'Good, you're ready. I was on my way to collect you,' he said smoothly, stopping only inches away from her. His fingers caught her chin, and he tilted her head up, the better to examine her lovely features.
'You look stunningly beautiful, Parisa.' His glance slid down her body and back to her face again, his dark eyes gleaming into hers. 'And you definitely warrant the title "Lady"—a very elegant lady,' he said with quiet sincerity.
'Yes, well, thank you...' she stuttered. Her flesh burned beneath his fingers, and her body was aware of him in every pore. She could not tear her gaze away from his. He was watching her, motionless, as though by the sheer force of his personality he could bend her to his will. She knew he was going to kiss her, and it took all the will-power she possessed to step back and, ignoring the simmering tension, say lightly, 'Shall we go down? Your mother will be expecting us.'
'Coward.' His mouth curled in a knowing smile, but he allowed her to walk past him and down the stairs, although she was conscious all the time that he was only a step behind her, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end in prickly awareness.
Dinner was an interminable affair, Parisa thought, as she eyed the thousand-layer cake on her plate. She would never be able to eat it. Already she had consumed a fruit juice, a plate of pasta in a Genovese sauce, and Veal alia Marsala. The conversation had been stilted, to say the least. However hard she tried, she could not act naturally with Luc. She told herself it was because she disliked him, and all he stood for, but deep down inside she had a growing suspicion that the opposite was true. She found it so difficult to be natural with him because she was intensely aware of him in a way she had never experienced before. She resented the unaccustomed feelings and consequently responded to him curtly as a form of self-defence.
'Easter wedding is very nice, yes, Parisa.'
'I don't think so.' Parisa answered Signora Di Maggi rather bluntly, but was not quite able to say a flat 'No'. The old lady's delight in the engagement was so obviously genuine, and in other circumstances Parisa couldn't help thinking she would make a lovely mother- in-law. But Parisa was having very little success in keeping up the pretence of a loving fiancée. The subdued elegance of the dining-room, the obvious wealth of the master of the house was in direct contrast to her own shabby home, and she could not get it from her mind that these people were crooks. Luc's mother must be perfectly well aware of how her son made his money, and yet she seemed like any proud mother. The hypocrisy of it—the servants, the fine food and wine all paid for with dirty money. She shot an angry glance at Luc. How was it possible to be attracted to a man—and her own innate honesty forced her to admit he did attract her in the most intense way—and yet know he was outside the law?
Her blue eyes rested on his black down bent head, her expression one of complete bafflement; she didn't understand what was happening to her. She was drawn to him, and yet he was everything she hated in a man.
Luc had been attentive and smiling, but after a particularly caustic comment from Parisa he had given up any pretence of being a loving fiancée. Then, after a brief exchange in Italian with his mother, which Parisa had not understood a word of, he had lapsed into a brooding silence, which was trying Parisa's patience to the limit. It was his stupid idea, and he should have known it would not fool his mother or anyone else, she thought bitterly, and wished she could just get up and walk out.
He lifted his head and looked straight at his mother. 'Scusi, Mamma. I need to talk to Parisa privately.'
To Parisa's astonishment he upped and walked around the table and caught her arm, muttering, 'Come along to my study.'
She flashed his mother a rather nervous smile as she was hastened out of the door, Luc's arm at her elbow.
'What did you do that for?' she demanded angrily as soon as they were in the hall.
'I need to talk to you. Please don't argue,' Luc said and, opening yet another door off the huge hall, he led her into a book-lined study. 'Sit down,' he commanded tersely, indicating a deep leather buttoned chesterfield beside an elegant marble fireplace.
The fire was lit and the flames danced and flickered in the darkness, until Luc strolled across the room and switched on a table lamp standing on a large carved-oak desk. Even so, the room was not brightly lit. The fire cast eerie shadows on the wall, and as she looked across at Luc his expression was hidden from her by the same shifting shadows.
