Indecent Exposure (11 page)

She dreaded to think how much Mitch would hate her when he discovered her part in whatever Costas had planned. She hated herself for being part of it.

Was it so bad to want this time with Mitch? To want the feel of his arms around her, share his company, enjoy his kisses and his lovemaking?

That brought her up with a jolt. When had she started to think of sex with Mitch as lovemaking?

Perhaps it was just as well that their time together was limited. If she was starting to think of having sex with Mitch in more emotional terms, she was in even deeper trouble.

She had to distance herself. Had to remember she was with him for a purpose, and that purpose would destroy whatever they had together the moment he discovered her duplicity.

It was vital that she erect some kind of barrier between them. Crucial that she protect herself from feeling too much.

Decision made, she grabbed her bag and went into the sitting room to meet him.

Her resolve lasted all of two minutes and by the end of their second evening in Paris, she’d all but pushed Costas and his demands from her head. Instead, she’d chosen to enjoy her time in Paris with Mitch and face the consequences later. In what she’d come to think of as her
Scarlet O’Hara
moment, she would take the photo tomorrow. On their last night here. When they returned to London, she would hand over the photo to Costas and Mitch would never want to see her again. It would all be over. But that was tomorrow. She’d think about it tomorrow.

“So, what’s the verdict?” In their suite, Mitch shrugged out of his linen jacket. “Remember, you’re only allowed to choose one.”

As usual, Gina went to the window for her evening soak up of the view. “It’s hard to say. I would definitely have said the Louvre, but then you took me on the cruise along the Seine and dinner was absolutely wonderful. So, the river cruise.”

He came up behind her and she sank back against him, snuggling close when he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The sea air must have given you an appetite,” he quipped. “Two helpings of lemon mousse. That was even more than I could manage.”

“That’s because you had mussels.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I thought that was a cliché about Paris, like eating snails.”

“There are no clichés about Paris.”

“I’m starting to get that.”

If there were, one of the best clichés was how romantic it was. The City for Lovers. Snuggling against Mitch, she could believe it. She felt intoxicated. The combination of Mitch’s masculine scent, the potent feel of his arms, and the city’s twinkling lights served to make her lightheaded. But she knew it was so much more than the lights. It was Mitch. Somewhere along the Seine, between Notre Dame and the Champs Elysees, she’d given up the fight and let herself admit that she’d fallen for him.

Of all the stupid things she’d ever done, that was probably the most foolhardy. But she couldn’t help it.

Mitch pushed aside her hair and kissed the side of her throat. Slow, soft open-mouthed kisses that never failed to set her alight.

She moaned softly. “I love when you do that.”

His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs sliding over her nipples, already hardening beneath the silk bodice. When his erection pressed against her back, she shimmied against him. He bit softly into her neck and she gave a little “oooh” sound.

He reached around and unzipped her dress, then slipped the straps from her shoulders. Since she wore no bra, the dress fell to her feet and he cupped her naked breasts. He stroked her nipples in time to the kisses he placed against her neck, and she arched into him, making tiny appreciative sounds. Since her pussy ached for his touch, she continued to gyrate against him.

Keeping one hand on her breast, he slid the other hand lower until his fingers toyed with the top of her thong. He reached down and cupped her mound through the silk. “You’re so damn wet.”

She dropped her head back on his shoulder. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” He kneaded her pussy and she opened her legs a fraction, coaxing him to press deeper into her. “Touch me, Mitch. Properly.”

He flicked aside the strip of silk and pushed one finger sideways into her pussy. She moaned and pressed back against him, loving the feel of his prick, so big and hard, against her back. She wanted it inside her. Hell. She
always
wanted him inside her.

Desire built, her legs went weak, and still he continued to work her. Seconds later, she came, watching the lights twinkle beyond the window as Mitch’s fingers brought her to orgasm.

No sooner had the last wave of reaction pulsed through her than he turned her around to face him. He hoisted her up, and she clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. He carried her to the bed where they fell onto it together. Mitch pulled back long enough to wrench off her thong. His chest expanded with each deep breath, his jaw tight with tension, eyes dark with need. He spread her legs and pressed his mouth to her heat.

Gina clutched at the sheet, desperate to gain purchase before he pushed her up to the heights again. His mouth was rough and determined and she moaned his name over and over as sensation swamped her. Her second climax stormed through her, but when her tense muscles relaxed, Mitch kept subjecting her to the same ruthless torture.

She scrambled up as best she could and reached for him. She grabbed for his shirt, her hands trembling against the buttons. “Mitch. Let me touch you.”

Abruptly, he stood and pulled off his shirt, his eyes gleaming. Gina sat up on her knees, unhooked the waistband of his trousers and unzipped him. His erection sprang free, thick and gloriously ready for her.

He toed off his shoes, yanked off his pants, then turned and went to the wardrobe. Moments later, he returned with two neckties and she felt the first flicker of unease. He dropped the ties on the bed and straddled her. When he kissed her, running his hand down the side of her ribs, her hip, her thigh, she tried to relax, but a tightness moved into her chest. He nudged her legs wider with his knee and settled between her legs.

Then he picked up one of the ties.

