The Marriage Deal(9)

If she kept her breathing even and she moved slowly, an inch at a time,  maybe Michel wouldn't notice, and eventually she'd be able to slip free  from his grasp and the bed.

A ridiculous strategy, she silently castigated herself seconds later  when the slightest movement resulted in an involuntary tightening of his  hold.

What now? Jab her elbow into his ribs? Thump a fist against his forearm? Maybe both? Yes, that might work.

'Planning your method of attack?' a deep voice drawled far too close to one ear.

'You got it in one,' she responded thickly, aiming a vicious jab with  her elbow … and missed as he successfully deflected the manoeuvre. Kicking  her heel against his shins didn't make an impression at all, and she  uttered a growl in rage. 'Let me go!'

'S'il vous plaît?' he queried musingly.

'Go to hell.'

'If you want to play … '

'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' she retorted vengefully as she twisted helplessly to free herself.

'Not particularly. I prefer a woman to be pliant and willing in my arms.'

'Fat chance!'

'You would like me to prove how easily I can change your mind?'

Sandrine lay very still as she attempted to control the sudden hitch in  her breathing. All too easily, she agreed silently, much to her chagrin.

He buried his mouth in the soft curve of her neck, then trailed a path  to her temple. His hand moved up to cup her breast, and her stomach  muscles tightened against the onslaught of sensation.

'Is this where you insist I fulfil my part of the bargain?'

With one easy movement he rolled onto his back and carried her with him  to straddle his waist. His features were dark, accentuated by the  visible evidence of a night's growth of beard. His eyes held a watchful  quality, assessing and vaguely analytical.

This, this, she qualified shakily, could prove highly dangerous.

He resembled a lazy tiger, supine, visually content, but exuding a  primitive degree of power. One wrong word or move on her part and she  entertained no doubt his indolent facade would swiftly vanish.

Her position was extremely tenuous, to say the least.

He lifted a hand and brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek,  then slid them forward to cup her chin. 'Your definition, not mine.'

He pressed his thumb against the centre of her lower lip, and acute  sensation quivered through her body. 'I moved into another room by  choice.'

'And I brought you back here.'

'Because you don't like sleeping alone?' she queried with deliberate sarcasm.

'Sex isn't necessarily a prerequisite to sharing the nuptial bed.'

'You expect me to believe that? Of you?'                       
       
           



       

He was silent for several telling seconds, and when he spoke his voice  was so silky it sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine. 'I  have a vivid memory of the long nights we shared, chérie.'

So did she. Nights when she became a willing wanton in his arms as she  embraced a sensual feast so erotic there were times when she wept from  the joy of it.

'That was then,' Sandrine said slowly, and glimpsed his wry smile.

'And this is now, hmm?'

'Yes.'

'In that case, let's get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast.' In  one smooth movement he lifted her to stand on the floor, then he swept  aside the covers and slid to his feet.

Clothes, bathroom, she decided, in that order, gathering jeans and a  stretch rib-knit top. Seconds later she was safely ensconced behind a  closed door with, she hoped, total privacy.

There were no locks on the internal doors, and she took a quick shower, dressed, then emerged to find the bedroom empty.

Sandrine descended the stairs and followed the aroma of freshly brewed  coffee to the kitchen, where Michel looked completely at ease breaking  eggs into a bowl while a skillet heated on the stove top. Dressed in  black designer jeans and a white polo-neck knit shirt, he looked  indecently male.

His actions reminded her of the breakfasts they'd shared and their easy  camaraderie. Then, she would have teased him mercilessly, applauded his  skill and uttered a husky laugh as he carried her back to the bedroom.

Now, she silently filled two glasses with orange juice, poured the coffee and transferred everything onto the table.

Michel placed one plate with a steaming omelette before her, then settled in the seat opposite.

Her stomach felt as if it were tied in knots, and it irked her  considerably that his appetite didn't appear in the least affected.

Sandrine forked a few morsels into her mouth, bit off a segment of toast, then sipped the strong black coffee.

