by Kim Lawrence
‘You don’t have to live the role you—’ She broke off and gave a grimace as a stab of pain shot through her right ankle.
‘Are you all right?’
Megan waved aside his concern and flexed her right foot. ‘Fine, just turned my ankle, that’s all.’ She frowned at the heel that had got jammed in a crevice in the uneven cobbled surface. She pulled but it didn’t budge. She swore softly under her breath. ‘These things are lethal,’ she complained.
‘But very sexy.’ His lashes lifted and the glitter she saw reflected in the platinum depths of his eyes made her heart thud.
Flushing, Megan lowered her gaze and let the skirt she was holding, gathered bunched in her hand, fall with a damp, silken slither to the ground.
‘I’m not prepared to cripple myself in the pursuit of wolf-whistles…normally,’ she added drily.
Megan had no self-esteem issue, she knew that some men found her attractive, but even while she had been carefully selecting her outfit earlier she had been aware that, no matter what she wore, it wasn’t going to make her look drop-dead gorgeous. It was a fact of life that men who looked like Luc were not generally seen with women who looked the way she did, so tonight she had made an effort.
‘I haven’t inherited my mother’s fashion sense or, for that matter, her figure.’ Forgetting for a split second whom she was talking to, she pressed her hands flat to her nicely formed but not impressive bosom.
Luc’s eyes followed her gesture and his lips twitched. There was no hint of apology in her gesture, just the merest suggestion of wistfulness. ‘You look fine to me.’
The notion that he might have thought she had been fishing for compliments brought a deep flush to her fair skin and a look of horror to her face.
‘I can do without your approval.’ Do without, but wouldn’t it be nice to have it…? Megan’s glance dropped as the thought surfaced unbidden to her mind.
His heavy sigh—a mixture of resignation and irritation, brought her head up.
Eyes holding hers, he set his shoulders against the wall behind him. With his weight braced on one leg, he crossed one ankle over the other. The man, she admitted, could slouch like nobody else she had ever met.
‘Do you actually want this thing to work?’
The question startled her out of her contemplation of his effortlessly elegant body language. ‘Of course I want this to work. Why wouldn’t I?’
His lips formed a twisted smile as he scanned her face. ‘Good question. Well, if you do want a result it’s going to require a bit of effort.’
Effort? Did he have any idea how much effort she was making? ‘What do you mean “effort”?’
‘Well, for starters you’re going to have to put some work in on the adoring love slave front…’
The awful Brian had expected if not demanded his bride-to-be’s uncritical adoration as his due, and he had received it. That was, until Megan had woken up to the fact that he was an inadequate creep, and furthermore she didn’t love him. Megan fixed Luc with a glare and tossed her head, a disdainful sneer twisting her lips.
‘What’s wrong with your face?’ he asked, watching her rub the left side of her face. His eyes narrowed; it wasn’t the first time he had noticed her doing that. The first time had been…when…?
Megan’s hand fell self-consciously away. She tried to turn but her foot held her fast. ‘Damn…damn,’ she cursed.
‘Did he hit you?’
An expression of total shock chased across her pale features as she focused on his face. His expression was blank.
It wasn’t the reminder of that contemptuous backhander that Brian had delivered when she had explained that she would not be giving up her job or marrying him that brought the look of dismay to her face, but this man’s startling perception. It was almost as if he could read her mind at times.
‘Pardon…?’ she faltered.
‘You heard me,’ he intoned grimly.
‘Once,’ she admitted, because one look at his face revealed he wasn’t going to let this one go.
Brian had said it wouldn’t happen again, but Megan had seen the mask slip and had recognised his tearful apology for the lie it had been. In a weird way it had been a relief; it had been much easier to walk away with a clear conscience.
Luc struggled to keep his expression neutral; it wasn’t easy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt anything like this sort of blinding rage, this desire to rip someone limb from limb, and laugh while he was doing it.
‘Why didn’t you tell your mother the scumbag hit you? She talked like he was the second coming.’
