness where he was concerned. One look from those flashing grey eyes and she had been putty in his hands, her body desperate to experience the ecstasy of his full possession. She had been little better than a sex slave, she thought disgustedly, and he had exerted his power over her ruthlessly, subjugating her to his will with shameful ease.
Luc had to be playing a cruel game with her, she thought desperately. His insinuation that he knew he could keep her happy by sleeping with her was his despicable way of reminding her of her vulnerability where he was concerned. But she had changed during the year they had spent apart. She had grown up and taken charge of her emotions. With his incredible looks and raw, sexual magnetism, it wasn’t surprising that he had once had such a strong hold over her but she had broken free of his spell and she refused to be bewitched again.
Jean-Claude was watching her and the beauty of his smile tore at her heart. He was innocently unaware of the bitterness that existed between his parents, a bitterness that would only fester if they were forced together again. At the moment he was just a baby, but as he grew older he would detect the signs that his parents detested one another and would surely be damaged by their antagonism.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she whispered huskily. ‘For our son’s sake, can’t we call a truce and aim for an amicable divorce instead of fighting over him? Surely the most important thing is to give Jean-Claude the best upbringing we can?’
‘I agree,’ Luc replied, his gaze clashing with hers, ‘which is why there will be no divorce. Our son deserves to be brought up by two parents who love him, even if they do not love each other,’ he continued, ignoring Emily’s shocked gasp. ‘You will remain my wife, chérie, for better or worse. And make no mistake,’ he warned her in a tone that gave some indication of his determination, ‘it will be a proper marriage, in every sense of the word.’
‘You can’t really expect me to…to sleep with you,’ Emily spluttered, outrage rendering her temporarily speechless as the full meaning of his words sank in.
‘Why not? Our marriage may have had its problems, but the sex was always good. You were the most responsive lover I’ve ever known,’ he told her, and she died a little at the way he could discuss something that had been so precious to her with such clinical detachment.
‘Well, you’ve known a lot so I’ll take your word for it but I’m afraid it’s not an experience I want to repeat.’
‘Is that so, ma petite?’ The sudden amusement in his voice fuelled her anger and she curled her fingers into fists so that her nails bit into her palms. ‘Time will tell, although not too much time, I hope. Patience isn’t one of my finer virtues.’
‘I’d rather kill myself than bear your touch again,’ she snapped with a shudder as she contemplated the certain humiliation that would follow if she ever lowered her guard against him. He inhaled sharply, a nerve jumping in his cheek as he stared at her.
‘Don’t joke about such things, especially as we both know that you’re lying,’ he ground out, and she jerked her head round, startled by the bitterness in his eyes. ‘You might have wrapped that cloak of virginal shyness around you like a nun’s habit but you were a whore in the bedroom. Not that I’m complaining,’ he added silkily when she turned her stunned, pain-filled eyes on him. ‘I may be willing to put up with your presence in my life for Jean-Claude’s sake, but I think I’m entitled to some compensations!’
He swung away to stare out of the window and in the ragged silence that followed his shocking statement she could only stare at his harsh profile. He really hated her, she realised as a combination of pain and panic washed over her. During the brief months they’d spent together after their marriage, she’d glimpsed his ruthless streak in his business dealings. Beneath his charismatic charm lurked a merciless disregard for anyone who dared cross him, and despite his insistence that their marriage would continue, he viewed her as the enemy. For a moment she quailed but from somewhere her pride came to the rescue and she lifted her chin.
‘You don’t really want me back, any more than you want to play happy families with Jean-Claude. I intend to seek a divorce, Luc, and I’ll fight you tooth and nail for my baby. You never wanted him and I can prove that while I was pregnant you were too busy sleeping with your bloody secretary to give a damn about your unborn child or me. This has nothing to do with wanting Jean-Claude, has it?’ She pressed on, ignoring the ominous tightening of his jaw that gave some indication of his fury. ‘This is about your obsession to win, the need to exert your power. You didn’t want me and perhaps when you were good and ready you’d have divorced me, but you can’t bear the fact that I was the one to walk away. I defied you and now you want to punish me by claiming the child you never even wanted to be born.’
