Master of Passion

by Jacqueline Baird

  He stopped beside the waiting car, and, opening the rear door, he finally let go of her hand. 'Sorry I can't accompany you, but the chauffeur will see you safely home. I will send the car for you on Thursday morning, but I'll call you before then with the details.'

  'Luc, I'm not sure...' The deep unease she felt about their deal had increased a hundredfold. How much her agreement had had to do with the amount of champagne she had drunk the previous evening she was beginning to question, but Luc never gave her a chance. She was bundled into the car before she could finish her sentence.

  'It's too late to change your mind, Parisa.'

  Luc, resplendent in an immaculate light grey silk suit and white shirt, and a silk tie in conservative tones of grey and maroon, looked exactly what he was: a mature, sophisticated man of the world.

  Parisa, on the other hand, felt like a naive teenager in comparison. It was stupid, she knew, it made good business sense. She should not be intimidated; after all, it was only a civil ceremony, easily cast aside. So why were her legs trembling?

  Dressed in a pale cream suit, a touch of a peach camisole peeping between the lapels of the fitted jacket, the skirt short and straight, ending on her knees, her feet encased in matching high-heeled pumps, and her hands clasping a small clutch-bag with an exquisite posy of tiny peach rosebuds and baby breath pinned to the front, Parisa listened to the registrar, but didn't take anything in. It was only when Didi gave her elbow a nudge that she surfaced from her daze long enough to say, 'I do.' She looked with sightless eyes at the gold band Luc slid on her finger. But when he turned and gathered her into his arms, all her senses went on red alert.

  'My wife,' he murmured just before his lips covered hers in a brief, hard kiss.

  'You look beautiful, Miss Parisa,' Didi remarked as they stood in the powder-room at the Ritz, having just finished a celebratory wedding breakfast. 'You will be happy, child, trust your old nanny I had a long talk to Luc the other day, before you arrived, and he does love you very much. He gave me back the red garter belt you had left in Italy.' The old eyes twinkled, as Parisa blushed scarlet. 'Now, don't you worry none. There are plenty of young women jumped the gun a bit, I understand.' She chuckled. 'I knew over the past months you had been pining for someone, and once I met Luc I knew why. But now everything will be perfect.'

  No wonder Didi had been so keen to see her married, Parisa thought; she probably imagined Parisa was already pregnant. Luc had taken charge. He had called the house yesterday, spoken briefly to Parisa, but longer to Didi. Parisa had been rushed into Brighton by Didi, and suitable outfits purchased.

  Parisa sighed inwardly. How could she disillusion the old lady? Didi and her husband, Joe, had been the witnesses at the wedding ceremony, the only guests. In fact they had been instrumental in her decision to accept Luc's proposal. The couple had looked after her all her life, and they were entitled to some monetary security in their old age. It had worried her for ages how she was going to provide for them. Now, the problem was solved. If nothing else good came out of the next two weeks, the peace of mind that knowing the two people she cared for most in the world were looked after was more than enough. She left the powder-room arm in arm with Didi.

  'Parisa.' Luc's dark gaze lingered on her lovely face as he approached her; his large hands curved possessively around her shoulder. 'I think everything went off very well, don't you, cara?

  She tilted her head to look up at him, and the gleam of mocking triumph in his black eyes sent a shiver down her spine. 'Yes,' she said curtly, and, following the older couple out of the hotel to the waiting taxi and limousine, she chewed her lip nervously. Just what had that look meant?

  It was with a sigh of relief that she finally waved goodbye to the taxi carrying Didi and Joe back to Hardcourt Manor and turned towards the chauffeured limousine waiting at the kerb. Luc took her arm and helped her into the car, sliding his large body in beside her.

  'Alone at last,' he drawled and, catching her left hand in his, he twirled the plain gold ring on her finger. 'I never thought I would ever put a gold ring on any woman's finger.' His hard mouth curved in a cynical smile. 'Diamonds, maybe, but this...' And in a totally unexpected gesture he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the wedding band.

