by Anna Cleary
That sealed it. Stepping out into the balmy night air, Shari knew she was doing her sisterly duty. Luc was her responsibility. Looking after him was her given work.
He glanced down at her. ‘Do you love that moment when you feel suspended on the edge of something?’ His dark eyes shimmered with a light that made her insides frizzle and fry.
‘On the edge—of what?’ The night seemed to gather around her and listen.
‘Something—exciting. Perhaps unforgettable.’ His eyes caressed her face with a seductive awareness. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’
‘Yes.’ She gazed at him. ‘At this moment, I’m quite nervous.’ He looked taken aback, and she hastened to stutter, ‘A—a-are you in Sydney long?’
He made a negative gesture. ‘Tomorrow I must fly out. I really came tonight in pursuit of my cousin. There are things I need to discuss with him on behalf of D’Avion. But for once in his life Rémy has done something—great.’
‘What’s that?’
He smiled to himself, then shot her a glance. ‘Failed to show.’
Hear hear, she could have cried above her thundering heart. It was reassuring to know he saw through Rémy. Maybe he was one of her kind, after all.
They reached the end of the pool terrace and paused. Beyond, pale garden lights reflected the moonlight and illuminated the pathway that snaked down through the shrubbery to the boathouse. Beyond, lights glimmered from craft moored in the bay.
She noticed Luc’s glance stray towards the path.
With a surge of adrenaline she knew wickedness beckoned down that shadowy track. Or—maybe just friendliness. A respectful cousinly chat. She was no longer engaged. Why should every move be such a struggle?
Though this might be the moment she should let slip her knowledge on the subject of Rémy. Tell Luc his charming cousin was bound to be in LA by now. No doubt with a woman along, maybe even the twenty-year-old he’d recently taken up with. That was if he’d been able to find his missing passport, after turning over the apartment and her in his fruitless, vindictive search.
It was all so ugly. The old revulsion threatened, and she turned impatiently away from all things Rémy. Tonight she needed to wipe him from her mind.
‘Are you very important in D’Avion?’ she said conversationally, just as if she hadn’t noticed their feet were on the path.
The air was heavy with the sweet sultry fragrance of night jasmine. The back of Luc’s hand touched hers and her skin cells shivered in welcome.
They turned the corner and were out of sight of the house. Excitement infected her veins with a languor, as if her very limbs had joined the conspiracy.
‘Very,’ he said gravely, though his eyes smiled. ‘And you? Are you in the theatre, by some chance?’ She shook her head, and he considered her, his lashes heavy and sensual, his eyes appreciative. ‘Let me guess.’ He touched her nape, drew a caressing finger down to the edge of her top. Magic radiated through her skin and into her bloodstream. ‘Something creative. You give the impression of not always being bound by the ordinary rules. Would that be true?’
Her heart lurched. It was such a line, but all at once it seemed quite possibly true. Especially now she was in disguise.
‘Oh, well.’ She hated to exaggerate her minuscule claims. ‘I guess I’m an artist of sorts.’ She flashed him a brilliant smile. Gouache, crayons and cuddly possums didn’t go with five-inch heels and red toenails, but they had their excitements.
‘So you paint?’
She barely hesitated before she nodded. ‘Partly.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Well, I write stories for children. And paint—you know, the illustrations. I’m not that good yet, but I have actually had a book published. It’s a picture story book about a cat.’
She pulled herself up, not wanting to babble on about herself and bore the man to tears, but he was gazing intently at her as if genuinely interested.
He drew in a breath. ‘Tiens. Shari, that’s very impressive.’ He spoke so warmly she couldn’t doubt his sincerity. ‘You are a genuine author.’
Inwardly, she absolutely glowed. ‘Oh, in a very small way.’
He took her hand and pulled her to face him. It had been so long since a man had touched her in that special way. She trembled inside her bones with a nervous yearning. What if she froze and couldn’t summon the necessary fire? What if she embarrassed herself and shied away at the crucial moment like a scared animal?
