By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ dreaming of moving in. But a week’s holiday with him could be very acceptable. Could be. Though he wasn’t just talking a week, was he? Underneath it all, she sensed he wasn’t kidding about wanting her to stay longer.

      She chewed her lip.

      Even if he was still in love with Manon, what difference did it make? Did a woman need to be loved by the father of her child? She could still have a good time with him, couldn’t she?

      Anyway, what was she angsting over? The elegant woman was long gone.

      Surely.

      She gave Luc’s bicep a friendly squeeze through the cashmere. Finding it so satisfyingly hard she couldn’t even make a dent, she grinned. ‘How I love a hard man. What do you do in the evenings, monsieur?’

      He shrugged. ‘Until this moment I—work, or I attend dinner meetings, soirées. D’Avion is quite important to the French economy, so sometimes I’m invited to attend receptions with people in the government. Concerts, the opera, the cinema … What does anyone do?’

      She had visions of him in evening dress, whirling around the sophisticated Parisian social scene. No doubt since he didn’t have Manon to accompany him he’d found other women to escort. Maybe he held a different beauty in his arms every night of the week.

      Though not in his apartment, clearly.

      ‘Don’t you ever feel like a night in?’

      ‘I think I might feel like one tonight.’ Though he spoke gravely, his eyes gleamed and she felt a tingle of excitement. It could be all right. If she gave it a chance.

      At least he was patient to walk with. He didn’t seem to mind or try to chivvy her along when she stopped to gaze into shop windows. Even when she ventured inside for a closer look he hung around outside, talking on his mobile. Probably chatting to government ministers or giving instructions to people in his office. Or maybe he was warning his girlfriends not to expect him for a night or two.

      After a few fascinating blocks they turned into the Rue Montorgueil, which was a market crowded with shoppers patronising the dozens of cafés and patisseries, food and wine shops.

      Charmed to her socks, she forgot all her misgivings and oohed and ahhed like a tourist. The rue was a Monet come to life.

      ‘Do you cook?’ he enquired, pausing by a cheese emporium.

      ‘Not in France. Do you?’

      He laughed at her quick response. ‘I don’t have to. I have a hundred restaurants on my doorstep. But for you I’ll turn the leaf.’

      He purchased several varieties of cheese, some sausage slices, a crusty loaf and fruit, olives and some salad vegetables from a market stall brimming with fresh produce. Then, apparently exhausted by such heavy domestic activity, he suggested lunch, steering her towards a café with red geraniums spilling from planters on its window ledges.

      Relieved not to be returning to the apartment straight away, Shari sank down gratefully at the table the waiter had directed them to, while Luc piled his purchases on an empty chair. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours she felt close to a reality overload.

      She gave her order, then listened while Luc discussed his choice with the waiter. When the guy bustled away, Luc excused himself and drew out his phone.

      ‘Are they needing you at your office?’

      ‘Not at all. I’m conducting some research.’

      After a while she said gingerly, ‘Did … Was Manon a good cook?’

      He kept his eyes lowered to the phone. ‘She could barely cook an egg.’

      It was pretty clear what he’d seen in the Parisian paragon. ‘Did you and she dine out every night?’

      He frowned. ‘Most nights. Though our work commitments often meant not with each other.’

      ‘When did you ever talk?’

      He said drily, ‘There was nothing to talk about.’

      She studied him covertly. His face was as close to expressionless as a frowning man could achieve.

      ‘I can see your point about keeping a large dog in your beautiful apartment.’ She filled her water glass and took a sip.

      He looked up sharply then, his eyes so cool she nearly jumped back in her chair. ‘Have you noticed we have had nearly two full days now without rain?’

      ‘Sorry.’ She winced. ‘Too forward?’

      He took up his phone to deal with an incoming text. ‘There are so many other things worth discussing.’

      The waiter arrived with their meals. Shari welcomed the diversion. She felt a bit shaken, actually. She certainly hadn’t intended to strike any major nerves.

      She murmured to the waiter, ‘Could you please bring my salad now?’

      The waiter’s brows elevated. ‘Now? Both? At the one time?’

      ‘Oui, s’il vous plaît.’

      He threw up his hands, then hurried away to comply, shaking his head at her unfathomable foreignness.

      Shari contemplated her croque Mediterranéen, conscious of a jagged sensation. Though Luc continued courteous, there was something forbidding in his expression. She accepted it was her own fault. She’d pushed the boundaries and now he’d vanished behind a steel barrier.

      All at once she felt adrift in an arctic sea. The Luc who had begged her to stay and kissed her in the car had become a stranger. She’d never been good at coping with angry people. If he didn’t smile soon she didn’t know what to do. ‘Look, I—I apologise if I intruded. I know it can take a long time to forget.’

      He looked up at her, his dark eyes glinting and alert. ‘That depends on what there is to forget.’

      ‘Of course, of course. Sorry. What do I know?’

      She tasted her salad. Oh, God. Divine. The dressing was to die for. Exactly what she’d anticipated.

      It was just as Rémy had declared. Every French person expected—demanded— their salad be dressed with just such a superb vinaigrette. She’d never managed to get it exactly right for him. What was she doing here? How could she possibly contemplate a whole week with another Frenchman? What did she know of Luc anyway? He dined with people in the government. He attended soirées. He was in love with a beautiful woman she could never compete with.

      Glancing about her, she had the panicked realisation she’d never make it here. She just didn’t fit. In his apartment. In his life. She started as Luc’s voice cut through her musings.

      ‘You’re not losing your nerve?’

      She glanced up guiltily. Was she so transparent? But what was there to say? She should have boarded that plane and be headed for the Antipodes right now.

      His dark eyes searched hers, questioning, bemused. ‘Seriously, СКАЧАТЬ