Master of Passion

by Jacqueline Baird

  She sat up in the large bed. She had to get a mental grip on herself. Wondering, What if? was not going to do her any good at all. Luc wanted her body; he had proved that last night. Just thinking about it made her toes curl. But he had also told her he wasn't interested in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him change his mind, she thought resolutely, and, jumping out of bed, a new determination in her step, she entered the bathroom.

  Standing under the steaming spray of the shower, she made her decision. She would tell Luc she had not known about his accident, and how sorry she was, and let him draw his own conclusion. She loved and wanted him. Maybe propinquity and a willing woman in his bed might persuade him to alter their limited marriage into a lifelong commitment. She could but try...

  Ten minutes later Parisa, dressed in her favourite straight blue tweed skirt and matching blue sweater, her long hair swept back and tied with a silk scarf, and wearing a minimum of make-up, walked into the living area of the suite.

  Luc was sitting at the small dining table, a sheaf of papers in front of him, and a coffee-pot with the accompanying cups. He glanced up as she entered.

  'No bacon and eggs today?' she said lightly to hide her nervousness.

  'It's Easter Friday—the one day of the year I fast until after church.' His black eyes casually flickered over her. 'You can come with me, then we'll have lunch and visit Mother.' He laid out his plan for the day with barely a glance at Parisa, his attention once more on the documents in front of him.

  Parisa sat down opposite him and helped herself to a cup of coffee. Greedily she drank it, the strong, hot brew reviving her flagging confidence. She looked at his downbent head, and ached to reach out and touch him. Instead she curled her hands around the now empty cup, and, keeping her eyes lowered to the tablecloth, she said softly, 'Luc, I never knew you were ill. If I had, I would have tried to get in touch with you. I'm sorry.'

  He lifted his head, and studied her pale face. 'Yes, I'm sure you would,' he said drily. 'Tell me, do you still keep in touch with your friend Moya?'

  Parisa couldn't credit his reaction. It meant nothing to him, her declaration and apology. Instead he was questioning her about her friend. She lowered her lashes to hide the hurt she knew must be revealed in her eyes. She had her answer to all her earlier heart-searching. Luc didn't care... But she couldn't quite believe it. She had to try again. 'Yes, of course. But Luc, about your accident. I…'

  'Forget it, Parisa.' He stood up and, walking around to where she sat, he bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, before taking her arm and urging her to her feet.

  She stood in front of him, her eyes drinking in his tall body, immaculately dressed in a dark three-piece suit and white silk shirt, a plain dark blue silk tie knotted neatly at his throat. She tilted her head back to look up into his handsome face, and their eyes locked. 'Luc she began, but he cut her off. His arms enfolding her, his lips found hers in a long, strangely tender kiss. She was trembling when he finally broke the kiss and held her away from him, his strong hands firmly clasping her upper arms.

  'The past is over and finished with, Parisa. You are my wife, and I don't think you found last night too unpleasant. In fact, you were with me all the way.' His dark eyes bored down into hers, daring her to deny it.

  'Yes,' she confessed with a shy smile.

  'Good. So no more arguing and no more dragging up the past, and I think we will get through the next couple of weeks famously.'

  Parisa wanted to touch him, wanted to love him, but instead she took the two weeks he was offering. 'That's fine by me,' she agreed, while vowing to try and make the fortnight into a lifetime.

  Luc curved his arm around her shoulders and, tilting her chin with one finger, placed a swift, soft kiss on her full lips. 'Go and get your coat,' he said and, turning her around, he patted her bottom with a proprietarily hand. 'And hurry up, wife. I'm starving, and it's not good for my system to restrain my appetite. His seductive chuckle echoed in her ears as she walked back into the bedroom.

  Naked, spread-eagled on top of Luc, Parisa groaned. 'God! I'm shattered—utterly and completely shattered.' A deep masculine chuckle disturbed the tendrils of her hair spread over his chest...

  'You are also shameless, my sweet wife.'