She felt her mouth dry to an uncomfortable clumsiness.
‘You are modest.’ He said rather hoarsely, ‘I think you are not what I expected.’
She said breathlessly, ‘What did you expect?’ Compelled to moisten her lips, she saw a hot flare in his eyes.
He kissed her then, a firm, purposeful sexy pressure that shot a delicious flame through her blood and made her entire being tremble with longing.
Ready to swoon, she moved against his hard body, opening up to the full sexy onslaught, but he pulled back and released her. He gazed at her, his eyes unreadable, then traced the outline of her face with his finger. He pressed her lower lip with his thumb and her insides melted in the blaze.
‘You taste douce.’ His voice was a little gravelly.
Douce. Douce? Was that all? To her parched senses he tasted like man and sex and long, hot nights.
With her adrenaline pumping like crazy, they resumed walking until they reached the end of the path where the boat-house gazed out over the water, its windows blank and enigmatic. As they stepped onto the boardwalk near the landing stage, the moonlight contoured the Frenchman’s face with hard lines and angles. She caught the desire glowing in his velvet eyes, and felt confused.
Having seduced her thus far, was he having second thoughts?
‘What sort of things inspire you to write?’ he said.
‘Oh, well.’ She made an expansive motion with her hand. ‘All sorts. Owls. The moon.’ His mouth was so achingly close. Her lips, her entire being hungered to be touched, stroked, enjoyed, caressed, pampered, kissed, loved …
Would he touch her again, or was that it?
‘Owls?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Oh, owls are really very magical, ethereal beings. Have you … have you ever read—Rebecca?’
He frowned in thought. ‘What is that? Is it to do with owls?’
‘No, no.’ She laughed heartily. ‘It’s … I guess it’s a romance. A—mystery. A bit of a thriller. Rebecca has the family boat-house furnished like a private apartment. Her secret love nest where she can meet her illicit lover.’
He lifted his hands. ‘I don’t think I know it. Romances, enfin …’ He made an amused, negative shrug.
What an idiot she was. Of course men didn’t read romances. Just as well, or they’d know too much.
His eyes glinting, he cast a smiling glance at Neil and Em’s boathouse. ‘What do you think? Would this one—have furniture?’
All the fine hairs stood up on her spine and shivered in suspenseful, gleeful exultation. She hesitated a breathless instant, then spread her hands. ‘Well, we could always see. I know where they keep the key.’
He looked keenly at her. Said offhandedly, like a guy who didn’t care one way or the other, ‘Are you sure?’
The thing was, though, his voice had deepened in timbre just that betraying bit.
She gazed fleetingly into his eyes, not needing to read beyond that hot, lustful gleam. He cared all right. He wanted her, and she felt propelled by a wicked, reckless desire to mount that untamed stallion and do something wild.
‘Sure I’m sure.’ Her breath came faster.
She slipped her hand under the iron tile between the pylon and the floor where she’d seen Neil hide the key a dozen times.
Bingo. It was there.
Her hands shook so badly as she fitted it into the lock, she had to hunch to prevent Luc from seeing.
Once inside, she was assailed with the boat smell of paint and varnish and salty, fishy weeken
ds. Neil’s cruiser floated silently in the lower room, a ghostly presence in the silent dark. A flight of steps led to the upper loft where supplies were stored.
Shards of moonlight illuminated the walls. Shari indicated the way, stumbling once on the stairs. Luc took her arm to steady her.
She didn’t speak, just turned her breathless gaze to him. Even in the dim light his eyes were burning. Her blood ran hot in her breasts, fanned fire between her legs.
They finished the climb to the loft. She was trembling again, in the grip of something more elemental now than mere nerves. She faced him, aflame.
He pulled her to him. This kiss was a rough and hungry collision, his tongue in her mouth, possessive, lustful, his hands in her hair, moulding her shoulders, unfastening her bra. She dragged at his shirt and fumbled to release the buttons, avid to feel his naked skin beneath her palms.