  Her heart gave a curious lurch, her blue eyes clashed with black, and the glittering intensity of his gaze shot sparks of sensual awareness careering through her body. She pulled her hand free, and tore her eyes from his. She opened her handbag and withdrew the engagement ring she had thought a fake, and put it on her finger. Somehow the sight of the huge diamond reminded her of the true reason for this marriage and she was not going to forget it. Show!

  'Have I told you yet how beautiful you look? The perfect bride, with just the right amount of innocent reluctance.' He moved his long legs, his thigh brushing hers apparently unconsciously. 'I am a fortunate man to have won such a perfect wife,' Luc opined, but the underlying anger in his tone was not lost on Parisa. Luc had never wanted to marry...

  Your business partner,' she said pointedly and put a foot of space between them, before adding, 'Isn't it time we were at the hospital?' She held the posy of roses in front of her like a shield. 'I think your mother will like these.' She was determined to keep her distance from Luc. Cool, calm and collected for two weeks, she vowed over and over in her head.

  It was a short drive across London to the hospital, and, when they finally reached Signora De Maggi's private room, to Parisa's eyes his mother looked even frailer than two days ago. She gently handed the old woman the posy and thought it was almost worth marrying Luc just to see the happiness—and yes, relief— reflected in her tired dark eyes.

  'I'm so happy for you both.' Her eyes filled with tears. 'Now I know Luc has someone, I can rest easy.'

  'Don't say that, Mamma,' Luc admonished huskily. 'You will be fine, and then we will have a grand party in Italy,' he joked, and spent the next few minutes making her laugh.

  But when the nurse came and ordered them to leave, as Signora Di Maggi was to be prepared for surgery, the smile was wiped from Luc's face in a second.

  The waiting-room was a miserable place, the walls a stark white, the furniture comfortable armchairs and a low table, and Parisa could almost feel sorry for Luc. He sat down and she sat opposite him.

  He glanced across at her, his eyes as cold as the arctic waste. He slid a large hand into his breast pocket and withdrew a long envelope, throwing it on the table between them. 'You'd better read that and then sign it. I think you will find it is all in order.'

  She shot a surprised glance at his rugged face. 'Now?' His mother was going into Theatre, for God's sake! And her sympathy for the man vanished.

  '"Business partners" was the term you used, Parisa. That is the agreement; read it and sign.'

  She picked up the papers and began to read. A gasp escaped her at the size of the allowance mentioned. He had certainly been very generous, so why wasn't she ecstatic at the thought? Instead, all she felt was self-disgust. She had sunk to his level where everything had a price, and without really taking everything in. She asked stiltedly, 'Have you a pen I can borrow?'

  Luc handed her an elegant gold pen, and, without a word being spoken, she signed the document and passed it back to him. Being hard and cynical was not going to be as easy as she had first thought...

  They spent all afternoon and into the evening hardly exchanging a word, a nurse bringing the occasional cup of coffee the only diversion, until at eight o'clock the doctor arrived, lie operation had been a success.

  Luc grasped her hand in his as the nurse led them to the intensive care unit. His mother was lying, apparently asleep, with various tubes attached to her, but her colour did look slightly better.

  'She'll be fine, Luc,' Parisa murmured.

  'Yes, I think she will now...' he sighed. "Thank you, Parisa.' And he let go of her hand.

  After another ride across London, the driver dropped them off at the entrance to the hotel. As Luc ushered her
inside she had a brief impression of a comfortable, elegant entrance foyer, traditional in appearance with thick carpeting and velvet drapes.

  Parisa stood to one side as Luc talked briefly to the receptionist and a key changed hands, then Luc turned back to her. 'The chauffeur delivered your luggage earlier. Would you like to eat dinner down here in the restaurant or in our suite?'

  'I'm not really hungry,' she said without thinking, but wished she hadn't as Luc agreed and, taking her arm, led her to the lift.

  They rode up to the top floor in silence. The doors slid open and Luc ushered Parisa out across a wide hall, turned the key in the lock of the door and, with a hand on her back, urged her inside. The door opened straight on to a large square sitting-room. A deep pile carpet covered the floor. An Adam-style fireplace, the coals aglow, was the focal point of one wall. Parisa guessed it was a gas effect, but it was welcoming all the same. Two comfortable settees with a low coffee-table between them were the room's main furniture, along with a television, a couple of lamp tables and a small writing-desk with a telephone on the top.