‘Enough!’ His voice stung like the crack of a whip as he jerked his head round to face her and Emily visibly flinched, although she refused to drop her gaze. Once she had been in awe of him, her painful lack of self-confidence no match for his brilliant mind and acerbic wit, but she had Jean-Claude to fight for now and she glared across the car, determined not be cowed. ‘Mon Dieu! You have developed the tongue of a viper. I am trying very hard to be fair, which is more than you deserve when you never once gave me the same consideration. You stole my son, and like a thief in the night you hid him from me. Let me set something straight once and for all Emily,’ he growled. ‘I always wanted our child. I longed to hold our baby in my arms, but for all these months you denied me even the knowledge of his existence. Now, finally, I have found him and nothing in this world will ever make me let him go. If you insist on filing for divorce I can’t stop you, but I will fight you for Jean-Claude with all the means at my disposal, and financially those means are considerable. If you want there to be war between us rather than peace, go ahead, but I hope you have the stomach for it because it is a war I will win.’
The car was speeding along the road, the locked doors preventing her escape even if it had been possible to jump out. The plush leather upholstery, the uniformed chauffeur and the discreet but well-stocked bar all indicated a level of wealth that would render any legal fight between them a waste of time. Luc could afford the best lawyers and if he chose to seek custody of Jean-Claude she would stand no chance against him. For the moment at least, she was out of options. Luc had won as usual and she seethed silently. ‘I hate you,’ she spat at him, and he shrugged indifferently.
‘I’m devastated, chérie, but I won’t force you to endure my company. If you really can’t make Jean-Claude and what’s best for him your priority, then you’d better get out now. Say the word and I’ll ask my driver to stop and drop you off.’
Emily glanced out at the barren landscape, which was as dry and unforgiving as a desert. The empty road snaked past jutting boulders and huge, spiteful cacti, and once again fear gripped her. ‘You surely wouldn’t abandon us out here, miles from anywhere?’ she whispered and Luc gave her a chilling smile.
‘Of course not. I’ve told you, from now on Jean-Claude stays with me. But you are free to go wherever and whenever you like, mon amour.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she said sharply, her body clenching in rejection of the careless endearment that even now had the power to make her long for the moon. She had never been his love. ‘Your cruelty is beyond belief,’ she whispered, and he gave a harsh laugh.
‘That you can accuse me of cruelty when you stole my son is also beyond belief but believe this, Emily, I do not forgive easily, and I will never forget.’
The barely concealed bitterness in his voice shook her and she took a deep breath as she concentrated on the scenery flashing past. Slowly her panic faded slightly as she envisaged the bustling airport. Presumably Luc was intending to fly back to England, but he would hardly be able to frogmarch her and Jean-Claude aboard a plane. Hopefully, if she kept her wits, there would be an opportunity to snatch back her son and slip away.
She forced herself to relax and bide her time, but in the tense silence her eyes turned involuntarily towards the man whose presence dominated the car. It wasn’t fair that he was so gorgeous, she thought bleakly, feeling a knife skewer her heart as she studied his stern profile. His incredible bone structure could have been fashioned from marble by one of the Old Masters. His olive-gold skin stretched taut over the hard planes of his face. Despite the fact that he was in his late thirties, there was no hint of silver in his thick black hair, and she closed her eyes on a wave of pain as she remembered the feel of it against her fingers when she had pulled his head down to hers. His mouth was to die for and he had delighted in teasing every inch of her body with it, his tongue a wicked instrument of torturous pleasure during their long hours of loving that had left her utterly satiated.
That had been a long time ago, she hastily reminded herself. In those first heady weeks of their marriage when she’d almost convinced herself she had done the right thing by marrying the enigmatic Frenchman and that he might one day even grow to love her as she loved him.
The illusion had been quickly shattered. They had spent the weekend after their wedding in Paris, too absorbed in their mutual passion for each other to do much sightseeing. On their arrival back in London, Luc had swept her into his arms as the lift carried them up to his penthouse flat, but instead of carrying her straight to the bedroom, he had hesitated in the doorway as the most beautiful woman Emily had ever seen moved forward to greet them.
Robyn Blake, once a world-famous model, was Luc’s sister-in-law as well as his personal assistant. She was exquisite, there was no other word to describe her, and Emily had immediately felt young and gauche, aware that her chain-store dress had been no match for Robyn’s designer outfit.