It was as though he did not want her to see him. She watched as he sat down behind the desk, for all the world as if he were going to conduct a board meeting. She noticed his long fingers pick up a letter-knife, fiddle with it and replace it. He shuffled some papers in front of him. If she had not known better she could have sworn he was nervous.
'So what is so important I could not finish my pudding?' she asked scathingly. The silence in the room was getting to her. She hadn't wanted the fool pudding, in any case.
'You have never had a lover, have you?' he demanded arrogantly, lifting his head to stare across at her.
'What?' Parisa could not believe her ears. He had dragged her from the dining-room to ask that. Her mouth hung open; her blue eyes widened with shock. 'You're crazy,' she finally mumbled, shaking her head.
'No, and you have not answered my question, Parisa.'
'And I'm not bloody well going to,' she said furiously. The nerve of the man!
'You will not swear in my presence,' Luc stated emphatically, striding across the room to lower his large body on to the chesterfield beside her. Her brief defiance vanished and she watched him fearfully, daunted by the determination in his grimly set features.
'But this time I will forgive you. You are right to be afraid of me, Parisa. You do not need to answer. My mother is invariably right, and I can see the answer in your hot cheeks.' His hand brushed lightly down the side of her face and she jerked away from his touch. 'No, stay.' His hand on her arm prevented her getting to her feet.
Parisa shifted warily until she was backed into the corner of the settee. Luc's arm was resting along the back, his other hand holding her wrist in his lap. 'Your mother,' she murmured, completely lost: she did not know what he was talking about.
'Exactly, Parisa.' He grasped the hand that bore his ring, then rubbed the stone, and Parisa felt a flash of guilt at the embarrassment she had caused in the jeweller's, along with a tingling warmth along the length of her arm.
'You and I have a deal, and so far your performance has been woefully inadequate. It wouldn't fool an idiot. At dinner tonight my mother remarked that she was amazed, but glad to note I was showing some respect for my fidanzata, because I had not yet taken you to my bed. She could tell you were still a virgin. I looked at you, and somehow my mother's words crystallized in my mind what had been puzzling me all afternoon. She was right. Wasn't she?' he demanded, his fingers tightening on her hand, his dark eyes searching hers.
'Not that it is any business of yours, but yes.' Why shouldn't she admit the truth? She was not ashamed of it. 'It might surprise you to know that in this decade more and more adults prefer a more cautious approach to intimacy to risking the unpleasant and sometimes life- threatening diseases promiscuity encourages,' she said firmly, the glint in her eyes telling him without words that he should try practicing a little restraint before it was too late.
'Suppose I told you I am not the promiscuous sex maniac you seem to believe I am, Parisa?'
She arched one delicate eyebrow in disbelief.
'No—and I am the Queen of England,' she said sarcastically. What kind of fool did he take her for? she thought furiously. She had seen him with her own eyes with Margot Mey. He had attempted to blackmail Moya into his bed, and just hours earlier he had tried to get her into bed. The man was a fiend, and she would do well to remember that. Though sitting so close to him, with the musky warmth of his body reaching out to her, it was incredibly difficult.
'I have no intention of arguing with you, Parisa. But I think we'd better get one or two things straight before we go any furthe
r.'
"Straight"—you?' she prompted with a grim smile. 'Don't make me laugh. You don't know the meaning of the word,' she jeered sarcastically.
'That's it,' he snarled, and grabbed her as she would have stood up, and pulled her unceremoniously down on to his lap.
'Let me go!' she demanded, but his arm around her waist kept her pinned against him. He curved one hand around the nape of her neck, holding her head only inches from his darkly furious face.
'Shut up,' he snapped. 'If you want me to keep my side of the bargain, and give you the photographs, you're going to have to do a whole lot better than you have so far. For a start you can cut out the wisecracks,' he declared, his black eyes seeking hers. 'It's up to you. Are you prepared to make some effort to appear a loving fiancée? Or do you want to call the whole thing off with the resultant unfortunate consequences for your friend?' he demanded hardly.
