The Gold Collection. Maggie Cox

She tailed to a halt and looked at him with a mixture of confusion and scalding embarrassment as she recalled her shameless response to him. Once again she’d proved that she was completely in his power and she knew he would ruthlessly use that knowledge to bend her to his will.

      ‘I don’t keep condoms in the shower,’ he told her bluntly, his eyes trailing over her scarlet cheeks. ‘Remiss of me—I must remember in future that you enjoy sex outside the bedroom as much as in it.’ His eyes glinted with amusement at her outraged glare and, before she could argue, he took the bar of soap and began to stroke it in circular movements over her breasts. ‘Now I know that the vasectomy reversed I can’t risk another accidental conception.’

      ‘Aimee may have been an accident, but I don’t regret having her,’ Freya said heatedly, a shudder running through her when he slid the bar of soap over her stomach and lower to her thighs and buttocks. ‘That’ll do, I’m clean enough,’ she said, bitterly resenting the way her body was quivering in anticipation of his touch once more. Clearly she was some sort of nymphomaniac, she thought grimly, because she couldn’t get enough of him.

      ‘Be honest, Zac, you never wanted children. You wouldn’t have had a vasectomy if you had. You can still have a relationship with Aimee if I take her back to England,’ she told him when he stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her and carried her into his bedroom, ‘but you don’t really want to be tied down with a child living permanently here in the penthouse.’ Her breath left her body on a gasp when he dropped her unceremoniously on the bed, but to her disappointment he did not join her and instead crossed to his wardrobe and selected a clean shirt and trousers.

      ‘Aimee is my daughter and she belongs here,’ he said as he slid into his clothes with his usual lithe grace. ‘You know from your own childhood experiences that it’s best for a child to grow up in a stable environment with two parents and, for that reason, I’m prepared to allow you back in my life.’

      He slid his arms into his suit jacket and strolled over to the bed, his mouth curving into a mocking smile as he stared down at her lying sprawled on the silk bedspread. ‘I have to go to the office for a couple of hours but I’ll keep the image in my mind of your delectable naked body spread across my bed. This is where you belong, chérie, ready and willing to please me.’ He leaned over her and stemmed her furious rebuttal of his arrogant statement by kissing her senseless before he straightened and traced his thumb pad over her swollen lips. ‘You want me, Freya, and as my mistress you can have me, every single night. Now, be a good girl and stop arguing. Most women would be grateful for the opportunity to move in with a billionaire lover.’

      Good girl! Incandescent with rage, Freya wondered if she could beat him to death with a pillow. ‘Unluckily for you, I’m not most women, and if you think I’d ever agree to be your grateful, obedient mistress you’re going to be disappointed,’ she hissed between her clenched teeth.

      Zac was already at the door, but he paused and turned to give her a wicked grin. ‘Good—I’d much rather have a disobedient mistress,’ he drawled. ‘It promises to be a lot more fun.’

      Two weeks later Freya sat gloomily on a sun lounger, aware that even the beauty of her surroundings failed to lighten her mood. The penthouse roof-garden was a suntrap where scarlet geraniums grew in profusion, their bold colour vying for attention with the azure pool and the sea sparkling on the horizon. She had spent the morning watching while Aimee played with her father in the pool, but now Jean had taken the little girl to the nursery for a nap and she and Zac were alone.

      ‘Are you hot? Come for a swim to cool off,’ Zac invited, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement when she quickly shook her head. ‘I promise I won’t duck you.’

      ‘Your promises count for nothing,’ Freya told him firmly, dragging her gaze from the sight of him floating on his back in the pool. His skin had darkened to bronze in the hot sun and she felt the familiar weakness in the pit of her stomach when he swam to the steps and hauled himself out. Droplets of water trickled down his chest and clung to the mass of wiry black hairs that arrowed down beneath the waistband of his swimming shorts. The muscles of his taut abdomen were clearly visible beneath his skin and when he walked over to her and picked up a towel Freya suddenly became fascinated with the view over the bay.

      ‘You practically drowned me the last time you persuaded me to swim with you,’ she accused, recalling how he had swum up behind her and tugged her under. Taken by surprise, she’d been forced to cling to him—out of her depth in more ways than one, she acknowledged ruefully as the memory of being clamped against his muscular chest while he carried her to the edge of the pool filled her mind.

      ‘Don’t you trust me?’ He grinned unrepentantly, but beneath his teasing tone she caught a hint of seriousness and she bit her lip as she silently debated the question.

      Did she trust him? As far as their child was concerned, she did not doubt that he would always consider Aimee’s welfare paramount. Two weeks had passed since he had received the results of the DNA test and stated his intention to be a proper father to his daughter, and in that time he had proved himself to be a devoted parent. Freya knew that the bond between father and daughter was already so strong that she could never break it.

      Aimee adored her papa and with each day that passed Freya felt more and more trapped. She loved her daughter and wanted what was best for her, and undoubtedly Aimee was thriving here in Monaco, showered in affection from Zac, her nanny, Jean Lewis, and the other members of the penthouse staff. Even the taciturn butler, Laurent, had been won over by the baby and could often be found padding up and down the hall on his hands and knees while Aimee gleefully balanced on his back.

      Aimee was enjoying the happy family life that Freya had dreamed of as a child, but it was Zac’s mother who had surprised her the most. Yvette Deverell seemed utterly entranced with her little granddaughter and was the most loving, devoted grandmother imaginable. She visited most days and Freya was still amazed by the sight of the elegant Frenchwoman sitting cross-legged on the carpet playing tea parties with Aimee and her teddies. Aimee had formed a very special relationship with Mamie, which Freya would never try to destroy. Her daughter belonged here—but what about her? Where did she belong? she wondered bleakly.

      Zac had told her that he wanted her to move in with him for Aimee’s sake, but since then he’d made no further reference to her becoming his mistress, or how he envisaged their future together—possibly because he had now decided that they didn’t have one, she brooded dismally. He had made no attempt to make love to her during the past two weeks even though he knew full well that she would not resist him. Perhaps he had found her eagerness unattractive, she thought on a wave of embarrassment, or maybe, now that he’d had her, he was already tired of her. Whatever his reasons, he had spent the past weeks being charmingly attentive each evening when he returned home from work, but conspicuously absent from her bed each night, and she felt confused and, if she was honest, incredibly frustrated.

      She tried not to look at him rubbing the towel over his damp body, but she was painfully aware of the fact that his wet shorts were clinging to his thighs, leaving little to her imagination. Hopefully he would announce that he had some work to do in his study. It was Saturday, and she remembered that when she had lived with him he had spent most of his weekends either working or indulging his passion for a variety of sports, but to her dismay he did not immediately disappear into the penthouse and instead lowered himself into the chair next to hers. She instantly stiffened and her heart began to thud heavily in her chest. He was too close and her senses flared when he idly placed his arm along the back of her chair.

      ‘What are these?’ he queried, glancing at the photo albums on the table.

      ‘You said you’d like to see some pictures of Aimee when she was first born,’ she replied, grateful for the excuse to edge away from him. ‘My neighbour has a key to my flat and I asked her to send these over. They’re mainly snaps taken with a disposable camera and the quality isn’t brilliant,’ she said apologetically as he silently leafed through the album where she had faithfully recorded every milestone of Aimee’s development. ‘Aimee’s a little poseur, don’t you think?’ She laughed, studying the