A Lesson In Love: Season of Desire Part 5

by Sadie Matthews

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

The final part of SEASON OF DESIRE, a fiercely passionate five-part serial novel by Sadie Matthews which will excite all fans of FIRE AFTER DARK, BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE and FIFTY SHADES OF GREY. Freya Hammond is used to people fulfilling her every whim. Wealthy and spoiled, she lives a butterfly existence of fashion and parties and is accustomed to getting her own way. Which is why the new bodyguard is riling her. Miles Murray is ex-SAS and obeys her instructions with barely repressed scorn. She can sense that he doesn't think much of her. The Hammonds have been staying at their luxurious retreat high in the Alps. Now Miles is driving Freya to the airport but the rapidly worsening weather and a near-miss with a dangerously driven jeep causes him to lose control, and sends the car plummeting off the side of the mountain. When Freya comes to, she is lying on the freezing ground, Miles beside her. The car is a mangled mess far below them. Now Freya needs Miles to save her life. Using all his survival skills, Miles manages to locate an old shepherd's hut and get them both there despite Freya's twisted ankle. Rescue will surely come before too long... but until then Freya is no longer in control. The tension between them is soon at fever pitch as she tries to dominate a man who no longer obeys her orders. And when rescue does come, how will they return to their old life of mistress and bodyguard after what has happened between them?

Release date: December 19, 2013

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 70

Sample

Chapter Twenty

I really don’t know if I can take this.

 My emotions have been in a heightened state – one way or another – for so long that I’m exhausted. I’m so strung out by everything that’s happened that, even though I’m wound up to the point of tears, I can’t cry.

 Miles walked out of my father’s study this morning, and out of my life. I couldn’t help wondering if he was glad that my father had dismissed him like that: he’d only come back because I’d begged him to, and I always knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t stay long. I’ve learned that Miles is a proud man, a man of principle and integrity. There was no way he would stay working for my father and Pierre when the two of them suspected him of duplicitous behaviour.

 But what makes me lie on my bed, frozen and grieving, is fear. I’m afraid that Miles doesn’t feel anything for me. I replay every minute of our time together in the chalet, recalling what he said to me. He didn’t give much away, but I recall the look of pain on his face when I asked him if he was running away from a woman – the woman who, it turned out, was dead.

 It’s hard not to leap to the conclusion that he still loves this dead woman, whoever she is.

 But does that mean he feels nothing for me?

 I bury my face in my pillow, and remember the moments of tenderness: the sweet snuggling in front of the fire, the breakfast he cooked me, the way he held my hand under the fur rug during our sleigh ride. He didn’t have to do those things. He wanted to do them – we both did. We ate and drank and laughed together; we made love and then slept wrapped up together, waking to the delight of sleepy smiles, lazy kisses and warm flesh.

 Like a couple. A normal couple.

 I remember how, when we talked about our future, Miles reminded me that I’m Freya Hammond, and told me I simply couldn’t walk out of my life. Maybe that’s it. Perhaps he won’t let himself fall for me because he believes it’s impossible that he and I could ever be happy together, ever have a future.

 ‘Miles, you’re wrong,’ I whisper into my pillow. ‘We do have a future – because I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I can’t go back to how things were, because my life simply wasn’t worth living. And I’ll do anything it takes to show you I mean it.’

 The little voice in my head asks me: what about the dead girlfriend? How can you compete with her, if he still loves her?

 All I know is that she’s not here, and I am. Surely I have a chance – as long as I can show Miles how much I love him.

 But where is Miles? His phone is switched off and he’s not replied to any messages. As far as I know, he’s simply disappeared.

 

The exhaustion of everything that’s happened catches up with me and I fall asleep on my bed for a few hours. When I wake up, groggy, it’s the early afternoon and my phone is flashing madly with an onslaught of messages. I sweep it up and scroll through them all, hoping desperately that one will be from Miles.

 None of them are. They’re from friends demanding to know all the gossip about my love affair, or media outlets also demanding the same (as though I’d spill my secrets to them!), or just the usual crazy stuff from people who somehow manage to find out my email address and think that makes us soul mates.

 There’s one from Flora:

 

OMG, you dark horse!!! So all along you and that hunky bodyguard were getting together! You kept that quiet. Sorry to see you’re the latest splash, honey. Come to Paris if you need to escape it all… xxx

 

And from Summer, who’s a little more succinct:

 

I THOUGHT YOU HATED HIM!!!! Xxx

 

I groan as I read the messages. Of course, I’d forgotten that the whole world now knows about my liaison with Miles. Le Kiss! It seems there’s no escape. I’m under scrutiny wherever I go. But who on earth recognised me, and was quick-thinking enough to take those long-lens shots when Miles and I kissed? The paparazzi have an extraordinary talent for sniffing out pictures that will make them money, that’s for sure.

 And all my privacy disappears.

 Only a day ago, my whereabouts were a secret and only two people knew I was with Miles in Klosters – Beth and Dominic. And now, anybody who can pick up a paper and read it knows. The papers will no doubt be in a frenzy of speculation over what that says about the accident and my romantic future. Well, let them obsess. I can’t care, or I’ll go mad. I just have to shut it all out and concentrate on what the hell I’m going to do next.

 

I ring downstairs for lunch to be brought to my room – I can’t face Jane-Elizabeth and her disappointment over my lies right now – and while I eat it, I answer the messages my friends have sent, usually with just a few words along the lines of how crazy the world has gone if I’m front-page news. I keep trying Miles but his phone remains off and none of the texts or messages I send are answered. All I want to know is where he is. I know so little about him, I can’t even begin to guess where he might have gone after leaving this place.

 I’m staring at my phone, willing it to flash with a message from Miles and feeling utterly powerless. Then a thought strikes me.

 I leap up and head for the door. Clutching my phone, I march to the lift and summon it. When it arrives, I take it down to the second floor and when the doors open with their tiny chime, I stride out, not caring if the cameras spot me or not. Last time I came to this floor furtively, secretly, but this time I’m reckless. Damn them all, why should I creep about in my own home, for God’s sake? I walk past the guards’ room with its bank of screens relaying all the activity through the property and then past the kitchen where there are preparations going on for the evening’s meal, judging by the aroma of cooking, then past the dining room and into the staff sitting room, where the television is playing. The atmosphere is livelier than when I was last here, but it’s still fairly quiet. A man in one armchair is reading a newspaper, while another is. . .