By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ hope ‘—so—beautiful.’

      Oh, the relief. Her fearful heart glowed so fiercely she could have danced, sung and cried all at the same time. It didn’t matter if he was sincere. Just that he was being kind. Just for that moment she loved him. Loved Luc Valentin with all her heart.

      ‘Thanks.’ Her smile burst through. ‘It’s always lovely not to be crushed.’

      He grinned, then his face grew rather grave and he cleared his throat. ‘Alors, Shari, I do wish to express how … I—I—regret the way it ended in Sydney.’

      ‘I’m glad you brought it up,’ she said tensely, thinking of all those sleepless nights of futile yearning, knowing he thought so badly of her. The injustice of the things he said. Her mortification when he caught her at her most naked. Her anger and misery, and … Oh, God. Maddening, unsatisfiable desire. ‘I—I don’t think you know how those things you said—hurt me. I …’

      He blinked, then concealed his eyes behind his lashes. He said stiffly, ‘Perhaps you took it all too much to heart.’

      She sat back and smiled coolly. ‘Which part?’ She could feel herself start to tremble. ‘The part where you didn’t believe me? Where you accused me of being a dishonourable slag? Or the bit when you followed me home like a stalker?’ She kept on smiling, though her heart was suddenly working like a piston.

      A tinge of colour darkened his bronzed cheek. ‘Perhaps it seemed that way. But you must see that at the time …’

      ‘No.’ She disciplined herself to keep her voice low. ‘At the time, Luc, I was not a liar. If I committed any crime it was a crime against myself. My own code of behaviour—and—and—safety in offering the pleasure of my body to a man I didn’t know and couldn’t trust.’

      ‘Trust?’ He spoke so sharply she jumped. ‘Vraiment, this was a matter of honour. I was afraid you—might still be involved with my cousin.’

      Startled by his vehemence, she compressed her lips, but, unable to hold in some defence of herself, she burst into a fierce whisper. ‘If I had been do you think I’d have betrayed him? Are you still thinking of me like that? As a—a whore? Oh, it’s too much. Too much.’ She threw down her napkin and rose to her feet, emotion rising faster in her than high tide at Bondi.

      ‘Shari, no, no, I don’t think that. Please.’ He sprang up and took her arms, his eyes earnest and intent. ‘I have never said that. I thought you were a very passionate and beautiful woman in the midst of a—a complex situation. I could see we needed to discuss it and—analyse it like rational adults. Why do you think I followed you home?’

      ‘Oh, why? Obvious. You thought you could sweet-talk your way into my bed. And is that why you’ve brought me here to the Ritz? You’re hoping to try your luck again?’

      He looked shocked. His handsome face assumed such a gravely wounded expression she wondered if she’d been unjust.

      ‘That is a—disappointing suggestion.’

      It was a suggestion that had only just surfaced in her mind, but once it did, it took root.

      He was shaking his head in austere denial of the charge when her glance fell on his mouth. Paradoxically, against all reason and logic, in total betrayal of herself and the sisterhood of women, she was seized with an irresistible impulse to ravage that stirring mouth, to tease those sternly compressed lips apart with her tongue and drink in every last masculine drop of Luc Valentin.

      At the same time her nipples, the tender vibrant tissues between her legs tingled and flamed with a violent, feminine yearning impossible to repress.

      As though he were divining her lustful state a piercing gleam lit Luc’s eyes. He lifted his brows. A subtle change came over his demeanour. ‘Shh, shh, chérie.’ His voice became silky smooth. ‘It has been a stressful morning. Sit down again for a minute. Come, now.’

      She glanced about. Naturally, there were a few interested parties straining to catch every word—a couple of princes, several duchesses with their beaux and a sheikh—though none of them seemed to be goggling with as much curiosity as they would have if this scene had been taking place in a Sydney restaurant.

      In a fever of confusion, she resumed her place. How could she desire someone who’d caused her such distress? How could she want to bite his bronzed neck, drink his blood and eat him alive?

      He leaned forward, his lean face stern, his eyes searing her with an urgent intent. ‘We need to talk. Settle this somewhere private, where we can be alone.’ Suddenly he was radiating energy, like a ship’s captain taking charge of a serious aquatic catastrophe. He grasped her hand and squeezed. ‘Give me two minutes—I’ll arrange a quiet corner.’ He stood up. ‘Will you be OK here? Oui? Now, don’t leave.’

      He gave her a firm look to hold her there, then strode away.

      Shari closed her eyes. What was wrong with her? She’d been angry with him for so long, now as soon as she met him again, she felt— Oh, face it. Thrilled to be with him. Everything he said—even the bits that outraged her—every small nuance was etching itself on her heart.

      He was devastating her again. The last time a Frenchman made her feel this way … Look what happened! She should have walked out. Summoned a taxi and flown back to the Hôtel du Louvre. Taken off her hat, crawled into bed and eased her mad and insatiable desires as best she could in the time-honoured way.

      But his electrifying squeeze was still burning her hand. And she needed to hear what he had to say. Maybe he would apologise so sincerely she could honourably forgive him.

      Forgive him and …

      Anyway, it would be a shame to take off the hat before it was absolutely necessary.

      To evade more vulgar curiosity, she swanned to the bathroom and, armed with her toothkit from the plane, managed to give her teeth a good minty scrub.

      She emerged in time to see Luc return from the direction of the reception area. He walked with such confident masculine authority, such athletic energy in his long limbs, she felt a flame of longing sear deep inside her.

      He caught sight of her and changed course, strolling across to smoothly, possessively take her arm. ‘Come.’

      Slipping her bag onto her shoulder, she savoured the erotic graze of his suit fabric on her skin. ‘Have you—found a place where we can talk?’

      ‘No problem.’ His dark gaze dwelled smoulderingly on her face. ‘They assure me it will be very, very quiet.’

      He ushered her into a lift and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

      ‘Have you …?’ She turned to gaze at him. ‘Have you ever read The Pursuit of Love?’

      He glanced keenly at her, eyes gleaming. ‘The Pursuit of …?’

      She tried not to show it, but she was breathing so fast her breasts were rising and falling like twin peaks during a major quake. ‘Love. The heroine finds herself stranded at the Gare du Nord without any money. This Frenchman strolls by …’

      His eyes sharpened. СКАЧАТЬ