At first she had been taken in by Robyn’s apparent friendliness. Having spent her childhood in the shadow of her sisters, she was plagued by a crushing lack of self-confidence and had followed Robyn around like a puppy desperate to please its master. She had sought the older woman’s advice on everything from clothes and make-up to the problems that were emerging in her marriage, and it had taken her a long time to realise that Robyn was the cause of many of those problems.
She could not lay all the blame at Robyn’s door, she admitted miserably. Her own insecurity and lack of self-belief hadn’t helped any more than the growing realisation that Jean-Luc Vaillon was incapable of loving anyone. He had treated her suspicions about the true nature of his relationship with his PA with scathing dismissal. It was time she grew up instead of behaving like a silly child, he’d told her, but in her heart she accepted that he had never felt more than a faint affection for her and now she had proof that his reasons for making her his wife had been far more prosaic than love.
With a sigh she turned to find Luc watching Jean-Claude. He seemed utterly absorbed, as though he could not drag his gaze from his son, but he must have felt her scrutiny and she blushed as he lifted his head and subjected her to a hard stare. Pride dictated that she should turn away but she was trapped by the brooding sensuality that emanated from him, her eyes focused on his mouth, remembering the taste of him, the feel of his lips on hers. Suddenly she was too hot. The air inside the car seemed stifling despite the air-conditioning, and tiny beads of sweat formed above her top lip. She wanted to wipe them away but her hands were trembling and she shoved them into her lap, her tongue darting out to capture the salty pearls on its tip.
Luc’s eyes narrowed as he watched the nervous foray of her tongue and she knew with humiliating certainty that he was aware of her thoughts. What was the matter with her? she asked herself impatiently. He despised her, his contempt clearly visible in the cool grey gaze that speared her. He only tolerated her presence for the sake of his son so why was she consumed with this wild longing to feel his mouth on hers? She hated him, her mind totally rejected his ruthless power, but it seemed that her body had a will of its own and it recognised its master.
With a barely suppressed gasp she tore her gaze from his, biting down hard on her lip until she tasted blood. Luc was a cheat and a liar and he had broken her heart. For the sake of her self-preservation it was crucial that she remembered that fact.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she demanded, seeking refuge in her anger. ‘You lost the right to look at me like you own me when you increased your personal assistant’s duties.’
‘You’re still blinded by your ridiculous insecurities, I see,’ Luc murmured coolly, and her cheeks flooded with colour as his jibe hit home. She had always been so unsure of herself, especially where he was concerned, and she hated the fact that he had been aware of her vulnerability.
With her head turned determinedly away from him, Luc was left with the view of Emily’s taut shoulders and his eyes rested on the curve of her cheek and one small, pink ear, her long, dangly earring emphasising the slender column of her neck. She looked heartbreakingly young with her glorious chestnut hair caught up on top of her head. A few tendrils had escaped to curl around her cheek and he fought the urge to reach across and brush them back behind her ear, to cup her chin in his hand and turn her face to his.
What was he thinking? he berated himself furiously. This woman, his wife, had walked out on him without a backward glance. Not only that, but she had disappeared so conclusively that gossip and speculation among London’s society had been rife. He had been terrified for her safety, not knowing if she was alive or dead, but for all those long months she had been living quite comfortable in her Spanish hide-away.
Her accusation that he hadn’t wanted their child was ridiculous. His longing for their baby had shaken him with its intensity, but alongside hope had been fear. His secret terror that history would repeat itself had made him appear distant and his perceived disinterest had cost him dear.
He inhaled sharply and forced himself to drop his gaze to the baby who was sitting quietly in his child seat. Jean-Claude, his son. It still seemed incredible that this beautiful, wide-eyed baby was his own flesh and blood, yet there was no mistaking the likeness between them and his heart clenched in primitive recognition. Wonderingly he touched the baby’s satiny curls, which were as black as his own hair, and when Jean-Claude lifted his long lashes to survey him solemnly with huge, grey eyes, it was like looking into a mirror. His son, the child he’d feared he would never see. He loved him instantly, a huge wave of adoration sweeping through him, and he vowed that nothing would ever separate him from his child again.
‘He looks like you,’ Emily said grudgingly as she watched Jean-Claude smile at his father. From the moment her son had first opened his eyes and focused on her, she’d been taken aback by his likeness to Luc. It was as if fate itself was on Luc’s side, determined that he would not be forgotten, but seeing them together brought home to her that her baby was all Vaillon, truly his father’s son.