She made herself breathe as—with a wicked gleam in his eye—he stretched her arm up over her head. Powerless against the panic that rose in her chest, she jerked her arm back.

Although his hold loosened, he kept his hand on her wrist and smiled down at her. “Trust me.”

She did, and she was not going to let what happened with Costas ruin anything with Mitch. She was not going to let memories of being bound and then having her privacy so ruthlessly invaded spoil the beauty of what she and Mitch did together.

He wasn’t Costas. He would never hurt her.

But her body went rigid when he wrapped the tie around her wrist. Her breath came fast, her head spun. She tried to slow down her breathing.

Mitch would never hurt her. Use her. Destroy her trust.

She knew that, as much as she knew anything.

This was Mitch. Not Costas.

When her hand knocked against the bed post and she felt the tie tighten around her flesh, she jerked up, pushing at his chest with everything she had. Her heart thumped out of her ribcage and she all but hyperventilated “No.” She wrenched at her bound hand. “No!”

Chapter Eleven

Mitch froze. His intention had been to introduce a little bondage play into their sexual repertoire in the hope it would forever extinguish her view of him as stuffy and unadventurous. He sure as hell hadn’t meant for her to totally freak.

He thought her thrashing might be an act, that she maybe wanted him to ignore her protests, force himself on her and tie her up regardless. He knew some women got off on that. But one look at her told him he was way off. Her stricken brown eyes stood out against the pallor of her skin, and the way she yanked at the tie made his own heart pound with concern.

“Okay,” he soothed, and started unfastening her wrist. “It’s okay.”

“Mitch.” She all but sobbed his name, her body trembling. Desperately, she struggled to get the tie off herself.

Gently, Mitch nudged her hand away, and seconds later he threw the tie to the floor. “It’s off.”

Her breath came in short gasps, so rapidly Mitch feared she might hyperventilate. Freed, she scooted back against the headboard, rubbing her wrist. She dropped her head to her knees.

“Breathe, sweetheart.” He wanted to wrap her in his arms, draw her close and apologize, but instinct told him not to touch her right then. “Just breathe.”

Although she continued to shake, he could see she was trying to do what he’d instructed. Her back expanded with each shuddering breath, her shoulders trembling with effort.

He felt like a complete asshole. An inconsiderate jerk. Why the hell hadn’t he seen the signs before he’d started tying her up? She must have given some indication she wasn’t up for it, but damned if he’d noticed. All he could do was thank God he’d been called away from London at the last minute to attend the meeting here in Paris, and hadn’t had time to finalize his plans for their night at Jake Malone’s BDSM club.

“Gina.” Unable to resist, he touched her arm, but wasn’t surprised when she jerked away. Although he understood, it felt like she’d kicked him in the gut. Still, he wondered if he’d missed the signs and berated himself for his lack of sensitivity. If he’d been tuned into her reactions, he would have stopped way before things got out of hand.

“I’m…sorry.”

At her muffled sob, he couldn’t resist moving closer, although he was careful not to touch her again. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Although she kept her forehead on her knees, she shook her head, sending blonde hair shimmering across her shoulders. Unable to resist any longer, he reached out and swept some of the long strands back so he could see her more clearly. This time, she didn’t pull away.

“I don’t know why I did that.” She raised her head and inhaled a jerky breath. “I just totally freaked out.”

His chest squeezed and Mitch had to suck in a breath himself. Holy shit. She looked so damn wretched. Gently, he tucked her hair back from her shoulders, the pressure in his chest turning red hot. It didn’t take a genius to work out where the roots of her reaction lay. “Who scared you, sweetheart?” he asked softly. “Tell me what happened.”

She looked at him for long moments, then shook her head and closed her eyes before dropping her forehead to her knees again. “I can’t.”

He clenched his teeth, his hands tightening into fists. Some bastard had hurt her. Had laid his hands on her, terrified her.
Shit.
If he came within spitting distance of the prick, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

He didn’t recognize the rage filling his chest, or the fury thundering through his bloodstream. But right then, his rage wasn’t worth a damn. He needed to focus on Gina. She needed to know she was safe with him, that he would never hurt her, and that whatever she needed, he’d move heaven and earth to provide.

Taking a chance, he leaned back against the headboard and reached his arm around her. When she didn’t react, he drew her slowly into his embrace. He closed his eyes and gave an inner sigh of relief when she dropped her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Hold me.”

At her whispered request, he enclosed her in his arms and dropped his chin on the top of her head. They stayed that way for several minutes, her erratic breathing combining with his own hammering heart. Only the odd car horn from the street below penetrated the otherwise silent atmosphere.

When Mitch felt her relax against him, and could trust the steadiness of his own voice, he took a breath. “Let me get you something to drink.”

When he started to draw away, she held firm. “No. Just hold me for a while longer.”

Since he hadn’t wanted to let her go anyway, he reached for the top sheet and pulled it back over her, then tightened his hold once more. Soothingly, he rubbed her arm, trying to get some warmth back into her chilled flesh.

Though he was pleased her breathing seemed normal again, Mitch wasn’t entirely surprised that his own system still pulsed with anger. He had no tolerance for men who hurt women. He planned to coax Gina to tell him what had happened, and if it was in his power, he’d make damn sure the thug came to regret the day he’d ever laid hands on her.

