'That mysterious Italian girl from school, the one whose family we thought belonged to the Mafia... But what are we reminiscing for when my life is…?'
Parisa cut in, 'She's a cousin of his. Anyway, she recognised me, and thought we were a couple. Seemingly the man's mother is having a birthday party next week, and he had the gall to suggest that if I went to Italy with him and acted as his fiancée he would give me the photographs.'
'You'll have to go, Parisa. Please... My whole future is at stake here. You've got to help me. I couldn't bear to lose Simon, and I will, I know I will, if those photographs are ever published...
'No, Moya. I would do a lot for you. But I am not going anywhere with Di Maggi, and I honestly can't understand how you got mixed up with him. I think your best bet is to explain everything to Simon. He loves you; he will forgive you one lover, surely.'
'Lover!' Moya screeched. 'Never...! I met the man with a crowd of friends at the casino. Then last summer I went on holiday to Nice with the same crowd, and he happened to be there. We were all on the beach and he took those photographs. I only went out with him once when I got back from holiday, and he was like an octopus, so I chased him. I'm still a virgin,' she ended tremulously.
'Ah. Well, then...you've nothing to worry about. Tell Simon the truth and forget about the crook.'
'I can't, Parisa. He worships me, and I love him. If those pictures ever appear in a newspaper it would destroy everything. His family would disown me. So, you see, you must help me.' She leant forward, clutching Parisa's arm. 'You could do it, Parisa. You're on half- term holiday from school. A call to your housekeeper, extending your stay—tell her we're going shopping for the bridesmaid's dress on Monday. Please I have no one else to turn to.'
Parisa almost succumbed to her friend's pleading, until, she had a vivid mental image of the man concerned lying on top of her, his lips ravaging hers. A shudder danced down her spine and she sat up stiffly in the low chair.
'No, Moya, I'm sorry. In the morning I'm going to get the first train back home before that man has a chance to catch up with me. He knows your address, and I'm not taking any chances. Talk to Simon. He loves you; he will understand. Or call the police. Now I'm going to bed.' She stood up.
'Please, Parisa,' Moya begged. 'My future happiness is at stake.' Her bottom lip trembled. 'We've always helped each other before. Remember the time you wanted to go to the pop concert? You climbed out of the dormitory window, down the oak tree. I covered for you when Miss Cliff checked the dorm, and stayed up half the night to drag you back in.'
Parisa felt terribly guilty, letting Moya down, but she couldn't explain the fear she felt in Luc Di Maggi's presence. Not without explaining about a summer day ten years ago, and she had told no one—not even Moya— what had happened. She had made a fool of Luc Di Maggi, and he was not the type of man to forgive easily. She just knew instinctively that to get tangled up with the man would do her nothing but ham... 'Sorry,' she muttered, heading for the door.
'OK, Parisa, if you can't, you can't,' Moya said sadly. 'I suppose I will have to sleep with the man, although the very thought makes my flesh crawl.'
'What!' Parisa cried, spinning on her heel to face her friend.
'Well, he did say cash or kind, and as neither you nor I have the cash...' Moya's anguished words trailed off, her brown eyes desolate.
Parisa was hit with a host of conflicting emotions. That the swine could blackmail women into his bed was beyond belief, and she hated the thought of Moya being one of them. She glanced at her friend. Moya looked completely crushed, and yet some devil deep inside Parisa whispered that Luc Di Maggi was far too attractive, too much male. He was more likely to be fighting women off than having to blackmail them into his bed. He must really want Moya badly—either that or he was a sex maniac! Neither thought gave Parisa any comfort.
'If you won't help me I have no choice. I couldn't bare to see the disgust in Simon's eyes if he ever saw those pictures. I just couldn't live without Simon. Please, Parisa.'
'Let's sleep on it, Moya. Things always look better in the morning.'
