The Night That Started It All (15 page)

She rejected the treacherous thing outright. She’d been sucked in by that sunbeam before.
Big
time. Stars, spangles, the works. This time the risks were far too great. It wasn’t just her dreams she had to worry about being flushed down the toilet.

‘And you won’t be coping alone,’ he added, smiling. But she sensed determination behind those eyes. And in the set of his handsome jaw she read assurance. Authority. The man asserting his rights. ‘You will have me,’ he declared softly.

‘Of course.’ She beamed him a smile, though her insides were twanging with warnings of caution. ‘And I appreciate the offer, I truly do, but I’m probably better to be independent and in charge of my own space, you know?’ A wry twitch of his lips only added more momentum to her misgivings. ‘I told you. I learned the hard way I’m not cut out for togetherness and the domestic life.’

Maybe he had the misguided belief he was an equal partner
in this enterprise, but it wasn’t all happening to him, was it? He wasn’t incubating little developing networks of nerves and synapses. Arms. Legs.

‘Anyway,’ she added hastily, ‘I haven’t brought enough clothes with me for a longer stay, and … I have a book contract I have to fulfil. I need to work. I really do.’

‘You can work at my place.’ He spread his hands, smiling, insistent. ‘Why can’t you? And don’t worry a thing about your clothes. I’ll take care of all that for you. I’m good with clothes.’

This was no recommendation. Rémy had been good with clothes. Good at telling her when she’d got it wrong.

He made a rueful gesture. ‘Don’t look so mistrustful.’ He took her hand and held it between both of his, his dark gaze grave. ‘Shari … Please understand. I’m not Rémy. Listen to me. I promise—on my honour I would never do anything to cause you harm.’

His eyes shone with a light that threatened to pierce her total serenity.

With her wobbly heart trembling in its niche all of a sudden, she felt a severe need to loosen her scarf. ‘Well,
quel
relief.’ She moistened her lips. ‘That’s … very nice.’

Glancing at her watch, she saw there was still plenty of time, but she wouldn’t have minded bolting for the airport right at that very instant. She made to gather her trench. ‘Actually, Luc, I don’t want to be rude and rush things, but …’

He leaned forward, holding her captive in his dark gaze. ‘You’re not listening to me, Shari. I’m begging you to stay. I want to support you.’

‘Oh, heavens.’ Her pulse raced faster than Black Caviar at the Melbourne Cup. Was this the guy in the romance, or was she reading too much into a few words again? ‘Why would you want to do that? I can support myself. And I’ve got Neil. I told you—I’m probably not meant for togetherness.’

‘You know why.’ His eyes glowed with a serious intensity.
‘I want you. I don’t want you to disappear to the other side of the world and lose you.’

Oh. Oh, God and the whole set of heavenly virgins. He
looked
so gorgeous, with his dark eyes so intent and sincere …

Like the crazy fool it was, her susceptible heart drank the words in like honey. It faltered in its resolve. Admit it. She was thrilled. All those romantic novels she’d brainwashed herself with from an early age wouldn’t be suppressed. In less than an instant she was floating into the realm of candlelit dinners, cuddles by firelight, strolls hand in hand along the banks of the Seine, night after night after glorious night of bliss …

With her lashes fluttering out of control, she said breathlessly, trying not to fixate on his sexy mouth, ‘But—you see … I have to be certain. I can’t risk …’ Like the fool she was, tears chose that moment to swim into her eyes. ‘You must understand, I won’t be hustled into anything.’

‘I do understand. I understand exactly.’ He kissed her hand and held it to his chest. ‘Feel this? I promise on my heart I won’t hustle you into anything you don’t enjoy to do.’

She could feel the big muscle pumping under her palm, communicating disgracefully with her clitoris. She was so burningly conscious of the vibrant flesh and sinew beneath his shirt she had to yank her hand back before she did something scandalous.

The temptation to throw herself into his arms and kiss him rapturously down onto the banquette was extreme. But she held back, her bloodstream a torrent of yearning while her last resistance dithered. She’d never so much needed to be rational.

Honestly, maybe she’d be foolish to leave now. Why close off all her options? If he’d truly had a change of heart, this could be for the best, couldn’t it? Maybe he would fall in love with her and she’d be the love of his life. Maybe they’d have several children. Two girls and two boys. They’d all go to the Sorbonne and become philosophers, artists and doctors with Médecins Sans Frontières.

