This Man's Magic

by Stephanie Wyatt

  After twenty minutes of this exquisite torture, the tension between them spiralling higher and higher, he suddenly groaned in her ear, 'For pity's sake, let's get out of here!'

  With indecent haste he paid the bill and almost dragged her out to the car. But nothing seemed to break through her enthralment as she took little sideways peeks at his strangely set face. Only when the car surprisingly swooped down into an underground car park did her bemused brain try to send out warnings.

  'Where are we?' she asked as he hustled her out of the car and across to a lift.

  'Home,' he said shortly, pushing her into the small compartment, and before the doors had closed she was being gathered into strong arms and the electrical charge was re-ignited, short-circuiting her mental processes. The evidence of his powerful arousal brought a shivering, heated excitement surging through her nervous system, a response her already weakened defences had no hope of withstanding. Arms tightening round her, his breathing fast and suddenly ragged, Luc traced her delicate jawline and when he reached her mouth, she went up like tinder, opening to his deepening kiss, her arms winding round his neck to draw him closer with a driving need. Nothing existed but the strength of his arms holding her ever tighter, the mind-blowing, ecstatic sensations of his mouth and tongue against hers as he tasted, explored, reaching into her to draw her very soul from her body.

  It was some time before either of them realised the lift had stopped and the doors were now open. They drew apart reluctantly and Sorrel gazed up at him with dazed, uncomprehending eyes. No longer the cool, well groomed playboy, his bow-tie was crooked, his dark hair falling across his brow while a faint mist of perspiration beaded his upper lip, 'Wait… wait…' he said feverishly, hurrying her out of the lift and across to a door. His handprint on a metal plate opened it and he pulled her inside.

  About to take her in his arms again like a starving man, a discreet cough had both their heads turning. 'I shan't need you again tonight, Peter.' Luc's voice was harshly impatient.

  'Very well, sir. Goodnight.' The man silently withdrew but his brief presence acted on Sorrel like a douche of cold water.

  'This is your home?' She looked round the enormous entrance hall, a rug she recognised as Chinese glowing with jewel colours against a polished parquet floor, and she counted six doors leading off before Luc ushered her through one of them into the kind of sitting-room she had only seen in expensive magazines. Huge and softly lit, its understated elegance very modern—curtains at the wide window that looked like silk tweed, an even larger Chinese rug as the centrepiece of a conversation area, pictures on the walls that were surely originals—it was the home of a rich man accustomed to getting what he wanted.

  'Why have you brought me here?' she asked, knowing the question was naive from the way he smiled.

  'Because you're driving me crazy, and I couldn't wait until I got you back to Wapping,' he said frankly, moving to draw her back into his arms. But she evaded him. Maybe the deliberate courting of publicity had been behind all those ladies he had been reported partying with, but that didn't mean to say he hadn't made love to them.

  'To get me into your bed,' she said flatly.

  'To make love to you,' he corrected. 'Sorrel, I've made no secret of how much I want you. And a moment ago you wanted me too, so don't deny it.' He caught her and kissed her devouringly, and the word want… want… want… echoed round her brain.

  Yes, she did want him, in all the empty, ravening places in her soul, but she wanted—needed—more than that.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At last Sorrel's lack of response got through to Luc. 'You're fending me off again,' he accused and, thrusting her away, he crossed to a bar where he poured himself a generous whisky. After a long swallow he said wearily, 'Hell, I didn't mean to put the pressure on till after the launch, but maybe my tactics have been off-beam from the start. I shouldn't have let you off the hook that night we dined with your father. I could have taken you then.'

  And he might have succeeded too, for that was the night when she had first recognised that what she felt for him was more than sexual attraction. But the words he used, 'tactics', 'put on the pressure', 'want', 'take', they weren't the words of love. 'I'm—I'm sorry if—if my behaviour misled you.' It was hard to speak for the ache in her throat. 'But you—you're an experienced man, and I… What I'm trying to say is… I don't sleep around.'