‘It would have upset her and…I suppose I was…ashamed—? Irrational, I know, but I’m not a victim.’
For a long painful moment Luc looked down into her face. His shoulders lifted. ‘No, just a stubborn idiot,’ he gritted. ‘Not all men are vicious bullies.’
‘Oh, God, I know that!’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t run away with the impression I’m emotionally scarred or anything. Damn, damn thing…’ she addressed her curse to her shoe.
‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was high-pitched with alarm as he hunkered down in front of her. She stiffened as Luc took hold of her ankle. Megan swayed like a sapling caught in a strong gust of wind then, eyes half closed, mouth slightly open, she took a series of shallow breaths and she forced herself to remain still.
‘This situation requires a light touch.’
Well, he had that, she was forced to concede as slither after shivery slither of sensation sliced like a knife through her helplessly receptive body. It was no longer possible for her to ignore the heat, specifically the heat between her thighs. When his fingertips brushed against the fine, almost invisible denier that covered the skin of her calf she had to bite her lip to stop herself gasping out loud. The situation made it hard to think straight—actually, it made it hard to think full stop!
‘It’s stuck fast,’ came his oddly muffled verdict after a few moments.
The dull thud in her ears made his voice seem to come from a long way off to Megan.
‘Tell me something I didn’t know,’ she grunted, trying desperately to marshal her thoughts.
The man kneeling at her feet lifted his head. In the fading light she didn’t see the lines of darker colour scoring his high slashing cheekbones, she could just see his eyes…and his mouth and…oh, God—!
‘You should take them off.’
Anything you say. God, please let me not have said that out loud! She ran the tip of her tongue nervously over her dry lips. ‘What…?’ she croaked.
‘The shoes,’ he replied. ‘You should take them off. The stockings too,’ he added as an afterthought.
‘How did you know?’ She stopped and shook her head blushing deeply. Far better, under the circumstances, not to know how he knew when a woman was wearing stockings and not tights.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t have X-ray vision.’
‘I wasn’t worried.’ The knot of heat low in her belly made it hard for her to concentrate on what she was doing and a second later she found herself standing in one shoe, teetering awkwardly to one side without having any clear recollection of how she had got to be in that position.
‘For God’s sake…’ His voice impatient, Luc caught her hands in his and placed them firmly on his own shoulders. ‘Hold onto me.’
It was either that or fall down in an ungainly heap.
‘Give me a minute,’ she heard him say. ‘That’s it.’ Hazily she saw him rise, her shoe minus the heel in his triumphant grasp. ‘The shoe’s a write-off, I’m afraid.’
She shook her head; the loss of a shoe was the least of her problems! Her response to this man was less easy to dismiss. In the gathering dusk it was impossible to read the expression on his lean, hard-boned face.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Awkwardness made her voice abrupt. Minus her heels she only just topped his shoulders. The illusion of being small and dainty was one she shouldn’t in this enlightened age of equality have f
ound attractive…Shouldn’t…!
The impressive shoulders on which her hands were still hanging, quite unnecessarily, flexed and she felt the powerful muscles clench.
She uncurled her fingers. As if reluctant to lose the contact, her fingertips trailed slowly down the front of his open necked shirt. She felt his lean, hard body tense before she lost contact. It made her cringe to imagine that her action might have been interpreted as deliberately provocative, because she had no control whatever over her actions.
‘I suppose we ought to go back.’ The thread of reluctance she heard in her own voice made Megan’s eyes widen in alarm. Anyone listening would have been excused for assuming she wanted her pulse to carry on racing too fast…that she wanted to prolong the moment.
And you don’t…?
‘You could be right.’ she heard him concede. ‘Do you always do the right thing, ma chérie…?’
Just this once Megan let the endearment pass, when he said it in that deep smoky voice of his it sounded like a caress.
With a sigh she lifted her head, her eyes meshed with enigmatic silvered orbs that made her heart pound slow and strong…Luc; the name might be no more real than his supposed attraction for her, but strangely fitted him.