Jean-Claude regarded the stranger solemnly. At almost a year old, he knew his own mind, knew whom he liked and whom he didn’t, and Emily felt a sharp stab of jealousy when he stretched out his chubby arms to Luc. Would all Vaillon men betray her? she wondered bitterly. And then dismissed the shabby thought. She wanted Jean-Claude to have a good relationship with his father and incredibly it now seemed that Luc shared that desire. Perhaps, once he had calmed down, she could broach the idea of divorce once more. She was certain he did not really want her as his wife and if she assured him of her willingness to share custody of Jean-Claude, their parting could at least be amicable.
‘Jean-Claude and I are booked on an evening flight to London,’ she murmured. ‘It seems silly to waste the tickets but I’ll meet you as soon as possible, tomorrow if you insist,’ she added when Luc made no reply and simply surveyed her with his cool grey stare.
‘I’m not taking him to London,’ he replied at last, and she stared at him in confusion.
‘Then where are you going?’ She had hated Luc’s Chelsea penthouse, which had all the appeal of a dentist’s waiting room and had never felt like her home, but Luc had seemed perfectly at ease there and she assumed it was still his London base.
‘To France, of course. Jean-Claude is a Vaillon, my son and heir. Naturally he will be brought up in my homeland,’ he informed her, his brows raised in surprise that there could be any doubt.
‘Naturally,’ Emily snapped sarcastically, ‘but what about my homeland? Hasn’t it occurred to you that I’d like to bring him up in England?
‘But you weren’t, were you?’ he pointed out silkily. ‘For some peculiar reason you decided that an artists’ commune in the middle of the Spanish wilderness was the best place for our son to live. But no longer. From now on Jean-Claude will enjoy all the benefits of his heritage at my château in the Loire Valley. The Vaillons are an old French family. Surely you would not want to deprive him of his birthright?’
‘I didn’t even know you owned a château. Something else you failed to mention. But what of Jean-Claude’s British heritage?’ Emily argued, panic assailing her once more at Luc’s resolute expression. ‘The Dyers are an old family, too. Heston Grange was their ancestral seat for over four hundred years, until you bought it,’ she finished bleakly. ‘Tell me,’ she demanded with a hollow laugh, ‘did you know from the beginning that my parents hoped you would marry one of their daughters so that the Dyers would retain some link with the family’s heritage? Did they offer you Heston at a fraction of its value as long as you agreed to marry one of us? And if that’s true, Luc, why on earth did you pick me? I was the plain one, the drab Dyer, more at home with horses than people. My sisters are beautiful, clever and sophisticated, any one of them would have made you a far more suitable wife, but I suppose you thought I would be the easiest to manipulate, the one least likely to make a fuss when you resumed your relationship with your mistress.’
At twenty she had been shy and severely lacking in confidence, unable to disguise her massive crush on the handsome, enigmatic Frenchman who had turned all their lives upside down, but to him she must have seemed a pushover. She had been a pawn in a far more serious game.
‘You always did seriously undervalue yourself,’ Luc murmured dryly, as his eyes skimmed her flushed face and huge navy blue eyes. ‘I admit there were a number of reasons why you were suitable…’
‘All to do with money and prestige, and none to do with love,’ Emily finished for him. She didn’t want to hear every cold, calculated detail of why he had decided to marry her. She already knew it was because her parents had offered him Heston Grange at a massively reduced price if he married one of the Dyer daughters, thereby retaining the family’s link with their heritage. It was archaic, she thought bitterly. She felt like a brood mare, sold off with a suitable dowry, but Luc hadn’t even wanted her for her childbearing ability. He hadn’t wanted children at all, which made his sudden determination to gain custody of their son all the more shocking.
‘Jean-Claude is a Vaillon,’ Luc repeated stubbornly, ‘and from now on the Château Montiard will be his home, not some filthy dump in the middle of nowhere.’
‘San Antonia is not filthy. The farmhouse is beautiful and Jean-Claude loved it there.’
‘Really.’ Luc’s brows rose as he murmured sardonically. ‘He must be a child prodigy to express his opinion when he’s not even a year old. Tell me, chérie, what would you have done if he’d been taken ill? The nearest hospital is miles away. For someone who expresses such maternal devotion, you seem to have little regard for his well-being.’
