Exquisite Revenge

Luc looked out over the crowd in the thronged room. Men were in tuxedos and women were in long glittering dresses. He wanted to claw his own eyes out rather than be here at this charity auction, but he’d promised his sister he’d bring her and she was here somewhere now, with his mother, ogling as many A-list celebrities as they could.

Jesse. Her name was like a ghostly whisper across his skin and everything within Luc tensed. He could have laughed. He’d been tense since he’d left that island. Since the night she’d left the island. Since the night she’d taken his confidences and trust and ground them beneath her feet.

He was angry. It was like a cold, hard piece of granite in the centre of his chest that had the potential to explode at any moment.

Once he’d known that O’Brien was well and truly finished—news he’d been furnished with on his recently returned phone somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea on that private plane two months ago—Luc had felt something within him shutting down and closing off.

Closing off the memory of standing in front of Jesse and spilling his guts about his sad life story. Closing off the memory of losing sight of why he’d wanted to seduce her, because once he’d tasted the nirvana of her body the last thing on his mind had been getting off that island.

He thought of how he’d assured himself that he knew what he was doing. But all along he’d been deluding himself … weakened by the taste and touch of a woman. Letting her seduce him, fool him.

So he’d closed off those ten days on the island as effectively as if they had never happened.

Luc had returned to Britain and become an icy automaton. Any rogue thoughts of Jesse were ruthlessly crushed at the merest whisper. His frenzy of socialising over the past couple of months had morphed into a blur of faces and places. But nothing had touched him. Nothing and no one had pierced through his shell.

His libido had spectacularly flatlined. But he didn’t care, because the icy cold inside him was keeping his anger from exploding into a terrible fearsome thing.

Jesse. That ghostly sensation again, prickling ac

ross his skin. Luc cursed. It was as if that ice enclosing him was starting to melt away.

And then his eyes snagged on a head in the crowd. Short strawberry-blonde hair. Bare shoulders. A dress.

Jesse. She was no ghost. She was here, feet away. In a dress he’d never seen and holding a glass of champagne. The fact that she was alone and looking as vulnerable as she had the first time he’d seen her in a very similar milieu didn’t penetrate.

All he could see was the pale expanse of bare back and a hint of the swell of her breast at the side of her ridiculously revealing dress. The way the silk clung to those lithe curves.

And suddenly his anger woke from its icy slumber and started to explode. And Luc knew in that moment what he wanted and what he needed.

Revenge.

As if Jesse had heard him thinking, felt the intensity of his gaze on her, she turned and saw him. Her eyes widened and the grey depths immediately darkened. Luc’s libido surged back to life.

Revenge. And it would be sweet.

Luc. Here in this room. Her flutters of anticipation became tremors of reaction. The entire crowd became a blur of faceless people and the chatter a dim hum. All Jesse could see was that arresting rugged face. Unsmiling and more stark than she’d ever seen it. The lines of his body looked leaner, harder. His shoulders looked broader.

She felt weak all over. And emotion was bubbling upwards like a joyful fountain she couldn’t control.

He came towards her and Jesse was rooted to the spot. When Luc was close enough for her to reach out and touch Jesse had to clench her hand into a fist by her side. The other hand was in a white-knuckle grip around a glass of champagne.

The air seemed to quiver with electric energy between them—but just then a young woman came up to Luc, taking his arm. The spell was broken and Jesse blinked. The woman was very pretty, with a long fall of glossy brown hair, dressed in a floor-length dress that was a little more demure than those worn by the other women around them.

She looked at Jesse in a way that wasn’t polite, but wasn’t exactly rude either. It was so open and guileless, almost childlike. And Jesse hadn’t failed to notice how Luc’s hand had come up to the woman’s arm, as if to protect her. Jesse felt a crazy dart of hurt.

‘Your hair is too short.’

Jesse looked at the woman. For a second her blunt words didn’t sink in, and then Luc said stiffly, ‘Eva, this is … someone I know. Jesse Moriarty.’ He speared Jesse with a dark look. ‘This is my sister—Eva Sanchis.’

Someone I know. The hurt spread outwards a little and Jesse avoided Luc’s eyes. She could see the family resemblance now, and put out a hand to Eva. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’ Her voice was husky with emotion.

Eva smiled and shook Jesse’s hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you too. I’m sorry … about your hair.’

Jesse couldn’t help a wry smile at her bluntness, not sure if she was apologising for what she’d said or because Jesse had such short hair. When Eva let go of her hand Jesse touched her hair lightly, and this time she really avoided Luc’s eyes, because she could already feel a blush rising. ‘I’m going to let it grow … I agree that it’s too short. You have gorgeous hair.’

The woman grinned and looked up at her brother. ‘She likes my hair.’

He smiled down at her indulgently, but Jesse could see his jaw was tight with tension. ‘You do have beautiful hair, Eva. In fact I think you have the most beautiful hair in the room.’