HER HEART WAS beating hard and fast. Her hands slid up through his dark hair and she moved backwards clumsily, his arm guiding her. Or was she pulling him? And then he was lifting her onto the desk, sweeping papers aside and lowering her to the gleaming wood.
For a moment he watched her, his eyes dark and glittering with desire, and then, breathing shallowly, he leaned over and kissed his way down her neck to her breast, rolling his tongue around first one rosy-tipped nipple then the other.
Arching upwards, she gasped, and then she collapsed back against the desk as he dropped to his knees and took her with his mouth.
Panting, she shifted against him, raising her hips, her body already starting to tremble, wanting more. And then her fingers tightened in his hair and she pulled him up. Her hands fumbled with the button on his trousers and suddenly she was pulling him free, her fingers closing around him in a fist.
He grunted, catching her hand with his. He pushed it away and, raising her up, thrust inside her, flattening her body with his.
‘Look at me,’ he muttered.
Wrapping her legs around his hips, she gazed up at him as he pushed harder and deeper, the blaze in his eyes matching the burning heat between her thighs. Suddenly she was grasping his head in her hands, her muscles clenching as he surged into her again and again, and then, tensing, she cried out, her body joining his in a shuddering climax.
Feeling him bury his face in her throat, Margot closed her eyes and breathed out shakily. She couldn’t move, certainly couldn’t speak. And she didn’t want to. All she wanted to do was lie there in his arms for ever, breathing in the air that he breathed.
She felt him shift above her and, feeling his gaze, she opened her eyes. He was gazing down at her, his face flushed, his breathing unsteady.
‘Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
She shook her head. ‘This desk is actually more comfortable than it looks.’
Lifting her hand, she traced her finger along his jawline and over the shadow of stubble on his chin.
Frowning, he gently withdrew and pulled her upright, supporting her with his arm. ‘I kept thinking we should go the bedroom, but I was desperate.’
She smiled. ‘I don’t know whether to be offended that you were clear-headed enough to think anything at all, or flattered that you were so desperate.’
Stroking her blonde hair away from her face, his gaze held hers. He smiled. ‘“Clear-headed” might be pushing it.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips then, dipping his mouth to her throat, brushed the sensitive skin of her collarbone and the slope of her breast. ‘I don’t know what happens when I’m with you but it’s got very little to do with thinking. Just wanting. And feeling.’
Her heart gave a lurch, but she knew that the feelings he was talking about were physical, not emotional, and sexual desire was nothing like love.
Blocking the ache in her chest, and keeping the smile on her face, she said lightly, ‘Me too.’
Breathing out, Max pulled her closer. Tipping her head back, he kissed her deeply, and as her nipples brushed against his chest he felt her stir restlessly against him. Instantly his body began to throb in response.
Moaning softly, she broke the kiss, and pressed a hand to the middle of his chest. ‘Max…’
‘Yes, Margot?’ he said hoarsely.
‘Do you think we could make it to the bedroom this time?’
He nodded slowly, his eyes on her mouth, and then, grabbing her wrist, he tugged her towards the door.
* * *
Later they swam in the pool and lay in the sun.
‘Is this okay for you?’ Margot glanced over at him, frowning slightly. She didn’t actually want to go anywhere or do anything, but then she was in love. All she wanted to do was spend every minute of every hour with Max, savouring every moment, absorbing every detail.
But she wasn’t ready to reveal her true feelings to him yet—in fact she wasn’t sure that she would ever be ready. It had been hard enough to explore her own. Having to face up to the fact that Max couldn’t and wouldn’t ever share those feelings was not worth spoiling this new intimacy between them for. And besides, right now his body inside and beneath and on top of hers was enough.
She cleared her throat. ‘I mean, we haven’t actually left the villa once, and we’ve only got another five days. Is there nothing you’d rather do?’
His eyes rested intently on hers, and she shook her head, her mouth curving into a smile.
‘You have a one-track mind.’
‘It’s not one-track,’ he said lazily, reaching over to caress her hipbone in a way that made heat rush though her. ‘It’s just one destination.’
She reached for his hand, intending to still it, knowing that if she didn’t she’d be begging him to take off her clothes—take her, full stop, out on the terrace. But his fingers curled around her wrist and he pulled her towards him, so that her stomach was pressing against the hot, toned muscles of his abdomen.