  'The bedrooms are through there.' Luc gestured to a small hall. 'You can check later. Right now I need a shower and a drink. Fix me a whisky and soda, please, and order a plate of...oh, sandwiches, whatever you fancy.' And, not waiting for her response, he disappeared down the hall.

  Parisa heaved a sigh of relief. He had said 'bedrooms', plural; she had nothing to fear. In fact it should not be too hard to keep out of Luc's way over the next fortnight, apart from the hospital visits. Crossing to the complimentary bar, she filled two crystal tumblers with one generous and one smaller measure of whisky, adding ice and soda.

  Taking the weaker of the two, she wandered back to the middle of the room and sank down on the comfortable sofa, kicking her shoes off and undoing the buttons of her jacket to reveal the peach silk camisole beneath. Tilting her head back, she took a reviving swallow of the amber liquid. Then, placing the glass on the table, she picked up the telephone, and quickly ordered sandwiches and coffee.

  Retrieving her glass, she took another sip of the spirit, and looked around the subdued elegance of the room. It would be very easy to get used to this lifestyle, she thought musingly, but then, once she had got through the next couple of weeks, she would be able to afford this lifestyle. Somehow the thought did not make her as happy as she had hoped.

  Parisa had never coveted wealth. She enjoyed her work, and as long as she could make ends meet she was quite happy. So what had happened to her usual easygoing nature to make her agree to Luc's proposition? Bitterness, greed: unenviable emotions, her innate honesty forced her to acknowledge, but it was too late; she had agreed. She jerked upright, spilling a little of her drink, as Luc's voice broke into her musing.

  'Mine, I presume?' He was standing in front of her, his huge body stooped to pick up the drink she had prepared for him, and the sheer size and strength of him, along with his state of undress, hit her like a punch in the solar plexus.

  He was wearing a white towelling robe, belted loosely at the waist and ending halfway down his muscular thighs. His golden-tanned skin and mat of black body hair was exposed between the low lapels of the garment. Suddenly she was made aware of just what kind of intimacy she had invited by agreeing to a marriage of convenience, and she swallowed nervously, her hand tightening on her glass. God, if she wasn't careful she was going to end up an ally before long, she thought, draining her drink. Luc had an alarming ability to set every nerve in her body into a jangling mass of hyperactivity. Luckily a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the waiter with the supper.

  Parisa barely touched the food; she had hardly eaten anything all day, in fact, and she felt light-headed. Deliberately she stood up, tensing as Luc also rose from the sofa opposite.

  'I'm tired; it's been a long day. I think I'll go to bed now,' she managed to say firmly, but she could not meet his dark, watchful eyes. She crossed the room in her stockinged feet. Feeling small and very vulnerable, she scuttled along the hall without looking back and entered the first door. Her eyes widened in puzzlement. It wasn't a bedroom, but more like an office, with computer, fax and telephone on a huge desk. Swinging around, she walked out and tried the next door along.

  It was a large room with a king-sized bed in the centre, four-posted and elegantly draped in swish gold and blue velvet. Her suitcase was standing by an ornate antique dressing-table. She heaved a sigh of relief; this must be her room.

  She opened her suitcase and grimaced at the floaty white wisp of silk and lace lying on the top, a note attached. A present from Didi. She rummaged deeper, and to her disgust found her sensible nightshirt was nowhere to be found. Frowning, she quickly hung her few clothes in the capacious wardrobe, and, reluctantly picking up the froth of white and her toilet things, she walked into the adjoining bathroom. In minutes she had a shower. Drying herself quickly with a thick, fluffy towel, she slipped the offending nightdress over her head.

  A brief glance in the mirror did nothing to reassure her. Tiny plaited spaghetti straps held a bodice of gossamer lace that barely covered her breasts; the skirt was a swirl of transparent silk. Poor Didi; she was such a romantic. Shrugging fatalistically—no one was going to see it—Parisa returned to the bedroom, and stopped dead...

