By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ kiss her?

      She repaired the damage with the emergency kit at the bottom of her bag. Then, refreshed and reconstituted, she floated to join him in the restaurant. After all the emotion, she’d arrived on a tremulous smiley plateau where everything looked hazily beautiful. Especially the dark-eyed man drinking coffee and texting someone on his mobile.

      Kill that thought. After all she’d gone through over him, was she to just fall into his arms? Was it always to be the same old thing? Shari Lacey, unable to resist a handsome Frenchman? Another one she knew little about and would be insane to trust?

      He glanced up as she approached and his eyes shimmered, inciting an excited clench in her insides. Then, just to mess with her defences, he rose and pulled out a chair for her.

      She sat down, that car kiss still tingling through her nerve sockets. Somehow she would have to take a stand. Lay her position on the line before events rocketed out of control. Before she did.

      He resumed his chair, his long lanky posture so relaxed and unbothered by anything he’d done to her in that limo it was a damned disgrace.

      She steeled herself not to be affected, weakened or seduced.

      ‘It’s very good of you to bring me here, Luc. Very generous, but …’ His brows twitched up. ‘I—I—I think I should make it clear to you that anything of a-a sexual nature that may have happened between us in Sydney was a one-off. We agreed then it was a mistake, and … Well, so much has happened, and … As far as I’m concerned the whole thing should be wiped from our minds.’

      He nodded along with her words as she spoke, though she noticed a certain tension infuse his gorgeous limbs. Then he lifted one quizzical brow. ‘Ah. You think I should forget about meeting you at Emilie’s?’

      ‘I do. We should both forget it.’

      ‘So then …’ His black lashes flicked tauntingly downwards. A silky note entered his voice. ‘You wish me to forget Emilie’s garden?’

      She eyed him carefully. What in particular might he be remembering about the garden? The last thing she needed to be reminded of was how easily she’d succumbed to that dark stroll into the shrubbery. ‘I’m—surprised you even remember the garden.’

      His eyes gleamed in reminiscence. ‘Are you? But it was so pleasant, d’accord? In the dark, with all the fragrances and the moonlight.’ His long fingers toyed idly with his spoon. The same fingers that had recently toyed with parts of her. ‘You must remember the moonlight.’ Her nerve jumped. ‘The harbour lights.’

      ‘Where are we going with this?’ Although she knew where he was headed with it, all right.

      He leaned forward, a lazy smile playing on his sexy mouth. ‘I think you know where. Where else but to the boathouse? You’re not expecting me to forget the boathouse, chérie, n’est-ce pas?’

      ‘Well, I’ve forgotten it. As far as I’m concerned, nothing about it was very memorable.’

      He threw back his head and laughed. He looked so handsome, with amusement illuminating his face and the light dancing in his eyes, a wave of hot and bitter frustration swept her. He had no right to be so attractive and to mock her. He was the one who’d found the magic moments shameful and made her feel like a disgrace to womanhood.

      Luckily the waiter arrived just then, or she might have snatched up the coffee pot and whacked Luc over the head with it.

      Controlling her annoyance, she turned her full attention to the menu, consulting earnestly with the waiter, feeling Luc’s lazy glance scorch her face, throat and hands.

      Everything enshrined on the list sounded delicious, but in the end she confined herself to ordering a spoonful of gentle, soothing yoghurt, along with some strawberries claimed to have been washed in morning dew. To follow she requested the buttery scrambled eggs, waiving both the caviar garnish and the champagne to wash them down.

      Well, she had to show some respect for her stomach. It felt fine now, but who knew when it might rear up again in revolt?

      While she enjoyed her yoghurt, Luc reflected on the effect their encounter had left on him. He still thought of it. No wonder he’d followed her home like a madman. Nom de Dieu, he was only flesh and blood. Would he ever forget holding her in his arms in that dark, sea-salty place? Her throaty little cries as he buried himself in her moist heat?

      As he watched her soft lips close over a strawberry his blood stirred unbearably.

      His underclothes tightened and he had to exert careful control over his voice. ‘How—long do you plan to stay?’

      ‘A couple of days. Tomorrow I thought I might visit the Musée D’Orsay. I fly home the day after that.’

      Every sinew in his body tensed in utter rejection of that ludicrous plan. But outwardly he controlled the reaction. ‘But how will you see Paris?’

      ‘Well, I—I haven’t come for a sightseeing tour, have I?’

      She raised her glass to her lips. As she swallowed he noticed the muscles contract in her satin throat. Without warning a rush of hot turgid blood raced to his groin. He forced himself to shift his agonised gaze to the wall, the window, the orchid in its vase. Everywhere, anywhere until he could trust his voice.

      ‘That’s—a very brief visit. Surely … you can transfer your flight to a future date?’

      She shot him a glance. ‘I’m not sure why I would do that.’ He waited for the next flash of green, his breath on hold. ‘I suppose … if I had a reason …’

      He could think of a damned good one, but not one that was sayable. Surely she could feel the pulse as strongly as he? Why did things have to be so complicated with women?

      ‘A reason to stay in Paris,’ he mused aloud. ‘Not many people in the world would find that a challenge.’

      The sensual note in his voice registered in Shari’s hearing. With his lashes at half mast she was reminded of a devious, smouldering wolf. Why should she find that so scarily thrilling? The dangerous little tongue of flame threatening to undo her licked deep.

      Her scrambled eggs were set before her, moist, speckled with parsely, and accompanied by pale golden toast. The eggs melted on her tongue, while the hot chocolate might well have been the most divine ever to pass human lips.

      Unusually for her, however, she didn’t manage to clean up every last scrap. It was hard to concentrate her attention on even food when such a man was distracting her.

      When the waiter returned to clear her dishes, she noticed Luc listening to her flowery praise of the chef, a smile lurking in his eyes.

      ‘You were very kind,’ he observed after the man had gone.

      ‘Artists ought to be appreciated.’

      ‘Artists like you?’

      ‘Now who’s being kind?’

      He met her gaze, smiling in return, making her helpless heart somersault. ‘I believe I have seen your book.’

      She widened her eyes. ‘Here? СКАЧАТЬ