For a moment she stared at him, dry-mouthed. She loved what they shared, loved the press of his mouth on hers, the touch of hand and the weight of his body. Only, feeling as she did, she knew she should be careful. Wrapped in his arms, it was temptingly, dangerously easy for her to start fantasising about true love and happy endings, for that was when they were at their most intimate. But every time she thought about taking a step back she only had to look at him and she was struggling to breathe.
The trouble was that her hunger for him far outweighed her willpower, and each time she gave in to that hunger it got harder and harder not to tell him how she felt.
‘What is it?’
He was staring at her, studying her closely so that for one terrible moment she thought she must somehow have revealed her thoughts.
‘Nothing.’ She gave him a casual smile. ‘It just seems a shame to come all this way and not even have a look around. It’s so beautiful… I’m sure there must be something stunning to see.’
His eyes slid slowly over the three turquoise triangles tied around her body. ‘That bikini is pretty stunning.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I was talking about sightseeing.’
He grinned. ‘In that case, now you come to mention it, there is something I’d like to take a closer look at. You have this tiny little scar, just below your—’
Reaching over, she punched him lightly on the arm and he broke off, laughing.
‘You’re impossible!’ She was laughing too. ‘People do other things on their honeymoon beside tearing each other’s clothes off.’
‘And is that what you want to do? Other things? Like sightseeing.’
Assuming that he was still teasing her, and about to respond in kind, she looked up, her mouth curving at the corners. But as their eyes met she felt her heart start to pound. Max was smiling, but his eyes were serious, expectant, as though her answer mattered. Her smile seemed suddenly out of place. Why was he asking? Did he think that she was bored? Or that she wanted to be somewhere else, with someone else?
Meeting his gaze, she shook her head. ‘No, I’m happy being here with you, relaxing,’ she said carefully. ‘I just wasn’t sure if that was what you wanted.’
‘I don’t care what we do as long as I’m with you.’ Leaning forward, he tipped her face upwards and kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘That’s all I want—to be with you.’
Letting her lashes shield her eyes, she kissed him back, feeling a shot of pure, sweet happiness. Maybe it was cowardly not to tell him the truth, but kisses were so much simpler than feelings—and even more so when his feelings were so far removed from hers.
Lying back on the lounger, Max stretched out his legs, closing his eyes to the beat of the sun. Despite his easy words he felt a ripple of unease snake across his skin, only he wasn’t entirely sure why.
These last few days had been hard. Arguing with Margot, seeing her so upset and then confessing his past to her had been painful. But it had been worth it, for now he had everything he’d ever wanted. He was the biggest shareholder in one of the oldest and most prestigious champagne businesses in the world and, more importantly, Margot was his wife.
His life was complete, and he should be enjoying that fact. He wanted to enjoy it, but he wasn’t. Instead he felt restless and uneasy.
Watching Margot turn the pages of her book, a tiny frown of concentration creasing her forehead, he knew that the problem was his alone. She seemed utterly happy—happier, even, than that slightly serious young girl he’d known all those years ago.
He, on the other hand, felt anything but relaxed. It didn’t help that since they’d walked up to the terrace together their earlier conversation had been playing more or less on repeat inside his head.
Talking about his mother, remembering how devastated she had been by Paul’s hurtful remarks and his lack of commitment, had made his muscles tense and a familiar feeling of anger and helplessness push against his ribcage.
For years those memories and feelings had been like fish in a pond over winter—there, but not there, still and silent beneath the ice. Now, though, it was as if he had smashed the frozen surface, and he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about his mother and Paul. Himself and Margot.
He hadn’t been consciously trying to rewrite history, and yet for the first time he could see that in so many ways his past had been driving his actions—pushing him to seek the certainty and legitimacy that his mother had craved. How else had he managed to build a global business worth billions in less than ten years?
His chest rose and fell.
Why else would he have proposed to Margot after seeing her in secret for just two months? And why else had he ignored logic and instinct and married her five days ago?
At the time, he’d justified his behaviour in any number of ways. Only he didn’t care any more about the money he’d paid for the shares. Nor did he feel the need to take her business and turn it around, for he knew now that she hadn’t judged him unworthy.
He breathed in sharply. Opening his eyes, he glanced over at where Margot was sitting, her sleek limbs gleaming in the sunlight. Always, right from the beginning, he’d seen their relationship from his point of view. It had been his past that mattered, his pride, his feelings—his motivation.
But this wasn’t just about him.
‘I had choices, and I walked into that chapel willingly.’
As her words replayed inside his head his thoughts slowed in time to his heartbeat, and suddenly and acutely he knew why he was feeling so uneasy.