He was much too close, too threatening to argue with.
'No, I want the photographs.' She had no choice and he knew it. She could not disappoint Moya. 'But what exactly do you mean? Am I supposed to hang on your every word?' she couldn't resist sniping.
Stark fury flashed in his black eyes, and his head bent to kiss her hard and angrily. She struggled, trying to break free, while his mouth ground against hers, deliberately hurting her. Then suddenly something odd happened. One second they were fighting, and furious, and the next they were clinging, moulded together in a burning flare of passion.
Parisa lifted her hands, her fingers tangling in the silky black thickness of his hair, and kissed Luc back without even realising what she was doing.
Luc raised his head, his breathing ragged, and they stared at each other, neither one capable of speech. But it was Luc who recovered first.
'Don't look so frightened, Parisa.' His black eyes glittered down into hers. She stared back, her heart racing, her pulse thudding erratically. Her lovely eyes wide and bewildered, she was shocked rigid by her own violent reaction. She couldn't speak.
'I promise I won't do anything without your permission, but, after what has just happened between us, somehow I don't think it will be too difficult to convince a hundred or so very astute people tomorrow night, as well as Mamma, that we are a couple, hmm?'
Her eyes fastened on his mouth, but that was a mistake. Her mouth went dry and she flicked the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip in a nervous gesture.
Luc's quick flare of anger appeared to have vanished, as had her own, to be replaced with a fierce sensual awareness she could not control, and that was her second mistake.
She uttered a small, soundless protest as his mouth covered hers again. Reason deserted her and she felt her body weakening against him. His mouth burned against hers, his tongue toying with hers in a sensuous probing dance. Her arms curved around his wide shoulders of their own volition as the kiss went on and on, demanding more. She felt his muscles flex and tense beneath the smooth fabric of his jacket and she yearned to touch him. She slid one hand down over his muscular chest, her fingers inadvertently scratching over the hard male nipple beneath the fine silk shirt.
Luc groaned, breaking the long, passionate kiss, and, drawing away from her, he caught her slender hand and held it firmly against his chest.
'I have my answer, I think,' he said hoarsely, the skin stretched taut across his high cheekbones as he battled with the desire racking his huge frame. 'Now you look as a fiancée should, cara.'
Parisa knew the same desire was reflected in her own flushed face. Her eyes, luminous with passion, sought his, and for a second blue and black mingled with an exquisite need. She closed her eyes, unable to sustain the contact. A fierce shudder arced through her. He had won again.
He swung her off his lap and on to the sofa, deliberately moving away from her. 'I think we will take our coffee in here,' he rasped, his breathing irregular. 'My mother does not need that much convincing.'
Luc had wanted her—every instinct told her that— but he had quickly regained his control, while she still burnt with unsated desire. The desire turned to a burning shame in her breast. How could she have behaved so stupidly? And a tiny voice inside her answered that it wasn't hard with such a devastatingly appealing male.
Not looking at him, she ran trembling hands down her skirt. Smoothing it over her knees, she made herself sit up straight, her back rigid. She should have remembered that Luc was a very powerful man, with a cold, arrogant insensitivity. Hadn't she seen for herself the way he turned down his mistress? Parisa had got off lightly.
'The reason I brought you in here was, I want...'
"That is better,' a voice interrupted Luc. It was Signora Di Maggi. 'You two are now friends, no?'
Parisa looked up in surprise, and blushed. 'It is OK. I know the—how do you say?—frustration of young people. My Luc will make you happy; he is much man.'
'Mamma, prego,' he said quickly.
Parisa shot a startled glance at Luc, and couldn't stop the smile that curved her full lips. Luc looked decidedly uncomfortable. A first for him, no doubt!
She opened her eyes to bright sunshine and the realisation that someone was knocking on her bedroom door.
'Come in,' she called out. It would be the maid with morning coffee.