With the mingled scents of aftershave, wine and man rising giddily in her head, she thrilled as he stroked her breasts. Then his mouth closed over her nipple and the blaze in her blood roared. She sobbed in deep quivering breaths as he slipped his hand inside her pants, caressing, stroking her engorged sex until she swooned with ecstasy.
Then he slid a finger inside her and massaged, sending waves of erotic pleasure thrilling through her burning flesh. She rocked against his hand, maddened, desperate.
‘Oh,’ she groaned, clinging to his shoulders. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’
To her intense disappointment his hand paused. She felt his hot breath on her neck.
‘I don’t have any protection with me,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Do you have anything?’
‘What? What?’ She could hardly believe her ears, but the exigency of the moment must have jerked her memory, because she dredged up an image of a thin emergency package in the deepest reach of her purse.
Maybe fate or the devil were on her side, for, scrabbling among the debris, her fingers located the precious article. She held up the battered package.
‘Here,’ she breathed in triumph.
She saw his eyes as he snatched it from her. Their focused, hungry gleam incited such an intense and burning heat in her, such an inferno of responsive lust, she could barely wait for him to sheathe himself.
Swiftly it was done.
She clung to him and locked her legs around his waist. Then he thrust his virile length inside her again and again, filling her up, stroking the inner walls of her yearning, burning flesh. It was good, so, thrillingly, shudderingly good.
As she felt his fabulous hardness inside her her passion escalated out of control and she zoomed to an extreme and explosive climax. Her first during the actual act. Fantastically, his tumultuous spill happened almost at the same time, groans of release shuddering through his big frame while pleasure rayed through her bloodstream like light.
He held her close to his beating heart, crushing her damp breasts, his hot breath fanning her ear. She felt shattered, and bathed in jubilation. She needed to pinch herself. So this was what all the shouting was about.
Of course she couldn’t rely on it happening every time. It might even have been a fluke, brought on by the forbidden aspects of the scene.
Even so, it was such a precious moment. For a wild minute she adored Luc Valentin. Felt pretty sure she would adore him and this boathouse for the rest of her life.
‘We should go back,’ she breathed into his ear at last. ‘We don’t want to be missed.’
He held her away from him, his dark gaze urgent, compelling. ‘Come with me to the hotel. We’ll have a little supper and enjoy each other properly. You will come?’ He gazed at her, then kissed her. ‘Bien sûr you will.’
Excited, relieved, she hardly knew what she said. ‘Oh. Well … who can resist a little supper? I’ll have to say goodnight to Neil and Em, though, you know. Otherwise they’ll wonder …’
His mouth was grave, though his eyes gleamed. ‘No, we don’t want them to wonder.’
CHAPTER THREE
SHARI slipped from the downstairs bathroom, anticipation bubbling in her veins. Luc was across the hall, waiting. Like her, he was spruced again, as immaculate as if their stolen encounter had never happened.
She started towards him just as Emilie emerged from the dining room. They both halted, Luc backing into a convenient doorway before he was noticed.
‘Oh, chérie,’ Emilie exclaimed. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you. What’s happening with Rémy? Where is he?’
Shari hesitated and glanced past her to see if Luc had heard. Her heart lurched when she saw his expression. He was staring at her, his eyes sharply alert.
‘Well, he … I—I—I don’t know for certain.’ In a low voice Shari added, ‘He’s gone away, I think. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, I promise.’
But Emilie wasn’t to be fobbed off. ‘You don’t know? Come on, Shari, something is going on. We haven’t seen either of you for months. He’s your fiancé. You should know. What game is he playing with you, chérie?’
As she felt the blistering intensity of Luc’s concentrated gaze on her face Shari’s guilty cheeks burned. ‘Tomorrow, Em. I’ll tell you everything. I promise.’
Emilie looked as if she was about to insist, but some other people burst into the hall, laughing, from the dining room, and she compressed her lips. She threw up her hands and exclaimed in a lowered voice, ‘It’s always something with him. When will he ever—? D’accord, Shari. Tomorrow. Don’t forget. I won’t sleep until I know.’ She hurried away to her guests.