  There was an electric silence and then he clipped out, 'I'm delighted to hear it but, though I may not be a virgin, neither do I.' And then with a strange, almost eager expression on his face he said, 'Is that it? Sorrel, are you a virgin?'

  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and there was an element of resentment, too. As far as Luc was concerned, that could be the only acceptable reason for her turning him down. 'No, I'm not.' This evening had coaxed her out from behind her usual mask of amused mockery, but now it slid easily into place, hiding emotions too vulnerable to be put on show, 'It's because I'm not a virgin that I know casual sex isn't for me.'

  Luc's face was expressionless, only his eyes burned. 'So, who was he? Someone who meant a lot to you?'

  He had no right to ask, but telling him might reinforce her defences. 'A man very much like you,' she mocked, 'Very attractive, very charismatic, but, like you, he preferred variety to commitment. Oh, my friends warned me he tried out all the new girl students, but at eighteen I was too green to know there was a difference between desire and love. I was in love and thought he loved me, too. I thought moving in with him was a mere preliminary to marriage and living happily ever after. Two months later he was asking me to move out to make way for my successor.'

  Luc was staring down into his drink. 'And that has been your only relationship with a man?'

  'No, then there was Trevor.' She laughed, mocking herself. 'Oh, by then I was much more cautious, and Trevor was a very different type, a fellow student, serious, and he wanted to marry me.' She laughed again. 'You see, I'd very foolishly told him my father was Felix Valentine of Valentine & Co, gem dealers. When he discovered I wasn't even on visiting terms with my father, and that marrying Felix Valentine's daughter wouldn't give him a boost up the career ladder, he suddenly found all sorts of reasons for calling the engagement off.'

  In the years since, Sorrel had come to realise that her own particular vulnerability had been to blame for all that heartache and disillusion. She could recognise now that her desperate need to be loved and to love in return was a legacy of her unloved, unwanted childhood. But although she was older and wiser now, she knew she was no more fitted for the light, careless love affairs a lot of her generation indulged in than she had been then. Maybe marriage and a family were not the crock of gold at the end of the rainbow, but she needed the kind of commitment that would assure her she was loved, and that was something Luc couldn't give her.

  Silently Luc put down his glass and came to stand in front of her, tipping her chin so he could see her face. 'Yes, the mask is very firmly in place again. But I got behind it for a while tonight, and I'll do it again. Come on, I'll take you home.'

  When they were in the car, he suddenly asked, 'Who painted that portrait of you? The one in your bedroom?'

  'Ch-Charlie,' she said, disconcerted.

  Risking a sidelong glance she saw his brows rise. 'Has he exhibited?'

  'Not unless you count the railings along Green Park,' she said ruefully.

  They talked of Charlie's work and Sorrel's assessment of it until they reached Wapping, where he escorted her to her door, unlocking it before kissing her with great deliberation. 'That,' he said, his thumbs lightly smoothing the blue bruises beneath her eyes, 'is a declaration of intent. Wriggle all you like, Sorrel, but you and I are going to be lovers.'

  Four days later, Sorrel was still as taut as a harp-string, jumping whenever the telephone rang. The launch was less than three weeks away now, and all her jewellery designs had been finalised so the necessity of working closely with Hywel was over. It didn't help her peace of mind that s
he was having to visit the Amoroso publicity department to help them with the press releases, but although Luc must have known when she was on the premises, not once did he try to see her.

  She told herself she was relieved he had apparently thought better of his threat and had ceased his pursuit, but all too often, mostly in the dark reaches of the night, the hunger he had awoken in her kept her awake, his promise that they would be lovers circling her brain. And she wondered whether she hadn't been a fool to turn him down. Maybe he couldn't give her the love and commitment she craved, but wouldn't it have been something to carry in her memory down the long, empty years? He had been honest with her, admitting that he couldn't pretend he had fallen in love with her, but she loved him, so for her it would be more than a self-indulgent gratification of the senses. And wouldn't even a brief affair with him have been better than nothing?

