One Final Night

by Scarlett Rush

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Now she can choose a parting gift from her lover, what will it be? She has been stripped of all reservation, made love in public places, been taken by him in front of his friends, his butler, and his maids. Now they must part, what can he give to honour the hussy she has become?

He proposes a final night of unmatchable, guiltless bliss. Others will come to her in the dark; as many as she needs to satisfy her fantasies. The men will be the handsome soldiers, the women the beautiful aristocrats of her dreams. Can one night possibly dull the heartache of losing this beautiful man for ever?

Release date: January 17, 2013

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 70

Sample

Prologue

‘If I gave you two options,’ he said, just as my fingers had curled around him, ‘I wonder which you would choose.’

‘Is one of them you?’ I said, instantly regretting how facile and needy I sounded, although my grip tightened round his hardness, not wanting to let him go.

‘We both know that in my position I cannot continue to see you for much longer,’ he replied, with something of a sigh. ‘It will not be allowed. We could drag it to a slow death, perhaps with our passion replaced by bitterness that it has to end, but at least we would have those few more moments together. That is the first choice. Your second choice is to have your beauty honoured in the way that it should be; to have one final night together, one of unmatchable bliss to be remembered for ever, the joy of its memory alone to replace the contact between us.’

In that moment, I knew he’d slipped away. It scattered the happy illusion of us together that I habitually toyed with when I was alone. He was never mine, and now it was time to prove it. I could free him and go out in a blaze of amorous glory, my heart ripped out in that instant. Or I could cling on for one more day, one more minute of him, my dignity and my soul withering by degrees, in the vain hope that this would somehow temper the final impact. My heart said “cling”, but my head was still conscious of my recent display of neediness. It wanted to pretend I still had some grace left in me, so, with as much bravado as I could muster, I proclaimed a preference for the “one final night”.

‘That choice may hurt the most,’ he said, stroking the hair from my eye. ‘At the time, you will think it to be everything your body ever wanted; the most scintillating, sensual fulfilment you could bear to take. It will be beyond any pleasures you could fantasise. However, nothing will ever come close to it again. You will yearn for more of the same, but it will never come. What you have to consider is whether the euphoria of having had it outweighs the regret of being denied as great a joy ever after. What you haven’t had, you cannot miss, and I warn you, this one night you will miss like the sun.’

Suddenly it sounded like a challenge, and I can’t help but bristle at such things. Did I not possess the strength of body and character to absorb such thrills? Did he presume I was not woman enough to take whatever he could give without being destroyed by forlorn nostalgia? Moreover, right or not, was I to let him bask in the conceited notion that my life’s true pleasure began and ended with him alone? I laughed, grasping him tighter to remind him that I was still to be reckoned with, that he might also miss me like the sun.

‘And what makes you think that you could give me such a night?’ I enquired.

‘Not just me, my love. Me and many others – as many as it takes to give you the perfect night of bliss you so deserve.’

Then he kissed me to leave the notion blooming in my mind. He knew my thoughts were now so easily swayed by such things. The sudden thrill of it blocked out what had been said before. My hand was moving on him and I was shuffling down beneath the bedclothes before I had a chance to regroup and consider my position. I ran my lips over him and took him in, and it didn’t seem like I had already lost, but I had. The severance papers were signed. It was too late to begin entreaties now. I had agreed the manner of our parting and, him being him, he wasn’t going to let me back out of it.

Chapter One

I saw him first during a guided tour of the Château. It had been a spur of the moment thing, perhaps too bright a day to spend indoors, but sometimes I simply need a quick fix of beauty and grandeur. I cannot remember another time I have been so instantly taken by someone they stopped me dead in my tracks. He was away from my group, studying Rodin’s tortured sculpture of a hand. Not many men can boast pure elegance, but he could, even just standing there. His black suit was slim cut and superbly fitted. His shoes probably cost more than a month’s rent on my apartment. The shirt was in lilac, worn without a tie; the small, neat collar unbuttoned at the top only. His hair was silver but he was not old – maybe only just closer to 50 than to 40. He looked fit, toned, and tanned. The eyebrows were still jet black and, along with the black creases that ran from each nostril down the sides of his mouth, they gave hints that in younger days his dark looks might have been described as “brooding”.

Then, suddenly, he was staring straight at me.

Sometimes you are just caught and, by the time your reactions awake, it’s too late to look away without making it obvious. I therefore held his gaze, bubbling inside at my own boldness. If there was one thing he would quickly learn of me it’s that I have a feisty side. I don’t know why his eyes shifted so unexpectedly to mine. Maybe he sensed me watching him, although I like to think he had already picked me out and was simply returning for another look. Once I decided to hold his gaze I didn’t then know what to do with my expression, whether best to look inviting or aloof, pleased or indifferent by what I saw. His face remained impassive, the head tilting a little as if studying me as he had the works of art surrounding us. I managed the slightest smile, trying to appear nonchalant, as if it had been that our eyes had met in an instant, rather than me being caught gawping at him. He blinked once, slowly, gave a small nod, and went back to Rodin’s hand.

My group had moved on and I was alone. I didn’t want to go chasing after them looking like a lost sheep, nor was I sure my legs would be steady enough for a dignified exit, so I s. . .