The Gold Collection. Maggie Cox

proudly showing off her first tooth. He had missed so much, he acknowledged as he picked up another picture of Aimee as a newborn baby. Someone else had obviously taken the photo of Freya in the delivery room, smiling bravely despite the exhaustion in her eyes as she clutched her tiny bundle.

      Freya looked young and scared as she faced the stark reality of coping with motherhood alone, but he recognised the determined set of her chin and felt a flare of admiration for her. Freya’s fragile looks were deceptive; she had a backbone of steel and he found himself in awe of her strength. She had stated that she didn’t need him and he had no doubts that, if it had not been for the accident, she would have brought Aimee up to be a happy, well-adjusted child without any help from him.

      Now he knew Aimee was his child and he was willing to try and atone for misjudging Freya by suggesting that they become lovers once more. He knew without conceit that most women would jump at this chance—but, typically of Freya, she had reacted as though he were asking her to do something unpleasant, he thought irritably. He was offering her a life of luxury that most women would give their eye-teeth for—what more did she want, for heaven’s sake?

      He wanted things settled between them; he was impatient to bed her—hell, he was practically climbing the walls with sexual frustration—but, taken aback by her violent opposition to his suggestion, he had decided to play it cool and, instead of sweeping her off to bed, he had kept his distance while he waited for her to acknowledge that, on a physical level at least, they were made for each other.

      He wanted a warm and willing woman in his bed, not a resentful little shrew, but unfortunately his efforts to charm her had so far been unsuccessful. For a man used to getting his own way instantly, it was hugely frustrating, and he felt curiously tense and unsettled and he was fast running out of patience. Perhaps the time had come for a change of tactics? he brooded. Perhaps he should forget his good intentions and make love to her until she was utterly compliant to the idea of resuming their relationship on his terms?

      A loose photo slipped from the back of the album and he reached down to retrieve it at the same moment as Freya. Their hands briefly touched before she snatched her fingers away and she gave an incoherent murmur when he turned the photo over and stared at his own image.

      She must have taken it soon after she had moved in with him, he guessed, glancing speculatively at her pink cheeks. Had she kept it because he had meant something to her even though he had done his best to destroy her with his mistrust?

      ‘I didn’t know that was in there. I’d forgotten I’d even taken it,’ Freya said as she gathered up the rest of the photos and slotted them back into the album. ‘I’ll get rid of it. It doesn’t mean anything to me.’ She held out her hand for the picture, praying he wouldn’t realise that the edges were furled from where she had held it so often. It would be unbearably humiliating if he should ever guess that she had mooned over his image like a lovesick teenager.

      She swallowed when he leaned forwards and placed the photo in her hand, his gaze settling on her hot face. ‘We had some good times, didn’t we, chérie?’ he said coolly.

      ‘You mean the sex was good,’ she muttered, striving to sound indifferent and aware that her voice was annoyingly breathless. She didn’t want to remember the time she’d lived with him; it was too painful, especially now that she was back at the penthouse and Zac was suddenly being so charming. It had been easier when he’d denounced her as a cheating whore—at least then she had been able to kid herself that she hated him.

      ‘It was more than good. There were any number of women I could have had sex with,’ he said coolly, the nuance in his tone telling her that those women would have been far more experienced between the sheets than a shy virgin from a sleepy English backwater.

      ‘Well, I don’t suppose your bed was empty for very long after you threw me out of it,’ Freya said bitterly. ‘Annalise Dubois for one was determined to snare you.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed with a shrug. ‘I admit I have never lived the life of a monk, either before you were my mistress or after we split up. But I had the best, most unforgettable sex with you, chérie.’ He suddenly leaned forwards and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, effectively caging her in. His brilliant blue eyes glinted with a message she didn’t dare decipher and for the life of her she could not help focusing on his mouth. He was so gorgeous, she thought despairingly. Would she ever be free from this ache that seemed to be a permanent feature in her chest? She could not ignore the unmistakable prickle of sexual energy between them and shrank back in her seat, fighting her body’s traitorous response to him and licking her lips nervously when he leaned even closer.

      ‘Even when I despised you, I realised that the sexual chemistry between us burns as strong as before. I know you feel it too. I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking,’ he said bluntly, his gaze trapping hers as if he knew exactly what was going on inside her head.

      ‘You obviously have a vivid imagination,’ she snapped, blushing furiously. ‘Let me up. I want to go and check on Aimee. She’s probably woken from her nap by now.’ She tried to push him away but his warm breath fanned her skin and she gave a low moan, half protest and half pleasure, when he brushed his lips lightly over hers. It felt like heaven after the past two weeks when he had made no attempt to entice her into his bed. He had treated her with polite deference, as if she were an honoured guest at the penthouse, but, rather than feeling reassured that he was obviously no longer interested in her, she had ached for him to take her in his arms.

      Now Freya’s lips parted of their own accord. She couldn’t help it—he only had to look at her and she was lost, she conceded helplessly. She hated herself for her weakness, but the stroke of his tongue was sweetly beguiling, and when he delved between her lips to explore the moist inner warmth of her mouth she responded with all the pent up need that had kept her awake until dawn every night since she had arrived in Monaco.

      Zac’s hands remained gripping her chair, his knuckles white with the effort of restraining himself from reaching out to caress her smooth skin—no longer pale, but warmed to the colour of pale gold from the sun. She was so lovely, and he was so very hungry for her, he acknowledged grimly as he felt his body react with shaming eagerness to the feel of her deliciously soft lips parting beneath his. The time for patience was over and he wanted to reacquaint himself with every inch of her delectable body.

      He knew she wanted him. He saw it in the way desire darkened her eyes to the colour of a stormy sea and felt it in her unguarded response to him when he kissed her. She belonged with him, in his bed. He had hurt her, and for that he was sorry, but he was a pragmatic man. The tension and mistrust between them was in the past and he could see no reason why they should not enjoy the explosive passion that had always existed between them. But now was not the time, he conceded with a groan.

      The scent of her skin was ambrosia and he inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he sought to bring his hormones under control. ‘My mother has invited us over—although I believe she used the lure of lunch as an excuse to see her granddaughter,’ he added dryly. ‘You’d better go and put some clothes on and dress Aimee in one of the new outfits Yvette bought her.’

      He moved abruptly away from her, leaving Freya with the distinct impression that she had been dismissed. But then she had served her purpose, she conceded dismally. It was obvious that Zac had wanted her to agree to take Aimee to his mother’s, and kissing her into submission had seemed the simplest method of getting his own way. It was entirely her own fault that she was such a weak, pathetic fool where he was concerned, she told herself sternly as she marched into the penthouse, unaware that he had dived into the pool and was slicing through the water as if his life depended on it.