Tempestuous Reunion

‘Luc, I—’

‘So, you remember mine? An unsought compliment…’

She stared down into her glass. ‘Paul. He’s called Paul.’ Fighting the rigid tension threatening her, she managed a small laugh. ‘Honestly, you can’t want to hear all this!’

‘Indulge me,’ Luc advised. ‘Are you happy living in…where was it? Peterhaven?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’

‘You don’t look very happy.’

‘It doesn’t always show,’ she retorted in desperation.

‘Children?’ he prompted casually.

Catherine froze, icicles sliding down her spine, and she could not prevent a sudden, darting, upward glance. ‘No, not yet.’

Luc was very still. Even in the grip of her own turmoil, she noticed that. And then without warning he smiled. ‘What were you doing with Huntingdon?’

The question thrown at her out of context shook her. ‘I…I ran into him while I was shopping,’ she hesitated and, with a stroke of what seemed to her absolute brilliance, added, ‘My husband works for him.’

‘You do seem to have enjoyed a day excessively full of coincidences.’ Stunning golden eyes whipped over her flushed, heart-shaped face. ‘The unexpected is invariably the most entertaining, isn’t it?’

She set down her glass. ‘I r…really have to be going. It’s been…lovely meeting you again.’

‘I’m flattered you should think so,’ Luc murmured expressionlessly. ‘What are you afraid of?’

‘Afraid of?’ she echoed unsteadily. ‘I’m not afraid of anything!’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘We have nothing to talk about.’

‘I foresee a long day ahead of us,’ Luc commented.

Catherine bent her head. ‘I don’t have to answer your questions,’ she said tightly, struggling to keep a dismaying tremor out of her voice. Fight fire with fire. That was the only stance to take with Luc.

‘Think of it as a small and somewhat belated piece of civility,’ Luc advised. ‘Four and a half years ago, you vanished into thin air. Without a word, a letter or a hint of explanation. I would like that explanation now.’

Stains of pink had burnished her cheeks. ‘In a nutshell, getting involved with you was the stupidest thing I ever did,’ she condemned.

‘And telling me that may well prove to be your second.’ Dark hooded eyes rested on her. ‘You slept with me the night before you disappeared. You lay in my arms and you made love with me, knowing that you planned to leave…’

‘H-habit,’ she stammered.

Hard fingers bit into her wrist, trailing her closer without her volition. ‘Habit?’ he ground out roughly, incredulously.

Her tongue was glued to the dry roof of her mouth. Mutely she nodded, and recoiled from the raw fury and revulsion she read in his unusually expressive eyes. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she mumbled.

He dropped her wrist contemptuously. ‘My compliments, then, on an award-winning performance. Habit inspired you with extraordinary enthusiasm.’

She reddened to the roots of her hair, attacked by the sort of memories she never let out of her subconscious even on temporary parole. To remember was to hate herself. And that night she had known in her heart of hearts that she would never be with Luc again. With uncharacteristic daring, she had woken him up around dawn, charged with a passionate despair that could only find a vent in physical expression. Loving someone who did not love you was the cruellest kind of suffering.

‘I don’t remember,’ she lied weakly, loathing him so much that she hurt with the force of her suppressed emotions. He made her a stranger to herself. He had done that in the past and he was doing it now. She was not the Catherine who understood and forgave other people’s foibles at this moment. She had paid too high a price for loving Luc.

‘Habit.’ He said it again, but so softly; yet she was chilled.

Quite by accident, she registered, she had stung his ego, stirring the primitive depths of a masculinity that was rarely, if ever, challenged by her sex. She wasn’t the only woman to make a fool of herself over Luc. Women went to the most embarrassing lengths to attract his attention. They went to even greater lengths to hold him. The reflection was of cold comfort to her.

Women were leisure-time toys for Luc Santini. Easily lifted, just as easily cast aside and dismissed. On the rise to the top, Luc had never allowed himself to waste an ounce of his single-minded energy on a woman. Women had their place in his life…of course they did. He was a very highly sexed male animal. But a woman never held the foreground in his mind, never came between him and his cold, analytical intelligence.

‘I have to be going,’ she said again and yet, when she collided with that gleaming gaze, she was strangely reluctant to move.