Master of Passion

'Suppose I told you I am not the promiscuous sex maniac you seem to believe I am, Parisa?'

She arched one delicate eyebrow in disbelief.

'No—and I am the Queen of England,' she said sarcastically. What kind of fool did he take her for? she thought furiously. She had seen him with her own eyes with Margot Mey. He had attempted to blackmail Moya into his bed, and just hours earlier he had tried to get her into bed. The man was a fiend, and she would do well to remember that. Though sitting so close to him, with the musky warmth of his body reaching out to her, it was incredibly difficult.

'I have no intention of arguing with you, Parisa. But I think we'd better get one or two things straight before we go any furthe

r.'

"Straight"—you?' she prompted with a grim smile. 'Don't make me laugh. You don't know the meaning of the word,' she jeered sarcastically.

'That's it,' he snarled, and grabbed her as she would have stood up, and pulled her unceremoniously down on to his lap.

'Let me go!' she demanded, but his arm around her waist kept her pinned against him. He curved one hand around the nape of her neck, holding her head only inches from his darkly furious face.

'Shut up,' he snapped. 'If you want me to keep my side of the bargain, and give you the photographs, you're going to have to do a whole lot better than you have so far. For a start you can cut out the wisecracks,' he declared, his black eyes seeking hers. 'It's up to you. Are you prepared to make some effort to appear a loving fiancée? Or do you want to call the whole thing off with the resultant unfortunate consequences for your friend?' he demanded hardly.

He was much too close, too threatening to argue with.

'No, I want the photographs.' She had no choice and he knew it. She could not disappoint Moya. 'But what exactly do you mean? Am I supposed to hang on your every word?' she couldn't resist sniping.

Stark fury flashed in his black eyes, and his head bent to kiss her hard and angrily. She struggled, trying to break free, while his mouth ground against hers, deliberately hurting her. Then suddenly something odd happened. One second they were fighting, and furious, and the next they were clinging, moulded together in a burning flare of passion.

Parisa lifted her hands, her fingers tangling in the silky black thickness of his hair, and kissed Luc back without even realising what she was doing.

Luc raised his head, his breathing ragged, and they stared at each other, neither one capable of speech. But it was Luc who recovered first.

'Don't look so frightened, Parisa.' His black eyes glittered down into hers. She stared back, her heart racing, her pulse thudding erratically. Her lovely eyes wide and bewildered, she was shocked rigid by her own violent reaction. She couldn't speak.

'I promise I won't do anything without your permission, but, after what has just happened between us, somehow I don't think it will be too difficult to convince a hundred or so very astute people tomorrow night, as well as Mamma, that we are a couple, hmm?'

Her eyes fastened on his mouth, but that was a mistake. Her mouth went dry and she flicked the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip in a nervous gesture.

Luc's quick flare of anger appeared to have vanished, as had her own, to be replaced with a fierce sensual awareness she could not control, and that was her second mistake.

She uttered a small, soundless protest as his mouth covered hers again. Reason deserted her and she felt her body weakening against him. His mouth burned against hers, his tongue toying with hers in a sensuous probing dance. Her arms curved around his wide shoulders of their own volition as the kiss went on and on, demanding more. She felt his muscles flex and tense beneath the smooth fabric of his jacket and she yearned to touch him. She slid one hand down over his muscular chest, her fingers inadvertently scratching over the hard male nipple beneath the fine silk shirt.

Luc groaned, breaking the long, passionate kiss, and, drawing away from her, he caught her slender hand and held it firmly against his chest.

'I have my answer, I think,' he said hoarsely, the skin stretched taut across his high cheekbones as he battled with the desire racking his huge frame. 'Now you look as a fiancée should, cara.'

Parisa knew the same desire was reflected in her own flushed face. Her eyes, luminous with passion, sought his, and for a second blue and black mingled with an exquisite need. She closed her eyes, unable to sustain the contact. A fierce shudder arced through her. He had won again.

He swung her off his lap and on to the sofa, deliberately moving away from her. 'I think we will take our coffee in here,' he rasped, his breathing irregular. 'My mother does not need that much convincing.'

Luc had wanted her—every instinct told her that— but he had quickly regained his control, while she still burnt with unsated desire. The desire turned to a burning shame in her breast. How could she have behaved so stupidly? And a tiny voice inside her answered that it wasn't hard with such a devastatingly appealing male.

Not looking at him, she ran trembling hands down her skirt. Smoothing it over her knees, she made herself sit up straight, her back rigid. She should have remembered that Luc was a very powerful man, with a cold, arrogant insensitivity. Hadn't she seen for herself the way he turned down his mistress? Parisa had got off lightly.

'The reason I brought you in here was, I want...'

"That is better,' a voice interrupted Luc. It was Signora Di Maggi. 'You two are now friends, no?'

Parisa looked up in surprise, and blushed. 'It is OK. I know the—how do you say?—frustration of young people. My Luc will make you happy; he is much man.'

'Mamma, prego,' he said quickly.

Parisa shot a startled glance at Luc, and couldn't stop the smile that curved her full lips. Luc looked decidedly uncomfortable. A first for him, no doubt!