  Parisa reared up, resting her folded arms on his massive chest, and stared down into his raggedly attractive face. 'I am?' she jeered. 'And who was it who dragged me out of the cocktail bar and into the lift with indecent haste to have his evil way with me?' she teased him, plopping a soft, wet kiss on his invitingly curved lips. The past two weeks had been a revelation to Parisa. She had never imagined making love could be so varied and so ecstatic. She wriggled slightly. Her stomach felt as though it were glued to Luc's naked flesh, and she loved the feeling.

  'No, you don't, learn.' Luc declared throatily and, wrapping her up in his arms, he got to his feet. They had never made it past the living-room floor, the urgency of their passion overcoming common sense. 'It's almost visiting time,' he said as he carried her naked into the bedroom and dropped her on the wide bed.

  She laughed up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. 'It's not me who has the gargantuan appetite.'

  'Maybe not for food, but in every other respect you match me, Parisa,' Luc said with a grin, then, brushing her hair from her brow, he sat on the side of the bed. 'Why don't you spend the next couple of hours cosseting this beautiful body of yours?' His strong tanned hand slid lazily over her pouting breast and down the length of her pale body with a proprietary pleasure. 'I'll go to the hospital myself, and later, when I return, wear something stunning. I'm taking you out.'

  Languorously she smiled up at him, her flesh tingling from his soft caress. 'Yes, oh, lord and master,' she teased.

  'I mean it, Parisa,' Luc said, suddenly serious. 'Mother was supposed to be released today. As you know, it was postponed, but I spoke to the consultant earlier, and now it's been decided she can leave for Italy tomorrow. So you and I have some talking to do.' And, getting up from the bed, he added, 'I won't be long—a couple of hours at most.'

  Parisa hugged herself as he vanished into the bathroom. Maybe, just maybe, things would work out as she wanted them to. She loved Luc with all her heart, and the past two weeks had only served to deepen her feelings, if that were possible. From the first day of their marriage she had been living in a sensual dream. Luc was a masterful lover, with an insatiable appetite that she matched perfectly. They were highly compatible. No—combustible, more like, she thought with a secret smile. He only had to look at her a certain way and she knew exactly what he was thinking. They made love morning, noon, and night. Mostly in bed, but, like this evening, quite often not making it that far.

  They were lovers, but out of bed there was still an indefinable barrier between them. She told herself it was because of his mother, but she was not convinced that was all. This afternoon they had stopped for a drink downstairs, and, not for the first time, he had abruptly, almost angrily demanded she go upstairs with him. She sighed. It had ended wonderfully—it always did—but she wished she knew what he was thinking, how he really felt. Now, he said he wanted to talk, and she hoped with all her heart that it was because he wanted to continue with their marriage.

  Luc strolled back into the room, and avidly Parisa watched him as he moved from the drawers to the wardrobe, pulling on his clothes. Even the simple act of dressing he managed to do with an erotic grace, she thought, unable to take her eyes off him.

  'See you later, cara.' And, bending down, he gave her a swift kiss. 'And hold that look until I return.' His lips quirked in a wide, natural smile as he left.

  Parisa spent the next hour happily doing as he had instructed. The only cloud on the horizon was the fact that Luc had never mentioned the two-week deadline on their marriage, and she didn't dare...

  CHAPTER TEN

  Parisa stepped out of the bath, and, pulling on Luc's robe, she wrapped her long hair in a towel and eyed her glowing reflection in the bathroo
m mirror. A knock on the door interrupted her toilet. Luc back already? She smiled. Tying the belt of her robe firmly around her waist, she rushed through the suite and opened the door.

  She stared at the woman in the doorway, one hand gripping the door-handle in a death grip, her knuckles white with the strain, as all the air seemed to vacate her lungs in one dizzying rush. Margot Mey!

  'Oh, I'm sorry, you're still here. How silly of me,' she gushed. 'I could have sworn Luc told me on Monday you were leaving Thursday. You don't mind if I come in, do you?' And Parisa, her hand dropping from the handle, gestured Margot inside, trying desperately to gather her scattered wits together. 'Is Luc around? If not I'll nip into his office and leave a note. I just couldn't wait to thank him for the beautiful bracelet.' And, stretching out a slender arm, she displayed a sparkling diamond-studded strap around her slender wrist. 'He is such a darling and so generous. But then, of course, you must know that.' She laughed. The high tinkling tone sounded like a death knell in Parisa's stunned brain.