Michel refilled his cup, added sugar, then pushed his empty plate to one  side and sank back in his chair. 'We have the day. What do you suggest  we do with it?'

She replaced her cup on its saucer and met his steady gaze with equanimity. 'I plan to go shopping.'

'Specifically?'

'Food,' she answered succinctly. 'Staples such as bread, milk, eggs, fruit.'

'And then?'

'Take the car and explore a little.'

Michel rose to his feet and began clearing the table. 'I'll drive. You can play navigator.'

'Excuse me?'

He cast her a musing glance that held a hint of patient forbearance. 'We'll take in the supermarket, then explore.'

'Since when did I become we?'

His silence was telling, his expression equally so, and she was the one  to break his gaze as she gathered up a few spreads and carried them to  the refrigerator.

'What if I'd prefer to be alone?'

'Don't push it, Sandrine.'

It took only minutes to rinse and stack the few plates in the  dishwasher, then Sandrine collected her shoulder-bag, slid sunglasses  atop her head and walked through to the garage, uncaring whether Michel  followed or not.

Sanctuary Cove village comprised a wide variety of up-market stores and  trendy boutiques, numerous cafés and restaurants and was accessed via  two bricked lanes whose median strip held immaculately trimmed palm  trees. The adjoining grounds fringed a lush green golf course, which  seasonally hosted international competitions.

The few grocery staples required to boost supplies could have been  selected in five minutes, but Sandrine deliberated over the choice of  fruit, the varieties of lettuce, and opted to visit the local bakery  rather than select packaged sliced bread.

Michel added a few selections of his own and appeared mildly amused when she rejected more than one.

Half an hour later they retreated to the villa, stored their purchases and returned to the car.

'Where to?'

'There are mountains, beaches, theme parks,' Sandrine responded as  Michel eased the car through the security gate. 'Your choice.'

'Noosa.'

She cast him a startled glance. 'That's more than a two-hour drive north.'

He gave a slight shrug. 'Is that a problem?'

'No, I guess not.'

He reached a large roundabout and circled it. 'Navigate, Sandrine.'

She directed him onto the multilane highway where they joined the swift  flow of traffic travelling north, and after an hour they took the  Sunshine Coast bypass.

Soon they were driving through farmland devoted to sugarcane, avocados,  pineapples, strawberries and a variety of fruit trees. Small country  towns reflected a slower-paced lifestyle, old-style buildings mingling  with modern, and in the distance lay the brooding range of bush-clad  hills, a deep blue-green against the azure skyline.                       
       
           



       

'The Glasshouse Mountains,' Sandrine revealed, studying the tour-guide  booklet. 'Montville, Maleny. Craft ware, quaint teashops, picturesque.'

'We'll go there tomorrow.'

She frowned and cast him a quick glance. It was difficult to determine  anything from his expression for his eyes were shaded by dark sunglasses  and his focus was on the road ahead.

'What do you mean … tomorrow?' she demanded.

'We'll detour through on the way back to the Coast,' Michel explained patiently.

'You intend for us to stay overnight in Noosa?'

'Is that a problem?'

'You're darn right it's a problem. I don't have a change of clothes for a start,' she said heatedly.

'It's a tourist strip. The shops will be open. We'll buy what we need.'

She turned on him with ill-concealed anger. 'Did you plan this?'

'It seems foolish to travel back to the Coast tonight, only to turn around and return again tomorrow,' he said reasonably.

'You could have asked me!'

'And given you the opportunity to refuse?' She shot him a fulminating glare. 'I dislike being hijacked.'

'Look on it as an adventure.'

Some adventure! If she managed to get through the next thirty-six hours without hitting him, it would be a miracle.

'If I'd known you had this in mind, I'd have brought along the script.  It might have escaped your attention, but I'm due on the set Tuesday and  I need to study my lines!'

'I have it on good authority the lines are few, and unless the scene needs to be reshot, you should be done by midday.'

'I hate you.'

'Hate is a strong emotion and, as such, better than indifference.'

'You just missed the turn-off.'

'Caused by a navigational distraction?' he mocked as he decelerated, then swung the car into a wide turn.