‘Why does this matter?’ he snapped, the cold steel in his voice a far cry from the furious heat in his eyes. ‘You gave your virginity to me. Any loyalty you had to him means nothing now.’
‘This isn’t about my loyalty to Pierre,’ she said, feeling broken inside. Why had she trusted him? A man she barely knew. A man who didn’t care about her, had never even pretended to care about her. She’d believed they had some connection, through shared pain, but had that just been a convenient excuse to feed the hunger, and take what her body desired without having to pay the price of her foolishness? ‘It’s about your need for revenge,’ she finished.
‘This whole conversation is madness,’ he said. ‘Pierre is dead. You need a new place to live because La Maison will soon be gone—which means you must grow up and stop talking nonsense.’
Before she could even process the possessive, dictatorial response, he stalked out of the bathroom and flung off the towel.
He dressed as she stood shaking in the doorway.
Leaving his shirt unbuttoned, he returned to her and captured her cheek in his hand. He pressed a kiss to her lips, delved deep with his tongue and her traitorous mouth opened instinctively, her treacherous body melting against his, even as her palms flattened against his abdominal muscles, trying to find the strength to resist him.
When he finally released her from the erotic spell they were both panting, her rigid nipples poking against the silk of her robe, begging for his attention.
‘Your body knows you belong to me, even if you do not.’ He rubbed his thumb across one nipple, making the brutal sensations dart down to her core. ‘When you are ready to face reality I will be waiting,’ he added softly, belying the anger she could feel reverberating through his body.
She stood transfixed as she listened to his footsteps disappear down the hallway.
The front door slammed below and she crossed to the window, her limbs still shaky, to see him climb into his SUV. He didn’t look up, the headlights illuminating the ancient vines as he backed the car out of the yard in a squeal of rubber.
His clipped parting words echoed in her head as the roar of the SUV’s engine disappeared into the night.
Your body knows you belong to me.
Not a threat but a promise. And one she couldn’t deny.
She had thrown herself into the wolf’s den but, unlike Little Red, she wasn’t sure she was smart enough or strong enough to get out again before Maxim Durand devoured her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Madame de la Mare, there has been a significant development in the settling of your husband’s estate. May I come to La Maison this morning to discuss the situation?
CARA WOKE TO find the message from Marcel on her phone. She typed out a reply, telling him she would be ready to see him in half an hour, shocked to realise it was past ten o’clock in the morning.
She dragged her aching body out of bed. She’d had a fitful night’s sleep, every one of her dreams—so hot and febrile—haunted by her overwhelming encounter with Maxim Durand.
Opening the shutters of the bedroom she’d moved into after Maxim had stormed out, she allowed her tired eyes to adjust to the morning sunlight and then breathed in a fortifying lun
gful of the September air. It didn’t help.
She squeezed her thighs together to ease the pulse of tenderness.
After a long hot shower, in a vain attempt to clear her groggy thoughts and understand the shameful echo of desire that still lingered, she dressed in her usual outfit of shorts and a T-shirt. Returning to her own bedroom, she stripped the sheets from the bed, careful to avoid looking at the spots of blood left by the innocence she’d lost—not lost, thrown away. She carried the sheets downstairs to the laundry room and stuffed them into the ancient washer.
She turned it on and listened to the old motor whirr into action.
If only she could wash away her stupidity—and the memories of her forbidden night with Maxim—as easily.
Was it her imagination or could she still smell Maxim’s scent—sandalwood and salt—lingering on her freshly washed skin?
She needed coffee, and lots of it, before she faced Pierre’s lawyer. The last thing she wanted was for Marcel to figure out what she’d done last night.
She was still struggling to pull herself together, sipping her second cup of coffee, when she heard Marcel’s car in the driveway. He’d arrived five minutes early.
A thread of unease worked its way into her stomach as she considered his text again. She’d assumed this was some kind of formality. But why was he eager to see her so early?
The argument with Maxim tormented her as she walked down the hallway to answer Marcel’s knock.
Had Maxim taken legal action to dispute Pierre’s will already? She supposed she should have anticipated this, but after last night... She’d had some vague hope he would wait, to find a compromise with her.