Page 58 of Pleasure Payback

Damian’s head dropped to my shoulder and I held him to me as we caught our breaths. All too soon he pulled out, then set about adjusting my clothes before taking care of his. When he was done, he brushed a soft kiss on my lips, his gaze searching my face.

‘I missed you. Did you miss me?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

He laughed, the sound low, pleased andpleasing. ‘I’ll see you outside in five minutes, okay?’

Still caught in a post-orgasm haze, I nodded and watched him saunter towards the door. Then I scrambled to my feet, frantically searched the floor and came up empty. God, he didn’t... ‘Damian!’

He paused with one hand on the door. ‘Yeah?’

‘Give me back my panties,’ I demanded in a fierce whisper.

He raised one haughty eyebrow. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, darling. Now shift that delicious arse or you’re going to be late.’

He stepped out with the easy confidence of a man who didn’t give a damn who saw him walk out of a ladies’ restroom.

And I knew I was in deep trouble when I turned around and caught my wide, bright smile in the mirror.

Filming wrapped up late evening on Tuesday, a high-spirited post-production meeting marking the end of the segment. When the senior producer indicated that he would love for me to return for the next season, I politely declined.

My objective had been achieved—Damian Mortimer under my sexual control.

He might be his own man in every other area of his life but with every look, every subtle touch, he was mine sexually.

But for how long...?

This project was almost over. I’d landed the deal that with careful, clever marketing would put Nevirna on the international map.

After France, there would be no valid reason to keep seeing Damian. No reason to keep him in my bed.

This time the pain in my heart was sharp. Acrid.

Altered in a way I couldn’t pinpoint exactly but felt deep inside.

The helicopter ride from Bordeaux-Merignac Airport to Damian’s chateau on the edge of the Garonne valley was swift and exhilarating. And passed in almost as much of a blur as leaving Manhattan and experiencing Damian’s incredible private jet and all the extravagance that both had to offer.

‘We’re flying over the property now,’ Damian said through the mic attached to his headphones.

The view below was breathtaking. Rolling green hills, farmland and endless copses of trees were intersected by a large winding stream. But none of it compared to the majesty of the classic rectangular French chateau standing proudly on its own hill. Set on three floors and made of stone that gleamed white gold in the bright sunshine, the frontage boasted arched windows, with two slate-roofed turrets jutting out from each corner.

‘Welcome to Chateau des Nuages,’ he said as the chopper set down gently on its own helipad.

I stepped out, looked around and the scene was so magnificent, I was almost afraid to breathe. Almost afraid to fall in love with a place that wasn’t Westport, Connecticut.

Almost afraid to...fall in love.

No.No, no, no.

‘Nuagesmeans...?’ I asked hurriedly as if words would halt the chaos happening inside.

‘Clouds.’ He pointed to the west turret almost ablaze in the setting sun. ‘On stormy days it feels like you’re floating on a bed of clouds when you’re up there.’

For a single moment I wished we weren’t surrounded by clear dusk. That the sky was filled with fat fluffy clouds so I could experience that magic with Damian.

I shook myself free of the fantasy as we headed towards the chateau. ‘How long have you had this property?’ I asked, just for something practical to drag my head out of the clouds.

‘A few years. I look in on it once or twice a year.’

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