  Parisa silently welcomed the icy numbness that engulfed her. It gave her the strength to say with chilling politeness, 'Please help yourself. I'm sure you know the way, but if you will excuse me I have my packing to finish.' On leaden feet she walked into the master bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

  Dear God! Was there no end to her stupidity? 'Monday' Margot had said. On that day Luc had insisted he had a lot of work to catch up on, and suggested Parisa return to Hardcourt Manor for a few hours and check up on the redecoration. Now she knew his real reason. He had arranged to meet his mistress! How could she have forgotten so completely his long-standing affair with Margot Mey? Her gaze settled on the large bed, and she shuddered. She had slept with him in the same bed he had shared with Margot and God knew how many more... A humourless smile twisted her beautiful mouth. Poor Luc—his superb efficiency had finally let him down. His mother's departure delayed a day, and he was left with two women for the night, instead of one...

  Grateful for the frozen state of her emotions, she methodically moved around the large room. Shedding her robe, she pulled on a simple wool dress. The row of designer clothes hanging in the wardrobe, which Luc had enthusiastically chosen for her on numerous shopping sprees, she ignored. Only packing the few clothes she had arrived with in her own suitcase, she walked out of the bedroom.

  She glanced around the sitting-room. There was no sign of Miss Mey, but her attention was caught by a lipstick lying on the mantlepiece. She picked it up. Margot's! It was a deep dark red, and defiantly she scrawled on the mirror above, 'Deal concluded. Parisa.'

  Exactly two weeks to the day from her arrival she walked out of the hotel, hailed a taxi, and climbed in. The numbness that had supported her for the past half- hour eased away, and a wrenching pain forced her to clutch her stomach, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  Parisa grimaced as she stopped her old car outside the manor house. She sat for a moment, balefully eyeing the mass of scaffolding surrounding her home. The foreman had assured her the new roof would be finished this weekend. Personally, she no longer cared. She was bone-deep tired. Two days spent camping and teaching white-water canoeing to the Seventh Battle scout troop of which David was captain had done little to improve her state of health. David had behaved like a sulky schoolboy himself, letting her know he considered she had treated him very badly. There was nothing much she could say in her own defence, because he was right. She knew she had behaved less than honourably towards him.

  Wearily she slid out of the car and reluctantly entered the house. The changes were immediately obvious. The wood parquet floor of the hall had been scraped, sealed and polished, the cornice and ceiling all repainted. A new stair carpet held in place with brass runners enhanced the grand staircase. The only jarring effect was the absence of the family portraits, revealing lighter patches on the mellow oak panelling of the walls. They had been removed for cleaning.

  In the three weeks since she had walked out of the hotel and Luc's life, the alterations in her home had proceeded with break-neck efficiency. Didi was ecstatic about the new kitchen and the new bathrooms. At the moment the plumber was installing a bathroom in the new master suite. Parisa had decided on the design and colour scheme when in London with Luc. Now she could not bear to go near the room. In fact she was fast reaching the stage where she had to force herself to walk into her old home at all.

  She dropped her rucksack in the hall, her hand going to undo the tie at her neck, then pulling off the scarf restraining her hair. She must get out of her uniform, she thought tiredly. She would give anything for a good night's sleep, but knew all the money in the world could not bring her the peace of mind she craved.

  'Good, you're back, Miss Parisa. I thought I heard something.' Didi stood at the foot of the stairs.

  'Yes, Didi, and I'm going to have a bath and an early night. I have school tomorrow.'

  'But it's only five, and what about dinner? I've made all your favourites.'

  Parisa stopped, one foot on the stair, and, turning her head, she looked at the older woman. She knew she had hurt Didi deeply by refusing point-blank to discuss her marriage, and she did not want to hurt her any more, but the last thing she needed after canoeing with a horde of kids all weekend was to have to face yet more signs of her new wealth in the form of an expensively refurbished dining-room. 'Please, Didi. I'm shattered.'

  'And what am I supposed to do with the food I have already cooked?'