‘While you, of course, are an expert on child care,’ Emily snapped furiously. ‘Jean-Claude was perfectly well cared for, but it’s not easy being a single mother and I was grateful for the help of the other members of the commune.’
‘You were a single mother by choice,’ he pointed out hardily, ‘but you never gave Jean-Claude a choice. You forced him to live his life with only one parent and you denied me a relationship with my own son. Now it’s your turn to suffer,’ he told her darkly, and she shivered at the contempt in his gaze.
‘For heaven’s sake, can’t we be adult about this?’ she cried despairingly and he gave a harsh laugh.
‘It would be a first for you, chérie, that’s for sure, but I’m afraid you’ve pushed me way beyond the boundaries of wanting to be reasonable. Now that I have my son I have no intention of ever letting him go, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.’
The car was slowing and Emily glanced out of the window, frantically searching for the signs to the airport, but there were none. Instead they drove through the gates of what appeared to be a private airfield and sick fear gripped her. How could she have forgotten that Luc owned his own private jet? There was no bustling airport, no queues at the check-in desk where there might have been an opportunity to grab Jean-Claude and run. Luc’s plane was ready and waiting on the runway. He had stated that he was prepared to take her to his château for their son’s sake but he couldn’t force her to resume the role of his wife, could he?
Suddenly her pride was an expendable commodity she would gladly sacrifice in return for her baby and she stared beseechingly at Luc as the car drew to a halt. ‘Please, don’t do this,’ she begged huskily. ‘I can’t live without Jean-Claude but neither can I live with you. You must see that.’
‘Surely, if you have any sense of fairness you must see that it is my turn to have him now,’ Luc replied coldly. ‘Jean-Claude is coming home with me, with or without you.’
‘But you didn’t want him!’ she cried, her voice rising with frustration. ‘From the moment you knew I was pregnant you made it clear that you had no interest in either of us. You slept in another room,’ she reminded him huskily, ‘when you bothered to come back to the flat at all. And you were completely uninvolved in my pregnancy. You didn’t even show up at the hospital for my ultrasound scan.
‘Do you have any idea how I felt that morning?’ she demanded bitterly as a wave of memories hit her. ‘The fact that you’d spent the night with Robyn was unforgivable but I still thought…hoped you cared enough about our child to want to see the first pictures of him. I sat in that waiting room alone surrounded by excited, happy couples, and I prayed you would come,’ she whispered brokenly. Every time they called my name I allowed someone else to go in my place until there was no one left, just me on my own with a very sympathetic nurse who tried to make a joke about men being useless timekeepers.’ She scrubbed her eyes furiously with the back of her hand, desperate that he didn’t see her cry. ‘But you hadn’t mistaken the time, had you, Luc? You just didn’t care about the baby or me, and that’s why I left. I knew I’d outstayed my welcome.’
‘That’s not true,’ he began, his face twisting with emotions she refused to try and decipher any more.
‘It is true,’ she cried angrily. ‘I didn’t need any more proof of your indifference. How can you blame me for questioning your motives now?’ she finished brokenly.
Luc paused as he opened the door. She looked as young and innocent as on that first day when she had stared up at him and an arrow had pierced his heart. He wanted to hate her—indeed, there had been many times during the past year when he’d convinced himself that he despised her—but she was watching him with those expressive blue eyes. He glimpsed her vulnerability and something tugged at his heart.
He had never been any good at saying how he felt, he conceded, and his conscience prickled as he remembered how his unspoken fears had caused him to appear tense and uncommunicative. His childhood had left scars, a wariness of revealing his emotions. He hadn’t forgotten her scan. Dieu, he would have given anything to be with her but Robyn had been distraught, he had been torn and by the time he had managed to phone and explain the situation, Emily had already left for the hospital. He had been too late but at that point he hadn’t realised the extent of the damage his decision had cost him, and he had never been given the chance to make amends.
‘Wait there while I see if they’re ready for us,’ he growled as he climbed out of the car. ‘I have employed a nanny to take care of Jean-Claude. It might be better if he meets her before we get on the plane.’
‘He doesn’t need a nanny,’ Emily pointed out sharply. ‘I can look after him perfectly well on my own.’
‘Mon Dieu! Do you have to argue about everything?’ He was already striding across the tarmac and she watched him go, adrenalin coursing through her as she tapped on the car’s glass partition to gain the attention of the chauffer. This was probably a hired car, she reasoned feverishly, and it was likely that the driver was Spanish.
