Brazilian's Nine Months' Notice

Luc rested inside her, smoothing her hair with long, calming strokes, and when she was calm again he withdrew slowly and with infinite care.

But he was only teasing her and plunged deep again. The shock was glorious. The pleasure was intense. She responded immediately, coming apart in his arms as he pressed deep and rolled his hips. ‘More!’ She laughed. ‘Give me more,’ she begged him, as if they hadn’t done this over and over in the sand.

She would never get enough of him, Emma realised as to her relief Luc began to move.

He gave her what she needed in a series of firm, deep strokes. And then repeated the technique he had used before, withdrawing slowly and thrusting firmly, driving her further and further up the thick smooth strut of the marquee. She dug her fingertips into the muscles on his shoulders, her arms almost straight he’d pushed her so high. Throwing her head back, she gasped noisily as she silently sang the praises of this big, powerful man.

‘Again?’ he suggested when she quietened.

‘Are you asking permission?’

Luc’s answer was to drive into her and pleasure them both this time with fast, hard strokes. ‘Yes!’ she screamed, loving the sensation even more when he lost control with her.

‘That has never happened to me before,’ he admitted when they had both recovered. ‘I was so angry with you—’

‘And me with you,’ she agreed.

‘How am I keep supposed to keep a rein on myself now?’

She stared into his eyes, uncertain whether Luc was joking or not. ‘Maybe you’re not,’ she said as he held her close. She pressed her face against his chest. Their heartbeats were equally rapid, but did Luc feel as she did inside? If there was some potion she could take to render her immune to Luc, she’d take it so she could be as cool as he was, but right now she had never felt so close to another human being in her life, and that felt so good she wanted to shout it to the world, not keep it hidden deep inside.

Outrageously good sex and a shared sense of humour, along with a certain amount of caring, was a tender shoot on which to build a relationship.

But it was a start, Emma told herself firmly as she straightened her clothes.

I love you, you impossible man, was what she wanted to say to him, but of course she didn’t. It was too soon. Luc might laugh—would laugh, she corrected herself. The time might never come, and she had to accept that. From what she could tell, Luc had spent his entire adult life keeping people at bay, and one passionate encounter on a beach wasn’t going to change that.

* * *

He linked fingers with her and led her through the entrance of the marquee. He didn’t care who saw them. Emma had made him happy. She had made him feel good about himself for the first time in a long time.

‘You can’t refuse to be my mistress now.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She stopped dead and looked up at him. ‘So you think that what just happened means you can drink your fill of me and then get rid of me? No,’ she said levelly. ‘Where becoming your mistress is concerned, nothing has changed.’

‘Why?’ Bringing his face close, Luc brushed her lips with his.

‘Why am I the only woman on earth to refuse you? I don’t know,’ Emma admitted, pulling back. ‘I just know that what you’re offering is never going to be enough for me. However you dress it up, you’re asking me to forfeit my freedom in return for financial gain.’

‘So you don’t feel anything for me?’

‘Of course I feel something for you—too much,’ she admitted. ‘But nothing’s changed because of tonight. I won’t live with you. And I won’t become your mistress. I should never have agreed to stay in that fabulous apartment to begin with. I should have had enough wit to demand accommodation in your staff quarters from the start. Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

Luc stared down at her indulgently. ‘You do know this is hormones talking?’

‘No, Luc.’ Emma shook her head. ‘This is me talking. We’re back to where we started, so I’m telling you all over again that I won’t be controlled.’

‘That’s not what I’m trying to do.’

‘So what are you proposing?’

* * *

Not marriage, he thought as Emma turned away. He’d been down that dark alley once before and had no intention of repeating his mistake.

When he didn’t answer, she shook her head in despair at him.

‘You’re a riddle, Emma,’ he admitted. ‘You’re the most passionate woman I’ve ever known, but you say I’m controlled? What about you?’