Drained, mortified, Gina clung to Mitch and wished to heaven she hadn’t reacted like that. As Mitch had started tying her up, memories had flooded back and swallowed every rational thought in her head. But there was no reason to lose it with Mitch. All she’d needed to do was simply tell him she wasn’t into that sort of foreplay and he would have stopped. She knew that. Instead, she’d overreacted and now she owed him some sort of explanation.

There was no way she could simply play it down, laugh it off. That wouldn’t wash with Mitch. No, she’d have to explain. She’d have to make up something, because she couldn’t tell him the truth. That she’d allowed herself to be tied up naked by Costas, and had been the naïve victim of the man’s blackmail scheme.

If she did tell him the truth, would he believe her? Would he even care that she’d been blackmailed? Her track record didn’t exactly foster a belief in her innocence, especially considering her propensity for getting involved with the wrong type of man.

Until Mitch had come along, it had been safer to get involved with men like Costas. Men to have a good time with, while never risking her heart. Now that Mitch was back in her life, her own warped plan to save her heart had been turned on its heel and bitten her on the ass.

With that realization, she clung to him harder, wanting to savor these last few moments protected in his arms, surrounded by his strength while his heart thumped reassuringly against her. Everything would change now. They would make love one last time before reality finally crushed her self-imposed fantasy. Tonight she would have to take the photograph. After that, it would all be over.

When he kissed the top of her head, she snuggled some more. Drawing in a breath, she inhaled his scent deep into the very core of her being. She wanted to trap it there so she could always have that of him when it was over. While she lived her life regretting how she’d betrayed him, knowing that he hated her, despised her, and wished that he’d never laid eyes on her.

He shifted a little, and lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “Better?”

She nodded. The immediate panic was over. Although there was worse to come, for now she would enjoy these last few hours with him. “Sorry.”

“No apology needed. I’ll get us that drink.”

He shifted from the bed and strode over into the living room. Bereft of him, Gina hugged her knees to her chest and heard the chink of crystal as Mitch poured their drinks. She wished more than anything she could tell him the truth, confess everything, and have him believe she had been an unwilling participant. More likely, he would believe she had been happy to set him up for another embarrassing fall, just like she had in college.

If she told him, Costas would release that video, her mother would be disgraced and politically ruined and she herself would have to face the backlash. She would lose clients of course—and okay—she would probably gain new ones out of curiosity, but she didn’t want clients who were only interested in her notoriety. She didn’t want to be some sort of freak show.

Being the daughter of a mayoral candidate, she had already received unwelcome attention from the local press, but it had been patchy and discreet. She could imagine how everything would intensify and escalate if that video got out. Stills from the film would be plastered across national and international newspapers, because the world’s press loved scandals involving political figures and their wayward offspring. While her mother wasn’t exactly center stage in her own right yet, her glamorous persona and the fact she’d been courted by several illustrious men put her well and truly in the public eye.

Gina couldn’t bear to humiliate her mother that way, but the thought of betraying Mitch hurt more than she believed possible. He didn’t deserve it any more than her mother did. If anyone deserved to take the heat, it was her and her alone. But things weren’t that simple.

She hugged her knees closer, not looking up until Mitch came in. Smiling, he walked gloriously naked across the deeply piled carpet. She longed for his warmth, his safety, his protection. If only she could close her eyes and then wake up to find everything that had happened with Costas had been one long, dreadful nightmare.

Mitch handed her a brandy glass, then settled next to her again. Wrapping his free arm around her, he drew them both back against the headboard.

He touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to our last night in Paris.”

It seemed horribly prophetic and mirrored her morbid thoughts. Maybe on some level, he knew that things were about to change between them, but more likely that was just her guilty conscience. “I’m sorry for everything, Mitch.”

“No apology necessary. Not everyone likes indulging in bondage play.”

She’d meant the apology to cover more than her meltdown, she’d meant it to embrace her treachery. She prayed that some day he might remember her words, and realize that she meant them from the bottom of her heart.

He met her gaze, his expression serious. “There’s no point doing something we both aren’t into. Your pleasure is my pleasure. If you’re uncomfortable with anything, then we won’t do it. It’s that simple.”

His words made her feel more wretched. She was so bloody ashamed of herself. Why in heaven had she spent all these years with men who would never in a thousand years say to her what Mitch had just said?

She’d engaged in bondage play many times over the years, but after Costas, she didn’t think she would ever feel comfortable with it again. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

He took the glass from her hand, and placed it along with his on the side table. With her in his arms, he snuggled down beneath the sheets and drew her close until they were face-to-face, limbs entwined. “How about we just snuggle for a while? As long as I’ve got you in my arms, I can live.”

When he winked, she smiled. “We can do more than that. I’m not going to freak again.”

He snaked his hand down her hip and her body shivered its response. “I’m glad you came this weekend.”

She laughed softly. “Do you mean as in came to Paris, or more of a carnal meaning?”

His hand covered her backside. “Both. But right now, let’s go with the latter.”

“Good answer.”