  'All right, give me an hour or so.' Parisa relented, and, turning, began to ascend the stairs. The deep pile carpet was rich beneath her feet, but her lips curled with distaste as she reached the upper hall. How had she ever convinced herself she was cynical enough to sell herself for the sake of a house? She must have had a brainstorm. There was no other explanation. It hurt her every time she looked at all the alterations, knowing who had paid for them... She closed her bedroom door behind her with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  Her sanctuary: the one place not yet altered. She eyed her old four-poster bed longingly, but forced herself to strip off her uniform and, slipping on her robe, made her way to the bathroom. After a quick shower she returned to her room, and, still wearing only her robe, gratefully lay down on the old bed. At least here there was nothing to remind her of her folly, she thought, and closed her eyes.

  She was immediately tormented by images of Luc and the passion she had found in his arms, the naive hope she had felt that he would fall in love with her, and the terrible night when all her hopes and dreams were so brutally betrayed. She relived in her mind the journey from the hotel.

  She had left the taxi at the railway station and dashed for the ladies' room, where she had been violently sick. She had had no idea how long she had sat there until a railway official had told her they were locking up for the night. The last train had left. She had spent the night lying on a single bed in a seedy hotel, crying her eyes out. The following morning, when she had returned to Hardcourt Manor, Didi had greeted her in extreme agitation. Luc had called countless times. Parisa had walked past the exasperated Didi, refusing to discuss him, or ring the number he had left.

  She never wanted to hear from the lying swine again. The following day, the clothes she had left behind arrived by post, and any lingering subconscious hope that Luc might care for her was squashed for all time. The note that accompanied the clothes read: 'You earned them, keep them. Luc.'

  Parisa sighed, and finally slid into an uneasy sleep. Oh, God! It was happening again. Would this dream never cease? She felt the flood of heat in her slender body, and stirred restlessly on the wide bed. His lips, so firm, so smooth, so hot, were once again trailing across her skin, down the curve of her cheek, teasing the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted, but the heated caress travelled on down her throat. She moaned softly, her eyelashes fluttering. She wanted to lose herself in the dream, but knew the agony of waking up alone and frustrated was too much to bear.

  Parisa forced her eyes open, and gasped. It was no
dream. Sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over her, one hand either side of her shoulders, was Luc. 'You...' she exclaimed.

  'I should hope so. Who else but your husband has the right to be in your bedroom?' his mocking voice demanded.

  'How did you...? Who let you in?' she asked hoarsely, her pale face flooding with colour.

  She watched as he rose from the bed and walked across to the window, his back to her. His hair had grown— progressed from short and spiky to soft curls. She could see the beginning of the savage scar on the back of his neck before it was hidden beneath the cream collar of his knitted shirt. His broad shoulders seemed oddly tense. Her eyes slid down the long length of him—his taut buttocks, the muscular legs covered in dark tan trousers. She couldn't tear her gaze away. Once she had known his body as intimately as her own. The heat scorched through her as a vivid mental image of her and Luc naked... Brutally she stamped down on the image, and sat up. Readjusting her robe more firmly around her, she swung her legs to the floor. The silence was filled with an electric tension that she was desperate to dispel.

  'What are you doing here?' she demanded coolly, amazed at the even timbre of her voice, when in reality she felt as though she were dying inside.

  'It's not unusual for a man to want to see his wife.' Luc turned and sat down on the wide window-sill, one long leg stretched negligently in front of him, the other hooked sideways across the sill. The fabric of his trousers pulled tight across his thigh, his elegantly shod foot swinging back and forwards, the muscles in his thigh rippling erotically with the movement, and Parisa swallowed hard as an unwanted stab of desire pierced her loins.

  'In the ordinary course of events, yes, but surely that does not apply in our case?' She arched one delicate eyebrow in mock query, and bravely faced him. The evening sun behind him tipped his black hair with gold. His rugged features were remarkably bland, but for some reason his dark eyes avoided her direct stare. If she had not known better she could have sworn he looked unsure, almost wary. But Luc Di Maggi had never had a moment's uncertainty in his life. He knew what he wanted and took it, as she knew all too well.