The Virgin's Debt to Pay
She’d thought he’d meant he no longer desired her. ‘I thought you said it wouldn’t happen again.’ Nessa had just assumed that her virginal state was a huge turn-off.
‘I meant what I said,’ Luc answered now.
Nessa was confused, and aroused. ‘But...’ She couldn’t articulate it.
‘But I still want you?’
She nodded dumbly, feeling completely out of her depth and clueless as to how to handle this situation.
Something stark crossed Luc’s face. ‘Just because I want you doesn’t mean I have to act on it. I don’t have relationships with staff.’
Nessa wanted to point out she was hardly staff, as she was working for free, but she was afraid it would sound pleading.
It was torture to be this close to him, knowing that he did want her but could act so cool ab
out it. She was not cool. She was the opposite of cool. Her insides were going on fire and between her legs was hot and slippery.
Emotion was rising and bubbling over before she could stop it. She felt especially vulnerable after hearing his story about the old jockey. She pulled free of his embrace. ‘You said you don’t play games but maybe you lied, Luc. I think you’re toying with me as a form of punishment. You know you’re more experienced than me so maybe this is how you get your kicks.’
Nessa walked quickly off the dance floor—as quickly as she could in the heels. To her horror, she felt tears prick the backs of her eyes and she was almost running by the time she reached the foyer.
A man stepped forward. ‘Miss O’Sullivan?’
It took her a second to recognise the driver. And then his eyes lifted to something, or someone, behind her. Luc. Nessa composed herself, aghast that she’d run like that. The last thing she wanted was for him to know he affected her emotionally.
The driver melted away again and Nessa turned around reluctantly. Luc caught her arm and tugged her over to a discreet corner. He was grim. ‘I told you before that I don’t play games. And I don’t get off by denying myself, believe me—this is new territory for me.’
Nessa felt slightly mollified by that. Maybe she’d overreacted. And now she was embarrassed. If anything she should be rejoicing that he wasn’t taking advantage of her lack of control around him.
She pulled her arm free, avoiding Luc’s eye. ‘It’s late, and I promised Pete I’d be up early to train for the next race tomorrow.’
Eventually Luc just said, ‘I’ll have Brian drive you home. I have a meeting to attend tomorrow morning here in town so I’ll stay the night.’
Nessa hated herself for the betraying lurch she felt, as if she’d been hoping that Luc might have said something else, like stay. She stepped back. ‘Goodnight, Luc.’
He called Brian on his mobile phone and the driver reappeared. Within seconds of Luc delivering his instructions Nessa was in the back of the car, being driven swiftly away from Dublin Castle and back out to Luc’s racing stables.
She cringed with humiliation the whole way because, whether he’d intended it or not, Luc had just proven that he might still want her, but she was the last woman on earth he’d take into his bed again. She might’ve felt like Cinderella going to the ball tonight, but wearing a pretty dress and dancing with a prince wasn’t enough to make her a princess.
* * *
A short time later, Luc stood with a towel slung around his waist on the balcony of his opulent hotel suite. The moon reflected off the River Liffey where it snaked its way through Dublin city centre. He could hear late night revellers’ shouts drifting up from the street. He took a sip of the finest Irish whiskey, but nothing could put a dent in the levels of his arousal. Not even the cold shower he’d just taken.
What the hell was he thinking denying himself the pleasures of female flesh? Even if it was Nessa O’Sullivan and she came with a million and one complications.
Because of the way she looks at you...and because of the questions she asks that reach right down to a place you don’t care to analyse.
Luc cursed. He’d told her about Pierre. Pierre Fortin had been one of Luc’s saving graces while growing up, teaching him about this fantastical world of horses and racing.
Luc had called his very first racehorse Fortin’s Legacy, after his friend.
He never spoke about Pierre. It was too personal, too close to the bone. Sometimes grief for his old friend resurfaced, taking him by surprise with its intensity. But, for the first time, he felt as if he’d done a disservice to his friend by not talking about him more.
Luc cursed again. Tricky questions or no tricky questions, he still wanted Nessa. He realised now that denying himself the carnal satisfaction of taking her to bed again was doing nothing but messing with his head.
He wanted her on a physical level. That was all. And maybe if he reminded her of the physical, it would dissuade her from thinking about anything else. Like asking awkward questions that he wasn’t interested in answering or thinking about.
* * *