Margot might be his wife, but the fact was there was no way she would have chosen to marry him if he hadn’t forced the issue—forced her to choose between sacrificing herself or her family.
Really, what kind of a choice was that?
He had pushed her into this marriage, using the love she felt for her grandfather and her brother to get his own way. But now, having forced her to choose, where did that leave him—them?
* * *
‘I was thinking about what you said earlier about doing other things.’ Leaning forward, Max kissed Margot’s bare shoulder. ‘And I thought we might go scuba diving this morning. Danny can take us out in the boat, and we could spend a couple of hours in the water.’
They were eating lunch on the terrace. A delicate salad of lobster and asparagus, followed by tuna carpaccio and a lime tart.
Gazing up at him, Margot felt her skin grow warm, a pulse of love beating through her veins. ‘I’d like that.’
She loved the serenity and the slow-motion way of life beneath the waves. There was something intensely peaceful about slipping beneath the surface of the water, and the deeper you went the easier it was to forget your land-locked worries.
And that was exactly what she needed to do—what she had decided to do. Today she would concentrate on the good and stop dwelling on what she couldn’t change. Most couples would envy the sexual connection that she and Max shared, and although he didn’t love her he had confided in her, and that surely meant that he needed her for something other than sex.
It wasn’t perfect, but few marriages were. And look how far they had come in just a few days.
She felt his fingers curl around hers.
‘And you’re okay swimming with sharks?’ he asked softly.
She held his gaze. ‘Isn’t that what I’ve been doing all week?’
He grimaced. ‘Is that how you see me?’
She studied his face. So much had changed in such a short time. A week ago she might only have noticed the ruthless line of his jaw, or the carefully guarded expression in his eyes. Now, though, she knew he was no shark. She’d experienced his softer side first-hand—not just when he was making love but in how he’d opened up to her.
‘No, I don’t think you’re a shark.’ Her eyes creased. ‘You’re more of a clownfish.’
There was a beat of silence, and then she shrieked with laughter as he grabbed her onto his lap and buried his face in the hollow of her neck.
She was still laughing when she heard a distant rumble. ‘What was that?’
Turning, they both gazed towards the ocean. On the horizon, so far away it looked almost like smoke, a loose dark cloud was hovering above the sea. Down on the beach, the waves were slightly choppier and more uneven than usual.
‘Must be a storm.’ His arms tightened around her and he smiled down at her easily. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll probably miss us. But even if it doesn’t it won’t last long at this time of year.’ Picking up his cup, he took a gulp of coffee. ‘I’ll go talk to Danny. He tracks all the weather for miles, so he’ll know if we can still go out and—’
He broke off as his mobile started to ring.
Glancing down at the screen, his face shifted, the smile fading. ‘Sorry, it’s my mother. I’d better take it.’
Before she had a chance to speak he was tipping her gently off his lap onto her chair and standing up and walking swiftly across the terrace to the pool, lifting the phone to his ear as he did so. Watching him, she felt oddly bereft, almost hurt by his leaving, for it felt as if he was rejecting her…
But it wasn’t that, she told herself quickly. He just wasn’t used to sharing that part of himself.
It was impossible to hear what he was saying, and she couldn’t see the expression on his face. But over the last few days she had become increasingly sensitive to the tiniest shift in his manner and, staring at his broad back, she knew something was wrong. His shoulders were pressing against the flimsy fabric of his shirt as though he was holding himself back—or holding something in.
She chewed her lip. Should she stay sitting or should she go over to him? Or maybe she shouldn’t even be there.
She was just contemplating this new, third option when she heard Max hang up. For a moment she waited for him to turn round, her heart bumping nervously against her ribs. But he didn’t turn round. He just carried on standing there in silence, his head slightly bowed as though he was praying.
Suddenly she could bear it no longer. It was probably a bad idea. Almost certainly it was. Only she didn’t know any other way to be, for she cared that he was hurting. And so, standing up, she walked towards him.
‘Max—is everything okay?’
She breathed out softly. Around them the air was heavy and motionless, and the birds were suddenly unusually quiet, as though sensing the sudden shift in tension on the terrace.
He turned slowly. ‘Not really, no,’ he said at last.
She felt cold on the inside. Trying not to think the worst, she said quickly, ‘Is something the matter with your mum?’
He nodded. ‘She needs me to come home, so I’m going to have to go back to France.’
‘To France?’ Whatever answer she had been expecting, it wasn’t that.
