Prince of Montez, Pregnant Mistress Read online

  And the more likely you are to see weaknesses in the work of an inexperienced artist, Cally thought dismally, realising that if her lack of sexual expertise hadn’t said it for her then her attack of verbal diarrhoea had just given the impression that she only ever slept with men who she saw as potential husbands.

  ‘I was very young then,’ Cally added quickly. ‘When I thought I wanted to marry David, I mean. Of course, I was upset by what happened, but I realised very quickly that I was not cut out to be anyone’s wife.’

  Leon eyed her with a degree of scepticism. ‘And yet you say you do not wish to be a mistress either. That makes for a very cold life, Cally.’ He ran his hand over her bare arm. ‘And, if you are planning on pretending that you are a cold person, don’t bother, because we both know different.’

  She had resigned herself to the fact that her life was destined to be cold, Cally thought, only now aware of how sad that sounded. But that was because she’d never known this kind of passion, a passion she knew she couldn’t fight anymore even if it was destined to go nowhere.

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not going to pretend that. But nor do I want to downgrade my role of art restorer to mistress.’

  Cally saw a nerve work at his jaw. ‘I shall presume that was a slip of the tongue and you meant upgrade.’

  ‘Don’t. I take great pride in working hard to earn my own living, difficult as that might be for you to comprehend. I don’t want to toss it in so I can be at your beck and call, have you tell me what to wear and when.’

  ‘So what is it you do want?’

  Leon wondered if he had heard himself correctly. Since when did he conduct affairs where he invited a woman to lay down the ground rules? Never, he thought, looking at her fiery red hair spilling across his pillow. But then never before had he ever experienced a desire which felt like it would render him permanently debilitated unless it was appeased. Or been so conscious that here was the last woman in the world who needed a man riding roughshod over her a second time, he thought ruefully. Maybe it was breaking his own rule, but so long as she meant what she said about not wanting to be anyone’s wife there was no problem, was there?

  ‘I want to carry on working here—under the terms we have already agreed—and I want this…’ She scrambled around for a word which described whatever ‘this’ was, and decided that there wasn’t one. ‘This sex between us to be something entirely separate. That isn’t about anything other than mutual pleasure because the opportunity, whilst I am here, exists.’

  ‘Just like I can dive into the sea because it is outside my back door?’ Leon ventured.

  ‘Exactly.’ Cally nodded, not knowing why that made her heart sink, when having him agree to treat this as a pleasure they both chose to indulge in was far more preferable to being made to feel like a call girl on extended loan.

  ‘Good,’ Leon replied abruptly, having heard exactly the answer he needed. ‘Then you shall work during the day and share my bed at night.’ He made a show of picking up his watch from the bedside table. ‘Which, if I’m not mistaken, still gives us another eight and a half hours.’

  And with that he tossed aside the sheet and pulled her to him all over again.

  Chapter Ten

  WHEN Leon had compared fantastic sex to art, Cally hadn’t considered it as anything other than a boast about his sexual prowess. But in the weeks that followed she couldn’t help thinking that there was more to his statement than even he would have given himself credit for. After the physical abandon of that night, she felt fundamentally altered, as if up until that point her life had been the equivalent of a rather dull and dreary still life, and now he had splashed it with vibrant colour.

  As bright and vivid as the underwater paradise beneath them, Cally thought happily as she lay flat on the deck of his boat after an hour just spent snorkelling, breathing in the scent of sun cream and feeling the droplets of seawater evaporate off of her skin. Although she had insisted that she would work during the day, and only share his bed at night, Leon tended to leave the palace early in the morning and return just after lunch, and since it suited her to work to a similar pattern their afternoons were invariably spent together.

  Of course, they made love, sometimes in the studio, sometimes in his bedroom if they made it that far, sometimes even out on the terrace. But to her surprise Leon hadn’t only wanted to indulge in sex. He had taken her across to the opposite hillside to show her the stunning site where Kaliq had chosen to build his villa, and then for a drive along the coast road with its magnificent cliff-top views. He had taken her down to the harbour with its lively market, to the central square with its endearing medieval church, and of course he had brought her out here to the ocean.

