By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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keen to—abort at once.’
He flushed deeply. ‘Yesterday … Alors, I will admit, I felt the need to act.’ He opened his hands in appeal. ‘Try to understand. My first reaction was to think that for you this is a terrible blow. You are a free, lovely woman—how could I have done this to you? I wanted to deal with it. Spare you as much anxiety as possible.’
He sounded so sincere, she had to believe him.
‘I see.’ She sat back against the banquette, surveying him. ‘I guess I thought you were horrified. Well, naturally, who wouldn’t be? Your worst nightmare realised. Me a—a virtual stranger, at the same time embarrassingly connected to your family, and …’
‘Mais non. How can any of that matter? But I can’t deny I do feel—responsible.’
‘I know. I do know that.’
Though, to be honest, she hadn’t really given his feelings much consideration. She’d assumed he’d made up his mind at once to rid himself of the problem asap. It hadn’t really occurred to her he might actually feel perturbed about having potentially changed her life irrevocably.
If she could believe that, it would be a bit of a revelation.
She glanced covertly at him. Apart from Neil, who was a human being, the salt of the earth and the kindliest pushover in the world, the men she’d known hadn’t shown much concern for the woman or the child. Obviously they all hadn’t been as selfish as Rémy—he’d been in a class of his own—but take her father, for instance. He was no Sir Lancelot. He’d run out on his family and on the child support.
Unless he was angling for an Oscar, Luc seemed genuinely distressed. His eyes held a sort of endearing shell-shocked confusion. She slid her hand into his and curled it around his fingers. ‘Look, it wasn’t just you who made it happen, was it? It was also me. Every step of the way. I wanted to be with you that night. I wanted to experience—you.’
A flame lit his eyes and smouldered there so fiercely she felt scorched. ‘And I you.’
His glance was so flagrantly sexual at that moment she almost expected him to leap across the table and grab her in full view of the early-morning breakfasters of the Brasserie du Louvre. And, crazed as she was, she’d have let him.
Thoroughly inappropriate.
‘And I was the one who produced the faulty you-know-what.’
He winced. ‘Don’t remind me.’
The waiter set down a coffee pot and cups. Luc slipped the guy a note, then poured the milky coffee.
‘So.’ He straightened his shoulders and captured her gaze, his eyes serious and compelling. ‘I think we must tell each other the truth. What are you thinking, really?’
Aha. Here it came again. The moment of truth.
There were some details too dangerous to share with a man whose first instinct was to pull the chain. Tiny developing eyelids and heartbeats were not likely to sway a guy who was a big player on the Bourse, as Neil had informed her when he was trying to convince her of Luc’s importance as a hardhitting businessman.
She tiptoed as cautiously as a lark upon a leaf.
‘Well, er … like you … at first I was so panicked all I could think of were ways of escape. But now …’ She strove to keep her face cool and expressionless. She’d learned from Rémy that betraying her schmaltzy interior was a mistake. Squeeze her and she’d squish, and hadn’t he just loved to watch that happen? ‘The more I—consider, the more I realise I’m not ready to do anything—irrevocable. There’s time to decide. A few more weeks, I believe.’
He nodded, slowly and gravely. ‘Oui. I too would like a few more weeks.’
‘Really?’ She felt a stab of surprise. Why? What was in it for him? Was he having some sort of brainstorm? She tried to read his eyes. ‘After all, it is a huge decision.’
He nodded. ‘Vraiment it is huge. So huge we should make it together. Agreed?’
A warning gong tolled deep within her. Togetherness was all very well if they wanted the same thing. But if they didn’t …
He watched her face. She could feel the clock ticking for her answer.
‘Well …’ She reached for her cup. Her hand shook a little and she withdrew it, though not before he’d noticed, to her chagrin. ‘Certainly we need a clear picture of where each other stands.’
His eyes glinted, then he frowned down at his coffee. When he looked up he spoke quietly, his tone measured. ‘I’m hoping you will agree to stay in France while we consider.’
‘What, here?’ She cast an involuntary look around. ‘Oh, no, no. Sorry, I’m not able to manage that. Anyway, I’d prefer to be at home coping with this than in a hotel in a strange country.’
‘You misunderstand.’ A flush darkened his bristly cheek. ‘Not here, chérie. With me. In my apartment.’
‘Oh.’
The apartment, no less.
A sunbeam dangled itself enticingly in the direction of her heart, with hope dancing up and down it in sparkly stars.
She rejected the treacherous thing outright. She’d been sucked in by that sunbeam before. Big time. Stars, spangles, the works. This time the risks were far too great. It wasn’t just her dreams she had to worry about being flushed down the toilet.
‘And you won’t be coping alone,’ he added, smiling. But she sensed determination behind those eyes. And in the set of his handsome jaw she read assurance. Authority. The man asserting his rights. ‘You will have me,’ he declared softly.
‘Of course.’ She beamed him a smile, though her insides were twanging with warnings of caution. ‘And I appreciate the offer, I truly do, but I’m probably better to be independent and in charge of my own space, you know?’ A wry twitch of his lips only added more momentum to her misgivings. ‘I told you. I learned the hard way I’m not cut out for togetherness and the domestic life.’
Maybe he had the misguided belief he was an equal partner in this enterprise, but it wasn’t all happening to him, was it? He wasn’t incubating little developing networks of nerves and synapses. Arms. Legs.
‘Anyway,’ she added hastily, ‘I haven’t brought enough clothes with me for a longer stay, and … I have a book contract I have to fulfil. I need to work. I really do.’
‘You can work at my place.’ He spread his hands, smiling, insistent. ‘Why can’t you? And don’t worry a thing about your clothes. I’ll take care of all that for you. I’m good with clothes.’
This was no recommendation. Rémy had been good with clothes. Good at telling her when she’d got it wrong.
He made a rueful gesture. ‘Don’t look so mistrustful.’ He took her hand and held it between both of his, his dark gaze grave. ‘Shari … Please understand. I’m not Rémy. Listen to me. I promise—on my honour I would never do anything to cause you harm.’
His eyes shone with a light that threatened to pierce her total serenity.
With her wobbly heart trembling in its niche all of a sudden, she felt a severe need to loosen her scarf. ‘Well, quel relief.’ She moistened her lips. ‘That’s … very nice.’
Glancing at her watch, she saw there was still plenty of time, but she wouldn’t have minded bolting for the airport right at that very instant. She made to gather her trench. ‘Actually, Luc, I don’t want to be rude and rush things, but …’
He leaned forward, holding her captive in his dark gaze. ‘You’re not listening to me, Shari. I’m begging you to stay. I want to support you.’
‘Oh, heavens.’ Her pulse