  And when he inevitably tired of her and moved on? Would she be able to bear the anguish of watching him walk away? But by then—the thought hit her with stunning force—by then he might have left her with something just as precious as his love. She lay trembling as she thought of bearing Luc's child, a unique being created by their—her love. A human being that would be entirely dependent on her, someone to love who would return that love unconditionally. The child would have to grow up without a father's guidance and influence, but then she'd had to do that herself, and at least her child would have the compensation of a mother's love. And she had so much to give a child. Unlike most women faced with single parenthood, she would have no financial worries. She wouldn't have to ask Luc for support. In fact, he needn't necessarily know. She didn't have to stay in London. She could work anywhere, a cottage in the country perhaps, somewhere with plenty of room for a growing child to play, like Ellie's house in Kent. That had been sold many years ago, of course, but there must be many similar places where money was no object. Her imagination was already picturing it, a rambling garden with secret places for a small, dark-haired boy to explore…

  The sound of a police car ululating through the night brought her back to cold reality. She had turned Luc down so she had missed her chance. And anyway, there was Bianca. Over the weeks her liking for Bianca had grown and the feeling was mutual, their friendship becoming the kind of relationship Sorrel would have liked to have had with her sister. And Bianca loved Luc, that was something else these last few weeks had underlined, even if he sometimes treated her like an indulged child. How would she be able to face Bianca if she and Luc became lovers? The vision of the dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy faded and Sorrel shivered, cold and alone.

  Once more the telephone rang, drying her mouth and turning her knees to jelly, but there was a distinctive Welsh lilt to the voice which said, 'Sorrel, can you get over here this afternoon?'

  Pretending the hollow feeling where her stomach should be was not disappointment, she agreed she could, although he refused to tell her why he needed her. An hour later she discovered what he had deemed so important as Molly, his head fitter, helped her out of her jeans and sweat shirt and into a half finished dress in cream cotton, the front pin-tucked in a complicated diamond pattern so it fitted closely over her high bust and dipped down to a pointed stomacher in front where the cleverly cut skirt clung lovingly to her hips before swirling about her knees, the long sleeves pleated and full on the shoulders but narrowing to fit closely from the elbows and ending in a point over her wrists.

  It was a beautiful dress but Sorrel protested, 'Why fit it on me, Hywel? You're not expecting me to do any modelling!'

  'Don't look so panic-stricken,' Hywel soothed. 'This is exclusive to you to wear at the launch. My present for being such a honey to work with.'

  'You've made it for me! Oh, Hywel…' She was so touched a lump as big as a bucket stuck in her throat. 'I don't know what to say… how to thank you.'

  As if embarrassed by her emotion, he grinned. 'Couldn't have you turn up wearing some other designer's creation, could I? Wouldn't do my image much good if the customers thought the star didn't fancy my clothes.'

  'I'm not the star,' she remonstrated, 'and I love your clothes. That velvet suit, for instance…' Hywel had achieved the medieval theme on a modern skirt and jacket with the clever use of two toning shades of brown velvet, and Sorrel had hung her nose over it ever since she had first seen it. 'I'm thinking of putting in an order.'

  'An order for what?' Bianca's bubbly voice had a smile curving Sorrel's mouth before she turned her head, but when she saw Luc standing in the doorway behind her, the smile died. 'I haven't seen that before!' Bianca was staring at the dress Hywel was still fitting, an uncertain frown drawing her dark brows together. 'I thought Sara and I were doing all the modelling.'

  'Yes, I thought he'd gone mad for a few minutes. But it's all right,' Sorrel laughingly explained, 'apparently this is what I'll be wearing on the day. Isn't it gorgeous? So generous of Hywel.'

  All the time she had been talking she had tried not to look at Luc, but irresistibly her eyes were drawn in his direction to be held in his hotly possessive stare. 'That's right,' he said deliberately. 'I asked Hywel to design something special for Sorrel.'

  It had been Luc's idea! Not for anything could she bring herself to look at Bianca.

  'I think that's it then, Sorrel.' It was the first time Hywel had spoken since the other couple had arrived. 'And if you're sure you can spare me 'some of your time…' he turned to Bianca, his voice dripping sarcasm.

