Count Toussaint's Pregnant Mistress. Kate Hewitt

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СКАЧАТЬ and Abby was glad of the reprieve. She hadn’t meant to reveal quite so much with that question and its betraying answer. ‘And cook, because food is so delicious and I’ve never learned how to make anything properly. What about you?’ She took a spoonful of indulgently rich, dark-chocolate mousse. ‘If you could do anything, what would it be?’

      ‘Turn back time,’ Luc stated matter-of-factly, and Abby started at how grim he sounded. Then he smiled and dipped his own spoon into the rich, chocolatey dessert. ‘So I could have this evening with you all over again.’

      Abby smiled, although she didn’t think that was what he’d meant when he’d spoken about turning back time.

      All too soon, however, the waiter returned on his silent cat’s feet to clear away their chocolate mousse and pour the coffee in tiny porcelain cups, leaving a plate of petits fours, delicate and frosted pink, on the table.

      The evening was almost over, Abby thought sadly. In a few minutes, a quarter of an hour perhaps, she would leave. She would find a taxi speeding down the near-empty Rue du Faubourg St Honoré, slip into its dark interior and give the driver the address of her own staid and respectable hotel half a mile away. Then she would pay the driver and walk through the deserted foyer of the hotel, avoiding the speculative looks of the bored bellboy and the silent censure of the concierge, praying that he would not tell her father, ‘Mademoiselle est revenue trop tard…’

      Then she would forget this evening ever existed, and Luc—just Luc—would be nothing more than a distant memory, a dream.

      Except…Except, she thought with a jolt, the evening didn’t need to end at the bar. They could go somewhere else. Somewhere private.

      A bedroom.

      This was a hotel, after all. Was Luc staying here? Did he have a room? The questions, as well as their potential answers, left her dizzy. Was she, a woman who had barely been kissed, actually contemplating a night with this man? A one-night stand?

      Yet it wouldn’t be anything so sordid, because they knew each other. They were practically soulmates. The trite word made Abby grimace. Luc touched her hand, his caress light yet so very sure.

      ‘Abby,’ he said, ‘what are you thinking?’

      ‘That I don’t want to go home,’ Abby blurted. She felt herself flush and suddenly didn’t care. ‘I want to stay here with you.’

      Luc frowned, a shadow of regret in his eyes. ‘It is late. You should go.’

      She reached out and curled her fingers around his wrist; her thumb instinctively found his pulse. ‘No.’ Was she actually begging?

      ‘It is better,’ Luc said quietly. ‘I…’ He sighed, gazing down at her fingers still clasped on his wrist, and lightly, so lightly, traced the delicate skin of her inner wrist with his thumb. Abby nearly shuddered at the simple yet overwhelming contact.

      ‘Is there any reason why we can’t…be together?’ she asked in a low voice, unable to look at him directly. She kept her gaze fastened on their clasped hands instead. ‘You aren’t…married?’

      She felt Luc’s fingers tighten, tense. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not married.’

      She strove for a lighter tone. ‘Are you seeing someone?’

      ‘No,’ he said again, just as simply. ‘There’s no one.’

      ‘Well.’ Abby took a breath, gathered all her courage and looked up to meet Luc’s dark gaze, offering him a smile. Offering herself. ‘There’s me.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      SHE was nervous, Luc saw, and he felt regret lash at him, a whip with a sting he’d felt far too many times already. He shouldn’t have let it get this far, yet he’d been so amazed, so overjoyed, by her presence in the bar. It had felt, as he’d told her, like providence. A gift. And now she was offering herself, the greatest gift of all.

      He could imagine it so easily. He wanted it so much. He pictured lacing his fingers through hers, drawing her up from her seat and away from the bar with its stale traces of cigarette smoke and spilled whisky and taking her to a room upstairs. The royal suite; he’d give her nothing less. He pictured her gliding through the room, slim and dark and elegant, and then he envisioned himself slipping those skinny little straps from her creamy shoulders and pressing a kiss against the pulse that now fluttered wildly at her throat. His fingers curled even now as he pictured it, aching, as every part of him was aching, with desire.

      With need, the need to lose himself in a woman—this woman—for a moment, a night. For surely it could be no more? He had nothing more to offer; his heart felt as lifeless as a stone…except when it fluttered to life as he gazed at Abby. Yet he knew how little that was, and that was why the evening must end here, now. For Abby’s sake.

      ‘Abby.’ He tried to smile, yet the movement hurt. He didn’t want to let her go. She was the first good thing that had happened to him in so long, perhaps ever, and he couldn’t bear to make her walk away. Not yet. Please, he offered in silent supplication, not yet.

      Abby smiled and braced herself for rejection. Did he actually feel sorry for her? Had she just offered herself on a plate only to be pushed away?

      ‘Do you know what you are saying?’

      ‘Of course I do.’ Brave words. She let her fingers skim his wrist. ‘I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.’

      Luc gazed down at their entwined hands. Abby felt a wave of something dark and unrelenting emanate from him, a deep sorrow, an endless regret. ‘You are a beautiful woman,’ he said in a low voice, and disappointment stabbed at her with icy needles.

      ‘But…?’ she prompted sadly, and Luc looked up and smiled.

      ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

      ‘You won’t.’ More brave words, Abby knew. Foolish words, perhaps. Yet at that moment she felt like anything would be better, or at least more bearable, than walking away from Luc and the blossoming feeling of possibility he evoked in her just then.

      Luc sighed, a heavy sound, and he shook his head slowly. Abby waited, holding her breath, hoping.

      Then he stood, almost lazily reaching out to draw her to her feet, their fingers still twined.

      ‘Where are you going?’ Abby asked as she rose.

      ‘The question,’ he answered, tugging on her hand, ‘is where are we going?’

      Abby let him lead her out of the bar; the only sound was the swoosh of her gown around her ankles. Back in the lobby Luc had a rapid discussion with the concierge, and seconds later he led her to a bank of lifts. Abby’s breath caught in her throat. She could hardly believe this was happening, that she was allowing it to happen, that she had asked for it to happen. She barely knew Luc, and yet…

      Yet she knew him, perhaps better than she’d ever known anyone before. She couldn’t turn away from this—him—even if she wanted to, even if she tried. She had no choice; her desire and need were too great.

      The heady, surreal feeling didn’t leave her as they stepped into the lift and Luc pressed СКАЧАТЬ