The Gold Collection. Maggie Cox

no longer seemed to matter; his hands were gently moulding her breasts and now his thumb pads were stroking across the tight peaks of her nipples, backwards and forwards until the pleasure was almost unbearable and she felt a sharp tug of desire.

      This was dangerous territory and she should beat a retreat, her brain warned, but a curious weakness seemed to have invaded her limbs and she could do nothing but watch as he lowered his head and flicked his tongue across one sensitive crest. With a low cry she put out her hands to push him away, but her wayward fingers strayed to his shirt buttons and worked them free before she pushed the material aside and revelled in the feel of his warm golden skin beneath her fingertips.

      It had been so long since she had touched him. She loved the solid strength of his chest and powerful shoulders—loved him, whispered a tiny voice in her head. She was his, totally, and she murmured her approval when he transferred his mouth to her other breast and drew her nipple fully into his mouth. The exquisite sensation built on the need that had begun on the dance floor and was now a greedy, clamouring ache to feel him inside her.

      Zac stared down at her flushed face and muttered something beneath his breath before he claimed her mouth in a kiss of pure possession, drawing a response from her that she could no longer deny. A tremor ran through his big body and he tore his mouth from hers to drag her dress over her hips. He loved watching her unguarded response to him and held her gaze as he drew her knickers down and pushed her thighs apart with deliberate intent.

      Her eyes darkened to the colour of a stormy sea and she made a little half murmur of protest when he ran his hand through the soft blonde curls and then parted her and slid his fingers deep into her.

      Freya held her breath, torn between the need for him to continue his wickedly intimate caresses and the dictates of her pride, which were telling her that she must stop this madness now, before it was too late. But Zac was a master of seduction and his skilful fingers continued to move inside her, while his thumb pad stroked with delicate precision over her ultra sensitive clitoris, building her excitement so that she twisted restlessly and tried to control the delicious spasms that were threatening to overwhelm her.

      ‘Zac…’ His eyes were focused on her face and there was something shockingly erotic about the way he was watching her while he pleasured her. She was going to die of shame in the cold light of day, but his fingers were moving faster in a sensual dance and with a groan she tipped her head back as wave after wave of incredible sensation tore through her. Only then did he lower his head once more to capture her mouth in a slow, drugging kiss, his tongue dipping between her lips as he mimicked the actions his fingers had performed seconds before.

      ‘Tell me, chérie, am I the only man who can turn you on like that, or will anyone do when you’re desperate—Brooks, for example?’ Zac’s coldly mocking voice shattered the sexual haze and Freya tensed as pain ripped her apart. His opinion of her hadn’t changed; he still regarded her as unfaithful and his readiness to believe the worst of her was unbearable. Her desire drained away, leaving her so cold that her teeth chattered, and when his hand moved to the zip of his trousers she felt sick with misery.

      ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded through numb lips, her eyes huge and overbright in her white face. ‘I don’t think I could bear it. You’ve made your point, Zac, and we both know that I’m pathetically incapable of resisting you. But if you make love to me tonight I think I might hate you almost as much as I hate myself.’

      For a few mindless seconds, Zac was tempted to ignore her. He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted her, never been held at the mercy of such a gnawing hunger that caused a cramping pain in his gut. He was in agony, damn it, and he knew he could make it good for her too. But the glimmer of her tears was getting to him, even though he despised women who were able to turn on the waterworks whenever it suited them. Freya was not one of those women, he conceded grimly, and the stark vulnerability in her eyes unearthed a flare of compassion in him that he’d never known he possessed.

      With a furious oath he jerked away from her, his nostrils flaring with the effort of controlling his urge to take her. ‘Cover yourself and get out,’ he growled, flinging her dress at her before he strode over to the bar. He’d known from the moment he stood by her hospital bed that she would be trouble and he couldn’t fathom what madness had made him bring her back here. The day couldn’t come too soon when he would be able to dismiss her from his life for ever, he thought savagely as he slugged back his drink and poured himself another. But when he swung round to tell her, she had gone.

      Freya leaned over the cot and brushed her lips over Aimee’s velvety soft cheek. The toddler’s lashes were already drifting down and within seconds she was asleep, worn out from an energetic afternoon playing with Jean Lewis in the roof-garden.

      Jean had become a firm friend of both mother and daughter and they would miss her warmth and kindness when they returned to England, Freya mused sadly. And that day was drawing ever closer. It was over a week since Zac had brought them to Monaco and any day now he would receive the results of the paternity test. She predicted that his reaction would not be good and had already decided that she would take Aimee home immediately.

      ‘I thought she’d drop off quickly,’ Jean said cheerfully when Freya tiptoed from the nursery. ‘She loves playing outside, although she was very cross when I insisted that she wear her sunhat.’

      ‘You’re so good with her,’ Freya said with a smile. ‘I thought she was going to have a tantrum about the hat, but you managed to distract her.’

      Jean chuckled. ‘I’ve had years of practice dealing with toddler tantrums, and really Aimee is so well behaved. She’s an adorable child.’ She paused and then added, ‘What a beautiful dress. You look lovely Freya.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Freya glanced down at the elegant cocktail dress that had been one of her favourites when she had lived with Zac. The green silk crêpe de Chine clung to her slender curves and the colour looked good against the light tan she had acquired while playing in the sunshine with Aimee.

      Zac was hosting a dinner party tonight and had curtly informed her that, as his PA was still feeling unwell, he required her to act as his hostess. She was looking forward to the evening with as much enthusiasm as a trip to an abattoir. Relations between them had improved marginally since their last explosive confrontation, but only because she avoided him whenever possible.

      It wasn’t difficult; he had always left for his office before she was up and he returned late—or not at all, she thought grimly. Common sense told her he was bound to have a mistress in Monaco. He possessed a high sex drive and, although he had respected her wishes and held back from making love to her after the evening they had spent with the Warrens, she had been in no doubt of his frustration.

      But there were plenty of women who would willingly satisfy his needs and all week her imagination had kept her awake at night as she had pictured him with some nubile beauty. Jealousy was a corrosive emotion. She hated herself as she lay awake each night listening for his key in the lock and hated him more when dawn brought with it the bitter realisation that he had spent the night in another woman’s bed.

      The results of the DNA test couldn’t come soon enough, she thought miserably. Living under the same roof as Zac was destroying her self-respect. She had no idea what he would do when he discovered that she hadn’t been unfaithful to him, and she no longer cared, she realised. Possibly he would offer to pay maintenance for Aimee, but it was unlikely that he would want any kind of contact with his daughter and with luck she would never have to see him again.

      She found him in the lounge, staring out at the spectacular view over the bay. In a formal dinner suit he looked more gorgeous than ever. The expertly tailored jacket moulded the formidable width of his shoulders and when he swung round she noted the way his brilliant white shirt accentuated his olive-gold skin.

      ‘Freya.’ he studied her in silence for a few moments, his brows drawn into a slashing frown. ‘Mon Dieu! You have a nerve wearing that dress. Did you do so expressly to anger me? Because if so, you’ve succeeded.’

      Startled by his barely leashed aggression, Freya shook her head. ‘You told me to wear the clothes I’d