'You sound cheerful. You must be a morning person.' Luc's deep voice, tinged with laughter, made her spine tingle.
She grabbed the coverlet up to her chin, her blue eyes wide on his handsome face. 'You! I thought it was the maid.'
'My pleasure, Parisa.' And he walked across to the bed, a laden tray in his large hands. With an economy of movement the tray was placed on the bedside table and the coffee poured, his tanned hand holding out the cup and saucer, before she had gathered her scattered wits.
'Thank you,' she murmured, and took the proffered cup, her colour high at the intimacy of the occasion.
'You look adorable when you blush,' Luc said softly, and she turned bright scarlet. He laughed and winked down at her. 'Don't worry—drink your coffee, and meet me downstairs in half an hour. I'm taking you out for the day to avoid the bedlam in the house!'
'Bedlam?' she queried. From what she had seen, his home was run like clockwork.
'The caterers have arrived, the guest rooms are being cleaned—the only place to be is out.' And with that he swung on his heel and left.
Long after he had gone, she held the memory of his tall, virile figure, casually dressed in blue jeans and a dark red Pringle sweater, his dark eyes gleaming with some hidden knowledge she could not quite grasp. Shaking her hair from her face, she drank the coffee and ate a croissant before swinging her long legs out of bed, reminding herself that she had to be on her guard around Luc at all times. She only had to get through one more day, and then go home, a return to her own life. It was that simple.
Standing in front of the long, mirrored door, washed, and dressed in navy gabardine trousers and a matching navy and white wool sweater, she brushed her long pale hair from her face and tied it back with a plain navy scarf.
Luc could really be quite a charming host, Parisa recognised, remembering last night. After his mother had joined them in the study, somehow the fierce tension had evaporated from the room. All three had enjoyed coffee and tiny chocolate choux cakes. The halting English of Signora Di Maggi and her obvious enthusiasm at their engagement had lightened the atmosphere considerably, so much so that when the old lady left, after kissing them both good night, they had spent a surprisingly comfortable hour talking, discussing the relative merits of Pavarotti and Domingo. Luc was an opera fan, like most Italians. They had shared a nightcap. Luc had walked upstairs with her and pressed a soft, almost brotherly kiss on her forehead, and said, 'A truce, Parisa, for a day, hmm?' and she had meekly agreed as he said goodnight with another kiss, outside her door.
Parisa frowned. Luc in a gentle mood was at his most dangerous. Still, she would enjoy her day out, without worrying about the reason for her being here, and, picking up her top coat with one last glance at her r
eflection, she left the room.
It was like a day out of time, a rare cameo. The sun shone with the first warm rays of the year, etching the landscape in bright, clean colours. Luc drove the Ferrari with an easy expertise along winding country roads. They stood at the top of a gigantic cliff and gloried in the perfect view. The waves crashing against the shore, the screaming of the gulls made a concerto all of their own. At noon they drove down the hill to Portofino.
'This is the best time of the year, I think,' Luc said lazily, helping her out of the car.
'Not the summer?'
'No, in the summer it is full of tourists, the marina is full and the place is very cosmopolitan, but now only the locals are around.' And, as he spoke, a young boy, not more than ten or so, shouted, 'Padrone, padrone,' and ran towards them. Luc swept the child up in his arms and swung him around, laughing out loud, then gently set the boy down again.
Parisa watched in amazement and then shock. The boy had only one arm. How sad, and yet the small dark face was wreathed in smiles. She did not understand the rapid-fire Italian that passed between the two males, or why Luc gave him money until, as the young boy shot off in the direction of the dock, Luc took her hand in his and explained.
'Paolo is my friend—I pay him to clean my boat for me. I would take you to see it, but I'm hungry.'
Parisa grinned up into his handsome face. 'And nothing must come between you and food,' she joked.
'You could, if you wanted to,' Luc said softly. 'Any time.'
She flushed at the implicit invitation in his dark eyes. 'Let's eat.'
Master of Passion Page 7
