Brilliant dark eyes cool as ice, Luc swung back from about thirty feet away and moved back towards her at a leisurely pace that was oddly intimidating. ‘Ecoutes-moi…listen to me,’ he commanded with natural authority. ‘As I will not be here very often this summer, the very least we can do in support of this charade is occupy the same room. When it is time to demonstrate waning enthusiasm for that intimacy, you can move out, but not before that point.’
‘Emilie would never dream of enquiring into our sleeping arrangements!’ Star argued.
‘But she will certainly notice them. I am not a demonstrative man. I am no actor,’ Luc disclaimed with growing impatience. ‘That we sleep in the same bed is likely to be the sole evidence she sees of our supposed reconciliation!’
Star’s chin came up. ‘I’d rather settle for you bringing flowers home on Friday evenings. Surely even you could manage that!’
Luc sent her a gleaming glance. ‘The flowers are your department. I got a dozen red roses every day of the six weeks we were together. They were delivered to the very door of my office with cute little handwritten cards attached. My staff took extraordinary steps to get the chance to read those cards before I did. Surely you don’t think I could have forgotten that experience?’
A crimson blush now flamed over Star’s taut cheekbones.
‘Should you be thinking of repeating that romantic gesture, do you think it would be possible for you to put the cards into sealed envelopes?’
Fury and intense mortification were licking like flames through Star’s slender length. ‘Don’t worry about it…I’ll never ever send you flowers again!’
‘And while we’re on the subject, you’re not getting my mobile phone number until you assure me that it will only be used in an emergency.’
‘I’ve grown out of any desire to keep hourly tabs on your whereabouts!’ Star bit out between gritted teeth, eager to escape the dialogue and turning away. ‘Well, if I’m going to be stuck in here with you, I’m sleeping on the sofa.’
Luc surveyed the gilded sofa which had been in the family since the late eighteenth century. He said nothing. He knew a marble slab would have offered as much comfort.
Star stalked into the dressing room and rattled and banged through loads of drawers and closets before she found her own small stock of clothing. Gathering up nightwear, she headed for the bathroom. Stripping off her clothes with trembling hands of angry frustration, she switched on the shower. She yelped as enervating jets of water hit her tense body from all directions. Her hair soaked, she threw herself down on the seat in the corner. It was typical of Luc to have a shower with more confusing controls than a rocket ship!
She pictured him as she had last seen him in the bedroom. Tailored silk shirt partially unbuttoned to show a riveting triangle of golden brown skin, taut, flat stomach, lean hips and long hard thighs encased in charcoal-grey trousers cut to enhance every lithe masculine line of his tightly muscled length. A treacherous burst of warmth low in her belly made her tense up even more. She clenched her teeth, hating herself for being so weak. She’d stood there arguing with him and burning for him at the same time. It was sick, indecent.
But Luc had always made her feel like that. Everything about him pulled at her senses, awakening the most tormenting hunger. His dark, deep voice, his husky accent, his beautiful eyes, his sexy mouth. She listened, she looked, she went weak at the knees with lust. Lust. She latched onto that word with intense relief. It definitely wasn’t love any more; it was lust. A greedy, mindless, wicked craving which she had to control, stamp on, stamp out!
No longer did she crave that rare smile, that devastating little glimmer of gold in his eyes when he was amused, the sense of achievement she had once enjoyed when he laughed. No, she didn’t, she absolutely didn’t, she told herself with ferocious urgency. Which was just as well, she reminded herself. Luc might not have been exactly delighted to believe that the twins had been fathered by some other man, but he was likely to be even less happy when she told him the truth. It was going to be a very long and miserable summer, and tomorrow, when she informed Luc that he was a father, promised to be the very worst day of her life…
Star emerged from the bathroom and stopped dead, heart hammering so hard against her breastbone she felt faint, like someone in the grip of a severe anxiety attack. And no wonder! Luc had evidently made use of some other bathroom. Black hair still damp and gleaming, he was in the act of shedding a short silk robe. From across the room, Star watched the collar dipping, the light fabric drifting down to expose what had to be the most beautiful male back in the world. Smooth brown skin stretched taut over well-honed muscles. She shut her eyes tight in shame, denying herself any more of a view. Averting her head, she scuttled over to the bed to haul the spread from it.