  'As long as she can be ready when I pick her up at five,' Luc answered for her, and to Sorrel's surprise, Hywel bristled at him like a dog whose territory was threatened.

  'I'll be ready, Luc' Bianca's dark eyes seemed to be pleading with him to go, and after the door had closed behind him, she said placatingly to Hywel, 'It's just a business appointment, Hywel, like this afternoon. As a matter of fact I've found a flat, one I don't have to share, and Luc's helping me out—'

  'I'm not interested in the arrangements for your love life,' Hywel cut her off curtly. 'Molly…' he turned to the fitter. 'Get her into that red dress…'

  While the subdued Bianca did as she was told, he asked Sorrel what jewellery she would wear with the cream dress, and almost on the same breath they both suggested a matching set of ear-rings and necklace in graduated opals.

  'You see how well tuned we are?' Hywel said. 'Why don't we discover what else we share thoughts about over dinner tonight?'

  Trying to forget the powerful possessiveness in the way Luc had looked at her, and to prove to Bianca she had no designs on her man, Sorrel agreed.

  For all his claim that they were so closely tuned, Sorrel found him preoccupied, almost morose that evening. She introduced several topics of conversation with little response, until he suddenly said, 'This new flat of Bianca's… do you reckon Amory's setting her up?'

  Ever since Bianca had mentioned the flat, Sorrel had been keeping that same suspicion at bay. Now Hywel had put it into words she had to face the distinct possibility, face out and ride the pain that possibility brought. Bianca sharing with other girls must have cramped Luc's style, it was only natural he would prefer more privacy when they were together. The only wonder was that he hadn't set her up in her own flat before this. Or perhaps Bianca had held out against it, hoping he would marry her? Anyway, if he had finally persuaded her to his way of thinking, it would explain why he had suddenly dropped his pursuit of Sorrel herself.

  'It's highly likely,' she said, trying to sound indifferent. 'They are very close. I mean, you only have to see them together to know—'

  'Then why doesn't he marry her?' Hywel demanded with angry vehemence. 'Spoiling her life, that's what he's doing. Keeping her on a string, jerking her back to him when it suits him, leaving her dangling when he decides to pursue someone else. If he doesn't want her, then why doesn't he let her make something of her life with someone else?'

  The Welsh accent had become more pronounced under the strength of his feelings and Sorrel found herself regarding the young fashion desi
gner with a new sympathy. 'You're in love with her, aren't you?'

  Thick, stubby lashes swept down over stormy hazel eyes and a flush stained his cheekbones. 'Am I that bloody obvious?'

  'Not obvious at all, in fact the penny's only just dropped.' Or maybe she had been too blinded by her own unrequited love to notice Hywel's. If only Bianca had returned his feelings! It wouldn't have made all Sorrel's dreams come true but at least she could have settled for an affair with Luc with an easy conscience.

  Remembering the enthusiastic way Bianca had spoken about Hywel when they had first met, Sorrel said diffidently, 'She does like you, Hywel. She once told me you were very dishy and as good as warned me off.'

  'Like me?' he said morosely. 'Yes, she's given me to understand there's a green light showing.' His eyes hardened and his hands clenched round his glass. 'But hell! I don't just want a tumble in the hay. I want to marry the girl!'

  Sorrel was struck by a shaft of envy. To have a man like Hywel offering so much, and to turn it down… And then the envy died and was replaced by understanding as she put herself in the other girl's place. As attractive as Hywel was, could she herself have accepted him, knowing how she felt about Luc?

  The waiter came then to show them to their table, and it wasn't until after they had ordered that Sorrel asked, 'Does Bianca know you want to marry her?' Perhaps if she did, she thought hopefully…

  'Do me a favour!' Hywel killed her hopes stone dead. 'I may be a boy up from the valleys but I'm not daft. Just because Luc doesn't want her enough to offer her a wedding ring doesn't mean he'd take kindly to me doing it. How do you think I'd stand with him if she told him I was trying? He's financing me, don't forget, and it'll be years before I pay off the debt.'

  Sorrel had forgotten. 'So you'd run the risk of not only losing the girl but your business as well.'