Master of Passion

Luc's arm tightened for a second and then she was free. His gaze narrowed on her beautiful but flushed face. 'No, Parisa, I'm not afraid of anything or anyone, but you would be wise to guard your tongue around me. There is only so much I will take from you, little lady. Last night you took ten years off my life in ten minutes.'

Her blue eyes widened in astonishment. For a second she could have sworn she saw genuine concern in the depths of his dark eyes before his hooded lids dropped, masking his expression.

'If you want to help your friend—and I imagine that is why you are here—follow me...' he commanded.

Reluctantly Parisa followed him up the stairs, his broad back just asking for a knife between the shoulder- blades, she thought bitterly, but it did not stop her admiring the tight round curve of his buttocks, or the long, sinewy legs. What was happening to her? She had never been plagued with erotic thoughts about a man's physique before. She was so lost in thought that she walked straight into Luc's back, pushing him through his own door.

'Such haste. I'm flattered.' He turned and, grinning broadly, swept her into his arms and swung her around and into his apartment, adding, 'Or are you terrified in case someone sees you with me, a notorious villain?'

Parisa, with her feet once more on the floor, shot him a vitriolic look. She was a tall girl and was not used to being literally swept off her feet by any man, and she had a nasty suspicion he was laughing at her. Mustering all her self-control, she retorted, 'Being engaged to you even for only two days would certainly not enhance any woman's reputation.'

'Ah, now we come to the reason for your unexpected visit. You are regretting your hasty departure last night, and want to accept my proposition, is that not so?' he asked cynically.

'More or less,' she muttered, hating to admit defeat.

'I'm sorry, I drank the champagne. We can discuss it over a coffee instead,' he drawled smoothly, adding, 'Follow me.'

If the pig told her once more to follow him she was going to walk out, Parisa vowed, but she did follow him into a sparkling kitchen, all stainless steel and tiles, with every gadget known to man.

'Sit down, Parisa, while I make the coffee.'

'Hadn't you better finish dressing first?' she asked coldly, sitting down on a black and chrome chair. It was difficult enough having to speak to the man without being confronted by acres of male flesh all the time.

'My apologies,' he offered facetiously, 'but I overslept this morning, probably because I was up most of the night, worrying about a certain Lady Parisa..

Liar. In his line of work it must be the norm to sleep in the morning. She stared down at the table. She would not respond to his sarcasm, even if she choked to death in the effort to hold back the words. Instead, through clenched teeth, she grated, 'Parisa will do fine.' Remember Moya, the wedding, be civil to the man, she told herself. Two days was not a lifetime. Think positive: a free trip to Italy can't be bad! God knew she certainly could not afford a holiday abroad on her own, and as for David, her boyfriend, a teacher like herself, but with a mother to support, his idea of a holiday was camping with the scouts. She frowned; she had forgotten David.

Parisa jumped when a large tanned hand placed a cup of coffee on the table in front of her. She lifted her head. Luc was sitting opposite her, one strong hand curved around a large mug of coffee, the other rubbing idly at his rough jaw.

'Parisa is a peculiar name; how did you acquire it?' he asked conversationally, before raising the mug to his lips and taking a deep drink of the steaming brew.

Her eyes strayed to the long column of his throat, its muscles moving beneath the tanned flesh as he swallowed. Hastily she took a drink of her own coffee before answering. 'My parents once went on an archaeological dig in what was Persia, and fell in love with the name Parisa. Apparently it is Persian for angelic- looking.'

'Very appropriate; you are an exquisitely beautiful woman, but then you were a beautiful child.'

Parisa could feel the colour washing up her throat at his extravagant compliment and avoided looking at him. Instead she fixed her gaze somewhere over his left shoulder, willing the colour to subside.

'Blushing...you surprise me, Parisa.' His hand reached out, and he ran one long finger down her hot cheek. 'I remember you at eighteen. No, fourteen, wasn't it?' he prompted silkily.

His touch was like a burning brand on her cheek. She flinched, glancing warily at his handsome face. He was smiling, but the smile did not reach his eyes. His dark gaze was hard on her flushed face. 'So, what of it?' she murmured stupidly.

'You may have been a liar, but you were also a passionate little thing. Some things never change.'

'That is unfair: it was your cousin Tina who talked me into it,' she responded angrily. She would not be called a liar by a crook. As for her passionate nature, she didn't have one. It was only around Luc that her emotions became explosive. Why? She had no idea.

'Maybe, but it wasn't Tina who flashed her big blue eyes at me, or rubbed suggestively against me. It was you, Parisa, which is why I am surprised you still blush. There must have been a lot of men in your life by now, judging by the passionate way you responded at such an early age.'

'Why, you insulting-- ' Her temper flared.

Luc, to her astonishment, grinned wickedly. 'Come on, Parisa, I was only teasing, and you do rise to the bait so beautifully.'

'Yes, well, enough about the past.' She had to get the conversation back to Moya.

'I like recalling old times,' Luc cut in. 'Especially unique events. A twenty-six-year-old man caught by the teacher kissing a schoolgirl! The most embarrassing moment of my life. I have always been curious to know what happened to you. The teacher must have punished you.'

'No. No, she didn't.' Parisa drained her cup, finding it was not so painful to look back down the years. In fact, her lips twitched in the semblance of a smile. It was quite funny, really...

'A young girl, in her charge. Come on, she must have said something. I was furious at being fooled by a child, but I always felt a little guilty imagining you confined to the classroom for the rest of the term, or deprived privileges.'