  She stood transfixed, her mouth hanging open. Sprawled across the huge bed, wearing only a tiny pair of white briefs, was Luc. His black eyes glittered fiercely as he turned his head to study her with blatant thoroughness that made her whole body blush.

  'Very sexy and quite bridal,' he taunted mockingly.

  'What the hell do you think you're doing? This is my room,' she cried, swallowing hard on the ball of fear that lodged in her throat. Her eyes met his and she flinched at the furious intent she saw in them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  'Our bedroom, Parisa.' Luc's mocking voice echoed in the silence. He swung his long legs off the bed and sauntered across the room, his intention obvious.

  Parisa stayed frozen to the spot. She lowered her eyes on a level with his chest and folded her arms across her body in an instinctive gesture of defence, her anger evaporating as fear paralysed her.

  'Forget it, Luc,' Parisa warned him, taking a cautious step back. 'You said bedrooms, plural... You said no strings...' she insisted, tearing her eyes away from the golden skin and glistening black body hair. Memories rose up to taunt her, of herself once welcoming his magnificent body. She stifled a groan, reluctantly raising her eyes to his, but the predatory sensual glitter in his gaze made her flesh prickle in a totally unwanted response.

  'A business deal, two weeks... for your mother...' She was babbling. 'You lied.'

  'No, I didn't lie. There are two bedrooms, one I use as an office. I lease this suite on a permanent basis. As for the rest, you agreed to be my wife for a limited time, with everything that entails, Parisa,' he taunted, stopping only inches away from her.

  She unfolded her arms to push him away, but she was caught off guard by the speed with which he moved, hauling her against the hard heat of his tall, powerful body. 'No, no...' she pleaded, shaking her head, her silver-blonde hair flowing around her shoulders, as she tried to twist away, but he held her firm, moulding her to his almost naked form.

  'Don't be a fool, Parisa. Did you really expect me to part with a fortune for nothing? As it is, you are probably the most expensive lady I have ever possessed.' Her head jerked back as with one hand he twisted a swathe of hair around his wrist. 'And I intend to get my money's worth,' he declared with implacable resolution.

  Possess her? Never! But as her mind screamed no she went rigid, shrinking from the terrible cynical determination in his black eyes. He towered over her, the domineering strength of the man implicit in every line of his huge frame.

  'Luc...you can't,' she implored. 'Our deal didn't include ... sex.' She forced the word out through trembling lips. Maybe if she didn't struggle, if she reasoned with him, she thought, desperately aware of the leashed tension in his taut, muscul
ar body.

  'Sex was never mentioned, my sweet Parisa. If you remember, you were too much of a lady to spell it out. Which suited me just fine.' He smiled derisively, his narrowed gaze blazing with triumph and a raw sensual message that petrified her.

  What he said made a terrible kind of sense. He was right, and the knowledge destroyed what little confidence she had left. His dark head bent and he brought his mouth down savagely upon hers, forcing her lips to part to the thrusting, shockingly sensual invasion of his tongue.

  Heat coursed through her in wave after wave, rocking her with the force of his angry passion. She whimpered low in her throat as he broke the kiss, freeing her swollen mouth while his hand slid lower down her back, urging her hips into intimate contact with the fierce potency of his arousal.

  'Feel what you do to me, wife, and know that I am going to sate myself in your beautiful, heartless body,' he said with bitter ferocity. 'So I can walk away with no regret.'

  She felt sick, her stomach churning with nausea. He hated her; she could see it in his eyes, feel it in the savage pull on her hair, but she couldn't understand why. She had sensed the underlying anger in him ever since he had turned up at her home, but had closed her mind to it. Her own bitterness had been more than enough for her to control. Now she wished she had queried his hidden rage.

  'Let me free, Luc,' she gasped, as his lips touched her bare shoulder. She struck out wildly at his head, but he let go of her hair and captured her wrists, pinioning them behind her with one hand. 'You can't do this,' she cried, but there was no mercy in his eyes as they surveyed her pale, beautiful face, as he forced her back against his arm before, with his free hand, he deliberately slipped the straps of her nightgown down her arms, revealing her naked breasts to his hungry gaze.