Luc waited until they were alone, then bore down upon Shari, his eyes glittering danger. She felt an involuntary pang of alarm.
Resisting an impulse to back against the wall, she stood her ground. ‘I know what you must be thinking,’ she said in a hurried murmur. ‘It’s not how it looks. I can explain.’
‘Of course you can.’ His voice was smooth as silk and laced with sarcasm. ‘You are engaged to my cousin.’ His eyes were hard and accusatory. ‘That was you in his apartment.’
‘Shh,’ she whispered, glancing towards the nearby dining room. ‘Yes, yes, it was me, but no, I’m not his fiancée. Not any more. The engagement, such as it was, has been broken for weeks. Months.’
‘Then how is it Emilie doesn’t know? Your sister-in-law?’ He looked incredulous.
‘Well … I—put off telling them. Rémy’s her brother, Neil’s my brother …’ She spread her hands. ‘Em has had difficulties with her pregnancy and … She’s so attached to Rémy, and any bad news is bad for her blood pressure. Rémy talked me into keeping quiet because he wanted to break the news himself.’ She grimaced. ‘He’s probably dead scared of some of the things I might tell them.’
‘What things?’ His dark eyes were stern.
She glanced at him, then darted a glance towards the living room. ‘This isn’t a good place to talk. I’ll explain more when we’re alone.’ She slipped her hand into her purse and grabbed her mobile. ‘Do you have your own wheels, or shall I phone for a cab?’
‘A moment.’ He raked her with his eyes, then turned sharply away from her as if the very sight were deadly. He crooked an elbow over his eyes, shading them from some dangerous glow she emitted. His voice sounded as if it were being wrenched from the centre of the earth. ‘This—break-up. Just how recent is it?’
‘I said. I told you …’ Her voice faltered a little. She could see where he might be headed with this. ‘Not that recent.’
‘How recent?’
She started to feel annoyed at his tendency to fire questions like bullets. ‘Well, officially I gave the ring back a couple of months ago. Though by then it was well and truly on the rocks.’
‘“Officially”.’ He made mock quotation marks with his fingers. There was a definite snap in his voice that riled her. ‘What does that mean?’
She glared at him. ‘Look,’ she whispered fiercely, ‘not that it’s anyone’s business, but he and I imploded almost at the start, only like a fool I kept on …’
He swung about to impale
her with his gaze. ‘Forget the excuses. Give me a straight answer. When was the last time you were together?’
Her blood pressure rose. ‘Does that matter?’
‘It may not to some guys, but I have a strong distaste for screwing women who are still hot from my cousin’s bed.’
She flushed. ‘I’m not hot from his bed.’ Her chest heaving with indignation, she added sweetly, ‘Though until a minute ago you could have said I was hot from your arms.’
For an instant his eyes flared, then he concealed them behind his dark lashes. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Wednesday, okay?’
‘This week?’ His frown intensified, though his glance strayed to her mouth.
‘Yes. He was looking for his passport. He accused me of holding onto it after I threw his things out of the apartment. As if I would. He said he had to go to LA on the firm’s business.’
A tinge of contempt touched his face. ‘Vraiment. So … did you give him the passport?’
‘I told you. I didn’t have it.’
His dark eyes flickered over her, searching, suspicious. It was pretty clear he didn’t believe a word she said. The hackles rose on her neck. She was so over being insulted by the men in this family.
‘So,’ he said with maddening silkiness. ‘You sleep with a man on Wednesday, then you sleep with his cousin on Saturday.’
She hissed in a long, simmering breath. ‘Only if his cousin’s very, very lucky.’
The raw anger in her voice finally penetrated Luc’s brain. She wasn’t taking his perfectly natural concerns well. As he scanned her face his certainties suffered a jolt. There was a sparkle in her eyes that gave him pause.
Her luscious mouth was firmly compressed, when only minutes ago those lips had been so soft and yielding, so tinglingly responsive.
She turned away from him.