He stared at her impatiently. ‘Yes—that’s where she lives.’
‘But why? What’s happened?’
‘It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to worry about it.’
His voice was curt, but it wasn’t his voice that made a chill settle on her skin. Moments before he’d answered the phone his eyes had been soft and teasing. Now, though, they were hard and flat and distant. And just like that time reversed, so that suddenly he was back to being the same remote man who had confronted her in the boardroom.
‘But I am worried,’ she said simply. ‘I can see you’re upset—’
He looked over at her blankly, almost as though he wasn’t quite sure who she was, and then, running a hand over his face, he sighed.
‘She’s got the press camped out on her doorstep. Somehow they’ve found out about us. There are hundreds of them, all waiting outside, trying to get photos and hassling the staff. I can’t expect her to deal with that.’
‘Of course not.’ She moved swiftly to his side, her hand reaching for his. ‘We can leave now.’ She glanced down at her bikini. ‘I’ll just go and get changed—’
His fingers tightened on hers, but even if they had been standing on opposite sides of the pool she would have known that she’d said the wrong thing, for she felt his entire body tensing beside her.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ he said curtly, and then, as though hearing the harshness in his own voice, he softened his refusal by lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it. ‘In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t. They want a story, and it will be far easier for me to give them one if I’m on my own. So just stay here. I will fix this, and then I’ll fly back.’
‘But—’ Margot started to protest but it was too late. He had already let go of her hand and was walking purposefully towards the house.
She stared after him in silence, her body quivering with a mixture of confusion and frustration. Theoretically, she’d accepted that Max would never love her, but now, faced with concrete evidence of that fact, she felt angry and hurt.
She sort of understood why he didn’t want her to go back with him. Max knew how to handle himself, and she certainly didn’t enjoy dealing with the paparazzi. Nor did she want to meet his mother for the first time with a pack of howling press slavering outside for a photo. So perhaps it would be better if she stayed here.
But if that was true then why did she feel as though he was only telling her part of the story? And, more importantly, why was she still standing here when she should be asking him that question?
* * *
Striding into his dressing room, Max yanked down a shirt and pushed his arms into the sleeves. He grabbed a tie and knotted it round his neck, then pulled his jacket on. After so long in beachwear, he felt as if his clothes were as unfamiliar and unwieldy as a suit of armour. But he wasn’t planning on wearing them for long, or staying in France for any more time than it took to get whatever legal decision he needed to protect his mother. However, he sure as hell wasn’t going to make the trip in swim-shorts and flip-flops.
Or with Margot there.
Remembering the hurt expression on her face, he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to leave her behind, but how could he take her with him? The press were relentless, and with a story like this they would be like the sharks he had jokingly mentioned over lunch. Hungry, ruthless and unstoppable.
Without her, he could handle them, and that was why he would be going back to France alone.
Gritting his teeth, he walked back into the bedroom and picked up his wallet and his watch. Frowning, he stared down at the face. If he left in the next hour he would be back sometime after—
‘I want to come with you.’
He turned. Margot was standing in the doorway, not quite blocking it but with a stubborn set to her chin that suggested she might be about to do so.
He sighed. Had he really thought that she would just give up?
Holding her gaze, he shook his head. ‘It’s not a good idea. If we go together it will only turn into a feeding frenzy—and, frankly it’s bad enough that they’re hounding my mother. I don’t need them turning on my wife as well.’
She stared at him mutinously. ‘I disagree. If we both go back then we can give them what they want. The two of us together. Mr and Mrs Max Montigny.’
He glanced away from her. She was saying everything he’d ever wanted to hear, offering him the kind of support and loyalty that he had always craved, and yet…
Something shifted inside him—a tectonic convergence of conversations and memories—and he heard not just her words but the calm acceptance in the voice.
‘I’m a fixer-upper. I make it all look perfect.’
His heart was beating fast and uneven, as though he’d been running. Maybe because he was running away from a truth that he didn’t want to face—away from facts that he could never change, no matter how much he wanted to.
He took a deep breath, his gut tightening, finally acknowledging the real reason why he couldn’t take her with him.
Margot had spent all her life fixing her family: managing her parents’ marriage, her grandparents’ expectations and the demands of her brothers, sacrificing her plans and her hopes and dreams time and time again.
And here, on this archipelago, he had made her sacrifice herself to him. But knowing that, was he really going to ask her to do it again?
He felt her eyes on his face, and then the touch of her hand on his arm.