  And Montéz had unquestionably captured her heart, Cally admitted, ignoring the nagging voice in her head which said and that’s not the only thing. But, whilst she could get away with claiming that it was the natural beauty of the island which was responsible for inspiring her to work on her own painting whenever she got a spare moment, she couldn’t deny that ceasing to fight her sexual appetite was responsible for the return of her much-missed focus on the restorations. In fact, she had made so much progress that after—how many weeks, three?—it wouldn’t be many more days before they were completely finished.

  But it wasn’t until she’d spotted a missed call on her mobile and listened to the answer-phone message that morning that Cally had really faced facts and realised that she ought to start thinking about what she was going to do next—which went for her relationship with Leon too. The prospect shouldn’t have felt like trying to remove a limpet from the bottom of his boat—after all, that night in his bedroom she had been heartened by the thought that their lovemaking would reach an enforced conclusion rather than waiting for his desire for her to wear thin—but it did.

  Which was probably because in so many ways it didn’t feel just like lovemaking anymore. For, even though she had resigned herself to the knowledge that theirs was a passion that was destined to go nowhere, in these past few weeks Leon had really opened up to her of his own accord. He’d talked to her about his daily work at the university as they shared their evening meal; he’d told her about his time in the Marine Nationale. In turn she’d told him about her family and her degree, and they’d spent hours conversing about art, a subject upon which he had a knowledge more extensive than she would ever have imagined.

  In fact, it felt pretty much like a real relationship in every way—except that their relationship was the one thing they didn’t discuss, she thought, looking across at his beautiful body sprawled out beside her, his tanned chest glistening in the sunshine. Was it because, as far as he was concerned, it was already decided that the second she put down her paintbrush she’d be picking up her bags and leaving on the first plane home? He had told her himself that romance was in a Frenchman’s blood, so perhaps this sex with added sentiment was just what you got with him, she thought dismally. Or was there a possibility that the reason he hadn’t brought it up was because he didn’t want her to go?

  Not that it would change anything, even if he didn’t, Cally quickly rationalised, because her career was what mattered first and foremost. So why did the answer-phone message, which ought to have had her jumping for joy, make her feel like she had been rudely awoken from the perfect dream?

  ‘You know, I reckon it won’t be much longer before my restorations are complete,’ Cally said, trying to make her voice sound as blithe as possible.

  Her words interrupted Leon’s unruly thoughts. Thoughts which involved him rolling over and peeling down her black bikini top, which in his opinion had been on for far too long this afternoon, particularly now that the wet Lycra was beginning to dry in the coolness of the breeze and he could see the tight buds of her nipples that cried out for his mouth. Although on second thoughts it wasn’t so much her words that had made that image vanish from his mind as her tone, which sounded offhand, as if the actual words were nothing but a code she expected him
to crack. It was a tone he had never heard Cally use before, but ever since he had witnessed the starry look in her eyes that night Kaliq and Tamara had mentioned their forth-coming nuptials, ever since she had filled him in on her sparse sexual history, he had always feared she was in danger of adopting it. Had known too, that there was no way he was going to allow it to get to him, any more than he had any intention of allowing their lovemaking to come to an end. Yet.

  ‘It hadn’t escaped my notice.’

  Cally rolled over, leaning on one elbow. ‘So, will you be glad when I’m all done?’

  His eyes remained closed. ‘Of course. I cannot wait to see them both restored to their original glory.’

  Cally hesitated. ‘Me too. But I have to admit I shall be a little sad not to be working on them anymore, in that studio and—’

  ‘Are you by any chance trying to induce me to ask you to stay on after you have finished, Cally?’ Leon opened his eyes and challenged her with his piercing blue gaze. ‘Because if you are may I remind you that you were the one who insisted that our lovemaking should only last whilst—how was it you delicately put it?—whilst your work on the Rénards placed us in close proximity to one another.’

