'Yes. And be nice to me, act as though we are in love,' he drawled cynically, and before she could respond he had hauled her into his arms, her own arms pinned to her body.
At the touch of his hard body pressed against her own, her consideration flew out of the window. 'I'm not that good an actress,' she spat, her hands clenching at her sides in frustration, itching to slap his arrogant face, but unable to move.
I’ll teach you,' he mocked, correctly reading the anger in her eyes, and amused by it.
'Why, you arrogant swine!' she fumed, but the rest of her words were swallowed as his dark head swooped down, his mouth capturing hers. She twisted sharply, trying to break free of his hold, but as his mouth continued to ravage hers she felt her anger fading, and the unexpected coil of desire uncurling in her stomach. No! she told herself, but as his lips softened on hers, and somehow his tongue found a way between her teeth, her pulse leapt alarmingly.
She was aware of the hard muscular chest pressed against her breasts, and to her horror she could feel her nipples begin to tighten in an aching response. She vaguely heard a moan—Luc or herself, she was not sure.
The moist heat of his mouth burnt as he broke the kiss and trailed kisses to the pulse beating madly in her neck. His tongue licked lightly, almost soothingly; then he was holding her away from him.
'That will do for starters,' he said coolly. 'And you are quite wrong, Parisa. If that kiss is anything to go by, you have lost none of your acting talent.'
She stared up at him, her blue eyes dazed by the force of her own emotional response. He was smiling a cold, cynical smile, as though the last couple of minutes had never happened. Parisa despised him, but she despised herself more. To allow a man of his character to arouse her sexuality was so humiliating. There was no way she was going to Italy with him. Moya would have to sort the mess out herself. Parisa no longer dared. Her one thought was how to get out of the apartment, away from this man.
'Don't look so shocked, cara, you won't have to perform too often.'
'Yes, well, all right,' she said with commendable calm, considering that her legs were trembling. Her mind was racing, and she knew what she had to do. I think I will have that drink now, and we can discuss the details, but first I must visit the bathroom.'
'Good girl, I knew you would see it my way. After all, it is to our mutual benefit.' He smiled.
Parisa forced a smile in response, turned, and almost made a mistake by heading straight for the bathroom. She swung back around. 'Where i
s the bathroom?' she asked with pseudo innocence.
'Straight across the hall. I'll show you.' And with a hand at her back he urged her into the hall, and gestured with his other hand to the bathroom door. 'I will have the champagne waiting to celebrate our deal,' he said silkily, while making sure he stood between Parisa, the front door and escape.
'How lovely.' The swine was in for a shock, she thought gleefully.
In seconds she was in the bathroom, back out of the window, and down the fire-escape. She heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Moya's familiar blue Fiat still waiting. Running along the back lane, she opened the passenger door sad jumped in.
'Drive quickly.'
'Did you get them?' Moya demanded urgently.
'Not now’, Moya, hurry!' And with a grinding of gears the car shot forward.
Half an hour later, seated in a comfortable armchair in Moya's apartment in Kensington, a glass of brandy in her hand, Parisa took a large gulp of the fiery liquid, and slowly began to relax.
'For God's sake, Parisa, don't keep me in suspense. I can't bear it...
Have you got the photographs?'
Parisa looked at her friend sitting opposite. Moya was medium height with long chestnut hair, big brown, eyes, and a figure that rivaled Marilyn Monroe's. Yet perched on the edge of the chair, an apprehensive expression marring her beautiful face, and dark shadows under her eyes, she looked positively haggard.
'I'm sorry, Moya. It was a total flop.'
'But how? All you had to do was climb in and get them. You're a sports mistress, for heaven's sake!' she wailed. 'You were my last hope.'
'Oh, I got in all right. Unfortunately, contrary to your information, the place was not empty. Your Italian was there, and, by the way--Parisa grimaced '—I would hardly have called the man small. He knocked me down with no trouble at all.'
'Oh, my God!'
'Exactly! Prayers are all you have left, my friend.. Parisa said bluntly. 'There is no way I am having anything more to do with this. I was crazy to agree in the first place, and how come you told me his name was Luigi something or other? The man is called Luca Di Maggi, and if I had known that I wouldn't have gone within ten miles of his apartment.'
'Luigi, Luca, what's the difference?' Moya responded, the agitation evident in her tone. 'You still haven't told me what happened. He must have said something.'
In a few short sentences Parisa described the events of the evening, leaying out the part about his mistress. She lifted a finger to her slightly swollen lips, the memory of his kisses oddly disturbing. 'Anyway, there I was on the carpet, imagining he was going to kill me, when this woman walked in. Do you remember Tina Franco?'