‘Drive on, please,’ she requested in a confident tone that did not match the sick fear in the pit of her stomach. The months she’d spent in Spain meant that she was fairly fluent in the language and she smiled reassuringly at the driver. ‘There’s been a change of plan and Señor Vaillon wishes you to take me to the international airport.’
The chauffer was young and his dark eyes flashed with a boldness he made no effort to hide as he responded to her smile.
‘Sí, señora.’
The car rolled forward and she took a sharp breath. ‘As quickly as you can, por favor.’ But it was too late. Luc must have moved faster than the speed of light and already he was wrenching the door open.
‘You little bitch,’ he swore at her savagely, his face contorted with fury. He yelled at the driver to cut the engine and swiftly released Jean-Claude’s safety harness before lifting him into his arms. ‘I was prepared to be fair, to treat you with a respect that you clearly don’t deserve. But not any more,’ he snarled as his fingers curled around her arm.
‘Is everything all right, Monsieur Vaillon?’ The woman at the bottom of the plane’s steps looked calm and professional in her grey uniform. Presumable she was the nanny Luc had hired, Emily thought desperately as she struggled to break free of his bruising grip.
‘Shall I take the baby?’
‘Merci.’ Luc transferred Jean-Claude into the woman’s arms and immediately turned his attention back to Emily, his eyes dark and dispassionate as he watched a single tear roll down her face.
‘You can’t do this,’ she whispered as he jerked her into his arms.
‘Watch me,’ he taunted, and before she realised his intentions his head obliterated the sunlight. It was not so much a kiss as a public branding, his lips hot and hard, forcing hers apart and uncaring if he evoked a response. Emily was so shocked that she simply leaned against his chest fearing that her legs would buckle beneath her. Her humiliation was complete when she was forced to cling to him for support. It was as quick as it was brutal and he released her with a savage imprecation while she stared up at him, her trembling fingers covering her mouth. For a few brief seconds she had been on fire for him, her body reacting instantaneously to his raw sexuality, and her cheeks burned with shame at the speculative gleam in his eyes. He knew the effect he had on her, knew that for those few seconds he had made her forget everything, even her son, and with that knowledge came power.
‘Take your hands off me,’ she demanded, her voice shaking with outrage, and he threw back his head and laughed.
‘You’re a good actress, I’ll give you that. But you don’t fool me, ma chérie. I know you too well and I have forgotten nothing. I remember vividly what pleases you,’ he breathed in her ear and the warmth of his breath on her skin caused a trembling within her that had nothing to do with fear. ‘Welcome back, my sweet wife,’ he goaded softly as he put his hand in the small of her back and pushed her up the steps into the waiting jet.
CHAPTER THREE
WHAT THE HELL had he done?
Luc stared moodily at the glass on the tray in front of him and with a muttered oath snatched it up and downed its contents in one gulp, although he rarely drank alcohol in the middle of the day. Right now he needed something to anaesthetise the effect that Emily had on him—had always had on him, he admitted begrudgingly, although fortunately she seemed unaware that his emotions were veering dangerously out of control.
She was sitting away from him at the front of the plane, nursing Jean-Claude who had taken an instant dislike to his new surroundings and let his displeasure be known in no uncertain terms. The nanny he had employed, Liz Crawford, had an impressive record in child care, but she had been unable to pacify the baby, whose cries had only subsided once he was in his mother’s arms.
‘He needs me,’ Emily had insisted, and watching them now, mother and son, Luc knew she was right. She was cradling Jean-Claude against her shoulder, rocking gently as she sang to him in her sweet, husky voice, and Luc felt a curious twisting in his gut as he recognised the familiar French lullaby that evoked memories of his own childhood.
He shouldn’t have kissed her, he conceded grimly. He shouldn’t have given in to the basic, almost primal need to hold her in his arms once more. He needed to be in control, to take things slowly and persuade her that coming back to him would be the best thing for all of them, not just the baby.
He had convinced himself that he had every right to hate her but from the moment he’d walked across the courtyard at San Antonia the battle being waged in his head had been lost. She had deprived him of the first year of his son’s life, and when he’d received notice from her solicitor that she wanted a divorce he had been ready to commit murder. If she no longer wanted to be his wife, that was fine, he had assured himself, because he’d had enough of feeling a fool and he didn’t want her back.