  Cally flushed, the previously pleasant heat of the sun now making her skin prickle uncomfortably. ‘No, I—It just occurred to me this morning that I had finished them a little more quickly than I expected, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s been a month, as you estimated.’

  ‘A month?’ Cally stared at him, dumbfounded. ‘No, it can’t have been.’

  ‘Time flies when you’re having fun,’ he drawled, sitting up and drying his legs with a towel.

  A month? A month in which they had made love pretty much every day, she thought, suddenly realising she hadn’t had a period since before she had arrived. The heightened colour drained from Cally’s face as she fished around in her mind for an explanation to quash her fears of the unthinkable. Her periods were sometimes irregular, weren’t they? And if anything was going to change a woman’s cycle it was a different diet, a different climate from usual, wasn’t it? Yes, that had to be it. In a couple more days, it was bound to arrive.

  ‘Well, anyway, all I’m trying to say is that I hadn’t given much thought to any future projects until I received a phone call from the Galerie de Ville in Paris this morning. They have just purchased a collection of pre-Raphaelite pieces and they are looking for an additional restorer to work with their existing team. The London City Gallery recommended me, and they want to meet to discuss whether I’d be interested.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Leon replied gruffly. ‘You should have said earlier. When’s the meeting?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. As soon as possible, I think. I missed their call yesterday afternoon and I only picked up their answer-phone message this morning.’

  ‘And you haven’t called them back yet?’

  ’Not yet, no.’

  Leon’s momentary surprise evaporated. ‘And why would that be, chérie? Because you wanted to ask me whether I thought it a golden career opportunity first? Surely not, for we both know that it is. Therefore you must be wavering because you wish to see whether I will offer you a more attractive alternative, oui?‘

  Cally flew to her feet. ‘As if!’ she shot out, terrified that was why she had wavered, that she had been willing to jeopardise her career for the sake of a man who felt nothing for her for the second time in her life. ‘I suppose I just hoped you might show a little regret that our affair is inevitably reaching its end.’

  ‘Inevitably? Why? Montéz is only ninety minutes away from Paris. You will have weekends, will you not?’

  Cally’s mouth dropped open. ‘You mean…You wish it to continue?’

  ‘Just because I do not ever wish to marry does not mean that I am not interested in extending a mutually pleasurable affair.’

  He made it sound like their relationship was a library book he wanted to take out on six-week loan instead of three. Yet, wouldn’t he end this now if she meant absolutely nothing to him? Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Cally. He’ll end it eventually, so what’s the difference? Agreeing to let it continue could only prolong the hurt until the day he decided that he no longer found her satisfying. Which surely, if they were only to see each other at weekends, would be sooner rather than later for a man with a sexual appetite as insatiable as his. Unless, of course, exclusivity was not part of his offer in the first place, she thought with a start, feeling suddenly nauseous.

  ‘And who will you make love to Monday to Friday, Leon?’

  Leon’s mouth twisted in disgust. ‘You have my word that you will be the only woman sharing my bed.’

  She stared at him, wanting to believe him, wanting to believe that it was possible to have a relationship and the career she loved, wondering if she even dared try. ‘But why?’

  Leon ran his eyes over her face. Her pale skin was flecked with light freckles brought out by the sunshine, the faint mark from her snorkelling mask was still visible on the bridge of her nose and her red hair was matted with seawater. It would have been easy to think to himself that her vulnerability was the reason, that she didn’t deserve to be let down for the second time in her life, but the truth was that he had quite simply never seen anything so alluring and he didn’t want her to go. Was it because she was the first woman who had come out on his boat like this? he wondered, trawling his mind for a logical explanation. No, there had been others, he recalled, surprised to find that his ex-lovers all blended into one faceless, nameless and frankly dull mass. But they had either demanded that he sail them across to St Tropez for lunch at a restaurant followed by an afternoon in the boutiques, or after a few minutes in the water had spent two hours below deck re-trowelling their make-up and ironing their hair. Yes, it had to be because he had never met anyone quite so appealingly uninhibited as she was.