‘I see. Well. Well, then …’ She made herself sound businesslike. Let him know she was in charge of her life and her uterus. ‘Perhaps I could consider a—a brief trial. Only a trial, mind. No promises. How about say … a weekend?’

After all, what could he make her do against her will in a weekend?

‘A week at least,’ he insisted, dark eyes gleaming. ‘I will use some vacation time and we can take this chance to—know each other.’ That gleam grew so unmistakably sensual she thought she could guess what sort of knowledge he had in mind.

While she knew she mustn’t allow herself to be seduced into a maelstrom of mindless passion, her highly susceptible pheromones all thrilled in anticipation.

She said, a little breathlessly, ‘But—we need to be practical about this. Are you sure you have enough room? Once I get started on my work, I do tend to spread out a little.’

He threw his head back and laughed, his eyes alight with amusement. ‘Don’t worry. I can accommodate you no matter how far you spread.’

Well, that was heartening. So was the kiss he locked her in as soon as they were in the car. Well, at any rate it started out as fiery, but then he cooled it to a more tender, controlled sort of kiss, which was all the more arousing because she was so aware of his restraint. By the end she was bursting out of her bra, and aflame between her thighs.

If such a modest kiss could affect her so wildly, surely her decision to stay a while couldn’t be all wrong?

On the way to his place, though, she was naturally besieged by second thoughts. How warm would he continue to be when her inner frump broke out? How long could she fake this
soigné
sophistication? Before she knew it she’d be forgetting to wear a scarf and clumping around in Ugg boots.

But he seemed so genuinely chuffed, grinning, chatting, his eyes shining as he pointed out various landmarks to her, she didn’t have the heart to pull out right then. And when he
opened the door of an apartment on the sixth and topmost floor of a centuries-old building in the
deuxième arrondissement
, and she walked in and saw Paris spreading below through tall windows at every turn, it was a heady moment.

Not quite real, actually.

Luc Valentin wanted her. As she gazed about, blinking at the silk curtains, the ornate mirrors, the rich oriental rugs vying for supremacy on the gleaming wooden floor, the elegant velvet sofas, an actual chandelier in the sitting room, those words kept spinning around and around in her head.

Even with a bun in the oven he wanted her. Could he have noticed how pregnant women
looked
a few months in? Had he realised she wouldn’t remain her svelte and lissom self for long?

Maybe he wasn’t expecting her to stay pregnant. Her fears all came flooding back, highlighted in red.

‘Bienvenue
,’ he said, holding her shoulders, then kissing her lips as she stood in a luxury-induced trance. For such a rich and sophisticated man, he seemed a trifle awkward. ‘Please—be as if you are at home.’

‘Thank you.’ The decor here could put the Ritz to shame. She had a shameful wish it had been a tiny bit more humble. Imposing bureaus and credenzas, while admirable, could be quite lowering. As could walls of peach-coloured silk and a thousand metres of yellow curtains.

But who was she to criticise? She felt strangely tongue-tied, as if the Tardis had set her down in a distant universe.

As his victory glow calmed a little Luc looked closely at her. She stood apparently rooted midway between the sitting room and the entrance, gazing about. He felt a pang of uncertainty. Somehow here she seemed smaller and more vulnerable, as if she’d shrunk back into herself.

‘Are you feeling well?’ he said. ‘Can I offer you something? Coffee?’ With a leap of inspiration he came up with his furthest reach of hospitality to date. ‘Tea?’

Not that he could guarantee there would be any.

‘Not just now, thanks.’

He felt a strong and manly urge to seal his triumphant possession of her on the nearest available surface, but he sensed the timing would be wrong. And with her condition, he might have to check first about the safety issue.

He made a mental note to conduct some research at the earliest opportunity.

‘Perhaps you would like to—unpack?’

She cast him a hesitant glance. He had the sinking feeling she was about to refuse, but she only said, ‘Your apartment is very nice. Are all of these family heirlooms?’

‘Somebody’s, perhaps. Not my family’s.’

‘Oh. I—I was reminded a bit of your mother’s. I thought she might have …’ she waved her hand ‘… you know, contributed when you moved out of home.’