‘Goodnight,’ she said in a tight little voice.
Luc climbed into bed, tossed back the duvet and threw himself back against the pillows. Star was wearing an oversize T-shirt with a large yellow duck motif back and front. It wasn’t remotely seductive. But his body seemed to think otherwise and reacted with unquenchable enthusiasm. Star bent down to arrange the spread on the sofa, revealing slender legs to the top of her thighs, the cotton jersey of the T-shirt stretching with provocative fidelity over the shapely curve of her bottom…
His breath escaped in a soft hiss of reaction, the ache of frustration becoming so powerful he clenched his long fingers. The anger still pent-up inside him began to smoulder again. She was playing the tease deliberately. Star was no longer the adoring little virgin he had, with commendable adult restraint, contrived not to touch for the first six weeks of their marriage.
‘A little schoolgirl…’ Gabrielle had composed her perfect face into a pained grimace. ‘Men who prey on schoolgirls are sick, aren’t they? But Star does ask for it. Those big soppy puppy eyes of hers follow you about like you’re a god or something. How can you stand it?’
Surprisingly easily.
Snatched from that unwelcome recollection by the enervating sight of Star raising her arms high to comb her fingers through her wet hair, Luc went rigid. The T-shirt pulled taut over small breasts as firm and round as apples. Not free to him ever again, Star had said. Smugly. The rage he had been keeping a lid on for two and a half days surged higher still. She was on the market and he would buy. Why not? He would get her skinny, shameless little hide out of his system. Long before the summer was over, he would be sated. No woman had ever held him beyond a couple of months…and one in a duck T-shirt had less hope than most.
Star could feel the silence buzzing around her like an electric storm. Goosebumps came out on her arms as she got into the makeshift bed, wishing Luc would switch out the lights. Then she could lie in the dark, hating herself without an audience. The dulled ache low in her stomach and the painful tightness of her sensitive breasts were a source of utter misery to her. She didn’t trust herself to look back near him again, lest the craving get stoked to a level that he might notice. He noticed most things, did Luc. He missed nothing. He read her like a book when she could least afford to be read.
‘D’accord…OK, now that you’ve given me the benefit of seeing what’s on offer from every conceivable angle, I want the T-shirt off. And forget the sofa. I want you in this bed for the rest of the night,’ Luc spelt out with crystal-clear clarity.
Totally disbelieving the evidence of her own ears, Star very slowly picked her head up and attempted to focus on Luc across the depth of the room. ‘S-sorry?’ she stammered helplessly.
Luc hauled himself off the pillows with one powerful hand. ‘Don’t you dare play games with me,’ he warned in low-pitched but forceful continuance. ‘I’m not in the mood for what you fondly imagine figures as verbal foreplay!’
Star sat up with a jerk, clutching the bedspread to herself. The pool of light round the vast bed illuminated the hard cast of his stunning dark features, the perceptible tension in the knotted muscles of his wide brown shoulders. The sheet was at his waist, startlingly white against his magnificent torso. He looked startlingly handsome and startlingly intimidating. Angry too. About what? She could feel that anger. Why was he so angry? What had she done?
‘You seem to have the idea that I’ve been angling for some sort of approach,’ Star breathed with hot cheeks, her annoyance with him somewhat tempered by the fear that she had somehow been putting out sexually inviting vibes as easily read as placards. ‘But I honestly haven’t been…at least, not knowingly.’
‘You are as hungry for me as I am for you, mon ange,’ Luc breathed in impatient interruption.
Star tore her dismayed eyes from his challenging scrutiny. ‘You’re very up-front about this sort of stuff, aren’t you? Can I use an analogy here? If I ate as much chocolate as I’d like to, I wouldn’t fit my clothes, so I control myself. Wanting to rip your clothes off all the time…well, it’s much the same thing.’
‘Mon Dieu…God give me strength,’ Luc growled half under his breath.
‘It is, whether you can see it or not,’ Star persisted, pleating the spread between her restive, taut fingers and not looking at him lest she lose the thread of what she was trying to say. ‘Last night we should just leave in the past—’