He really was the most incredible-looking man!
‘I try to.’ She gave a shaky little laugh as her eyes slid from his. ‘I won’t waste my breath asking you the same thing.’
Luc looked like a man for whom not doing the right thing was one of life’s guiding principles. Was the danger part of his attraction? Had she been playing it safe for so long that she couldn’t resist what was dark, dangerous and available?
‘I try to do what comes naturally.’ His explanation was not soothing. ‘We should definitely go back, only first…’ Luc’s dark head bent as he framed her face between his hands. She felt his breath fan her cheek as he fitted his mouth to hers. Megan’s eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as her hand came up to cover one of his.
She murmured his name; the sound was lost against his mouth. The pressure of his lips was gentle but insistent; his mouth was cool and firm against her own.
Luc drew back, his lashes lifted from the angle of his knife-edged cheekbones as he examined the passion-flushed features of the woman who stood in the circle of his arms. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction.
‘Now you look like a woman who’s shared a few illicit kisses in the moonlight.’
She was floating; she was on fire, every inch of her skin was prickling with the heat of desire. His words had the same effect as an icy shower.
‘There is no moon and I will not be used by you or anyone else!’ she declared in a low, passionate voice.
‘I wasn’t using you; I was kissing you and,’ he added with a slow, contemplative smile, ‘I was enjoying it.’
‘How nice for you that you’re happy in your work. Next time maybe you might like to ask whether I want to be kissed,’ she told him, dragging a hand across her mouth. The symbolic gesture just reminded her of how sensitised and tender her lips felt.
Luc, no longer languid, looked suddenly incredibly furious. ‘Are you suggesting I kissed you against your will?’
‘Not exactly,’ she conceded, her glance dropping guiltily from his outraged face.
‘Good,’ he bit back, not sounding much mollified. ‘Because I don’t need a signed affidavit to know when a woman wants to be kissed. I know and you wanted it.’
The shocking sound of her hand connecting with his cheek resounded across the courtyard. Megan’s hand went to her mouth as her eyes travelled from the livid mark developing on his lean cheek to his eyes, they told her nothing more than his blank expression.
‘That was unforgivable,’ she said, totally contrite. The fact that physically she was much weaker than him was in her eyes no excuse for her loss of control. She felt deeply ashamed. ‘You’re right.’ Humiliation sat like a leaden weight in her stomach. ‘I did want you to kiss me.’
‘You did?’
She nodded; his expression was as unrevealing as his tone. ‘That’s why I was so angry…not with you,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘With me.’
It was ironic—she had been busy getting het up worrying that Luc was getting too immersed in his role, when in reality he wasn’t the one getting reality mixed up with fiction; she was the one letting her fantasies take control!
Luc watched as her slender shoulders sagged.
‘Obviously this thing is not going to work; it’s not your fault.’ Luc, after all, had done everything she had asked of him. ‘It’s me.’
‘You wanted me to kiss you…?’ A muscle in his hollow cheek clenched.
Megan looked at him, her frustration showing. Had he not heard anything she had said after that? She hoped he had; she didn’t much fancy grovelling all over again. In fact she refused to, she decided with a spurt of defiance.
‘Well, I wasn’t exactly averse to it,’ she admitted gruffly. ‘I appreciate you were doing what you thought I wanted.’
‘I was doing what I hoped you wanted,’ he contradicted, sliding his hands down her slender back until they came to rest on the firm curve of her bottom. His grin flashed out minus the edge of cool dispassion and mockery she had grown accustomed to. ‘Now I know…’
‘Know what?’ She gave a startled gasp as he drew her towards him until their hips collided. She inhaled sharply as hot desire zapped through her body; he was rock-hard against the softness of her belly. An energising wave zapped through her body, her knees sagged and Luc took up the slack ably, wrapping one strong arm around her ribcage.