Amusement at the thought of Maman parting with her precious things to accommodate Manon’s ambitions made Luc smile. Then he saw Shari flush and felt an instant rush of remorse. What a clumsy idiot, embarrassing her when she was clearly feeling shy.

‘Nothing like that,’ he hastened to assure her. He flicked a glance about at the place. It was so long since he’d really looked at it, he’d forgotten how appalled he was initially by all the yellow. A man could get used to anything. But could a woman? An
Australian
woman?

‘My ex-girlfriend is—er
was
a—a … What do you call—a professional designer. This was how she—liked things.’

Nom de Dieu
. Horror gripped him by the balls. Had he really brought up Manon in the first minute?
Zut
, why was it that with Shari Lacey he was as inept as an adolescent?

‘Come,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’ll show you everything.’ He reached for her suitcase.

Feeling gauche, Shari followed. Now she could see the hand of a designer everywhere she looked. The matching armchairs by the fireplace. Those two chairs she glimpsed facing each
other across that small perfect table in the kitchen. All the yellows blending, complementing each other.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the sum effect was of more than mere luxury. It was also somehow—intimate. As if two minds entwined as one occupied this retreat from the world.

She followed him along a silk-lined hall to some double doors.

‘La chambre à coucher.’
He opened them with an offhand gesture.

Shari drew in a breath. Wow. What a chamber. Spacious, panelled in more peach silk, it was a decorator’s dream, rich with fabrics and plushness.

At Luc’s urging she ventured in a few steps, and felt an immediate sense of having intruded. Naturally, she supposed, the space had a deeply personal ambience. She let her gaze dwell on the three sets of windows with long silk lemon curtains tied back with sashes. She could see charming little balconies outside.

She tried not to stare at the most dominant piece in the room, but it screamed at her. Wherever she looked, Luc and Manon’s bed bore down upon her with its handsome bedhead, the matching lamps on either side. Their pillows. Their sumptuous counterpane.

Feeling Luc’s narrow appraisal, Shari turned away, wondering if it was striking him how awkwardly she fitted here in his private space.
Their
space.

Directly facing the bed and above the fireplace was a modern erotic painting of lovers locked in the primal embrace. Following her gaze, Luc started, blinking at it, then stepped forward and snatched it down. Sliding it to the floor, he turned it to the wall.

He gave a jerky, dismissive wave. ‘A poor choice. I’ve always been meaning to dispose of it.’

He turned away to open another set of doors that led into
a smaller chamber of lamps and mirrors, with large wardrobe cupboards lining one wall, a sumptuous chaise longue and a pretty bathroom beyond.

‘
Le
boudoir
.’ He placed her suitcase inside. ‘For—the woman. I have my own dressing room next door, as you see.’

Shari’s gaze settled on the woman’s dressing table. It was delicate-looking, with wavy lines, a beautiful winged mirror and a matching chair covered in rose and lemon patterned silk. Some highly polished perfume bottles sparkled before the mirror, while a tortoiseshell hairbrush still lay in wait for its rightful owner. Shari could almost see the chic and elegant woman seated there, completing her
toilette
.

Luc hastily strode forward and swept the surface bare, dropping the items into a silk-covered waste bin. ‘The maid should have attended to this. I’m extremely sorry.’ He looked so stern Shari hoped the maid wouldn’t have to face him soon. He opened a closet door, then with a muttered curse closed it again quickly before she could see inside.

The air prickled with discomfort. Shari hardly knew what to say. ‘It’s all—gorgeous.’ She gestured around at the exquisite room. ‘My suitcase is ruining the effect.’

He closed his eyes. ‘Not at all. Your suitcase is the only reality in a—a ridiculous fantasy. She—Manon—liked to feel like a courtesan of the First Empire.’ He gave a terse laugh, then backed out of there rather quickly. ‘And ah … as you see … all—all of our balconies are very small, I regret to say.’ He gave a swift smile. ‘Not like in Australia.’

‘Nothing is like in Australia.’

He stared at her for a strained second, then said tensely, ‘There is another bedroom you might prefer until we prepare this one properly. Come and see.’

He slipped his arm around her and kissed her ear. Pulled her against him and buried his face in her hair. ‘Ah … the scent of you. Shari …’ he breathed. ‘Relax. Don’t be upset by small things. Don’t worry. I will …’ He kissed her and she felt the
vibrancy of his hard body pressed against hers, but she disentangled herself.