CHAPTER TWO
Wearily Parisa stripped off her clothes, and stepped into the shower. She turned the water to hot and stood under the refreshing spray. God! What a night. But then she should have known. On the rare occasions she gave in to the reckless side of her nature it invariably ended in a fiasco, and becoming a cat burglar had not been a good idea. Parisa loved Moya dearly, but the girl was virtually incapable of looking after herself. They had met as fourteen-year-olds at Brenlodge School for Girls. Parisa had just lost her parents in, of all things, a hot- air balloon attempt at crossing the Atlantic. Moya's mother had recently died in a car crash. Her father was a self-made man who worked all the hours God sent and had little time for his daughter, and so had sent the girl to boarding-school. Parisa and Moya had become firm friends, Moya spending most of the school holidays with Parisa at her home, Hardcourt Manor, as her own father was rarely at their Norfolk home.
When Parisa had gone to university and then into teaching at a private school in Battle near her home, they had still kept in touch. In fact it was when Moya had spent last Christmas with Parisa that she had met Simon and fallen in love at first sight. His father had just bought the estate adjacent to Parisa's home.
Parisa sighed. She felt in some way responsible for her friend, but what she could do about it she hadn't a clue. Turning off the tap, she stepped out of the shower, took a large towel off the heated rail, and briskly rubbed herself dry. What she would like to do was murder Luc Di Maggi, but it wasn't really an option, she told herself wryly. She was tired, her head ached, and all she wanted was sleep. She walked into the bedroom, dropped the towel to the floor, and climbed, naked, into bed, but sleep was elusive.
Every time she closed her eyes the image of Luc Di Maggi appeared in her mind. She had not thought about him in years, but tonight, seeing him and Tina again, had brought it all back.
At fourteen she had been exactly the same as she was now. Five feet nine, platinum, almost silver hair, and fully developed. She had loved school and excelled at sports, and, looking back, she could see that was probably why Tina had sought her out. Tina had been eighteen and in her last term at school. One Saturday morning she had cornered the much younger Parisa and asked her if she would do her a favour. Seemingly her boyfriend was arriving to see her that day, but her cousin was coming with him as a chaperon, and would Parisa make up the foursome to distract the cousin?
Parisa had been so naive and slightly in awe of a sixth- former actually wanting to speak to her that she had agreed to everything. She had meekly allowed Tina to dress her up in one of her skirts, which might have been respectable on her five-foot-two frame, but was indecently short on Parisa. The scoop-necked blouse had not been much better. With the addition of make-up, by the time Tina had finished Parisa easily looked eighteen.
Tina had coached her well. 'Just remember you are eighteen, in my class, and my good friend, if Luc asks. Flutter your eyelashes a bit and hang on to his every word and he'll be eating out of your hand. He's a sucker for leggy blondes; you'll have no trouble at all. By the way, you're captain of the rowing team and have the key to the boat-house, don't you?'
Parisa quickly confirmed the fact, and Tina had said, 'Well, just for fun, I want you to show Luc the boats and accidentally lock him in for a while.'
But it had not quite worked out that way. Parisa had taken one look at the tall dark man and, even at her tender age, had known he was not the sort to play tricks on. At first everything went fine. In fact, walking along the river-bank, with Luc's hand cupping her elbow, she had found they had no trouble talking. He'd told her he was twenty-six years old, single, and looking. She had responded by telling him she was eighteen and looking. He had made her laugh, and she did not have to pretend to like him—she did. He was stunningly attractive and rather mysterious. She had asked him what he did for a living and he had replied by saying he had, 'fingers in many pies'.
As they neared the boat-house Tina had given her a dig in the back to remind her of the plan. Parisa had smiled up into Luc's face and asked with a flutter of her long lashes if he would like to see the boat she rowed in the four-women sculls. He had teasingly said, 'I would love to see your stroke any time, Parisa'. She had fought to keep the blush from her cheeks, and, turning her back to him, opened the door. She intended standing aside to let him go first, but he had forestalled her, by taking her arm and urging her inside.
It was then that Tina had turned the key, locking them both in. Luc had glanced curiously at the boats in the dim light from the one small window and then, to her utter amazement, had turned and taken her in his arms. It was the first time a man had kissed her, and she had been stunned.
His mouth had been firm but gentle, and Parisa had relaxed against his hard frame and given herself up to the wonderful sensations he aroused.