Tempestuous Reunion

‘I see Laura Ashley is still doing a roaring trade,’ he said drily.

He was so close now that she could have touched him. But she wouldn’t raise her eyes above the level of his blue silk tie. He wore a dove-grey suit with an elegance few men could emulate. Superb tailoring outlined his lean length in the cloth of a civilised society. However, what she sensed in the atmosphere was far from civilised. It was nameless, frightening. A silent intimidation that clawed cruelly at her nerve-endings.

‘We don’t have anything to talk about after all this time.’ The assurance left her bloodless lips in a rush, an answer to an unvoiced but understood demand.

Negligently he raised a hand and a fingertip roamed with taunting slowness from her delicate collarbone where a tiny pulse was flickering wildly up to the taut curve of her full lower lip. Her skin was on fire, her entire body suddenly consumed by a heatwave.

‘Relax,’ he cajoled, carelessly withdrawing his hand a split second before she jerked her head back in violent repudiation of the intimacy. Flames danced momentarily in his dark eyes and then a slow, brilliant smile curved his hard mouth. ‘I didn’t intend to frighten you. Come…are we enemies?’

‘I’m in r…rather a hurry,’ she stammered.

‘And you still don’t want a lift? Fine. I’ll walk along with you,’ he responded smoothly. ‘Or we could get into the

car and just drive around for a while…even sit in a traffic jam. Believe me, I’m in an unusually accommodating mood.’

‘Why?’ Valiantly moving away from the hard embrace of the railings, Catherine straightened her shoulders. ‘What do you want?’

‘Well, I don’t expect you to do what we used to do in traffic jams.’ Slumbrous dark eyes rested unrepentantly on the tide of hot colour spreading beneath her fair skin. ‘What do you think I might want? Surely, it’s understandable that I should wish to satisfy a little natural curiosity?’

‘What about?’

‘About you. What else?’ An ebony brow quirked. ‘Do you think I am standing here in the street for my own pleasure?’

Catherine chewed indecisively at her lower lip. She could feel his temper rising. Time was when Luc would have said ‘get in the car’ and she would have leapt. He was smiling, but you couldn’t trust Luc’s smiles. Luc could smile while he broke you in two with a handful of well-chosen words. Without speaking, she reached her decision and bypassed him. Luc was exceptionally newsworthy and she could not afford to be seen with him, lest her past catch up with the present that Harriet had so carefully reconstructed for her.

A security man materialised at her elbow and opened the door of the limousine. Ducking her head, she slid along the cream leather upholstery to the far corner. The door slammed on them, sealing them into claustrophobic privacy.

‘Really, Catherine…was that so difficult?’ Luc murmured silkily. ‘Would you like a drink?’

Her throat was parched. She fought for her vanished poise. ‘Why not?’

Her palms smoothed nervously down over her skirt, rearranging the folds. Her skin prickled at his proximity as he bent forward to press open the built-in bar. For the longest moment of her existence, the black springy depths of his hair were within reach of her fingers. The mingled aroma of some elusive lotion and that indefinable but oh, so familiar scent that was purely him assailed her defensively flared nostrils. As he straightened again, she was disturbingly conscious of the clean movement of rippling muscles beneath the expensive fabric that sheathed his broad shoulders. And an ache and an agony were reborn treacherously within her.

Her hands laced tightly together. In the unrelenting silence, she believed she could hear her own heartbeat, speeding and pounding out the evidence of her own betrayal. She was horrified by the sensual imagery that had briefly driven every other thought from her mind. If her memory was playing tricks on her, her body was no less eager to follow suit.

Luc extended her glass, retaining hold of it long enough to force her to look at him. It was a power-play, a very minor one on Luc’s terms but it made her feel controlled. She took several fast swallows of her drink. It hurt her tight throat and she hated the taste, but once she had been na;auive enough to drink something she detested because she believed that was sophistication.

‘Feel better now?’ Luc enquired lazily, lounging back with his brandy in an intrinsically graceful movement. ‘Do you live in London?’

‘No,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I’m only here for the day. I live in…in Peterborough.’

‘And you’re married. That must be a source of great satisfaction to you.’

The ring on her wedding finger began to feel like a rope tightening round her vocal chords. She decided to overlook the sarcasm.

‘When did you get married?’

‘About four years ago.’ She took another slug of her drink to fortify herself for the next round of whoppers.

‘Shortly after—’

Her brain had already registered her error. ‘It was a whirlwind romance,’ she proffered in a rush.

‘It must have been,’ he drawled. ‘Tell me about him.’

‘It’s all very pedestrian,’ she muttered. ‘I’m sure you can’t really be interested.’

‘On the contrary,’ Luc contradicted softly. ‘I am fascinated. Does your husband have a name?’