  ‘Because I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you,’ he breathed, sensing her capitulation as he reached out his arm and dragged her towards him. ‘And I’m not ready for this to end.’

  Neither was she, she thought, forgetting all the reasons why this was a bad idea when he looked at her like that. And maybe, just maybe, if they both learned to trust, neither one of them ever would be.

  ‘Then I hope you are not prone to dizziness, Leon,’ she whispered.

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘Because the first thing I want you to show me when you come and visit me in Paris is the Eiffel Tower.’

  Leon paused. ‘Maybe the second thing, chérie,‘ he said with a wicked gleam in his eye, before lowering his head to plunder her mouth.

  Cally completed the restoration of the Rénards at lunch-time three days later. Standing back to admire them, she was overcome with a feeling quite unlike any other she’d experienced in her life. It always gave her a thrill to see a work of art restored exactly the way an artist had intended, but this transcended that; it was almost as if a part of her own personal destiny had been fulfilled.

  She couldn’t wait to show Leon. She looked at her watch. Twelve-thirty. He’d be back at two if not before. Which meant for the first time since that afternoon on the boat she had an hour alone to spare. Since there was still no sign of her period, she decided she really ought to take herself off to the pharmacy she’d spotted in the nearby village just to be sure it was just late and nothing more. That way, when she went to Paris to speak to the gallery tomorrow, at least she could go without any niggling concerns.

  Unless of course the niggling concern turned out to be a full-blown worry-fest, she thought. She was still convinced she couldn’t be pregnant when she felt absolutely no different from normal, aside from a little tiredness, which was probably due to the amount of time she spent making love to Leon or swimming in the sea. But what if she was? A slow and thoroughly unexpected warmth crept through Cally’s body. She didn’t know whether it was her buoyant mood or too much sun, but for some reason it didn’t feel like something that would be a worry at all;
it felt like it would be the most natural thing in the world.

  Hearing footsteps approaching the studio door made a wide smile break out on her face. He was back early.

  ‘Finished,’ she said triumphantly. ‘What am I going to do—Oh.’

  Cally stopped mid-sentence as she turned round to discover the footsteps were not Leon’s. On second thoughts she wasn’t surprised, for she so rarely heard him enter, a trait she had come to associate with his natural diver’s stealth. The feet belonging to the person who had entered, on the other hand, could not have been less subtle, for they were clad in bright-purple stilettos.

  Cally took in the matching purple dress and blue-black hair which reached the woman’s waist. A waist which she was sure would have ordinarily been no wider than the span of two hands, if she hadn’t looked about five months pregnant.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Cally asked, raising her eyes to look at her face for the first time. Suddenly she realised that the woman she was looking at was Toria. Toria, whose face she recognised from the wedding photo that had graced every magazine cover the year she had married Girard. Toria, who, if Leon was to be believed, was nothing but bad news for a list of reasons as long as her hair. But he hadn’t mentioned that she was expecting.

  ‘I’m looking for Leo,’ she purred, a look of disdain on her wide, painted mouth.

  Cally flinched. ‘You must be Toria.’

  ‘And you must be his latest conquest.’ Toria ran her eyes critically over Cally’s paint-splattered outfit. ‘How… charitable of him. Now, where is he, out there?‘ She motioned towards the sea in disgust.

  ‘He’s not here at the moment. Actually, I’m alone, and I rather thought all the doors were locked. Do you mind me asking how you got in?’

  ‘Keys,’ she said, reaching into her oversized designer handbag and producing a bunch full. ‘Don’t look so surprised. This is my home. Or, should I say, was.

  Cally gritted her teeth. ‘He’s at the university. I have no idea what time he’ll be back,’ she lied, hoping to make her leave. She had no idea why Toria still had a set of keys, but Leon had said she only ever came back to Montéz to stir up trouble.