‘I thought you wanted to be with me,’ she said softly. ‘That’s what you said.’
Watching his face grow still and remote, Margot felt a chill spread over her skin. He might have spoken the words, but clearly he hadn’t meant them. Like so much of what Max said, it bore little relation to what was going in that handsome head of his.
‘I do—’ he began.
Her pulse jumped and she took a step closer. ‘So prove it. Take me with you. I should be there. I want to be there. I know it’s been difficult between us, but I am your wife.’
Wife.
Remembering the vows they had taken, he felt suddenly unsteady, and a chill started to roll out over his skin. He had promised to love and to cherish her.
But he had lied.
Ever since the moment he had walked into the boardroom at the House of Duvernay headquarters he had treated her with a ruthlessness that now sickened him. A ruthlessness that equalled—no, surpassed Paul’s treatment of his mother, for he had exploited her misfortune to give, by proxy, his mother the happy ending she’d so wanted.
It was all such a mess.
He’d made Margot a pawn—bullying her, blackmailing her, rushing her into marrying him. Using her to solve the issues inside his head in the same way that Paul had used his mother for sex and to boost his ego. Using the real love Margot felt for her family to get his own way. He had hurt her and humbled her, deliberately and repeatedly, and she had risen above his treatment in ways he could hardly fathom and certainly didn’t deserve.
Any more than he deserved her support now.
What she did deserve, though, was to have the freedom to choose. To be with the person she wanted. Not be saddled with a life sentence to a man she had been to all intents and purposes forced to marry.
Margot stared at him, her frustration shifting up a gear. ‘You wanted this, Max. You wanted this marriage. I thought you wanted—’ Her insides turned over and abruptly she broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
He didn’t want her.
She couldn’t actually say the words out loud. Even thinking them was so painful that it hurt to breathe, but she knew she was right. The fact that he didn’t want her to go with him told her everything she needed to know.
Had he trusted and valued her, then returning to France would have been the perfect opportunity for them to showcase their marriage in public. But he would rather go alone.
The thought ripped through her like a serrated knife.
Max stared down at her face. She had never looked more beautiful to him and he had never wanted her more. He felt a sudden warm rush of hope rising inside him. ‘Okay, I’ll take you with me,’ he said slowly. ‘But on one condition.’
He could feel the warmth fading, and in its place a chill spreading out as she looked up at him uncertainly.
‘I want you to tell me the truth,’ he said.
Outside the window he could see the darkening sky, feel the heaviness of the approaching storm, and yet it seemed feeble, even frivolous, compared to the tension swirling inside his chest.
‘Okay.’ She nodded, her brown eyes searching his face, her relief at his change of heart mingling with obvious apprehension at where the conversation was leading.
Holding her gaze, he cleared his throat. ‘I want you to tell me why you agreed to marry me.’
Her face stilled, and she frowned. ‘Well, because…’
She hesitated, and her eyes dropped as though she couldn’t meet his gaze, and then he knew. He knew that it had all been worthless. He could never take Margot to meet his mother for she would know in an instant that it was a phony marriage. It would break her heart, and he could no more do that to her then continue to use guilt and financial threats to keep Margot as his wife.
Margot shivered. She wasn’t sure what was happening, just knew that they were no longer simply talking about whether or not she should return with him to France.
She tried again. ‘You know why.’
‘But I want you to tell me in your own words,’ he said softly.
Too softly, she thought a moment later, her throat drying as she looked up into his taut, set face. ‘I needed the money—’ she began, but he cut her off.
‘So there was no other reason.’
Yes, there was—there were. So many reasons—too many—but she wasn’t brave enough to start listing them now.
It took her a moment to realise that he wasn’t asking a question, just stating a fact. For perhaps a minute he stared at her in silence, and then, just as she was about to protest, to tell him that it wasn’t that simple, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her gently.
Her heart lurched with relief, her fingers curling around the muscles of his arm as he deepened the kiss, her longing for him stealing her words, her thoughts, even her fear.
Reaching up, she clasped his face. But as she tried to deepen the kiss she felt his hands on hers, and suddenly he was stepping away from her, breathing unsteadily.
‘Don’t follow me,’ he said, and the finality in his voice cast a spell over her body, rooting her to the cold tiles.
She knew without asking that he didn’t just mean out of the room. He meant to France, to wherever, and the shock knocked the air out of her lungs, so that before her stunned brain could even register what he was doing he had turned and walked swiftly out of the room.