‘Know you want this.’ He ground his hips gently against her abdomen. Megan’s head fell back bonelessly as the silent groan locked in her tight throat struggled to escape. Mutely, she nodded. Not pretending any more, felt strangely liberating.
His big hand cupped the back of her skull, drawing her face up to his. Looking into his platinum-grey eyes made her dizzy.
‘This is quite spectacularly crazy.’
She tried to swallow but couldn’t. She couldn’t stop shaking, tremors that ran like febrile shudders through her entire body. Insane it might be, but she could actually feel his voice. No man had ever excited her this way…up until now she had thought she wasn’t capable of feeling this way. What if it never happened again?
The thought spurred her into direct action. ‘I don’t do crazy, Luc.’ Her lashes lifted and she looked him straight in the eyes. ‘But I could learn.’
Luc’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a startled gasp.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MEGAN’S head dropped. God, she’d been too direct…she’d shocked Luc and small wonder! Her comment had been only slightly less subtle than screaming, Take me! Just because you fancy the socks off him doesn’t mean he feels the same way!
Teeth clenched, she resisted the hand that curved under her chin and his soft but firm instruction, ‘Look at me, Megan.’ Until finally with an exasperated sigh she allowed her face to be tilted up to his.
The mixture of embarrassment and defiance faded from her face as she looked at him. He was smiling a smile so fierce so sweet that she felt as if she’d melt. His fingertips ran along the curve of her jaw and she turned her head into his hand and kissed his palm.
‘I’ll teach you,’ he rasped.
This time there was nothing vaguely tentative or gentle about his lips or the probing tongue that slid between her parted lips. Electrified, Megan kissed him back with a driven desperation. Whimpering softly into his mouth, she wound her arms tightly around his neck.
Her mind had stopped functioning. She was simply responding to the primitive need that made her plaster her aching breasts against his chest, pressing her hips into his. She couldn’t get close enough to him. She had no idea of how long they stood there kissing with a frenzied, frantic desperation.
At some point they must have stopped kissing long enough to end up standing beneath the porch of one of the stable workshops.
‘My God, don’t stop!’ she pleaded, her self-control a dim and distant memory by the time his mouth lifted from her own. She lifted her dazed, passion-glazed eyes to his dark face. ‘You’re…I feel…’ She struggled to articulate the hunger that coursed like a forest fire through her body.
‘My God, but you’re incredible,’ he breathed, scanning her face with blazing eyes.
Megan felt his hand slide under her skirt at the same time her back made contact with the ivy-covered wall. His heavy, warm body pressed her into the hard surface.
‘Oh, my God!’ she groaned, biting her lip.
She felt the pressure ease. ‘Am I hurting you?’ he asked thickly.
Megan slid her hands under his shirt across his satiny hard skin. She released a shuddering sigh as the muscles contracted under her questing fingers. She felt him suck in a deep breath as the fabric parted. Squirming, she pressed her aching breasts against his bare flesh.
She ran the tip of her tongue over the outline of her swollen lips. ‘You’re killing me.’
A low feral groan that made her hot skin break out in a rash of goosebumps emerged from Luc’s throat as he responded to the sexual challenge glittering in her eyes. ‘That’s not what I want to do to you.’
‘What do you want to do?’ she asked in a throaty whisper.
‘This, for starters.’ His fingers reached the bare skin above the lacy tops of her hold-ups and she let out a deep moan as her stomach muscles contracted violently.
‘You’re…you’re…’
‘What am I?’ he prompted throatily.
Impossible to resist. Megan shook her head, the ache between her legs intensifying as her eyes dropped down the length of his incredible body. She was aware of every hard inch of him. She wanted every hard inch of him.
Megan blinked to bring his face into focus; her breath was coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The skin was drawn tight across his high cheekbones. His dark lashes lifted, revealing an almost feral glitter of raw hunger in his eyes.
‘You’re to die for.’
A grin of savage male triumph spread across his face. ‘Not just yet, Megan,’ he responded, loosing the tie of her halter top with one hand while touching the dampness between her legs with the other.
